THE MISSING BRIDE

A Novel

by

MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH

Author of _Self-Raised_, _Ishmael_, _Retribution_, _The Bridal Eve_, _The Bride's Fate_, _Mother-in-Law_, _The Haunted Homestead_, _TheBride's Dowry_, _Victor's Triumph_, _A Fortune Seeker_, etc. 

CHAPTER I. 

LUCKENOUGH. 

Deep in the primeval forest of St. Mary's, lying between the Patuxentand the Wicomico Rivers, stands the ancient manor house of Luckenough. 

The traditions of the neighborhood assert the origin of the manor andits quaint, happy and not unmusical name to have been--briefly this:

That the founder of Luckenough was Alexander Kalouga, a Polish soldierof fortune, some time in the service of Cecilius Calvert, Baron ofBaltimore, first Lord Proprietary of Maryland. This man had, previous tohis final emigration to the New World, passed through a life of the mostwonderful vicissitudes--wonderful even for those days of romance andadventure. It was said that he was born in one quarter of the globe, educated in another, initiated into warfare in the third and buried inthe fourth. In his boyhood he was the friend and pupil of Guy Fawkes; heengaged in the Gunpowder Plot, and after witnessing the terrible fate ofhis master, he escaped to Spanish America, where he led for years a sortof buccaneer life. He afterwards returned to Europe, and then followedyears of military service wherever his hireling sword was needed. Butthe soldier of fortune was ill-paid by his mistress. His misfortuneswere as proverbial as his bravery, or as his energetic complaints of"ill luck" could make them. He had drawn his sword in almost everyquarrel of his time, on every battlefield in Europe, to find himself, at the end of his military career, no richer than he was at itsbeginning--save in wounds and scars, honor and glory, and a wife andson. It was at this point of his life that he met with Leonard Calvert, and embarked with him for Maryland, where he afterwards received fromthe Lord Proprietary the grant of the manor "aforesaid. " It is statedthat when the old soldier went with some companions to take a look athis new possessions, he was so pleased with the beauty, grandeur, richness and promise of the place that a glad smile broke over his dark, storm-beaten, battle-scarred face, and he remained still "smiling as indelighted visions, " until one of his friends spoke and said:

"Well, comrade! Is this luck enough?"

"Yaw, mine frient!" answered the new lord of the manor in his brokenEnglish, cordially grasping the hand of his companion, "dish ish lokeenough!"

Different constructions have been put upon this simple answer--first, that Lukkinnuf was the original Indian name of the tract; secondly, thatAlexander Kalouga christened his manor in honor of Loekenoff, the nativevillage of his wife, the heroic Marie Zelenski, the companion of all hiscampaigns and voyages, and the first lady of his manor; thirdly, thatthe grateful and happy soldier had only meant to express his perfectsatisfaction with his fortune, and to say:

"Yes, this is luck enough! luck enough to repay me for all the past!"Be it as it may, from time immemorial the place has been "Luckenough. "

The owner in 1814 was Commodore Nickolas Waugh, who inherited theproperty in right of his mother, the only child and heiress of PeterKalouga. 

This man had the constitution and character, not of his mother's, but ofhis father's family--a hardy, rigorous, energetic Montgomery race, fullof fire, spirit and enterprise. At the age of twelve Nickolas lost hisfather. 

At fifteen he began to weary of the tedium of Luckenough, varied only bythe restraint of the academy during term. And at sixteen he rebelledagainst the rule of his indolent lymphatic mamma, broke through thereins of domestic government, escaped to Baltimore and shipped as cabinboy in a merchantman. 

Nickolas Waugh went through many adventures, served on boardmerchantmen, privateers and haply pirates, too, sailed to every part ofthe known world, and led a wild, reckless and sinful life, until thebreaking out of the Revolutionary War, when he took service with PaulJones, the American Sea King, and turned the brighter part of hischaracter up to the light. He performed miracles of valor--achieved forhimself a name and a post-captain's rank in the infant navy and finallywas permitted to retire with a bullet lodged under his shoulder blade, apiece of silver trepanned in the top of his skull, a deep sword-cutacross his face from the right temple over his nose to the leftcheek--and with the honorary title of commodore. 

He was a perfect beauty about this time, no doubt, but that did notprevent him from receiving the hand of his cousin Henrietta Kalouga, whohad waited for him many a weary year. 

No children blessed his late marriage, and as year after year passed, until himself and his wife were well stricken in years, people, whonever lost interest in the great estate, began to wonder to which amonghis tribe of impoverished relations Nickolas Waugh would bequeath themanor of Luckenough. 

His choice fell at length upon his orphan grandniece, the beautifulEdith Lance, whom he took from the Catholic Orphan Asylum, where she hadfound refuge since the death of her parents and placed in one of thebest convent schools in the South. 

At the age of seventeen Edith was brought home from school andestablished at Luckenough as the adopted daughter and acknowledgedheiress of her uncle. 

Delicate, dreamy and retiring, and tinged with a certain pensiveness, the effect of too much early sorrow and seclusion upon a very sensitivetemperament, Edith better loved the solitude of the grand old forest ofSt. Mary's or the loneliness of her own shaded rooms at Luckenough thanany society the humdrum neighborhood could offer her. And when at thecall of social duty she did go into company, she exercised a refiningand subduing influence, involuntary as it was potent. 

Yet in that lovely, fragile form, in that dreaming, poetical soul, layundeveloped a latent power of heroism soon to be aroused into action. "Darling of all hearts and eyes, " Edith had been at home a year when theWar of 1812 broke out. 

Maryland, as usual, contributed her large proportion of volunteers tothe defense of the country. All men capable of bearing arms rapidlymustered into companies and hastened to put themselves at the disposalof the government. 

The lower counties of Maryland were left comparatively unprotected. Oldmen, women, children and negroes were all that remained in charge of thefarms and plantations. Yet remote from the scenes of conflict andhitherto undisturbed by the convulsions of the great world, they reposedin fancied safety and never thought of such unprecedented misfortunes asthe evils of the war penetrating to their quiet homes. 

But their rest of security was broken by a tremendous shock. The Britishfleet under Admiral Sir A. Cockburn suddenly entered the Chesapeake. Andthe quiet, lonely shores of the bay became the scene of a warfarescarcely paralleled in atrocity in ancient or modern times. 

If among the marauding band of licensed pirates and assassins there wasone name more dreaded, more loathed and accursed than the rest, it wasthat of the brutal and ferocious Thorg--the frequent leader of foragingparties, the unsparing destroyer of womanhood, infancy and age, thejackal and purveyor of Admiral Cockburn. If anywhere there was abeautiful woman unprotected, or a rich plantation house ill-defended, this jackal was sure to scent out "the game" for his master, the lion. And many were the comely maidens and youthful wives seized and carriedoff by this monster. 

The Patuxent and the Wicomico, with the coast between them, offered nostrong temptation to a rapacious foe, and the inhabitants reposed in thefancied security of their isolation and unimportance. The business oflife went on, faintly and sorrowfully, to be sure, but still went on. The village shops at B---- and C---- were kept open, though tendedchiefly by women and boys. The academicians at the little collegepursued their studies or played at forming juvenile military companies. The farms and plantations were cultivated chiefly under the direction ofladies whose husbands, sons and brothers were absent with the army. Noone thought of danger to St. Mary's. 

Most terrible was the awakening from this dream of safety, when, on themorning of the 17th of August, the division under the command of AdmiralCockburn--the most dreaded and abhorred of all--was seen to enter themouth of the Patuxent in full sail for Benedict. Nearly all theable-bodied men were absent with the army at the time when the combinedmilitary and naval forces tinder Admiral Cockburn and General Rosslanded at that place. None remained to guard the homes but aged men, women, infants and negroes. A universal panic seized the neighborhoodand nothing occurred to the defenseless people but instant flight. Females and children were hastily put into carriages, the most valuableitems of plate or money hastily packed up, negroes mustered and thewhole caravan put upon a hurried march for Prince George's, Montgomeryor other upper counties of the State. With very few exceptions, thefarms and plantations were evacuated and left to the mercy of theinvaders. 

At sunrise all was noise, bustle and confusion at Luckenough. 

The lawn was filled with baggage wagons, horses, mules, cows, oxen, sheep, swine, baskets of poultry, barrels of provisions, boxes ofproperty, and men and maid servants hurrying wildly about among them, carrying trunks and parcels, loading carts, tackling harness, marshalingcattle and making other preparations for a rapid retreat towardCommodore Waugh's patrimonial estate in Montgomery County. 

Edith was placed upon her pony and attended by her old maid Jenny andher old groom Oliver. 

Commodore and Mrs. Waugh entered the family carriage, which they prettywell filled up. Mrs. Waugh's woman sat upon the box behind and theCommodore's man drove the coach. 

And the whole family party set forward on their journey. They went inadvance of the caravan so as not to be hindered and inconvenienced byits slow and cumbrous movements. A ride of three miles through the oldforest brought them to the open, hilly country. Here the road forked. And here the family were to separate. 

It had been arranged that as Edith was too delicate to bear the forcedmarch of days' and nights' continuance before they could reachMontgomery, she should proceed to Hay Hill, a plantation near the lineof Charles County, owned by Colonel Fairlie, whose young daughter Fanny, recently made a bride, had been the schoolmate of Edith. 

Here, at the fork, the party halted to take leave. 

Commodore Waugh called his niece to ride up to the carriage window andgave her many messages for Colonel Fairlie, for Fanny and for Fanny'syoung bridegroom, and many charges to be careful and prudent, and not toride out unattended, etc. 

And then he called up the two old negroes and charged them to see theiryoung mistress safely at Hay Hill and then to return to Luckenough andtake care of the house and such things as were felt behind in case theBritish should not visit it, and to shut up the house after them in casethey should come and rob it and leave it standing. Two wretched oldnegroes would be in little personal danger from the soldiers. 

So argued Commodore Waugh as he took leave of them and gave orders forthe carriage to move on up the main branch of the road leading northtoward Prince George's and Montgomery. 

But so argued not the poor old negroes, as they followed Edith up thewest branch of the road that led to Charles County. 

This pleasant road ran along the side of a purling brook under theshadow of the great trees that skirted the forest, and Edith ambledleisurely along, low humming to herself some pretty song or listeningto the merry carols of the birds or noticing the speckled fish thatgamboled through the dark, glimmering stream or reverting to the subjectof her last reading. 

But beneath all this childish play of fancy, one grave, sorrowfulthought lay heavy upon Edith's tender heart. It was the thought of poorold Luckenough "deserted at its utmost need" to the ravages of the foe. Then came the question if it were not possible, in case of the housebeing attacked, to save it--even for her to save it. While these thingswere brewing in Edith's mind, she rode slowly and more slowly, until atlength her pony stopped. Then she noticed for the first time the heavy, downcast looks of her attendants. 

"What is the matter?" she asked. 

"Oh! Miss Edith, don't ask me, honey--don't! Ain't we-dem got to go backto de house and stay dar by our two selves arter we see you safe?" saidJenny, crying. 

"No! what? you two alone!" exclaimed Edith, looking from one to theother. 

"Yes, Miss Edith, 'deed we has, chile--but you needn't look so 'stonishand 'mazed. You can't help of it, chile. An' if de British do come darand burn de house and heave we-dem into de fire jes' out of wanton, it'll only be two poor, ole, unvaluable niggers burned up. Ole marseknow dat well enough--dat's de reason he resks we. "

"But for what purpose have you to return?" asked Edith, wondering. 

"Oh! to feed de cattle and de poultry? and take care o' de things dat'slef behine, " sobbed Jenny, now completely broken down by her terrors. "Iknow--I jis does--how dem white niggers o' Co'bu'ns 'ill set de house o'fire, an' heave we-dem two poor old innocen's into de flames out'n puredebblish wanton!"

Edith passed her slender fingers through her curls, stringing them outas was her way when absent in thought. She was turning the whole matterover in her mind. She might possibly save the mansion, though these twoold people were not likely to be able to do so--on the contrary, theirludicrous terrors would tend to stimulate the wanton cruelty of themarauders to destroy them with the house. Edith suddenly took herresolution, and turned her horse's head, directing her attendants tofollow. 

"But where are you going to go, Miss Edith?" asked her groom, Oliver, now speaking for the first time. 

"Back to Luckenough. "

"What for, Miss Edith, for goodness sake?"

"Back to Luckenough to guard the dear old house, and take care of youtwo. "

"But oh, Miss Edy! Miss Edy! for Marster in heaven's sake what'll comeo' you?"

"What the Master in heaven wills!"

"Lord, Lord, Miss Edy! ole marse 'ill kill we-dem. What 'ill old marsesay? What 'ill everybody say to a young gal a-doin' of anything like datdar? Oh, dear! dear! what will everybody say?"

"They will say, " said Edith, "if I meet the enemy and save thehouse--they will say that Edith Lance is a heroine, and her name will beprobably preserved in the memory of the neighborhood. But if I fail andlose my life, they will say that Edith was a cracked-brained girl whodeserved her fate, and that they had always predicted she would come toa bad end. "

"Better go on to Hay Hill, Miss Edy! 'Deed, 'fore marster, better go toHay Hill. "

"No, " said the young girl, "my resolution is taken--we will return toLuckenough. "

The arguments of the old negroes waxed fainter and fewer. They felt avague but potent confidence in Edith and her abilities, and a sense ofprotection in her presence, from which they were loth to part. 

The sun was high when they entered the forest shades again. 

"See, " said Edith to her companions, "everything is so fresh andbeautiful and joyous here! I cannot even imagine danger. "

Edith on reaching Luckenough retired to bed, and addressed herself tosleep. It was in vain--her nerves were fearfully excited. In vain shetried to combat her terrors--they completely overmastered her. She wasviolently shocked out of a fitful doze. 

Old Jenny stood over her, lifting her up, shaking her, and shouting inher ears:

"Miss Edith! Miss Edith! They are here! They are here! We shall bemurdered in our beds!"

In the room stood old Oliver, gray with terror, while all the dogs onthe premises were barking madly, and a noisy party at the front wastrying to force an entrance. 

Violent knocking and shaking at the outer door and the sound of voices. 

"Open! open! let us in! for God's sake, let us in!"

"Those are fugitives--not foes--listen--they plead--they do notthreaten--go and unbar the door, Oliver, " said Edith. 

Reluctantly and cautiously the old man obeyed. 

"Light another candle, Jenny--that is dying in its socket--it will beout in a minute. "

Trembling all over, Jenny essayed to do as she was bid, but onlysucceeded in putting out the expiring light. The sound of the unbarringof the door had deprived her of the last remnant of self-control. Edithstruck a light, while the sound of footsteps and voices in the hallwarned her that several persons had entered. 

"It's Nell, and Liddy, and Sol, from Hay Hill! Oh, Miss Edy! Thorg andhis men are up dar a 'stroyin' everything! Oh, Miss Edy! an' us thoughtit was so safe an' out'n de way up dar! Oh, what a 'scape! what a 'scapewe-dem has had!"

CHAPTER II. 

THE ATTACK. 

That summer day was so holy in its beauty, so bright, so clear, so cool;that rural scene was so soothing in its influences, so calm, so fresh, so harmonious; it was almost impossible to associate with that lovelyday and scene thoughts of wrong and violence and cruelty. So felt Edithas she sometimes lifted her eyes from her work to the beauty and gloryof nature around her. And if now her heart ached it was more with grieffor Fanny's fate than dread of her own. There comes, borne upon thebreeze that lifts her dark tresses, and fans her pearly cheeks, themusic of many rural voices--of rippling streams and rustling leaves andtwittering birds and humming bees. 

But mingled with these, at length, there comes to her attentive ear asound, or the suspicion of a sound, of distant horse hoofs falling uponthe forest leaves--it draws nearer--it becomes distinct--she knows itnow--it is--it is a troop of British soldiers approaching the house!

They rode in a totally undisciplined and disorderly manner; reeling intheir saddles, drunken with debauchery, red-hot, reeking from some sceneof fire and blood!

And in no condition to be operated upon by Edith's beautiful and holyinfluences. 

They galloped into the yard--they galloped up to the house--their leaderthrew himself heavily from his horse and advanced to the door. 

It was the terrible and remorseless Thorg! No one could doubt theidentity for a single instant. The low, square-built, thick-set body, the huge head, the bull neck, heavy jowl, coarse, sensual lips, bloodshot eyes, and fiery visage surrounded with coarse red hair--thewhole brutalized, demonized aspect could belong to no monster in theuniverse but that cross between the fiend and the beast called Thorg!And now he came, intoxicated, inflamed, burning with fierce passionsfrom some fell scene of recent violence!

Pale as death, and nearly as calm, Edith awaited his coming. She couldnot hope to influence this man or his associates. She knew her fatenow--it was death!--death by her own hand, before that man's foot shouldprofane her threshold! She knew her fate, and knowing it, grew calm andstrong. There were no more hopes or fears or doubts or trepidations. Over the weakness of the flesh the spirit ruled victorious, and Edithstood revealed to herself richly endowed with that heroism she had soworshiped in others--in that supreme moment mistress of herself and ofher fate. To die by her own hand! but not rashly--not till a trialshould be made--not till the last moment. And how beautiful in thislast fateful moment she looked! The death pallor had passed from hercountenance--the summer breeze was lifting the light black curls--softshadows were playing upon the pearly brow--a strange elevationirradiated her face, and it "shone as it had been the face of an angel. "

"By George! boys, what a pretty wench! Keep back, you d----d rascals!"(for the men had dismounted and were pressing behind him) "keep back, Isay, you drunken ----! Let rank have precedence in love as in otherthings! Your turn may come afterward! Ho! pretty mistress, has yourlarder the material to supply my men with a meal?"

Edith glanced around for her attendants. Jenny lay upon the hall floor, fallen forward upon her face, in a deep swoon. Oliver stood out upon thelawn, his teeth chattering, and his knees knocking together with terror, yet faintly meditating a desperate onslaught to the rescue with hiswooden rake. 

"No matter! for first of all we must have a taste of those dainty lips;stand back, bl--t you, " he vociferated with a volley of appalling oaths, that sent the disorderly men, who were again crowding behind him, backinto the rear; "we would be alone, d---- you; do you hear?"

The drunken soldiers fell back, and he advanced toward Edith, who stoodcalm in desperate resolution. She raised her hand to supplicate or wavehim off, he did not care which--her other hand, hanging down by herside, grasped the pistol, which she concealed in the folds of her dress. 

"Hear me, " she said, "one moment, I beseech you!"

The miscreant paused. 

"Proceed, my beauty! Only don't let the grace before meat be too long. "

"I am a soldier's child, " said Edith; her sweet, clear voice slightlyquavering like the strings of a lute over which the wind has passed; "Iam a soldier's child--my father died gallantly on the field of battle. You are soldiers, and will not hurt a soldier's orphan daughter. "

"Not for the universe, my angel; bl----t 'em! let any of 'em hurt a hairof your head! I only want to love you a little, my beauty! that'sall!--only want to pet you to your heart's content;" and the brute madea step toward her. 

"Hear me!" exclaimed Edith, raising her hand. 

"Well, well, go on, my dear, only don't be too long!--for my men wantsomething to eat and drink, and I have sworn not to break my fast untilI know the flavor of those ripe lips. "

Edith's fingers closed convulsively upon the pistol still held bidden. 

"I am alone and defenseless, " she said; "I remained here, voluntarily, to protect our home, because I had faith in the better feelings of menwhen they should be appealed to. I had heard dreadful tales of theravages of the enemy through neighboring sections of the country. I didnot fully believe them. I thought them the exaggerations of terror, andknew how such stories grow in the telling. I could not credit the worst, believing, as I did, the British nation to be an upright and honorableenemy--British soldiers to be men--and British officers gentlemen. Sir, have I trusted in vain? Will you not let me and my servants retire inpeace? All that the cellars and storehouses of Luckenough contain is atyour disposal. You will leave myself and attendants unmolested. I havenot trusted in the honor of British soldiers to my own destruction!"

"A pretty speech, my dear, and prettily spoken--but not half sopersuasive as the sweet wench that uttered it, " said Thorg, springingtoward her. 

Edith suddenly raised the pistol--an expression of deadly determinationupon her face. 

Thorg as suddenly fell back. He was an abominable coward in addition tohis other qualities. 

"Seize that girl! Seize and disarm her! What mean you, rascals? Are youto be foiled by a girl? Seize and disarm her, I say! Are you men?"

Yes, they were men, and therefore, drunken and brutal as they were, theyhesitated to close upon one helpless girl. 

"H--l fire and furies! surround! disarm her, I say!" vociferated Thorg. 

Edith stood, her hand still grasping the pistol--her other one raised indesperate entreaty. 

"Oh! one moment! for heaven's sake, one moment! Still hear me! I wouldnot have fired upon your captain! Nor would I fire upon one of you, whoclose upon me only at your captain's order. There is something within methat shrinks from taking life! even the life of an enemy--any life butmy own, and that only in such a desperate strait as this. Oh! by themercy that is in my own heart, show mercy to me! You are men! You havemothers, or sisters, or wives at home, whom you hope to meet again, whenwar and its insanities are over. Oh! for their sakes, show mercy to thedefenseless girl who stands here in your power! Do not compel her toshed her own blood! for, sure as you advance one step toward me, I pullthis trigger, and fall dead at your feet. " And Edith raised the pistoland placed the muzzle to her own temple--her finger against the trigger. 

The men stood still--the captain swore. 

"H--l fire and flames! Do you intend to stand there all day, to hear thewench declaim? Seize her, curse you! Wrench that weapon from her hand. "

"Not so quick as I can pull the trigger!" said Edith--her eyes blazingwith the sense of having fate--the worst of fate in her own hands; itwas but a pressure of the finger, to be made quick as lightning, and shewas beyond their power! Her finger was on the trigger--the muzzle of thepistol, a cold ring of steel, pressed her burning temple! She felt itkindly--protective as a friend's kiss!

"Seize her! Seize her, curse you!" cried the brutal Thorg, "what care Iwhether she pull the trigger or not? Before the blood cools in her body, I will have had my satisfaction! Seize her, you infernal--"

"Captain, countermand your order! I beg, I entreat you, countermand yourorder! You yourself will greatly regret having given it, when you arecalmer, " said a young officer, riding hastily forward, and now, for thefirst time, taking a part in the scene. 

An honorable youth in a band of licensed military marauders. 

"'Sdeath, sir! Don't interfere with me! Seize her, rascals!"

"One step more, and I pull the trigger!" said Edith. 

"Captain Thorg! This must not be!" persisted the young officer. 

"D--n, sir! Do you oppose me? Do you dare? Fall back, sir, I commandyou! Scoundrels! close upon that wench and bind her!"

"Captain Thorg! This shall not be! Do you hear? Do you understand? I saythis violence shall not be perpetrated!" said the young officer, firmly. 

"D--n, sir! Are you drunk, or mad? You are under arrest, sir! CorporalTruman, take Ensign Shields' sword!"

The young man was quickly disarmed, and once more the captainvociferated:

"Knock down and disarm that vixen! Obey your orders, villains! Or byh--l, and all its fiends, I'll have you all court-martialed, and shotbefore to-morrow noon!"

The soldiers closed around the unprotected girl. 

"Lord, all merciful! forgive my sins, " she prayed, and with a firm handpulled the trigger!

It did not respond to her touch--it failed! it failed!

Casting the traitorous weapon from her, she sunk upon her knees, murmuring:

"Lost--lost--all is lost!" remained crushed, overwhelmed, awaiting herfate!

"Ha! ha! ha! as pretty a little make-believe as ever I saw!" laughed thebrutal Thorg, now perfectly at his ease, and gloating over her beauty, and helplessness, and, deadly terror. "As pretty a little sham as ever Isaw!"

"It was no sham! She couldn't sham! I drawed out the shot unbeknownst toher! I wish, I does, my fingers had shriveled and dropped off afore theyever did it!" exclaimed Oliver, in a passion of remorse, as he ranforward, rake in hand. 

He was quickly thrown down and disarmed--no one had any hesitation indealing with him. 

"Now then, my fair!" said Thorg, moving toward his victim. 

Edith was now wild with desperation--her eyes flew wildly around insearch of help, where help there seemed none. Then she turned with thefrenzied impulse of flying. 

But the men surrounded to cut off her retreat. 

"Nay, nay, let her run! Let her run! Give her a fair start, and do yougive chase! It will be the rarest sport! Fox-hunting is a good thing, but girl-chasing must be the very h--l of sport, when I tell you--mind, I tell you, men--she shall be the exclusive prize of him who catchesher!" swore the remorseless Thorg. 

Edith had gained the back door. 

They started in pursuit. 

"Now, by the living Lord that made me, the first man that lays hands onher shall die!" suddenly exclaimed the young ensign, wresting his swordfrom the hand of the corporal, springing between Edith and her pursuers, flashing out the blade, and brandishing it in the faces of the foremost. 

He was but a stripling, scarcely older than Edith's self--the arm thatwielded that slender blade scarcely stronger than Edith's own--but thefire that flashed from the eagle eye showed a spirit to rescue or die inher defense. 

Thorg threw himself into the most frantic fury--a volley of the mosthorrible oaths was discharged from his lips. 

"Upon that villain, men! Beat him down! Slay him! Pin him to the groundwith your bayonets! And then! do your will with the girl!"

But before this fiendish order could be executed, ay, before it was halfspoken, whirled into the yard a body or about thirty horsemen, gallopingfiercely to the rescue with drawn swords and shouting voices. 

They were nearly three times the number of the foraging soldiers. 

CHAPTER III. 

YOUNG AMERICA IN 1814. 

Young students of the neighboring academy--mere boys of from thirteen toeighteen years of age, but brave, spirited, vigorous lads, well mounted, well armed, and led on by the redoubtable college hero, CloudesleyMornington. They rushed forward, they surrounded, they fell upon themarauders with an absolute shower of blows. 

"Give it to them, men! This for Fanny! This for Edith! And this! andthis! and this for both of them!" shouted Cloudesley, as he vigorouslylaid about him. "Strike for Hay Hill and vengeance! Let them have it, mymen! And you, little fellows! Small young gentlemen, with the souls ofheroes, and the bodies of elves, who can't strike a very hard blow, aimwhere your blows will tell! Aim at their faces. This for Fanny! This forEdith!" shouted Cloudesley, raining his strokes right and left, butnever at random. 

He fought his way through to the miscreant Thorg. 

Thorg was still on foot, armed with a sword, and laying about himsavagely among the crowd of foes that had surrounded him. 

Cloudesley was still on horseback--he had caught up an ax that laycarelessly upon the lawn, and now he rushed upon Thorg from behind. 

He had no scruple in taking this advantage of the enemy--no scruplewith an unscrupulous monster--an outlawed wretch--a wild beast to bedestroyed, when and where and how it was possible!

And so Cloudesley came on behind, and elevating this formidable weaponin both hands, raising himself in his stirrups and throwing his wholeweight with the stroke, he dealt a blow upon the head of Thorg thatbrought him to the earth stunned. From the impetus Cloudesley himselfhad received, he had nearly lost his saddle, but had recovered. 

"They fly! They fly! By the bones of Caesar, the miscreants fly! Afterthem, my men! After them! Pursue! pursue!" shouted Cloudesley, wheelinghis horse around to follow. 

But just then, the young British officer standing near Edith, restingon his sword, breathing, as it were, after a severe conflict, caughtCloudesley's eyes. Intoxicated with victory, Cloudesley sprang from hishorse, and raising his ax, rushed up the stairs upon the youth!

Edith sprang and threw herself before the stripling, impulsivelyclasping her arms around him to shield him, and then throwing up one armto ward off a blow, looked up and exclaimed:

"He is my preserver--my preserver, Cloudesley!"

And what did the young ensign do? Clasped Edith quietly but closely tohis breast. 

It was a beautiful, beautiful picture!

Nay, any one might understand how it was--that not years upon years ofordinary acquaintance could have so drawn, so knitted these young heartstogether as those few hours of supreme danger. 

"My preserver, Cloudesley! My preserver!"

Cloudesley grounded his ax. 

"I don't understand that, Edith! He is a British officer. "

"He is my deliverer! When Thorg set his men on me to hunt me, he casthimself before me, and kept them at bay until you came!"

"Mutinied!" exclaimed Cloudesley, in astonishment, and a sort of horror. 

"Yes, I suppose it was mutiny, " said the young ensign, speaking for thefirst time and blushing as he withdrew his arm from Edith's waist. 

"Whe-ew! here's a go!" Cloudesley was about to exclaim, but rememberinghimself he amended his phraseology, and said, "A very embarrassingsituation, yours, sir. "

"I cannot regret it!"

"Certainly not! There are laws of God and humanity above all militarylaw, and such you obeyed, sir! I thank you on the part of my youngcountrywoman, " said Cloudesley, who imagined that he could talk about aswell as he could fight. 

"If the occasion could recur, I would do it again! Yes, a thousandtimes!" the young man's eyes added to Edith--only to her. 

"But oh! perdition! while I am talking here that serpent! thatcopperhead! that cobra capella! is coming round again! How astonishinglytenacious of life all foul, venomous creatures are!" exclaimedCloudesley, as he happened to espy Throg moving slightly where he lay, and rushed out to dispatch him. 

The other two young people were left alone in the hall. 

"I am afraid you have placed yourself in a very, very dangeroussituation, by what you did to save me. "

"But do you know--oh, do you know how happy it has made me? Can youdivine how my heart--yes, my soul--burns with the joy it has given me?When I saw you standing there before your enemies so beautiful! so calm!so constant--I felt that I could die for you--that I would die for you. And when I sprang between you and your pursuers, I had resolved to diefor you. But first to set your soul free. Edith, you should not havefallen into the hands of the soldiers! Yes! I had determined to die forand with you! You are safe. And whatever befalls me, Edith, will youremember that?"

"You are faint! You are wounded! Indeed you are wounded! Oh, where! Oh!did any of our people strike you?"

"No--it was one of our men, Edith! I do not know your other name, sweetlady!"

"Never mind my name--it is Edith--that will do; but your wound--yourwound--oh! you are very pale--here! lie down upon this settee. Oh, it istoo hard!--come into my room, it opens here upon the hall--there is acomfortable lounge there--come in and lie down--let me get yousomething?"

"Thanks--thanks, dearest lady, but I must get upon my horse and go!"

"Go?"

"Yes, Edith--don't you understand, that after what I have done--afterwhat I have had the joy of doing--the only honorable course left opento me, is to go and give myself up to answer the charges that may bebrought against me?"

"Oh, heaven! I know! I know what you have incurred by defending me! Iknow the awful penalty laid upon a military officer who lifts his handagainst his superior. Don't go! oh, don't go!"

"And do you really take so much interest in my fate, sweetest lady?"said the youth, gazing at her with the deepest and most delightfulemotions. 

"'Take an interest' in my generous protector! How should I help it? Oh!don't go! Don't think of going. You will not--will you? Say that youwill not!"

"You will not advise me to anything dishonorable, I am sure. "

"No--no--but oh! at such a fearful cost you have saved me. Oh! when Ithink of it, I wish you had not interfered to defend me. I wish it hadnot been done!"

"And I would not for the whole world that it had not been done! Do notfear for me, sweetest Edith! I run little risk in voluntarily placingmyself in the hands of a court-martial--for British officers aregentlemen, Edith!--you must not judge them by those you have seen--andwhen they hear all the circumstances, I have little doubt that my actwill be justified--besides, my fate will rest with Ross, GeneralRoss--one of the most gallant and noble spirits ever created, Edith!And now you must let me go, fairest lady. " And he raised her handrespectfully to his lips, bowed reverently, and left the hall to findhis horse. 

Just then Cloudesley was seen approaching, crying out that they hadescaped. 

"You are not going to leave us, sir?" he asked Cloudesley, catchingsight of the ensign. 

"I am under the necessity of doing so. "

"But you are not able to travel--you can scarcely sit your horse. Praydo not think of leaving us. "

"You are a soldier--at least an amateur one, and you will understandthat after what has occurred, I must not seem to hide myself like afugitive from justice! In short, I must go and answer for that which Ihave done. "

"I understand, but really, sir, you look very ill--you--"

But here the young officer held out his hand smilingly, took leave ofCloudesley, and bowing low to Edith, rode off. 

Cloudesley and Edith followed the gallant fellow with their eyes. He hadnearly reached the gate, the old green gate at the farthest end of thesemi-circular avenue, when the horse stopped, the rider reeled and fellfrom his saddle. Cloudesley and Edith ran toward him--reached him. Cloudesley disentangled his foot from the stirrup, and raised him in hisarms. Edith stood pale and breathless by. 

"He has fainted! I knew he was suffering extreme pain. Edith! fly andget some water! Or rather here! sit down and hold up his head while Igo. "

Edith was quickly down by the side of her preserver, supporting hishead upon her breast. Cloudesley sped toward the house for water andassistance. When he procured what he wanted and returned, he met thetroop of collegians on their return from the chase of the retreatingmarauders. They reported that they had scattered the fugitives in everydirection and lost them in the labyrinths of the forest. 

Several of them dismounted and gathered around the young ensign. 

But Cloudesley was now upon the spot, and while he bathed the face ofthe fainting man, explained to them how it was, and requested some oneto ride immediately to the village and procure a physician. ThurstonWillcoxen, the next in command under him, and his chosenbrother-in-arms, mounted his horse and galloped off. 

In the meantime the wounded man was carried to the mansion house andlaid upon a cot in one of the parlors. 

Presently Edith heard wheels roll up to the door and stop. She lookedup. It was the carriage of the surgeon, whom she saw alight and walk upthe steps. She went to meet him, composedly as she could, and conductedhim to the door of the sick-room, which he entered. Edith remained inthe hall, softly walking up and down, and sometimes pausing to listen. 

After a little, the door opened. It was only Solomon Weismann, who askedfor warm water, lint, and a quantity of old linen. These Edith quicklysupplied, and then remained alone in the hall, walking up and down, andpausing to listen as before; once she heard a deep shuddering groan, asof one in mortal extremity, and her own heart and frame thrilled to thesound, and then all was still as before. 

An hour, two hours, passed, and then the door opened again, and Edithcaught a glimpse of the surgeon, with his shirt sleeves pushed above hiselbows, and a pair of bloody hands. It was Solomon who opened the doorto ask for a basin of water, towels and soap, for the doctor to wash. Edith furnished these also. 

Half an hour passed, and the door opened a third time, and the doctorhimself came out, fresh and smiling. His countenance and his manner werein every respect encouraging. 

"Come into the drawing-room a moment, if you please, Miss Edith, I wantto speak with you. "

Edith desired nothing more earnestly just at that moment. 

"Well, doctor--your patient?" she inquired, anxiously. 

"Will do very well! Will do very well! That is, if he be properlyattended to, and that is what I wished to speak to you about, MissEdith. I have seen you near sick-beds before this, my dear, and knowthat I can better trust you than any one to whom I could at presentapply. I intend to install you as his nurse, my dear. When a lifedepends upon your care, you will waive any scruples you might otherwisefeel, Miss Edith, I am sure! You will have your old maid, Jenny, toassist you, and Solomon at hand, in case of an emergency. But I intendto delegate my authority, and leave my directions with you. "

"Yes, doctor, I will do my very best for your patient. "

"I am sure of that. I am sure of that. "

Edith watched by his cot through all the night, fanning him softly, keeping his chest covered from the air, giving him his medicine at theproper intervals, and putting drink to his lips when he needed it. Butnever trusted her eyelids to close for a moment. Jenny shared her vigilby nodding in an easy chair; and Solomon Weismann, a young medicalstudent, by sleeping soundly on the wooden settee in the hall. So passedthe night. After midnight, to Edith's great relief, his fever began toabate, and he sank into a sweet sleep. In the morning Solomon rousedhimself, and came in and relieved Edith's watch, and attended to thewants of the patient, while she went to her room to bathe her face andweary eyes. 

But instead of growing better the patient grew worse, and for days lifewas despaired of. The most skillful medical treatment, and the mostcareful nursing scarcely saved his life. And even after the imminentdanger was over, it was weeks before he was able to be lifted from thebed to the sofa. 

In the meantime, Throg, who was also treated by the doctor, recovered. He took quite an affectionate leave of the young ensign, and with anappearance of great friendliness and honesty, promised to interesthimself at headquarters in behalf of the young officer. This somehowfilled Edith with a vague distrust, and dark foreboding, for which shecould neither account, nor excuse herself, nor yet shake off. Thorg hadbeen exchanged, and he joined his regiment after its return fromWashington City, and before it sailed from the shores of America. 

Weeks passed, during which the invalid occupied the sofa in hisroom--and Edith was his sole nurse. And then Commodore Waugh, with hiswife, servants and caravan returned to Luckenough. 

The old soldier had been "posted up, " he said, relative to all that hadtranspired in his absence. 

There were no words, he declared, to express his admiration of Edith's"heroism. "

It was in vain that Edith assured him that she had not been heroic atall--that the preservation of Luckenough had been due rather to thetimely succor of the college boys than to her own imprudent resolution. It did no good--the old man was determined to look upon his niece as aheroine worthy to stand by the side of Joan of Arc. 

"For, " said he, "was it not the soul of a heroine that enabled her tostay and guard the house; and would the college company ever have cometo the rescue of these old walls if they had not heard that she hadresolutely remained to guard them and was almost alone in the house?Don't tell me! Edith is the star maiden of old St. Mary's, and I'm proudof her! She is worthy to be my niece and heiress! A true descendant ofMarie Zelenski, is she! And I'll tell you what I'll do, Edith!" he said, turning to her, "I'll reward you, my dear! I will. I'll marry you toProfessor Grimshaw! That's what I'll do, my dear! And you both shallhave Luckenough; that you shall!"

Months passed--the war was over--peace was proclaimed, and still theyoung ensign, an invalid, unable to travel, lingered at Luckenough. Regularly he received his pay; twice he received an extension of leaveof absence; and all through the instrumentality of--Thorg. Yet all thisfilled Edith with the greatest uneasiness and foreboding--ungrateful, incomprehensible, yet impossible to be delivered from. 

CHAPTER IV. 

EDITH'S TROUBLES. 

Late in the spring Ensign Michael Shields received orders to join hisregiment in Canada, and upon their reception he had an explanation withEdith, and with her permission, had requested her hand of her uncle, Commodore Waugh. This threw the veteran into a towering passion, andnearly drove him from his proprieties as host. The young ensign wasunacceptable to him upon every account. First and foremost, he wasn't"Grim, " Then he was an Israelite. And, lastly! horror of horrors! he wasa British officer, and dared to aspire to the hand of Edith. It was invain that his wife, the good Henrietta, tried to mollify him; the stormraged for several days--raged, till it had expended all its strength, and subsided from exhaustion. Then he called Edith and tried to talk thematter over calmly with her. 

"Now all I have to say to you, Edith, is this, " he concluded, "that ifyou will have the good sense to marry Mr. Grimshaw, these intentionsshall be more than fulfilled--they shall be anticipated. Upon yourmarriage with Grimshaw, I will give you a conveyance of Luckenough--onlyreserving to myself and Old Hen a house, and a life-support in theplace; but if you will persist in your foolish preference for thatyoung scamp, I will give you--nothing. That is all, Edith. "

During the speech Edith remained standing, with her eyes fixed upon thefloor. Now, she spoke in a tremulous voice:

"That is all--is it not, uncle? You will not deprive me of any portionof your love; will you, uncle?"

"I do not know, Edith! I cannot tell; when you have deliberately chosenone of your own fancy, in preference to one of mine--the man I care mostfor in the world, and whom I chose especially for you; why, you'vespeared me right through a very tender part; however, as I said before, what you do, do quickly! I cannot bear to be kept upon the tenterhooks!"

"I will talk with Michael, uncle, " said Edith, meekly. 

She went out, and found him pacing the lawn at the back of the house. 

He turned toward her with a glad smile, took her hand as she approachedhim, and pressed it to his lips. 

"Dearest Edith, where have you been so long?"

"With my uncle, Michael. I have my uncle's 'ultimatum, ' as he calls it. "

"What is it, Edith?"

"Ah! how shall I tell you without offense? But, dearest Michael you willnot mind--you will forgive an old man's childish prejudices, especiallywhen you know they are not personal--but circumstantial, national, bigoted. "

"Well, Edith! well?"

"Michael, he says--he says that I may give you my hand--"

"Said he so! Bless that fair hand, and bless him who bestows it!" heexclaimed, clasping her fingers and pressing them to his lips. 

"Yes, Michael, but--"

"But what! there is no but; he permits you to give me your hand; thereis then no but--'a jailer to bring forth some monstrous malefactor. '"

"Yet listen! You know I was to have been his heiress!"

"No, indeed I did not know it! never heard it! never suspected it! nevereven thought of it! How did I know but that he had sons and daughters, or nephews away at school!"

"Well, I was to have been his heiress. Now he disinherits me, unless Iconsent to be married to his friend and favorite, Dr. Grimshaw. "

"You put the case gently and delicately, dear Edith, but the hard truthis this--is it not--that he will disinherit you, if you consent to bemine? You need not answer me, dearest Edith, if you do not wish to; butlisten--I have nothing but my sword, and beyond my boundless lovenothing to offer you but the wayward fate of a soldier's wife. Your eyesare full of tears. Speak, Edith Lance! Can you share the soldier'swandering life? Speak, Edith, or lay your hand in mine. Yet, no! no! no!I am selfish and unjust. Take time, love, to think of all you abandon, all that you may encounter in joining your fate to mine. God knows whatit has cost me to say it--but--take time, Edith, " and he pressed anddropped her hand. 

"I do not need to do so. My answer to-day, to-morrow, and forever, mustbe the same, " she answered, in a very low voice; and her eyes sought theground, and the blush deepened on her cheek, as she laid her hand inhis. How he pressed that white hand, to his lips, to his heart! How heclasped her to his breast! How he vowed to love and cherish her as thedearest treasure of his life need not here be told. 

Edith said:

"Now take me in to uncle, and tell him, for he asked me not to keep himin suspense. "

Michael led her into the hall, where the commodore strode upand down, making the old rafters tremble and quake with everytread--puffing--blowing over his fallen hopes, like a nor'-westerover the dead leaves. 

Michael advanced, holding the hand of his affianced, and modestlyannounced their engagement. 

"Humph! So the precious business is concluded, is it?"

"Yes, sir, " said Michael, with a bow. 

"Well, I hope you may be as happy as you deserve! When is the proceedingto come off?"

"What, sir?"

"The marriage, young gentleman?"

"When shall I say, dearest Edith?" asked Michael, stooping to her ear. 

"When uncle pleases, " murmured the girl. 

"Uncle pleases nothing, and will have nothing to do with it, except toadvise as early a day as possible, " he blurted out; "what says thebride?"

"Answer, dearest Edith, " entreated Michael Shields. 

"Then let it be at New Year, " said Edith, falteringly. 

"Whew!--six months ahead! Entirely too far off!" exclaimed thecommodore. 

"And so it really is, beloved, " whispered Michael. 

"Let it be next week, " abruptly broke in the commodore. "What's the useof putting it off? Tuesdays and Thursdays are the marrying days, Ibelieve; let it then be Tuesday or Thursday. "

"Tuesday, " pleaded Michael. 

"Thursday, " murmured Edith. 

"The deuce!--if you can't decide, I must decide for you, " growled OldNick, storming down toward the extremity of the hall, and roaring--"OldHen! Old Hen! These fools are to be spliced on Sunday! Now bring me mypipe;" and the commodore withdrew to his sanctum. 

Good Henrietta came in, took the hand of the young ensign, and pressedit warmly, saying that he would have a good wife, and wishing them bothmuch happiness in their union. She drew Edith to her bosom, and kissedher fondly, but in silence. 

As this was Friday evening, little preparations could be made for thesolemnity to take place on Sunday. Yet Mrs. Henrietta exerted herself todo all possible honor to the occasion. That very evening she sent out afew invitations to the dinner and ball, that in those days invariablycelebrated a country wedding. She even invited a few particular friendsto meet the bridal pair at dinner, on their return from church. 

The little interval between this and Sunday morning was passed by Edithand Shields in making arrangements for their future course. 

Sunday came. 

A young lady of the neighborhood officiated as bridesmaid, andCloudesley Mornington as groomsman. The ceremony was to be performed atthe Episcopal Church at Charlotte Hall. The bridal party set forward intwo carriages. They were attended by the commodore and Mrs. Waugh. Theyreached the church at an early hour, and the marriage was solemnizedbefore the morning service. When the entries had been made, and theusual congratulations passed, the party returned to the carriages. Before entering his own, Commodore Waugh approached that in which thebride and bridegroom were already seated, and into which the groomsmanwas about to hand the bridesmaid. 

"Stay, you two, you need not enter just yet, " said the old man, "I wantto speak with Mr. Shields and his wife, Edith!"

Edith put her head forward, eagerly. 

"I have nothing against you; but after what has occurred, I don't wantto see you at Luckenough again. Good-by!" Then, turning to Shields, hesaid, "I will have your own and your wife's goods forwarded to thehotel, here, " and nodding gruffly, he strode away. 

Cloudesley stormed, Edith begged that the carriage might be delayed yeta little while. Vain Edith's hope, and vain Mrs. Waugh's expostulations, Old Nick was not to be mollified. He said that "those who pleased toremain with the new-married couple, might do so--he should go home! Theydid as they liked, and he should do as he liked. " Mrs. Waugh, Cloudesley, and the bridesmaid determined to stay. 

The commodore entered his carriage, and was driven toward home. 

The party then adjourned to the hotel. Mrs. Waugh comforting Edith, and declaring her intention to stay with her as long as she shouldremain in the neighborhood--for Henrietta always did as she pleased, notwithstanding the opposition of her stormy husband. The youngbridesmaid and Cloudesley also expressed their determination to standby their friends to the last. 

Their patience was not put to a very long test. In a few days a packetwas to sail from Benedict to Baltimore, and the young couple tookadvantage of the opportunity, and departed, with the good wishes oftheir few devoted friends. 

Their destination was Toronto, in Canada, where the young ensign'sregiment was quartered. 

CHAPTER V. 

SANS SOUCI. 

Several miles from the manor of Luckenough, upon a hill not far from theseacoast, stood the cottage of the Old Fields. 

The property was an appendage to the Manor of Luckenoug--, and was atthis time occupied by a poor relation of Commodore Waugh, his niece, Mary L'Oiseau, the widow of a Frenchman. Mrs. L'Oiseau had but onechild, a little girl, Jacquelina, now about eight or nine years of age. 

Commodore Waugh had given them the cottage to live in, permission tomake a living, if they could, out of the poor land attached to it. Thiswas all the help he had afforded his poor niece, and all, as she said, that she could reasonably expect from one who had so many dependents. For several years past the little property had afforded her a baresubsistence. 

And now this year the long drought had parched up her garden andcorn-field, and her cows had failed in their yield of milk for the wantof grass. 

It was upon a dry and burning day, near the last of August, that MaryL'Oiseau and her daughter sat down to their frugal breakfast. And such afrugal breakfast! The cheapest tea, with brown sugar, and a corn cakebaked upon the griddle, and a little butter--that was all! It was spreadupon a plain pine table without a tablecloth. 

The furniture of the room was in keeping--a sanded floor, a chest ofdrawers, with a small looking-glass, ornamented by a sprig of asparagus, a dresser of rough pine shelves on the right of the fireplace, and acupboard on the left, a half-dozen chip-bottomed chairs, aspinning-wheel, and a reel and jack, completed the appointments. 

Mrs. L'Oiseau was devouring the contents of a letter, which ran thus:

"MARY, MY DEAR! I feel as if I had somewhat neglected you, but, the truthis, my arm is not long enough to stretch from Luckenough to Old Fields. That being the case, and myself and Old Hen being rather lonesome sinceEdith's ungrateful desertion, we beg you to take little Jacko, and comelive with us as long as we may live--and of what may come after that wewill talk at some time. If you will be ready I will send the carriage foryou on Saturday. 

"YOUR UNCLE NICK. "

Mrs. L'Oiseau read this letter with a changing cheek--when she finishedit she folded and laid it aside in silence. 

Then she called to her side her child--her Jacquelina--her SansSouci--as for her gay, thoughtless temper she was called. I should heredescribe the mother and daughter to you. The mother needs littledescription--a pale, black-haired, black-eyed woman, who should havebeen blooming and sprightly, but that care had damped her spirits, andcankered the roses in her cheeks. 

But Jacquelina--Sans Souci--merits a better portrait. She was smalland slight for her years, and, though really near nine, would havebeen taken for six or seven. She was fair-skinned, blue-eyed andgolden-haired. And her countenance, full of spirit, courage andaudacity. As she would dart her face upward toward the sun, her round, smooth, highly polished white forehead would seem to laugh in lightbetween its clustering curls of burnished gold, that, together with thelittle, slightly turned-up nose, and short, slightly protruded upperlip, gave the charm of inexpressible archness to the most mischievouscountenance alive. In fact her whole form, features, expression andgestures seemed instinct with mischief--mischief lurked in the kinkedtendrils of her bright hair; mischief looked out and laughed in themerry, malicious blue eyes; mischief crept slyly over the bows of hercurbed and ruby lips, and mischief played at hide and seek among therosy dimples of her blooming cheeks. 

"Now, Jacquelina, " said Mrs. L'Oiseau, "you must cure yourself of thesehoydenish tricks of yours before you expose them to your uncle--rememberhow whimsical and eccentric he is. "

"So am I! Just as whimsical! I'll do him dirt, " said the young lady. 

"Good heaven! Where did you ever pick up such a phrase, and what uponearth does doing any one 'dirt' mean?" asked the very much shocked lady. 

"I mean I'll grind his nose on the ground, I'll hurry him and worry him, and upset him, and cross him, and make him run his head against thewall, and butt his blundering brains out. What did he turn Fair Edithaway for? Oh! I'll pay him off! I'll settle with him! Fair Edith shan'tbe in his debt for her injuries very long. "

From her pearly brow and pearly cheeks, "Fair Edith" was the name bywhich the child had heard her cousin once called, and she had called herthus ever since. 

Mrs. L'Oiseau answered gravely. 

"Your uncle gave Edith a fair choice between his own love andprotection, and the great benefits he had in store for her, and thelove of a stranger and foreigner, whom he disapproved and hated. Edithdeliberately chose the latter. And your uncle had a perfect right to actupon her unwise decision. "

"And for my part, I know he hadn't--all of my own thoughts. Oh! I'll dohim--"

"Hush! Jacquelina. You shall not use such expressions. So much comes ofmy letting you have your own way, running down to the beach and watchingthe boats, and hearing the vulgar talk of the fishermen. "

On Saturday, at the hour specified, the carriage came to Old FieldCottage, and conveyed Mrs. L'Oiseau and her child to Luckenough. Theywere very kindly received by the commodore, and affectionately embracedby Henrietta, who conducted them to a pleasant room, where they couldlay off their bonnets, and which they were thenceforth to consider astheir own apartment. This was not the one which had been occupied byEdith. Edith's chamber had been left undisturbed and locked up by Mrs. Waugh, and was kept ever after sacred to her memory. 

The sojourn of Mrs. L'Oiseau and Jacquelina at Luckenough was anexperiment on the part of the commodore. He did not mean to commithimself hastily, as in the case of his sudden choice of Edith as hisheiress. He intended to take a good, long time for what he called"mature deliberation"--often one of the greatest enemies to upright, generous, and disinterested action--to hope, faith, and charity, that Iknow of, by the way. Commodore Waugh also determined to have his ownwill in all things, this time at least. He had the vantage ground now, and was resolved to keep it. He had caught Sans Souci young, before shecould possibly have formed even a childish predilection for one of theopposite sex, and he was determined to raise and educate a wife for hisbeloved Grim. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE BLIGHTED HEART. 

In February the deepest snow storm fell that had fallen during the wholewinter. The roads were considered quite impassable by carriages, and thefamily at Luckenough were blocked up in their old house. Yet one day, inthe midst of this "tremendous state of affairs, " as the commodore calledit, a messenger from Benedict arrived at Luckenough, the bearer of aletter to Mrs. Waugh, which he refused to intrust to any other hands butthat lady's own. He was, therefore, shown into the presence of themistress, to whom he presented the note. Mrs. Waugh took it and lookedat it with some curiosity--it was superscribed in a slight femininehand--quite new to Henrietta; and she opened it, and turned immediatelyto the signature--Marian Mayfield--a strange name to her; she had neverseen or heard it before. She lost no more time in perusing the letter, but as she read, her cheek flushed and paled--her agitation becameexcessive, she was obliged to ring for a glass of water, and as soon asshe had swallowed it she crushed and thrust the letter into her bosom, ordered her mule to be saddled instantly, and her riding pelisse andhood to be brought. In two hours and a half Henrietta reached thevillage, and alighted at the little hotel. Of the landlord, who cameforth respectfully to meet her, she demanded to be shown immediately tothe presence of the young lady who had recently arrived from abroad. Thehost bowed, and inviting the lady to follow him, led the way to thelittle private parlor, the door of which he opened to let the visitorpass in, and then bowing again, he closed it and retired. 

And Mrs. Waugh found herself in a small, half-darkened room, where, reclining in an easy chair, sat--Edith? Was it Edith? Could it be Edith?That fair phantom of a girl to whom the black ringlets and black dressalone seemed to give outline and personality? Yes, it was Edith! But, oh! so changed! so wan and transparent, with such blue shadows in thehollows of her eyes and temples and cheeks--with such heavy, heavyeyelids, seemingly dragged down by the weight of their long, sleepinglashes--with such anguish in the gaze of the melting, dark eyes!

"Edith, my love! My dearest Edith!" said Mrs. Waugh, going to her. 

She half arose, and sank speechless into the kind arms opened to receiveher. Mrs. Waugh held her to her bosom a moment in silence, and thensaid:

"Edith, my dear, I got a note from your friend, Miss Mayfield, sayingthat you had returned, and wished to see me. But how is this, my child?You have evidently been very ill--you are still. Where is your husband, Edith? Edith, where is your husband?"

A shiver that shook her whole frame--a choking, gasping sob, was all theanswer she could make. 

"Where is he, Edith? Ordered away somewhere, upon some distant service?That is hard, but never mind! Hope for the best! You will meet himagain, dear? But where is he, then?"

She lifted up her poor head, and uttering--"Dead! dead!" dropped itheavily again upon the kind, supporting bosom. 

"You do not mean it! My dear, you do not mean it! You do not know whatyou are saying! Dead! when? how?" asked Mrs. Waugh, in great trouble. 

"Shot! shot!" whispered the poor thing, in a tone so hollow, it seemedreverberating through a vault. And then her stricken head sank heavilydown--and Henrietta perceived that strength and consciousness hadutterly departed. She placed her in the easy chair, and turned around tolook for restoratives, when a door leading into an adjoining bedroomopened, and a young girl entered, and came quietly and quickly forwardto the side of the sufferer. She greeted Mrs. Waugh politely, and thengave her undivided attention to Edith, whose care she seemed fullycompetent to undertake. 

This young girl was not over fourteen years of age, yet the mostbeautiful and blooming creature, Mrs. Waugh thought, that she had everbeheld. 

Her presence in the room seemed at once to dispel the gloom and shadow. 

She took Edith's hand, and settled her more at ease in the chair--butrefused the cologne and the salammoniac that Mrs. Waugh produced, saying, cheerfully:

"She has not fainted, you perceive--she breathes--it is better to leaveher to nature for a while--too much attention worries her--she is veryweak. "

Marian had now settled her comfortably back in the resting chair, andstood by her side, not near enough to incommode her in the least. 

"I do not understand all this. She says that her husband is dead, poorchild--how came it about? Tell me!" said Mrs. Waugh, in a low voice. 

Marian's clear blue eyes filled with tears, but she dropped their whitelids and long black lashes over them, and would not let them fall; andher ripe lips quivered, but she firmly compressed them, and remainedsilent for a moment. Then she said, in a whisper:

"I will tell you by and by, " and she glanced at Edith, to intimate thatthe story must not be rehearsed in her presence, however insensible shemight appear to be. 

"You are the young lady who wrote to me?"

"Yes, madam. "

"You are a friend of my poor girl's?"

"Something more than that, madam--I will tell you by and by, " saidMarian, and her kind, dear eyes were again turned upon Edith, andobserving the latter slightly move, she said, in her pleasant voice:

"Edith, dear, shall I put you to bed--are you able to walk?"

"Yes, yes, " murmured the sufferer, turning her head uneasily from sideto side. 

Marian gave her hand, and assisted the poor girl to rise, and tenderlysupported her as she walked to the bedroom. 

Mrs. Waugh arose to give her assistance, but Marian shook her head ather, with a kindly look, that seemed to say, "Do not startle her--she isused only to me lately, " and bore her out of sight into the bedroom. 

Presently she reappeared in the little parlor, opened the blinds, drewback the curtains, and let the sunlight into the dark room. Then sheordered more wood to the fire, and when it was replenished, and theservant had left the room, she invited Mrs. Waugh to draw her chair tothe hearth, and then said:

"I am ready now, madam, to tell you anything you wish to know--indeed Ihad supposed that you were acquainted with everything relating toEdith's marriage, and its fatal results. "

"I know absolutely nothing but what I have learned to-day. We neverreceived a single letter, or message, or news of any kind, or in anyshape, from Edith or her husband, from the day they left until now. "

"Yon did not hear, then, that he was court-martialed, and--sentenced todeath!"

"No, no--good heaven, no!"

"He was tried for mutiny or rebellion--I know not which--but it was forraising arms against his superior officers while here in America--theoccasion was--but you know the occasion better than I do. "

"Yes, yes, it was when he rescued Edith from the violence of Thorg andhis men. But oh! heaven, how horrible! that he should have beencondemned to death for a noble act! It is incredible--impossible--howcould it have happened? He never expected such a fate--none of us did, or we would never have consented to his return. There seemed no prospectof such a thing. How could it have been?"

"There was treachery, and perhaps perjury, too. He had an insidious andunscrupulous enemy, who assumed the guise of repentance, and candor, andfriendship, the better to lure him into his toils--it was the infamousColonel Thorg, who received the command of the regiment, in reward forhis great services in America. And Michael's only powerful friend, whocould and would have saved him--was dead. General Ross, you are aware, was killed in the battle of Baltimore. "

"God have mercy on poor Edith! How long has it been since, thishappened, my dear girl?"

"When they reached Toronto, in Canada West, the regiment commanded byThorg was about to sail for England. On its arrival at York, in England, a court-martial was formed, and Michael was brought to trial. There wasa great deal of personal prejudice, distortion of facts, and evenperjury--in short, he was condemned and sentenced one day and led outand shot the next!"

There was silence between them then. Henrietta sat in pale andspeechless horror. 

"But how long is it since my poor Edith has been so awfully widowed?" atlength inquired Mrs. Waugh. 

"Nearly four months, " replied Marian, in a tremulous voice. "For sixweeks succeeding his death, she was not able to rise from her bed. Icame from school to nurse her. I found her completely prostrated underthe blow. I wonder she had not died. What power of living on somedelicate frames seem to have. As soon as she was able to sit up, I beganto think that it would be better to remove her from the strange country, the theatre of her dreadful sufferings, and to bring her to her ownnative land, among her own friends and relatives, where she might resumethe life and habits of her girlhood, and where, with nothing to remindher of her loss, she might gradually come to look upon the few wretchedmonths of her marriage, passed in England, as a dark dream. Therefore Ihave brought her back. "

"And you, my dear child, " she said, "you were Michael Shields' sister?"

"No, madam, no kin to him--and yet more than kin--for he loved me, and Iloved him more than any one else in the world, as I now love his pooryoung widow. This was the way of it, Mrs. Waugh: Michael's father and mymother had both been married before, and we were children of the firstmarriages; when Michael was fourteen years old, and I was seven, ourparents were united, and we grew up together. About two years ago, Michael's father died. My mother survived him only five months, anddeparted, leaving me in charge of her stepson. We had no friends buteach other. Our parents, since their union, had been isolated beings, for this reason--his father was a Jew--my mother a Christian--thereforethe friends and relatives on either side were everlastingly offended bytheir marriage. Therefore we had no one but each other. The littleproperty that was left was sold, and the proceeds enabled Michael topurchase a commission in the regiment about to sail for America, andalso to place me at a good boarding school, where I remained until hisreturn, and the catastrophe that followed it. 

"Lady, all passed so suddenly, that I knew no word of his return, muchless of his trial or execution, until I received a visit from thechaplain who had attended his last moments, and who brought me hisfarewell letter, and his last informal will, in which the poor fellowconsigned me to the care of his wife, soon to be a widow, and enjoinedme to leave school and seek her at once, and inclosed a check for thelittle balance he had in bank. I went immediately, found her insensiblethrough grief, as I said--and, lady, I told you the rest. "

Henrietta was weeping softly behind the handkerchief she held at hereyes. At last she repeated:

"You say he left you in his widow's charge?"

"Yes, madam. "

"Left his widow in yours, rather, you good and faithful sister. "

"It was the same thing, lady; we were to live together, and to supporteach other. "

"But what was your thought, my dear girl, in bringing her here?"

"I told you, lady, that in her own native land, among her own kinsfolk, she might be comforted, and might resume her girlhood's thoughts andhabits, and learn to forget the strange, dark passages of her shortmarried life, passed in a foreign country. "

"But, my dear girl, did you not know, had you never heard that her uncledisowned her for marrying against his will?"

"Something of that I certainly heard from Edith, lady, when I firstproposed to her to come home. But she was very weak, and her thoughtsvery rambling, poor thing--she could not stick to a point long, and Ioverruled and guided her--I could not believe but that her friends wouldtake her poor widowed heart to their homes again. But if it should beotherwise, still--"

"Well?--still?"

"Why, I cannot regret having brought her to her native soil--for, if wefind no friends in America, we have left none in England--a placebesides full of the most harrowing recollections, from which this placeis happily free. America also offers a wider field for labor thanEngland does, and if her friends behave badly, why I will work for her, and--for her child if it should live. "

"Dear Marian, you must not think by what I said just now, that I am nota friend of Edith. I am, indeed. I love her almost as if she were my owndaughter. I incurred my husband's anger by remaining with her after hermarriage until she sailed. I will not fail her now, be sure. Personally, I will do my utmost for her. I will also try to influence her uncle inher favor. And now, my dear, it is getting very late, and there is along ride, and a dreadful road before me. The commodore is alreadyanxious for me, I know, and if I keep him waiting much longer, he willbe in no mood to be persuaded by me. So I must go. To-morrow, my dear, abetter home shall be found for you and Edith. That I promise upon my ownresponsibility. And, now, my dear, excellent girl, good-by. I will seeyou again in the morning. "

And Mrs. Waugh took leave. 

"No, " thundered Commodore Waugh, thrusting his head forward and bringinghis stick down heavily upon the floor. "No, I say! I will not bebothered with her or her troubles. Don't talk to me! I care nothingabout them! What should her trials be to me? The precious affair hasturned out just as I expected it would! Only what I did not expect wasthat we should have her back upon our hands! I wonder at Edith! Ithought she had more pride than to come back to me for comfort afterleaving as she did!"

This was all the satisfaction Mrs. Waugh got from Old Nick, when she hadrelated to him the sorrowful story of Edith's widowhood and return, andhad appealed to his generosity in her behalf. But he unbent so far as toallow Edith and Marian to be installed at Mrs. L'Oiseau's cottage, andeven grudgingly permitted Henrietta to settle a pension upon her. 

CHAPTER VII. 

WANDERING FANNY. 

It was a jocund morning in early summer--some five years after theevents related in the last chapter. 

Old Field Cottage was a perfect gem of rural beauty. The Old Fieldsthemselves no longer deserved the name--the repose of years had restoredthem to fertility, and now they were blooming in pristine youth--far asthe eye could reach between the cottage and the forest, and the cottageand the sea-beach, the fields were covered with a fine growth of sweetclover, whose verdure was most refreshing to the sight. The young treesplanted by Marian, had grown up, forming a pleasant grove around thehouse. The sweet honeysuckle and fragrant white jasmine, and the rich, aromatic, climbing rose, had run all over the walls and windows of thehouse, embowering it in verdure, bloom and perfume. 

While Marian stood enjoying for a few moments the morning hour, she wasstartled by the sound of rapid footsteps, and then by the sight of ayoung woman in wild attire, issuing from the grove at the right of thecottage, and flying like a hunted hare toward the house. 

Marian impulsively opened the gate, and the creature fled in, frantically clapped to the gate, and stood leaning with her backagainst it, and panting with haste and terror. 

She was a young and pretty woman--pretty, notwithstanding the wildnessof her staring black eyes and the disorder of her long black hair thathung in tangled tresses to her waist. Her head and feet were bare, andher white gown was spotted with green stains of the grass, and torn bybriars, as were also her bleeding feet and arms. Marian felt for her thedeepest compassion; a mere glance had assured her that the poor, panting, pretty creature was insane. Marian took her hand and gentlypressing it, said:

"You look very tired and faint--come in and rest yourself and takebreakfast with us. "

The stranger drew away her hand and looked at Marian from head to foot. But in the midst of her scrutiny, she suddenly sprang, glanced around, and trembling violently, grasped the gate for support. It was but thetramping of a colt through the clover that had startled her. 

"Do not be frightened; there is nothing that can hurt you; you are safehere. "

"And won't he come?"

"Who, poor girl?"

"The Destroyer!"

"No, poor one, no destroyer comes near us here; see how quiet andpeaceable everything is here!"

The wanderer slowly shook her head with a cunning, bitter smile, thatlooked stranger on her fair face than the madness itself had looked, and:

"So it was there, " she said, "but the Destroyer was at hand, andthe thunder of terror and destruction burst upon our quiet--but Iforgot--the fair spirit said I was not to think of that--such thoughtswould invoke the fiend again, " added the poor creature, smoothing herforehead with both hands, and then flinging them wide, as if to dispeland cast away some painful concentration there. 

"But now come in and lie down on the sofa, and rest, while I make you acup of coffee, " said Marian. 

But the same expression of cunning came again into the poor creature'sface, as she said:

"In the house? No, no--no, no! Fanny has learned something. Fanny knowsbetter than to go under roofs--they are traps to catch rabbits! 'Twas inthe house the Destroyer found us, and we couldn't get out! No, no! afair field and no favor and Fanny will outfly the fleetest of them! Butnot in a house, not in a house!"

"Well, then I will bring an easy chair out here for you to rest in--youcan sit under the shade, and have a little stand by your side, to eatyour breakfast. Come; come nearer to the house, " said Marian, takingpoor Fanny's hand, and leading her up the walk. 

They were at the threshold. 

"Are you Marian?" poor Fanny asked, abruptly. 

"Yes, that is my name. "

"Oh, I oughtn't to have come here! I oughtn't to have come here!"

"Why? What is the matter? Come, be calm! Nothing can hurt you or ushere!"

"Don't love! Marian, don't love! Be a nun, or drown yourself, butnever love!" said the woman, seizing the young girl's hands, gazing onher beautiful face, and speaking with intense and painful earnestness. 

"Why? Love is life. You had as well tell me not to live as not to love. Poor sister! I have not known you an hour, yet your sorrows so touch me, that my heart goes out toward you, and I want to bring you in to ourhome, and take care of you, " said Marian, gently. 

"You do?" asked the wanderer, incredulously. 

"Heaven knows I do! I wish to nurse you back to health and calmness. "

"Then I would not for the world bring so much evil to you! Yet it is alovelier place to die in, with loving faces around. "

"But it is a better place to live in! I do not let people die where Iam, unless the Lord has especially called them. I wish to make you well!Come, drive away all these evil fancies and let me take you into thecottage, " said Marian, taking her hand. 

Yielding to the influence of the young girl, poor Fanny suffered herselfto be led a few steps toward the cottage; then, with a piercing shriek, she suddenly snatched her hand away, crying:

"I should draw the lightning down upon your head! I am doomed! I mustnot enter!" And she turned and fled out of the gate. 

Marian gazed after her in the deepest compassion, the tears filling herkind blue eyes. 

"Weep not for me, beautiful and loving Marian, but foryourself--yourself!"

Marian hesitated. It were vain to follow and try to draw the wandererinto the house; yet she could not bear the thought of leaving her. Inthe meantime the sound of the shriek had brought Edith out. She came, leading her little daughter Miriam, now five years old, by the hand. 

Edith was scarcely changed in these five years--a life withoutexcitement or privation or toil--a life of moderation and regularity--ofeasy household duties, and quiet family affections, had restored andpreserved her maiden beauty. And now her pretty hair had its own will, and fell in slight, flossy black ringlets down each side the pearly browand cheeks; and nothing could have been more in keeping with the styleof her beauty than the simple, close-fitting black gown, her habitualdress. 

But lovely as the young mother was, you would scarcely have looked ather a second time while she held that child by her hand--so marvelouswas the fascination of that little creature's countenance. It was a faceto attract, to charm, to delight, to draw you in, and rivet your wholeattention, until you became absorbed and lost in the study of itsmysterious spell--a witching face, whose nameless charm it wereimpossible to tell, I might describe the fine dark Jewish features, theglorious eyes, the brilliant complexion, and the fall of long, glossy, black ringlets that veiled the proud little head; but the spell lay notin them, any more than in the perfect symmetry of her form, or theharmonious grace of her motion, or the melodious intonations of hervoice. 

Edith, still leading the little girl, advanced to Marian's side, wherethe latter stood at the yard gate. 

"I heard a scream, Marian, dear--what was it?"

Marian pointed to the old elm tree outside the cottage fence, under theshade of which stood the poor stroller, pressing her side, and pantingfor breath. 

"Edith, do you see that young woman? She it was. "

"Good heaven!" exclaimed Edith, turning a shade paler, and beginning, with trembling fingers, to unfasten the gate. 

"Why, do you know her, Edith?"

"Yes! yes! My soul, it is Fanny Laurie! I thought she was in some asylumat the North!" said Edith, passing the gate, and going up to thewanderer. "Fanny! Fanny! Dearest Fanny!" she said, taking her thin hand, and looking in her crazed eyes and lastly, putting both arms around herneck and kissing her. 

"Do you kiss me?" asked the poor creature, in amazement. 

"Yes, dear Fanny! Don't you know me?"

"Yes, yes, you are--I know you--you are--let's see, now--"

"Edith Lance, you know--your old playmate!"

"Ah! yes, I know--you had another name. "

"Edith Shields, since I was married, but I am widowed now, Fanny. "

"Yes, I know--Fanny has heard them talk!"

She swept her hands across her brow several times, as if to clear hermental vision, and gazing upon Edith, said:

"Ah! old playmate! Did the palms lie? The ravaged tome, theblood-stained hearth, and the burning roof for me--the fated nuptials, the murdered bridegroom, and the fatherless child for you. Did the palmslie, Edith? You were ever incredulous! Answer, did the palms lie?"

"The prediction was partly fulfilled, as it was very likely to be at thetime our neighborhood was overrun by a ruthless foe. It happened so, poor Fanny! You did not know the future, any more than I did--no one onearth knows the mysteries of the future, 'not the angels in heaven, northe Son, but the Father only. '"

This seemed to annoy the poor creature--soothsaying, by palmistry, hadbeen her weakness in her brighter days, and now the strange propensityclung to her through the dark night of her sorrows, and receivedstrength from her insanity. 

"Come in, dear Fanny, " said Edith, "come in and stay with us. "

"No, no!" she almost shrieked again. "I should bring a curse upon yourhouse! Oh! I could tell you if you would hear! I could warn you, if youwould be warned! But you will not! you will not!" she continued, wringing her hands in great trouble. 

"You shall predict my fate and Miriam's, " said Marian, smiling, as sheopened the gate, and came out leading the child. "And I know, " shecontinued, holding out her palm, "that it will be such a fair fate, asto brighten up your spirits for sympathy with it. "

"No! I will not look at your hand!" cried Fanny, turning away. Then, suddenly changing her mood, she snatched Marian's palm, and gazed uponit long and intently; gradually her features became disturbed--darkshadows seemed to sweep, as a funereal train, across her face--her bosomheaved--she dropped the maiden's hand. 

"Why, Fanny, you have told me nothing! What do you see in my future?"asked Marian. 

The maniac looked up, and breaking, as she sometimes did, intoimprovisation, chanted, in the most mournful of tones, these words:

"Darkly, deadly, lowers the shadow, Quickly, thickly, comes the crowd--From death's bosom creeps the adder, Trailing slime upon the shroud!"

Marian grew pale, so much, at the moment, was she infected with thewords and manner of this sybil; but then, "Nonsense!" she thought, and, with a smile, roused herself to shake off the chill that was creepingupon her. 

"Feel! the air! the air!" said Fanny, lifting her hand. 

"Yes, it is going to rain, " said Edith. "Come in, dear Fanny. "

But Fanny did not hear--the fitful, uncertain creature had seized thehand of the child Miriam, and was gazing alternately upon the lines inthe palm and upon her fervid, eloquent face. 

"What is this? Oh! what is this?" she said, sweeping the black tressesback from her bending brow, and fastening her eyes upon Miriam's palm. "What can it mean? A deep cross from the Mount of Venus crosses the lineof life, and forks into the line of death! a great sun in the plain ofMars--a cloud in the vale of Mercury! and where the lines of life anddeath meet, a sanguine spot and a great star! I cannot read it! In aboy's hand, that would betoken a hero's career, and a glorious death ina victorious field; but in a girl's! What can it mean when found in agirl's? Stop!" And she peered into the hand for a few moments in deepsilence, and then her face lighted up, her eyes burned intensely, andonce more she broke forth in improvisation:

"Thou shalt be bless'd as maiden fair was never bless'd before, And the heart of thy belov'd shall be most gentle, kind and pure;But thy red hand shall be lifted at duty's stern behest, And give to fell destruction the head thou lov'st the best. 

"Feel! the air! the air!" she exclaimed, suddenly dropping the child'shand, and lifting her own toward the sky. 

"Yes, I told you it was going to rain, but there will not be much, onlya light shower from the cloud just over our heads. "

"It is going to weep! Nature mourns for her darling child! Hark! I hearthe step of him that cometh! Fly, fair one! fly! Stay not here to listento the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely!" cried the wildcreature, as she dashed off toward the forest. 

Marian and Edith looked after her, in the utmost compassion. 

"Who is the poor, dear creature, Edith, and what has reduced her to thisstate?"

"She was an old playmate of my own, Marian. I never mentioned her toyou--I never could bear to do so. She was one of the victims of the war. She was the child of Colonel Fairlie and the bride of Henry Laurie, oneof the most accomplished and promising young men in the State. In onenight their house was attacked, and Fanny saw her father and her husbandmassacred, and her home burned before her face! She--fell into the handsof the soldiers! She went mad from that night!"

"Most horrible!" ejaculated Marian. 

"She was sent to one of the best Northern asylums, and the property sheinherited was placed in the hands of a trustee--old Mr. Hughes, who diedlast week, you know; and now that he is dead and she is out, I don'tknow what will be done, I don't understand it at all. "

"Has she no friends, no relatives? She must not be allowed to wander inthis way, " said the kind girl, with the tears swimming in her eyes. 

"I shall always be her friend, Marian. She has no others that I know ofnow; and no relative, except her young cousin, Thurston Willcoxen, whohas been abroad at a German University these five years past, and who, in event of Fanny's death, would inherit her property. We must get herhere, if possible. I will go in and send Jenny after her. She willprobably overtake her in the forest, and may be able to persuade her tocome back. At least, I shall tell Jenny to keep her in sight, until sheis in some place of safety. "

"Do, dear Edith!"

"Are you not coming?" said Edith, as she led her little girl toward thehouse. 

"In one moment, dear; I wish only to bind up this morning-glory, thatpoor Fanny chanced to pull down as she ran through. "

Edith disappeared in the cottage. 

Marian stood with both her rosy arms raised, in the act of binding upthe vine, that with its wealth of splendid azure-hued, vase-shapedflowers, over-canopied her beautiful head like a triumphal arch. Shestood there, as I said, like a radiant, blooming goddess of life andhealth, summer sunshine and blushing flowers. 

The light tramp of horse's feet fell upon her ear. She looked up, andwith surprise lighting her dark-blue eyes, beheld a gentleman mounted ona fine black Arabian courser, that curveted gracefully and capriciouslybefore the cottage gate. 

Smilingly the gentleman soothed and subdued the coquettish mood of hiswillful steed, and then dismounted and bowing with matchless grace andmuch deference, addressed Marian. 

The maiden was thinking that she had never seen a gentleman with apresence and a manner so graceful, courteous and princely in her life. He was a tall, finely proportioned, handsome man, with a superb head, anaquiline profile, and fair hair and fair complexion. The great charm, however, was in the broad, sunny forehead, in the smile of ineffablesweetness, in the low and singularly mellifluous voice, and the manner, gentle and graceful as any woman's. 

"Pardon me, my name is Willcoxen, young lady, and I have the honor ofaddressing--"

"Miss Mayfield, " said Marian. 

"Thank you, " said the gentleman, with one involuntary gaze ofenthusiastic admiration that called all the roses out in full bloom uponthe maiden's cheeks; then governing himself, he bent his eyes to theground, and said, with great deference: "You will pardon the liberty Ihave taken in calling here, Miss Mayfield, when I tell you that I am insearch of an unhappy young relative, who, I am informed, passed here notlong since. "

"She left us not ten minutes ago, sir, much against our wishes. Mysister has just sent a servant to the forest in search of her, to bringher back, if possible. Will you enter, and wait till she returns?"

With a beaming smile and graceful bend, and in the same sweet tones, hethanked her, and declined the invitation. Then he remounted his horse, and bowing deeply, rode off in the direction Fanny had taken. 

This was certainly a day of arrivals at Old Fields. Usually weeks wouldpass without any one passing to or from the cottage, except Marian, whose cheerful, kindly, social disposition, was the sole connecting linkbetween the cottage and the neighborhood around it. But this day seemedto be an exception. 

While yet the little party lingered at the breakfast-table, Edith lookedup, and saw the tall, thin figure of a woman in a nankeen riding-shirt, and a nankeen corded sun-bonnet, in the act of dismounting from hergreat, raw-boned white horse, "If there isn't Miss Nancy Skamp!" exclaimed Edith, in no veryhospitable tone--"and I wonder how she can leave the post-office. "

"Oh! this is not mail day!" replied Marian, laughing, "notwithstandingwhich we shall have news enough. " And Marian who, for her part, wasreally glad to see the old lady, arose to meet and welcome her. 

Miss Nancy was little changed; the small, tall, thin, narrow-chested, stooping figure--the same long, fair, freckled, sharp set face--thesame prim cap, and clean, scant, faded gown, or one of the samesort--made up her personal individuality. Miss Nancy now had charge ofthe village post-office; and her early and accurate informationrespecting all neighborhood affairs, was obtained, it was whispered, byan official breach of trust; if so, however, no creature except MissNancy, her black boy, and her white cat, knew it. She was a great newscarrier, it is true, yet she was not especially addicted to scandal. Toher, news was news, whether good or bad, and so she took almost as muchpleasure in exciting the wonder of her listeners by recounting the goodaction or good fortune of her neighbors or the reverse. 

And so, after having dropped her riding-skirt, and given that and herbonnet to Marian to carry up-stairs, and seated herself in the chairthat Edith offered her at the table, she said, sipping her coffee, andglancing between the white curtains and the green vines of the openwindow out upon the bay:

"You have the sweetest place, and the finest sea view here, my dear Mrs. Shields; but that is not what I was a-going to say. I was going to tellyou that I hadn't hearn from you so long, that I thought I must take anearly ride this morning, and spend the day with you. And I thought you'dlike to hear about your old partner at the dancing-school, young Mr. Thurston Willcoxen, a-coming back--la, yes! to be sure! we had almostall of us forgotten him, leastwise I had. And then, Miss Marian, " shesaid, as our blooming girl returned to her place at the table, "I justthought I would bring over that muslin for the collars and caps you wereso good as to say you'd make for me. "

"Yes, I am glad you brought them, Miss Nancy, " said Marian, in hercheerful tone, as she helped herself to another roll. 

"I hope you are not busy now, my dear. "

"Oh, I'm always busy, thank Heaven! but that makes no difference, MissNancy; I shall find time to do your work this week and next. "

"I am sure it is very good of you, Miss Marian, to sew for me fornothing; when--"

"Oh, pray, don't speak of it, Miss Nancy. "

"But indeed, my dear, I must say I never saw anybody like you! Ifanybody's too old to sew, and too poor to put it out, it is 'MissMarian' who will do it for kindness; and if anybody is sick, it is 'MissMarian' who is sent for to nurse them; and if any poor negro, orignorant white person, has friends off at a distance they want to hearfrom, it is 'Miss Marian' who writes all their letters!"

When they arose from breakfast, and the room was tidied up, and Edith, and Marian, and their guest, were seated at their work, with all thecottage windows open to admit the fresh and fragrant air, and the rurallandscape on one side, and the sea view on the other, and while littleMiriam sat at their feet dressing a nun doll, and old Jenny betookherself to the garden to gather vegetables for the day, Miss Nancyopened her budget, and gave them all the news of the month. But in thatwhich concerned Thurston Willcoxen alone was Edith interested, and ofhim she learned the following facts: Of the five years which Mr. Willcoxen had been absent in the eastern hemisphere, three had beenspent at the German University, where he graduated with the highesthonors; eighteen months had been passed in travel through Europe, Asia, and Africa; and the last year had been spent in the best circles in thecity of Paris. He had been back to his native place about three weeks. Since the death of Fanny Laurie's old guardian, the judge of theOrphans' Court had appointed him sole trustee of her property, andguardian of her person. As soon as he had received this power, he hadgone to the asylum, where the poor creature was confined, and hearingher pronounced incurable, though harmless, he had set her at liberty, brought her home to his own house, and had hired a skillful, attentivenurse to wait upon her. 

"And you never saw such kindness and compassion, Miss Marian, except inyourself. I do declare to you, that his manner to that poor unfortunateis as delicate and reverential and devoted as if she were the mostaccomplished and enviable lady in the land, and more so, Miss Marian, more so!"

"I can well believe it! He looks like that!" said the beautiful girl, her face flushing and her eyes filling with generous sympathy. ButMarian was rather averse to sentimentality, so dashing the sparklingdrops from her blushing cheeks, she looked up and said: "Miss Nancy, weare going to have chickens for dinner. How do you like them cooked? Itdon't matter a bit to Edith and me. "

"Stewed, then, if you please, Miss Marian! or stop--no--I think baked ina pie!"

CHAPTER VIII

THE FOREST FAIRY. 

On the afternoon of the same day spent by Miss Nancy Skamp at Old FieldCottage, the family at Luckenough were assembled in that broad, centralpassage, their favorite resort in warm weather. 

Five years had made very little alteration here, excepting in the caseof Jacquelina, who had grown up to be the most enchanting sprite thatever bewitched the hearts, or turned the heads of men. She was petite, slight, agile, graceful; clustering curls of shining gold encircled around, white forehead, laughing in light; springs under springs of funand frolic sparkled up from the bright, blue eyes, whose flashing lightflew bird-like everywhere, but rested nowhere. She seemed even lesshuman and irresponsible than when a child--verily a being of the air, a fairy, without human thoughtfulness, or sympathy, or affections! Sheonly seemed so--under all that fay-like levity there was a heart. Poorheart! little food or cultivation had it had in all its life. 

For who had been Jacquelina's educators?

First, there was the commodore, with his alternations of blusteringwrath and foolish fondness, giving way to his anger, or indulging hislove, without the slightest regard to the effect produced upon his youngward--too often abusing her for something really admirable in hernature--and full as frequently praising her for something proportionatelyreprehensible in her conduct. 

Next, there was the dark, and solemn, and fanatical Dr. Grimshaw, herdestined bridegroom, who really and truly loved the child to fatuity, and conscientiously did the very best he could for her mental and moralwelfare, according to his light. Alas! "when the light that is in one isdarkness, how great is that darkness!" Jacquelina rewarded his seriousefforts with laughter, and flattered him with the pet names of Hobgoblin, Ghoul, Gnome, Ogre, etc. Yet she did not dislike her solemn suitor--shenever had taken the matter so seriously as that! And he on his part borethe eccentricities of the elf with matchless patience, for he loved her, as I said, to fatuity--doted on her with a passion that increased withripening years, and of late consumed him like a fever. 

And then there was her mother, last named because, whatever she shouldhave been, she really was the least important of Jacquelina's teachers. Fear was the key-note of Mrs. L'Oiseau's character--the key-stone in thearch of her religious faith--she feared everything--the opinion of theworld, the unfaithfulness of friends, changes in the weather, reversesof fortune, pain, sickness, sorrow, want, labor!

Now the time had not yet come for this proposed marriage to shock themerry maiden. She was "ower young to marry yet. "

So thought not the commodore; for a year past, since his niece hadattained the age of fourteen, he had been worrying himself and theelders of the family to have the marriage solemnized, "before the littledevil shall have time to get some other notion into her erratic head, "he said. All were opposed to him, holding over his head the only rod hedreaded, the opinion of the world. 

"What would people say if you were to marry your niece of fourteen to aman of thirty-four?" they urged. 

"But I tell you, young men are beginning to pay attention to her now, and I can't take her to church that some jackanapes don't come caperingaround her, and the minx will get some whim in her head like Edithdid--I know she will! Just see how Edith disappointed me! ungratefulhuzzy! after my bringing her up and educating her, for her to do so!While, if she had married Grim when I wanted her to do it, by this timeI'd have had my grandchil--! I mean nieces and nephews climbing about myknees. But by ----! I won't be frustrated this time!"

And so Jacquelina was kept more secluded than ever. Secluded fromsociety, but not from nature. The forest became her haunt. And a chancetraveler passing through it, and meeting her fay-like form, might wellsuppose he was deceived with the vision of a wood-nymph. 

The effervescent spirits of the elf had to expend themselves in the sameway. As a child she had ever been as remarkable for surprising feats ofagility as for fun, frolic, mischief, and _diablerie_. And every one ofthese traits augmented with her growth. Feats of agility became apassion with her--her airy spirit seemed only to find its full freedomin rapid motion in daring flights, in difficult achievements, and inhair-breadth escapes. Everything that she read of in that way, whichcould possibly be imitated, was attempted. She had her bows and arrows, and by original fitness, as well as by constant practice, she became anexcellent markswoman. She had her well-trained horse, and her vaultingbars, and made nothing of flying over a high fence or a wide ditch. Buther last whim was the most eccentric of all. She had her lance. And, herfavorite pastime was to have a small ring suspended from a crossbeam, and while riding at full speed, with her light lance balanced in herhand, to catch this ring and bear it off upon the point of that lance. In feats of agility alone she excelled, not in those of strength--thatairy, fragile form was well fitted for swiftness and sureness of action, yet not for muscular force. Her uncle and Grim indulged her in all thesefrolics--her uncle in great delight; Grim, under the protest that theywere unworthy of an immortal being with eternity to prepare for. 

In these five past years, Cloudesley had been at sea, and had onlyreturned home once--namely, at the end of the stated three years. He hadbeen received with unbounded joy by his child-friend; had brought herhis outgrown suit of uniform; had spent several months at Luckenough, and renewed his old delightful intimacy with its little heiresspresumptive, and at length had gone to sea again for another threeyears' voyage. And it must be confessed that Jacquelina had found thesecond parting more grievous than the first. And this time Cloudesleyhad fully shared her sorrow. He had been absent a year, when, upon onenight the old mansion, that had withstood the storms of more than twohundred winters, was burned to the ground!

The fire broke out in the kitchen. How, no one knew exactly. 

Be the cause as it may, upon the evening of the fire Jacquelina had goneto her room--she had an apartment to herself now--and feeling for thefirst time in her life some little uneasiness about her uncle's "whim"of wedding her to Grim, she had walked about the floor for some time inmuch disquietude of mind and body; then she went to a wardrobe, and tookout Cloudy's treasured first uniform, and held it up before her. Howsmall it looked now; why, it was scarcely too large for herself! And howmuch Cloudy had outgrown it! It had fitted him nicely at sixteen, now hewas twenty-one, and in two years more he would be home again! Smiling toherself, and tossing her charming head, as at some invisible foe, shesaid:

"Yes, indeed. I should so like to see them marry me to that ogre Grim!"

She pressed the cloth up to her face, and put it away, and, stillsmiling to herself, retired to rest, to dream of her dear playmate. 

She dreamed of being in his ship on the open sea, the scene idealized tosupernatural beauty and sublimity, as all such scenes are in dreams; andthen she thought the ship took fire, and she saw, and heard, and feltthe great panic and horror that ensued. 

She woke in a terrible fright. A part of her dream was true! Herchamber was filled with smoke, and the house was chaotic with noiseand confusion, and resounded with cries of "Fire! Fire!" everywhere. What happened next passed with the swiftness of lightning. She jumpedout of bed, seized a woolen shawl, and wrapped it around her head, andeven in that imminent danger not forgetting her most cherishedtreasure--Cloudy's suit of uniform--snatched it from the wardrobe andfled out of the room. Her swift and dipping motion that had gained herthe name of "Lapwing" now served her well. Shooting her bright headforward and downward, she fled through all the passages and down all thestairs and out by the great hall, that was all in flames, until shereached the lawn, where the panic-stricken and nearly idiotic householdwere assembled, weeping, moaning and wringing their hands, while theygazed upon the work of destruction before them in impotent despair!

Jacquelina looked all around the group, each figure of which glaredredly in the light of the flames. All were present--all but thecommodore! Where could the commodore be?

Jacquelina ran through the crowd looking for him in all directions. Hewas nowhere visible, though the whole area was lighted up, even to theedge of the forest, every tree and branch and twig and leaf of which wasdistinctly revealed in the strong, red glare. 

"Where is uncle? Oh! where is uncle?" she exclaimed, running wildlyabout, and finally going up to Mrs. Waugh, who stood looking, the statueof consternation. 

Jacquelina shook her by the arm. 

"Aunty! aunty! Where is uncle? Are you bewitched? Where is uncle?"

"Where? Here, somewhere. I saw him run out before me. "

"No, you didn't! You mistook somebody else for him. Oh, my Lord! he isin the burning house! he is in the house!"

"Oh, he is in the house! he is in the house!" echoed Henrietta, nowroused from her panic, and wringing her hands in the most acutedistress. "Oh! will nobody save him! will nobody save him!"

It was too late! Commodore Waugh was in the burning mansion, in hisbedchamber, near the top of the house, fast asleep!

"Good heaven! will no one attempt to save him?" screamed Henrietta, running wildly from one to the other. 

They all gazed on each other, and then in consternation upon the burningbuilding, every window of which was belching flame, while the sound ofsome falling rafter, or the explosion of some combustible substance, wascontinually heard! To venture into that blazing house, with its sinkingroof and falling rafters, seemed certain death. 

"Oh! my God! my God! will none even try to save him?" cried Henrietta, wringing her hands in extreme anguish. 

Suddenly:

"Pray for me, aunty!" exclaimed Jacquelina, and she darted like a birdtoward the house, into the passage, and seemed lost in the smoke andflame!

Wrapping her woolen shawl closely about her, and keeping near the floor, she glided swiftly up the stairs, flight after flight, and through thesuffocating passages, until she reached her uncle's door. It was open, and his room was clearer of smoke than any other, from the wind blowingthrough the open window. 

There he lay in a deep sleep! She sprang to the bedside, seized andshook the arm of the sleeper. 

"Uncle! uncle! wake, for God's sake, wake! the house is on fire!"

"Hum-m-m-e!" muttered the old man, giving a great heave and plunge, andturning over into a heavier sleep than before. 

"Uncle! uncle! You will be burned to death if you don't wake up!" criedJacquelina, shaking him violently. 

"Humph! Yes, Jacquelina! um--um--um--Grim! um--um--Luckenough!"muttered the dreamer, flinging about his great arms. 

"Luckenough is in flames! Uncle! wake! wake!" she cried, shaking himfrantically. 

"Ah! ha! yes! d--d little rascal is at her tricks again!" he said, laughing in his sleep. 

At that moment there was the sound of a falling rafter in the adjoiningroom. Every instant was worth a life, and there he lay in a sodden, hopeless sleep. 

Suddenly Sans Souci ran to the ewer; it was empty. There was no time tobe lost! every second was invaluable! He must be instantly roused, andJacquelina was not fastidious as to the means in doing so!

Leaping upon the bolster behind his great, stupid head, she reachedover, and, seizing the mass of his gray, grizzly beard, she pulled upthe wrong way with all her might, until, roaring with pain, he startedup in a fury, and, seeing her, exclaimed:

"Oh! you abominable little vixen! is that you: Do you dare! Are youfrantic, then? Oh, you outrageous little dare-devil! Won't I send you toa mad-house, and have you put in a strait-jacket, till you know how tobehave yourself! You infernal little wretch, you!"

A sudden thought struck Sans Souci to move him by his affection forherself. 

"Uncle, look around you! The house is burning! if you do not rouseyourself and save your poor little 'wretch, ' she must perish in theflames!"

This effectually brought him to his senses; he understood everything! heleaped from his bed, seized a blanket, enveloped her in it, raised herin his arms, and, forgetting gout, lameness, leg and all, bore her downthe creaking, heated stairs, flight after flight, and through theburning passages out of the house in safety. 

A shout of joy greeted the commodore as he appeared with Jacquelina inthe yard. 

But heeding nothing but the burden he bore in his arms, the old sailorstrode on until he reached a convenient spot, where he threw the blanketoff her face to give her air. 

She had fainted--the terror and excitement had been too great--thereaction was too powerful--it had overwhelmed her, and she lay insensibleacross his arms, her fair head hanging back, her white garments streamingin the air, her golden locks floating, her witching eyes closed, and herblue lips apart and rigid on her glistening teeth--so she lay like deadCordelia in the arms of old Lear. 

Henrietta and Mrs. L'Oiseau, followed by all the household, crowdedaround them with water, the only restorative at hand. 

At length she recovered and looked up, a little bewildered, but soonmemory and understanding returned and, gazing at her uncle, she suddenlythrew her arms around his neck and burst into tears. 

She was then carried away into one of the best negro quarters and laidupon a bed, and attended by her mother and her maid Maria. 

The commodore, with his wife, found shelter in another quarter. And thefew remaining members of the household were accommodated in a similarmanner elsewhere. 

It was near noon before they were all ready to set forth from the sceneof disaster, and it was the middle of the afternoon when they foundthemselves temporarily settled at the little hotel at Benedict in thevery apartments formerly occupied by Edith and Marian. 

Here Jacquelina suffered a long and severe spell of illness, duringwhich her bright hair was cut off. 

And here beautiful Marian came, with her gift of tender nursing, anddevoted herself day and night to the service of the young invalid. Andall the leisure time she found while sitting by the sick bed she busilyemployed in making up clothing for the almost denuded family. And neverhad the dear girl's nimble fingers flown so fast or so willingly. 

Every day the commodore, accompanied by Dr. Grimshaw, rode over toLuckenough to superintend the labors of the workmen in pulling down andclearing away the ruins of the old mansion and preparing the site for anew building. 

Six weeks passed and brought the first of August, before Jacquelina wasable to sit up, and then the physicians recommended change of air andthe waters of Bentley Springs for the re-establishment of her health. 

During her illness, Jacquelina had become passionately attached toMarian, as all persons did who came under the daily influence of thebeautiful girl. Dr. Grimshaw was to accompany the family to Bentley. Jacquelina insisted that Marian should be asked to make one of theparty. Accordingly, the commodore and Mrs. Waugh, nothing loth, invitedand pressed the kind maiden to go with them. But Marian declined thejourney, and Commodore Waugh, with his wife, his niece and his Grim setout in the family carriage for Bentley Springs. Jacquelina rapidlyregained health and rushed again to her mad breaks. After a stormy scenewith the commodore, the latter vowed she should either marry Dr. Grimshaw or be sent to a nunnery. To the convent of St. Serena she went, but within a week she was home in disgrace. 

CHAPTER IX. 

CLIPPING A BIRD'S WINGS. 

The clouds were fast gathering over poor San Souci's heavens. 

The commodore had quite recovered for the time being, and he began tourge the marriage of his niece with his favorite. Dr. Grimshaw'simportunities were also becoming very tiresome. They were no longer ajest. She could no longer divert herself with them. She felt them as areal persecution, and expressed herself accordingly. To Grim she said:

"Once I used to laugh at you. But now I do hate you more than anythingin the universe! And I wish--I do wish that you were in heaven! for I dodetest the very sight of you--there!"

And to the commodore's furious threats she would answer:

"Uncle, the time has passed by centuries ago for forcing girls intowedlock, thanks be to Christianity and civilization. You can't force meto have Grim, and you had as well give up the wicked purpose, " or wordsto that effect. 

One day when she had said something of the sort, the commodore answered, cruelly:

"Very well, miss! I force no one, please to understand! But I afford myprotection and support only upon certain conditions, and withdraw themwhen those conditions are not fulfilled! Neither you nor your mother hadany legal claim upon me. I was not in any way bound to feed and clotheand house you for so many years. I did it with the tacit understandingthat you were to marry to please me, and all your life you haveunderstood, as well as any of us, that you were to wed Dr. Grimshaw. "

"If such an understanding existed, it was without my consent, and wasoriginated in my infancy, and I do not feel and I will not be in theleast degree bound by it! For the expense of my support and education, uncle! I am truly sorry that you risked it upon the hazardous chance ofmy liking or disliking the man of your choice! But as I had no hand inyour venture, I do not feel the least responsible for your losses. Yoursis the fate of a gambler in human hearts who has staked and lost--thatis the worst!"

"And by all the fiends in fire, Minion! you shall find that it isnot the worst. I know how to make you knuckle under, and I shall doit!" exclaimed the commodore in a rage, as he rose up and strode offtoward the room occupied by Mary L'Oiseau. Without the ceremony ofknocking, he burst the door open with one blow of his foot, and enteredwhere the poor, feverish, frightened creature was lying down to take anap. Throwing himself into a chair by her bedside, he commenced afurious attack upon the trembling invalid. He recounted, with muchexaggeration, the scene that had just transpired between himself andJacquelina--repeated with additions her undutiful words, bitterlyreproached Mary for encouraging and fostering that rebellious andrefractory temper in her daughter, warned her to bring the headstronggirl to a sense of her position and duty, or to prepare to leave hisroof; for he swore he "wouldn't be hectored over and trodden down by hernor her daughter any longer!" And so having overwhelmed the timid, nervous woman with undeserved reproaches and threats, he arose and leftthe room. 

And can any one be surprised that her illness was increased, and herfever arose and her senses wandered all night? When her mother was ill, Jacquelina could not sleep. Now she sat by her bedside sponging her hothands and keeping ice to her head and giving drink to slake her burningthirst and listening, alas! to her sad and rambling talk about theirbeing turned adrift in the world to starve to death, or to perish in thesnow--calling on her daughter to save them both by yielding to heruncle's will! And Jacquelina heard and understood, and wept andsighed--a new experience to the poor girl, who was

"Not used to tears at nightInstead of slumber!"

All through the night she nursed her with unremitting care. And in themorning, when the fever waned, and the patient was wakeful, thoughexhausted, she left her only to bring the refreshing cup of tea andplate of toast prepared by her own hands. 

But when she brought it to the bedside the pale invalid waved it away. She felt as if she could not eat. Fear had clutched her throat and wouldnot relax its hold. 

"I want to talk to you, Jacquelina, " she said. 

"Eat and drink first, Mimmy, and then you and I will have such anothergood talk!" said Jacquelina, coaxingly. 

"I can't! Oh! I can't swallow a mouthful, I am choking now!"

"Oh! that is nothing but the hysterics, Mimmy! 'high strikes, ' as Jennycalls them! I feel like I should have them myself sometimes! Come! cheerup, Mimmy! Your fever is off and your head is cool! Come, take thisconsoling cup of tea and bit of toast, and you will feel so muchstronger and cheerfuler. "

"Tea! Oh! everything I eat and drink in this unhappy house isbitter--the bitter cup and bitter bread of dependence!"

"Put more sugar into it, then, Mimmy, and sweeten it! Come! Things arenot yet desperate! Cheer up!"

"What do you mean, my love? Have you consented to be married to Dr. Grimshaw?"

"No! St. Mary! Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Jacquelina, shuddering for thefirst time. 

"Now, why 'heaven forbid?' Oh! my child, why are you so perverse? Whywon't you take him, since your uncle has set his heart upon the match?"

"Oh, mother!"

"I know you are very young to be married--too young! far too young! Onlysixteen, gracious heaven! But then you know we have no alternative butthat, or starvation; and it is not as if you were to be married to ayouth of your own age--this gentleman is of grave years and character, which makes a great difference. "

"I should think it did. "

"What makes you shiver and shake so, my dear? Are you cold or nervous?Poor child, you got no sleep last night. Do you drink that cup of tea, my dear. You need it more than I do. "

"No, no. "

"Why, what is the matter with my fairy?"

"Oh, mother, mother, don't take sides against me! don't! or you willdrive me to my ruin. Who will take a child's part, if her mother don't?I love you best of all the world, mother. Do not takes sides against me!take my part! help me to be true! to be true!"

"True to whom, Jacquelina? What are you talking about?"

"True to this heart--to this heart, mother! to all that is honest andgood in my nature. "

"I don't understand you at all. "

"Oh, mother, the thought of marrying anybody is unwelcome to me now; andthe idea of being married to Grim is abhorrent; is like that of beingsold to a master that I hate, or sent to prison for life; it is full ofterror and despair. Oh! oh!--"

"Don't talk so wildly, Jacquelina, you make me ill. "

"Do I, Mimmy? Oh, I didn't mean to worry you. Bear up, Mimmy; do try tobear up; don't fear; suppose he does turn me out. I am but a littlegirl, and food and clothing are cheap enough in the country, and any ofour neighbors will take me in just for the fun I'll make them. La! yes, that they will, just as gladly as they will let in the sunshine. "

"Oh, child, how little you know of the world. Yes, for a day or two, ora week or two, scarcely longer. And even if you could find a home, whowould give shelter to your poor, sick mother for the rest of her life?"

"Mother! uncle would never deny you shelter upon my account!" exclaimedJacquelina, growing very pale. 

"Indeed he will, my child; he has; he came in here last night and warnedme to pack up and leave the house. "

"He will not dare--even he, so to outrage humanity and public opinionand everything he ought to respect. "

"My child, he will. He has set his heart upon making Nace Grimshaw hissuccessor at Luckenough, that if you disappoint him in this darlingpurpose, there will be no limit to his rage and his revenge. And he willnot only send us from his roof, but he will seek to justify himself andfurther ruin us by blackening our names. Your wildness and eccentricitywill be turned against us and so distorted and misrepresented as to ruinus forever. "

"Mother! mother! he is not so wicked as that. "

"He is furious in his temper and violent in his impulses--he will do allthat under the influence of disappointment and passion, however he mayafterwards repent his injustice. You must not disappoint him, Jacquelina. "

"I disappoint him? Why, Mimmy, Luckenough does not belong to me. And ifhe wants Grim to be his successor, why, as I have heard aunty ask him, does he not make him his heir?"

"There are reasons, I suspect, my dear, why he cannot do so. I think heholds the property by such a tenure, that he cannot alienate it from thefamily. And the only manner in which he can bestow it upon Dr. Grimshaw, will be through his wife, if the doctor should marry some relative. "

"That is it, hey? Well! I will not be made a sumpter-mule to carry thisrich gift over to Dr. Grimshaw--even if there is no other way ofconveyance. Mother! what is the reason the professor is such a favoritewith uncle?"

"My dear, I don't know, but I have often had my suspicions. "

"Of what, Mimmy?"

"Of a very near, though unacknowledged relationship; don't question meany further upon that particular point, my dear, for I really knownothing whatever about it. Oh, dear. " And the invalid groaned and turnedover. 

"Mother, you are very weak; mother, please to take some tea; let me goget you some hot. "

"Tell me, Jacquelina; will you do as the old man wishes you?"

"I will tell you after you take some refreshments, " said Jacquelina. 

"Well! go bring me some. "

The girl went and brought more hot tea and toast, and waited until hermother had drunk the former and partaken of a morsel of the latter. When, in answer to the eager, inquiring look, she said:

"Mother, if I alone were concerned, I would leave this house thismoment, though I should never have another roof over my head. But foryour sake, mother, I will still fight the battle. I will try to turnuncle from his purpose. I will try to awaken Grim's generosity, if hehas any, and get him to withdraw his suit. I will get aunty to use herinfluence with both of them, and see what can be done. But as formarrying Dr. Grimshaw, mother--I know what I am saying--I would ratherdie!"

"And see me die, my child?"

"Oh, mother! it will not be so bad as that. "

"Jacquelina, it will. Do you know what is the meaning of these afternoonfevers and night sweats and this cough?"

"I know it means that you are very much out of health, Mimmy, but I hopeyou will be well in the spring. "

"Jacquelina, it means death. "

"Oh, no! No, no! No, no! Not so! There's Miss Nancy Skamp has had acough every winter ever since I knew her, and she's not dead nor likelyto die, and you will be well in the spring, " said the girl, changingcolor; and faltering in spite of herself. 

"I shall never see another spring, my child--"

"Oh, mother! don't! don't say so. You--"

"Hear me out, my dear; I shall never live to see another spring unless Ican have a quiet life with peace of mind. These symptoms, my child, meandeath, sooner or later. My life may be protracted for many years, if Ican live in peace and comfort; but if I must suffer privation, want andanxiety, I cannot survive many months, Jacquelina. "

The poor girl was deadly pale; she started up and walked the floor in adistracted manner, crying:

"What shall I do! Oh! what shall I do?"

"It is very plain what you shall do, my child. You must marry Dr. Grimshaw. Come, my dear, be reasonable. If I did not think it best foryour happiness and prosperity, I would not urge it. "

"Mimmy, don't talk any longer, dear!" Jacquelina interrupted. "There's abright spot on your cheek now, and your fever will rise again, even thismorning. I will see what can be done to bring everybody to reason! Iwill not believe but that if I remain firm and faithful to my heart'sintegrity there will be some way of escape made between these twoalternatives. "

But could Sans Souci do this? Had the frolicsome fairy sufficientintegral strength and self-balance to resist the powerful influencesgathering around her?

CHAPTER X. 

A GRIM MARRIAGE. 

As the decisive day approached, Jacquelina certainly acted like onedistraught--now in wild defiance, now in paleness and tears, and anon infitful mirth, or taunting threats. She rapidly lost flesh and color, andin hysterical laughter accounted for it by saying that she believed inher soul Grim was a spiritual vampire, who preyed upon her life! Sheavoided him as much as she could. And if sometimes, when she was aboutto escape from him, he would seize her wrist and detain her, she wouldsuddenly lose her breath and turn so pale that in the fear of herfainting, he would release her. So he got no opportunity to press hisclaims. 

One morning, however--it was about a week before Christmas--shevoluntarily sought his presence. She entered the parlor where he satalone. Excitement had flushed her cheeks with a vivid crimson andlighted her eyes with sparkling fire--she did not know that her beautywas enhanced a thousand fold--she did not know that never in her lifehad her presence kindled such a flame in the heart of her lover as itdid at that moment. And if he restrained himself from going to meet her, it was the dread lest she should fade away from him as he had seen herdo so often. But she advanced and stood before him. 

"Dr. Grimshaw!" she said, "I have come to make a last appeal to you! Ihave come to beg, to supplicate you, for my sake, for honor, for truthand for mercy's sake, yes! for heaven's sake, to withdraw yourpretensions to my poor hand. For, sir, I do not and cannot like you! Ido not say but that you are far too good and wise, and every way tooworthy for such a girl as I am--and that you do me the very greatesthonor by your preference, but still no one can account for tastes--and, sir, I cannot like you--pray, pardon me! indeed, I cannot help it. "

Although her words were so humble, her color was still heightened, andher eyes had a threatening, defiant sparkle in them, so contradictory, so piquant and fascinating in contrast with the little, fragile, graceful, helpless form, that his head was almost turned. It was withdifficulty he could keep from snatching the fluttering, half-defiant, half-frightened, bird-like creature to his bosom. But he contentedhimself with saying:

"My fairy! we are commanded to love those that hate us; and should youhate me more than ever, I should only continue to love you!"

"Love me at a distance, then! and the greater the distance, the moregrateful I shall be!"

He could no longer quite restrain himself. He seized her hand and drewher towards him, exclaiming in an eager, breathless, half-whisper:

"No! closer and closer shall my love draw us, beautiful one! until itcompasses your hate and unites us forever!"

With a half-suppressed cry she wrung her hand from his grasp andanswered, wildly:

"I sought your presence to entreat you--and to warn you! I havesupplicated you, and you have turned a deaf ear to my prayer! Now I warnyou! and disregard my warning, if you dare! despise it at your peril! Iam going out of my wits, I think! I warn you that I may consent tobecome your wife! I have no persevering resistance in my nature. Icannot hold out forever against those I love. But I warn you, that ifever I consent, it will be under the undue influence of others!"

"Put your consent upon any ground you please, you delightful, youenchanting little creature. We will spare your blushes, charming as theyare!" he exclaimed, surprised out of self-control and seizing both herhands. 

Angrily she snatched them from him. 

"What have I said? Oh! what have I said? I believe I am going crazy! Itell you, Dr. Grimshaw, that if I ever yield, it will be only to theoverwhelming force brought to bear upon me; and even then it will beonly during a temporary fit of insanity! And I warn you--I warn you notto dare to take me at my word!"

"Will I not? You bewitching little sprite! do you do this to make melove you ten thousand times more than I do?"

Passionately she broke forth in reply:

"You do not believe me! You do not see that I am in terrible earnest! Itell you, Dr. Grimshaw, that were I induced to consent to be your wife, you had better not take advantage of such a consent! It would be themost fatal day's work you ever did for yourself in this world! You thinkI'm only a spoiled, petulant child! You do not know me! I do not knowmyself! I am full of evil! I feel it sensibly, when I am near you! Youdevelop the worst of me! Should you marry me, the very demon would risein my bosom! I should drive you to distraction!"

"You drive me to distraction now, you intoxicating little witch!" heexclaimed, laughing and darting towards her. 

She started and escaped his hand, crying:

"Saints in heaven! What infatuation! What madness! It must be fate!Avert the fate, man! Avert it! while there is yet time! Go get amill-stone and tie it around your neck and cast yourself into theuttermost depths of the sea before ever you dare to marry me!" Hercheeks were blazing with color and her eyes with light! He saw only hertranscendant beauty. 

"Why, you little tragi-comic enchantress, you!--what do you mean? Cometo my arms! Come, wild, bright bird! come to my bosom!" he said, stepping towards her and throwing his arms around her. 

"Vampire!" she exclaimed, struggling to free herself for a moment; andthen as his lips sought hers the color faded from her face and the lightdied in her eyes, and he hastily released her and set her in a chairlest she should swoon in his hated arms. 

"Now, how am I expected to live with such a wife as this girl would makeme? If it were not for the estate I should be tempted to give her up, and travel to forget her! How shall I overcome her repugnance? Not bycourting her; that's demonstrated. Only by being kind to her, andletting her alone. " Such was the tenor of his thoughts as he stood alittle behind her chair out of her sight. 

But Jacquelina, when she found herself free, soon recovered, and aroseand left the room. 

Until a day or two before Christmas, when, in the evening, she glided into her uncle's room and sunk down by his side--so unlike herself; solike a spirit--that the old sinner impulsively shrank away from her, andput out his hand to ring for lights. 

"No; don't send for candles, uncle! Such a wretch as I am should tellher errand in the dark. "

"What do you mean now, minx?"

"Uncle, in all your voyages around the world did you ever stop atConstantinople? And did you ever visit a slave mart there?"

"Yes; of course I have! What then? What the deuce are you dreaming of?"

"How much would such a girl as myself bring in the slave market of theSultan's city?"

"Are you crazy?" asked the commodore, opening his eyes to their widestextent. 

"I don't know. If I am, it can make little difference in your plans. Butas there is method in my madness, please to answer my question. How muchwould I sell for in Constantinople?"

"You are mad; that's certain! How do I know--where beauties sell forfrom five hundred to many thousand zechins. But you wouldn't sell formuch; you're too small and too thin. "

"Beauty sells by the weight, does it? Well, uncle, I see that youhave been accustomed to the mart, for you know how to cheapen themerchandise! Save yourself the trouble, uncle! I shall not live long, and therefore I shall not have the conscience to ask a high price formyself!"

"Mad! Mad as a March hare! As sure as shooting she is!" said thecommodore in dismay, staring at her until his great, fat eyes seemedbursting from their sockets. 

"Not so mad as you think, uncle, either. I have come to make a bargainwith you. "

"What the foul fiend do you mean now? Do you want me to send you toConstantinople, pray?"

Jacquelina laughed, something like her old silvery laugh, as sheanswered:

"No, uncle; though if it were not for Mimmy, I really should prefer itto marrying Grim!"

"What do you mean, then? Speak!"

"This, then, uncle: By what I have heard, and what I have seen, and whatI have surmised, I am already as deep in your secrets respecting Grim asyou are yourself. "

"You speak falsely, you little ----! No one knows anything about it butmyself!" exclaimed the commodore, betraying himself through astonishmentand indignation. 

Without heeding the contradiction, except by a sly smile, Jacquelinawent calmly on:

"And I know that you wish to make me a stalking-horse, to convey theestate to Grimshaw, only because you cannot give it to him in any otherway but through his wife. "

"What do you mean, you little diabolical ----! It is my own--why can Inot give it to whom I please, I should like to know?"

"You can give it to any one in the world, uncle, except Dr. Grimshaw, orto one who bears the same relationship to you that he does; for to sucha one you may not legally bequeath your landed estate, or--"

"You shocking, impudent little vixen! How dare you talk so?"

"Hear me out, uncle. I say, knowing such to be the case, I also know myown importance as a 'stalking-horse, ' or sumpter-mule, or something ofthe sort, to bear upon my own shoulders the burden of this estate, whichyou wish to give by me to Dr. Grimshaw. Therefore, I shall not givemyself away for nothing. I intend to sell myself for a price! Nothing onearth would induce me to consent to marry Dr. Grimshaw, were it not tosecure peace and comfort to my mother's latter days. Your threat ofturning me out of doors would not compel me into such a marriage, forwell I know that you would not venture to put that threat intoexecution. But I cannot bear to see my poor mother suffer so much as shedoes while here, dependent upon your uncertain protection. You terrifyand distress her beyond her powers of endurance. You make the bread ofdependence very, very bitter to her, indeed! And well I know that shewill certainly die if she remains subjected to your powers oftormenting. I speak plainly to you, uncle, having nothing to conceal;to proceed, I assure you I will not meet your views in marrying Dr. Grimshaw, unless it be to purchase for my poor mother a deliverance frombondage, and an independence for life. Therefore, I demand that youshall buy this place, 'Locust Hill, ' which I hear can be bought for fivethousand dollars, and settle it upon my mother; in return for which Iwill bestow my hand in marriage upon Dr. Grimshaw. And, mind, I do notpromise with it either love, or esteem, or service--only my hand incivil marriage, and the estate it has the power of carrying with it! Andthe documents that shall make my mother independent of the world must bedrawn up or examined by a lawyer that she shall appoint, and must beplaced in her hands on the same hour that gives my hand to Dr. Grimshaw. Do you understand? Now, uncle, that is my ultimatum! For, please theheavens above us! come what may! do what you will! turn me and my motherout of doors, to freeze and starve--I will die, and see her die, beforeI will sell my hand for a less price than will make her independent andat ease for life! For, look you, I would rather see her dead, than leaveher in your power! Think of this, uncle! There is time enough to-morrowand next day to make all the arrangements; only be sure I am in earnest!Look in my face! Am I not in earnest?"

"I think you are, you little wretch! I could shake the life out of you!"

"That would be easy, uncle! There is not much to shake out. Only, inthat case, you would have no stalking-horse to take the estate over toDr. Grimshaw. " And so saying, Jacquelina arose to leave the room. 

"Come back here--you little vixen, you!"

Sans Souci returned. 

"It's well to 'strike while the iron's hot, ' and to bind you whileyou're willing to be bound, for you are an uncertain little villain. Though I don't believe you'd break a solemn pledge once given--hey?"

"No, sir!"

"Pledge me your word of honor, now, that if I buy this little farm ofLocust Hill, and settle it upon your mother, you will marry Dr. Grimshawon this coming Christmas Eve?"

"I pledge you my word of honor that I will"

"Without mental reservation?"

"Without mental reservation!"

"Stop! it is safer to seal such a pledge! Climb up on the stand, andhand me that Bible down off the top shelf. Brush the cobwebs off it, anddon't let the spiders come with it. "

Jacquelina did as she was bid, with a half indifferent, half disdainfulair. 

"There! Now lay your hand upon this book, and swear by the HolyEvangelists of Almighty God that you will do as you have pledgedyourself to do. "

"I swear, " said Jacquelina. 

"Very well! Now, confound you! you may put the book back again, and goabout your business. "

Sans Souci very willingly complied. And then, as she left the room andclosed the door after her, her quick ear caught the sound of thecommodore's voice, chuckling:

"So! I've trapped you! Ten minutes more, and it would have beenimpossible. "

Full of wonder as to what his words might mean, doubting also whethershe had heard them aright, Jacquelina was hastening on toward hermother's room, when she met her Aunt Henrietta hurrying toward her, andspeaking impetuously. 

"Oh, my little Lapwing! where have you been? I have been looking for youall over the house! Good news, dear Lapwing! Good news! Deliverance isat hand for you! Who do you think has come?"

"Who? Who?" questioned Sans Souci, eagerly. 

"Cloudy!"

"Lost! lost!" cried the wretched girl; and, with a wild shriek that rangthrough all the house, she threw up her arms and fell forward to theground. 

The marriage was appointed to take place Christmas Day. Jacquelinasuffered her mother to dress her in bridal array. Dr. Grimshaw waswaiting for her in the hall. 

As soon as she reached the foot of the stairs, he took her hand; and, pressing it, whispered:

"Sweet girl, forgive me this persistence!"

"May God never forgive me if I do!" she fiercely exclaimed, transfixinghim with a flashing glance. 

Never lover uttered a deeper sigh than that which Dr. Grimshaw gaveforth as he led his unwilling bride to the carriage. The groomsmanfollowed with the bridesmaid. The commodore and Mary L'Oiseauaccompanied the party in a gig. Henrietta, true to her word, refused tobe present at the marriage. 

When the wedding party arrived at the chapel, all the pews were filledto suffocation with the crowd that the rumor of the approaching marriagehad drawn together. And the bridal party were the cynosure of manyhundred eyes as they passed up the aisle and stood before the altar. 

The ceremony proceeded. But not one response, either verbally ormentally, did Jacquelina make. The priest passed over her silence, naturally ascribing it to bashfulness, and honestly taking her consentfor granted. 

The rites were finished, the benediction bestowed, and friends andacquaintances left their pews, and crowded around with congratulations. 

Among the foremost was Thurston Willcoxen, whose suave and statelycourtesy, and graceful bearing, and gracious words, so pleased CommodoreWaugh that, knowing Jacquelina to be married and safe, he invited andurged the accomplished young "Parisian, " as he was often called, toreturn and partake of the Christmas wedding breakfast. 

"Nace, do you take your bride home in the gig, as you will want hercompany to yourself, and we will go in the carriage, " said thecommodore, good-naturedly. In fact, the old man had not been in sucha fine humor for many a day. 

Dr. Grimshaw, "nothing loth, " led his fair bride to the gig, handed herin, and took the place beside her. 

"Now, then, fairest and dearest, you are at last, indeed, my own!" hesaid, seeking her eyes. 

"Thank Heaven, I am not! I never foreswore myself. I never opened mylips, or formed a vow in my head. I never promised you anything, " saidJacquelina, turning away; and the rest of the journey was made insilence. 

CHAPTER XI. 

DELL-DELIGHT

It should have been an enchanting home to which Thurston Willcoxenreturned after his long sojourn in Europe. The place, Dell-Delight, might once have deserved its euphonious and charming name; now, however, its delightfulness was as purely traditional as the royal lineageclaimed by its owners. 

Mr. Willcoxen was one of those whose god is Mammon. He had inheritedmoney, married a half-sister of Commodore Waugh for money, and mademoney. Year by year, from youth to age, adding thousands to thousands, acres to acres; until now, at the age of ninety-five, he was the masterof incalculable riches. 

He had outlived his wife and their three children; and his nearest ofkin were Thurston Willcoxen, the son of his eldest son; CloudesleyMornington, the son of his eldest daughter, and poor Fanny Laurie, thechild of his youngest daughter. 

Thurston and Fanny had each inherited a small property independent oftheir grandfather. 

But poor Cloudy had been left an orphan in the worst sense of theword--destitute and dependent on the "cold charity of the world, "or the colder and bitterer alms of unloving rich relatives. 

The oldest and nearest kinsman and natural guardian of the boys--old Mr. Willcoxen--had, of course, received them into his house to be reared andeducated; but no education would he afford the lads beyond thatdispensed by the village schoolmaster, who could very well teach themthat ten dimes make a dollar, and ten dollars an eagle; and who couldalso instruct them how to write their own names--for instance, at thefoot of receipts of so many hundred dollars for so many hogsheads oftobacco; or to read other men's signatures, to wit, upon the backs ofnotes of hand, payable at such a time, or on such a day. This was justknowledge enough, he said, to teach the boys how to make and save money, yet not enough to tempt them to spend it foolishly in travel, libraries, pictures, statues, arbors, fountains, and such costly trumpery andexpensive tomfoolery. 

To Thurston, who was his favorite, probably because he bore the familyname and inherited some independent property, Mr. Willcoxen would, however, have afforded a more liberal and gentlemanly education, couldhe have done so and at the same time decently withheld from going tosome expense in giving his penniless grandson, Cloudy, the sameprivilege. As it was, he sought to veil his parsimony by conservativeprinciple. 

It was a great humiliation to the boys to see that, while all the youthsof their own rank and neighborhood were entered pensioners at the localcollege, they two alone were taken from the little day-school to be putto agricultural labor--a thing unprecedented in that locality at thattime. 

When this matter was brought to the knowledge of Commodore Waugh, as hestrode up and down his hall, the indignant old sailor thumped his heavystick upon the ground, thrust forward his great head, and sworefuriously by the whole Pandemonial Hierarchy that his grandnephewsshould not be brought up like clodhoppers. 

And straightway he ordered his carriage, threw himself into it, and rodeover to Charlotte Hall, where he entered the name of his two youngrelatives as pensioners at his own proper cost. 

This done, he ordered his coachman to take the road to Dell-Delight, where he had an interview with Mr. Willcoxen. 

And as he met little opposition from the old man, who seemed to thinkthat it was no more than fair that the boys' uncle should share theexpense of educating them, he sought out the youths, whom he found inthe field, and bade them leave the plough, and go and prepare themselvesto go to C---- and get educated, as befitted the grandnephews of agentleman!

The lads were at that time far too simple-minded and too clannish tofeel their pride piqued at this offer, or to take offense at the rudemanner in which it was made. Commodore Waugh was their grand-uncle, andtherefore had a right to educate them, and to be short with them, too, if he pleased. That was the way in which they both looked at the matter. And very much delighted and very grateful they were for the opening foreducation thus made for them. 

And very zealously they entered upon their academical studies. Theyboarded at the college and roomed together. But their vacations werespent apart, Thurston spending his at Dell-Delight, and Cloudy his atLuckenough. 

When the academical course was completed, Commodore Waugh, as has beenseen, was at some pains to give Cloudy a fair start in life, and for thefirst time condescended to use his influence with "the Department" toprocure a favor in the shape of a midshipman's warrant for CloudesleyMornington. 

In the meantime old Mr. Willcoxen was very gradually sinking into theimbecility natural to his advanced age; and his fascinating grandson wasgaining some ascendancy over his mind. Year by year this influenceincreased, though it must be admitted that Thurston's conquest over hisgrandfather's whims was as slow as that of the Hollanders in winning theland from the sea. 

However, the old man--now that Cloudy was provided for and off hishands--lent a more willing ear to the petition of Thurston to bepermitted to continue his education by a course of studies at a Germanuniversity, and afterward by a tour of the Eastern continent. 

Thurston's absence was prolonged much beyond the original intention, ashas been related; he spent two years at the university, two in travel, and nearly two in the city of Paris. 

His grandfather would certainly never have consented to this prolongedabsence, had it been at his own cost; but the expenses were met byadvances upon Thurston's own small patrimony. 

And, in fact, when at last the young gentleman returned to his nativecountry, it was because his property was nearly exhausted, and hisremittances were small, few and far between, grudgingly sent, and aboutto be stopped. Therefore nearly penniless, but perfectly free from thesmallest debt or degradation--elegant, accomplished, fastidious, yettruthful, generous, gallant and aspiring--Thurston left the elegantsalons and exciting scenes of Paris for the comparative dullness anddreariness of his native place and his grandfather's house. 

He had reached his legal majority just before leaving Paris, and soonafter his arrival at home he was appointed trustee of poor FannyLaurie's property. 

His first act was to visit Fanny in the distant asylum in which she wasconfined, and ascertain her real condition. And having heard herpronounced incurable, though perfectly harmless, he determined torelease her from the confinement of the asylum, and to bring her hometo her native county, where, among the woods and hills and streams, shemight find at once that freedom, space and solitude so desired by theheart-sick or brain-sick, and where also his own care might avail her. 

Old Mr. Willcoxen, far from offering opposition to this plan, actuallyfavored it--though from the less worthy motive of economy. What was theuse of spending money to pay her board, and nursing, and medicalattendance, in the asylum, when she might be boarded and nursed anddoctored so much cheaper at home? For the old man confidently lookedforward to the time when the poor, fragile, failing creature would sinkinto the grave, and Thurston would become her heir. And he calculatedthat every dollar they could save of her income would be so much addedto the inheritance when Thurston should come into it. 

Very soon after Thurston's return home his grandfather gave him tounderstand the conditions upon which he intended to make him his heir. They were two in number, viz. , first, that Thurston should never leavehim again while he lived; and, secondly, that he should never marrywithout his consent. "For I don't wish to be left alone in my old age, my dear boy; nor do I wish to see you throw yourself away upon any girlwhose fortune is less than the estate I intend to bequeath entire toyourself. "

CHAPTER XII. 

MARIAN, THE INSPIRER. 

It was not fortunate for old Mr. Willcoxen's plans that his grandsonshould have met Marian Mayfield. For, on the morning of Thurston's firstmeeting with the charming girl, when he turned his horse's head from thearched gateway of Old Field Cottage and galloped off, "a haunting shapeand image gay" attended him. 

It was that of beautiful Marian, with her blooming face and sunny hair, and rounded roseate neck and bosom and arms, all softly, delicatelyflushed with the pure glow of rich, luxuriant vitality, as she stood inthe sunlight, under the arch of azure morning-glories, with her gracefularms raised in the act of binding up the vines. 

At first this "image fair" was almost unthought of; he was scarcelyconscious of the haunting presence, or the life and light it graduallydiffused through his whole being. And when the revelation dawned uponhis intellect, he smiled to himself and wondered if, for the first time, he was falling in love; and then he grew grave, and tried to banish thedangerous thought. But when, day after day, amid all the business andthe pleasures of his life, the "shape" still pursued him, instead ofgetting angry with it or growing weary of it, he opened his heart andtook it in, and made it at home, and set it upon a throne, where itreigned supreme, diffusing delight over all his nature. But soon, toosoon, this bosom's sovereign became the despot, and stung, goaded andurged him to see again this living, breathing, glowing, most beautifuloriginal. To seek her? For what? He did not even try to answer thequestion. 

Thus passed one week. 

And then, had he been disposed to forget the beautiful girl, he couldnot have done so. For everywhere where the business of his grandfathertook him--around among the neighboring planters, to the villages ofB---- or of C----, everywhere he heard of Marian, and frequently hesaw her, though at a distance, or under circumstances that made itimpossible for him, without rudeness, to address her. He both saw andheard of her in scenes and society where he could hardly have expectedto find a young girl of her insignificant position. 

Marian was a regular attendant of the Protestant church at Benedict, where, before the morning service, she taught in the Sunday-school, andbefore the afternoon service she received a class of colored children. 

And Thurston, who had been a very careless and desultory attendant, sometimes upon the Catholic chapel, sometimes upon the Protestantchurch, now became a very regular frequenter of the latter place ofworship; the object of his worship being not the Creator, but thecreature, whom, if he missed from her accustomed seat, the singing, andpraying, and preaching for him lost all of its meaning, power andspirituality. In the churchyard he sometimes tried to catch her eye andbow to her; but he was always completely baffled in his aspirationsafter a nearer communion. She was always attended from the church andassisted into her saddle by Judge Provost, Colonel Thornton, or someother "potent, grave and reverend seignors, " who "hedged her about witha divinity" that it was impossible, without rudeness and intrusion, tobreak through. The more he was baffled and perplexed, the more eagerbecame his desire to cultivate her acquaintance. Had his course beenclear to woo her for his wife, it would have been easy to ask permissionof Edith to visit her at her house; but such was not the case, andThurston, tampering with his own integrity of purpose, rather wishedthat this much coveted acquaintance should be incidental, and theirinterviews seem accidental, so that he should not commit himself, or inany way lead her to form expectations which he had no surety of beingable to meet. How long this cool and cautious foresight might avail him, if once he were brought in close companionship with Marian, remains tobe seen. It happened one Sunday afternoon in October that he saw Mariantake leave of her venerable escort, Colonel Thornton, at the churchyardgate, and gayly and alone turn into the forest road that led to her ownhome. He immediately threw himself into his saddle and followed her, with the assumed air of an indifferent gentleman pursuing his own path. He overtook her near one of those gates that frequently intersect theroad. Bowing, he passed her, opened the gate, and held it open for herpassage. Marian smiled, and nodded with a pleasant:

"Good-afternoon, Mr. Willcoxen, " as she went through, Thurston closed the gate and rode on after her. 

"This is glorious weather, Miss Mayfield. "

"Glorious, indeed!" replied Marian. 

"And the country, too, is perfectly beautiful at this season. I nevercould sympathize with the poets who call autumnal days 'the melancholydays--the saddest of the year. '"

"Nor I, " said Marian; "for to me, autumn, with its refulgent skies, andgorgeous woods, and rich harvest, and its prospect of Christmas cheerand wintry repose has ever seemed a gay and festive season. The year'sgreat work is done, the harvest is gathered, enjoyment is present, andrepose at hand. "

"In the world of society, " said Thurston, "it is in the evening, afterthe labor or the business of the day is over, that the gayest scenes offestivity occur, just preceding the repose of sleep. So I receive yourthought of the autumn--the evening of the year, preceding the rest ofwinter. Nature's year's work is done; she puts on her most gorgeousrobes, and holds a festival before she sinks to her winter's sleep. "

Marian smiled brightly upon him. 

"Yes; my meaning, I believe, only more pointedly expressed. "

That smile--that smile! It lightened through all his nature withelectric, life-giving, spirit-realizing power, elevating and inspiringhis whole being. His face, too, was radiant with life as he answered themaiden's smile. 

But something in his eyes caused Marian's glances to fall, and the rosyclouds to roll up over her cheeks and brow. 

Then Thurston governed his countenance--let no ardent or admiringglance escape, and when he spoke again his manner and words were moredeferential. 

"We spoke of the world of nature, Miss Mayfield; but how is it with theworld of man? To many--nay, to most of the human race--autumn is theherald of a season not of festivity and repose, but of continued labor, and increased want and privation and suffering. "

"That is because society is not in harmony with nature; man has wanderedas far from nature as from God, " said Marian. 

"And as much needs a Saviour to lead him back to the one as to theother, " replied Thurston. 

"You know that--you feel it?" asked Marian, turning upon him one of hersoul-thrilling glances. 

Thurston trembled with delicious pleasure through all his frame; but, guarding his eyes, lest again they should frighten off her inspiringglances, he answered, fervently:

"I know and feel it most profoundly. "

And Thurston thought he spoke the very truth, though in sober fact hehad never thought or felt anything about the subject until now thatMarian, his inspirer, poured her life-giving spirit into his soul. 

She spoke again, earnestly, ardently. 

"You know and feel it most profoundly! That deep knowledge and that deepfeeling is the chrism oil that has anointed you a messenger and alaborer in the cause of humanity. 'Called and chosen, ' be thou alsofaithful. There are many inspired, many anointed; but few are faithful!"

"Thou, then, art the high priestess that hast poured the consecrated oilon my head. I will be faithful!"

He spoke with such sudden enthusiasm, such abandon, that it had theeffect of bringing Marian back to the moderation and _retenue_ of herusual manner. He saw it in the changed expression of her countenance;and what light or shade of feeling passed over that beautiful faceunmarked of him? When he spoke again it was composedly. 

"You speak as the preachers and teachers preach and teach--in generalterms. Be explicit; what would you have me to do, Miss Mayfield? Onlyindicate my work, and tell me how to set about the accomplishment of it, and never knight served liege lady as I will serve you!"

Marian smiled. 

"How? Oh, you must make yourself a position from which to influencepeople! I do not know that I can advise you how; but you will find away, as--were I a man, I should!"

"Being a woman, you have done wonders!"

"For a woman, " said Marian, with a glance full of archness andmerriment. 

"No, no; for any one, man or woman! But your method, Marian? I beg yourpardon, Miss Mayfield, " he added, with a blush of ingenuousembarrassment. 

"Nay, now, " said the frank girl; "do call me Marian if that name springsmore readily from your lips than the other. Almost all persons call meMarian, and I like it. "

A rush of pleasure thrilled all through his veins; he gave her words ameaning and a value for himself that they did not certainly possess; heforgot that the grace extended to him was extended to all--nay, that shehad even said as much in the very words that gave it. He answered:

"And if I do, fairest Marian, shall I, too, hear my own Christian namein music from your lips?"

"Oh, I do not know, " said the beautiful girl, laughing and blushing. "Ifit ever comes naturally, perhaps; certainly not now. Why, the venerableColonel Thornton calls me 'Marian, ' but it never comes to me to call him'John!'"

CHAPTER XIII. 

LOVE. 

This was but one of many such meetings, Thurston growing more and moreinfatuated each time, while Marian scarcely tried to hide the pleasurewhich his society gave her. 

One day when riding through the forest he met Marian returning fromthe village and on foot. She was radiant with health and beauty, andblushing and smiling with joy as she met him. A little basket hung uponher arm. To dismount and join her, to take the basket from her arm, andto look in her face and declare in broken exclamations his delight atseeing her, were the words and the work of an instant. 

"And whither away this morning, fairest Marian?" he inquired, whenunrebuked he had pressed her hand to his lips, and drawn it through hisarm. 

"I have been to the village, and am now going home, " said the maiden. 

"It is a long walk through the forest. "

"Yes; but my pony has cast a shoe and lamed himself slightly, and I fearI shall have to dispense with his services for a few days. "

"Thank God!" fervently ejaculated Thurston to himself. 

"But it is beautiful weather, and I enjoy walking, " said the young girl. 

"Marian--dearest Marian, will you let me attend you home? The walk islonely, and it may not be quite safe for a fair woman to take itunattended. "

"I have no fear of interruption, " said Marian. 

"Yet you will not refuse to let me attend you? Do not, Marian!" hepleaded, earnestly, fervently, clasping her hand, and pouring the wholestrength of his soul in the gaze that he fastened on her face. 

"I thank you; but you were riding the other way. "

"It was merely an idle saunter, to help to kill the time between thisand Sunday, dearest girl. Now, rest you, my queen! my queen! upon thismossy rock, as on a throne, while I ride forward and leave my horse. Iwill be with you again in fifteen minutes; in the meantime here issomething for you to look at, " he said, drawing from his pocket anelegant little volume bound in purple and gold, and laying it in herlap. He then smiled, sprang into his saddle, bowed, and galloped away, leaving Marian to examine her book. It was a London copy of Spenser'sFairy Queen, superbly illustrated, one of the rarest books to be foundin the whole country at that day. On the fly-leaf the name of Marian waswritten, in the hand of Thurston. 

Some minutes passed in the pleasing examination of the volume; andMarian was still turning the leaves with unmixed pleasure--pleasure inthe gift, and pleasure in the giver--when Thurston, even before theappointed time, suddenly rejoined her. 

"So absorbed in Spenser that you did not even hear or see me!" said theyoung man, half reproachfully. 

"I was indeed far gone in Fairy Land! Oh, I thank you so much for yourbeautiful present! It is indeed a treasure. I shall prize it greatly, "said Marian, in unfeigned delight. 

"Do you know that Fairy Land is not obsolete, dearest Marian?" he said, fixing his eyes upon her charming face with an ardor and earnestnessthat caused hers to sink. 

"Come, " she said, in a low voice, and rising from the rock; "let usleave this place and go forward. "

They walked on, speaking softly of many things--of the vision ofSpenser, of the beautiful autumnal weather, of anything except the oneinterest that now occupied both hearts. The fear of startling herbashful trust, and banishing those bewitching glances that sometimeslightened on his face, made him cautious, and restrained his eagerness;while excessive consciousness kept her cheeks dyed with blushes, and hernerves vibrating sweet, wild music, like the strings of some aeolianharp when swept by the swift south wind. 

He determined, during the walk, to plead his love, and ascertain hisfate. Ay! but how approach the subject when, at every ardent glance ortone, her face, her heart, shrank and closed up, like the leaves of thesensitive plant. 

So they rambled on, discovering new beauties in nature; now it would bemerely an oak leaf of rare richness of coloring; now some tiny insectwith finished elegance of form; now a piece of the dried branch of atree that Thurston picked up, to bid her note the delicately blendingshades in its gray hue, or the curves and lines of grace in its twistedform--the beauty of its slow return to dust; and now perhaps it wouldbe the mingled colors in the heaps of dried leaves drifted at the footof some great tree. 

And then from the minute loveliness of nature's sweet, small things, their eyes would wander to the great glory of the autumnal sky, or thevariegated array of the gorgeous forest. 

Thurston knew a beautiful glade, not far distant, to the left of theirpath, from which there was a very fine view that he wished to show hiscompanion. And he led Marian thither by a little moss-bordered, descending path. 

It was a natural opening in the forest, from which, down a still, descending vista, between the trees, could be seen the distant bay, andthe open country near it, all glowing under a refulgent sky, and hazywith the golden mist of Indian Summer. Before them the upper branches ofthe nearest trees formed a natural arch above the picture. 

Marian stood and gazed upon the wondrous beauty of the scene with soft, steady eyes, with lips breathlessly severed, in perfect silence andgrowing emotion. 

"This pleases you, " said Thurston. 

She nodded, without removing her gaze. 

"You find it charming?"

She nodded again, and smiled. 

"You were never here before?"

"Never. "

"Marian, you are a lover of nature. "

"I do not know, " she said, softly, "whether it be love, or worship, orboth; but some pictures spell-bind me. I stand amidst a scene like this, enchanted, until my soul has absorbed as much of its beauty and gloryand wisdom as it can absorb. As the Ancient Mariner held with his'glittering eye' the wedding guest, so such a picture holds meenthralled until I have heard the story and learned the lesson it has totell and teach me. Did you ever, in the midst of nature's liberalministrations, feel your spirit absorbing, assimilating, growing? Or isit only a fantastic action of mine that beauty is the food of soul?"

She turned her eloquent eyes full upon him. 

He forgot his prudence, forgot her claims, forgot everything, and caughtand strained her to his bosom, pressing passionate kisses upon her lips, and the next instant he was kneeling at her feet, imploring her toforgive him--to hear him. 

Marian stood with her face bowed and hidden in her hands; but above thetips of her fingers, her forehead, crimsoned, might be seen. One halfher auburn hair had escaped and rippled down in glittering disorder. Andso she stood a few moments. But soon, removing her hands and turningaway, she said, in a troubled tone:

"Rise. Never kneel to any creature; that homage is due the Creatoralone. Oh, rise!"

"First pardon me--first hear me, beloved girl!"

"Oh, rise--rise, I beg you! I cannot bear to see a man on his knee, except in prayer to God!" she said, walking away. 

He sprang up and followed her, took her hand, and, with gentlecompulsion, made her sit down upon a bank; and then he sank beside her, exclaiming eagerly, vehemently, yet in a low, half-smothered tone:

"Marian, I love you! I never spoke these words to woman before, for Inever loved before. Marian, the first moment that I saw you I loved you, without knowing what new life it was that had kindled in my nature. Ihave loved you more and more every day! I love you more than words cantell or heart conceive! I only live in your presence! Marian! not oneword or glance for me? Oh, speak! Turn your dear face toward me, " hesaid, putting his hand gently around her head. "Speak to me, Marian, forI adore--I worship you!"

"I do not deserve to be loved in that way. I do not wish it, for it iswrong--idolatrous, " she said, in a low, trembling voice. 

"Oh! what do you mean? Is the love upon which my life seems to hang sooffensive to you? Say, Marian! Oh! you are compassionate by nature; howcan you keep me in the torture of suspense?"

"I do not keep you so. "

"You will let me love you?"

Marian slipped her hand in his; that was her reply. 

"You will love me?"

For all answer she gently pressed his fingers. He pressed her hand tohis heart, to his lips, covering it with kisses. 

"Yet, oh! speak to me, dearest; let me hear from your lips that you loveme--a little--but better than I deserve. Will you? Say, Marian! Speak, dearest girl!"

"I cannot tell you now, " she said, in a low, thrilling tone. "I amdisturbed; I wish to grow quiet; and I must go home. Let us return. "

One more passionate kiss of the hand he clasped, and then he helped herto her feet, drew her arm within his own, and led her up themoss-covered rocks that formed the natural steps of the ascent that ledto the homeward path. 

They were now near the verge of the forest, which, when they reached, Marian drew her arm from his, and, extending her hand, said:

"This is the place our roads part. "

"But you will let me attend you home?"

"No; it would make the return walk too long. "

"That can be no consideration, I beg you will let me go with you, Marian. "

"No; it would not be convenient to Edith to-day, " said Marian, quicklydrawing her hand from his detaining grasp, waving him adieu, and walkingswiftly away across the meadow. 

Thurston gazed after her, strongly tempted to follow her; yet withaladmitting that it was best that she had declined his escort to thecottage, and thanking Heaven that the opportunity would again beafforded to take an "incidental" stroll with her, as she should walk tochurch on Sunday morning; and so, forming the resolution to haunt theforest-path from seven o'clock that next Sabbath morning until he shouldsee her, Thurston hurried home. 

And how was it with Marian? She hastened to the cottage, laid off herbonnet and shawl, and set herself at work as diligently as usual; but ahigher bloom glowed on her cheek, a softer, brighter light beamed in hereye, a warmer, sweeter smile hovered around her lips, a deeper, richertone thrilled in her voice. 

On Sunday morning the lovers "chanced" to meet again--for so Thurstonwould still have had it appear as he permitted Marian to overtake him inthe forest on her way to the Sunday-school. 

She was blooming and beautiful as the morning itself as she approached. He turned with a radiant smile to greet her. 

"Welcome! thrice welcome, dearest one! Your coming is more joyous thanthat of day. Welcome, my own, dear Marian! May I now call you mine? HaveI read that angel-smile aright? Is it the blessed herald of a happyanswer to my prayer?" he whispered, as he took her hand and passed hisarm around her head and brought it down upon his bosom. "Speak, myMarian! Speak, my beloved! Are you my own, as I am yours?"

Her answer was so low-toned that he had to bend his head down close toher lips to hear her murmur:

"I love you dearly. But I love you too well to ruin your prospects. Youmust not bind yourself to me just yet, dear Thurston, " and meekly andgently she sought to slip from his embrace. 

But he slid his arm around her lightly, bending his head and whisperingeagerly:

"What mean you, Marian? Your words are incomprehensible. "

"Dear Thurston, " she answered, in a tremulous and thrilling voice, "Ihave known your grandfather long by report, and I am well aware of hischaracter and disposition and habits. But only yesterday I chanced tolearn from one who was well informed that old Mr. Willcoxen had sworn tomake you his heir only upon condition of your finding a bride of equalor superior fortunes. If now you were to engage yourself to me, yourgrandfather would disinherit you. I love you too well, " she murmuredvery low, "to ruin your fortunes. You must not bind yourself to me justnow, Thurston. "

And this loving, frank and generous creature was the woman, he thought, whose good name he would have periled in a clandestine courtship inpreference to losing his inheritance by an open betrothal. A stab ofcompunction pierced his bosom; he felt that he loved her more than ever, but passion was stronger than affection, stronger than conscience, stronger than anything in nature, except pride and ambition. Helightened his clasp about her waist--he bent and whispered:

"Beloved Marian, is it to bind me only that you hesitate?"

"Only that, " she answered, softly. 

"Now hear me, Marian. I swear before Heaven, and in thy sight--that--asI have never loved woman before you--that--as I love you only of allwomen--I will be faithful to you while I live upon this earth! as yourhusband, if you will accept me; as your exclusive lover, whether youwill or not! I hold myself pledged to you as long as we both shall live!There, Marian! I am bound to you as tight as vows can bind! I am pledgedto you whether you accept my pledge or not. You cannot even release, forI am pledged to Heaven as well. There, Marian, you see I am bound, whileyou only are free. Come! be generous! You have said that you loved me!Pledge yourself to me in like manner. We are both young, dear Marian, and we can wait. Only let me have your promise to be my wife--only letme have that blessed assurance for the future, and I can endure thepresent. Speak, dear Marian. "

"Your grandfather--"

"He has no grudge against you, personally, sweet girl; he knows nothing, suspects nothing of my preferences--how should he? No, dearest girl--hisnotion that I must have a moneyed bride is the merest whim of dotage; wemust forgive the whims of ninety-five. That great age also augurs for usa short engagement and a speedy union!"

"Oh! never let us dream of that! It would be sinful, and draw down uponus the displeasure of Heaven. Long may the old man yet live to preparefor a better life. "

"Amen; so be it; God forbid that I should grudge the aged patriarch hisfew remaining days upon earth--days, too, upon which his soul's immortalwelfare may depend, " said Thurston. "But, dearest girl, it is moredifficult to get a reply from you than from a prime minister. Answer, now, once for all, sweet girl! since I am forever bound to you; will youpledge yourself to become my own dear wife?"

"Yes, " whispered Marian, very lowly. 

"And will you, " he asked, gathering her form closer to his bosom, "willyou redeem that pledge when I demand it?"

"Yes, " she murmured sweetly, "so that it is not to harm you, or bringyou into trouble or poverty; for that I would not consent to do!"

"God bless you; you are an angel! Oh! Marian! I find it in my heart tosigh because I am so unworthy of you!"

And this was spoken most sincerely. 

"You think too well of me. I fear--I fear for the consequences. "

"Why, dearest Marian?"

"Oh, I fear that when you know me better you may love me less, " sheanswered, in a trembling voice. 

"Why should I?"

"Oh! because your love may have been attracted by ideal qualities, withwhich you yourself have invested me; and when your eyes are opened youmay love me less. "

"May my soul forever perish the day that I cease to love you!" saidThurston, passionately pressing her to his heart, and sealing hisfearful oath upon her pure brow and guileless lips. "And now, beloved!this compact is sealed! Our fates are united forever! Henceforth nothingshall dissever us!"

They were now drawing near the village. 

Marian suddenly stopped. 

"Dear Thurston, " she said, "if you are seen waiting upon me to church doyou know what the people will say? They will say that Marian has a newadmirer in Mr. Willcoxen--and that will reach your grandfather's ears, and give you trouble. "

"Stay! one moment, beautiful Marian! When shall we meet again?"

"When Heaven wills. "

"And when will that be, fairest?"

"I do not know; but do not visit me at the cottage, dear Thurston, itwould be indiscreet. "

"Marian! I must see you often. Will you meet me on the beach to-morrowafternoon?"

"No, " answered Marian, gravely, "in this single instance, I must notmeet you, though my heart pleads like a sick child with me to do it, Thurston, dear Thurston. "

She raised her eyes to his as she spoke, and giving way to a suddenimpulse, dropped her head upon his shoulder, put her arms around hisneck, and embraced him. And then his better angel rose above the stormof passion that was surging through his veins, and calmed the tumult, and spoke through his lips. 

"You are right, Marian--fairest and dearest, you are right. And I notonly love you best of all women, but honor you more than all men. Itshall be as you have said. I will not seek you anywhere. As the mother, dying of plague, denies herself the parting embrace of her 'unstricken'child--so, for your sake, will I refrain from the heaven of yourpresence. "

"And, dear Thurston, " she said, raising her head, "it will not be sohard to bear, as you now think. We shall see each other every Sunday inthe church, and every Monday in the lecture-room. We shall often be ofthe same invited company at neighbors' houses. Remember, also, thatChristmas is coming, with its protracted festivities, when we shall seeeach other almost every evening, at some little neighborhood gathering. And now I must really hurry; oh! how late I am this morning! Good-by, dearest Thurston!"

"Good-by, my own Marian. "

Blushingly she received, his parting kiss, and hurried along the littlefoot-path leading to the village. 

Thurston had been perfectly sincere in his resolution not to seek aprivate interview with Marian; and he kept it faithfully all the week, with less temptation to break it, because he did not know where to watchfor her. 

But Sunday came again--and Thurston, with a little bit of humanself-deception and _finesse_, avoided the forest path, where he had mether the preceding Sabbath, and saying to himself that he would notwaylay her, took the river road, refusing to confess even to himselfthat he acted upon the calculation that she also would take the sameroad, in order to avoid meeting him in the forest. 

His "calculus of probabilities" had not failed him. He had not walkedfar upon the forest-shaded banks of the river before he saw Marianwalking before him. He hastened and overtook her. 

At first seeing him her face flushed radiant with surprise and joy. She seemed to think that nothing short of necromancy could have conjuredhim to that spot. She had no reproaches for him, because she had nosuspicion that he had trifled with his promise not to seek her. But sheexpressed her astonishment. 

"I did not know you ever came this way, " she said. 

"Nor did I ever before, love; but I remembered my pledge, not to followor to seek you, and so I avoided the woodland path where we met lastSunday, " said Thurston, persuading himself that he spoke the precisetruth. 

It is not necessary to pursue with them this walk; lovers scarcely thankus for such intrusions. It is sufficient to say that this was not thelast one. 

Blinded by passion and self-deception, and acting upon the same astutecalculus of probabilities, Thurston often contrived to meet Marian inplaces where his presence might be least expected, and most often inpaths that she had taken for the express purpose of keeping out of hisway. 

Thus it fell that many forest walks and seashore strolls were taken, allthrough the lovely Indian summer weather. And these seemed so much theresult of pure accident that Marian never dreamed of complaining thathis pledge had been tampered with. 

But Thurston began to urge her consent to a private marriage. 

From a secret engagement to a secret marriage, the transition seemed tohim very easy. 

"And, dearest Marian, we are both of age, both free--we should neitherdisplease God nor wrong man, by such a step--while it would at the sametime secure our union, and save us from injustice and oppression! do younot see?"

Such was his argument, which he pleaded and enforced with all the powersof passion and eloquence. In vain. Though every interview increased hispower over the maiden--though her affections and her will were bothsubjected, the domain of conscience was unconquered. And Marian stillanswered:

"Though a secret marriage would break no law of God or man, norpositively wrong any human creature, yet it might be the cause ofmisunderstanding and suspicion--and perhaps calumny, causing muchdistress to those who love and respect me. Therefore it would bewrong. And I must do no wrong, even for your dear sake. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

CLOUDY. 

It was Christmas Eve and a fierce snow-storm was raging. 

Old Mr. Willcoxen sat half doubled up in his leather-covered elbowchair, in the chimney corner of his bedroom, occupied with smoking hisclay pipe, and thinking about his money bags. 

Fanny was in the cold, bleak upper rooms of the house, looking out ofthe windows upon the wide desolation of winter, the waste of snow, thebare forest, the cold, dark waters of the bay--listening to the drivingtempest, and singing, full of glee as she always was when the elementswere in an uproar. 

Thurston was the sole and surly occupant of the sitting-room, where hehad thrown himself at full length upon the sofa, to lie and yawn overthe newspaper, which he vowed was as stale as last year's almanac. 

Suddenly the front door was thrown open, and some one came, followed bythe driving wind and snow, into the hall. 

Thurston threw aside his paper, started up, and went out. 

What was his surprise to see Cloudesley Mornington standing there, witha face so haggard, with eyes so wild and despairing, that, in alarm, heexclaimed:

"Good heaven, Cloudesley. What is the matter? Has anything happened athome?"

"Home! home! What home? I have no home upon this earth now, and nevershall have!" exclaimed the poor youth, distractedly. 

"My dear fellow, never speak so despondently. What is it now? adifficulty with the commodore?"

"God's judgment light upon him!" cried Cloudy, pushing past and hurryingup the stairs. 

Thurston could not resume his former composure; something in Cloudy'sface had left a feeling of uneasiness in his mind, and the oftener herecalled the expression the more troubled he became. 

Until at length he could bear the anxiety no longer, and quietly leavinghis room, he went up-stairs in search of the youth, and paused beforethe boy's door. By the clicking, metallic sounds within, he suspectedhim to be engaged in loading a pistol; for what purpose! Not an instantwas to be risked in rapping or questioning. 

With one vigorous blow of his heel Thurston burst open the door, andsprung forward and dashed the fatal weapon from his hand, and thenconfronted him, exclaiming:

"Good God, Cloudy! What does this mean?"

Cloudy looked at him wildly for a minute, and when Thurston repeated thequestion, he answered with a hollow laugh:

"That I am crazy, I guess! don't you think so?"

"Cloudy, my dear fellow, we have been like brothers all our lives; nowwon't you tell me what has brought you to this pass? What troubles youso much? Perhaps I can aid you in some way. Come, what is it now?"

"And you really don't know what it is? Don't you know that there is awedding on hand?"

"A wedding!"

"Aye, man alive! A wedding! They are going to marry the child Jacquelinato old Grimshaw. "

"Oh, yes, I know that; but, my dear boy, what of it? Surely you werenever in love with little Jacko?"

"In love with her! ha! ha! no, not as you understand it! who take it tobe that fantastical passion that may be inspired by the first sight of apretty face. No! I am not in love with her, unless I could be in lovewith myself. For Lina was my other self. Oh, you who can talk so gliblyof being 'in love, ' little know that strength of attachment when twohearts have grown together from childhood. "

"It is like a brother's and a sister's. "

"Never! brothers and sisters cannot love so. What brother ever loved asister as I have loved Lina from our infancy? What brother ever wouldhave done and suffered as much for his sister as I have for Lina?"

"You! done and suffered for Lina!" said Thurston, beginning to think hewas really mad. 

"Yes! how many faults as a boy I have shouldered for her. How manyfloggings I have taken. How many shames I have borne for her, which shenever knew. Oh! how I have spent my night watches at sea, dreaming ofher. For years I have been saving up all my money to buy a prettycottage for her and her mother that she loves so well. I meant to havebought or built one this very year. And after having made the prettynest, to have wooed my pretty bird to come and occupy it. I meant tohave been such a good boy to her mother, too! I pleased myself withfancying how the poor, little timorous woman would rest in so much peaceand confidence in our home--with me and Lina. I have saved so much thatI am richer than any one knows, and I meant to have accomplished allthat this very time of coming home. I hurried home. I reached the house. I ran in like a wild boy as I was. Her voice called me. I followed itssound--ran up-stairs to her room. I found her in bed. I thought she wassick. But she sprang up, and threw herself upon my bosom, and with herarms clasped about my neck, wept as if her heart would break. And whileI wondered what the matter could be, her mother interfered and told me. God's judgment light upon them all, I say! Oh! it was worse than murder. It was a horrid, horrid crime, that has no name because there is noneheinous enough for it. Thurston! I acted like a very brute! God help me, I was both stunned and maddened, as it seems to me now. For I could notspeak. I tore her little, fragile, clinging arms from off my neck, andthrust her from me. And here I am. Don't ask me how I loved her! I haveno words to tell you!"

CHAPTER XV. 

THE FAIRY BRIDE. 

Since the morning of her ill-starred marriage, Sans Souci had waned likea waning moon; and the bridegroom saw, with dismay, his fairy brideslowly fading, passing, vanishing from his sight. There was no verymarked disorder, no visible or tangible symptoms to guide thephysicians, who were in succession summoned to her relief. Very obscureis the pathology of a wasting heart, very occult the scientificknowledge that can search out the secret sickness, which, the further itis sought, shrinks the deeper from sight. 

Once, indeed, while she was sitting with her aunt and uncle, the lattersuddenly and rudely mentioned Cloudy's name, saying that "the fool" wassulking over at Dell-Delight; that he believed he would have blown hisbrains out if it had not been for Thurston, and for his own part, healmost wished that he had been permitted to do so, because he thoughtnone but a fool would ever commit suicide, and the fewer fools therewere in the world the better, etc. , etc. His monologue was suddenlyarrested by Henrietta's rushing forward to lift up Sans Souci, who hadturned very pale, and dropped from her seat to the floor, where she laysilently quivering and gasping, like some poor wounded and dying bird. 

They tacitly resolved, from this time forth, never to name Cloudy in herpresence again. 

And the commodore struck his heavy stick upon the floor, andemphatically thanked God that Nace Grimshaw had not been present towitness her agitation and its cause. 

And Jacquelina waned and waned. And the physicians, wearied out with hercase, prescribed "Change of air and scene--pleasant company--cheerfulamusement--excitement, " etc. A winter in Washington was suggested. Andthe little invalid was consulted as to her wishes upon the subject. "Yes, " Jacquelina said she would go--anywhere, if only her aunty andMarian would go with her--she wanted Marian. 

Mrs. Waugh readily consented to accompany her favorite, and also to tryto induce "Hebe, " as she called blooming Marian, to make one of theirparty. 

And the very first day that the weather and the roads would admit oftraveling, Mrs. Waugh rode over to Old Fields to see Marian, and talkwith her about the contemplated journey. 

The proposition took the young lady by surprise; there were severallittle lets and hindrances to her immediate acceptance of theinvitation, which might, however, be disposed of; and finally, Marianbegged a day to consider about it. With this answer, Mrs. Waugh wasforced to be content, and she took her leave, saying:

"Remember, Hebe! that I think your society and conversation moreneedful, and likely to be more beneficial to poor Lapwing, than anythingelse we can procure for her; therefore, pray decide to go with us, ifpossible. "

Marian deprecated such reliance upon her imperfect abilities, butexpressed her strong desire to do all the good she possibly could effectfor the invalid, and made little doubt but that she should at least beable to attend her. So, with this hope, Mrs. Waugh kissed her anddeparted. 

The very truth was, that Marian wished to see and consult her bethrothedbefore consenting to leave home for what seemed to her to be so long ajourney, and for so long a period. In fact, Marian was not now a freeagent; she had suffered her free will to slip from her own possessioninto that of Thurston. 

She had not seen him all the wretched weather, and her heart now yearnedfor his presence. And that very afternoon Marian had a most pressingerrand to Charlotte Hall, to purchase groceries, which the little familyhad got entirely out of during the continuance of the snow. 

There was no certainty that she should see Thurston; still she hoped todo so, nor was her hope disappointed. 

He overtook her a short distance from the village, on her road home. 

Their meeting was a very glad one--heart sprang to heart and hand tohand--and neither affected to conceal the pleasure that it gave them. After the first joyous greetings, and the first earnest and affectionateinquiries about each other's health and welfare, both became grave andsilent for a little while. Marian was reflecting how to propose to leavehim for a three-months' visit to the gay capital, little thinking thatThurston himself was perplexed with the question of how to break to herthe news of the necessity of his own immediate departure to England foran absence of at least six or eight months. Marian spoke first. 

"Dear Thurston, I have something to propose to you, that I fear you willnot like very well; but if you do not, speak freely; for I am notbound. "

"I--I do not understand you, love! Pray explain at once, " said he, quickto take alarm where she was concerned. 

"You know poor little Jacquelina has fallen into very bad health andspirits? Well, her physicians recommend change of air and scene, and herfriends have decided to take her to Washington to pass the remainder ofthe winter. And the little creature has set her sickly fancy upon havingme to go with her. Now, I think it is some sort a duty to go, and Iwould not willingly refuse. Nevertheless, dear Thurston, I dread toleave you, and if you think you will be very lonesome this winterwithout me--if you are likely to miss me one-half as much as I havemissed you these last three weeks, I will not leave you at all. "

He put his hand out and took hers, and pressed it, and would havecarried it to his lips, but her wicked little pony suddenly jerked away. 

"My own dearest Marian, " he said; "my frank, generous love! if I weregoing to remain in this neighborhood this winter, no consideration, Ifear, for others' good, would induce me to consent to part with you. "

It was now Marian's turn to change color, and falter in her tones, asshe asked:

"You--you are not going away?"

"Sweet Marian, yes! A duty--a necessity too imperative to be denied, summons me. "

She kept her eyes fixed on his face in painful anxiety. 

"I will explain. You have heard, dear Marian, that after my father'sdeath my mother married a second time?"

"No--I never heard of it. "

"She did, however--her second husband was a Scotchman. She lived withhim seven years, and then died, leaving him one child, a boy six yearsof age. After my mother's death, my stepfather returned to Scotland, taking with him my half-brother, and leaving me with my grandfather. Andall communication gradually ceased between us. Within this week, however, I have received letters from Edinburgh, informing me of thedeath of my stepfather, and the perfect destitution of my half-brother, now a lad of twelve years of age. He is at present staying with theclergyman who attended his father in his last illness, and who haswritten me the letters giving me the information that I now give you. Thus, you see, my dearest love, how urgent the duty is that takes mefrom your side. Yet--What! tears, my Marian! Ah, if so! let my dearestone but say the word, and I will not leave her. I will send money overto the lad instead. "

"No, no! Ah! no, never trust your mother's orphan boy to strangers, orto his own guidance. Go for the poor, desolate lad, and never leave him, or suffer him to leave you. I know what orphanage in childhood is, dearThurston, and so must you. Bring the boy home. And if he lives with you, I will do all I can to supply his mother's place. "

"Dear girl! dear, dear Marian, my heart so longs to press you to itself. A plague upon these horses that keep us so far apart! I wish we were onfoot!"

"Do you?" smiled Marian, directing his attention to the sloppy path downwhich they were riding. 

Thurston smiled ruefully, and then sighed. 

"When do you set out on your long journey, dear Thurston?"

"I have not fixed the time, my Marian! I have not the courage to namethe day that shall part us for so long. "

He looked at her with a heavy sigh, and then added:

"I shrink from appointing the time of going, as a criminal might shrinkfrom giving the signal for his own execution. "

"Then let some other agent do it, " said Marian, smiling at hisearnestness. Then she added--"I shall go to Washington with Jacquelina. Her party will set out on Wednesday next. And, dear Thurston, I shallnot like to leave you here, at all. I shall go with more content, if Iknew that you set out the same day for your journey. "

"But fairest Marian, never believe but that if you go to Washington, Ishall take that city in on my way. There is a vessel to sail on thefirst of February, from Baltimore, for Liverpool. I shall probably go byher. I shall pass through Washington City on my way to Baltimore. Nay, indeed! what should hinder me from joining your party and traveling withyou, since we are friends and neighbors, and go at the same time, fromthe same neighborhood, by the same road, to the same place?" he asked, eagerly. 

A smile of joy illumined Marian's face. 

"Truly, " she answered, after a short pause. "I see no objection to thatplan. And, oh! Thurston, " she said, holding out her hand, and looking athim with her face holy and beaming with affection, "do you know whatfullness of life and comfort--what sweetness of rest and contentment Ifeel in your presence, when I can have that rightly?"

"My own dear Marian! Heaven hasten the day when we shall be foreverunited. "

And he suddenly sprang from his horse--lifted her from her saddle, andholding her carefully above the sloppy path, folded her fondly to hisbosom, pressed kisses on her lips, and then replaced her, saying:

"Dear Marian, forgive me! My heart was half breaking with its need topress you to itself! Now then, dearest, I shall consider it settled thatI join your party to Washington. I shall call at Locust Hill and seeMrs. Waugh, inform her of my destination, and ask her permission toaccompany her. By the way--when do you give your answer to that lady?"

"I shall ride over to the Hill to-morrow morning for that purpose. "

"Very well, dearest. In that case I will also appoint the morning as mytime of calling; so that I may have the joy of meeting you there. "

They had by this time reached the verge of the forest and the cross-roadwhere their paths divided. And here they bade a loving, lingering adieuto each other, and separated. 

That evening Marian announced to Edith her decision to accompanyJacquelina to Washington City. 

Edith approved the plan. 

The next morning Marian left the house to go to Locust Hill, where, besides the family, she found Thurston already awaiting her. 

Thurston was seated by Jacquelina, endeavoring, by his gay and brilliantsallies of wit and humor, to charm away the sullen sadness of the paleand petulant little beauty. 

And, truth to tell, soon fitful, fleeting smiles broke over the littlewan face--smiles that grew brighter and more frequent as she noticed thesurly anxiety they gave to Dr. Grimshaw, who sat, like the dog in themanger, watching Thurston sunning himself in the light of eyes thatnever, by any chance, shone upon him, their rightful proprietor!

Never! for though Jacquelina had paled and waned, failed and faded, until she seemed more like a moonlight phantom than a form of flesh andblood--her spirit was unbowed, unbroken, and she had kept her oath ofuncompromising enmity with fearful perseverance. Petitions, expostulations, prayers, threats, had been all in vain to procure onesmile, one word, one glance of compliance or forgiveness. And the fateof Dr. Grimshaw, with his unwon bride, was like that of Tantalus. Andnow the inconceivable tortures of jealousy were about to be added to hisother torments, for this man now sitting by his side, and basking in thesunshine of her smiles, was the all-praised Adonis who had won hermaiden admiration months ago. 

But Thurston soon put an end to his sufferings--not in consideration ofhis feelings, but because the young gentleman could not afford to loseor risk the chance of making one of the party which was to number Marianamong its members. Therefore, with a light smile and careless bow, heleft the side of Jacquelina and crossed over to Mrs. Waugh, with whom, also, he entered into a gay and bantering conversation, in the course ofwhich Mrs. Waugh mentioned to him their purpose of going to Washingtonfor a month or two. 

It was then that, with an air of impromptu, Thurston informed her of hisown contemplated journey and voyage, and of his intention to go toBaltimore by way of Washington. 

"And when do you leave here?" asked Mrs. Waugh. 

"I thought of starting on Wednesday morning. "

"The very day that we shall set out--why can't we travel in company?"asked Henrietta, socially. 

"I should be charmed, indeed--delighted! And nothing shall prevent mehaving that honor and pleasure, if Mrs. Waugh will permit myattendance. "

"Why, my dear Thurston, to be sure I will--but don't waste fine speecheson your uncle's old wife. How do you travel?"

"As far as Washington I shall go on horseback, with a mounted groom tobring back the horses, when I proceed on my journey by stage toBaltimore. "

"On horseback! Now that is excellent--that is really providential, as itfalls out--for here is my Hebe, whom I have coaxed to be of the party, and who will have to perform the journey also on horseback, and you willmake an admirable cavalier for her!"

Thurston turned and bowed to Marian, and expressed, in courtly terms, the honor she would confer, and the pleasure she would give, inpermitting him to serve her. And no one, to have seen him, would havedreamed that the subject had ever before been mentioned between them. 

Marian blushed and smiled, and expressing her thanks, accepted hisoffered escort. 

These preliminaries being settled, Thurston soon after arose and tookleave. 

Marian remained some time longer to arrange some little preparatorymatters with Mrs. Waugh, and then bade them good-by, and hastenedhomeward. 

But she saw Thurston walking his horse up and down the forest-path, andimpatiently waiting for her. 

 * * * * *

Dr. Grimshaw was very much dissatisfied; and no sooner had Marian leftthe home, and left him alone with Mrs. Waugh and Jacquelina, than heturned to the elder lady, and said, with some asperity:

"I think it would have been well, Mrs. Waugh, if you had consulted theother members of your party before making so important an addition toit. "

"And I think it would be better, Dr. Grimshaw, if you would occupy yourvaluable time and attention with affairs that fall more immediatelywithin your own province, " said Henrietta, loftily, as she wouldsometimes speak. 

Dr. Grimshaw deigned no reply. He closed his mouth with a spasmodicsnap, and sat ruminating--the very picture of wretchedness. He was, indeed, to be pitied! For no patience, no kindness, no wooing could winfrom his bride one smile. That very afternoon, under the combinedgoadings of exasperated self-love and poignant jealousy, Dr. Grimshawsought an interview with Mrs. L'Oiseau, and urged her, in the moststrenuous manner, to exert her maternal influence in bringing herdaughter to terms. 

And Mrs. L'Oiseau sent for Jacquelina, to have a talk with her. But notall her arguments, entreaties, or even tears, could prevail with theobstinate bride to relax one single degree of her unforgiving antagonismto her detested bridegroom. 

"Mother, " she said, with sorrowful bitterness, "you are well now;indeed, you never were so ill as I was led to believe; and you areindependent. I parted with my only hope of happiness in life to renderyou so; I sold myself in a formal marriage to be the legal medium ofendowing Dr. Grimshaw with a certain landed estate. Even into thatmeasure I was deceived--no more of that! it crazes me! The conditionsare all fulfilled; he will have the property, and you are independent. And now he has no further claim upon me, and no power over me!"

"He has, Jacquelina; and it is only Dr. Grimshaw's forbearance thatpermits you to indulge in this wicked whim. "

"His forbearance! Oh! hasn't he been forbearing, though!" she exclaimed, with a mocking laugh. 

"Yes; he has, little as you are disposed to acknowledge it. You do notseem to know that he can compel your submission!"

"Can he!" she hissed, drawing her breath sharply through her clenchedteeth, and clutching her fingers convulsively, while a white ringgleamed around the blue iris of her dilated eyes. "Let him try! let himdrive me to desperation, and then learn how spirits dare to escape! Buthe will not do that. Mimmy! he reads me better than you do; he knowsthat he must not urge me beyond my powers of endurance. No, mother! Lethim take my uncle into his counsels again, if he pleases; let themcombine all their ingenuity, and wickedness, and power, and bring themall to bear on me at once; let them do their worst--they shall not gainone concession from me; not one smile, not one word, not one single lookof tolerance--so help me heaven! And they know it, mother!--they knowit! And why? You are secured from their malice; now they can turn noscrews upon my heart-strings!--and I am free! They know it, mother--theyknow it, if you do not. "

"But, Jacquelina, this is a very, very wicked life to lead! You areliving in a state of mortal sin while you persist in this shockingrebellion against the authority and just rights of your husband. "

"He is not my husband! that I utterly deny! I have never made him such!There was nothing in our nominal marriage to give him that claim. It wasa mere legal form, for a mercenary purpose. It was a wicked and shamefulsubterfuge; a sacrilegious desecration of God's holy altar! but in itswickedness heaven knows I had little will! I was deluded and disturbed;facts were misrepresented to me, threats were made that could never havebeen executed; my fears were excited for your life; my affections werewrought upon; I was driven out of my senses even before I did consent tobe his nominal wife--the legal sumpter-mule to carry him an estate. Ipromised nothing more, and I have kept all my promises. It is over! itis over! it is done! and it cannot be undone! But I never--never willforgive that man for the part he played in the drama!"

"_Ave Maria, Mater Dolorosa!_ Was ever a mother so sorrowful as I? Holysaints and angels! how you shock me. Don't you know, wretched child, that you are committing deadly sin? Don't you know, alas! the holychurch would refuse you its communion?"

"Let it! I will be excommunicated before I will give Dr. Grimshaw onetolerant glance! I will risk the eternal rather than fall into thenearer perdition!"

"Holy Mary save her! Don't you know, most miserable child! that such isyour condition, that if you were to die now your soul would go toburning flames?"

"Ha! ha! Where do you think it is now, Mimmy?"

"You are mad! You don't know what you're talking about! And, alas! youare half an infidel, I know, for you don't believe in hell!"

"Yes, I do, Mimmy! Oh! yes, indeed I do! If ever my faith was shakenin that article of belief, it is firm enough now! It is more thanre-established, for, look you, Mimmy! I believe in heaven, but I knowof hell!"

"I'm very glad you do, my dear. And I hope you will meditate much uponit, and it may lead you to change your course in regard to Dr. Grimshaw. "

"Mimmy!" she said, with a wild laugh, "is there a deeper pit inperdition than that to which you urge me now?"

 * * * * *

Fortune certainly favored the lovers that day; for when Thurston reachedhome in the evening, his grandfather said to him:

"Well, Mr. Jackanapes, since you are to sail from the port of Baltimore, I think it altogether best that you should take a private conveyance, and go by way of Washington. "

"That will be a very lonesome manner of traveling, sir, " answered theyoung man, demurely. 

"It will be a very cheap one, you mean, and, therefore, will not befityou, Sir Millionaire! It will cost nothing, and, therefore, lose itsonly charm for you, my Lord Spendthrift, " cried the miser, sharply. 

"On the contrary, sir, I only object to the loneliness of the longjourney. "

"No one to chatter to, eh, Mr. Magpie! Well, it need not be so! There'sNace Grimshaw, and his set--extravagant fools!--going up to the city toflaunt among the fashionables. You can go as they go, and chatter to theother monkey, Jacquelina--and make Old Nace mad with jealousy, so thathe shall go and hang himself, and leave you the widow and her fortune!Come! is there mischief enough to amuse you? But I know you won't do it!I know it! I know it! I know it! just because I wish you to!"

"What, sir? drive Dr. Grimshaw to hang himself?"

"No, sir! I mean you won't join the party. "

"You mistake, sir. I will certainly do so, if you wish it, " saidThurston, gravely. 

"Humph! Well, that is something better than I expected. You can take thenew gig, you know, and take Melchisedek to drive you, and to bring itback. "

"Just as you say, sir, " said the young gentleman, with filialcompliance. 

"And mind, take care that you are not led into any waste of money. "

"I shall take care, sir. "

And here Thurston's heart was gladdened within him. He profoundlythanked his stars. The new gig! What an opportunity to save Marian thefatigue of an equestrian journey--offer her an easy seat, and have theblessing of her near companionship for the whole trip! While hisservant, Melchisedek, could ride Marian's pony. And this arrangementwould be so natural, so necessary, so inevitable, that not even thejealous, suspicious miser could make the least question of its perfectpropriety. For, under the circumstances, what gentleman could leave alady of his party to travel wearily on horseback, while himself and hisservant rode cosily at ease in a gig? What gentleman would not rathergive the lady his seat in the gig--take the reins himself and drive her, while his servant took her saddle-horse. So thought Thurston. Yet he didnot hint the subject to his grandfather--the method of their travelingshould seem the impromptu effect of chance. The next morning beingSunday, he threw himself in Marian's path, waited for her, and rode withher a part of the way to church. And while they were in company, he toldher of the new arrangement in the manner of traveling, that good fortunehad enabled him to make--that if she would so honor and delight him, heshould have her in the gig by his side for the whole journey. He was sohappy, so very happy in the thought, he said. 

"And so am I, dearest Thurston! very, very happy in the idea of beingwith you. Thank God!" said the warm-hearted girl, offering her hand, which he took and covered with kisses. 

Thurston's good fortune was not over. His star was still in theascendant, for after the morning service, while the congregation wereleaving the church, he saw Mrs. Waugh beckon him to her side. He quicklyobeyed the summons. And then, the lady said:

"I may not see you again soon, Thurston, and, therefore, I tell younow--that if you intend to join our party to Washington, you must makeall your arrangements to come ever to Locust Hill on Tuesday evening, and spend the night with us; as we start at a very early hour onWednesday morning, and should not like to be kept waiting. My Hebe isalso coming on Tuesday evening, to stay all night. Now, not a word, Thurston, I know what dilatory folks young people are. And I know verywell that if I don't make sure of you on Tuesday evening, you will keepus a full hour beyond our time on Wednesday morning--you know you will. "

Thurston was secretly delighted. To spend the evening with Marian! tospend the night under the same roof with her--preparatory to theirsocial journey in the morning. Thurston began to think that he was bornunder a lucky planet. He laughingly assured Mrs. Waugh that he had notthe slightest intention or wish to dispute her commands, and that onTuesday evening he should present himself punctually at the supper-tableat Locust Hill. He further informed her that as his grandfather had mostarbitrarily forced upon him the use of his new gig, he should bring it, and offer Miss Mayfield a seat. 

It was now Mrs. Waugh's turn to be delighted, and to declare that shewas very glad--that it would be so much easier and pleasanter to herHebe, than the cold, exposed, and fatiguing equestrian manner oftraveling. "But mind, young gentleman, you are not to make love to myHebe! for we all think her far too good for mortal man!" laughed Mrs. Waugh. 

Thurston gravely promised that he would not--if he could help it. Andso, with mutual good feeling, they shook hands and separated. 

On Monday evening, at his farewell lecture, Thurston met Marian again, and joyfully announced to her the invitation that Mrs. Waugh hadextended to him. And the maiden's delightful smile assured him of herfull sympathy with his gladness. 

And on Tuesday evening, the whole party for Washington was assembledaround the tea-table at Locust Hill. The evening passed very cheerily. The commodore, Mrs. Waugh, Marian and Thurston, were all in excellentspirits. And Thurston, out of pure good nature, sought to cheer andenliven the pretty, peevish bride, Jacquelina, who, out of caprice, affected a pleasure in his attentions that she was very far fromfeeling. This gave so much umbrage to Dr. Grimshaw that Mrs. Waughreally feared some unpleasant demonstration from the grim bridegroom, and seized the first quiet opportunity of saying to the young gentleman:

"Do, Thurston, leave Lapwing alone! Don't you see that that maniac is asjealous as a Turk?"

"Oh! he is!" thought Thurston, benevolently. "Very well! in that casehis jealousy shall not starve for want of ailment;" and he devotedhimself to the capricious bride with more _impressement_ thanbefore--consoling himself for his discreet neglect of Marian byreflecting on the blessed morrow that should place her at his side forthe whole day. 

And so the evening passed; and at an early hour the party separated toget a good long night's rest, preparatory to their early start in themorning. 

But Thurston, for one, was too happy to sleep for some time; too happyin the novel blessedness of resting under the same roof with his ownbeautiful and dearest Marian. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE BRIDE OF AN HOUR. 

It was a clear, cold, sharp, invigorating winter morning. The snow wascrusted over with hoar frost, and the bare forest trees were hung withicicles. The cunning fox, the 'possum and the 'coon, crept shiveringfrom their dens; but the shy, gray rabbit, and the tiny, brownwood-mouse, still nestled in their holes. And none of nature's smallchildren ventured from their nests, save the hardy and courageous littlesnow-birds that came to seek their food even at the very threshold oftheir natural enemy--man. 

The approaching sun had scarcely as yet reddened the eastern horizon, orflushed the snow, when at Locust Hill our travelers assembled in thedining-room, to partake of their last meal previous to setting forth. 

Commodore Waugh, and Mrs. L'Oiseau, who were fated to remain at home andkeep house, were also there to see the travelers off. 

The fine, vitalizing air of the winter morning, the cheerful bustlepreparatory to their departure, the novelty of the breakfast eaten bycandle-light, all combined to raise and exhilarate the spirits of theparty. 

After the merry, hasty meal was over, Mrs. Waugh, in her voluminouscloth cloak, fur tippet, muff, and wadded hood; Jacquelina, enveloped inseveral fine, soft shawls, and wearing a warm, chinchilla bonnet; andDr. Grimshaw, in his dreadnaught overcoat and cloak, and long-eared furcap, all entered the large family carriage, where, with the additionalprovision of foot-stoves and hot bricks, they had every prospect of acomfortable mode of conveyance. 

Old Oliver, in his many-caped drab overcoat, and fox-skin cap andgloves, sat upon the coachman's box with the proud air of a king uponhis throne. And why not? It was Oliver's very first visit to the city, and the suit of clothes he wore was brand new!

Thurston's new gig was furnished with two fine buffalo robes--one laiddown on the seats and the floor as a carpet, and the other laid over asa coverlet. His forethought had also provided a foot-stove for Marian. And never was a happier man than he when he handed his smiling companioninto the gig, settled her comfortably in her seat, placed the foot-stoveunder her feet, sprang in and seated himself beside her, tucked thebuffalo robe carefully in, and took the reins, and waited the signal tomove on. 

Melchisedek, or as he was commonly called, Cheesy, mounted upon Marian'spony, rode on in advance, to open the gates for the party. Mrs. Waugh'scarriage followed. And Thurston's gig brought up the rear. And thus thetravelers set forth. 

The sun had now risen in cloudless splendor, and was striking long linesof crimson light across the snow, and piercing through the forestaisles. Flocks of saucy little snow-birds alighted fearlessly in theirpath; but the cunning little gray rabbits just peeped with their round, bright eyes, and then quickly hopped away. 

I need not describe their merry journey at length. My readers willreadily imagine how delightful was the trip to at least two of theparty. And those two were not Dr. Grimshaw and Jacquelina. 

Thurston pleaded so hard for a private marriage when they got toWashington that at last Marian consented. 

So one day they drove out to the Navy Yard Hill, and there in theremotest and quietest suburb of the city, in a little Methodist chapel, without witnesses, Thurston and Marian were married. 

Thurston and Marian found an opportunity to be alone in the drawing-roomfor the few moments preceding his departure. In those last moments shecould not find it in her heart to withhold one word whose utterancewould cheer his soul, and give him hope and joy and confidence indeparting. Marian had naturally a fine, healthful, high-tonedorganization--a happy, hopeful, joyous temperament, an inclinationalways to look upon the sunny side of life and events. And so, when hedrew her gently and tenderly to his bosom, and whispered:

"You have made me the happiest and most grateful man on earth, dear, lovely Marian! dear, lovely wife! but are you satisfied, beloved--oh!are you satisfied? Do I leave you at ease?"

She spoke the very truth when she confessed to him--her head being onhis shoulder, and her low tones flowing softly to his listening ear:

"More than satisfied, Thurston--more than satisfied, I am inexpressiblyhappy now. Yes, though you are going away; for, see! the pain of partingfor a few months, is lost in the joy of knowing that we are united, though separated--and in anticipating the time not long hence, when weshall meet again. God bless you, dearest Thurston. "

"God forever bless and love you, sweet wife. " And so they parted. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

SPRING AND LOVE. 

It was late in February before the party reached home. Thurston'sbusiness finished he also hastened back and sought out Marian. Onememorable episode must be related. Thurston had met Marian not manyyards down the lonely forest foot-path, leading from the village schoolto Old Fields one evening. 

After a walk of about a quarter of a mile through the bushes theydescended by the natural staircase of moss-covered rocks, and sat downtogether upon a bed of violets at its foot. 

Before them, through the canopy of over-arching trees, was seen, like apicture in its frame of foliage, a fine view of the open country and thebay now bathed in purple haze of evening. 

But the fairest prospect that ever opened had no more attraction forThurston than if it had been a view of chimney tops from a back atticwindow. He passed his right hand around Marian's shoulders, and drew hercloser to his side, and with the other hand began to untie her bonnetstrings. 

"Lay off this little bonnet. Let me see your beauteous head uncovered. There!" he said, putting it aside, and smoothing her bright locks. "Oh, Marian! my love! my queen! when I see only the top of your head, I thinkyour rippling, sunny tresses your chief beauty; but soon my eyes fall tothe blooming cheek--there never was such a cheek--so vivid, yet sodelicate, so glowing, yet so cool and fresh--like the damask rose bathedin morning dew--so when I gaze on it I think the blushing cheek yoursweetest charm--ah! but near by breathe the rich, ripe lips, fragrant asnectarines; and which I should swear to be the very buds of love, werenot my gaze caught up to meet your eyes--stars!--and then I know that Ihave found the very soul of beauty! Oh! priceless pearl! By what rarefortune was it that I ever found you in these Maryland woods? Love!Angel! Marian! for that means all!" he exclaimed, in a sort of ecstasy, straining her to his side. 

And Marian dropped her blushing face upon his shoulder--she was blushingnot from bashful love alone--with it mingled a feeling of shame, regret, and mistrust, because he praised so much her form and face; because heseemed to love her only for her superficial good looks. She would havespoken if she could have done so; she would have told what was on herheart as earnest as a prayer by saying:

"Oh, do not think so much of this perishable, outward beauty; accidentmay ruin it, sickness may injure it, time will certainly impair it. Donot love me for that which I have no power over, and which may be takenfrom me at any time--which I shall be sure to lose at last--love me forsomething better and more lasting than that. I have a heart in thisbosom worth all the rest, a heart that in itself is an inner world--akingdom worthy of your rule--a heart that neither time, fortune, norcasualty can ever change--a heart that loves you now in your strong andbeautiful youth, and will love you when you are old and gray, and whenyou are one of the redeemed of heaven. Love me for this heart. "

But to have saved her own soul or his, Marian could not then have spokenthose words. 

So he continued to caress her--every moment growing more and moreenchanted with her loveliness. There was more of passion than affectionin his manner, and Marian felt and regretted this, though her feelingwas not a very clearly defined one--it was rather an instinct than athought, and it was latent, and quite subservient to her love for him. 

"Love! angel! how enchanting you are, " he exclaimed, catching her in hisarms and pressing kisses on her cheek and lips and neck. 

Glowing with color, Marian strove to release herself. "Let me go--let usleave this place, dear Thurston, " she pleaded, attempting to rise. 

"Why? Why are you in such a hurry? Why do you wish to leave me?" heasked, without releasing his hold. 

"It is late! Dear Thurston, it is late, " she said, in vague alarm. 

"That does not matter--I am with you. "

"They will be anxious about me, pray let us go! They will be soanxious!" she said, with increasing distress, trying to get away. "Thurston! Thurston! You distress me beyond measure, " she exclaimed ingreat trouble. 

But he stopped her breath with kisses. 

Marian suddenly ceased to struggle, and by a strong effort of will shebecame perfectly calm. And looking in his eyes, with her clear, steadygaze, she said:

"Thurston, I have ceased to strive. But if you are a man of honor, youwill release me. "

His arms dropped from around her as if he had been struck dead. 

Glad to be free, Marian arose to depart. Thurston sat still--his finecountenance overclouded with mortification and anger. Marian hesitated;she knew not how to proceed. He did not offer to rise and attend her. Atlength she spoke. 

"Will you see me safely through the woods, Thurston?"

He did not answer. 

"Thurston, it is nearly dark--there are several runaway negroes in theforest now, and the road will not be safe for me. "

"Good-night, then, " she said. 

"Good-night, Marian. "

She turned away and ascended the steps with her heart filled nearly tobursting with grief, indignation and fear. That he should let her takethat long, dark, dangerous walk alone! it was incredible! she couldscarcely realize it, or believe it! Her unusually excited feelings lentwings to her feet, and she walked swiftly for about a quarter of a mile, and then was forced to pause and take breath. And then every feeling ofindignation and fear was lost in that of sorrow, that she had woundedhis feelings, and left him in anger. And Marian dropped her face intoher open hands and wept. A step breaking through the brushwood made herstart and tremble. She raised her head with the attitude of one preparedfor a spring and flight. It was so dark she could scarcely see her handsbefore her, but as the step approached, a voice said:

"Fear nothing, Marian, I have not lost sight of you since you left me, "and Thurston came up to her side. 

With a glad smile of surprise Marian turned to greet him, holding outher hand, expecting him to draw it through his arm and lead her on. Butno, he would not touch her hand. Lifting his hat slightly, he said:

"Go forward if you please to do so, Marian. I attend you. "

Marian went on, and he followed closely. They proceeded in silence forsome time. Now that she knew that he had not left her a moment alone inthe woods, she felt more deeply grieved at having so mortified andoffended him. At last she spoke:

"Pray, do not be angry with me, dear Thurston. "

"I am not angry that I know of, fair one; and you do me too much honorto care about my mood. Understand me once for all. I am not a Dr. Grimshaw, in any phase of that gentleman's character. I am neither thetyrant who will persecute you to exact your attention, nor yet the slavewho will follow and coax and whine and wheedle for your favor. In eithercharacter I should despise myself too much, " he answered, coolly. 

"Thurston, you are deeply displeased, or you would not speak so, and Iam very, very sorry, " said Marian in a tremulous voice. 

"Do not distress yourself about me, fair saint! I shall trouble you nomore after this evening!"

What did he mean? What could Thurston mean? Trouble her no more afterthis evening! She did not understand the words, but they went throughher bosom like a sword. She did not reply--she could not. She wished tosay:

"Oh, Thurston, if you could read my heart--how singly it is devoted toyou--how its thoughts by day, and dreams by night are filled withhistories and images of what I would be, and do or suffer for you--ofhow faithfully I mean to love and serve you in all our coming years--youwould not mistake me, and get angry, because you would know my heart. "But these words Marian could not have uttered had her life depended onit. 

"Go on, Marian, the moor is no safer than the forest; I shall attend youacross it. "

And they went on until the light from Old Field Cottage was visible. Then Marian said:

"You had better leave me now. They are sitting up and watching for me. "

"No! go on, the night is very dark. I must see you to the gate. "

They walked rapidly, and just as they approached the house Marian saw alittle figure wandering about on the moor, and which suddenly sprangtoward her with an articulate cry of joy! It was Miriam, who threwherself upon Marian with such earnestness of welcome that she did notnotice Thurston, who now raised his hat slightly from his head, with aslight nod, and walked rapidly away. 

"Here she is, mother! Oh! here she is!" cried Miriam, pulling atMarian's dress and drawing her in the house. 

"Oh! Marian, how anxious you have made us! Where have you been?" askedEdith, in a tone half of love, half of vexation. 

"I have been detained, " said Marian, in a low voice. 

The cottage room was very inviting. The evening was just chilly enoughto make the bright little wood fire agreeable. On the clean hearthbefore it sat the tea-pot and a covered plate of toast waiting forMarian. And old Jenny got up and sat out a little stand, covered it witha white napkin, and put the tea and toast, with the addition of a pieceof cold chicken and a saucer of preserves, upon it. And Marian laid offher straw bonnet and muslin scarf and sat down and tried to eat, foraffectionate eyes had already noticed the trouble of her countenance, and were watching her now with anxiety. 

"You do not seem to have an appetite, dear; what is the matter?" askedEdith. 

"I am not very well, " said Marian, rising and leaving the table, andrefraining with difficulty from bursting into tears. 

"It's dat ar cussed infunnelly party at Lockemup--last Toosday!" saidJenny, as she cleared away the tea service--"a-screwin' up tight incusseds an' ball-dresses! an' a-dancing all night till broad daylight!'sides heavin' of ever so much unwholesome 'fectionery trash down hert'roat--de constitution ob de United States hisself couldn't stan' sich!much less a delicy young gall! I 'vises ov you, honey, to go to bed. "

"Indeed, Marian, it was too much for you to lose your rest all night, and then have to get up early to go to school. You should have had agood sleep this morning. And then to be detained so late this evening. Did you have to keep any of the girls in, or was it a visit from thetrustees that detained you?"

"Neither, " said Marian, nervously, "but I think I must take Jenny'sadvice and go to bed. "

CHAPTER XVIII. 

THAT NIGHT. 

From that miserable night, Marian saw no more of Thurston, exceptoccasionally at church, when he came at irregular intervals, andmaintained the same coolness and distance of manner toward her, and withmatchless self-command, too, since often his heart yearned toward herwith almost irresistible force. 

Cold and calm as was his exterior, he was suffering not less thanMarian; self-tossed with passion, the strong currents andcounter-currents of his soul whirled as a moral maelstrom, in whichboth reason and conscience threatened to be engulfed. 

And in these mental conflicts judgment and understanding were oftenobscured and bewildered, and the very boundaries of right and wronglost. 

His appreciation of Marian wavered with his moods. 

When very angry he would mentally denounce her as a cold, prudent, calculating woman, who had entrapped him into a secret marriage, andhaving secured his hand, would now risk nothing for his love, andhimself as a weak, fond fool, the tool of the beautiful, proud diplomat, whom it would be justifiable to circumvent, to defeat, and to humble insome way. 

At such times he felt a desire, amounting to a strong temptation, toabduct her--to get her into his power, and make her feel that power. Nolaw could protect her or punish him--for they were married. 

But here was the extreme point at which reaction generally commenced, for Thurston could not contemplate himself in that character--playingsuch a part, for an instant. 

And then when a furtive glance would show him Marian's angel face, fairer and paler and more pensive than ever before--a strongcounter-current of love and admiration approaching to worship, would setin, and he would look upon her as a fair saint worthy of translation toheaven, and upon himself as a designing but foiled conspirator, scarcelyone degree above the most atrocious villain. "Currents andcounter-currents" of stormy passion, where is the pilot that shall guidethe understanding safely through them? It is no wonder, that once in awhile, a mind is wrecked. 

Marian, sitting in her pew, saw nothing in his face or manner toindicate that inward storm. She only saw the sullen, freezing exterior. Even in his softened moods of penitence, Thurston dared not seek hersociety. 

For Marian had begun to recover from the first abject prostration of hersorrow, and her fair, resolute brow and sad, firm lips mutely assuredhim that she never would consent to be his own until their marriagecould be proclaimed. 

And he durst not trust himself in her tempting presence, lest thereshould be a renewal of those humiliating scenes he had endured. 

Thus passing a greater portion of the summer; during which Thurstongradually dropped off from the church, and from all other haunts wherehe was likely to encounter Marian, and as gradually began to frequentthe Catholic chapel, and to visit Luckenough, and to throw himself asmuch as possible into the distracting company of the pretty elfJacquelina. But this--while it threw Dr. Grimshaw almost into frenzy, did not help Thurston to forget the good and beautiful Marian. Indeed, by contrast, it seemed to make her more excellent and lovely. 

And thus, while Jacquelina fancied she had a new admirer, Dr. Grimshawfeared that he had a new rival, and the holy fathers hoped they had anew convert--Thurston laughed at the vanity of the elf, the jealousy ofthe Ogre, and the gullibility of the priests--and sought only escapefrom the haunting memory of Marian, and found it not. And finally, boredand ennuied beyond endurance, he cast about for a plan by which tohasten his union with Marian. Perhaps it was only that neighborhood shewas afraid of, he thought--perhaps in some other place she would be lessscrupulous. Satan had no sooner whispered this thought to Thurston's earthan he conceived the design of spending the ensuing autumn in Paris--andof making Marian his companion while there. Fired with this new idea andthis new hope, he sat down and wrote her a few lines--without address orsignature--as follows:

"Dearest, forgive all the past. I was mad and blind. I have a plan tosecure at once our happiness. Meet me in the Mossy dell this evening, and let me explain it at your feet. "

Having written this note, Thurston scarcely knew how to get it at onceinto Marian's hands. To put it into the village post-office was toexpose it to the prying eyes of Miss Nancy Skamp. To send it to OldFields, by a messenger, was still more hazardous. To slip it intoMarian's own hand, he would have to wait the whole week untilSunday--and then might not be able to do so unobserved. 

Finally, after much thought, he determined, without admitting the elfinto his full confidence, to entrust the delivery of the note toJacquelina. 

He therefore copied it into the smallest space, rolled it up tightly, and took it with him when he went to Luckenough. 

He spent the whole afternoon at the mansion house, without having anopportunity to slip it into the hands of Jacquelina. 

It is true that Mrs. Waugh was not present, that good woman being in theback parlor, sitting at one end of the sofa and making a pillow of herlap for the commodore's head, which she combed soporifically, while, stretched at full length, he took his afternoon nap. But Mary L'Oiseauwas there, quietly knotting a toilet cover, and Professor Grimshaw wasthere, scowling behind a book that he was pretending to read, and losingno word or look or tone or gesture of Thurston or Jacquelina, who talkedand laughed and flirted and jested, as if there was no one else in theworld but themselves. 

At last a little negro appeared at the door to summon Mrs. L'Oiseau togive out supper, and Mary arose and left the room. 

The professor scowled at Jacquelina from the top of his book for alittle while, and then, muttering an excuse, got up and went out andleft them alone together. 

That was a very common trick of the doctor's lately, and no one couldimagine why he did it. 

"It is a ruse, a trap, the grim idiot! to see what we will say to eachother behind his back. Oh, I'd dose him! I just wish Thurston would kissme! I do so!" thought Jacquelina. "Thurston, " and the elf leaned towardher companion, and began to be as bewitching as she knew how. 

But Thurston was not thinking of Jacquelina's mischief, though withoutintending it he played directly into her hands. 

Rising he took his hat, and saying that his witching little cousin hadbeguiled him into breaking one engagement already, advanced to takeleave of her. 

"Jacquelina. " he said, lowering his voice, and slipping the note forMarian into her hand, "may I ask you to deliver this to Miss Mayfield, when no one is by?"

A look of surprise and perplexity, followed by a nod of intelligence, was her answer. 

And Thurston, with a grateful smile, raised her hand to his lips, tookleave and departed. 

"I wonder what it is all about? I could easily untwist and seal it, butI would not do so for a kingdom!" said Jacko to herself as she turnedthe tiny note about in her fingers. 

"Hand me that note, madam!" said Dr. Grimshaw, in curt and husky tones, as, with stern brow, he stood before her. 

"No, sir! it was not intended for you, " she said, mockingly. 

"By the demons, I know that! Hand it here!"

"Don't swear nor get angry! Both are unbecoming professor!" said theelf, with mocking gravity. 

"Perdition! will you give it up?" stamped the doctor, in fury. 

"'Perdition, ' no;" mocked the fairy. 

"Hand it here, I command you, madam!" cried the professor, trying tocompose himself and recover his dignity. 

"Command away--I like to hear you. Command a regiment, if you like!"said the elf. 

"Give it up!" thundered the professor, losing his slight hold uponself-control. 

"Couldn't do it, sir, " said Jacko, gravely. 

"It is an appointment, you impudent ----! Hand it here. "

"Not as you know of!" laughed Jacko, tauntingly shaking it over herhead. 

He made a rush to catch it. 

She sprang nimbly away, and clapped the paper into her mouth. 

He overtook and caught her by the arm, and shaking her roughly, exclaimed, under his breath:

"Where is it? What have you done with it? You exasperating, unprincipledlittle wretch, where is it?"

"'Echo anfers fere?'" mumbled the imp, chewing up the paper, and keepingher lips tight. 

"Give it me! give it me! or I'll be the death of you, you diabolicallittle ----!" he exclaimed, hoarsely, shaking her as if he would haveshaken her breath out. 

But Jacko had finished chewing up the paper, and she swallowed the pulpwith an effort that nearly choked her, and then opening her mouth, andinflating her chest, gave voice in a succession of piercing shrieks, that brought the whole family rushing into the room, and obliged theprofessor to relax his hold, and stand like a detected culprit. 

For there was the commodore roused up from his sleep, with his gray hairand beard standing out all ways, like the picture of the sun in analmanac. And there was Mrs. Waugh, with the great-tooth comb in herhand. And Mary L'Osieau, with the pantry keys. And the maid, Maria, withthe wooden tray of flour on her head. And Festus, with a bag of meal inhis hands. And all with their eyes and ears and mouths agape withamazement and inquiry. 

"In the fiend's name, what's the matter? What the d----l's broke loose?Is the house on fire again?" vociferated the commodore, seeing that noone else spoke; "what's all this about, Nace Grimshaw?"

"Ask your pretty niece, sir!" said the professor, sternly, turning away. 

"Oh, it's you, is it, you little termagant you? Oh, you're ahoney-cooler. What have you been doing now, Imp?" cried the old man, turning fiercely to Jacquelina. "Answer me, you little vixen!--what doesall this mean?"

"Better ask 'the gentlemanly professor' why he seized and nearly shookthe head off my shoulders and the breath out of my bosom!" saidJacquelina, half-crying, half-laughing. 

The commodore turned furiously toward Grim. Shaking a woman's head offher shoulders, and breath out of her body, in his house, did not suithis ideas of gallantry at all, rough as he was. 

"By heaven! are you mad, sir? What have you been doing? I never laid theweight of my hand on Jacquelina in all my life, wild as she has drivenme at times. Explain your brutality, sir. "

"It was to force from her hand a paper which she has swallowed, " saidDr. Grimshaw, with stern coldness regarding the group. 

"Swallowed! swallowed!" shrieked Mrs. Waugh, rushing toward Jacquelina, and seizing one of her arms, and gazing in her face, thinking only ofpoisons and of Jacko's frequent threats of suicide. "Swallowed!swallowed! Where did she get it? Who procured it for her? What was it?Oh, run for the doctor, somebody. What are you all standing like youwere thunderstruck for? Dr. Grimshaw, start a boy on horsebackimmediately for a physician. Tell him to tell the doctor to bring astomach pump with him. You had better go yourself. Oh, hasten; not asingle moment is to be lost. Jacquelina, my dear, do you begin to feelsick? Do you feel a burning in your throat and stomach? Oh, my dearchild! how came you to do such a rash act?"

Jacko broke into a loud laugh. 

"Oh! crazy! crazy! it is something that affects her brain she has taken. Oh! Dr. Grimshaw, how can you have the heart to stand there and not go?Probably opium. "

Jacko laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks--never, since hermarriage, had Jacko laughed so much. 

"Oh, Dr. Grimshaw! Don't you see she is getting worse and worse. How canyou have the heart to stand there and not go for a physician?" said Mrs. Waugh, while Mary L'Oiseau looked on, mute with terror, and thecommodore stood with his fat eyes protruding nearly to bursting. 

"Go, oh, go, Dr. Grimshaw!" insisted Mrs. Waugh. 

"I assure you it is not necessary, madam, " said the professor, withstern scorn. 

"There is no danger, aunty. I haven't taken any poison since I took adose of Grim before the altar!" said Jacko, through her tears andlaughter. 

"What have you taken, then, unfortunate child?"

"I have swallowed an assignation, " said the elf, as grave as a judge. 

"A what?" exclaimed all, in a breath, "An assignation, " repeated Jacko, with owl-like calmness and solemnity. 

"What in the name of common sense do you mean, my dear?" inquired Mrs. Waugh, while the commodore and Mary L'Oiseau looked the astonishmentthey did not speak. "Pray explain yourself, my love. "

"He--says--I--swallowed--an--assignation--whole!" repeated Jacquelina, with distinct emphasis. Her auditors looked from one to another inperplexity. 

"I see that I shall have to explain the disagreeable affair, " said theprofessor, coming forward, and addressing himself to the commodore. "Mr. Thurston Willcoxen was here this afternoon on a visit to your niece, sir. In taking leave he slipped into her hand a small note, which, whenI demanded, she refused to let me see. "

"And very properly, too. What right had you to make such a 'demand?'"said Mrs. Waugh, indignantly. 

"I was not addressing my remarks to you, madam, " retorted the professor. 

"That will not keep me from making a running commentary upon them, however, " responded the lady. 

"Hold your tongue, Henrietta. Go on, Nace. I swear you are enough todrive a peaceable man mad between you, " said the commodore, bringing hisstick down emphatically. "Well what next?"

"On my attempting to take it from her she put it in her mouth andswallowed it. "

"Yes! and then he seized me and shook me, as if I had been afine-bearing little plum tree in harvest time. "

"And served you right, I begin to think, you little limb, you. What wasit you had, you little hussy?"

"An assignation, he says, and he ought to know--being a professor. "

"Don't mock us, Minx! Tell us instantly what were the contents of thatnote?"

"As if I would tell you even if I could. But I couldn't tell you even ifI would. Haven't the least idea what sort of a note it was, from a noteof music to a 'note of hand, ' because I had to swallow it as I swallowedthe Ogre at the church--without looking at it. And it is just asindigestible! I feel it like a bullet in my throat yet!" And that wasall the satisfaction they could get out of Jacko. 

"I should not wonder if you had been making a fool of yourself, Nace, "said the commodore, who seemed inclined to blow up both parties. 

"I hope, sir, " said the professor, with great assumption of dignity, "that you now see the necessity of forbidding that impertinent youngcoxcomb the house. "

"Shall do nothing of the sort, Grim. Thurston has no more idea offalling in love with little Jacko than he has with her mother orHenrietta, not a bit more. " And then the commodore happening to turn hisattention to the two gaping negroes, with a flourish of his stick sentthem about their business, and left the room. 

The next evening Thurston repaired to the mossy dell in the expectationof seeing Marian, who, of course, did not make her appearance. 

The morning after, filled with disappointment and mortifying conjectureas to the cause of her non-appearance, Thurston presented himself beforeJacquelina at Luckenough. He happened to find her alone. With all herplayfulness of character, the poor fairy had too much self-respect torelate the scene to which she had been exposed the day before. So shecontented herself with saying:

"I found no opportunity of delivering your note, Thurston, and so Ithought it best to destroy it. "

"I thank you. Under the circumstances that was best, " replied the youngman, much relieved. When he reached home, he sat down and wrote a longand eloquent epistle, imploring Marian's forgiveness for his rashnessand folly, assuring her of his continued love and admiration; speakingof the impossibility of living longer without her society--informing herof his intention to go to Paris, and proposing that she should eitherprecede or follow him thither, and join him in that city. It was herduty, he urged, to follow her husband. 

The following Sunday, after church, Marian placed her answer in hishands. The letter was characteristic of her--clear, firm, frank andtruthful. It concluded thus:

"Were I to do as you desire me--leave home clandestinely, precede orfollow you to Paris and join you there, suspicion and calumny wouldpursue me--obloquy would rest upon my memory. All these things I couldbear, were it necessary in a good cause; but here it is not necessary, and would be wrong. But I speak not of myself--I ought not, indeed, todo so--nor of Edith, whose head would be bowed in humiliation andsorrow--nor of little Miriam, whose passionate heart would be halfbroken by such a desertion. But I speak for the cause of morality andreligion here in this neighborhood, where we find ourselves placed byheaven, and where we must exercise much influence for good or evil. Waitpatiently for those happy years, that the flying days are speeding ontoward us--those happy years, when you shall look back to this tryingtime, and thank God for trials and temptations passed safely through. Donot urge me again upon this subject. Be excellent, Thurston, be noble, be god-like, as you can be, if you will; it is in you. Be true to yourhighest ideal, and you will be all these. Oh! if you knew how yourMarian's heart craves to bow itself before true god-like excellence!"

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE INTERCEPTED LETTER. 

"No! The mail isn't come yet! leastways it isn't opened yet! Fan thatfire, you little black imp, you! and make that kittle bile; if youdon't, I shall never git this wafer soft! and then I'll turn you up, andgive you sich a switching as ye never had in your born days! for I won'tbe trampled on by you any longer! you little black willyan, you! 'Scat!you hussy! get out o' my way, before I twist your neck for you!"

The first part of this oration was delivered by Miss Nancy Skamp, tosome half-dozen negro grooms who were cooling their shins while waitingfor the mail, before she closed the doors and windows of thepost-office; the second part was addressed to Chizzle, her little negrowaiter--and the third concluding sentence, emphasized by a smart kick, was bestowed upon poor Molly, the mottled cat. The village post-officewas kept in the lower front room of the little lonely house on the hill, occupied by the solitary spinster. 

The mail-bags were stuffed remarkably full, and there were severalwonderful letters, that she felt it her duty to open and read beforesending to their owners. 

"Let's see, " said the worthy postmistress, as she sorted the letters inher hand. "What's this? oh! a double letter for Colonel Thornton--pshaw!that's all about political stuff! Who cares about reading that? I don't!He may have it to-night if he wants it! Stop! what's this? Lors! it's athribble letter for--for Marian Mayfield! And from furrin parts, too!Now I wonder--(Can't you stop that caterwauling out there?" she said, raising her voice. "Sposen you niggers were to wait till I open theoffice. I reckon you'd get your letters just as soon. ) Who can bewriting from furrin parts to Marian Mayfield? Ah! I'll keep this andread it before Miss Marian gets it. "

When Miss Nancy had closed up for the night she took out the letterdirected to Marian, opened, and began to read it. And as she read hereyes and mouth grew wider and wider with astonishment, and her wonderbroke forth in frequent exclamations of: "M--y conscience! Well now!Who'd a dreamt of it! Pity but I'd a let Solomon court her when hewanted to--but Lors! how did I ever know that she'd--M--y conscience!"etc. , etc. 

Her fit of abstraction was at last broken by a smart rap at the door. 

She started and turned pale, like the guilty creature that she was. 

The rap was repeated sharply. 

She jumped up, hustled the purloined letters and papers out of sight, and stood waiting. 

The rap was reiterated loudly and authoritatively. 

"Who's that?" she asked, trembling violently. 

"It's me, Aunt Nancy! Do for goodness' sake don't keep a fellow out herein the storm till he's nearly perished. It's coming on to hail and snowlike the last judgment!"

"Oh! it's you, is it, Sol? I didn't know but what it was--Do, formercy's sake don't be talking about the last judgment, and such awfulthings--I declare to man, you put me all of a trimble, " said Miss Nancy, by way of accounting for her palpitations, as she unbarred the door, andadmitted her learned nephew. Dr. Solomon Weismann seemed dreadfullydownhearted as he entered. He slowly stamped the snow from his boots, shook it off his clothes, took off his hat and his overcoat, and hungthem up, and spoke--never a word! Then he drew his chair right up infront of the fire, placed a foot on each andiron, stooped over, spreadhis palms over the kindly blaze, and still spoke--never a word!

"Well! I'd like to know what's the matter with you to-night, " said MissNancy, as she went about the room looking for her knitting. 

But the doctor stared silently at the fire. 

"It's the latest improvement in politeness--I shouldn't wonder--not toanswer your elders when they speak to you. "

"Were you saying anything to me, Aunt Nancy?"

"'Was I saying anything to you, Aunt Nancy?' Yes I was! I was asking youwhat's the matter?"

"Oh! I never was so dreadfully low-spirited in my life, Aunt Nancy. "

"And what should a young man like you have to make him feellow-spirited, I should like to know? Moping about Marian, I shouldn'twonder. The girl is a good girl enough, if she'd only mind her ownbusiness, and not let people spoil her. And if you do like her, and musthave her, why I shan't make no further objections. "

Here the young doctor turned shortly around and stared at his aunt inastonishment!

"Hem!" said Miss Nancy, looking confused, "well, yes, I did oppose itonce, certainly, but that was because you were both poor. "

"And we are both poor still, for aught that I can see, and likely tocontinue so. "

"Hish-ish! no you're not! leastways, she's not. I've got something verystrange to tell you, " said Miss Nancy, mysteriously drawing her chair upclose to her nephew, and putting her lips to his ear, andwhispering--"Hish-ish!"

"'Hish-ish!' What are you 'hish-ish'ing for, Aunt Nancy, I'm not sayinganything, and your breath spins into a fellow's ear enough to give himan ear-ache!" said Dr. Solomon, jerking his head away. 

"Now then listen--Marian Mayfield has got a fortune left to her. "

Miss Nancy paused to see the effect of this startling piece of news uponher companion. 

But the doctor was not sulky, and upon his guard; so after aninvoluntary slight start, he remained perfectly still. Miss Nancy wasdisappointed by the calm way in which he took this marvelous revelation. However, she went on to say:

"Yes! a fortune left her, by a grand-uncle, a bachelor, who diedintestate in Wiltshire, England. Now, what do you think of that!"

"Why, I think if she wouldn't have me when she was poor, she won't beapt to do it now she's rich. "

"Ah! but you see, she don't know a word of it!"

"How do you know it, then?"

"Hish-ish! I'll tell you if you will never tell. Oh, Lord, no, youmustn't indeed! You wouldn't, I know, 'cause it would ruin us! Listen--"

"Now, Aunt Nancy, don't be letting me into any of your capital crimesand hanging secrets--don't, because I don't want to hear them, and Iwon't neither! I ain't used to such! and I'm afraid of them, too!"

"'Fraid o' what? Nobody can prove it, " answered Miss Nancy, a littleincoherently. 

"You know what better than I do, Aunt Nancy; and let me tell you, you'dbetter be careful. The eyes of the community are upon you. "

"Let 'em prove it! Let 'em prove it! They ain't got no witnesses!Chizzle and the cat ain't no witnesses, " said Miss Nancy, obscurely;"let 'em do their worse! I reckon I know something about law as well asthey do! if I am a lone 'oman!"

"They can procure your removal from office without proving anythingagainst you except unpopularity. "

"That's Commodore Waugh's plan! the ugly, wicked, old buggaboo! 'Tain'tsuch great shakes of an office neither, the dear knows!"

"Never mind, Aunt Nancy, mend your ways, and maybe they'll not disturbyou. And don't tell me any of your capital secrets, because I might besummoned as a witness against you, which would not be so agreeable to myfeelings--yon understand! And now tell me, if you are absolutely certainthat Miss Mayfield has had that fortune left her. But stop! don't tellme how you found it out!"

"Well, yes, I am certain--sure, she has a great fortune left her. I havethe positive proofs of it. And, moreover, nobody in this country don'tknow it but myself--and you. And now I tell you, don't hint the matterto a soul. Be spry! dress yourself up jam! and go a courting beforeanybody else finds it out!"

"But that would scarcely be honorable either, " demurred the doctor. 

"You're mighty particular! Yes, it would, too! Jest you listen to me!Now if so be we were to go and publish about Marian's fortune, we'd havea whole herd of fortune hunters, who don't care a cent for anything butfortune, running after and worrying the life out of her, and maybe oneof them marrying of her, and spending of her money, and bringing of herto poverty, and breaking of her heart. Whereas, if we keep the secret ofthe estate to ourselves, you, who desarve her, because you 'counted herall the same when she was poor, and who'd take good care of herproperty, and her, too--would have her all to yourself, and nobody tointerfere. Don't you see?"

"Well, to be sure--when one looks at the thing in this light, "deliberated the sorely-tempted lover. 

"Of course! And that's the only light to look at it in! Don't you see?Why, by gracious! it seems to me as if we were doing Marian the greatestfavor. "

CHAPTER XX. 

AS A LAST RESORT. 

In the meantime Marian's heart was weighed down by a new cause of sorrowand anxiety. Thurston never approached her now, either in person or byletter. She never saw him, except at the church, the lecture-room, or inmixed companies, where he kept himself aloof from her and devotedhimself to the beautiful and accomplished heiress Angelica Le Roy, towhom rumor gave him as an accepted suitor. 

So free was Marian's pure heart from jealousy or suspicion that theseattentions bestowed by Thurston, and these rumors circulated in theneighborhood, gave her no uneasiness. For though she had, for herself, discovered him to be passionate and impetuous, she believed him to besound in principle. But when again and again she saw them together, atchurch, at lecture, at dinner parties, at evening dances; when at allthe Christmas and New Year festivities she saw her escorted by him; whenshe saw him ever at her side with a devotion as earnest and ardent as itwas perfectly respectful; when she saw him bend and whisper to thewitching girl and hang delighted on her "low replies, " her ownconfidence was shaken. What could he mean? Was it possible that insteadof being merely impulsive and erring, he was deliberately wicked? No, no, never! Yet, what could be his intentions? Did he really wish to winAngelica's heart? Alas! whether he wished so or not, it was but tooevident to all that he had gained her preference. In her blushing cheekand downcast eyes, and tremulous voice and embarrassed manner, when hewas present, in her abstracted mind, and restless air of wanderingglances when he was absent, the truth was but too clear. 

Marian was far too practical to speculate when she should act. It wasclearly her duty to speak to Thurston on the subject, and, repugnant asthe task was, she resolved to perform it. It was some time before shehad the opportunity. 

But at last, one afternoon in February, she chanced to meet Thurston onthe sea beach. After greeting him, she candidly opened the subject. Shespoke gently and delicately, but firmly and plainly--more so, perhaps, than another woman in the same position would have done, for Marian waseminently frank and fearless, especially where conscience was concerned. 

And Thurston met her arguments with a graceful nonchalance, as seeminglypolite and good-humored as it was really ironical and insulting. 

Marian gave him time--she was patient as firm--and firm as sorrowful. And until every argument and persuasion had failed, she said:

"As a last resort, it may be necessary for me to warn Miss Le Roy--notfor my own sake. Were I alone involved, you know how much I would endurerather than grieve you. But this young lady must not suffer wrong. "

"You will write her an anonymous letter, possibly?"

"No--I never take an indirect road to an object. "

"What, then, can you do, fair saint?"

"See Miss Le Roy, personally. "

"Ha! ha! ha! What apology could you possibly make for such anunwarrantable interference?"

"The Lord knoweth! I do not now. But I trust to be able to save herwithout--revealing you. "

"Do you imagine that vague warnings would have any effect upon her?"

"Coming from me they would. "

"Heavens! What a self-worshiper! But selfishness is your normal state, Marian! Self-love is your only affection--self-adulation your onlyenthusiasm--self-worship your only religion! You do not desire to beloved--you wish only to be honored! The love I offered you, you trampledunderfoot! You have no heart, you have only a brain! You cannot love, you only think! Nor have you any need of love, but only of power!Applause is your vital breath, your native air! To hear your name andpraise on every tongue--that is your highest ambition! Such a womanshould be a gorgon of ugliness that men might not waste their hearts'wealth upon her!" exclaimed Thurston, bitterly, gazing with murky eyes, that smoldered with suppressed passion, upon the beautiful girl beforehim. 

Marian was standing with her eyes fixed abstractedly upon a distantsail. Now the tears swelled under the large white eyelids and hungglittering on the level lashes, and her lip quivered and her voicefaltered slightly as she answered:

"You see me through a false medium, dear Thurston, but the time willcome when you will know me as I am. "

"I fancy the time has come. It has also come for me to enlighten you alittle. And in the first place, fair queen of minds, if not of hearts, let me assure you that there is a limit even to your almost universalinfluence. And that limit may be found in Miss Le Roy. You, who know thepower of thought only, cannot weigh nor measure the power of love. UponMiss Le Roy your warnings would have no effect whatever. I tell you thatin the face of them (were I so disposed), I might lead that girl to thealtar to-morrow. "

Marian was silent, not deeming an answer called for. 

"And now, I ask you, how you could prevent it?"

"I shall not be required to prevent such an act, Thurston, as such a onenever can take place. You speak so only to try your Marian's faith ortemper--both are proof against jests, I think. Hitherto you have trifledwith the young lady's affections for mere _ennui_ and thoughtlessness, Ido believe! but, now that some of the evil consequences have beensuggested to your mind, you will abandon such perilous pastime. You aregoing to France soon--that will be a favorable opportunity of breakingoff the acquaintance. "

"And breaking her heart--who knows? But suppose now that I should preferto marry her and take her with me?"

"Nay, of course, I cannot for an instant suppose such a thing. "

"But in spite of all your warnings, were such an event about to takeplace?"

"In such an exigency I should divulge our marriage. "

"You would?"

"Assuredly! How can you possibly doubt it? Such an event would abrogatemy obligations to silence, and would impose upon me the opposite duty ofspeaking. "

"I judged you would reason so, " he said, bitterly. 

"But, dear Thurston, of what are you talking? Of the event of your doingan unprincipled act! Impossible, dear Thurston! and forever impossible!"

"And equally impossible, fair saint, that you should divulge ourmarriage with any chance of proving it. Marian, the minister thatmarried us has sailed as a missionary to Farther India. And I only havethe certificate of our marriage. You cannot prove it. "

"I shall not need to prove it, Thurston. Now that I have awakened yourthoughts, I know that you will not further risk the peace of thatconfiding girl. Come! take my hand and let us return. We must hasten, too, for there is rain in that cloud. "

Thurston--piqued that he could not trouble her more--for under her calmand unruffled face he could not see the bleeding heart--arose sullenly, drew her hand within his arm and led her forth. 

And as they went the wind arose, and the storm clouds drove over the skyand lowered and darkened around them. 

Marian urged him to walk fast on account of the approaching tempest, andthe anxiety the family at the cottage would feel upon her account. 

They hurried onward, but just as they reached the neighborhood of OldFields a terrible storm of hail and snow burst upon the earth. 

It was as much as they could do to make any progress forward, or even tokeep themselves upon their feet. While struggling and plunging blindlythrough the storm, amid the rushing of the wind and the rattling of thehail, and the crackling and creaking of the dry trees in the forest, andthe rush of waters, and all the din of the tempest, Marian's ear caughtthe sound of a child wailing and sobbing. A pang shot through her heart. She listened breathlessly--and then in the pauses of the storm she hearda child crying, "Marian, Marian! Oh! where are you, Marian?"

It was Miriam's voice! It was Miriam wandering in night and storm insearch of her beloved nurse. 

Marian dropped Thurston's arm and plunged blindly forward through thesnow, in the direction of the voice, crying, "Here I am, my darling, mytreasure--here I am. What brought my baby out this bitter night?" sheasked, as she found the child half perishing with cold and wet, andcaught and strained her to her bosom. 

"Oh, the hail and snow came down so fast, and the wind shook the houseso hard, and I could not sleep in the warm bed while you were out in thestorm. So I stole softly down to find you. Don't go again, Marian. Ilove you so--oh! I love you so!"

At this moment the child caught sight of Thurston standing with his facehalf muffled in his cloak. A figure to be strangely recognized undersimilar circumstances in after years. Then she did not know him, butinquired:

"Who is that, Marian?"

"A friend, dear, who came home with me. Good-night, sir. "

And so dismissing Thurston, he walked rapidly away. She hurried withMiriam to the house. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

ONE OF SANS SOUCI'S TRICKS. 

Sans Souci stood before the parlor mirror, gazing into it, seeing--notthe reflected image of her own elfish figure, or pretty, witching face, with its round, polished forehead, its mocking eyes, its sunny, dancingcurls, its piquant little nose, or petulant little lips--butcontemplating, as through a magic glass, far down the vista of herchildhood--childhood scarcely past, yet in its strong contrast to thepresent, seeming so distant, dim, and unreal, that her reminiscence ofits days resembled more a vague dream of a pre-existence, than arational recollection of a part of her actual life on earth. Poor Jackowas wondering "If I be I?"

Grim sat in a leathern chair, at the farthest extremity of the room, occupied with holding a book, but reading Jacquelina. Suddenly he brokeinto her brown study by exclaiming:

"I should like to know what you are doing, and how long you intend toremain standing before that glass. "

"Oh, indeed! should you?" mocked Jacko, startled out of her reverie, yetinstantly remembering to be provoking. 

"What were you doing, and--"

"Looking at myself in the glass, to be sure. "

"Don't cut off my question, if you please. I was going on to inquire ofwhat you were thinking so profoundly. And madam, or miss--"

"Madam, if you please! the dear knows, I paid heavy enough for my newdignity, and don't intend to abate one degree of it. So if you call memiss again, I'll get some one who loves me to call you 'out!' Besides, I'd have you to know, I'm very proud of it. Ain't you, too? Say, Grim!ain't you a proud and happy man to be married?" asked Jacko, tauntingly. 

"You jibe! You do so with a purpose. But it shall not avail you. Idemand to know the subject of your thoughts as you stood before thatmirror. "

Now, none but a half madman like Grim would have gravely made such ademand, or exposed himself to such a rebuff as it deserved. Jacko lookedat him quizzically. 

"Hem!" she answered, demurely. "I'm sure I'm so awestricken, yourworship, that I can scarcely find the use of my tongue to obey yourreverence. I hope your excellency won't be offended with me. But I waswondering in general, whether the Lord really did make all the peopleupon earth, and in particular, whether He made you, and if so, for whatinscrutable reason He did it. "

"You are an impertinent minion. But, by the saints, I will have ananswer to my question, and know what you were thinking of while gazingin that mirror. "

"Sorry the first explanation didn't please your eminence. But now, 'honor bright!' I'll tell you truly what I was thinking of. I wasthinking--thinking how excessively pretty I am. Now, tell the truth, andshame the old gentleman. Did you ever, in all your life, see such abeautiful, bewitching, tantalizing, ensnaring face as mine is?"

"I think I never saw such a fool!"

"Really? Then your holiness never looked at yourself in a mirror! neverbeheld 'your natural face in a glass!' never saw 'what manner of man'you are. "

"By St. Peter! I will not be insulted, and dishonored, and defied inthis outrageous manner. I swear I will have your thoughts, if I have topluck them from your heart. "

"Whe-ew! Well, if I didn't always think thought was free, may I never bean interesting young widow, and captivate Thurston Willcoxen. "

"You impudent, audacious, abandoned--"

"Ching a ring a ring chum choo! And a hio ring tum larky!"

sang the elf, dancing about, seizing the bellows and flourishing it overher head like a tambourine, as she danced. 

"Be still, you termagant. Be still, you lunatic, or I'll have you put ina strait-jacket!" cried the exasperated professor. 

"Poor fellow!" said Jacko, dropping the bellows and sidling up to him ina wheedling, mock-sympathetic manner. "P-o-o-r f-e-l-l-o-w! don't getexcited and go into the highstrikes. You can't help it if you're uglyand repulsive as Time in the Primer, any more than Thurston Willcoxencan help being handsome and attractive as Magnus Apollo. "

"It was of him, then, you were thinking, minion? I knew it! I knew it!"exclaimed the professor, starting up, throwing down his book, and pacingthe floor. 

"Bear it like a man!" said Jacko, with solemnity. 

"You admit it, then. You--you--you--"

"'Unprincipled female. ' There! I have helped you to the words. And now, if you will be melo-dramatic, you should grip up your hair with bothhands, and stride up and down the floor and vociferate, 'Confusion!distraction! perdition! or any other awful words you can think of. That's the way they do it in the plays. "

"Madam, your impertinence is growing beyond sufferance. I cannot endureit. "

"That's a mighty great pity, now, for you can't cure it. "

"St. Mary! I will bear this no longer. "

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to emigrate!"

"I'll commit suicide. "

"That's you! Do! I should like very well to wear bombazine this coldweather. Please do it at once, too, if you're going to, for I shouldrather be out of deep mourning by midsummer!"

"By heaven, I will pay you for this. "

"Any time at your convenience, Dr. Grimshaw! And I shall be ready togive you a receipt in full upon the spot!" said the elf, rising. "Anything else in my line this morning, Dr. Grimshaw? Give me a callwhen you come my way! I shall be much obliged for your patronage, " shecontinued, curtseying and dancing off toward the door. "By the way, mydear sir, there is a lecture to be delivered this evening by our giftedyoung fellow-citizen, Mr. Thurston Willcoxen. Going to hear him? I am!Good-day!" she said, and kissed her hand and vanished. 

Grim was going crazy! Everybody said it, and what everybody says hasever been universally received as indisputable testimony. Many people, indeed, averred that Grim never had been quite right--that he always hadbeen queer, and that since his mad marriage with that flighty bit of achild, Jacquelina, he had been queerer than ever. 

He would have been glad to prevent Jacquelina from going to the lectureupon the evening in question; but there was no reasonable excuse fordoing so. Everybody went to the lectures, which were very popular. Mrs. Waugh made a point of being punctually present at every one. And shetook charge of Jacquelina, whenever the whim of the latter induced herto go, which was as often as she secretly wished to "annoy Grim. " And, in fact, "to plague the Ogre" was her only motive in being present, for, truth to tell, the elf cared very little either for the lecturer or hissubjects, and usually spent the whole evening in yawning behind herpocket handkerchief. Upon this evening, however, the lecture fixed eventhe flighty fancy of Jacquelina, as she sat upon the front seat betweenMrs. Waugh and Dr. Grimshaw. 

Jacquelina was magnetized, and scarcely took her eyes from the speakerduring the whole of the discourse. Mrs. Waugh was also too muchinterested to notice her companions. Grim was agonized. The result ofthe whole of which was--that after they all got home, Dr. Grimshaw--touse a common but graphic phrase--"put his foot down" upon the resolutionto prevent Jacquelina's future attendance at the lectures. Whether hewould have succeeded in keeping her away is very doubtful, had not aremarkably inclement season of weather set in, and lasted a fortnight, leaving the roads nearly impassable for two other weeks. And just astraveling was getting to be possible, Thurston Willcoxen was called toBaltimore, on his grandfather's business, and was absent a fortnight. So, altogether, six weeks had passed without Jacquelina's finding anopportunity to defy Dr. Grimshaw by attending the lectures against hisconsent. 

At the end of that time, on Sunday morning, it was announced in thechurch that Mr. Willcoxen having returned to the county, would resumehis lectures on the Wednesday evening following. Dr. Grimshaw looked atJacquelina, to note how she would receive this news. Poor Jacko had beenunder Marian's good influences for the week previous, and was, in herfitful and uncertain way, "trying to be good. " "As an experiment toplease you, Marian, " she said, "and to see how it will answer. " Poorelf! So she called up no false, provoking smile of joy, to drive Grimfrantic, but heard the news of Thurston's arrival with the outwardcalmness that was perfectly true to the perfect inward indifference. 

"She has grown guarded--that is a very bad sign--I shall watch hercloser, " muttered Grim behind his closed teeth. And when the professorwent home that day, his keen, pallid face was frightful to look upon. And many were the comments made by the dispersing congregation. 

From that Sunday to the following Wednesday, not one word was spoken ofThurston Willcoxen or his lecture. But on Wednesday morning Dr. Grimshawentered the parlor, where Jacquelina lingered alone, gazing out of thewindow, and going up to her side, astonished her beyond measure byspeaking in a calm, kind tone, and saying:

"Jacquelina, you have been too much confined to the house lately. Youare languid. You must go out more. Mr. Willcoxen lectures this evening. Perhaps you would like to hear him. If so, I withdraw my formerprohibition, which was, perhaps, too harsh, and I beg you will followyour own inclinations, if they lead you to go. "

You should have seen Jacko's eyes and eyebrows! the former were dilatedto their utmost capacity, while the latter were elevated to theirhighest altitude. The professor's eyebrows were knotted together, andhis eyes sought the ground, as he continued:

"I myself have an engagement at Leonardtown this afternoon, which willdetain me all night, and therefore shall not be able to escort you; butMrs. Waugh, who is going, will doubtless take you under her charge. Would you like to go?"

"I had already intended to go, " replied Jacquelina, without relaxing amuscle of her face. 

The professor nodded and left the room. 

Soon after, Jacquelina sought her aunty, whom she found in the pantry, mixing mince-meat. 

"I say, aunty--"

"Well, Lapwing?"

"When Satan turns saint, suspicion is safe, is it not?"

"What do you mean, Lapwing?"

"Why, just now the professor came to me, politely apologized for hislate rudeness, and proposed that I should go with you to hear Mr. Willcoxen's lecture, while he, the professor, goes to Leonardtown tofulfill an engagement. I say, aunty, I sniff a plot, don't you?"

"I don't know what to make of it, Lapwing. Are you going?"

"Of course I am; I always intended to. "

No more was said at the time. 

Immediately after dinner Dr. Grimshaw ordered his horse, and saying thathe was going to Leonardtown and should not be back till the next day, set forth. 

And after an early tea, Mrs. Waugh and Jacquelina set out in the familysleigh. A swift run over the hard, frozen snow brought them to OldFields, where they stopped a moment to pick up Marian, and then shootingforward at the same rate of speed, they reached the lecture-room in fulltime. 

Jacquelina was perhaps the very least enchanted of all his hearers--shewas, in fact, an exception, and found the discourse so entirelyuninteresting that it was with difficulty she could refrain from yawningin the face of the orator. Mrs. Waugh also, perhaps, was but halfmesmerized, for her eyes would cautiously wander from the lecturer'spulpit to the side window on her right hand. At length she stooped andwhispered to Jacquelina:

"Child, be cautious; Dr. Grimshaw is on the ground--I have seen his facerise up to that lower pane of glass at the corner of that window, several times. He must be crouched down on the outside. "

Jacquelina gave a little start of surprise--her face underwent manyphases of expression; she glanced furtively at the indicated window, andthere she saw a pale, wild face gleam for an instant against the glass, and then drop. She nodded her head quickly, muttering:

"Oh, I'll pay him!"

"Don't child! don't do anything imprudent, for gracious' sake! That manis crazy--any one can see he is!"

"Oh, aunty, I'll be sure to pay him! He shan't be in my debt muchlonger. Soft, aunty! Don't look toward the window again! Don't let himperceive that we see him or suspect him--and then, you'll see whatyou'll see. I have a counter plot. "

This last sentence was muttered to herself by Jacquelina, who thereuponstraightened herself up--looked the lecturer in the eyes--and gave herundevoted attention to him during the rest of the evening. There was nota more appreciating and admiring hearer in the room than Jacquelinaaffected to be. Her face was radiant, her eyes starry, her cheeksflushed, her pretty lips glowing breathlessly apart--her whole forminstinct with enthusiasm. Any one might have thought the little creaturebewitched. But the fascinating orator need not have flatteredhimself--had he but known it--Jacquelina neither saw his face nor heardhis words; she was seeing pictures of Grim's bitter jealousy, mortification and rage, as he beheld her from his covert; she wasrehearsing scenes of what she meant to do to him. And when at last sheforgot herself, and clapped her hand enthusiastically, it was not at theglorious peroration of the orator--but at the perfection of her ownlittle plot!

When the lecturer had finished, and as usual announced the subject andthe time of the next lecture, Jacquelina, instead of rising with themass of the audience, showed a disposition to retain her seat. 

"Come, my dear, I am going, " said Mrs. Waugh. 

"Wait, aunty, I don't like to go in a crowd. "

Mrs. Waugh waited while the people pressed toward the outer doors. 

"I wonder whether the professor will wait and join us when we returnhome?" said Mrs. Waugh. 

"We shall see, " said Jacquelina. "I wish he may. I believe he will. I amprepared for such an emergency. "

In the meantime, Thurston Willcoxen had descended from the platform, andwas shaking hands right and left with the few people who had lingered tospeak to him. Then he approached Mrs. Waugh's party, bowed, andafterward shook hands with each member of it, only retaining Marian'shand the fraction of a minute longest, and giving it an earnest pressurein relinquishing it. Then he inquired after the health of the family atLuckenough, commented upon the weather, the state of the crops, etc. , and with a valedictory bow withdrew, and followed the retreating crowd. 

"I think we can also go now, " said Mrs. Waugh. 

"Yes, " said Jacquelina, rising. 

Upon reaching the outside, they found old Oliver, with the sleigh drawnup to receive them. Jacquelina looked all around, to see if she coulddiscover Thurston Willcoxen on the grounds; and not seeing him anywhere, she persuaded herself that he must have hastened home. But she saw Dr. Grimshaw, recognized him, and at the same time could but notice thestrong resemblance in form and manner that he bore to ThurstonWillcoxen, when it was too dark to notice the striking difference incomplexion and expression. Dr. Grimshaw approached her, keeping hiscloak partially lifted to his face, as if to defend it from the wind, but probably to conceal it. Then the evil spirit entered Jacquelina, andtempted her to sidle cautiously up to the professor, slip her armthrough his arm, and whisper:

"Thurston! Come! Jump in the sleigh and go home with us. We shall havesuch a nice time! Old Grim has gone to Leonardtown, and won't be hometill to-morrow!"

"Has he, minion? By St. Judas! you are discovered now! I have now fullevidence of your turpitude. By all the saints! you shall answer for itfearfully, " said the professor, between his clenched teeth, as he closedhis arm upon Jacquelina's arm and dragged her toward the sleigh. 

"Ha! ha! ha! Oh! well, I don't care! If I mistook you for Thurston, itis not the first mistake I ever made about you. I mistook you oncebefore for a man!" said Jacko, defiantly. 

He thrust her into the sleigh already occupied by Mrs. Waugh and Marian, jumped in after her, and took the seat by her side. 

"Why, I thought that you set out for Leonardtown this afternoon, Dr. Grimshaw!" said Mrs. Waugh, coldly. 

"You may have jumped to other conclusions equally false and dangerous, madam!"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I mean, madam, that in conniving at the perfidy of this unprincipledgirl, your niece, you imagined that you were safe. It was an error. Youare both discovered!" said the professor, doggedly. 

Henrietta was almost enraged. 

"Dr. Grimshaw, " she said, "nothing but self-respect prevents me fromordering you from this sleigh!"

"I advise you to let self-respect, or any other motive you please, stillrestrain you, madam. I remain here as the warden of this prettycreature's person, until she is safely secured. "

"You will at least be kind enough to explain to us the causes of yourpresent words and actions, sir!" said Mrs. Waugh, severely. 

"Undoubtedly, madam! Having, as I judged, just reasons for doubting theintegrity of your niece, and more than suspecting her attachment to Mr. Willcoxen, I was determined to test both. Therefore, instead of going toLeonardtown, to be absent till to-morrow, I came here, posted myself ata favorable point for observation, and took notes. While here, I sawenough to convince me of Jacquelina's indiscretions. Afterward leavingthe spot with lacerated feelings I drew near her. She mistook me for herlover, thrust her arm through mine, and said, 'Dear Thurston, come homewith me--'"

"Oh! you shocking old fye-for-shame! I said no such thing! I said, Thurston! Come! Jump in the sleigh and go home with us. '"

"It makes little difference, madam! The meaning was the same. I will notbe responsible for a literal report. You are discovered. "

"What does that mean? If it means you have discovered that I mistook youfor Thurston Willcoxen, you ought to 'walk on thrones' the rest of yourlife! You never got such a compliment before, and never will again!"

"Aye! go on, madam! You and your conniving aunt--"

"Dr. Grimshaw, if you dare to say or hint such impertinence to me again, you shall leave your seat much more quickly than you took it, " said Mrs. Waugh. 

"We shall see, madam!" said the professor, and he lapsed into sullennessfor the remainder of the drive. 

But, oh! there was one in that sleigh upon whose heart the words of wildJacko had fallen with cruel weight-Marian!

CHAPTER XXII. 

PETTICOAT DISCIPLINE. 

When the sulky sleighing party reached Luckenough they found CommodoreWaugh not only up and waiting, but in the highest state ofself-satisfaction, a blessing of which they received their full share ofbenefit, for the old man, in the overflowing of his joy, had ordered anoyster supper, which was now all ready to be served smoking hot to thechilled and hungry sleigh-riders. 

"I wonder what's out now?" said Jacquelina, as she threw off herwrappings, scattering them heedlessly on the chairs and floor of thehall. "Some awful calamity has overtaken some of Uncle Nick's enemies. Nothing on earth but that ever puts him into such a jolly humor. Nowwe'll see! I wonder if it is a 'crowner's 'quest' case? Wish it wasGrim. "

Mrs. Henrietta blessed her stars for the good weather, without inquiringvery closely where it came from, as she conducted Marian to a bedroomto lay off her bonnet and mantle. 

It was only at the foot of his own table, after ladling out and servingaround the stewed oysters "hot and hot, " that the commodore, rubbing hishands, and smiling until his great face was as grotesque as anutcracker's, announced that Miss Nancy Skamp was turned out ofoffice--yea, discrowned, unsceptred, dethroned, and that Harry Barnwellreigned in her stead. The news had come in that evening's mail! Allpresent breathed more freely--all felt an inexpressible relief inknowing that the post-office would henceforth be above suspicion, andtheir letters and papers safe from, desecration. Only Marian said:

"What will become of the poor old creature?"

"By St. Judas Iscariot, that's her business. "

"No, indeed, I think it is ours; some provision should be made for her, Commodore Waugh. "

"I'll recommend her to the trustees of the almshouse, Miss Mayfield. "

Marian thought it best not to pursue the subject then, but resolved toembrace the first opportunity of appealing to the commodore's smotheredchivalry in behalf of a woman, old, poor, feeble, and friendless. 

During the supper Dr. Grimshaw sat up as stiff and solemn--Jacquelinasaid--"as if he'd swallowed the poker and couldn't digest it. " When theyrose from the table, and were about leaving the dining-room, Dr. Grimshaw glided in a funereal manner to the side of the commodore, anddemanded a private interview with him. 

"Not to-night, Nace! Not to-night! I know by your looks what it is! Itis some new deviltry of Jacquelina's. That can wait! I'm as sleepy as awhole cargo of opium! I would not stop to talk now to Paul Jones, if hewas to rise from the dead and visit me!"

And the professor had to be content with that, for almost immediatelythe family separated for the night. 

Marian, attended by the maid Maria, sought the chamber assigned toherself. When she had changed her tight-fitting day-dress for a wrapper, she dismissed the girl, locked the door behind her, and then drew herchair up before the little fire, and fell into deep thought. Many causesof anxiety pressed heavily upon Marian. That Thurston had repented hishasty marriage with herself she had every reason to believe. 

She had confidently hoped that her explanation with Thurston would haveresulted in good--but, alas! it seemed to have had little effect. Hisattentions to Miss Le Roy were still unremitted--the young lady'spartiality was too evident to all--and people already reported them tobe engaged. 

And now, as Marian sat by her little wood-fire in her chamber atLuckenough, bitter, sorrowful questions, arose in her mind. Would hepersist in his present course? No, no, it could not be! This wasprobably done only to pique herself; but then it was carried too far; itwas ruining the peace of a good, confiding girl. And Jacquelina--she hadevidently mistaken Dr. Grimshaw for Thurston, and addressed to him wordsarguing a familiarity very improper, to say the least of it. Could he betrifling with poor Jacquelina, too? Jacko's words when believing herselfaddressing Thurston, certainly denoted some such "foregone conclusions. "Marian resolved to see Thurston once more--once more to expostulate withhim, if happily it might have some good effect. And having formed thisresolution, she knelt and offered up her evening prayers, and retired tobed. 

The next day being Holy Thursday, there was, by order of the trustees, aholiday at Miss Mayfield's school. And so Marian arose with the prospectof spending the day with Jacquelina. When she descended to thebreakfast-room, what was her surprise to find Thurston Willcoxen, atthat early hour, the sole occupant of the room. He wore a green shootingjacket, belted around his waist. He stood upon the hearth with his backto the fire, his gun leaned against the corner of the mantle-piece, andhis game-bag dropped at his feet. Marian's heart bounded, and her cheekand eye kindled when she saw him, and, for the instant, all her doubtsvanished--she could not believe that guilt lurked behind a countenanceso frank, noble and calm as his. He stepped forward to meet her, extending his hand. She placed her own in it, saying:

"I am very glad to see you this morning, dear Thurston, for I havesomething to say to you which I hope you will take kindly from yourMarian, who has no dearer interest in the world than your welfare. "

"Marian, if it is anything relating to our old subject of dispute--MissLe Roy--let me warn you that I will hear nothing about it. "

"Thurston, the subjects of a neighborhood's gossip are always the verylast to hear it! You do not, perhaps, know that it is commonly reportedthat you and Miss Le Roy are engaged to be married!"

"And you give a ready ear and ready belief to such injurious slanders!"

"No! Heaven knows that I do not! I will not say that my heart has notbeen tortured--fully as much as your own would have been, dearThurston, had the case been reversed, and had I stooped to receive fromanother such attentions as you have bestowed upon Miss Le Roy. But, uponcalm reflection, I fully believe that you could never give that younglady my place in your heart, that having known and loved me--"

Marian paused, but the soul rose like a day-star behind her beautifulface, lighting serenely under her white eyelids, glowing softly on theparted lips and blooming cheeks. 

"Ay! 'having known and loved me!' There again spoke the very enthusiasmof self-worship! But how know you, Marian, that I do not find suchregnant superiority wearisome?--that I do not find it refreshing to sitdown quietly beside a lower, humbler nature, whose greatest faculty isto love, whose greatest need to be loved!"

"How do I know it? By knowing that higher nature of yours, which you nowignore. Yet it is not of myself that I wish to speak, but of her. Thurston, you pursue that girl for mere pastime, I am sure--with noulterior evil purpose, I am certain; yet, Thurston!" she said, involuntarily pressing her hand tightly upon her own bosom, "I know howa woman may love you, and that may be death or madness to Angelica, which is only whim and amusement to you. And, Thurston, you must go nofurther with this culpable trifling--you must promise me to see her nomore!"

"'Must!' Upon my soul! you take state upon yourself, fair queen!"

"Thurston, a higher authority than mine speaks by my lips--it is thevoice of Right! You will regard it. You will give me that promise!"

"And if I do not--"

"Oh! there is no time to argue with you longer--some one is coming--Imust be quick. It is two weeks, Thurston, since I first urged this uponyou; I have hesitated already too long, and now I tell you, though myheart bleeds to say it, that unless you promise to see Angelica no more, I will see and have an explanation with her to-morrow!"

"You will!"

"You can prevent it, dearest Thurston, by yourself doing what you knowto be right. "

"And if I do not?"

"I will see Miss Le Roy, to-morrow!"

"By heaven, then--"

His words were suddenly cut short by the entrance of Mrs. Waugh. In aninstant his countenance changed, and taking up his bag of game, he wentto meet the smiling, good humored woman, saying with a gay laugh:

"Good-morning, Mrs. Waugh! You see I have been shooting in the woods ofLuckenough this morning, and I could not leave the premises withoutoffering this tribute to their honored mistress. "

And Thurston gayly laid the trophy at her feet. 

"Hebe! will you please to see that a cup of hot coffee is sent up toMrs. L'Oiseau; she is unwell this morning, as I knew she would be, fromher excitement last night; or go with it yourself, Hebe! The presence ofthe goddess of health at her bedside is surely needed. "

Marian left the room, and then Mrs. Waugh, turning to the younggentleman, said:

"Thurston, I am glad to have this opportunity of speaking to you, for Ihave something very particular to say, which you must hear withouttaking offense at your old aunty!"

"Humph! I am in for petticoat discipline this morning, beyond a doubt, "thought the young man; but he only bowed, and placed a chair for Mrs. Waugh. 

"I shall speak very plainly, Thurston. "

"Oh! by all means! As plainly as you please, Mrs. Waugh, " said Thurston, with an odd grimace; "I am growing accustomed to have ladies speak veryplainly to me. "

"Well! it won't do you any harm, Thurston. And now to the point! I toldyou before, that you must not show any civility to Jacquelina. And now Irepeat it! And I warn you that if you do, you will cause some frightfulmisfortune that you will have to repent all the days of your life--if itbe not fatal first of all to yourself. I do assure you that old Grimshawis mad with jealousy. He can no longer be held responsible for hisactions. And in short, you must see Jacquelina no more!"

"Whe-ew! a second time this morning! Come! I'm getting up quite thereputation of a lady-killer!" thought the young man. Then with a lightlaugh, he looked up to Mrs. Waugh, and said:

"My dear madam, do you take me for a man who would willingly disturb thepeace or honor of a family?"

"Pshaw! By no means, my dear Thurston. Of course I know it's all themost ridiculous nonsense!"

"Well! By the patience of Job, I do think--"

Again Thurston's words were suddenly cut short, by the entrance of--thecommodore, who planted his cane down with his usual emphatic force, andsaid:

"Oh, sir! You here! I am very glad of it! There is a little matter to bediscussed between you and me! Old Hen! leave us! vanish! evaporate!"

Henrietta was well pleased to do so. And as she closed the door thecommodore turned to Thurston, and with another emphatic thump of hiscane, said:

"Well, sir! a small craft is soon rigged, and a short speech soon made. In two words, how dare you, sir! make love to Jacquelina?"

"My dear uncle--"

"By Neptune, sir; don't 'uncle' me. I ask you how you dared to make loveto my niece?"

"Sir, you mistake, she made love to me. "

"You impudent, impertinent, unprincipled jackanape. "

"Come, " said Thurston to himself, "I have got into a hornet's nest thismorning. "

"I shall take very good care, sir, to have Major Le Roy informed whatsort of a gentleman it is who is paying his addresses to his daughter. "

"Miss Le Roy will be likely to form a high opinion of me before thisweek is out, " said Thurston, laughing. 

"You--you--you graceless villain, you, " cried the commodore in arage--"to think that I had such confidence in you, sir; defended youupon all occasions, sir; refused to believe in your villainy, sir;refused to close my doors against you, sir. Yes, sir; and should havecontinued to do so, but for last night's affair. "

"Last night's affair! I protest, sir, I do not in the least understandyou?"

"Oh! you don't. You don't understand that after the lecture lastevening, in leaving the place, Jacquelina thrust her arm throughyours--no; I mean through Grim's, mistaking him for you, and said--whatshe never would have said, had there not been an understanding betweenyou. "

Thurston's face was now the picture of astonishment and perplexity. Thecommodore seemed to mistake it for a look of consternation and detectedguilt, for he continued:

"And now, sir, I suppose you understand what is to follow. Do you seethat door? It leads straight into the hall, which leads directly throughthe front portal out into the lawn, and on to the highway--that is yourroad, sir. Good-morning. "

And the commodore thumped down his stick and left the room--the image ofrighteous indignation. 

Thurston nodded, smiled slightly, drew his tablets from his pocket, torea leaf out, took his pencil, laid the paper upon the corner of themantel-piece, wrote a few lines, folded the note, and concealed it inhis hand as the door opened, and admitted Mrs. Waugh, Marian andJacquelina. There was a telegraphic glance between the elder lady andthe young man. 

That of Mrs. Waugh said:

"Do have pity on the fools, and go, Thurston. "

That of Thurston said:

"I am going, Mrs. Waugh, and without laughing, if I can help it. "

Then he picked up his shooting cap, bowed to Jacquelina, shook handswith Mrs. Waugh, and pressing Marian's palm, left within it the notethat he had written, took up his game bag and gun, and departed. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

SANS SOUCI'S LAST FUN. 

"The inconceivable idiots!" said Thurston, as he strode on through thepark of Luckenough, "to fancy that any one with eyes, heart and brain, could possibly fall in love with the 'Will-o'-the-wisp' Jacquelina, orworse, that giglet, Angelica; when he sees Marian! Marian, whose leastsunny tress is dearer to me than are all the living creatures in theworld besides. Marian, for whose possession I am now about to riskeverything, even her own esteem. Yet, she will forgive me; I will earnher forgiveness by such devoted love. "

He hurried on until he reached an outer gate, through which old Oliverwas driving a cart loaded with wood. As if to disencumber himself, hethrew his game bag and valuable fowling piece to the old man, saying:

"There, uncle; there's a present for you, " and without waiting to hearhis thanks, hurried on, leaping hedges and ditches, until he came to thespot where he had left his horse tied since the morning. Throwinghimself into his saddle, he put spurs to his horse, and galloped awaytoward the village, nor drew rein until he reached a little tavern onthe water side. He threw his bridle to an hostler in waiting, andhurrying in, demanded to be shown into a private room. The little parlorwas placed at his disposal. Here, for form's sake, he called for thenewspaper, cigars and a bottle of wine (none of which he discussed, however), dismissed the attendant, and sat waiting. 

Presently the odor of tar, bilge water, tobacco and rum warned him thathis expected visitor was approaching. And an instant after the door wasopened, and a short, stout, dark man in a weather-proof jacket, ducktrousers, cow-hide shoes, and tarpaulin hat entered. 

"Well, Miles, I've been waiting for you here more than an hour, " saidThurston, impatiently. 

"Ay, ay, sir--all right. I've been cruising round, reconnoitering theenemy's coast, " replied the man, removing the quid of tobacco from hismouth, and reluctantly casting it into the fire. 

"You are sure you know the spot?"

"Ay, ay? sir--the beach just below the Old Fields farmhouse. "

"And south of the Pine Bluff. "

"Ay, ay, sir. I know the port--that ain't the head wind!" said JackMiles, pushing up the side of his hat, and scratching his head with alook of doubt and hesitation. 

"What is, then, you blockhead?" asked Thurston, impatiently; "is yourhire insufficient?"

"N-n-n--yes--I dunno! You see, cap'n, if I wer' cock sure, as that 'erelittle craft you want carried of wer' yourn. "

"Hush! don't talk so loud. You're not at sea in a gale, you fool. Well, go on. Speak quickly and speak lower. "

"I wer' gwine to say, if so be I wer' sure you wer' the cap'n of her, why then it should be plain sailing, with no fog around, and no breakersahead. "

"Well! I am, you fool. She is mine--my wife. "

"Well, but, cap'n, " said the speaker, still hesitating, "if so be that'sthe case, why don't she strike her colors to her rightful owner? Whydon't you take command in open daylight, with the drums a-beating, andthe flags a-flying? What must you board her like a pirate in this wayfur? I've been a-thinkin' on it, and I think it's dangerous steeringalong this coast. You see it's all in a fog; I can't make out the landnowhere, and I'm afraid I shall be on the rocks afore I knows it. Yousee, cap'n, I never wer' in such a thick mist since I first went to sea. No offense to you, cap'n!"

"Oh, none in the world! No skillful pilot will risk his vessel in a fog. But I have a certain golden telescope of magic powers. It enables you tosee clearly through the thickest mist, the darkest night that ever fell. I will give it to you. In other words, I promised you five hundreddollars for this job. Come, accomplish it to-night, and you shall have athousand. Is the mist lifting?"

"I think it is, cap'n! I begin to see land. "

"Very well! now, is your memory as good as your sight? Do you recollectthe plan?"

"Ay, ay, sir. "

"Just let me hear you go over it. "

"I'm to bring the vessel round, and lay to about a quarter of a mile o'the coast. At dusk I'm to put off in a skiff and row to Pine Bluff, andlay under its shadow till I hear your signal. Then I'm to put to shoreand take in the--the--"

"The cargo. "

"Ay, ay, sir, the cargo. "

Leaving the two conspirators to improve and perfect their plot, we mustreturn to the breakfast parlor at Luckenough. The family were assembledaround the table. Dr. Grimshaw's dark, sombre and lowering looks, enoughto have spread a gloom over any circle, effectually banishedcheerfulness from the board. Marian had had no opportunity of readingher note--she had slipped it into her pocket But as soon as breakfastwas over, amid the bustle of rising from the table, Marian withdrew to awindow and glanced over the lines. 

"My own dearest one, forgive my haste this morning. I regret thenecessity of leaving so abruptly. I earnestly implore you to see me oncemore--upon the beach, near the Pine Bluffs, this evening at dusk. I havesomething of the utmost importance to say to you. "

She hastily crumpled the note, and thrust it into her pocket just asJacquelina's quizzical face looked over her shoulder. 

"You're going to stay all day with me, Marian?"

"Yes, love--that is, till after dinner. Then I shall have to beg of Mrs. Waugh the use of the carriage to go home. "

"Well, then, I will ride with you, Marian, and return in the carriage. "

All the company, with the exception of Mrs. Waugh, Marian andJacquelina, had left the breakfast-room. 

Mrs. Waugh was locking her china closet, and when she had done, she tookher bunch of keys, and turning to Marian, said:

"Hebe, dear, I want you to go with me and see poor old Cracked Nell. Sheis staying in one of our quarters. I think she has not long to live, andI want you to talk to her. "

"Now?"

"Yes, dear, I am going to carry her some breakfast. So, come along, andget your mantle, " said the good woman, passing out through the door. 

Marian followed, drawing out her pocket handkerchief to tie over herhead; and as she did so, the note, unperceived by her, fluttered out, and fell upon the carpet. 

Jacquelina impulsively darted upon it, picked it up, opened, and readit. Had Jacquelina first paused to reflect, she would never have doneso. But when did the elf ever stop to think? As she read, her eyes beganto twinkle, and her feet to patter up and down, and her head to swayfrom side to side, as if she could scarcely keep from singing anddancing for glee. 

"Well, now, who'd a thought it! Thurston making love to Marian! Andkeeping the courtship close, too, for fear of the old miser. Lord, butlook here! This was not right of me? Am I a pocket edition of Miss NancySkamp! Forbid it, Titania, Queen of the Fairies! But I didn't stealit--I found it! And I must, oh! must plague Grim a little with this!Forgive me, Marian, but for the life and soul of me, I can't helpkeeping this to plague Grim! You see, I promised to pay him when hecharged me with swallowing an assignation, and now if I don't pay him, if I don't make him perspire till he faints, my name is not Mrs. Professor Grimshaw! Let's see! What shall I do! Oh! Why, can't I pretendto lose it, just as Marian lost it, and drop it where he'll find it? Ihave it! Eureka!" soliloquized the dancing elf, as she placed herhandkerchief in the bottom of her pocket, and the note on top of it, andpassed on to the drawing-room to "bide her time. "

That soon came. She found the professor and the commodore standing inthe middle of the room, in an earnest conversation, which, however, seemed near its close, for as she took her seat, the commodore said:

"Very well--I'll attend to it, Nace, " and clapped his hat upon his head, and went out, while the professor dropped himself into a chair, and tookup a book. 

"Oh, stop, I want to speak to you a minute, uncle. " cried Jacquelina, starting up and flying after him, and as she flew, pulling out herhandkerchief and letting the note drop upon the floor. A swift, sly, backward glance showed that Grim had pounced upon it like a panther onits prey. 

"What in the d----l's name are you running after me for?" burst forththe old man as Jacko overtook him. 

"Why, uncle, I want to know if you'll please to give orders in thestable to have the carriage wheels washed off nicely? They neglect it. And I and Marian want to use it this afternoon. "

"Go to the deuce! Is that my business?"

Jacquelina laughed; and, quivering through every fibre of her frame withmischief, went back into the drawing-room to see the state of Grim. 

To Jacquelina's surprise she found the note lying upon the same spotwhere she had dropped it. Dr. Grimshaw was standing with his back towardher, looking out of the window. She could not see the expression of hiscountenance. She stooped and picked up the note, but had scarcelyreplaced it in her pocket before Dr. Grimshaw abruptly turned, walked upand stood before her and looked in her face. Jacquelina could scarcelysuppress a scream; it was as if a ghost had come before her, so blanchedwas his color, so ghastly his features. An instant he gazed into hereyes, and then passed out and went up-stairs. Jacquelina turned slowlyaround, looking after him like one magnetized. Then recovering herself, with a deep breath she said:

"Now I ask of all the 'powers that be' generally, what's the meaning ofthat? He picked up the note and he read it; that's certain. And hedropped it there again to make me believe he had never seen it; that'scertain, too. I wonder what he means to do! There'll be fun of somesort, anyway! Stop! here comes Marian from the quarters. I shouldn'twonder if she has missed her note, and hurried back in search of it. Come! I'll take a hint from Grim, and drop it where I found it, and saynothing. "

And so soliloquizing, the fairy glided back into the breakfast-room, letthe note fall, and turned away just in time to allow Marian to enter, glance around, and pick up her lost treasure. Then joining Marian, sheinvited her up-stairs to look at some new finery just come from the city. 

The forenoon passed heavily at Luckenough. When the dinner hourapproached, and the family collected in the dining-room, Dr. Grimshawwas missing; and when a messenger was sent to call him to dinner, ananswer was returned that the professor was unwell, and preferred to keephis room. 

Jacquelina was quivering between fun and fear--vague, unaccountablefear, that hung over her like a cloud, darkening her bright frolicspirit with a woeful presentiment. 

After dinner Marian asked for the carriage, and Mrs. Waugh gave ordersthat it should be brought around for her use. Jacquelina prepared toaccompany Marian home, and in an hour they were ready, and set forth. 

"You may tell Grim, if he asks after me, that I am gone home with Marianto Old Fields, and that I am not certain whether I shall return to-nightor not, " said Jacquelina, as she took leave of Mrs. Waugh. 

"My dear Lapwing, if you love your old aunty, come immediately back inthe carriage. And, by the way, my dear, I wish you would, either ingoing or coming, take the post-office, and get the letters and papers, "said Mrs. Waugh. 

"Let it be in going, then, Mrs. Waugh, for I have not been to thepost-office for two days, and there may be something there for us also, "said Marian. 

"Very well, bright Hebe; as you please, of course, " replied goodHenrietta. 

And so they parted. Did either dream how many suns would rise and set, how many seasons come and go, how many years roll by, before the twoshould meet again?

The carriage was driven rapidly on to the village, and drawn up at thepost-office. Old Oliver jumped down, and went in to make the necessaryinquiries. They waited impatiently until he reappeared, bringing onelarge letter. There was nothing for Luckenough. 

The great double letter was for Marian. She took it, and as the carriagewas started again, and drawn toward Old Fields, she examined thepost-mark and superscription. It was a foreign letter, mailed fromLondon, and superscribed in the handwriting of her oldest living friend, the pastor who had attended her brother in his prison and at the sceneof his death. 

Marian, with tearful eyes and eager hands, broke the seal and read, while Jacquelina watched her. For more than half an hour Jacko watchedher, and then impatience overcame discretion in the bosom of the fairy, and she suddenly exclaimed:

"Well, Marian! I do wonder what can ail you? You grow pale, and then yougrow red; your bosom heaves, the tears come in your eyes, you clasp yourhands tightly together as in prayer, then you smile and raise your eyesas in thanksgiving! Now, I do wonder what it all means?"

"It means, dear Jacquelina, that I am the most grateful creature uponthe face of the earth, just now; and to-morrow I will tell you why I amso, " said Marian, with a rosy smile. And well she might be most gratefuland most happy, for that letter had brought her assurance of fortunebeyond her greatest desires. On reading the news, her very first thoughthad been of Thurston. Now the great objection of the miser to theirmarriage would be removed--the great obstacle to their immediate unionovercome. Thurston would be delivered from temptation; she would besaved anxiety and suspense. "Yes; I will meet him this evening; I cannotkeep this blessed news from him a day longer than necessary, for thisfortune that has come to me will all be his own! Oh, how rejoiced I amto be the means of enriching him! How much good we can both do!"

These were the tumultuous, generous thoughts that sent the flush toMarian's cheeks, the smiles to her lips, and the tears to her eyes; thatcaused those white fingers to clasp, and those clear eyes to rise toHeaven in thankfulness, as she folded up her treasured letter and placedit in her bosom. 

An hour's ride brought them to Old Field Cottage. The sun had not yetset, but the sky was dark with clouds that threatened rain or snow; andtherefore Jacquelina only took time to jump out and speak to Edith, shake hands with old Jenny, kiss Miriam, and bid adieu to Marian; andthen, saying that she believed she would hurry back on her aunty'saccount, and that she was afraid she would not get to Luckenough beforeten o'clock, anyhow, she jumped into the carriage and drove off. 

And Marian, guarding her happy secret, entered the cottage to makepreparations for keeping her appointment with Thurston. 

 * * * * *

Meanwhile, at Luckenough, Dr. Grimshaw kept his room until late in theafternoon. Then, descending the stairs, and meeting the maid Maria, whoalmost shrieked aloud at the ghastly face that confronted her, he asked:

"Where is Mrs. Grimshaw?"

"Lord, sir!" cried the girl, half paralyzed by the sound of hissepulchral voice, "she's done gone home 'long o' Miss Marian. "

"When will she be back, do you know?"

"Lord, sir!" cried Maria, shuddering, "I heerd her tell old Mis', howshe didn't think she'd be back to-night. "

"Ah!" said the unhappy man, in a hollow tone, that seemed to come from atomb, as he passed down. 

And Maria, glad to escape him, fled up-stairs, and never paused untilshe had found refuge in Mrs. L'Oiseau's room. 

One hour after that, Professor Grimshaw, closely enveloped in an amplecloak, left Luckenough, and took the road to the beach. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

NIGHT AND STORM. 

The heavens were growing very dark; the wind was rising and drivingblack clouds athwart the sky; the atmosphere was becoming piercinglycold; the snow, that during the middle of the day had thawed, wasfreezing hard. Yet Marian hurried fearlessly and gayly on over therugged and slippery stubble fields that lay between the cottage and thebeach. A rapid walk of fifteen minutes brought her down to the water'sedge. But it was now quite dark. Nothing could be more deserted, lonelyand desolate than the aspect of this place. From her feet the blackwaters spread outward, till their utmost boundaries were lost among theblacker vapors of the distant horizon. Afar off a sail, dimly seen orguessed at, glided ghost-like through the shadows. Landward, theboundaries of field and forest, hill and vale, were all blended, fused, in murky obscurity. Heavenward, the lowering sky was darkened by wild, scudding, black clouds, driven by the wind, through which the young moonseemed plunging and hiding as in terror. The tide was coming in, and thewaves surged heavily with a deep moan upon the beach. Not a sound washeard except the dull, monotonous moan of the sea, and the fitful, hollow wail of the wind. The character of the scene was in the lastdegree wild, dreary, gloomy and fearful. Not so, however, it seemed toMarian, who, filled with happy, generous and tumultuous thoughts, wasscarcely conscious of the gathering darkness and the lowering storm, asshe walked up and down upon the beach, listening and waiting. Shewondered that Thurston had not been there ready to receive her; but thisthought gave her little uneasiness; it was nearly lost, as the storm anddarkness also were, in the brightness and gladness of her own loving, generous emotions. There was no room in her heart for doubt or trouble. If the thought of the morning's conversation and of Angelica entered hermind, it was only to be soon dismissed with fair construction andcheerful hope. And then she pictured to herself the surprise, thepleasure of Thurston, when he should hear of the accession of fortunewhich should set them both free to pursue their inclinations and plansfor their own happiness and for the benefit of others. And she sought inher bosom if the letters were safe. Yes; there they were; she felt them. Her happiness had seemed a dream without that proof of its reality. Foronce she gave way to imagination, and allowed that magician to buildcastles in the air at will. Thurston and herself must go to Englandimmediately to take possession of the estate; that was certain. Thenthey must return. But ere that she would confide to him her darlingproject; one that she had never breathed to any, because to have done sowould have been vain; one that she had longingly dreamed of, but never, as now, hoped to realize. And Edith--she would make Edith socomfortable! Edith should be again surrounded with the elegancies andrefinements of life. And Miriam--Miriam should have every advantage ofeducation that wealth could possibly secure for her, either in thiscountry or in Europe. If Edith would spare Miriam, the little girlshould go with her to England. But Thurston--above all, Thurston! Aheavy drop of rain struck Marian in the face, and, for an instant, wokeher from her blissful reverie. 

She looked up. Why did not Thurston come? The storm would soon burstforth upon the earth; where was Thurston? Were he by her side therewould be nothing formidable in the storm, for he would shelter her withhis cloak and umbrella, as they should scud along over the fields to thecottage, and reach the fireside before the rain could overtake them. Where was he? What could detain him at such a time? She peered throughthe darkness up and down the beach. To her accustomed eye, the featuresof the landscape were dimly visible. That black form looming like ashadowy giant before her was the headland of Pine Bluff, with its basewashed by the sullen waves. It was the only object that broke the dark, dull monotony of the shore. She listened; the moan of the sea, the wailof the wind, were blended in mournful chorus. It was the only sound thatbroke the dreary silence of the hour. 

Hark! No; there was another sound. Amid the moaning and the wailing ofwinds and waves, and the groaning of the coming storm, was heard theregular fall of oars, soon followed by the slow, grating sound of a boatpushed up upon the frozen strand. Marian paused and strained her eyesthrough the darkness in the direction of the sound, but could seenothing save the deeper, denser darkness around Pine Bluff. She turned, and, under cover of the darkness, moved swiftly and silently from thelocality. The storm was coming on very fast. The rain was falling andthe wind rising and driving it into her face. She pulled her hoodclosely about her face, and wrapped her shawl tightly about her as shemet the blast. 

Oh! where was Thurston, and why did he not come? She blamed herself forhaving ventured out; yet could she have foreseen this? No; for she hadconfidently trusted in his keeping his appointment. She had never knownhim to fail before. What could have caused the failure now? Had he kepthis tryste they would now have been safely housed at Old Field Cottage. Perhaps Thurston, seeing the clouds, had taken for granted that shewould not come, and he had therefore stayed away. Yet, no; she could notfor an instant entertain that thought. Well she knew that had a stormrisen, and raged as never a storm did before, Thurston, upon the barepossibility of her presence there, would keep his appointment. No;something beyond his control had delayed him. And, unless he should nowvery soon appear, something very serious had happened to him. The stormwas increasing in violence; her shawl was already wet, and she resolvedto hurry home. 

She had just turned to go when the sound of a man's heavy, measuredfootsteps, approaching from the opposite direction, fell upon her ear. She looked up half in dread, and strained her eyes out into theblackness of the night. It was too dark to see anything but the outlineof a man's figure wrapped in a large cloak, coming slowly on toward her. As the man drew near she recognized the well-known figure, air and gait;she had of the identity. She hastened to meet him, exclaiming in a low, eager tone:

"Thurston! dear Thurston!"

The man paused, folded his cloak about him, drew up, and stood perfectlystill. 

Why did he not answer her? Why did he not speak to her? Why did he standso motionless, and look so strange? She could not have seen theexpression of his countenance, even if a flap of his cloak had not beenfolded across his face; but his whole form shook as with an ague fit. 

"Thurston! dear Thurston!" she exclaimed once more, under her breath, asshe pressed toward him. 

But he suddenly stretched out his hand to repulse her, gasping, as itwere, breathlessly, "Not yet--not yet!" and again his whole frame shookwith an inward storm. What could be the reason of his strange behavior?Oh, some misfortune had happened to him--that was evident! Would it wereonly of a nature that her own good news might be able to cure. And itmight be so. Full of this thought, she was again pressing toward him, when a violent flurry of rain and wind whistled before her and droveinto her face, concealing him from her view. When the sudden gust assuddenly passed, she saw that he remained in the same spot, his breastheaving, his whole form shaking. She could bear it no longer. Shestarted forward and put her arms around his neck, and dropped her headupon his bosom, and whispered in suppressed tones:

"Dearest Thurston, what is the matter? Tell me, for I love you more thanlife!"

The man clasped his left arm fiercely around her waist, lifted his righthand, and, hissing sharply through his clenched teeth:

"You have drawn on your own doom--die, wretched girl!" plunged a daggerin her bosom, and pushed her from him. 

One sudden, piercing shriek, and she dropped at his feet, grasping atthe ground, and writhing in agony. Her soul seemed striving to recoverthe shock, and recollect its faculties. She half arose upon her elbow, supported her head upon her hand, and with her other hand drew the steelout from her bosom, and laid it down. The blood followed, and with thelife-stream her strength flowed away. The hand that supported her headsuddenly dropped, and she fell back. The man had been standing over her, speechless, motionless, breathless, like some wretched somnambulist, suddenly awakened in the commission of a crime, and gazing in horror, amazement, and unbelief upon the work of his sleep. 

Suddenly he dropped upon his knees by her side, put his arm under herhead and shoulders and raised her up; but her chin fell forward upon herbosom, and her eyes fixed and glazed. He laid her down gently, groaningin a tone of unspeakable anguish:

"Miss Mayfield! My God! what have I done?" And with an awful cry, between a shriek and a groan, the wretched man cast himself upon theground by the side of the fallen body. 

The storm was beating wildly upon the assassin and his victim; but theone felt it no more than the other. At length the sound of footsteps washeard approaching fast and near. In the very anguish of remorse theinstinct of self-preservation seized the wretched man, and he started upand fled as from the face of the avenger of blood. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

THE STRUGGLE ENDED. 

In the meantime Jacquelina had reached home sooner than she hadexpected. It was just dark, and the rain was beginning to fall as shesprang from the carriage and darted into the house. 

Mrs. Waugh met her in the hall, took her hand, and said:

"Oh, my dear Lapwing! I'm so glad you have come back, bad as the weatheris; for indeed the professor gives me a great deal of anxiety, and ifyou had stayed away to-night I could not have been answerable for theconsequences. There, now; hurry up-stairs and change your dress, andcome down to tea. It is all ready, and we have a pair of canvasbackducks roasted. "

"Very well, aunty! But--is Grim in the house?"

"I don't know, my love. You hurry. "

Jacquelina tripped up the stairs to her own room, which she foundlighted, warmed, and attended by her maid, Maria. She took off herbonnet and mantle, and laid them aside, and began to smooth her hair, dancing all the time, and quivering with suppressed laughter inanticipation of her "fun. " When she had arranged her dress, she wentdown-stairs and passed into the dining-room, where the supper table wasset. 

"See if Nace Grimshaw is in his room, and if he is not, we will wait nolonger!" said the hungry commodore, thumping his heavy stick down uponthe floor. 

Festus sprang to do his bidding, and after an absence of a few minutesreturned with the information that the professor was not there. 

Jacquelina shrugged her shoulders, and shook with inward laughter. 

They all sat down, and amid the commodore's growls at Grim's irregularhours, and Jacquelina's shrugs and smiles and sidelong glances andill-repressed laughter, the meal passed. And when it was over, thecommodore, leaning on Mrs. Waugh's arm, went to his own particular sofain the back parlor; Mrs. L'Oiseau remained, to superintend the clearingaway of the supper-table; and Jacquelina danced on to the front parlor, where she found no one but the maid, who was mending the fire. 

"Say! did you see anything of the professor while I was gone?" sheinquired. 

"Lors, honey, I wish I hadn't! I knows how de thought of it will give me'liriums nex' time I has a fever. "

"Why? What did he do? When was it?"

"Why, chile, jes afore sundown, as I was a carryin' an armful of woodup-stairs, for Miss Mary's room, I meets de 'fessor a comin' down. Ilike to 'a' screamed! I like to 'a' let de wood drap! I like to 'a'drapped right down myself! It made my heart beat in de back o' myhead--he look so awful, horrid gashly! Arter speakin' in a voice hollowas an empty coffin, an' skeerin' me out'n my seventeen sensibles axinarter you, he jes tuk hisself off summers, an' I ain't seen him sence. "

"What did he ask you? What did you tell him?"

"He jes ax where you was. I telled him how you were gone home 'long o'Miss Marian; he ax when you were comin' back; I telled him I believednot till to-morrow mornin'; then his face turned all sorts of awful darkcolors, an' seemed like it crushed right in, an' he nodded and said'Ah!' but it sounded jes like a hollow groan; and he tuk hisself off, and I ain't seen him sence. "

The elf danced about the room, unable to restrain her glee. And thelonger Dr. Grimshaw remained away, the more excited she grew. Sheskipped about like the very sprite of mischief, exclaiming to herself:

"Oh, shan't we have fun presently! Oh, shan't we, though! The Grimmaniac! he has gone to detect me! And he'll break in upon Thurston andMarian's interview. Won't there be an explosion! Oh, Jupiter! Oh, Puck!Oh, Mercury! What fun--what delicious fun! Wr-r-r-r! I can scarcelycontain myself! Begone, Maria! Vanish! I want all the space in this roomto myself! Oh, fun alive! What a row there'll be! Me-thinks I hear thedin of battle!

"Oh clanga a rang! a rang! clang! clash! Whoop!"

sang the elf, springing and dancing, and spinning, and whirling, aroundand around the room in the very ecstasy of mischief. Her dance wasbrought to a sudden and an awful close. 

The hall door was thrown violently open, hurried and irregular stepswere heard approaching, the parlor door was pushed open, and Dr. Grimshaw staggered forward and paused before her!

Yes; her frolic was brought to an eternal end. She saw at a glance thatsomething fatal, irreparable, had happened. There was blood upon hishands and wrist-bands! Oh, more--far more! There was the unmistakablemark of Cain upon his writhen brow! Before now she had seen him lookpale and wild and haggard, and had known neither fear nor pity for him. But now! An exhumed corpse galvanized into a horrid semblance of lifemight look as he did--with just such sunken cheeks and ashen lips andfrozen eyes; with just such a collapsed and shuddering form; yet, withal, could not have shown that terrific look of utter, incurabledespair! His fingers, talon-like in their horny paleness and rigidity, clutched his breast, as if to tear some mortal anguish thence, and hisglassy eyes were fixed in unutterable reproach upon her face! Thrice heessayed to speak, but a gurgling noise in his throat was the onlyresult. With a last great effort to articulate, the blood suddenlyfilled his throat and gushed from his mouth! For a moment he sought tostay the hemorrhage by pressing a handkerchief to his lips; but soon hishand dropped powerless to his side; he reeled and fell upon the floor!

Jacquelina gazed in horror on her work. 

And then her screams of terror filled the house!

The family came rushing in. Foremost entered the commodore, shaking hisstick in a towering passion, and exclaiming at the top of his voice:

"What the devil is all this? What's broke loose now? What are youraising all this row for, you infernal little hurricane?"

"Oh, uncle! aunty! mother! look--look!" exclaimed Jacquelina, wringingher pale fingers, and pointing to the fallen man. 

The sight arrested all eyes. 

The miserable man lay over on his side, ghastly pale, and breathinglaboriously, every breath pumping out the life-blood, that had made alittle pool beside his face. 

Mrs. Waugh and Mary L'Oiseau hastened to stoop and raise the sufferer. The commodore drew near, half stupefied, as he always was in a crisis. 

"What--what--what's all this? Who did it? How did it happen?" he asked, with a look of dull amazement. 

"Give me a sofa cushion, Maria, to place under his head. Mary L'Oiseau, hurry as fast as you can, and send a boy for Dr. Brightwell; tell him totake the swiftest horse in the stable, and ride for life and death, andbring the physician instantly, for Dr. Grimshaw is dying! Hurry!"

"Dying? Eh! what did you say, Henrietta?" inquired the commodore, in asort of stupid, blind anxiety; for he was unable to comprehend what hadhappened. 

"Speak to me, Henrietta! What is the matter? What ails Grim?"

"He has ruptured an artery, " said Mrs. Waugh, gravely, as she laid thesufferer gently back upon the carpet and placed the sofa pillow underhis head. 

"Ruptured an artery? How did it happen? Grim! Nace! speak to me! How doyou feel? Oh, Heaven! he doesn't speak--he doesn't hear me! Oh, Henrietta! he is very ill--he is very ill! He must be put to bed atonce, and the doctor sent for! Come here, Maria! Help me to lift youryoung master, " said the old man, waking up to anxiety. 

"Stay! The doctor has been sent for; but he must not be moved; it wouldbe fatal to him. Indeed, I fear that he is beyond human help, " saidHenrietta, as she wiped the gushing stream from the lips of the dyingman. 

"Beyond human help! Eh! what? Nace! No! no! no! no! It can't be!" saidthe old man, kneeling down, and bending over him in helpless trouble. 

"Attend Dr. Grimshaw, while I hurry out and see what can be done, Mary, " said Mrs. Waugh, resigning her charge, and then hastening fromthe room. She soon returned, bringing with her such remedies as herlimited knowledge suggested. And she and Mary L'Oiseau applied them; butin vain! Every effort for his relief seemed but to hasten his death. Thehemorrhage was subsiding; so also was his breath. "It is too late; he isdying!" said Henrietta, solemnly. 

"Dying! No, no, Nace! Nace! speak to me! Nace! you're not dying! I'velost more blood than that in my time! Nace! Nace! speak to yourold--speak, Nace!" cried the commodore, stooping down and raising thesufferer in his arms, and gazing, half wildly, half stupidly, at thecongealing face. 

He continued thus for some moments, until Mrs. Waugh, putting her handupon his shoulder, said gravely and kindly:

"Lay him down, Commodore Waugh; he is gone. "

"Gone! gone!" echoed the old man, in his imbecile distraction, anddropped his gray head upon the corpse, and groaned aloud. 

Mrs. Waugh came and laid her hand affectionately on his shoulder. Helooked up in such hopeless, helpless trouble, and cried out:

"Oh, Henrietta! he was my son--my only, only son! My poor, unowned boy!Oh, Henrietta! is he dead? Are you sure? Is he quite gone?"

"He is gone, Commodore Waugh; lay him down; come away to your room, "said Henrietta, gently taking his hand. 

Jacquelina, white with horror, was kneeling with clasped hands anddilated eyes, gazing at the ruin. The old man's glance fell upon herthere, and his passion changed from grief to fury. Fiercely he brokeforth:

"It was you! You are the murderess--you! Heaven's vengeance light uponyou!"

"Oh, I never meant it! I never meant it! I am very wretched! I wish I'dnever been born!" cried Jacquelina, wringing her pale fingers. 

"Out of my sight, you curse! Out of my sight--and may Heaven's wrathpursue you!" thundered the commodore, shaking with grief and rage. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE BODY ON THE BEACH. 

In the meanwhile, where was he whose headlong passions had precipitatedthis catastrophe? where was Thurston? After having parted with hisconfederate, he hurried home, for a very busy day lay before him. Toaccount for his sudden departure, and long absence, and to cover hisretreat, it was necessary to have some excuse, such as a peremptorysummons to Baltimore upon the most important business. Once in thatcity, he would have leisure to find some further apology for proceedingdirectly to France without first returning home. Now, strange as it mayappear, though his purposed treachery to Marian wrung his bosom withremorse whenever he paused to think of it, yet it was the remorsewithout humiliation; for he persuaded himself that stratagem was fair inlove as in war, especially in his case with Marian, who had alreadygiven him her hand; but now the unforseen necessity of these subterfugesmade his cheek burn. He hastened to Dell-Delight, and showing the oldman a letter he had that morning received from the city, informed himthat he was obliged to depart immediately, upon affairs of the mosturgent moment to him, and then, to escape the sharp stings ofself-scorn, he busied himself with arranging his papers, packing histrunks and ordering his servants. His baggage was packed into and behindthe old family carriage, and having completed his preparations about oneo'clock, he entered it, and was driven rapidly to the village. 

The schooner was already at the wharf and waiting for him. Thurston metmany of his friends in the village, and in an off-hand manner explainedto them the ostensible cause of his journey. And thus, in open daylight, gayly chatting with his friends, Thurston superintended the embarkationof his baggage. And it was not until one by one they had shaken handswith him, wished him a good voyage and departed, that Thurston foundhimself alone with the captain in the cabin. 

"Now you know, Miles, that I have not come on board to remain. When thecoast is clear I shall go on shore, get in the carriage, and return toDell-Delight. I must meet my wife on the beach. I must remain with herthrough all. I must take her on board. You will be off Pine Bluff justat dusk, captain?"

"Ay, ay, sir. "

"You will not be a moment behind hand?"

"Trust me for that, Cap'n. "

"See if the people have left. "

The skipper went on deck and returned to report the coast clear. 

Thurston then went on shore, entered the carriage, and was drivenhomeward. 

It was nearly four o'clock when he reached Dell-Delight, and there hefound the whole premises in a state of confusion. Several negroes wereon the lookout for him; and as soon as they saw him ran to the house. 

"What is the meaning of all this?" he inquired, detaining one of thehindmost. 

"Oh, Marse Thuster, sir! oh, sir!" exclaimed the boy, rolling his eyesquite wildly. 

"What is the matter with the fool?"

"Oh, sir; my poor ole marse! my poor ole marse!"

"What has happened to your master? Can't you be plain, sir?"

"Oh, Marse Thuster, sir! he done fell down inter a fit, an had to betoted off to bed. "

"A fit! good heavens! has a doctor been summoned?" exclaimed Thurston, springing from his seat. 

"Oh, yes, sir! Jase be done gone arter de doctor. "

Thurston stopped to inquire no farther, but ran into the house and upinto his grandfather's chamber. 

There a distressing scene met his eyes. The old man, with his limbsdistorted, and his face swollen and discolored, lay in a state ofinsensibility upon the bed. Two or three negro women were gatheredaround him, variously occupied with rubbing his hands, chafing histemples and wiping the oozing foam from his lips. At the foot of the bedstood poor daft Fanny, with disheveled hair and dilated eyes, chanting agrotesque monologue, and keeping time with a see-saw motion from side toside. The first thing Thurston did, was to take the hand of this poorcrazed, but docile creature, and lead her from the sick-room up into herown. He bade her remain there, and then returned to his grandfather'sbedside. In reply to his anxious questioning, he was informed that theold man had fallen into a fit about an hour before--that a boy had beeninstantly sent for the doctor, and the patient carried to bed; but thathe had not spoken since they laid him there. It would yet be an hourbefore the doctor could possibly arrive, and the state of the patientdemanded instant attention. 

And withal Thurston was growing very anxious upon Marian's account. Thesun was now sinking under a dark bank of clouds. The hour of hisappointed meeting with her was approaching. He felt, of course, that hisscheme must for the present be deferred--even if its accomplishmentshould again seem necessary, which was scarcely possible. But Marianwould expect him. And how should he prevent her coming to the beach andwaiting for him there? He did not know where a message would most likelynow to find her, whether at Luckenough, at Old Fields or at ColonelThornton's. But he momentarily expected the arrival of Dr. Brightwell, and he resolved to leave that good man in attendance at the sick bed, while he himself should escape for a few hours; and hurry to the beachto meet and have an explanation with his wife. 

But an hour passed, and the doctor did not come. 

Thurston's eyes wandered anxiously from the distorted face of the dyingman before him, to the window that commanded the approach to the house. But no sign of the doctor was to be seen. 

The sun was on the very edge of the horizon. The sufferer before him wasevidently approaching his end. Marian he knew must be on her way to thebeach. And a dreadful storm was rising. 

His anxiety reached fever heat. 

He could not leave the bedside of his dying relative, yet Marian mustnot be permitted to wait upon the beach, exposed to the fierceness ofthe storm, or worse the rudeness of his own confederates. 

He took a sudden resolution, and wondered that he had not done sobefore. He resolved to summon Marian as his wife to his home. 

Full of this thought, he hastened down stairs and ordered Melchizedek toput the horse to the gig and get ready to go an errand. And while theboy was obeying his directions, Thurston penned the following lines toMarian:

"My dear Marian--my dear, generous, long-suffering wife--come to my aid. My grandfather has been suddenly stricken down with apoplexy, and isdying. The physician has not yet arrived, and I cannot leave hisbedside. Return with my messenger, to assist me in taking care of thedying man. You, who are the angel of the sick and suffering, will notrefuse me your aid. Come, never to leave me more! Our marriage shall beacknowledged to-morrow, to-night, any time, that you in your nicerjudgment, shall approve. Come! let nothing hinder you. I will send amessage to Edith to set her anxiety at rest, or I will send for her tobe with you here. Come to me, beloved Marian. Dictate your ownconditions if you will--only come. "

He had scarcely sealed this note, when the boy, hat in hand, appeared atthe door. 

"Take this note, sir, jump in the gig and drive as fast as possible tothe beach below Pine Bluffs. You will see Miss Mayfield waiting there, give her this note, and then--await her orders. Be quicker than you everwere before, " said Thurston, hurrying his messenger off. 

Then, much relieved of anxiety upon Marian's account, he returned to thesick-room and renewed his endeavors to relieve the patient. 

Ah! he was far past relief now; he was stricken with death. And withThurston all thoughts, all feelings, all interests, even those connectedwith Marian, were soon lost in that awful presence. It was the firsttime he had ever looked upon death, and now, in the rushing tide of hissinful passions and impetuous will, he was brought face to face withthis last, dread, all-conquering power! What if it were not in his ownperson? What if it were in the person of an old man, very infirm, andover-ripe for the great reaper? It was death--the final earthly end ofevery living creature--death, the demolition of the human form, thebreaking up of the vital functions, the dissolution between soul andbody, the one great event that "happeneth to all;" the doom certain, thehour uncertain; coming in infancy, youth, maturity, as often or oftenerthan in age. These were the thoughts that filled Thurston's mind as hestood and wiped the clammy dews from the brow of the dying man. 

Thurston might have remained much longer, too deeply and painfullyabsorbed in thought to notice the darkening of the night or the beatingof the storm, had not a gust of the rain and wind, of unusual violence, shaken the windows. 

This recalled Marian to his mind; it was nearly time for her to arrive;he hoped that she was near the house; that she would soon be there; hearose and went to the window to look forth into the night; but the deepdarkness prevented his seeing, as the noise of the storm prevented hishearing the approach of any vehicle that might be near. He went back tothe bedside; the old man was breathing his life away without a struggle. Thurston called the mulatto housekeeper to take his place, and then wentdown stairs and out of the hall door, and gazed and listened for thecoming of the gig, in vain. He was just about to re-enter the hall andclose the door when the sound of wheels, dashing violently, helter-skelter, and with break-neck speed into the yard, arrested hisattention. 

"Marian! it is my dear Marian at last; but the fellow need not risk herlife to save her from the storm by driving at that rate. My own Marian!"he exclaimed, as he hurried out, expecting to meet her. 

Melchizedek alone sprang from the gig, and sank trembling and quaking athis master's feet. 

Thurston blindly pushed past him, and peered and felt in the gig. It wasempty. 

"Where is the lady, sirrah? What ails you? Why don't you answer me?"exclaimed Thurston, anxiously returning to the spot where the boycrouched. But the latter remained speechless, trembling, groaning, andwringing his hands. "Will you speak, idiot? I ask you where is the lady?Was she not upon the beach? What has frightened you so? Did the horserun away?" inquired Thurston, hurriedly, in great alarm. 

"Oh, sir, marster! I 'spects she's killed!"

"Killed! Oh, my God! she has been thrown from the gig!" cried the youngman, in a piercing voice, as he reeled under this blow. In anotherinstant he sprang upon the poor boy and shaking him furiously, cried ina voice of mingled grief, rage and anxiety: "Where was she thrown? Whereis she? How did it happen? Oh! villain! villain! you shall pay for thiswith your life! Come and show me the spot! instantly! instantly!"

"Oh, marster, have mercy, sir! 'Twasn't along o' me an' the gig ithappened of! She wur 'parted when I got there!"

"Where? Where? Good heavens, where?" asked Thurston, nearly besidehimself. 

"On de beach, sir. Jes' as I got down there, I jumped out'n de gig, andwalked along, and then I couldn't see my way, an' I turned de bull-eyeob de lantern on de sand afore me, an' oh, marse--"

"Go, on! go on!"

"I seen de lady lying like dead, and a man jump up and run away, andwhen I went nigh, I seen her all welkering in her blood, an' dis yerlying by her, " and the boy handed a small poignard to his master. 

It was Thurston's own weapon, that he had lost some months previous inthe woods of Luckenough. It was a costly and curious specimen of Frenchtaste and ingenuity. The handle was of pearl, carved in imitation of thesword-fish, and the blade corresponded to the long pointed beak thatgives the fish that name. 

Thurston scarcely noticed that it was his dagger, but pushing the boyaside, he ran to the stables, saddled a horse with the swiftness ofthought, threw himself into his stirrups, and galloped furiously awaytowards the beach. 

The rain was now falling in torrents, and the wind driving it in fiercegusts against his face. The tempest was at its very height, and itseemed at times impossible to breast the blast--it seemed as thoughsteed and rider must be overthrown! Yet he lashed and spurred his horse, and struggled desperately on, thinking with fierce anguish of Marian, his Marian, lying wounded, helpless, alone and dying, exposed to all thefury of the winds and waves upon that tempestuous coast, and dreadingwith horror, lest before he should be able to reach her, her helplessform, still living, might be washed off by the advancing waves. Thus hespurred and lashed his horse, and drove him against rain and wind, andthrough the darkness of the night. 

With all his desperate haste, it was two hours before he approached thebeach. And as he drew near the heavy cannonading of the waves upon theshore admonished him that the tide was at its highest point. He pressedrapidly onward, threw himself from his horse, and ran forward to theedge of the bank above the beach. It was only to meet the confirmationof his worst fears! The waters were thundering against the bank uponwhich he stood. The tide had come in and overswept the whole beach, andnow, lashed and driven by the wind, the waves tossed and raved androared with appalling fury. 

Marian was gone, lost, swept away by the waves! that was the thoughtthat wrung from him a cry of fierce agony, piercing through all thediscord of the storm, as he ran up and down the shore, hoping nothing, expecting nothing, yet totally unable to tear himself from the fatalspot. 

And so he wildly walked and raved, until his garments were drenchedthrough with the rain; until the storm exhausted its fury and subsided;until the changing atmosphere, the still, severe cold, froze all hisclothing stiff around him; so he walked, groaning and crying and callingdespairingly upon the name of Marian, until the night waned and themorning dawned, and the eastern horizon grew golden, then crimson, thenfiery with the coming sun. 

The sky was clear, the waters calm, the sands bare and glistening in theearly sunbeams; no vestige of the storm or of the bloody outrage of thenight remained--all was peace and beauty. In the distance was a singlesnow-white sail, floating swan-like on the bosom of the blue waters. Allaround was beauty and peace, yet from the young man's tortured bosompeace had fled, and remorse, vulture-like, had struck its talons deepinto his heart. He called himself a murderer, the destroyer of Marian;he said it was his selfishness, his willfulness, his treachery, that hadexposed her to this danger, and brought her to this fate! Some outlaw, some waterman, or fugitive negro had robbed and murdered her. Marianusually wore a very valuable watch; probably, also, she had money abouther person--enough to have tempted the cupidity of some lawless wretch. He shrank in horror from pursuing conjecture--it was worse than torture, worse than madness to him. Oh, blindness and frenzy; why had he notthought of these dangers so likely to beset her solitary path? Why hadhe so recklessly exposed her to them? Vain questions, alas! vain as washis self-reproach, his anguish and despair!

CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE MISSING MARIAN. 

In the meantime, how had the morning broken upon Dell-Delight? How uponLuckenough? and how at Old Field Cottage?

At Dell-Delight the old man had expired just before the sun arose. Thetwo physicians that had been summoned the night previous, but had beendelayed by the storm, arrived in the morning only to see the patientdie. Many inquiries were made and much conjecture formed as to the causeof Thurston Willcoxen's improper and unaccountable absence at such ajuncture. But Melchizedek, poor, faithful fellow, having followed hismaster's steps, did not appear, and no one else upon the premises couldgive any explanation relative to the movements of their young master. Hehad left the bedside of his dying relative at nine o'clock the nightbefore, and he had not since returned--his saddle-horse was gone fromthe stable--that was all that could be ascertained. Dr. Brightwell tookhis departure, to answer other pressing calls. But Dr. Weismann, seeingthat there was no responsible person in charge, and having elsewhere nourgent demands upon his time and attention, kindly volunteered to stayand superintend affairs at Dell-Delight, until the reappearance of theyoung master. 

 * * * * *

At Old Field Cottage, Edith had sat up late the night before waiting forMarian; but, seeing that she did not return, had taken it for grantedthat she had remained all night with Miss Thornton, and so, without theleast uneasiness at her prolonged absence, had retired to rest. And inthe morning she arose with the same impression on her mind, gaylylooking forward to Marian's return with the visitor, and the certainhappy revelation she had promised. 

She had breakfast over early, made the room very tidy, dressed Miriam inher holiday clothes, put on her own Sunday gown, and sat down to waitfor Marian and the visitor. The morning passed slowly, in momentaryexpectation of an arrival. 

It was near eleven o'clock when she looked up and saw Colonel Thornton'scarriage approaching the cottage. 

"There! I said so! I knew Marian had remained with Miss Thornton, andthat they would bring her home this morning. I suppose Colonel Thorntonand his sister are both with her! And now for the revelation! I wonderwhat it is, " said Edith, smiling to herself, as she arose and strokeddown her dress, and smoothed her ringlets, preparatory to meeting herguests. 

By this time the carriage had drawn up before the cottage gate. Edithwent out just in time to see the door opened, and Miss Thornton alight. The lady was alone--that Edith saw at the first glance. 

"What can be the meaning of this?" she asked herself, as she wentforward to welcome her visitor. 

But Miss Thornton was very pale and tremulous, and she acted altogetherstrangely. 

"How do you do, Miss Thornton? I am very glad to see you, " said Edith, cordially offering her hand. 

But the lady seized it, and drew her forcibly towards the door, sayingin a husky voice:

"Come in--come in!"

Full of surprise, Edith followed her. 

"Sit down, " she continued, sinking into a chair, and pointing to avacant one by her side. 

Edith took the seat, and waited in wonder for her further speech. 

"Where is Marian?" asked Miss Thornton, in an agitated voice. 

"Where? Why, I believed her to be at your house!" answered Edith, insurprise and vague fear. 

"Good heaven!" exclaimed the lady, growing very pale, and trembling inevery limb. Edith started up in alarm. 

"Miss Thornton, what do you mean? For mercy's sake, tell me, hasanything happened?"

"I do not know--I am not sure--I trust not--tell me! when did you seeher last? When did she leave home? this morning?"

"No! last evening, about sundown. "

"And she has not returned? You have not seen her since?"

"No!"

"Did she tell you where she was going?"

"No!"

"Did she promise to come back? and when?"

"She promised to return before dark! She did not do so! I judged thestorm had detained her, and that she was with you, and I felt easy. "

"Oh, God!" cried the lady, in a voice of deep distress, "Miss Thornton! for Heaven's sake! tell me what has occurred!"

"Oh, Edith!"

"In mercy, explain yourself--Marian! what of Marian?"

"Oh, God, sustain you, Edith! what can I say to you? my own heart islacerated!"

"Marian! Marian! oh! what has happened to Marian! Oh! where is Marian?"

"I had hoped to find her here after all! else I had not found courage tocome!"

"Miss Thornton, this is cruel--"

"Ah! poor Edith! what you required to be told is far more cruel. Oh, Edith! pray Heaven for fortitude?"

"I have fortitude for anything but suspense. Oh, Heaven, Miss Thornton, relieve this suspense, or I shall suffocate!"

"Edith! Edith!" said the lady, going up and putting her arms around thefragile form of the young widow, as to shield and support her. "Oh, Edith! I heard a report this morning--and it may be but a report--I prayHeaven, that it is no more--"

"Oh, go on! what was it?"

"That, that last evening on the beach during the storm, MarianMayfield--" Miss Thornton's voice choked. 

"Oh, speak; for mercy speak! What of Marian?"

"That Marian Mayfield had been waylaid, and--"

"Murdered! Oh, God!" cried Edith, as her over-strained nerves relaxed, and she sank in the arms of Miss Thornton. 

A child's wild, frenzied shriek resounded through the house. It was thevoice of Miriam. 

 * * * * *

At Luckenough that morning, the remains of the unfortunate Dr. Grimshawwere laid out preparatory to burial. Jacquelina, in a bewildered stuporof remorse, wandered vaguely from room to room, seeking rest and findingnone. "I have caused a fellow creature's death!" That was the envenomedthought that corroded her heart's centre. From her bosom, too, peace hadfled. It was near noon when the news of Marian's fate reachedLuckenough, and overwhelmed the family with consternation and grief. 

But Jacquelina! the effect of the tragic tale on her was nearly fatal. She understood the catastrophe, as no one else could! She knew whostruck the fatal blow, and when and why, and under what mistake it wasstruck! She felt that another crime, another death lay heavy on hersoul! It was too much! oh! it was too much! No human heart nor braincould sustain the crushing burden, and the poor lost elf fell intoconvulsions that threatened soon to terminate in death. There was noraving, no talking; in all her frenzy, the fatal secret weighing on herbosom did not then transpire. 

 * * * * *

Before the day was out the whole county was in an uproar. Never had anyevent of the neighborhood created so high an excitement or so profound asympathy. Great horror and amazement filled every bosom. A countymeeting spontaneously convened, and handbills were printed, largerewards offered, and every means taken to secure the discovery of thecriminal. In the deep, absorbing sympathy for Marian's fate, the suddendeath of Professor Grimshaw, and the reasonably-to-be-expected demise ofold Mr. Cloudesley Willcoxen, passed nearly unnoticed, and were soonforgotten. Among the most zealous in the pursuit of the unknown murdererwas Thurston Willcoxen; but the ghastly pallor of his countenance, thewildness of his eyes, and the distraction of his manner, often varied byfits of deep and sullen despair, excited the surprise and conjecture ofall who looked upon him. 

Days passed and still no light was thrown upon the mystery. About afortnight after the catastrophe, however, information was brought to theneighborhood that the corpse of a woman, answering to the description ofMarian, had been washed ashore some miles down the coast, but had beeninterred by the fishermen, the day after its discovery. Many gentlemenhurried down to the spot, and further investigation confirmed thegeneral opinion that the body was that of the martyred girl. 

 * * * * *

Three weeks after this, Edith lay upon her deathbed. Her delicate framenever recovered this last great shock. A few days before her death shecalled Miriam to her bedside. The child approached; she was sadlyaltered within the last few weeks; incessant weeping had dimmed hersplendid eyes, and paled her brilliant cheeks. 

"Sit down upon the bed by me, my daughter, " said Edith. 

The child climbed up and took the indicated seat. Something of thatlong-smothered fire, which had once braved the fury of the Britishsoldiers, kindled in the dying woman's eyes. 

"Miriam, you are nearly nine years old in time, and much older than thatin thought and feeling. Miriam, your mother has not many days to live;but in dying, she leaves you a sacred trust to be fulfilled. My child, do you follow and understand me?"

"Yes, mamma. "

"Do not weep; tears are vain and idle. There was an injured queen oncewhose tears were turned to sparks of fire. So I would have yours toturn! She came among us a young stranger girl, without fortune orposition, or any of the usual stepping-stones to social consideration. Yet see what influence, what power she soon obtained, and what reformsand improvements she soon effected. The county is rich in the monumentsof her young wisdom and angelic goodness. All are indebted to her; butnone so deeply as you and I. All are bound to seek out and punish herdestroyer; but none so strongly as you and I. Others have pursued thesearch for the murderer with great zeal for a while; we must make thatsearch the one great object of our lives. Upon us devolve the right andthe duty to avenge her death by bringing her destroyer to the scaffold. Miriam, do you hear--do you hear and understand me?"

"Yes, mamma; yes. "

"Child, listen to me! I have a clue to Marian's murderer!"

Miriam started, and attended breathlessly. 

"My love, it was no poor waterman or fugitive negro, tempted by want orcupidity. It was a gentleman, Miriam. "

"A gentleman?"

"Yes; one that she must have become acquainted with during her visit toWashington three years ago. Oh, I remember her unaccountable distress inthe months that followed that visit! His name, or his assumed name, was--attend, Miriam!--Thomas Truman. "

"Thomas Truman!"

"Yes; and while you live, remember that name, until its owner hangs uponthe gallows!"

Miriam shuddered, and hid her pale face in her hands. 

"Here, " said Edith, taking a small packet of letters from under herpillow. "Here, Miriam, is a portion of her correspondence with this man, Thomas Truman--I found it in the secret drawer of her bureau. There areseveral notes entreating her to give him a meeting, on the beach, atMossy Dell, and at other points. From the tenor of these notes, I am ledto believe that she refused these meetings; and, more than that, fromthe style of one in particular I am induced to suppose that she mighthave been privately married to that man. Why he should have enticed herto that spot to destroy her life, I do not know. But this, at least, Iknow: that our dearest Marian has been basely assassinated. I see reasonto suppose the assassin to have been her lover, or her husband, and thathis real or assumed name was Thomas Truman. These facts, and this littlepacket of notes and letters, are all that I have to offer as testimony. But by following a slight clue, we are sometimes led to greatdiscoveries. "

"Why didn't you show them to the gentlemen, dear mamma? They might havefound out something by them. "

"I showed them to Thurston Willcoxen, who has been so energetic in thepursuit of the unknown murderer; but Thurston became so violentlyagitated that I thought he must have fallen. And he wished very much toretain those letters, but I would not permit them to be carried out ofmy sight. When he became calmer, however, he assured me that there couldbe no possible connection between the writer of these notes and themurderer of the unfortunate girl. I, however, think differently. I thinkthere is a connection, and even an identity; and I think this packet maybe the means of bringing the criminal to justice; and I leave it--asacred trust--in your charge, Miriam. Guard it well; guard it as youronly treasure, until it has served its destined purpose. And now, Miriam, do you know the nature of a vow?"

"Yes, mamma. "

"Do you understand its solemnity--its obligation, its inviolability?"

"I think I do, mamma. "

"Do you know that in the performance of your vow, if necessary, no toil, no privation, no suffering of mind or body, no dearest interest of yourlife, no strongest affection of your soul, but must be sacrificed; doyou comprehend all this?"

"Yes, mamma; I knew it before, and I have read of Jeptha and hisdaughter. "

"Now, Miriam, kneel down, fold your hands, and give them to me betweenmy own. Look into my eyes. I want you to make a vow to God and to yourdying mother, to avenge the death of Marian. Will you bind your soul bysuch an obligation?"

The child was magnetized by the thrilling eyes that gazed deep into herown. She answered:

"Yes, mamma. "

"You vow in the sight of God and all his holy angels, that, as you hopefor salvation, you will devote your life with all your faculties of mindand body, to the discovery and punishment of Marian's murderer; and alsothat you will live a maiden until you become and avenger. "

"I vow. "

"Swear that no afterthoughts shall tempt you to falter; that happen whatmay in the changing years, you will not hesitate; that though yourinterests and affections should intervene, you will not suffer them toretard you in your purpose; that no effort, no sacrifice, no privation, no suffering of mind or body shall be spared, if needful, to theaccomplishment of your vow. "

"I swear. "

"You will do it! You are certain to discover the murderer, and clear upthe mystery. "

The mental excitement that had carried Edith through this scenesubsided, and left her very weak, so that when Thurston Willcoxen soonafter called to see her, she was unable to receive him. 

The next morning, however, Thurston repeated his visit, and was broughtto the bedside of the invalid. 

Thurston was frightfully changed, the sufferings of the last monthseemed to have made him old--his countenance was worn, his voice hollow, and his manner abstracted and uncertain. 

"Edith, " he asked, as he took the chair near her head, "do you feelstronger this morning?"

"Yes--I always do in the forenoon"

"Do you feel well enough to talk of Miriam and her future?"

"Oh, yes. "

"What do you propose to do with her?"

"I shall leave her to Aunt Henrietta--she will never let the childwant. "

"But Mrs. Waugh is quite an old lady now. Jacquelina is insane, thecommodore and Mrs. L'Oiseau scarcely competent to take care ofthemselves--and Luckenough a sad, unpromising home for a little girl. "

"I know it--oh! I know it; why do you speak of it, since I can do nootherwise?"

"To point out how you may do otherwise, dear Edith. It would have beencruel to mention it else. "

She looked up at him with surprise and inquiry. 

"Edith, you have known me from my boyhood. You know what I am. Will youleave your orphan daughter to me? You look at me in wonder; but listen, dear Edith, and then decide. Marian--dear martyred saint! loved thatchild as her own. And I loved Marian--loved her as I had never dreamedit possible for heart to love--I cannot speak of this! it deprives me ofreason, " he said, suddenly covering his eyes with his hands, while aspasm agitated his worn face. In a few minutes he resumed. 

"Look at me, Edith! the death of Marian has brought me to what you see!My youth has melted away like a morning mist. I have not an object inlife except to carry out purposes which were dear to her benevolentheart, and which her sudden death has left incomplete. I have not anaffection in the world except that which comes through her. I shouldlove this child dearly, and cherish her devotedly for Marian's sake. Ishall never change my bachelor life--but I should like to legally adoptlittle Miriam. I should give her the best educational advantages, andmake her the co-heir with my young brother, Paul Douglass, of all Ipossess. Say, Edith, can you trust your child to me?" He spokeearnestly, fervently, taking her hand and pressing it, and gazingpleadingly into her eyes. 

"So you loved Marian--I even judged so when I saw you labor hardest ofall for the apprehension of the criminal. Oh, many loved her as much asyou! Colonel Thornton, Dr. Weismann, Judge Gordon, Mr. Barnwell, alladored her! Ah! she was worthy of it. "

"No more of that, dear Edith, it will overcome us both; but tell me ifyou will give me your little girl?"

"Dear Thurston, your proposal is as strange and unusual as it isgenerous. I thank you most sincerely, but you must give me time to lookat it and think of it. You are sincere, you are in earnest, you mean allyou say. I see that in your face; but I must reflect and take counselupon such an important step. Go now, dear Thurston, and return to me atthis hour to-morrow morning. "

Thurston pressed her hand and departed. 

The same day Edith had a visit from Mrs. Waugh, Miss Thornton and otherfriends. And after consulting with them upon the proposal that had beenmade her, she decided to leave Miriam in the joint guardianship of Mrs. Waugh and Thurston Willcoxen. 

And this decision was made known to Thurston when he called the nextmorning. 

A few days after this Edith passed to the world of spirits. And Thurstontook the orphan child to his own heart and home. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

IN MERRY ENGLAND. 

When Marian recovered consciousness she found herself on board ship anda lady attending to her wants. When she was at last able to ask how shecame there the lady nurse told the following story:

"On the evening of Holy Thursday, about the time the storm arose, ourvessel lay to opposite a place on St. Mary's coast, called Pine Bluff, and the mate put off in a boat to land a passenger; as they neared theshore they met another boat rowed by two men, who seemed so anxious toescape observation, as to row away as fast as they could withoutanswering our boat's salute. Our mate thought very strange of it at thetime; but the mysterious boat was swiftly hid in the darkness, and ourboat reached the land. The mate and his man had to help to carry thepassenger's trunks up to the top of the bluff, and a short distancebeyond, where a carriage was kept waiting for him, and after they hadparted from him, they returned down the bluff by a shorter thoughsteeper way; and just as they reached the beach, in the momentary lullof the storm, they heard groans. Immediately the men connected thosesounds with the strange boat they had seen row away, and they raised thewick in the lantern, and threw its light around, and soon discovered youupon the sands, moaning, though nearly insensible. They naturallyconcluded that you had been the victim of the men in the boat, who wereprobably pirates. Their first impulse was to pursue the carriage, andget you placed within it, and taken to some farmhouse for assistance;but a moment's reflection convinced them that such a plan was futile, asit was impossible to overtake the carriage. There was also no house nearthe coast. They thought it likely that you were a stranger to that partof the country. And in the hurry and agitation of the moment, they coulddevise nothing better than to put you in the boat, and bring you onboard this vessel. That is the way you came here. "

The grateful gaze of Marian thanked the lady, and she asked:

"Tell me the name of my angel nurse. "

"Rachel Holmes, " answered the lady, blushing gently. "My husband is asurgeon in the United States army. He is on leave of absence now for thepurpose of taking me home to see my father and mother--they live inLondon. I am of English parentage. "

Marian feebly pressed her hand, and then said:

"You are very good to ask me no questions, and I thank you with all myheart; for, dear lady, I can tell you nothing. "

The next day the vessel which had put into New York Harbor on call, sailed for Liverpool. 

Marian slowly improved. Her purposes were not very clear or strongyet--mental and physical suffering and exhaustion had temporarilyweakened and obscured her mind. Her one strong impulse was to escape, toget away from the scenes of such painful associations and memories, andto go home, to take refuge in her own native land. The thought ofreturning to Maryland, to meet the astonishment, the wonder, theconjectures, the inquiries, and perhaps the legal investigation thatmight lead to the exposure and punishment of Thurston, was insupportableto her heart. No, no! rather let the width of the ocean divide her fromall those horrors. Undoubtedly her friends believed her dead--let it beso--let her remain as dead to them. She should leave no kindred behindher, to suffer by her loss--should wrong no human being. True, therewere Miriam and Edith! But that her heart was exhausted by its onegreat, all-consuming grief, it must have bled for them! Yet they hadalready suffered all they could possibly suffer from the supposition ofher death--it was now three weeks since they had reason to believe herdead, and doubtless kind Nature had already nursed them into resignationand calmness, that would in time become cheerfulness. If she should goback, there would be the shock, the amazement, the questions, theprosecutions, perhaps the conviction, and the sentence, and the horrorsof a state prison for one the least hair of whose head she could notwillingly hurt; and then her own early death, or should she survive, herblighted life. Could these consequences console or benefit Edith orMiriam? No, no, they would augment grief. It was better to leave thingsas they were--better to remain dead to them--a dead sorrow might beforgotten--living one never! For herself, it was better to take fate asshe found it--to go home to England, and devote her newly restored life, and her newly acquired fortune, to those benevolent objects that had solately occupied so large a share of her heart. Some means also should befound--when she should grow stronger, and her poor head should beclearer, so that she should be able to think--to make Edith and Miriamthe recipients of all the benefit her wealth could possibly confer uponthem. And so in recollecting, meditating, planning, and trying to reasoncorrectly, and to understand her embarrassed position, and her difficultduty, passed the days of her convalescence. As her mind cleared, thethought of Angelica began to give her uneasiness--she could not bear tothink of leaving that young lady exposed to the misfortune of becomingThurston's wife--and her mind toiled with the difficult problem of howto shield Angelica without exposing Thurston. 

A few days after this, Marian related to her kind friends all of herpersonal history that she could impart, without compromising the safetyof others: and she required and received from them the promise of theirfuture silence in regard to her fate. 

As they approached the shores of England, Marian improved so fast as tobe able to go on deck. And though extremely pale and thin, she could nolonger be considered an invalid, when, on the thirtieth day out, theirship entered the mouth of the Mersey. Upon their arrival at Liverpool, it had been the intention of Dr. Holmes and his wife to proceed toLondon; but now they decided to delay a few hours until they should seeMarian safe in the house of her friends. The Rev. Theodore Burney was aretired dissenting clergyman, living on his modest patrimony in acountry house a few miles out of Liverpool, and now at eighty yearsenjoying a hale old age. Dr. Holmes took a chaise and carried Marian andRachel out to the place. The house was nearly overgrown with climbingvines, and the grounds were beautiful with the early spring verdure andflowers. The old man was overjoyed to meet Marian, and he received herwith a father's welcome. He thanked her friends for their care andattention, and pressed them to come and stay several days or weeks. ButDr. Holmes and Rachel simply explained that their visit was to theirparents in London, which city they were anxious to reach as soon aspossible, and, thanking their host, they took leave of him, of his oldwife, and Marian, and departed. 

The old minister looked hard at Marian. 

"You are pale, my dear. Well, I always heard that our fresh island roseswithered in the dry heat of the American climate, and now I know it! Butcome! we shall soon see a change and what wonders native air and nativemanners and morning walks will work in the way of restoring bloom. "

Marian did not feel bound to reply, and her ill health remained chargedto the account of our unlucky atmosphere. 

The next morning, the old gentleman took Marian into his library, toldher once more how very little surprised, and how very glad he was thatinstead of writing, she had come in person. He then made her acquaintedwith certain documents, and informed her that it would be necessary sheshould go up to London, and advised her to do so just as soon as sheshould feel herself sufficiently rested. Marian declared herself to bealready recovered of fatigue, and anxious to proceed with the businessof settlement. Their journey was thereupon fixed for the second day fromthat time. And upon the appointed morning Marian, attended by the oldclergyman, set out for the mammoth capital, where, in due season, theyarrived. A few days were busily occupied amid the lumber of lawdocuments, before Marian felt sufficiently at ease to advise herfriends, the Holmeses, of her presence in town. Only a few hours hadelapsed, after reading her note and address, before she received a callfrom Mrs. Holmes and her father, Dr. Coleman, a clergyman of highstanding in the Church of England. Friendliness and a beautifulsimplicity characterized the manners of both father and daughter. Rachelentreated Marian to return with her and make her father's house her homewhile in London. She spoke with an affectionate sincerity that Mariancould neither doubt nor resist, and when Dr. Coleman cordially secondedhis daughter's invitation, Marian gratefully accepted the profferedhospitality. And the same day Mr. Burney bade a temporary farewell tohis favorite, and departed for Liverpool, and Marian accompanied herfriend Rachel Holmes to the house of Dr. Coleman. 

 * * * * *

We may not pause to trace minutely the labors of love in which Mariansought at once to forget her own existence and to bless that of others. 

A few events only it will be necessary to record. 

In the very first packet of Baltimore papers received by Dr. Holmes, Marian saw announced the marriage of Angelica Le Roy to Henry Barnwell. She knew by the date, that it took place within two weeks after shesailed from the shores of America. And her anxiety on that young lady'saccount was set at rest. 

After a visit of two months, Dr. Holmes and his lovely wife prepared toreturn to the United States. And the little fortune that Marian intendedto settle upon Edith and Miriam, was intrusted to the care of the worthysurgeon, to be invested in bank stock for their benefit, as soon as heshould reach Baltimore. It was arranged that the donor should remainanonymous, or be known only as a friend of Miriam's father. 

In the course of a few months, Marian's institution, "The Children'sHome, " was commenced, and before the end of the first year, it wascompleted and filled with inmates. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

THURSTON. 

After a stormy passage in life comes a long calm, preceding, perhaps, another storm. I must pass rapidly over several years. 

Thurston was a new being. He resolved to devote his time, talents andmeans, first of all to carrying on and perfecting those works ofeducation and reform started by Marian in his own neighborhood. 

But this was a very mournful consolation, for in every thought and actof the whole work, the memory of Marian was so intimately woven, thather loss was felt with double keenness. Every effort was doublydifficult; every obstacle was doubly great; every discouragement doublyhopeless, because she was not there with her very presence inspiringhope and energy--and every success was robbed of its joy, because shewas not there to rejoice with him. He missed her in all things; hemissed her everywhere. Solitude had fallen upon all the earth from whichshe had passed away. Because her face was gone, all other faces wererepulsive to his sight; because her voice was silent, all other voiceswere discordant to his ear; because her love was impossible, all otherfriendships and affections were repugnant to his heart; and Thurston, young, handsome, accomplished and wealthy, became a silent and lonelyman. 

The estate left by old Cloudesley Willcoxen had exceeded even thereports of his hoarded wealth. The whole estate, real and personal, wasbequeathed to his eldest grandson, Thurston Willcoxen, upon the solecondition that it should not be divided. 

Dell-Delight, with its natural beauties, was a home that wealth couldconvert into a material paradise. Once it had been one of Thurston'shappiest dreams to adorn and beautify the matchless spot, and make itworthy of Marian, its intended mistress. Now he could not bear to thinkof those plans of home-beauty and happiness so interwoven with fondthoughts of her. So poignant were the wounds of association, that hecould scarcely endure to remain in a neighborhood so filled withreminiscences of her; and he must have fled the scene, and taken refugefrom memory in foreign travel, had he suffered from bereavement andsorrow only; but he was tortured by remorse, and remorse demands tosuffer and to atone for sin. And, therefore, though it spirituallyseemed like being bound to a wheel and broken by its every turn, he wastrue to his resolution to remain in the county and devote his time, wealth, and abilities to the completion of Marian's unfinished works ofbenevolence. 

Dell-Delight remained unaltered. He could not bear to make it beautiful, since Marian could not enjoy its beauty. Only such changes were made aswere absolutely necessary in organizing his little household. A distantrelative, a middle-aged lady of exemplary piety, but of reduced fortune, was engaged to come and preside at his table, and take charge ofMiriam's education, for Miriam was established at Dell-Delight. It istrue that Mrs. Waugh would have wished this arrangement otherwise. Shewould have preferred to have the orphan girl with herself, but CommodoreWaugh would not even hear of Miriam's coming to Luckenough with anypatience--"For if her mother had married 'Grim, ' none of thesemisfortunes would have happened, " he said. 

Even Jacquelina had been forced to fly from Luckenough; no one knewwither; some said that she had run away; some knew that she had retiredto a convent; some said only to escape the din and turmoil of the world, and find rest to her soul in a few months or years of quiet and silence, and some said she had withdrawn for the purpose of taking the vows andbecoming a nun. Mrs. Waugh knew all about it, but she said nothing, except to discourage inquiry upon the subject. In the midst of thespeculation following Jacquelina's disappearance, Cloudesley Morningtonhad come home. He staid a day or two at Luckenough, a week atDell-Delight, and then took himself, with his broken heart, off from theneighborhood, and got ordered upon a distant and active service. 

There were also other considerations that rendered it desirable forMiriam to reside at Dell-Delight, rather than at Luckenough: CommodoreWaugh would have made a terrible guardian to a child so lately used tothe blessedness of a home with her mother--and withal, so shy andsensitive as to breathe freely only in an atmosphere of peace andaffection, and Luckenough would have supplied a dark, and dreary homefor her whose melancholy temperament and recent bereavements renderedchange of scene and the companionship of other children, absolutenecessities. It was for these several reasons that Mrs. Waugh was forcedto consent that Thurston should carry his little adopted daughter to hisown home. Thurston's household consisted now of himself, Mrs. Morris, his housekeeper; Alice Morris, her daughter; Paul Douglass, his ownhalf-brother; poor Fanny, and lastly, Miriam. 

Mrs. Morris was a lady of good family, but decayed fortune, of soberyears and exemplary piety. In closing her terms with Mr. Willcoxen, herone great stipulation had been that she should bring her daughter, whomshe declared to be too "young and giddy" to be trusted out of her ownsight, even to a good boarding school. 

Mr. Willcoxen expressed himself rather pleased than otherwise at theprospect of Miriam's having a companion, and so the engagement wasclosed. 

Alice Morris was a hearty, cordial, blooming hoyden, really about ten oreleven years of age, but seeming from her fine growth and proportions, at least thirteen or fourteen. 

Paul Douglass was a fine, handsome, well-grown boy of fourteen, with anopen, manly forehead, shaded with clustering, yellow curls, as soft andsilky as a girl's, and a full, beaming, merry blue eye, whose flashingglances were the most mirth-provoking to all upon whom they chanced tolight. Paul was, and ever since his first arrival in the house had been, "the life of the family. " His merry laugh and shout were the pleasantestsounds in all the precincts of Dell-Delight. When Paul first heard thatthere was to be an invasion of "women and girls" into Dell-Delight, hedeclared he had rather there had been an irruption of the Goths andVandals at once--for if there were any folks he could not get alongwith, they were "the gals. " Besides which, he was sure now to have thecoldest seat around the fire, the darkest place at the table, thebackward ride in the carriage, and to get the necks of chickens and thetails of fishes for his share of the dinner. Boys were always put uponby the girls, and sorry enough he was, he said, that any were coming tothe house. And he vowed a boyish vow--"by thunder and lightning"--thathe would torment the girls to the very best of his ability. 

Girls, forsooth! girls coming to live there day and night, and eat, anddrink, and sleep, and sit, and sew, and walk up and down through thehalls, and parlors, and chambers of Dell-Delight--girls, with theirairs, and affectations, and pretensions, and exactions--girls--pah! theidea was perfectly disgusting and offensive. He really did wonder at"Brother, " but then he already considered "Brother" something of an oldbachelor, and old bachelors would be queer. 

But Thurston well knew how to smite the rock, and open the fountain ofsympathy in the lad's heart. He said nothing in reply to the boy's saucyobjections, but on the evening that little Miriam arrived, he beckonedPaul into the parlor, where the child sat, alone, and pointing her outto him, said in a low tone:

"Look at her; she has lost all her friends--she has just come from hermother's grave--she is strange, and sad, and lonesome. Go, try to amuseher. "

"I'm going to her, though I hardly know how, " replied the lad, movingtoward the spot where the abstracted child sat deeply musing. 

"Miriam! Is that your name, " he asked, by way of opening theconversation. 

"Yes, " replied the child, very softly and shyly. 

"It's a very heathenish--oh, Lord!--I mean it's a very pretty name isMiriam, it's a Bible name, too. I don't know but what it's a saint'sname also. "

The little girl made no reply, and the boy felt at a loss what to saynext. After fidgeting from one foot to the other he began again. 

"Miriam, shall I show you my books--Scott's poems, and the Waverleynovels, and Milton's Paradise, and--"

"No, I thank you, " interrupted the girl, uneasily. 

"Well, would you like to see my pictures--two volumes of engravings, anda portfolio full of sketches?"

"No, thank you. "

"Shall I bring you my drawer full of minerals? I have got--"

"I don't want them, please. "

"Well, then, would you like the dried bugs? I've got whole cards of themunder a glass case, and--"

"I don't want them either, please. "

"Dear me! I have not got anything else to amuse you with. What do youwant?" exclaimed Paul, and he walked off in high dudgeon. 

The next day fortune favored Paul in his efforts to please Miriam. Hehad a tame white rabbit, and he thought that the child would like it fora pet--so he got up very early in the morning, and washed the rabbit"clean as a new penny, " and put it under a new box to get dry while herode to C---- and bought a blue ribbon to tie around its neck. This jauntmade Paul very late at breakfast, but he felt rewarded when afterward hegave the rabbit to old Jenny, and asked her to give it to the littlegirl--and when he heard the latter say--"Oh, what a pretty little thing!tell Paul, thanky!" After this, by slow degrees, he was enabled toapproach "the little blackbird" without alarming her. And after a whilehe coaxed her to take a row in his little boat, and a ride on his littlepony--always qualifying his attentions by saying that he did not likegirls as a general thing, but that she was different from others. AndMr. Willcoxen witnessed, with much satisfaction, the growing friendshipbetween the girl and boy, for they were the two creatures in the worldwho divided all the interest he felt in life. The mutual effect of thechildren upon each other's characters was very beneficent; the gay andjoyous spirits of Paul continually charmed Miriam away from those fitsof melancholy, to which she was by temperament and circumstances a prey, while the little girl's shyness and timidity taught Paul to tame his ownboisterous manners for her sake. 

 * * * * *

Mrs. Waugh had not forgotten her young _protége_. She came as often aspossible to Dell-Delight, to inquire after the health and progress ofthe little girl. 

It is not to be supposed, in any neighborhood where there existedmanaging mammas and unmarried daughters, that a young gentleman, handsome, accomplished, wealthy, and of good repute, should remainunmolested in his bachelorhood. Indeed, the matrons and maidens of hisown circle seemed to think themselves individually aggrieved by theyoung heir's mode of life. And many were the dinners and evening partiesgot up for his sake, in vain, for to their infinite disgust, Thurstonalways returned an excuse instead of an acceptance. 

At length the wounded self-esteem of the community received a healingsalve, in the form of a report that Mr. Willcoxen had withdrawn from thegay world, in order the better to prepare himself for the Christianministry. A report that, in twelve months, received its confirmation inthe well established fact that Thurston Willcoxen was a candidate forholy orders. 

And in the meantime the young guardian did not neglect his youthfulcharge, but in strict interpretation of his assumed duties ofguardianship, he had taken the education of the girl and boy under hisown personal charge. 

"Many hard-working ministers of the Gospel have received pupils toeducate for hire. Why may not I, with more time at my command, reservethe privilege of educating my own adopted son and daughter, " he said, and acting upon that thought, had fitted up a little school-roomadjoining his library, where, in the presence of Mrs. Morris, Miriam andPaul pursued their studies, Mrs. Morris hearing such recitations as laywithin her province, and Mr. Willcoxen attending to the classical andmathematical branches. Thus passed many months, and every month thehearts of the children were knitted closer to each other and to theirguardian. 

And Thurston Willcoxen "grew in favor, with God and man. " His namebecame the synonym for integrity, probity and philanthropy. He built achurch and a free-school, and supported both at his own expense. In thethird year after entering upon his inheritance, he was received intoholy orders; and two years after, he was elected pastor of his nativeparish. Thus time went by, and brought at length the next eventful epochof our domestic history--that upon which Miriam completed her sixteenthyear. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

MIRIAM. 

Six years had passed away. Thurston Willcoxen was the most beloved andhonored man, as well as the most distinguished clergyman of his day andstate. His church was always crowded, except when he changed with somebrother minister, whose pulpit was within reach--in which case, a greatportion of his congregation followed him. Many flattering "calls" hadthe gifted and eloquent country parson received to metropolitanparishes; but he remained the faithful shepherd of his own flock as longas they would hear his voice. 

As Miriam grew into womanhood prudence kept her silent on the subject ofher strange vow. She, however, preserved in her memory the slightindexes that she already had in possession--namely, beginning withMarian's return after her visit to Washington--her changed manner, herfits of reverie, her melancholy when she returned empty-handed from thepost-office, her joy when she received letters, which she would read insecret and in silence, or when questioned concerning them, would gentlybut firmly decline to tell from whom or whence they came; thehouse-warming at Luckenough, where Marian suddenly became so bright andgay, and the evening succeeding, when she returned home through nightand storm, and in such anguish of mind, that she wept all night; and theweeks of unexplained, unaccountable distress that followed this! Allthese things Miriam recalled, and studied if by any means they mightdirect her in the discovery of the guilty. 

And her faithful study had ended in her assurance of one or twofacts--or one or two links, perhaps, we should say, in the chain ofevidence. The first was, that Marian's mysterious lover had been presentin the neighborhood, and perhaps, in the mansion at the time of thehouse-warming at Luckenough--that he had met her once or more, and thathis name was not Thomas Truman--that the latter was an assumed name, for, with all her observation and astute investigation, she had not beenable to find that any one of the name of Truman had ever been seen orheard of in the county. 

She was sure, also, that she had seen the man twice, both times in nightand storm, when she had wandered forth in search of Marian. 

She remembered well the strange figure of that man--the tall formshrouded in the black cloak--the hat drawn over the eyes--the faintspectral gleam of the clear-cut profile--the peculiar fall of light andshade, the decided individuality of air and gait--all was distinct as apicture in her memory, and she felt sure that she would be able toidentify that man again. 

Up to this time, the thought of her secret vow, and her life's mission, had afforded only a romantic and heroic excitement; but the day was fastapproaching when these indexes she retained, should point to a clue thatshould lead through a train of damning circumstantial evidence destinedto test her soul by an unexampled trial. 

Paul Douglass had grown up to be a tall and handsome youth, of a verynoble, frank, attractive countenance and manners. To say that he lovedMiriam is only to say that he loved himself. She mingled with everythought, and feeling, and purpose of his heart. 

And when, at last, the time came that Paul had to leave home forBaltimore, to remain absent all winter, for the purpose of attending thecourse of lectures at the medical college, Miriam learned the pain ofparting, and understood how impossible happiness would be for her, withPaul away, on naval or military duty, more than half their lives, andfor periods of two, three, or five years; and after that she never saidanother word in favor of his wearing Uncle Sam's livery, although shehad often expressed a wish that he should enter the army. 

Miriam's affection for Paul was so profound and quiet, that she did notknow its depth or strength. As she had not believed that parting fromhim would be painful until the event had taught her, so even now she didnot know how intertwined with every chord and fibre of her heart and howidentical with her life, was her love for Paul. She was occupied by amore enthusiastic devotion to her "brother, " as she called her guardian. 

The mysterious sorrow, the incurable melancholy of a man like ThurstonWillcoxen, could not but invest him with peculiar interest and evenstrange fascination for one of Miriam's enthusiastic, earnesttemperament. She loved him with more than a daughter's love; she lovedhim with all the impassioned earnestness of her nature; her heartyearned as it would break with its wild, intense longing to do him somegood, to cure his sorrow, to make him happy. There were moments when butfor the sweet shyness that is ever the attendant and conservator of suchpure feeling, this wild desire was strong enough to cast her at hisfeet, to embrace his knees, and with tears beseech him to let her intothat dark, sorrowful bosom, to see if she could make any light and joythere. She feared that he had sinned, that his incurable sorrow was thegnawing tooth of that worm that never dieth, preying on his heart; butshe doubted, too, for what could he have done to plunge his soul in sucha hell of remorse? He commit a crime? Impossible! the thought wastreason; a sin to be repented of and expiated. His fame was fairest ofthe fair, his name most honored among the, honorable. If not remorse, what then was the nature of his life-long sorrow? Many, many times sherevolved this question in her mind. And as she matured in thought andaffection, the question grew more earnest and importunate. Oh, that hewould unburden his heart to her; oh! that she might share and alleviatehis griefs. If "all earnest desires are prayers, " then prayer wasMiriam's "vital breath and native air" indeed; her soul earnestlydesired, prayed, to be able to give her sorrowing brother peace. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

DREAMS AND VISIONS. 

Winter waned. Mrs. Waugh had attended the commodore to the South, forthe benefit of his health, and they had not yet returned. 

Mrs. Morris and Alice were absent on a long visit to a relative inWashington City, and were not expected back for a month. Paul remainedin Baltimore, attending the medical lectures. 

The house at Dell-Delight was very sad and lonely. The family consistedof only Thurston, Fanny and Miriam. 

A change had also passed over poor Fanny's malady. She was no longer thequaint, fantastical creature, half-lunatic, half-seeress, singingsnatches of wild songs through the house--now here, now there--noweverywhere, awaking smiles and merriment in spite of pity, and keepingevery one alive about her. Her bodily health had failed, her animalspirits departed; she never sang nor smiled, but sat all day in hereyrie chamber, lost in deep and concentrated study, her face having thecare-worn look of one striving to recall the past, to gather up andreunite the broken links of thought, memory and understanding. 

At last, one day, Miriam received a letter from Paul, announcing thetermination, of the winter's course of lectures, the conclusion of theexamination of medical candidates, the successful issue of his owntrial, in the acquisition of his diploma, and finally his speedy returnhome. 

Miriam's impulsive nature rebounded from all depressing thoughts, andshe looked forward with gladness to the arrival of Paul. 

He came toward the last of the week. 

Mr. Willcoxen, roused for a moment from his sad abstraction, gave theyouth a warm welcome. 

Miriam received him with a bashful, blushing joy. 

He had passed through Washington City on his way home, and had spent aday with Mrs. Morris and her friends, and he had brought away strangenews of them. 

Alice, he said, had an accepted suitor, and would probably be a bridesoon. 

A few days after his return, Paul found Miriam in the old wainscotedparlor seated by the fire. She appeared to be in deep and painfulthought. Her elbow rested on the circular work-table, her head was bowedupon her hand, and her face was concealed by the drooping blackringlets. 

"What is the matter, dear, sister?" he asked, in that tender, familiartone, with which he sometimes spoke to her. 

"Oh, Paul, I am thinking of our brother! Can nothing soothe or cheerhim, Paul? Can nothing help him? Can we do him no good at all? Oh, Paul!I brood so much over his trouble! I long so much to comfort him, that Ido believe it is beginning to affect my reason, and make me 'see visionsand dream dreams. ' Tell me--do you think anything can be done for him?"

"Ah, I do not know! I have just left his study, dear Miriam, where Ihave had a long and serious conversation with him. "

"And what was it about? May I know?"

"You must know, dearest Miriam, it concerned yourself and--me!" saidPaul, and he took a seat by her side, and told her how much he lovedher, and that he had Thurston's consent to asking her hand in marriage. 

Miriam replied:

"Paul, there is one secret that I have never imparted to you--not that Iwished to keep it from you, but that nothing has occurred to call itout--"

She paused, while Paul regarded her in much curiosity. 

"What is it, Miriam?" he at last inquired. 

"I promised my dying mother, and sealed the promise with an oath, neverto be a bride until I shall have been--"

"What, Miriam?"

"An avenger of blood!"

"Miriam!"

It was all he said, and then he remained gazing at her, as if he doubtedher perfect sanity. 

"I am not mad, dear Paul, though you look as if you thought so. "

"Explain yourself, dear Miriam. "

"I am going to do so. You remember Marian Mayfield?" she said, her facebeginning to quiver with emotion. 

"Yes! yes! well?"

"You remember the time and manner of her death?"

"Yes--yes!"

"Oh, Paul! that stormy night death fell like scattering lightning, andstruck three places at once! But, oh, Paul! such was the consternationand grief excited by the discovery of Marian's assassination, that thetwo other sudden deaths passed almost unnoticed, except by therespective families of the deceased. Child as I then was, Paul, I thinkit was the tremendous shock of her sudden and dreadful death, that threwme entirely out of my center, so that I have been erratic ever since. She was more than a mother to me, Paul; and if I had been born hers, Icould not have loved her better--I loved her beyond all things in life. In my dispassionate, reflective moments. I am inclined to believe that Ihave never been quite right since the loss of Marian. Not but that I amreconciled to it--knowing that she must be happy--only, Paul, I oftenfeel that something is wrong here and here, " said Miriam, placing herhand upon her forehead and upon her heart. 

"But your promise, Miriam--your promise, " questioned Paul, withincreased anxiety. 

"Ay, true! Well, Paul, I promised to devote my whole life to the pursuitand apprehension of her murderer; and never to give room in my bosom toany thought of love or marriage until that murderer should hang from ngallows; and I sealed that promise with a solemn oath. "

"That was all very strange, dear Miriam. "

"Paul, yes it was--and it weighs upon me like lead. Paul, if two thingscould be lifted off my heart, I should be happy. I should be happy as afreed bird. "

"And what are they, dear Miriam? What weights are they that I have notpower to lift from your heart?"

"Surely you may surmise--the first is our brother's sadness thatoppresses my spirits all the time; the second is the memory of thatunaccomplished vow; so equally do these two anxieties divide mythoughts, that they seem connected--seem to be parts of the sameresponsibility--and I even dreamed that the one could be accomplishedonly with the other. "

"Dearest Miriam, let me assure you, that such dreams and visions are butthe effect of your isolated life--they come from an over-heated brainand over-strained nerves. And you must consent to throw off thoseself-imposed weights, and be happy and joyous as a young creatureshould. "

"Alas, how can I throw them off, dear Paul?"

"In this way--first, for my brother's life-long sorrow, since you canneither cure nor alleviate it, turn your thoughts away from it. As foryour vow, two circumstances combine to absolve you from it; the first isthis--that you were an irresponsible infant, when you were required tomake it--the second is, that it is impossible to perform it; these twoconsiderations fairly release you from its obligations. Look upon thesematters in this rational light, and all your dark and morbid dreams andvisions will disappear; and we shall have you joyous as any young bird, sure enough. And I assure you, that your cheerfulness will be one of thevery best medicines for our brother. Will you follow my advice?"

"No, no, Paul! I cannot follow it in either instance! I cannot, Paul! itis impossible! I cannot steel my heart against sympathy with hissorrows, nor can I so ignore the requirements of my solemn vow. I do notby any means think its accomplishment an impossibility, nor was it inignorance of its nature that I made it. No, Paul! I knew what Ipromised, and I know that its performance is possible. Therefore I cannot feel absolved! I must accomplish my work; and you, Paul, if you loveme, must help me to do it. "

"I would serve you with my life, Miriam, in anything reasonable andpossible. But how can I help you? How can you discharge such anobligation? You have not even a clue!"

"Yes, I have a clue, Paul. "

"You have? What is it? Why have you never spoken of it before?"

"Because of its seeming unimportance. The clue is so slight, that itwould be considered none at all, by others less interested than myself. "

"What is it, then? At least allow me the privilege of knowing, andjudging of its importance. "

"I am about to do so, " said Miriam, and she commenced and told him allshe knew, and also all she suspected of the circumstances that precededthe assassination on the beach. In conclusion, she informed him of theletters in her possession. 

"And where are now those letters, Miriam? What are they like? What istheir purport? It seems to me that they would not only give a hint, butafford direct evidence against that demoniac assassin. And it seemsstrange to me that they were not examined, with a view to that end. "

"Paul, they were; but they did not point out the writer, even. There wasa note among them--a note soliciting a meeting with Marian, upon thevery evening, and upon the very spot when and where the murder wascommitted! But that note contains nothing to indicate the identity ofits author. There are, besides, a number of foreign letters written inFrench, and signed 'Thomas Truman, ' no French name, by-the-bye, acircumstance which leads me to believe that it must have been an assumedone. "

"And those French letters give no indication of the writer, either?"

"I am not sufficiently acquainted with that language to read it inmanuscript, which, you know, is much more difficult than print. But Ipresume they point to nothing definitely, for my dear mother showed themto Mr. Willcoxen, who took the greatest interest in the discovery of themurderer, and he told her that those letters afforded not the slightestclue to the perpetrator of the crime, and that whoever might have beenthe assassin, it certainly could not have been the author of thoseletters. He wished to take them with him, but mother declined to givethem up; she thought it would be disrespect to Marian's memory to giveher private correspondence up to a stranger, and so she told him. Hethen said that of all men, certainly he had the least right to claimthem, and so the matter rested. But mother always believed they held thekey to the discovery of the guilty party; and afterward she left them tome, with the charge that I should never suffer them to pass from mypossession until they had fulfilled their destiny of witnessing againstthe murderer--for whatever Mr. Willcoxen might think, mother feltconvinced that the writer of those letters and the murderer of Marianwas the same person. "

"Tell me more about those letters. "

"Dear Paul, I know nothing more about them; I told you that I was notsufficiently familiar with the French language to read them. "

"But it is strange that you never made yourself acquainted with theircontents by getting some one else to read them for you. "

"Dear Paul, you know that I was a mere child when they first came intomy possession, accompanied with the charge that I should never part withthem until they had done their office. I felt bound by my promise, I wasafraid of losing them, and of those persons that I could trust none knewFrench, except our brother, and he had already pronounced themirrelevant to the question. Besides, for many reasons, I was shy ofintruding upon brother. "

"Does he know that you have the packet?"

"I suppose he does not even know that. "

"I confess, " said Paul, "that if Thurston believed them to have noconnection with the murder, I have so much confidence in his excellentjudgment, that I am inclined to reverse my hasty opinion, and to thinkas he does, at least until I see the letters. I remember, too, that theuniversal opinion at the time was that the poor young lady had fallen avictim to some marauding waterman--the most likely thing to havehappened. But, to satisfy you, Miriam, if you will trust me with thoseletters, I will give them a thorough and impartial study, and then, if Ifind no clue to the perpetrator of that diabolical deed, I hope, Miriam, that you will feel yourself free from the responsibility of pursuing theunknown demon--a pursuit which I consider worse than a wild-goosechase. "

They were interrupted by the entrance of the boy with the mail bag. Paulemptied the contents of it upon the table. There were letters for Mr. Willcoxen, for Miriam, and for Paul himself. Those for Mr. Willcoxenwere sent up to him by the boy. Miriam's letter was from Alice Morris, announcing her approaching marriage with Olive Murray, a young lawyer ofWashington, and inviting and entreating Miriam to come to the city andbe her bridesmaid. Paul's letters were from some of his medicalclassmates. By the time they had read and discussed the contents oftheir epistles, a servant came in to replenish the fire and lay thecloth for tea. 

When Mr. Willcoxen joined them at supper, he laid a letter on Miriam'slap, informing her that it was from Mrs. Morris, who advised them of herdaughter's intended marriage, and prayed them to be present at theceremony. Miriam replied that she had received a communication to thesame effect. 

"Then, my dear, we will go up to Washington and pass a few weeks, andattend this wedding, and see the inauguration of Gen. ----. You lead toolonely a life for one of your years, love. I see it affects your healthand spirits. I have been too selfish and oblivious of you, in myabstraction, dear child; but it shall be so no longer. You shall enterupon the life better suited to your age. "

Miriam's eyes thanked his care. For many a day Thurston had not comethus far out of himself, and his doing so now was hailed as a happy omenby the young people. 

Their few preparations were soon completed, and on the first of Marchthey went to Washington City. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

DISCOVERIES. 

On arriving at Washington, our party drove immediately to the MansionHouse, where they had previously secured rooms. 

The city was full of strangers from all parts of the country, drawntogether by the approaching inauguration of one of the most popularPresidents that ever occupied the White House. 

As soon as our party made known their arrival to their friends, theywere inundated with calls and invitations. Brother clergymen called uponMr. Willcoxen, and pressed upon him the freedom of their houses. AliceMorris and Mrs. Moulton, the relative with whom she was staying, calledupon Miriam, and insisted that she should go home with them, to remainuntil after the wedding. But these offers of hospitality were gratefullydeclined by the little set, who preferred to remain together at theirhotel. 

The whole scene of metropolitan life, in its most stirring aspect, wasentirely new and highly interesting to our rustic beauty. Amusements ofevery description were rife. The theatres, exhibition halls, saloons andconcert rooms held out their most attractive temptations, and nightafter night were crowded with the gay votaries of fashion and ofpleasure. While the churches, and lyceums, and lecture-rooms had greatercharms for the more seriously inclined. The old and the young, the graveand the gay, found no lack of occupation, amusement and instruction tosuit their several tastes or varying moods. The second week of theirvisit, the marriage of Alice Morris and Oliver Murray came off, Miriamserving as bridesmaid, Dr. Douglass as groomsman, and Mr. Willcoxen asofficiating minister. 

But it is not with these marriage festivities that we have to do, butwith the scenes that immediately succeed them. 

From the time of Mr. Willcoxen's arrival in the city, he had not ceasedto exercise his sacred calling. His fame had long before preceded him tothe capital, and since his coming he had been frequently solicited topreach and to lecture. 

Not from love of notoriety--not from any such ill-placed, vain glory, but from the wish to relieve some overtasked brother of the heat andburden of at least one day; and possibly by presenting truth in a newerand stronger light to do some good, did Thurston Willcoxen, Sabbathafter Sabbath, and evening after evening, preach in the churches orlecture before the lyceum. Crowds flocked to hear him, the press spokehighly of his talents and his eloquence, the people warmly echoed theopinion, and Mr. Willcoxen, against his inclination, became the clericalcelebrity of the day. 

But from all this unsought world-worship he turned away a weary, sickened, sorrowing man. 

There was but one thing in all "the world outside" that stronglyinterested him--it was a "still small voice, " a low-toned, sweet music, keeping near the dear mother earth and her humble children, yet echoedand re-echoed from sphere to sphere--it was the name of a lady, young, lovely, accomplished and wealthy, who devoted herself, her time, hertalents and her fortune, to the cause of suffering humanity. 

This young lady, whose beauty, goodness, wisdom, eloquence and powers ofpersuasion were rumored to be almost miraculous, had founded schools andasylums, and had collected by subscription a large amount of money, withwhich she was coming to America, to select and purchase a tract of landto settle a colony of the London poor. This angel girl's name and famewas a low, sweet echo, as I said before--never noisy, never risinghigh--keeping near the ground. People spoke of her in quiet places, anddropped their voices to gentle tones in mentioning her and her works. Such was the spell it exercised over them. This lady's name possessedthe strangest fascination for Thurston Willcoxen; he read eagerlywhatever was written of her; he listened with interest to whatever wasspoken of her. Her name! it was that of his loved and lost Marian!--thatin itself was a spell, but that was not the greatest charm--hercharacter resembled that of his Marian!

"How like my Marian?" would often be the language of his heart, whenhearing of her deeds. "Even so would my Marian have done--had she beenborn to fortune, as this lady was. "

The name was certainly common enough, yet the similarity of both namesand natures inclined him to the opinion that this angel-woman must besome distant and more fortunate relative of his own lost Marian. He feltdrawn toward the unknown lady by a strong and almost irresistibleattraction; and he secretly resolved to see and know her, and ponderedin his heart ways and means by which he might, with propriety, seek heracquaintance. 

While thus he lived two lives--the outer life of work and usefulness, and the inner life of thought and suffering--the young people of hisparty, hoping and believing him to be enjoying the honors heaped uponhim, yielded themselves up to the attractions of society. 

Miriam spent much of her time with her friend, Alice Murray. 

One morning, when she called on Alice, the latter invited her visitor upinto her own chamber, and seating her there, said, with a mysteriousair:

"Do you know, Miriam, that I have something--the strangest thing thatever was--that I have been wanting to tell you for three or four days, only I never got an opportunity to do so, because Olly or some one wasalways present? But now Olly has gone to court, and mother has gone tomarket, and you and I can have a cozy chat to ourselves. "

She stopped to stir the fire, and Miriam quietly waited for her toproceed. 

"Now, why in the world don't you ask me for my secret? I declare youtake so little interest, and show so little curiosity, that it is not abit of fun to hint a mystery to you. Do you want to hear, or don't you?I assure you it is a tremendous revelation, and it concerns you, too!"

"What is it, then? I am anxious to hear?"

"Oh! you do begin to show a little interest; and now, to punish you, Ihave a great mind not to tell you; however, I will take pity upon yoursuspense; but first, you must promise never, never, n-e-v-e-r to mentionit again--will you promise?"

"Yes. "

"Well, then, listen. Stop! get a good place to faint first, and thenlisten. Are you ready? One, two, three, fire. The Rev. ThurstonWillcoxen is a married man!"

"What!"

"Mr. Thurston Willcoxen has been married for eight years past. "

"Pshaw!"

"Mr. Willcoxen was married eight years ago this spring at a littleMethodist chapel near the navy yard of this city, and by an oldMethodist preacher, of the name of John Berry. "

"You are certainly mad!"

"I am not mad, most noble 'doubter, ' but speak the words of truth andsoberness. Mr. Willcoxen was married privately, when and where I said, to a beautiful, fair-haired lady, whose name heard in the ritual wasMarian. And my husband, Olly Murray, was the secret witness of thatprivate marriage. "

A wild scream, that seemed to split the heart from whence it arose, broke from the lips of Miriam; springing forward, she grasped the wristof Alice, and with her wild eyes starting, straining from their sockets, gazed into he face, crying:

"Tell me! tell me! that you have jested! tell me that you have lied?Speak! speak!"

"I told you the Lord's blessed truth, and Oily knows it. But Miriam, forgoodness sake don't look that way--you scare me almost to death! And, whatever you do, never let anybody know that I told you this; because, if you did, Olly would be very much grieved at me; for he confided it tome as a dead secret, and bound me up to secrecy, too; but I thought asit concerned you so much, it would be no harm to tell you, if you wouldnot tell it again; and so when I was promising, I made a mentalreservation in favor of yourself. And so I have told you; and now youmustn't betray me, Miriam. "

"It is false! all that you have told me is false! say that It is false!tell me so! speak! speak!" cried Miriam, wildly. 

"It is not false--it is true as Gospel, every word of it--nor is it anymistake. Because Olly saw the whole thing, and told me all about it. Theway of it was, that Olly overheard them in the Congressional Libraryarranging the marriage--the gentleman was going to depart for Europe, and wished to secure the lady's hand before he went--and at the sametime, for some reason or other, he wished the marriage to be keptsecret. Olly owns that it was none of his business, but that curiositygot the upper hand of him, so he listened, and he heard them call eachother 'Thurston' and 'Marian'--and when they left the library, hefollowed them--and so, unseen, he witnessed the private marriageceremony, at which they still answered to the names of 'Thurston' and'Marian. ' He did not hear their surnames. He never saw the bride again;and he never saw the bridegroom until he saw Mr. Willcoxen at ourwedding. The moment Olly saw him he knew that he had seen him before, but could not call to mind when or where; and the oftener he looked athim, the more convinced he became that he had seen him first under somevery singular circumstances. And when at last lie heard his first namecalled 'Thurston, ' the whole truth flashed on him at once. He rememberedeverything connected with the mysterious marriage. I wonder what Mr. Willcoxen has done with his Marian? or whether she died or whether shelives? or where he hides her? Well, some men are a mystery--don't youthink so, Miriam?"

But only deep and shuddering groans, upheaving from the poor girl'sbosom, answered her. 

"Miriam! Oh, don't go on so! what do you mean? Indeed you alarm me! oh, don't take it so to heart! indeed, I wouldn't, if I were you! I shouldthink it the funniest kind of fun? Miriam, I say!"

She answered not--she had sunk down on the floor, utterly crushed by theweight of misery that had fallen upon her. 

"Miriam! now what in the world do you mean by this? Why do you yield so?I would not do it. I know it is bad to be disappointed of an expectedinheritance, and to find out that some one else has a greater claim, but, indeed, I would not take it to heart so, if I were you. Why, if heis married, he may not have a family, and even if he has, he may notutterly disinherit you, and even if he should, I would not grieve myselfto death about it if I were you! Miriam, look up, I say!"

But the hapless girl replied not, heard not, heeded not; deaf, blind, insensible was she to all--everything but to that sharp, mental grief, that seemed so like physical pain; that fierce anguish of the breast, that, like an iron band, seemed to clutch and close upon her heart, tighter, tighter, tighter, until it stopped the current of her blood, and arrested her breath, and threw her into convulsions. 

Alice sprang to raise her, then ran down-stairs to procure restorativesand assistance. In the front hall she met Dr. Douglass, who had justbeen admitted by the waiter. To his pleasant greeting, she repliedhastily, breathlessly:

"Oh, Paul! come--come quickly up stairs! Miriam has fallen intoconvulsions, and I am frightened out of my senses!"

"What caused her illness?" asked Paul, in alarm and anxiety, as he ranup stairs, preceded by Alice. 

"Oh, I don't know!" answered Alice, but thought to herself: "It couldnot have been what I said to her, and if it was, I must not tell. "

The details of sickness are never interesting. I shall not dwell uponMiriam's illness of several weeks; the doctors pronounced it to be_angina pectoris_--a fearful and often fatal complaint, brought on inthose constitutionally predisposed to it, by any sudden shock to mind orbody. What could have caused its attack upon Miriam, they could notimagine. And Alice Murray, in fear and doubt, held her tongue and kepther own counsel. In all her illness, Miriam's reason was not for amoment clouded--it seemed preternaturally awake; but she spoke not, andit was observed that if Mr. Willcoxen, who was overwhelmed with distressby her dreadful illness, approached her bedside and touched her person, she instantly fell into spasms. In grief and dismay, Thurston's eyesasked of all around an explanation of this strange and painfulphenomenon; but none could tell him, except the doctor, who pronouncedit the natural effect of the excessive nervous irritability attendingher disease, and urged Mr. Willcoxen to keep away from her chamber. AndThurston sadly complied. 

Youth, and an elastic constitution, prevailed over disease, and Miriamwas raised from the bed of death; but so changed in person and inmanner, that you would scarcely have recognized her. She was thinner, but not paler--an intense consuming fire burned in and out upon hercheek, and smouldered and flashed from her eye. Self-concentrated andreserved, she replied not at all, or only in monosyllables, to the wordsaddressed to her, and withdrew more into herself. 

At length, Dr. Douglass advised their return home. And therefore theyset out, and upon the last of March, approached Dell-Delight. 

The sky was overcast, the ground was covered with snow, the weather wasdamp, and very cold for the last of March. As evening drew on, and theleaden sky lowered, and the chill damp penetrated the comfortablecarriage in which they traveled, Mr. Willcoxen redoubled his attentionsto Miriam, carefully wrapping her cloak and furs about her, and lettingdown the leathern blinds and the damask hangings, to exclude the cold;but Miriam shrank from his touch, and shivered more than before, anddrew closely into her own corner. 

"Poor child, the cold nips and shrivels her as it does a tropicalflower, " said Thurston, desisting from his efforts after he had tucked awoolen shawl around her feet. 

"It is really very unseasonable weather--there is snow in theatmosphere. I don't wonder it pinches Miriam, " said Paul Douglass. 

Ah! they did not either of them know that it was a spiritual fever andague alternately burning and freezing her very heart's blood--hope andfear, love and loathing, pity and horror, that striving together made apandemonium of her young bosom. Like a flight of fiery arrows came thecoincidences of the tale she had heard, and the facts she knew. Thatspring, eight years before, Mr. Murray said he had, unseen, witnessedthe marriage of Thurston Willcoxen and Marian. That spring, eight yearsbefore, she knew Mr. Willcoxen and Miss Mayfield had been together on avisit to the capital. Thurston had gone to Europe, Marian had returnedhome, but had never seemed the same since her visit to the city. Thevery evening of the house-warming at Luckenough, where Marian hadbetrayed so much emotion, Thurston had suddenly returned, and presentedhimself at that mansion. Yet in all the months that followed she hadnever seen Thurston and Marian together, Thurston was paying marked andconstant attention to Miss Le Roy, while Marian's heart was consumingwith a secret sorrow and anxiety that she refused to communicate even toEdith. How distinctly came back to her mind those nights when, lying byMarian's side, she had put her hand over upon her face and felt thetears on her cheeks. Those tears! The recollection of them now, and inthis connection, filled her heart with indescribable emotion. Hermother, too, had died in the belief that Marian had fallen by the handsof her lover or her husband. Lastly, upon the same night of Marian'smurder, Thurston Willcoxen had been unaccountably absent, during thewhole night, from the deathbed of his grandfather. And then hisincurable melancholy from that day to this--his melancholy augmented toanguish at the annual return of this season. 

And then rising, in refutation of all this evidence, was his ownirreproachable life and elevated character. 

Ah! but she had, young, as she was, heard of such cases before--how insome insanity of selfishness or frenzy of passion, a crime had beenperpetrated by one previously and afterward irreproachable in conduct. Piercing wound after wound smote these thoughts like swift comingarrows. 

A young, immature woman, a girl of seventeen, in whose warm naturepassion and imagination so largely predominated over intellect, was buttoo liable to have her reason shaken from its seat by the ordeal throughwhich she was forced to go. 

As night descended, and they drew near Dell-Delight, the storm that hadbeen lowering all the afternoon came upon them. The wind, the hail, andthe snow, and the snow-drifts continually forming, rendered the roads, that were never very good, now nearly impassable. 

More and more obstructed, difficult and unrecognizable became their way, until at last, when within an eighth of a mile from the house, thehorses stepped off the road into a covered gully, and the carriage wasover-turned and broken. 

"Miriam! dear Miriam! dear child, are you hurt?" was the first anxiousexclamation of both gentlemen. 

No one was injured; the coach lay upon its left side, and the right sidedoor was over their heads. Paul climbed out first, and then gave hishand to Miriam, whom Mr. Willcoxen assisted up to the window. Lastlyfollowed Thurston. The horses had kicked themselves free of the carriageand stood kicking yet. 

"Two wheels and the pole are broken--nothing can be done to remove thecarriage to-night. You had better leave the horses where they are, Paul, and let us hurry on to get Miriam under shelter first, then we can sendsome one to fetch them home. "

They were near the park gate, and the road from there to the mansion wasvery good. Paul was busy in bundling Miriam up in her cloak, shawls andfurs. And then Mr. Willcoxen approached to raise her in his arms, andtake her through the snow; but--

"No! no!" said Miriam, shuddering and crouching closely to Paul. Littleknowing her thoughts, Mr. Willcoxen slightly smiled, and pulling his hatlow over his eyes, and turning up his fur collar and wrapping his cloakclosely around him, he strode on rapidly before them. The snow wasblowing in their faces, but drawing Miriam fondly to his side, Paulhurried after him. 

When they reached the park gate, Thurston was laboring to open itagainst the drifted snow. He succeeded, and pushed the gate back to letthem pass. Miriam, as she went through, raised her eyes to his form. 

There he stood, in night and storm, his tall form shrouded in the longblack cloak--the hat drawn over his eyes, the faint spectral gleam ofthe snow striking upward to his clear-cut profile, the peculiar fall ofghostly light and shade, the strong individuality of air and attitude. 

With a half-stifled shriek, Miriam recognized the distinct picture ofthe man she had seen twice before with Marian. 

"What is the matter, love? Were you near falling? Give me your arm, Miriam--you need us both to help you through this storm, " said Thurston, approaching her. 

But with a shiver that ran through all her frame, Miriam shrank closerto Paul, who, with affectionate pride, renewed his care, and promisedthat she should not slip again. 

So link after link of the fearful evidence wound itself around herconsciousness, which struggled against it, like Laocoon in the fatalfolds of the serpent. 

Now cold as if the blood were turned to ice in her veins, now burning asif they ran fire, she was hurried on into the house. 

They were expected home, and old Jenny had fires in all the occupiedrooms, and supper ready to go on the table, that was prepared in theparlor. 

But Miriam refused all refreshment, and hurried to her room. It waswarmed and lighted by old Jenny's care, and the good creature followedher young mistress with affectionate proffers of aid. 

"Wouldn't she have a strong cup of tea? Wouldn't she have a hot bath?Wouldn't she have her bed warmed? Wouldn't she have a bowl of nice hotmulled wine? Dear, dear! she was so sorry, but it would have frightenedherself to death if the carriage had upset with her, and no wonder MissMiriam was knocked up entirely. "

"No, no, no!"

Miriam would have nothing, and old Jenny reluctantly left her--torepose? Ah, no! with fever in her veins, to walk up and down and up anddown the floor of her room with fearful unrest. Up and down, until thecandle burned low, and sunk drowned in its socket; until the fire on thehearth smouldered and went out; until the stars in the sky waned withthe coming day; until the rising sun kindled all the eastern horizon;and then, attired as she was, she sank upon the outside of her bed andfell into a heavy sleep of exhaustion. 

She arose unrefreshed, and after a hasty toilet descended to thebreakfast-parlor, where she knew the little family awaited her. 

"The journey and the fright have been too much for you, love; you lookvery weary; you should have rested longer this morning, " said Mr. Willcoxen, affectionately, as he arose and met her and led her to themost comfortable seat near the fire. 

His fine countenance, elevated, grave and gentle in expression, his kindand loving manner, smote all the tender chords of Miriam's heart. 

Could that man be guilty of the crime she had dared to suspect him of?

Oh, no, no, no! never! Every lineament of his face, every inflection ofhis voice, as well as every act of his life, and every trait of hischaracter, forbade the dreadful imputation!

But then the evidence--the damning evidence! Her reeled with the doubtas she sank into the seat he offered her. 

"Ring for breakfast, Paul! Our little housekeeper will feel better whenshe gets a cup of coffee. "

But Miriam sprang up to anticipate him, and drew her chair to the table, and nervously began to arrange the cups and put sugar and cream intothem, with the vague feeling that she must act as usual to avoid callingobservation upon herself, for if questioned, how could she answerinquiries, and whom could she make a confidant in her terriblesuspicions?

And so through the breakfast scene, and so through the whole day shesought to exercise self-control. But could her distress escape theanxious, penetrating eyes of affection? That evening after tea, when Mr. Willcoxen had retired to his own apartments and the waiter hadreplenished the fire and trimmed the lamps and retired, leaving theyoung couple alone in the parlor--Miriam sitting on one side of thecircular work-table bending over her sewing, and Paul on the other sidewith a book in his hand, he suddenly laid the volume down, and wentround and drew a chair to Miriam's side and began to tell her how muchhe loved her, how dear her happiness was to him, and so entreat her totell him the cause of her evident distress. As he spoke, she becamepaler than death, and suddenly and passionately exclaimed:

"Oh, Paul! Paul! do not question me! You know not what you ask. "

"My own Miriam, what mean you? I ought to know. "

"Oh, Paul! Paul! I am one foredoomed to bring misery and destructionupon all who love me; upon all whom I love. "

"My own dearest, you are ill, and need change, and you shall have it, Miriam, " he said, attempting to soothe her with that gentle, tender, loving manner he ever used toward her. 

But shuddering sighs convulsed her bosom, and--

"Oh, Paul! Paul!" was all she said. 

"Is it that promise that weighs upon your mind, Miriam? Cast it out; youcannot fulfill it; impossibilities are not duties. "

"Oh, Paul! would Heaven it were impossible! or that I were dead. "

"Miriam! where are those letters you wished to show me?"

"Oh! do not ask me, Paul! not yet! not yet! I dread to see them. Andyet--who knows? they may relieve this dreadful suspicion! they may pointto another probability, " she said, incoherently. 

"Just get me those letters, dear Miriam, " he urged, gently. 

She arose, tottering, and left the room, and after an absence of fifteenminutes returned with the packet in her hand. 

"These seals have not been broken since my mother closed them, " saidMiriam, as she proceeded to open the parcel. 

The first she came to was the bit of a note, without date or signature, making the fatal appointment. 

"This, Paul, " she said, mournfully, "was found in the pocket of thedress Marian wore at Luckenough, but changed at home before she went outto walk the evening of her death. Mother always believed that she wentout to meet the appointment made in that note. "

Paul took the paper with eager curiosity to examine it. He looked atit, started slightly, turned pale, shuddered, passed his hand once ortwice across his eyes, as if to clear his vision, looked again, and thenhis cheeks blanched, his lips gradually whitened and separated, his eyesstarted, and his whole countenance betrayed consternation and horror. 

Miriam gazed upon him in a sort of hushed terror--then exclaimed:

"Paul! Paul! what is the matter? You look as if you had been turned tostone by gazing on the Gorgon's head; Paul! Paul!"

"Miriam, did your mother know this handwriting?" he asked, in a husky, almost inaudible voice. 

"No!"

"Did she suspect it?"

"No!"

"Did you know or suspect it?"

"No! I was a child when I received it, remember. I have never seen itsince. "

"Not when you put it in my hand, just now?"

"No, I never looked at the writing?"

"That was most strange that you should not have glanced at thehandwriting when you handed it to me. Why didn't you? Were you afraid tolook at it? Miram! why do you turn away your head? Miriam! answer me--doyou know the handwriting?"

"No, Paul, I do not know it--do you?"

"No! no! how should I? But Miriam, your head is still averted. Your veryvoice is changed. Miriam! what mean you? Tell me once for all. Do yoususpect the handwriting?"

"How should I? Do you, Paul?"

"No! no! I don't suspect it. "

They seemed afraid to look each other in the face; and well they mightbe, for the written agony on either brow; they seemed afraid to hear thesound of each other's words; and well they might be, for the hollow, unnatural sound of either voice. 

"It cannot be! I am crazy, I believe. Let me clear my--oh, Heaven!Miriam! did--was--do you know whether there was any one in particular onfamiliar terms with Miss Mayfield?"

"No one out of the family, except Miss Thornton. "

"'Out of the family'--out of what family?"

"Ours, at the cottage. "

"Was--did--I wonder if my brother knew her intimately?"

"I do not know; I never saw them in each other's company but twice in mylife. "

The youth breathed a little freer. 

"Why did you ask, Paul?"

"No matter, Miriam. Oh! I was a wretch, a beast to think--"

"What, Paul?"

"There are such strange resemblances in--in--in--What are you looking atme so for, Miriam?"

"To find your meaning. In what, Paul--strange resemblances in what?"

"Why, in faces. "

"Why, then, so there are--and in persons, also; and sometimes in fates;but we were talking of handwritings, Paul. "

"Were we? Oh, true. I am not quite right, Miriam. I believe I haveconfined myself too much, and studied too hard. I am really out ofsorts; never mind me! Please hand me those foreign letters, love. "

Miriam was unfolding and examining them; but all in a cold, stony, unnatural way. 

"Paul, " she asked, "wasn't it just eight years this spring since yourbrother went to Scotland to fetch you?"

"Yes; why?"

"Wasn't it to Glasgow that he went?"

"Yes; why?"

"Were not you there together in March and April, 182-?"

"Once more, yes! Why do you inquire?"

"Because all these foreign letters directed to Marian are postmarkedGlasgow, and dated March or April, 182-. "

With a low, stifled cry, and a sudden spring, he snatched the packetfrom her hand, tore open the first letter that presented itself, and ranhis strained, bloodshot eyes down the lines. Half-suppressed, deepgroans like those wrung by torture from a strong man's heart, burst fromhis pale lips, and great drops of sweat gathered on his agonizedforehead. Then he crushed the letters together in his hand and held themtightly, unconsciously, while his starting eyes were fixed on vacancyand his frozen lips muttered:

"In a fit of frantic passion, anger, jealousy--even he might have beenmaddened to the pitch of doing such a thing! But as an act of basepolicy, as an act of forethought, oh! never, never, never!"

"Paul! Paul! speak to me, Paul. Tell me what you think. I have hadforeshadowings long. I can bear silence and uncertainty no longer. Whatfind you in those letters? Oh, speak, or my heart will burst, Paul. "

He gave no heed to her or her words, but remained like one impaled;still, fixed, yet writhing, his features, his whole form and expressiondiscolored, distorted with inward agony. 

"Paul! Paul!" cried Miriam, starting up, standing before him, gazing onhim. "Paul! speak to me. Your looks kill me. Speak, Paul! even thoughyou can tell me little new. I know it all, Paul; or nearly all. Weeksago I received the shock! it overwhelmed me for the time; but I survivedit! But you, Paul--you! Oh! how you look! Speak to your sister, Paul!Speak to your promised wife. "

But he gave no heed to her. She was not strong or assured--she feltherself tottering on the very verge of death or madness. But she couldnot bear to see him looking so. Once more she essayed to engage hisattention. 

"Give me those letters, Paul--I can perhaps make out the meaning. "

As he did not reply, she gently sought to take them from his hand. Butat her touch he suddenly started up and threw the packet into the fire. With a quick spring, Miriam darted forward, thrust her hand into thefire and rescued the packet, scorched and burning, but not destroyed. 

She began to put it out, regardless of the pain to her hands. He lookedas if he were tempted to snatch it from her, but she exclaimed:

"No, Paul! no! You will not use force to deprive me of this that I mustguard as a sacred trust. "

Still Paul hesitated, and eyed the packet with a gloomy glance. 

"Remember honor, Paul, even in this trying moment, " said Miriam; "lethonor be saved, if all else be lost. "

"What do you mean to do with that parcel?" he asked in a hollow voice. 

"Keep them securely for the present. "

"And afterward?"

"I know not. "

"Miriam, you evade my questions. Will you promise me one thing?"

"What is that?"

"Promise me to do nothing with those letters until you have furtherevidence. "

"I promise you that. "

Then Paul took up a candle and left the room, as if to go to hissleeping apartment; but on reaching the hall, he threw down andextinguished the light and rushed as if for breath out into the openair. 

The night was keen and frosty, the cold, slaty sky was thickly studdedwith sparkling stars, the snow was crusted over--it was a fine, fresh, clear, wintry night; at another time it would have invigorated andinspired him; now the air seemed stifling, the scene hateful. 

The horrible suspicion of his brother's criminality had entered hisheart for the first time, and it had come with the shock of certainty. The sudden recognition of the handwriting, the strange revelations ofthe foreign letters, had not only in themselves been a terribledisclosure, but had struck the whole "electric chain" of memory andassociation, and called up in living force many an incident andcircumstance heretofore strange and incomprehensible; but now only tooplain and indicative. The whole of Thurston's manner the fatal day ofthe assassination--his abstraction, his anxious haste to get away on theplea of most urgent business in Baltimore--business that never wasafterward heard of; his mysterious absence of the whole night from hisgrandfather's deathbed--provoking conjecture at the time, andunaccounted for to this day; his haggard and distracted looks uponreturning late the next morning; his incurable sorrow; his habit ofsecluding himself upon the anniversary of that crime--and now thedamning evidence in these letters! Among them, and the first he lookedat, was the letter Thurston had written Marian to persuade her toaccompany him to France, in the course of which his marriage with herwas repeatedly acknowledged, being incidentally introduced as anargument in favor of her compliance with his wishes. 

Yet Paul could not believe the crime ever premeditated--it was sudden, unintentional, consummated in a lover's quarrel, in a fit of jealousy, rage, disappointment, madness! Stumbling upon half the truth, he said tohimself:

"Perhaps failing to persuade her to fly with him to France, he hadattempted to carry her off, and being foiled, had temporarily lost hisself-control, his very sanity. That would account for all that hadseemed so strange in his conduct the day and night of the assassinationand the morning after. "

There was agony--there was madness in the pursuit of the investigation. Oh, pitying Heaven! how thought and grief surged and seethed in achingheart and burning brain!

And Miriam's promise to her dying mother--Miriam's promise to bring thecriminal to justice! Would she--could she now abide by its obligations?Could she prosecute her benefactor, her adopted brother, for murder?Could her hand be raised to hurl him down from his pride of place toshame and death? No, no, no, no! the vow must be broken, must be evaded;the right, even if it were the right, must be transgressed, heavenoffended--anything! anything! anything but the exposure and sacrifice oftheir brother! If he had sinned, had he not repented? Did he not suffer?What right had she, his ward, his _protégé_, his child, to punish him?"Vengeance is mine--I will repay, saith the Lord. " No, Miriam must notkeep her vow! She must! she must! she must, responded the moral sense, slow, measured, dispassionate, as the regular fall of a clock's hammer. "I will myself prevent her; I will find means, arguments and persuasionsto act upon her. I will so appeal to her affections, her gratitude, hercompassion, her pride, her fears, her love for me--I will so work uponher heart that she will not find courage to keep her vow. " She will! shewill! responded the deliberate conscience. 

And so he walked up and down; vainly the fresh wind fanned his feveredbrow; vainly the sparkling stars glanced down from holy heights uponhim; he found no coolness for his fever in the air, no sedative for hisanxiety in the stillness, no comfort for his soul in the heavens; heknew not whether he were indoors or out, whether it were night or day, summer or winter, he knew not, wrapped as he was in the mantle of hisown sad thoughts, suffering as he was in the purgatory of his innerlife. 

While Paul walked up and down, like a maniac, Miriam returned to herroom to pace the floor until nearly morning, when she threw herself, exhausted, upon the bed, fell into a heavy sleep, and a third time, doubtless from nervous excitement or prostration, suffered a repetitionof her singular vision, and awoke late in the morning, with the words, "perform thy vow, " ringing in her ears. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

THE AVENGER. 

Several days passed in the gloomy mansion misnamed Dell-Delight. Miriamand Paul avoided each other like death. Both dreaded like death anyillusion to the awful subject that lay so heavy upon the heart of each. Paul, unacquainted with her thoughts, and relying upon her promise to donothing with the letters without further evidence, contented himselfwith watching her motions, feeling comparatively at ease as long as sheshould remain in the house; and being resolved to prevent her from goingforth, or to accompany her if she persisted in leaving home. 

With Miriam, the shock, the anguish, the struggle had well-nigh passed;she was at once subdued and resolved, like one into whom some spirit hadentered and bound her own spirit, and acted through her. So strange didall appear to her, so strange the impassiveness of her own will, of herhabits and affections, that should have rebelled and warred against herpurpose that she sometimes thought herself not herself, or insane, orthe subject of a monomania, or some strange hallucination, a dreamer, asomnambulist, perhaps. And yet with matchless tact and discretion, shewent about her deadly work. She had prepared her plan of action, and nowwaited only for a day very near at hand, the fourth of April, theanniversary of Marian's assassination, to put Thurston to a final testbefore proceeding further. 

The day came at last--it was cold and wintry for the season. Towardevening the sky became overcast with leaden clouds, and the chilldampness penetrated into all the rooms of the old mansion. Poor Fannywas muttering and moaning to herself and her "spirits" over the woodfire in her distant room. 

Mr. Willcoxen had not appeared since breakfast time. Miriam remained inher own chamber; and Paul wandered restlessly from place to placethrough all the rooms of the house, or threw himself wearily into hischair before the parlor fire. Inclement as the weather was, he wouldhave gone forth, but that he too remembered the anniversary, and anameless anxiety connected with Miriam confined him to the house. 

In the kitchen, the colored folk gathered around the fire, grumbling atthe unseasonable coldness of the weather, and predicting a hail-storm, and telling each other that they never "'sperienced" such weather thistime o' year, 'cept 'twas that spring Old Marse died--when no wonder, "'siderin' how he lived long o' Sam all his life. "

Only old Jenny went in and out from house to kitchen, Old Jenny hadenough to do to carry wood to the various fires. She had never "seed itso cold for de season nyther, 'cept 'twas de spring Miss Marian went tohebben, and not a bit o' wonder de yeth was cole arter she war gone--dedear, lovin' heart warm angel; 'deed I wondered how it ever come summeragain, an' thought it was right down onsensible in her morning-gloriesto bloom out jest de same as ever, arter she was gone! An' what minds meto speak o' Miss Marian now, it war jes' seven years this night, sinceshe 'parted dis life, " said Jenny, as she stood leaning her head uponthe mantel-piece, and toasting her toes at the kitchen fire, previous tocarrying another armful of wood into the parlor. 

Night and the storm descended together--such a tempest! such a wildoutbreaking of the elements! rain and hail, and snow and wind, allwarring upon the earth together! The old house shook, the doors andwindows rattled, the timbers cracked, the shingles were torn off andwhirled aloft, the trees were swayed and snapped; and as the stormincreased in violence and roused to fury, the forest beat before itsmight, and the waves rose and overflowed the low land. 

Still old Jenny went in and out of the house to kitchen and kitchen tohouse, carrying wood, water, meat, bread, sauce, sweetmeats, arrangingthe table for supper, replenishing the fire, lighting the candles, letting down the curtains--and trying to make everything cozy andcomfortable for the reassembling of the fireside circle. Poor old Jennyhad passed so much of her life in the family with "the white folks, "that all her sympathies went with them--and on the state of theirspiritual atmosphere depended all her cheerfulness and comfort; and nowthe cool, distant, sorrowful condition of the members of the littlefamily circle--"ebery single mudder's son and darter ob 'em, superamblated off to derself like pris'ners in a jailhouse"--as shesaid--depressed her spirits very much. Jenny's reaction from depressionwas always quite querulous. And toward the height of the storm, therewas a reaction and she grew very quarrelsome. 

"Sam's waystin'[A] roun' in dere, " said Jenny, as she thrust her feetinto the kitchen fire, before carrying in the urn; "Sam's waystin', Itells you all good! all werry quiet dough--no noise, no fallin' out, no'sputin' nor nothin'--all quiet as de yeth jest afore a debbil ob astorm--nobody in de parlor 'cept 'tis Marse Paul, settin' right afore deparlor fire, wid one long leg poked east and toder west, wid the bootson de andirons like a spread-eagle! lookin' as glum as if I owed him ayear's sarvice, an' nebber so much as a-sayin', 'Jenny, you poor olddebbil, ain't you a-cold?' an' me coming in ebery minnit wid the iciclesa-jinglin' 'roun' my linsey-woolsey skurts, like de diamonds on deWirgin Mary's Sunday gown. But Sam's waystin' now, I tells you all good. Lors Gemini, what a storm!

[Footnote A: Waysting--Going up and down. ]

"I 'members of no sich since dat same storm as de debbil come in tofetch ole marse's soul--dis berry night seven year past, an' he carriedof him off all in a suddint whiff! jist like a puff of win'. An' nowonder, seein' how he done traded his soul to him for money!

"An' Sam's here ag'in to-night! dunno who he's come arter! but he'shere, now, I tells you all good!" said Jenny, as she took up the urn tocarry it into the parlor. 

When she got there she could scarcely get to the fire; Paul took up thefront. His immobility and unconsciousness irritated Jenny beyond silentendurance. 

"I tell you all what, " she said, "I means to 'sign my sitewation! 'deedme! I can't kill myself for dem as wouldn't even care 'nough for me tohave a mass said for de 'pose o' my soul. "

"What do you mean?" asked Paul, angrily, for confinement, solitude, badweather, and anxiety, had combined, to make him querulous, too. 

"I means how ef yer doesn't have a kivered way made from de house to dekitchen an' back ag'in, I gwine give up waitin' on de table, now min' Itell yer, 'deed me! an' now ef you likes, yer may jes' go an' tell MarseRooster. "

"'Marse Rooster!' Will you ever give up that horrid nonsense. Why, youold--! Is my brother--is your master a barn-door chicken-cock, that youcall him 'Rooster?'" asked the young man, snappishly. 

"Well, Shrooster, den, ef you wants me to wring my tongue in two. Efpeople's sponsors in baptism will gib der chillun such heathen names, how de debbil any Christian 'oman gwine to twis' her tongue roun' it? Ithanks my 'Vine Marster dat my sponsors in baptism named me arter debressed an' holy S'int Jane--who has 'stained an' s'ported me all mydays; an' 'ill detect now, dough you do try to break my poor ole heartlong wid onkindness at my ole ages o' life! But what's de use o'talkin'--Sam's waystin'!" And so saying, Jenny gave the finishingtouches to the arrangement of the table, and then seized the bell, andrang it with rather needless vigor and violence, to bring the scatteredmembers of the family together. 

They came, slowly and singly, and drew around the table more like ghoststhan living persons, a few remarks upon the storm, and then they sunkinto silence--and as soon as the gloomy meal was over, one by one theydropped away from the room--first went poor Fanny, then Mr. Willcoxen, then Miriam. 

"Where are you going, Miriam?" asked Paul, as the latter was leaving theroom. 

"To my chamber. "

And before he could farther question, or longer detain her, she pressedhis hand and went out. And Paul, with a deep sigh and a strangelyforeboding heart, sank back into his seat. 

When Miriam reached her bedroom, she carefully closed and locked thedoor, went to her bureau, opened the top-drawer, and took from it asmall oblong mahogany glove-box. She unlocked the latter, and took out asmall parcel, which she unwrapped and laid before her upon the bureau. 

It was the xyphias poniard. 

The weapon had come into her possession some time before in thefollowing manner: During the first winter of Paul Douglass' absence fromhome, Mr. Willcoxen had emancipated several of his slaves and providedmeans for their emigration to Liberia. They were to sail early in March. Among the number was Melchisedek. A few days previous to theirdeparture, this man had come to the house, and sought the presence ofhis youthful mistress, when he knew her to be alone in the parlor, andwith a good deal of mystery and hesitation had laid before her a daggerwhich he said he should rather have given to "Marster Paul, " if thelatter had been at home. He had picked it up near the water's edge onthe sands the night of Miss Mayfield's death, which "Marster" had takenso to heart, that he was afraid to harrow up his feelings by bringing itto him a second time--but that as it was an article of value, he did notlike to take it away with him. And he begged Miss Miriam to take chargeof it. And Miriam had taken it, and with surprise, but without theslightest suspicion, had read the name of "Thurston Willcoxen" carvedupon its handle. To all her questions, Melchisedek had given evasiveanswers, or remained obstinately silent, being determined not to betrayhis master's confidence by revealing his share in the events of thatfatal night. Miriam had taken the little instrument, wrapped itcarefully in paper, and locked it in her old-fashioned long glove-box. And from that day to this she had not opened it. 

Now, however, she had taken it out with a fixed purpose, and she stoodand gazed upon it. Presently she took it up, rolled it in the paper, took her lamp, and slowly left her room, and passed along the passagesleading to Mr. Willcoxen's library. 

The storm howled and raved as she went, and the strong blast, drivingthrough the dilapidated window-sashes, nearly extinguished her lightbefore she reached the study door. 

She blew out the light and set down the lamp, and rapped at the door. Again and again she rapped, without awakening any response from within. 

Then she turned the latch, opened the door, and entered. No wonder shehad received no answer. 

The abstracted man before her seemed dead to every sight and soundaround him. He sat before the table in the middle of the room, his elbowon the mahogany; his face bowed upon his hand, his haggard countenancerevealing a still, speechless despair as awful as it was profound. 

Miriam approached and stood by him, her breath went by his cheek, sonear she stood, and yet her presence was unheeded. She stooped to seethe object upon which he gazed--the object that now shut out all theworld from his sight--it was a long bright tress of golden auburn hair. 

"Mr. Willcoxen!"

He did not hear her--how should he hear her low tones, when he heard notthe cannonading of the storm that shook the house to its foundations?

"Mr. Willcoxen!" she said once more. 

But he moved not a muscle. 

"Mr. Willcoxen!" she repeated, laying her hand upon his arm. 

He looked up. The expression of haggard despair softened out of hiscountenance. 

"Is it you, my dear?" he said. "What has brought you here, Miriam? Wereyou afraid of the storm? There is no danger, dear child--it has nearlyexpended its force, and will soon be over--but sit down. "

"Oh, no! it is not the storm that has brought me here, though I scarcelyremember a storm so violent at this season of the year, except one--thisnight seven years ago--the night that Marian Mayfield was murdered!"

He started--it is true that he had been thinking of the same dreadtragedy--but to hear it suddenly mentioned pierced him like anunexpected sword thrust. 

Miriam proceeded, speaking in a strange, level monotone, as if unwillingor afraid to trust her voice far:

"I came this evening to restore a small but costly article of _virtu_, belonging to you, and left in my care some time ago by the boyMelchisedek. It is an antique dagger--somewhat rusty and spotted. Hereit is. "

And she laid the poniard down upon the tress of hair before him. 

He sprang up as if it had been a viper--his whole frame shook, and theperspiration started from his livid forehead. 

Miriam, keeping her eye upon him, took the dagger up. 

"It is very rusty, and very much streaked, " she said. "I wonder whatthese dark streaks can be? They run along the edge, from the extremepoint of the blade, upwards toward the handle; they look to me like thestains of blood--as if a murderer had stabbed his victim with it, and inhis haste to escape had forgotten to wipe the blade, but had left theblood upon it, to curdle and corrode the steel. See! don't it look so toyou?" she said, approaching him, and holding the weapon up to his view. 

"Girl! girl! what do you mean?" he exclaimed, throwing his hand acrosshis eyes, and hurrying across the room. 

Miriam flung down the weapon with a force that made its metal ring uponthe floor, and hastening after him, she stood before him; her dark eyesfixed upon his, streaming with insufferable and consuming fire, thatseemed to burn through into his brain. She said:

"I have heard of fiends in the human shape, nay, I have heard of Satanin the guise of an angel of light! Are you such that stand before menow?"

"Miriam, what do you mean?" he asked, in sorrowful astonishment. 

"This is what I mean! That the mystery of Marian Mayfield's fate, thesecret of your long remorse, is no longer hidden! I charge you with themurder of Marian Mayfield!"

"Miriam, you are mad!"

"Oh! well for me, and better still for you, if I were mad!"

He was tremendously shaken, more by the vivid memories she recalled thanby the astounding charge she made. 

"In the name of Heaven, what leads you to imagine such impossibleguilt!"

"Good knowledge of the facts--that this month, eight years ago, in thelittle Methodist chapel of the navy yard, in Washington City, you madeMarian Mayfield your wife--that this night seven years since, in justsuch a storm as this, on the beach below Pine Bluff, you met andmurdered Marian Willcoxen! And, moreover, I as sure you, that thesefacts which I tell you now, to-morrow I will lay before a magistrate, together with all the corroborating proof in my possession!"

"And what proof can you have?"

"A gentleman who, unknown and unsuspected, witnessed the privateceremony between yourself and Marian; a packet of French letters, written by yourself from Glasgow, to Marian, in St. Mary's, in thespring of 1823; a note found in the pocket of her dress, appointing thefatal meeting on the beach where she perished. Two physicians, who cantestify to your unaccountable absence from the deathbed of your parenton the night of the murder, and also to the distraction of your mannerwhen you returned late the next morning. "

"And this, " said Thurston, gazing in mournful amazement upon her; "thisis the child that I have nourished and brought up in my house! She canbelieve me guilty of such atrocious crime--she can aim at my honor andmy life such a deadly blow?"

"Alas! alas! it is my duty! it is my fate! I cannot escape it! I havebound my soul by a fearful oath! I cannot evade it! I shall not surviveit! Oh, all the heaven is black with doom, and all the earth taintedwith blood!" cried Miriam, wildly. 

"You are insane, poor girl! you are insane!" said Thurston, pityingly. 

"Would Heaven I were! would Heaven I were! but I am not! I am not! Toowell I remember I have bound my soul by an oath to seek out Marian'sdestroyer, and deliver him up to death! And I must do it! I must do it!though my heart break--as it will break in the act!"

"And you believe me to be guilty of this awful crime!"

"There stands the fearful evidence! Would Heaven it did not exist! oh!would Heaven it did not!"

"Listen to me, dear Miriam, " he said, calmly, for he had now recoveredhis self-possession. "Listen to me--I am perfectly guiltless of thecrime you impute to me. How is it possible that I could be otherwisethan guiltless. Hear me explain the circumstances that have come to yourknowledge, " and he attempted to take her hand to lead her to a seat. Butwith a slight scream, she snatched her hand away, saying wildly:

"Touch me not! Your touch thrills me to sickness! to faintness!curdles--turns back the current of blood in my veins!"

"You think this hand a blood-stained one?"

"The evidence! the evidence!"

"I can explain that evidence. Miriam, my child, sit down--at anydistance from me you please--only let it be near enough for you tohear. Did I believe you quite sane, Miriam, grief and anger mightpossibly seal my lips upon this subject--but believing you partiallyderanged--from illness and other causes--I will defend myself to you. Sit down and hear me. "

Miriam dropped into the nearest chair. 

Mr. Willcoxen took another, and commenced:

"You have received some truth, Miriam. How it has been presented to you, I will not ask now. I may presently. I was married, as you have somehowascertained, to Marian Mayfield, just before going to Europe. Icorresponded with her from Glasgow. I did appoint a meeting with her onthe beach, upon the fatal evening in question--for what purpose thatmeeting was appointed, it is bootless to tell you, since the meetingnever took place--for some hours before I should have set out to keep myappointment, my grandfather was stricken with apoplexy. I did not wishto leave his bedside until the arrival of the doctor. But when theevening wore on, and the storm approached, I grew uneasy upon Marian'saccount, and sent Melchisedek in the gig to fetch her from the beach tothis house--never to leave it. Miriam, the boy reached the sands only tofind her dying. Terrified half out of his senses, he hurried back andtold me this story. I forgot my dying relative--forgot everything, butthat my wife lay wounded and exposed on the beach. I sprung uponhorseback, and galloped with all possible haste to the spot. By the timeI had got there the storm had reached its height, and the beach wascompletely covered with the boiling waves. My Marian had been carriedaway. I spent the wretched night in wandering up and down the bluffabove the beach, and calling on her name. In the morning I returned hometo find my grandfather dead, and the family and physicians wondering atmy strange absence at such a time. That, Miriam, is the story. "

Miriam made no comment whatever. Mr. Willcoxen seemed surprised andgrieved at her silence. 

"What have you now to say, Miriam?"

"Nothing. "

"'Nothing?' What do you think of my explanation?"

"I think nothing. My mind is in an agony of doubt and conjecture. I mustbe governed by stern facts--not by my own prepossessions. I must actupon the evidences in my possession--not upon your explanation of them, "said Miriam, distractedly, as she arose to leave the room. 

"And you will denounce me, Miriam?"

"It is my insupportable duty! it is my fate! my doom! for it will killme!"

"Yet you will do it!"

"I will. "

"Yet turn, dear Miriam! Look on me once more! take my hand! since youact from necessity, do nothing from anger--turn and take my hand. "

She turned and stood--such a picture of tearless agony! She met hisgentle, compassionate glance--it melted--it subdued her. 

"Oh, would Heaven that I might die, rather than do this thing! WouldHeaven I might die! for my heart turns to you; it turns, and I love youso--oh! I love you so! never, never so much as now! my brother! mybrother!" and she sunk down and seized his hands and wept over them. 

"What, Miriam! do you love me, believing me to be guilty?"

"To have been guilty--not to be guilty--you have suffered remorse--youhave repented, these many long and wretched years. Oh! surely repentancewashes out guilt!"

"And you can now caress and weep over my hands, believing them to havebeen crimsoned with the life-stream of your first and best friend?"

"Yes! yes! yes! yes! Oh! would these tears, my very heart sobs forth, might wash them pure again! Yes! yes! whether you be guilty or not, mybrother! the more I listen to my heart, the more I love you, and Icannot help it!"

"It is because your heart is so much wiser than your head, dear Miriam!Your heart divines the guiltlessness that your reason refuses to credit!Do what you feel that you must, dear Miriam--but, in the meantime, letus still be brother and sister--embrace me once more. "

With anguish bordering on insanity, she threw herself into his arms fora moment--was pressed to his heart, and then breaking away, she escapedfrom the room to her own chamber. And there, with her half-crazed brainand breaking heart--like one acting or forced to act in a ghastly dream, she began to arrange her evidence--collect the letters, the list ofwitnesses and all, preparatory to setting forth upon her fatal missionin the morning. 

With the earliest dawn of morning, Miriam left her room. In passing thedoor of Mr. Willcoxen's chamber, she suddenly stopped--a spasm seizedher heart, and convulsed her features--she clasped her hands to pray, then, as if there were wild mockery in the thought, flung them fiercelyapart, and hurried on her way. She felt that she was leaving the housenever to return; she thought that she should depart without encounteringany of its inmates. She was surprised, therefore, to meet Paul in thefront passage. He came up and intercepted her:

"Where are you going so early, Miriam?"

"To Colonel Thornton's. "

"What? Before breakfast?"

"Yes. "

He took both of her hands, and looked into her face--her pallidface--with all the color concentrated in a dark crimson spot upon eithercheek--with all the life burning deep down in the contracted pupils ofthe eyes. 

"Miriam, you are not well--come, go into the parlor, " he said, andattempted to draw her toward the door. 

"No, Paul, no! I must go out, " she said, resisting his efforts. 

"But why?"

"What is it to you? Let me go. "

"It is everything to me, Miriam, because I suspect your errand. Comeinto the parlor. This madness must not go on. "

"Well, perhaps I am mad, and my words and acts may go for nothing. Ihope it may be so. "

"Miriam, I must talk with you--not here--for we are liable to beinterrupted every instant. Come into the parlor, at least for a fewmoments. "

She no longer resisted that slight plea, but suffered him to lead herin. He gave her a seat, and took one beside her, and took her hand inhis, and began to urge her to give up her fatal purpose. He appealed toher, through reason, through religion, through all the strongestpassions and affections of her soul--through her devotion to herguardian--through the gratitude she owed him--through their mutual love, that must be sacrificed, if her insane purpose should be carried out. Toall this she answered:

"I think of nothing concerning myself, Paul--I think only of him; thereis the anguish. "

"You are insane, Miriam; yet, crazy as you are, you may do a great dealof harm--much to Thurston, but much more to yourself. It is not probablethat the evidence you think you have will be considered by anymagistrate of sufficient importance to be acted upon against a man ofMr. Willcoxen's life and character. "

"Heaven grant that such may be the case. "

"Attend! collect your thoughts--the evidence you produce will probablybe considered unimportant and quite unworthy of attention; but what willbe thought of you who volunteer to offer it?"

"I had not reflected upon that--and now you mention it, I do not care. "

"And if, on the other hand, the testimony which you have to offer beconsidered ground for indictment, and Thurston is brought to trial, andacquitted, as he surely would be--"

"Ay! Heaven send it!"

"And the whole affair blown all over the country--how would you appear?"

"I know not, and care not, so he is cleared; Heaven grant I may be theonly sufferer! I am willing to take the infamy. "

"You would be held up before the world as an ingrate, a domestictraitress, and unnatural monster. You would be hated of all--your nameand history become a tradition of almost impossible wickedness. "

"Ha! why, do you think that in such an hour as this I care for myself?No, no! no, no! Heaven grant that it may be as you say--that my brotherbe acquitted, and I only may suffer! I am willing to suffer shame anddeath for him whom I denounce! Let me go, Paul; I have lost too muchtime here. "

"Will nothing induce you to abandon this wicked purpose?"

"Nothing on earth, Paul!"

"Nothing?"

"No! so help me Heaven! Give way--let me go, Paul. "

"You must not go, Miriam. "

"I must and will--and that directly. Stand aside. "

"Then you shall not go. "

"Shall not?"

"I said 'shall not. '"

"Who will prevent me?"

"I will! You are a maniac, Miriam, and must be restrained from goingabroad, and setting the county in a conflagration. "

"You will have to guard me very close for the whole of my life, then. "

At that moment the door was quietly opened, and Mr. Willcoxen entered. 

Miriam's countenance changed fearfully, but she wrung her hand from theclasp of Paul's, and hastened toward the door. 

Paul sprang forward and intercepted her. 

"What does this mean?" asked Mr. Willcoxen, stepping up to them. 

"It means that she is mad, and will do herself or somebody else muchmischief, " cried Paul, sharply. 

"For shame, Paul! Release her instantly, " said Thurston, authoritatively. 

"Would you release a lunatic, bent upon setting the house on fire?"expostulated the young man, still holding her. 

"She is no lunatic; let her go instantly, sir. "

Paul, with a groan, complied. 

Miriam hastened onward, cast one look of anguish back to Thurston'sface, rushed back, and threw herself upon her knees at his feet, claspedhis hands, and cried:

"I do not ask you to pardon me--I dare not! But God deliver you! if itbrand me and my accusation with infamy! and God forever bless you!" Thenrising, she fled from the room. 

The brothers looked at each other. 

"Thurston, do you know where she has gone? what she intends to do?"

"Yes. "

"You do?"

"Assuredly. "

"And you would not prevent her?"

"Most certainly not. "

Paul was gazing into his brother's eyes, and, as he gazed, every vestigeof doubt and suspicion vanished from his mind; it was like the suddenclearing up of the sky, and shining forth of the sun; he grasped hisbrother's hands with cordial joy. 

"God bless you, Thurston! I echo her prayer. God forever bless you! But, Thurston, would it not have been wiser to prevent her going out?"

"How? Would you have used force with Miriam--restrained her personalliberty?"

"Yes! I would have done so!"

"That would have been not only wrong, but useless; for if her strongaffections for us were powerless to restrain her, be sure that physicalmeans would fail; she would make herself heard in some way, and thusmake our cause much worse. Besides, I should loathe, for myself, toresort to any such expedients. "

"But she may do so much harm. And you?"

"I am prepared to meet what comes!"

"Strange infatuation! that she should believe you to be--I will notwrong you by finishing the sentence. "

"She does not at heart believe me guilty--her mind is in a storm. She isbound by her oath to act upon the evidence rather than upon her ownfeelings, and that evidence is much stronger against me, Paul, than youhave any idea of. Come into my study, and I will tell you the wholestory. "

And Paul followed him thither. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

UPON CHARGE OF MURDER. 

Some hours later in that day Colonel Thornton was sitting, in hiscapacity of police magistrate, in his office at C----. The room wasoccupied by about a dozen persons, men and women, black and white. Hehad just got through with one or two petty cases of debt or theft, andhad up before him a poor, half-starved "White Herring, " charged withsheep-stealing, when the door opened and a young girl, closely veiled, entered and took a seat in the farthest corner from the crowd. The caseof the poor man was soon disposed of--the evidence was not positive--thecompassionate magistrate leaned to the side of mercy, and the man wasdischarged, and went home most probably to dine upon mutton. This beingthe last case, the magistrate arose and ordered the room to be clearedof all who had no further business with him. 

When the loungers had left the police office the young girl cameforward, stood before the magistrate, and raised her veil, revealing thefeatures of Miriam. 

"Good-morning, Miss Shields, " said Colonel Thornton; and neither thecountenance nor manner of this suave and stately gentleman of the oldschool revealed the astonishment he really felt on seeing the young ladyin such a place. He arose and courteously placed her a chair, reseatedhimself, and turned toward her and respectfully awaited hercommunication. 

"Colonel Thornton, you remember Miss Mayfield, and the manner of herdeath, that made some stir here about seven years ago?"

The face of the old gentleman suddenly grew darkened and slightlyconvulsed, as the face of the sea when clouds and wind pass over it. 

"Yes, young lady, I remember. "

"I have come to denounce her murderer. "

Colonel Thornton took up his pen, and drew toward him a blank form of awrit, and sat looking toward her; and waiting for her further words. 

Her bosom heaved, her face worked, her voice was choked and unnatural, as she said:

"You will please to issue a warrant for the arrest of ThurstonWillcoxen. "

Colonel Thornton laid down his pen, arose from his seat, and took herhand and gazed upon her with an expression of blended surprise andcompassion. 

"My dear young lady, you are not very well. May I inquire--are yourfriends in town, or are you here alone?"

"I am here alone. Nay, I am not mad, Colonel Thornton, although yourlooks betray that you think me so. "

"No, no, not mad, only indisposed, " said the colonel, in no degreemodifying his opinion. 

"Colonel Thornton, if there is anything strange and eccentric in mylooks and manner, you must set it down to the strangeness of theposition in which I am placed. "

"My dear young lady, Miss Thornton is at the hotel to-day. Will youpermit me to take you to her?"

"You will do as you please, Colonel Thornton, after you shall have heardmy testimony and examined the proofs I have to lay before you. Then Ishall permit you to judge of my soundness of mind as you will, premising, however, that my sanity or insanity can have no possibleeffect upon the proofs that I submit, " she said, laying a packet uponthe table between them. 

Something in her manner now compelled the magistrate to give her wordsan attention for which he blamed himself, as for a gross wrong, towardhis favorite clergyman. 

"Do I understand you to charge Mr. Willcoxen with the death of MissMayfield?"

"Yes, " said Miriam, bowing her head. 

"What cause, young lady, can you possibly have for making such amonstrous and astounding accusation?"

"I came here for the purpose of telling you, if you will permit me. Nordo I, since you doubt my reason, ask you to believe my statement, unsupported by proof. "

"Go on, young lady; I am all attention. "

"Will you administer the usual oath?"

"No, Miss Shields; I will hear your story first in the capacity offriend. "

"And you think that the only capacity in which you will be called uponto act? Well, may Heaven grant it, " said Miriam, and she began and toldhim all the facts that had recently come to her knowledge, ending byplacing the packet of letters in his hands. 

While she spoke, Colonel Thornton's pen was busy making minutes of herstatements; when she had concluded, he laid down the pen, and turning toher, asked:

"You believe, then, that Mr. Willcoxen committed this murder?"

"I know not--I act only upon the evidence. "

"Circumstantial evidence, often as delusive as it is fatal! Do you thinkit possible that Mr. Willcoxen could have meditated such a crime?"

"No, no, no, no! never meditated it! If he committed it, it wasunpremeditated, unintentional; the accident of some lover's quarrel, some frenzy of passion, jealousy--I know not what!"

"Let me ask you, then, why you volunteer to prosecute?"

"Because I must do so. But tell me, do you think what I have advancedtrivial and unimportant?" asked Miriam, in a hopeful tone, for littleshe thought of herself, if only her obligation were discharged, and herbrother still unharmed. 

"On the contrary, I think it so important as to constrain my instantattention, and oblige me to issue a warrant for the apprehension of Mr. Thurston Willcoxen, " said Colonel Thornton, as he wrote rapidly, fillingout several blank documents. Then he rang a bell, that was answered bythe entrance of several police officers. To the first he gave a warrant, saying:

"You will serve this immediately upon Mr. Willcoxen. " And to another hegave some half dozen subpoenas, saying: "You will serve all thesebetween this time and twelve to-morrow. "

When these functionaries were all discharged, Miriam arose and went tothe magistrate. 

"What do you think of the testimony?"

"It is more than sufficient to commit Mr. Willcoxen for trial; it maycost him his life. "

A sudden paleness passed over her face; she turned to leave the office, but the hand of death seemed to clutch her heart, arresting itspulsations, stopping the current of her blood, smothering her breath, and she fell to the floor. 

 * * * * *

Wearily passed the day at Dell-Delight. Thurston, as usual, sittingreading or writing at his library table; Paul rambling uneasily aboutthe house, now taking up a book and attempting to read, now throwing itdown in disgust; sometimes almost irresistibly impelled to spring uponhis horse and gallop to Charlotte Hall, then restraining his strongimpulse lest something important should transpire at home during hisabsence. So passed the day until the middle of the afternoon. 

Paul was walking up and down the long piazza, indifferent for the firsttime in his life to the loveliness of the soft April atmosphere, thatseemed to blend, raise and idealize the features of the landscape untilearth, water and sky were harmonized into celestial beauty. Paul wasgrowing very anxious for the reappearance of Miriam, or for some news ofher or her errand, yet dreading every moment an arrival of another sort. "Where could the distracted girl be? Would her report be received andacted upon by the magistrate? If so, what would be done? How would itall end? Would Thurston sleep in his own house or in a prison thatnight? When would Miriam return? Would she ever return, after havingassumed such a task as she had taken upon herself?"

These and other questions presented themselves every moment, as hewalked up and down the piazza, keeping an eye upon the distant road. 

Presently a cloud of dust in the distance arrested both his attentionand his promenade, and brought his anxiety to a crisis. He soonperceived a single horseman galloping rapidly down the road, and neverremoved his eyes until the horseman turned into the gate and gallopedswiftly up to the house. 

Then with joy Paul recognized the rider, and ran eagerly down the stairsto give him welcome, and reached the paved walk just as Cloudy drew reinand threw himself from the saddle. 

The meeting was a cordial, joyous one--with Cloudy it was sincere, unmixed joy; with Paul it was only a pleasant surprise and a transientforgetfulness. Rapid questions were asked and answered, as they hurriedinto the house. 

Cloudy's ship had been ordered home sooner than had been expected; hehad reached Norfolk a week before, B---- that afternoon, and hadimmediately procured a horse and hurried on home. Hence his unlooked-forarrival. 

"How is Thurston? How is Miriam? How are they all at Luckenough?"

"All are well; the family at Luckenough are absent in the South, but areexpected home every week. "

"And where is Miriam?"

"At the village. "

"And Thurston?"

"In his library, as usual, " said Paul, and touched the bell to summon amessenger to send to Mr. Willcoxen. 

"Have you dined, Cloudy?"

"Yes, no--I ate some bread and cheese at the village; don't fuss; I'drather wait till supper-time. "

The door opened, and Mr. Willcoxen entered. 

Whatever secret anxiety might have weighed upon the minister's heart, nosign of it was suffered to appear upon his countenance, as, smilingcordially, he came in holding out his hand to welcome his cousin andearly playmate, expressing equal surprise and pleasure at seeing him. 

Cloudy had to go over the ground of explanation of his sudden arrival, and by the time he had finished, old Jenny came in, laughing andwriggling with joy to see him. But Jenny did not remain long in theparlor; she hurried out into the kitchen to express her feelingsprofessionally by preparing a welcome feast. 

"And you are not married yet, Thurston, as great a favorite as you arewith the ladies! How is that? Every time I come home I expect to bepresented to a Mrs. Willcoxen, and never am gratified; why is that?"

"Perhaps I believe in the celibacy of the clergy. "

"Perhaps you have never recovered the disappointment of losing Miss LeRoy?"

"Ah! Cloudy, people who live in glass houses should not throw stones; Isuspect you judge me by yourself. How is it with you, Cloudy? Has nofair maiden been able to teach you to forget your boy-love forJacquelina?"

Cloudy winced, but tried to cover his embarrassment with a laugh. 

"Oh! I have been in love forty dozen times. I'm always in love; my heartis continually going through a circle from one fit to another, like thesun through the signs of the zodiac; only it never comes to anything. "

"Well, at least little Jacko is forgotten, which is one congratulatorycircumstance. "

"No, she is not forgotten; I will not wrong her by saying that she is, or could be! All other loves are merely the foreign ports, which myheart visits transiently now and then. Lina is its native home. I don'tknow how it is. With most cases of disappointment, such as yours withMiss Le Roy, I suppose the regret may be short-lived enough; but when anaffection has been part and parcel of one's being from infancy up; why, it is in one's soul and heart and blood, so to speak--is identical withone's consciousness, and inseparable from one's life. "

"Do you ever see her?"

"See her! yes; but how?--at each return from a voyage. I may seeher once, with an iron grating between us; she disguised with herblack shrouding robe and veil, and thinking that she must sufferhere to expiate the fate of Dr. Grimshaw, who, scorpion-like, stunghimself to death with the venom of his own bad passions. She is aSister of Mercy, devoted to good works, and leaves her convent onlyin times of war, plague, pestilence or famine, to minister to thesuffering. She nursed me through the yellow fever, when I lay in thehospital at New Orleans, but when I got well enough to recognize her shevanished--evaporated--made herself 'thin air, ' and another Sister servedin her place. "

"Have you ever seen her since?"

"Yes, once; I sought out her convent, and went with the fixeddetermination to reason with her, and to persuade her not to renew hervows for another year--you know, the Sisters only take vows for a yearat a time. "

"Did you make any impression on her mind?" inquired Thurston, with moreinterest than he had yet shown m any part of the story. 

"'Make any impression on her mind!' No! I--I did not even attempt to. How could I, when I only saw her behind a grate, with the prioress onone side of her and the portress on the other? My visit was silentenough, and short enough, and sad enough. Why can't she come out ofthat? What have I done to deserve to be made miserable? I don't deserveit. I am the most ill-used man in the United States service. "

While Cloudy spoke, old Jenny was hurrying in and out between the houseand the kitchen, and busying herself with setting the table, laying thecloth and arranging the service. But presently she came in, throwingwide the door, and announcing:

"Two gemmun, axin to see marster. "

Thurston arose and turned to confront them, while Paul became suddenlypale on recognizing two police officers. 

"Good-afternoon, Mr. Willcoxen--good-afternoon, gentlemen, " said theforemost and most respectable-looking of the two, lifting his hat andbowing to the fireside party. Then replacing it, he said: "Mr. Willcoxen, will you be kind enough to step this way and give me yourattention, sir. " He walked to the window, and Thurston followed him. 

Paul stood with a pale face and firmly compressed lip, and gazed afterthem. 

And Cloudy--unsuspicious Cloudy, arose and stood with his back to thefire and whistled a sea air. 

"Mr. Willcoxen, you can see for yourself the import of this paper, " saidthe officer, handing the warrant. 

Thurston read it and returned it. 

"Mr. Willcoxen, " added the policeman, "myself and my comrade came hitheron horseback. Let me suggest to you to order your carriage. One of uswill accompany you in the drive, and all remarks will be avoided. "

"I thank you for the hint, Mr. Jenkins; I had, how ever, intended to doas you advise, " said Thurston, beckoning his brother to approach. 

"Paul! I am a prisoner. Say nothing at present to Cloudy; permit him toassume that business takes me away, and go now quietly and order horsesput to the carriage. "

"Dr. Douglass, we shall want your company also, " said the officer, serving Paul with a subpoena. 

Paul ground his teeth together and rushed out of the door. 

"Keep an eye on that young man, " said the policeman to his comrade, andthe latter followed Paul into the yard and on to the stables. 

The haste and passion of Paul's manner had attracted Cloudy's attention, and now he stood looking on with surprise and inquiry. 

"Cloudy, " said Thurston, approaching him, "a most pressing affairdemands my presence at C---- this afternoon. Paul must also attend me. Imay not return to-night. Paul, however, certainly will. In the meantime, Cloudy, my boy, make yourself as much at home and as happy as youpossibly can. "

"Oh! don't mind me! Never make a stranger of me. Go, by all means. Iwouldn't detain you for the world; hope it is nothing of a painfulnature that calls you from home, however. Any parishioner ill, dying andwanting your ghostly consolations?"

"Oh, no, " said Thurston, smiling. 

"Glad of it! Go, by all means. I will make myself jolly until youreturn, " said Cloudy, walking up and down the floor whistling a loveditty, and thinking of little Jacko. He always thought of her withtenfold intensity whenever he returned home and came into herneighborhood. 

"Mr. Jenkins, will you follow me to my library?" said Thurston. 

The officer bowed assent and Mr. Willcoxen proceeded thither for thepurpose of securing his valuable papers and locking his secretary andwriting-desk. 

After an absence of some fifteen minutes they returned to the parlor tofind Paul and the constable awaiting them. 

"Is the carriage ready?" asked Mr. Willcoxen. 

"Yes, sir, " replied the constable. 

"Then, I believe, we also are--is it not so?"

The police officer bowed, and Mr. Willcoxen walked up to Cloudy and heldout his hand. 

"Good-by, Cloudy, for the present. Paul will probably be home bynightfall, even if I should be detained. "

"Oh, don't hurry yourself upon my account. I shall do very well. Jennycan take care of me, " said Cloudy, jovially, as he shook the offeredhand of Thurston. 

Paul could not trust himself to look Cloudy in the face and say"Good-by. " He averted his head, and so followed Mr. Willcoxen and theofficer into the yard. 

Mr. Willcoxen, the senior officer and Paul Douglass entered thecarriage, and the second constable attended on horseback, and so theparty set out for Charlotte Hall. 

Hour after hour passed. Old Jenny came in and put the supper on thetable, and stood presiding over the urn and tea-pot while Cloudy ate hissupper. Old Jenny's tongue ran as if she felt obliged to make up inconversation for the absence of the rest of the family. 

"Lord knows, I'se glad 'nough you'se comed back, " she said; "dis yerplace is bad 'nough. Sam's been waystin' here eber since de fam'ly comefrom de city--dey must o' fetch him long o' dem. Now I do 'spose sumtinis happen long o' Miss Miriam as went heyin' off to de willidge dismornin' afore she got her brekfas, nobody on de yeth could tell whatfur. Now de od-er two is gone, an' nobody lef here to mine de house, 'cept 'tis you an' me! Sam's waystin'!"

Cloudy laughed and tried to cheer her spirits by a gay reply, and thenthey kept up between them a lively badinage of repartee, in which oldJenny acquitted herself quite as wittily as her young master. 

And after supper she cleared away the service, and went to prepare a bedand light a fire in the room appropriated to Cloudy. 

And so the evening wore away. 

It grew late, yet neither Thurston nor Paul appeared. Cloudy began tothink their return unseasonably delayed, and at eleven o'clock he tookup his lamp to retire to his chamber, when he was startled and arrestedby the barking of dogs, and by the rolling of the carriage into theyard, and in a few minutes the door was thrown violently open, and PaulDouglass, pale, haggard, convulsed and despairing, burst suddenly intothe room. 

"Paul! Paul! what in the name of Heaven has happened?" cried Cloudy, starting up, surprised and alarmed by his appearance. 

"Oh, it has ended in his committal!--it has ended in his committal!--heis fully committed for trial!--he was sent off to-night to the countyjail at Leonardtown, in the custody of two officers!"

"Who is committed? What are you talking about, Paul?" said Cloudy, taking his hand kindly and looking in his face. 

These words and actions brought Paul somewhat to his senses. 

"Oh! you do not know!--you do not even guess anything about it, Cloudy!Oh, it is a terrible misfortune! Let me sit down and I will tell you!"

And Paul Douglass threw himself into a chair, and in an agitated, nearlyincoherent manner, related the circumstances that led to the arrest ofThurston Willcoxen for the murder of Marian Mayfield. 

When he had concluded the strange story, Cloudy started up, took hishat, and was about to leave the room, "Where are you going, Cloudy?"

"To the stables to saddle my horse, to ride to Leonardtown this night!"

"It is nearly twelve o'clock. "

"I know it, but by hard riding I can reach Leonardtown by morning, andbe with Thurston as soon as the prison doors are opened. And I will askyou, Paul, to be kind enough to forward my trunks from the tavern atBenedict to Leonardtown, where I shall remain to be near Thurston aslong as he needs my services. "

"God bless you, Cloudy! I myself wished to accompany him, but he wouldnot for a moment hear of my doing so--he entreated me to return hitherto take care of poor Fanny and the homestead. "

Cloudy scarcely waited to hear this benediction, but hurried to thestables, found and saddled his horse, threw himself into the stirrups, and in five minutes was dashing rapidly through the thick, low-lyingforest stretching inland from the coast. 

Eight hours of hard riding brought him to the county seat. 

Just stopping long enough to have his horse put up at the best hotel andto inquire his way to the prison, he hurried thither. 

It was nearly nine o'clock, and the street corners were thronged withloungers conversing in low, eager tones upon the present all-absorbingtopic of discourse--the astounding event of the arrest of the greatpreacher, the Rev. Thurston Willcoxen, upon the charge of murder. 

Hurrying past all these, Cloudy reached the jail. He readily gainedadmittance, and was conducted to the cell of the prisoner. He foundThurston attired as when he left home, sitting at a small wooden stand, and calmly occupied with his pen. 

He arose, and smilingly extended his hand, saying:

"This is very kind as well as very prompt, Cloudy. You must have riddenfast. "

"I did. Leave us alone, if you please, my friend, " said Cloudy, turningto the jailor. 

The latter went out and locked the door upon the friends. 

"This seems a sad event to greet you on your return home. Cloudy; butnever mind, it will all be well!"

"Sad? It's a farce! I have not an instant's misgiving about the result;but the present indignity! Oh! oh! I could--"

"Be calm, my dear Cloudy. Have you heard anything of the circumstancesthat led to this?"

"Yes! Paul told me; but he is as crazy and incoherent as a Bedlamite! Iwant you, if you please, Thurston, if you have no objection, to go overthe whole story for me, that I may see if I can make anything of it foryour defense. "

"Poor Paul! he takes this matter far too deeply to heart. Sit down. Ihave not a second chair to offer, but take this or the foot of the cot, as you prefer. "

Cloudy took the foot of the cot. 

"Certainly, Cloudy, I will tell you everything, " said Thurston, andforthwith commenced his explanation. 

Thurston's narrative was clear and to the point. When it was finishedCloudy asked a number of questions, chiefly referring to the day of thetragedy. When these were answered he sat with his brows gathered down inastute thought. Presently he asked:

"Thurston, have you engaged counsel?"

"Yes; Mr. Romford has been with me this morning. "

"Is he fully competent?"

"The best lawyer in the State. "

"When does the court sit?"

"On Monday week. "

"Have you any idea whether your trial will come on early in thesession?"

"I presume it will come on very soon, as Mr. Romford informs me thereare but few cases on the docket. "

"Thank Heaven for that, as your confinement here promises to be of veryshort duration. However, the limited time makes it the more necessaryfor me to act with the greater promptitude. I came here with the fullintention of remaining in town as long as you should be detained in thisinfernal place, but I shall have to leave you within the hour. "

"Of course, Cloudy, my dear boy, I could not expect you to restrictyourself to this town so soon after escaping from the confinement ofyour ship!"

"Oh! you don't understand me at all! Do you think I am going away on myown business, or amusement, while you are here? To the devil with thethought!--begging your reverence's pardon. No, I am going in search ofJacquelina. Since hearing your explanation, particularly that part of itrelating to your visit to Luckenough, upon the morning of the day ofMarian's death, and the various scenes that occurred there--certainvague ideas of my own have taken form and color, and I feel convincedthat Jacquelina could throw some light upon this affair. "

"Indeed! why should you think so?"

"Oh! from many small indexes, which I have neither the time norinclination to tell you; for, taken apart from collateral circumstancesand associations, they would appear visionary. Each in itself is reallytrivial enough, but in the mass they are very indicative. At least, Ithink so, and I must seek Jacquelina out immediately. And to do so, Thurston, I must leave you this moment, for there is a boat to leave thewharf for Baltimore this morning if it has not already gone. It willtake me two days to reach Baltimore, another day to get to her convent, and it will altogether be five or six days before I can get back here. Good-by, Thurston! Heaven keep you, and give you a speedy deliverancefrom this black hole!"

And Cloudy threw his arms around Thurston in a brotherly embrace, andthen knocked at the door to be let out. 

In half an hour Cloudy was "once more upon the waters, " in full sail forBaltimore. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

MARIAN. 

Great was the consternation caused by the arrest of a gentleman so highin social rank and scholastic and theological reputation as the Rev. Thurston Willcoxen, and upon a charge, too, so awful as that for whichhe stood committed! It was the one all-absorbing subject of thought andconversation. People neglected their business, forgetting to work, tobargain, buy or sell. Village shopkeepers, instead of vamping theirwares, leaned eagerly over their counters, and with great dilated eyesand dogmatical forefingers, discussed with customers the merits ordemerits of the great case. Village mechanics, occupied solely with thesubject of the pastor's guilt or innocence, disappointed with impunitycustomers who were themselves too deeply interested and too highlyexcited by the same subject, to remember, far less to rebuke them, forunfulfilled engagements. Even women totally neglected, or badlyfulfilled, their domestic avocations; for who in the parish could sitdown quietly to the construction of a garment or a pudding while theirbeloved pastor, the "all praised" Thurston Willcoxen, lay in prisonawaiting his trial for a capital crime?

As usual in such cases, there was very little cool reasoning, and verymuch passionate declamation. The first astonishment had given place toconjecture, which yielded in turn to dogmatic judgments--acquiescing orcondemning, as the self-constituted judges happened to be favorable oradverse to the cause of the minister. 

When the first Sabbath after the arrest came, and the church was closedbecause the pulpit was unoccupied, the dispersed congregation, hauntedby the vision of the absent pastor in his cell, discussed the matteranew, and differed and disputed, and fell out worse than ever. Partiesformed for and against the minister, and party feuds raged high. 

Upon the second Sabbath--being the day before the county court shouldsit--a substitute filled the pulpit of Mr. Willcoxen, and hiscongregation reassembled to hear an edifying discourse from the text: "Imyself have seen the ungodly in great power, and flourishing like agreen bay-tree. I went by, and lo! he was gone; I sought him, but hisplace was nowhere to be found. "

This sermon bore rather hard (by pointed allusions) upon the greatelevation and sudden downfall of the celebrated minister, and, inconsequence, delighted one portion of the audience and enraged theother. The last-mentioned charged the new preacher with envy, hatred andmalice, and all uncharitableness, besides the wish to rise on the ruinof his unfortunate predecessor, and they went home in high indignation, resolved not to set foot within the parish church again until thehonorable acquittal of their own beloved pastor should put all hisenemies, persecutors and slanderers to shame. 

The excitement spread and gained force and fire with space. The presstook it up, and went to war as the people had done. And as far as thename of Thurston Willcoxen had been wafted by the breath of fame, it wasnow blown by the "Blatant Beast. " Ay, and farther, too! for those whohad never even heard of his great talents, his learning, his eloquence, his zeal and his charity, were made familiar with his imputed crime andshuddered while they denounced. And this was natural and well, so far asit went to prove that great excellence is so much less rare than greatevil, as to excite less attention. The news of this signal event spreadlike wildfire all over the country, from Maine to Louisiana, and fromMissouri to Florida, producing everywhere great excitement, but fallingin three places with the crushing force of a thunderbolt. 

First by Marian's fireside. 

In a private parlor of a quiet hotel, in one of the Eastern cities, satthe lady, now nearly thirty years of age, yet still in the bloom of herwomanly beauty. 

She had lately arrived from Europe, charged with one of those benevolentmissions which it was the business and the consolation of her life tofulfill. 

It was late in the afternoon, and the low descending sun threw itsgolden gleam across the round table at which she sat, busily engagedwith reading reports, making notes, and writing letters connected withthe affair upon which she had come. 

Seven years had not changed Marian much--a little less vivid, perhaps, the bloom on cheeks and lips, a shade paler the angel brow, a shadedarker the rich and lustrous auburn tresses, softer and calmer, fullerof thought and love the clear blue eyes--sweeter her tones, and gentlerall her motions--that was all. Her dress was insignificant in material, make and color, yet the wearer unconsciously imparted a classic andregal grace to every fold and fall of the drapery. No splendor ofapparel could have given such effect to her individual beauty as thisquiet costume; I would I were an artist that I might reproduce her imageas she was--the glorious face and head, the queenly form, in its plainbut graceful robe of I know not what--gray serge, perhaps. 

Her whole presence--her countenance, manner and tone revealed therichness, strength and serenity of a faithful, loving, self-denying, God-reliant soul--of one who could recall the past, endure the present, and anticipate the future without regret, complaint or fear. 

Sometimes the lady's soft eyes would lift themselves from her work torest with tenderness upon the form of a little child, so small and stillthat you would not have noticed her presence but in following the lady'sloving glance. She sat in a tiny rocking chair, nursing a little whiterabbit on her lap. She was not a beautiful child--she was too diminutiveand pale, with hazy blue eyes and faded yellow hair; yet her little facewas so demure and sweet, so meek and loving, that it would haunt andsoften you more than that of a beautiful child could. The child had beenorphaned from her birth, and when but a few days old had been receivedinto the "Children's Home. "

Marian never had a favorite among her children, but this little waif wasso completely orphaned, so desolate and destitute, and withal so puny, fragile and lifeless that Marian took her to her own heart day andnight, imparting from her own fine vital temperament the warmth andvigor that nourished the perishing little human blossom to life andhealth. If ever a mother's heart lived in a maiden's bosom, it was inMarian's. As she had cherished Miriam, she now cherished Angel, and shewas as fondly loved by the one as she had been by the other. And so forfive years past Angel had been Marian's inseparable companion. She satwith her little lesson, or her sewing, or her pet rabbit, at Marian'sfeet while she worked; held her hand when she walked out, sat by herside at the table or in the carriage, and slept nestled in her arms atnight. She was the one earthly blossom that bloomed in Marian's solitarypath. 

Angel now sat with her rabbit on her knees, waiting demurely till Marianshould have time to notice her. 

And the lady still worked on, stopping once in a while to smile upon thechild. There was a file of the evening papers lying near at hand uponthe table where she wrote, but Marian had not yet had time to look atthem. Soon, however, she had occasion to refer to one of them for thenames of the members of the Committee on Public Lands. In casting hereyes over the paper, her glance suddenly lighted upon a paragraph thatsent all the blood from her cheeks to her heart. She dropped the paper, sank back in her chair, and covered her blanched face with both hands, and strove for self-control. 

Angel softly put down the rabbit and gently stole to her side and lookedup with her little face full of wondering sympathy. 

Presently Marian began passing her hands slowly over her forehead, witha sort of unconscious self-mesmerism, and then she dropped them wearilyupon her lap, and Angel saw how pallid was her face, how ashen andtremulous her lip, how quivering her hands. But after a few secondsMarian stooped and picked the paper up and read the long, wonder-mongering affair, in which all that had been and all that hadseemed, as well as many things could neither be nor seem, were relatedat length, or conjectured, or suggested. It began by announcing thearrest of the Rev. Thurston Willcoxen upon the charge of murder, andthen went back to the beginning and related the whole story, from thefirst disappearance of Marian Mayfield to the late discoveries that hadled to the apprehension of the supposed murderer, with many additionsand improvements gathered in the rolling of the ball of falsehood. Amongthe rest, that the body of the unhappy young lady had been washed ashoreseveral miles below the scene of her dreadful fate, and had beencharitably interred by some poor fisherman. The article concluded bydescribing the calm demeanor of the accused and the contemptuous mannerin which he treated a charge so grave, scorning even to deny it. 

"Oh, I do not wonder at the horror and consternation this matter hascaused. When the deed was attempted, more than the intended death wounddidn't overcome me! And nothing, nothing in the universe but theevidence of my own senses could have convinced me of his purposed guilt!And still I cannot realize it! He must have been insane! But he treatsthe discovery of his intended and supposed crime with scorn andcontempt! Alas! alas! is this the end of years of suffering andprobation? Is this the fruit of that long remorse, from which I hadhoped so much for his redemption--a remorse without repentance, andbarren of reformation! Yet I must save him. "

She arose and rang the bell, and gave orders to have two seats securedfor her in the coach that would leave in the morning for Baltimore. Andthen she began to walk up and down the floor, to try and walk off theexcitement that was fast gaining upon her. 

Before this night and this discovery, not for the world would Marianhave made her existence known to him, far less would she have sought hispresence. Nay, deeming such a meeting improper as it was impossible, hermind had never contemplated it for an instant. She had watched hiscourse, sent anonymous donations to his charities, hoped much from hisrepentance and good works, but never hoped in any regard to herself. Butnow it was absolutely necessary that she should make her existence knownto him. She would go to him! She must save him! She should see him, andspeak to him--him whom she had never hoped to meet again in life! Shewould see him again in three days! The thought was too exciting even forher strong heart and frame and calm, self-governing nature! And indefiance of reason and of will, her long-buried youthful love, her pure, earnest, single-hearted love, burst its secret sepulchre, and rejoicedthrough all her nature. The darkness of the past was, for the time, forgotten. Memory recalled no picture of unkindness, injustice orinconstancy. Even the scene upon the beach was faded, gone, lost! Butthe light of the past glowed around her--their seaside strolls andwoodland wanderings--

"The still, green places where they met, The moonlit branches dewy wet, The greeting and the parting word, The smile, the embrace, the tone that made An Eden of the forest shade--"

kindling a pure rapture from memory, and a wild longing from hope, thather full heart could scarce contain. 

But soon came on another current of thought and feeling opposed to thefirst--doubt and fear of the meeting. For herself she felt that shecould forget all the sorrows of the past; aye! and with fervent glowingsoul, and flushed cheeks, and tearful eyes, and clasped hands, sheadored the Father in Heaven that He had put no limit to forgiveness--no!in that blessed path of light all space was open to the human will, andthe heart might forgive infinitely--and to its own measureless extent. 

But how would Thurston meet her? He had suffered such tortures fromremorse that doubtless he would rejoice "with exceeding great joy" tofind that the deed attempted in some fit of madness had really not beeneffected. But his sufferings had sprung from remorse of conscience, notfrom remorse of love. No! except as his deliverer, he would probably notbe pleased to see her. As soon as this thought had seized her mind, then, indeed, all the bitterer scenes in the past started up to life, and broke down the defenses reared by love, and faith, and hope, and letin the tide of anguish and despair that rolled over her soul, shaking itas it had not been shaken for many years. And her head fell upon herbosom, and her hands were clasped convulsively, as she walked up anddown the floor--striving with herself--striving to subdue the rebelpassions of her heart--striving to attain her wonted calmness, andstrength, and self-possession, and at last praying earnestly: "Oh, Father! the rains descend, and the floods come, and the winds blow andbeat upon my soul; let not its strength fall as if built upon the sand. "And so she walked up and down, striving and praying; nor was thestruggle in vain--once more she "conquered a peace" in her own bosom. 

She turned her eyes upon little Angel. The infant was drooping over onearm of her rocking-chair like a fading lily, but her soft, hazy eyes, full of vague sympathy, followed the lady wherever she went. 

Marian's heart smote her for her temporary forgetfulness of the child'swants. It was now twilight, and Marian rang for lights, and Angel's milkand bread, which were soon brought. 

And then with her usual quiet tenderness she undressed the little one, heard her prayers, took her up, and as she rocked, sang a sweet, lowevening hymn, that soothed the child to sleep and her own heart toperfect rest. And early the next morning Marian and little Angel set outby the first coach for Baltimore, on their way to St. Mary's County. 

 * * * * *

The Convent of Bethlehem was not only the sanctuary of professed nuns, the school for girls, the nursery of orphans, but it was also thetemporary home of those Sisters of Mercy who go forth into the worldonly on errands of Christian love and charity, and return to theirconvent often only to die, worn out by toil among scenes and sufferersnear which few but themselves would venture. And as they pass hence toHeaven, their ranks are still filled up from the world--not always bythe weary and disappointed. Often young Catholic girls voluntarily leavethe untried world that is smiling fair before them to enter upon a lifeof poverty, self-denial and merciful ministrations; so even in thiscentury the order of the Sisters of Mercy is kept up. 

Among the most active and zealous of the order of Bethlehem was theSister Theresa, the youngest of the band. Youthful as she was, however, this Sister's heart was no sweet sacrifice of "a flower offered in thebud;" on the contrary, I am afraid that Sister Theresa had trifled with, and pinched, and bruised, and trampled the poor budding heart, until shethought it good for nothing upon earth before she offered it to Heaven. I fear it was nothing higher than that strange revulsion of feeling, world-weariness, disappointment, disgust, remorse, fanaticism--either, any, or all of these, call it what you will, that in past ages andCatholic countries have filled monasteries with the whilom, gay, worldlyand ambitious; that has sent many a woman in the prime of her beauty andmany a man at the acme of his power into a convent; that transformed themighty Emperor Charles V. Into a cowled and shrouded monk; the recklessswashbuckler, Ignatius Loyola, into a holy saint, and the beautifulLouise de la Valliere into an ascetic nun; which finally metamorphosedthe gayest, maddest, merriest elf that ever danced in the moonlightinto--Sister Theresa. 

Poor Jacquelina! for, of course, you can have no doubt that it is of herwe are speaking--she perpetrated her last lugubrious joke on the daythat she was to have made her vows, for when asked what patron saint shewould select by taking that saint's name in religion, she answered--St. Theresa, because St. Theresa would understand her case the best, havingbeen, like herself, a scamp and a rattle-brain before she took it intoher head to astonish her friends by becoming a saint. Poor Jacko saidthis with the solemnest face and the most serious earnestness; but, withsuch a reputation as she had had for pertness, of course nobody wouldbelieve but that she was making fun of the "Blessed Theresa, " and so shewas put upon further probation, with the injunction to say the sevenpenitential Psalms seven times a day, until she was in a holier frame ofmind; which she did, though under protest that she didn't think thewords composed by David to express his remorse for his own enormous sinexactly suited her case. Sister Theresa, if the least steady and devout, was certainly the most active and zealous and courageous among them all. She yawned horribly over the long litanies and long sermons; but if everthere was a work of mercy requiring extraordinary labor, privation, exposure and danger, Sister Theresa was the one to face, in the cause, lightning and tempest, plague, pestilence and famine, battle and murder, and sudden death! Happy was she? or content? No; she was moody, hysterical and devotional by turns--sometimes a zeal for good workswould possess her; sometimes the old fun and quaintness would break out, and sometimes an overwhelming fit of remorse--each depending upon theaccidental cause that would chance to arouse the moods. 

Humane creatures are like climates--some of a temperate atmosphere, taking even life-long sorrow serenely--never forgetting, and neverexaggerating its cause--never very wretched, if never quite happy. Others of a more torrid nature have long, sunny seasons of bird-likecheerfulness and happy forgetfulness, until some slight cause, striking"the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound, " shall startle upmemory--and grief, intensely realized, shall rise to anguish, and astorm shall pass through the soul, shaking it almost to dissolution, andthe poor subject thinks, if she can think, that her heart must go topieces this time! But the storm passes, and nature, instead of beingdestroyed, is refreshed and ready for the sunshine and the song-birdsagain. The elastic heart throws off its weight, the spirits revive, andlife goes on joyously in harmony with nature. 

So it was with Jacquelina, with this sad difference, that as her troublewas more than sorrow--for it was remorse--it was never quite thrown off. It was not that her conscience reproached her for the fate of Dr. Grimshaw, which was brought on by his own wrongdoing, but Marian'sfate--that a wild, wanton frolic of her own should have caused the earlydeath of one so young, and beautiful, and good as Marian! that was thethought that nearly drove poor Jacquelina mad with remorse, whenever sherealized it. Dr. Grimshaw was forgiven, and--forgotten; but the thoughtof Marian was the "undying worm, " that preyed upon her heart. And so, year after year, despite the arguments and persuasions of nearestfriends, and the constancy of poor Cloudy, Jacquelina tearfully turnedfrom love, friendship, wealth and ease, and renewed her vows of poverty, celibacy, obedience, and the service of the poor, sick and ignorant, inthe hope of expiating her offense, soothing the voice of conscience, andgaining peace. Jacquelina would have made her vows perpetual by takingthe black veil, but her Superior constantly dissuaded her from it. Shewas young, and life, with its possibilities, was all before her; shemust wait many years before she took the step that could not beretracted without perjury. And so each year she renewed her vow atwelvemonth. The seventh year of her religious life was drawing to itsclose, and she had notified her superior of her wish now, after so manyyears of probation, to take the black veil, and make her vows perpetual. And the Abbess had, at length, listened favorably to her expressedwishes. 

But a few days after this, as the good old Mother, Martha, the portress, sat dozing over her rosary, behind the hall grating, the outer door wasthrown open, and a young man, in a midshipman's undress uniform, enteredrather brusquely, and came up to the grating. Touching his hat preciselyas if the old lady had been his superior officer, he said, hastily:

"Madam, if you please, I wish to see Mrs. ----; you know who I mean, Ipresume? my cousin, Jacquelina. "

The portress knew well enough, for she had seen Cloudy there severaltimes before, but she replied:

"You mean, young gentleman, that pious daughter, called in the worldMrs. Grimshaw, but in religion Sister Theresa?"

"Fal lal!--that is--I beg your pardon, Mother, but I wish to see thelady immediately. Can I do so?"

"The dear sister Theresa is at present making her retreat, preparatoryto taking the black veil. "

"The what!" exclaimed Cloudy, with as much horror as if it had been the"black dose" she was going to take. 

"The black veil--and so she cannot be seen. "

"Madam, I have a very pressing form of invitation here, which people arenot very apt to disregard. Did you ever hear of a subpoena, dearMother?"

The good woman never had, but she thought it evidently something"uncanny, " for she said, "I will send for the Abbess;" and she beckonedto a nun within, and sent her on the errand--and soon the Abbessappeared, and Cloudy made known the object of his visit. 

"Go into the parlor, sir, and Sister Theresa will attend you, " said thatlady. 

And Cloudy turned to a side door on his right hand, and went into thelittle receiving-room, three sides of which were like other rooms, butthe fourth side was a grating instead of a wall. Behind this gratingappeared Jacquelina--so white and thin with confinement, fasting andvigil, and so disguised by her nun's dress as to be unrecognizable toany but a lover's eyes: with her was the Abbess. 

Cloudy went up to the grating. Jacquelina put her hand through, andspoke a kind greeting; but Cloudy glanced at the Abbess, lookedreproachfully at Jacquelina, and then turning to the former, said:

"Madam, I wish to say a few words in confidence to my cousin here. Can Ibe permitted to do so?"

"Most certainly, young gentleman; Sister Theresa is not restricted. Itwas at her own request that I attended her hither. "

"Thank you, dear lady--that which I have to say to--SisterTheresa--involves the confidence of others: else I should not have madethe request that you have so kindly granted, " said Cloudy, considerablymollified. 

The Abbess curtsied in the old stately way, and retired. 

Cloudy looked at Jacquelina reproachfully. 

"Are you going to be a nun, Lina?"

"Yes. Oh, Cloudy, Cloudy! what do you come here to disturb my thoughtsso for? Oh, Cloudy! every time you come to see me, you do so upset andconfuse my mind! You have no idea how many aves and paters, and psalmsand litanies I have to say before I can quiet my mind down again! Andnow this is worse than all. Dear, dear Cloudy!--St. Mary, forgive me, Inever meant that--I meant plain Cloudy--see how you make me sin inwords! What did you send Mother Ettienne away for?"

"That I might talk to you alone. Why do you deny me that smallconsolation, Lina? How have I offended, that you should treat me so?"

"In no way at all have you offended, dearest Cloudy--St. Peter! there itis again--I mean only Cloudy. "

"Never mind explaining the distinction. You are going to be a nun, yousay! Very well--let that pass, too! But you must leave your convent, andgo into the world yet once more, and then I shall have opportunities oftalking to you before your return. "

"No, no; never will I leave my convent--never will I subject my soul tosuch a temptation. "

"My dear Lina, I have the cabalistic words that must draw youforth--listen! Our cousin, Thurston Willcoxen, is in prison, chargedwith the murder of Marian Mayfield"--a stifled shriek fromJacquelina--"and there is circumstantial evidence against him strongenough to ruin him forever, if it does not cost him his life. Now, Lina, I cannot be wrong in supposing that you know who struck that death-blow, and that your evidence can thoroughly exonerate Thurston from suspicion!Am I right?"

"Yes! yes! you are right, " exclaimed Jacquelina, in great agitation. 

"You will go, then?"

"Yes! yes. "

"When?"

"In an hour--this moment--with you. "

"With me?"

"Yes! I may do so in such a case. I must do so! Oh! Heaven knows, I haveoccasioned sin enough, without causing more against poor Thurston!"

"You will get ready, then, immediately, dear Lina. Are you sure therewill be no opposition?"

"Certainly not. Why, Cloudy, are you one of those who credit 'raw headand bloody bones' fables about convents? I have no jailer but my ownconscience, Cloudy. Besides, my year's vows expired yesterday, and I amfree for awhile, before renewing them perpetually, " said Jacquelina, hurrying away to get ready. 

"And may I be swung to the yard-arm if ever I let you renew them, " saidCloudy, while he waited for her. 

Jacquelina was soon ready, and Cloudy rejoined her in the front entry, behind the grating of which the good old portress, as she watched thehandsome middy drive off with her young postulant, devoutly crossedherself, and diligently told her beads. 

 * * * * *

Commodore Waugh and his family were returning slowly from the South, stopping at all the principal towns for long rests on their wayhomeward. 

The commodore was now a wretched, helpless old man, depending almost forhis daily life upon the care and tenderness of Mrs. Waugh. 

Good Henrietta, with advancing years, had continued to "wax fat, " andnow it was about as much as she could do, with many grunts, to get upand down stairs. Since her double bereavement of her "Hebe" and her"Lapwing, " her kind, motherly countenance had lost somewhat of itscomfortable jollity, and her hearty mellow laugh was seldom heard. Still, good Henrietta was passably happy, as the world goes, for she hadthe lucky foundation of a happy temper and temperament--she enjoyed theworld, her friends and her creature comforts--her sound, innocentsleep--her ambling pony, or her easy carriage--her hearty meals and herdreamy doze in the soft armchair of an afternoon, while Mrs. L'Oiseaudroned, in a dreary voice, long homilies for the good of the commodore'ssoul. 

Mrs. L'Oiseau had got to be one of the saddest and maddest fanatics thatever afflicted a family. And there were hours when, by holding up toographic, terrific, and exasperating pictures of the veteran's past andpresent wickedness and impenitence, and his future retribution, in theshape of an external roasting in the lake that burneth with fire andbrimstone--she drove the old man half frantic with rage and fright! Andthen she would nearly finish him by asking: "If hell was so horrible tohear of for a little while, what must it be to feel forever and ever?"

They had reached Charleston, on their way home. Mrs. L'Oiseau, too muchfatigued to persecute her uncle for his good, had gone to her chamber. 

The commodore was put comfortably to bed. 

And Mrs. Waugh took the day's paper, and sat down by the old man's side, to read him the news until he should get sleepy. As she turned the paperabout, her eyes fell upon the same paragraph that had so agitatedMarian. Now, Henrietta was by no means excitable--on the contrary, shewas rather hard to be moved; but on seeing this announcement of thearrest of Mr. Willcoxen, for the crime with which he was charged, anexclamation of horror and amazement burst from her lips. In anothermoment she had controlled herself, and would gladly have kept theexciting news from the sick man until the morning. 

But it was too late--the commodore had heard the unwonted cry, and now, raised upon his elbow, lay staring at her with his great fat eyes, andinsisting upon knowing what the foul fiend she meant by screeching outin that manner?

It was in vain to evade the question--the commodore would hear the news. And Mrs. Waugh told him. 

"And by the bones of Paul Jones, I always believed it!" falsely sworethe commodore; and thereupon he demanded to hear "all about it. "

Mrs. Waugh commenced, and in a very unsteady voice read the long accountquite through. The commodore made no comment, except an occasional gruntof satisfaction, until she had finished it, when he growled out:

"Knew it!--hope they'll hang him!--d----d rascal! If it hadn't been forhim, there'd been no trouble in the family! Now call Festus to help toturn me over, and tuck me up, Henrietta; I want to go to sleep!"

That night Mrs. Waugh said nothing, but the next morning she proposedhurrying homeward with all possible speed. 

But the commodore would hear of no such thing. He swore roundly that hewould not stir to save the necks of all the scoundrels in the world, much less that of Thurston, who, if he did not kill Marian, deservedrichly to be hanged for giving poor Nace so much trouble. 

Mrs. Waugh coaxed and urged in vain. The commodore rather liked to hearher do so, and so the longer she pleaded, the more obstinate and doggedhe grew, until at last Henrietta desisted--telling him, verywell!--justice and humanity alike required her presence near the unhappyman, and so, whether the commodore chose to budge or not, she shouldsurely leave Charleston in that very evening's boat for Baltimore, so asto reach Leonardtown in time for the trial. Upon hearing this, thecommodore swore furiously; but knowing of old that nothing could turnHenrietta from the path of duty, and dreading above all things to loseher comfortable attentions, and be left to the doubtful mercies of MaryL'Oiseau, he yielded, though with the worst possible grace, swearing allthe time that he hoped the villain would swing for it yet. 

And then the trunks were packed, and the travelers resumed theirhomeward journey. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE TRIAL. 

The day of the trial came. It was a bright spring day, and from an earlyhour in the morning the village was crowded to overflowing with peoplecollected from all parts of the county. The court-room was filled tosuffocation. It was with the greatest difficulty that order could bemaintained when the prisoner, in the custody of the high sheriff, wasbrought into court. 

The venerable presiding judge was supposed to be unfriendly to theaccused, and the State's Attorney was known to be personally, as well asofficially, hostile to his interests. So strongly were the minds of thepeople prejudiced upon one side or the other that it was with muchtrouble that twelve men could be found who had not made up theiropinions as to the prisoner's innocence or guilt. At length, however, ajury was empaneled, and the trial commenced. When the prisoner wasplaced at the bar, and asked the usual question, "Guilty or not guilty?"some of the old haughtiness curled the lip and flashed from the eye ofThurston Willcoxen, as though he disdained to answer a charge so base;and he replied in a low, scornful tone:

"Not guilty, your honor. "

The opening charge of the State's Attorney had been carefully prepared. Mr. Thomson had never in his life had so important a case upon hishands, and he was resolved to make the most of it. His speech was wellreasoned, logical, eloquent. To destroy in the minds of the jury everyfavorable impression left by the late blameless and beneficent life ofMr. Willcoxen, he did not fail to adduce, from olden history, and fromlater times, every signal instance of depravity, cloaked with hypocrisy, in high places; he enlarged upon wolves in sheeps' clothing--Satan in anangel's garb, and dolefully pointed out how many times the indignantquestion of--"Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing?"--hadbeen answered by results in the affirmative. He raked up David's sinfrom the ashes of ages. Where was the scene of that crime, and who wasits perpetrator--in the court of Israel, by the King of Israel--a manafter God's own heart. Could the gentlemen of the jury be surprised atthe appalling discovery so recently made, as if great crimes in highplaces were impossible or new things under the sun? He did not fail todraw a touching picture of the victim, the beautiful, youngstranger-girl, whom they all remembered and loved--who had come, anangel of mercy, on a mission of mercy, to their shores. Was not herbeauty, her genius, her goodness--by which all there had at some timebeen blessed--sufficient to save her from the knife of the assassin? No!as he should shortly prove. Yet all these years her innocent blood hadcried to Heaven in vain; her fate was unavenged, her _manes_ unappeased. 

All the women, and all the simple-hearted and unworldly among the men, were melted into tears, very unpropitious to the fate of Thurston; tearsnot called up by the eloquence of the prosecuting attorney, so much asby the mere allusion to the fate of Marian, once so beloved, and stillso fresh in the memories of all. 

Thurston heard all this--not in the second-hand style with which I havesummed it up--but in the first vital freshness, when it was spoken witha logic, force, and fire that carried conviction to many a mind. Thurston looked upon the judge--his face was stern and grave. He lookedupon the jury--they were all strangers, from distant parts of thecounty, drawn by idle curiosity to the scene of trial, and arrivingquite unprejudiced. They were not his "peers, " but, on the contrary, twelve as stolid-looking brothers as ever decided the fate of agentleman and scholar. Thence he cast his eyes over the crowd in thecourt-room. 

There were his parishioners! hoary patriarchs and gray-haired matrons, stately men and lovely women, who, from week to week, for many years, had still hung delighted on his discourses, as though his lips had beentouched with fire, and all his words inspired! There they were aroundhim again! But oh! how different the relations and the circumstances!There they sat, with stern brows and averted faces, or downcast eyes, and "lips that scarce their scorn forbore. " No eye or lip among themresponded kindly to his searching gaze, and Thurston turned his faceaway again; for an instant his soul sunk under the pall of despair thatfell darkening upon it. It was not conviction in the court he thoughtof--he would probably be acquitted by the court--but what should acquithim in public opinion? The evidence that might not be strong enough todoom him to death would still be sufficient to destroy forever hisposition and his usefulness. No eye, thenceforth, would meet his own infriendly confidence. No hand grasp his in brotherly fellowship. 

The State's Attorney was still proceeding with his speech. He was nowstating the case, which he promised to prove by competent witnesses--howthe prisoner at the bar had long pursued his beautiful but haplessvictim--how he had been united to her by a private marriage--that he hadcorresponded with her from Europe--that upon his return they hadfrequently met--that the prisoner, with the treachery that would soon beproved to be a part of his nature, had grown weary of his wife, andtransferred his attentions to another and more fortune-favored lady--andfinally, that upon the evening of the murder he had decoyed the unhappyyoung lady to the fatal spot, and then and there effected his purpose. The prosecuting attorney made this statement, not with the brevity withwhich it is here reported, but with a minuteness of detail and warmth ofcoloring that harrowed up the hearts of all who heard it. He finished bysaying that he should call the witnesses in the order of timecorresponding with the facts they came to prove. 

"Oliver Murray will take the stand. "

This, the first witness called, after the usual oath, deposed that hehad first seen the prisoner and the deceased together in the Library ofCongress; had overheard their conversation, and suspecting someunfairness on the part of the prisoner, had followed the parties to thenavy yard, where he had witnessed their marriage ceremony. 

"When was the next occasion upon which you saw the prisoner?"

"On the night of the 8th of April, 182-, on the coast, near Pine Bluff. I had landed from a boat, and was going inland when I passed him. I didnot see his face distinctly, but recognized him by his size and form, and peculiar air and gait. He was hurrying away, with every mark ofterror and agitation. "

This portion of Mr. Murray's testimony was so new to all as to excitethe greatest degree of surprise, and in no bosom did it arouse moreastonishment than in that of Thurston. The witness was strictlycross-questioned by the counsel for the prisoner, but thecross-examination failed to weaken his testimony, or to elicit anythingmore favorable to the accused. Oliver Murray was then directed to standaside. 

The next witness was Miriam Shields. Deeply veiled and half fainting, the poor girl was led in between Colonel and Miss Thornton, and allowedto sit while giving evidence. When told to look at the prisoner at thebar, she raised her death-like face, and a deep, gasping sob broke fromher bosom. But Thurston fixed his eyes kindly and encouragingly uponher--his look said plainly: "Fear nothing, dear Miriam! Be courageous!Do your stern duty, and trust in God. "

Miriam then identified the prisoner as the man she had twice seen alonewith Marian at night. She further testified that upon the night of April8th, 182-, Marian had left home late in the evening to keep anappointment--from which she had never returned. That in the pocket ofthe dress she had laid off was found the note appointing the meetingupon the beach for the night in question. Here the note was produced. Miriam identified the handwriting as that of Mr. Willcoxen. 

Paul Douglass was next called to the stand, and required to give histestimony in regard to the handwriting. Paul looked at the piece ofpaper that was placed before him, and he was sorely tempted. How couldhe swear to the handwriting unless he had actually seen the hand writeit? he asked himself. He looked at his brother. But Thurston saw thestruggle in his mind, and his countenance was stern and high, and hislook authoritative, and commanding--it said: "Paul! do not dare todeceive yourself. You know the handwriting. Speak the truth if it killme. " And Paul did so. 

The next witness that took the stand was Dr. Brightwell--the good oldphysician gave his evidence very reluctantly--it went to prove the factof the prisoner's absence from the deathbed of his grandfather upon thenight of the reputed murder, and his distracted appearance whenreturning late in the morning. 

"Why do you say reputed murder?"

"Because, sir, I never consider the fact of a murder established, untilthe body of the victim has been found. "

"You may stand down. "

Dr. Solomon Weismann was next called to the stand, and corroborated thetestimony of the last witness. 

Several other witnesses were then called in succession, whose testimonybeing only corroborative, was not very important. And the prisoner wasremanded, and the court adjourned until ten o'clock the next morning. 

"Life will be saved, but position and usefulness in this neighborhoodgone forever, Paul, " said Thurston, as they went out. 

"Evidence very strong--very conclusive to our minds, yet not sufficientto convict him, " said one gentleman to another. 

"I am of honest Dr. Brightwell's opinion--that the establishment of amurder needs as a starting point the finding of the body; and, moreover, that the conviction of a murderer requires an eye-witness to the deed. The evidence, so far as we have heard it, is strong enough to ruin theman, but not strong enough to hang him, " said a third. 

"Ay! but we have not heard all, or the most important part of thetestimony. The State's Attorney has not fired his great gun yet, " said afourth, as the crowd elbowed, pushed, and struggled out of thecourt-room. 

Those from distant parts of the county remained in the village allnight--those nearer returned home to come back in the morning. 

The second day of the trial, the village was more crowded than before. At ten o'clock the court opened, the prisoner was shortly afterwardbrought in, and the prosecution renewed its examination of witnesses. The next witness that took the stand was a most important one. JohnMiles, captain of the schooner _Plover_. He deposed that in the month ofApril, 182-, he was mate in the schooner _Blanch_, of which his fatherwas the captain. That in said month the prisoner at the bar had hiredhis father's vessel to carry off a lady whom the prisoner declared to behis own wife; that they were to take her to the Bermudas. That to effecttheir object, his father and himself had landed near Pine Bluff; thenight was dark, yet he soon discerned the lady walking alone upon thebeach. They were bound to wait for the arrival of the prisoner, and asignal from him before approaching the lady. They waited some time, watching from their cover the lady as she paced impatiently up and downthe sands. At length they saw the prisoner approaching. He was closelywrapped up in his cloak, and his hat was pulled over his eyes, but theyrecognized him well by his air and gait. They drew nearer still, keepingin the shadow, waiting for the signal. The lady and the prisoner met--afew words passed between them--of which he, the deponent, only heard"Thurston?" "Yes, Thurston!" and then the prisoner raised his arm andstruck, and the lady fell. His father was a cautious man, and when hesaw the prisoner rush up the cliff and disappear, when he saw that thelady was dead, and that the storm was beginning to rage violently andthe tide was coming in, and fearing, besides, that he should get intotrouble, he hurried into the boat and put off and boarded the schooner, and as soon as possible set sail for Bermuda. They had kept away fromthis coast for years, that is to say, as long as the father lived. 

John Miles was cross-examined by Mr. Romford, but without effect. 

This testimony bore fatally upon the prisoner's cause--the silence ofconsternation reigned through the crowd. 

Thurston Willcoxen, when he heard this astounding evidence, firstthought that the witness was perjured, but when he looked closely uponhis open, honest face, and fearless eye and free bearing, he saw that noconsciousness of falsehood was there and he could but grant that thewitness, naturally deceived by "foregone conclusions, " had inevitablymistaken the real murderer for himself. 

Darker and darker lowered the pall of fate over him--the awful stillnessof the court was oppressive, was suffocating; a deathly faintness cameupon him, for now, for the first time, he fully realized the awful doomthat threatened him. Not long his nature bowed under the burden--hisspirit rose to throw it off, and once more the fine head was proudlyraised, nor did it once sink again. The last witness for the prosecutionwas called and took the stand, and deposed that he lived ten miles downthe coast in an isolated, obscure place; that on the first of May, 182-, the body of a woman had been found at low tide upon the beach, that ithad the appearance of having been very long in the water--the clothingwas respectable, the dress was dark blue stuff, but was faded inspots--there was a ring on the finger, but the hand was so swollen thatit could not be got off. His poor neighbors of the coast assembled. Theymade an effort to get the coroner, but he could not be found. And thestate of the body demanded immediate burial. When cross-questioned byLawyer Romford, the witness said that they had not then heard of anymissing or murdered lady, but had believed the body to be that of ashipwrecked passenger, until they heard of Miss Mayfield's fate. 

Miriam was next recalled. She came in as before, supported betweenColonel and Miss Thornton. Every one who saw the poor girl, said thatshe was dying. When examined, she deposed that Marian, when she lefthome, had worn a blue merino dress--and, yes, she always wore a littlelocket ring on her finger. Drooping and fainting as she was, Miriam wasallowed to leave the court-room. This closed the evidence of theprosecution. 

The defense was taken up and conducted with a great deal of skill. Mr. Romford enlarged upon the noble character his client had ever maintainedfrom childhood to the present time--they all knew him--he had been bornand had ever lived among them--what man or woman of them all would havedared to suspect him of such a crime? He spoke warmly of his truth, fidelity, Christian zeal, benevolence, philanthropy and great publicbenefits. 

I have no space nor time to give a fair idea of the logic and eloquencewith which Mr. Romford met the charges of the State's Attorney, nor theastute skill with which he tried to break down the force of the evidencefor the prosecution. Then he called the witnesses for the defense. Theywere all warm friends of Mr. Willcoxen, all had known him from boyhood, none would believe that under any possible circumstances he could committhe crime for which he stood indicted. They testified to his well-knownkindness, gentleness and benevolence--his habitual forbearance andcommand of temper, even under the most exasperating provocations--theyswore to his generosity, fidelity and truthfulness in all the relationsof life. In a word, they did the very best they could to save his lifeand honor--but the most they could do was very little before the forceof such evidence as stood arrayed against him. And all men saw thatunless an _alibi_ could be proved, Thurston Willcoxen was lost! Oh! forthat _alibi_. Paul Douglass was again undergoing an awful temptation. Why, he asked himself, why should he not perjure his soul, and lose it, too, to save his brother's life and honor from fatal wrong? And if therehad not been in Paul's heart a love of truth greater than his fear ofhell, his affection for Thurston would have triumphed, he would haveperjured himself. 

The defense here closed. The State's Attorney did not even deem itnecessary to speak again, and the judge proceeded to charge the jury. They must not, he said, be blinded by the social position, clericalcharacter, youth, talents, accomplishments or celebrity of theprisoner--with however dazzling a halo these might surround him. Theymust deliberate coolly upon the evidence that had been laid before them, and after due consideration of the case, if there was a doubt upon theirminds, they were to let the prisoner have the full benefit ofit--wherever there was the least uncertainty it was right to lean to theside of mercy. 

The case was then given to the jury. The jury did not leave their box, but counseled together in a low voice for half an hour, during which adeath-like silence, a suffocating atmosphere filled the court-room. 

Thurston alone was calm, his soul had collected all its force to meetthe shock of whatever fate might come--honor or dishonor, life or death!

Presently the foreman of the jury arose, followed by the others. 

Every heart stood still. 

"Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon your verdict?" demanded thejudge. 

"Yes, your honor, " responded the foreman, on the part of his colleagues. 

"How say you--is the prisoner at the bar 'Guilty or not guilty?'"

"Not guilty!" cried the shrill tones of a girl near the outer door, toward which all eyes, in astonishment and inquiry, were now turned, tosee a slight female figure, in the garb of a Sister of Mercy, clingingto the arm of Cloudesley Mornington, and who was now pushing andelbowing his way through the crowd toward the bench. 

All gave way--many that were seated arose to their feet, and spoke ineager whispers, or looked over each others' heads. 

"Order! silence in the court!" shouted the marshal. 

"Your honor--this lady is a vitally important witness for the defense, "said Cloudy, pushing his way into the presence of the judge, leaving hisfemale companion standing before the bench and then hurrying to thedock, where he grasped the hand of the prisoner, exclaiming, breathlessly: "Saved--Thurston! Saved!"

"Order! silence!" called out the marshal, by way of making himselfagreeable--for there was silence in the court, where all the audience atleast were more anxious to hear than to speak. 

"Your honor, I move that the new witness be heard, " said Mr. Romford. 

"The defense is closed--the charge given to the jury, who have decidedupon their verdict, " answered the State's Attorney. 

"The verdict has not been rendered, the jury have the privilege ofhearing this new witness, " said the judge. 

The jury were unanimous in the resolution to withhold their verdictuntil they had heard. 

This being decided, the Sister of Mercy took the stand, threw aside herlong, black veil, and revealed the features of Jacquelina; but so pale, weary, anxious and terrified, as to be scarcely recognizable. 

The usual oath was administered. 

And while Cloudy stood triumphantly by the side of Mr. Willcoxen, Jacquelina prepared to give her evidence. 

She was interrupted by a slight disturbance near the door, and therather noisy entrance of several persons, whom the crowd, on beholding, recognized as Commodore Waugh, his wife, his niece, and his servant. Some among them seemed to insist upon being brought directly into thepresence of the judge and jury--but the officer near the door pointedout to them the witness on the stand, waiting to give testimony; and onseeing her they subsided into quietness, and suffered themselves to beset aside for a while. 

When this was over--a lady, plainly dressed, and close-veiled, entered, and addressed a few words to the same janitor. But the latter replied ashe had to the others, by pointing to the witness on the stand. Theveiled lady seemed to acquiesce, and sat down where the officer directedher. 

"Order! silence in the court!" cried the marshal, not to be behindhand. 

And order and silence reigned when the Sister gave in her evidence asfollows:

"My name is Jacquelina L'Oiseau--not Grimshaw--for I never was the wifeof Dr. Grimshaw. I do not like to speak further of myself, yet it isnecessary, to make my testimony clear. While yet a child I wascontracted to Dr. Grimshaw in a civil marriage, which was neverratified. I was full of mischief in these days, and my greatest pleasurewas to torment and provoke my would-be bridegroom; alas! alas! it was tothat wanton spirit that all the disaster is owing. Thurston Willcoxenand Marian Mayfield were my intimate friends. On the morning of the 8thof April, 182-, they were both at Luckenough. Thurston left early. Afterhe was gone Marian chanced to drop a note, which I picked up and read. It was in the handwriting of Thurston Willcoxen, and it appointed ameeting with Marian upon the beach, near Pine Bluff, for that evening. "

Here Mr. Romford placed in her hands the scrap of paper that had alreadyformed such an important part of the evidence against the prisoner. 

"Is that the note of which you speak?"

"Yes--that is the note. And when I picked it up the wanton spirit ofmischief inspired me with the wish to use it for the torment of Dr. Grimshaw, who was easily provoked to jealously! Oh! I never thought itwould end so fatally! I affected to lose the note, and left it in hisway. I saw him pick it up and read it. I felt sure he thought--as Iintended he should think--it was for me. There were other circumstancesalso to lead him to the same conclusion. He dropped the note where hehad picked it up and pretended not to have seen it; afterwards I in thesame way restored it to Marian. To carry on my fatal jest, I went homein the carriage with Marian, to Old Field Cottage, which stands near thecoast. I left Marian there and set out to return to Luckenough--laughingall the time, alas! to think that Dr. Grimshaw had gone to the coast tointercept what he supposed to be my meeting with Thurston! Oh, God, Inever thought such jests could be so dangerous! Alas! alas! he metMarian Mayfield in the dark, and between the storm without and the stormwithin--the blindness of night and the blindness of rage--he stabbed herbefore he found out his mistake, and he rushed home with her innocentblood on his hands and clothing--rushed home and into my presence, toreproach me as the cause of his crime, to fill my bosom with undyingremorse, and then to die! He had in the crisis of his passion, rupturedan artery and fell--so that the blood found upon his hands and clothingwas supposed to be his own. No one knew the secret of his bloodguiltiness but myself. In my illness and delirium that followed Ibelieve I dropped some words that made my aunt, Mrs. Waugh, and Mr. Cloudesley Mornington, suspect something; but I never betrayed myknowledge of the dead man's unintentional crime, and would not do sonow, but to save the innocent. May I now sit down?"

No! the State's Attorney wanted to take her in hand, and cross-examineher, which he began to do severely, unsparingly. But as she had told theexact truth, though not in the clearest style, the more the lawyersifted her testimony, the clearer and more evident its truthfulness andpoint became; until there seemed at length nothing to do but acquit theprisoner. But courts of law are proverbially fussy, and now the State'sAttorney was doing his best to invalidate the testimony of the lastwitness. 

Turn we from them to the veiled lady, where she sat in her obscurecorner of the room, hearing all this. 

Oh! who can conceive, far less portray the joy, the unspeakable joy thatfilled her heart nearly to breaking! He was guiltless! Thurston, herbeloved, was guiltless in intention, as he was in deed! the thought ofcrime had not been near his heart! his long remorse had been occasionedby what he had unintentionally made her suffer. He was all that he hadlately appeared to the world! all that he had at first appeared toher!--faithful, truthful, constant, noble, generous--her heart wasvindicated! her love was not the madness, the folly, the weakness thather intellectual nature had often stamped it to be! Her love wasvindicated, for he deserved it all! Oh! joy unspeakable--oh! joyinsupportable!

She was a strong, calm, self-governing woman--not wont to be overcome byany event or any emotion--yet now her head, her whole form, droopedforward, and she sank upon the low balustrade in front of herseat--weighed down by excess of happiness--happiness so absorbing thatfor a time she forgot everything else; but soon she remembered that herpresence was required near the bench, to put a stop to the debatebetween the lawyers, and she strove to quell the tumultuous excitementof her feelings, and to recover self-command before going among them. 

In the meantime, near the bench, the counsel for the prisoner hadsucceeded in establishing the validity of the challenged testimony, andthe case was once more about to be recommitted to the jury, when thelady, who had been quietly making her way through the crowd toward thebench, stood immediately in front of the judge, raised her veil, andMarian Mayfield stood revealed. 

With a loud cry the prisoner sprang upon his feet; but was immediatelycaptured by two officers, who fancied he was about to escape. 

Marian did not speak one word, she could not do so, nor was itnecessary--there she stood alive among them--they all knew her--thejudge, the officers, the lawyers, the audience--there she stood aliveamong them--it was enough!

The audience arose in a mass, and "Marian!" "Marian Mayfield!" was thegeneral exclamation, as all pressed toward the newcomer. 

Jacquelina, stunned with the too sudden joy, swooned in the arms ofCloudy, who, between surprise and delight, had nearly lost his ownsenses. 

The people pressed around Marian, with exclamations and inquiries. 

The marshal forgot to be disorderly with vociferations of "Order!" andstood among the rest, agape for news. 

Marian recovered her voice and spoke:

"I am not here to give any information; what explanation I have to makeis due first of all to Mr. Willcoxen, who has the right to claim it ofme when he pleases, " and turning around she moved toward the dock, raising her eyes to Thurston's face, and offering her hand. 

How he met that look--how he clasped that hand--need not be said--theirhearts were too full for speech. 

The tumult in the court-room was at length subdued by the rising of thejudge to make a speech--a very brief one:

"Mr. Willcoxen is discharged, and the court adjourned, " and then thejudge came down from his seat, and the officers cried, "make way for thecourt to pass. " And the way was made. The judge came up to the group, and shook hands first with Mr. Willcoxen, whom he earnestlycongratulated, and then with Marian, who was an old and esteemedacquaintance, and so bowing gravely, he passed out. 

Still the crowd pressed on, and among them came Commodore Waugh and hisfamily, for whom way was immediately made. 

Mrs. Waugh wept and smiled, and exclaimed: "Oh! Hebe! Oh! Lapwing!"

The commodore growled out certain inarticulate anathemas, which heintended should be taken as congratulations, since the people seemed toexpect it of him. 

And Mary L'Oiseau pulled down her mouth, cast up her eyes and crossedherself when she saw the consecrated hand of Sister Theresa clasped inthat of Cloudy!

But Thurston's high spirit could not brook this scene an instant longer. And love as well as pride required its speedy close. Marian was restingon his arm--he felt the clasp of her dear hand--he saw her livingface--the angel brow--the clear eyes--the rich auburn tresses, ripplingaround the blooming cheek--he heard her dulcet tones--yet--it seemedtoo like a dream!--he needed to realize this happiness. 

"Friends, " he said, "I thank you for the interest you show in us. Forthose whose faith in me remained unshaken in my darkest hour, I find nowords good enough to express what I shall ever feel. But you must allknow how exhausting this day has been, and how needful repose is"--hiseyes here fell fondly and proudly upon Marian--"to this lady on my arm. After to-morrow we shall be happy to see any of our friends atDell-Delight. " And bowing slightly from right to left, he led his Marianthrough the opening crowd. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

REUNION. 

Who shall follow them, or intrude on the sacredness of theirreconciliation, or relate with what broken tones, and frequent stops andtears and smiles, and clinging embraces, their mutual explanations weremade?

At last Marian, raising her head from his shoulder, said:

"But I come to you a bankrupt, dear Thurston! I have inherited andexpended a large fortune since we parted--and now I am more thanpenniless, for I stand responsible for large sums of money owed by my'Orphans Home' and 'Emigrants Help'--money that I had intended to raiseby subscription. "

"Now, I thank God abundantly for the wealth that He has given me. Yourfortune, dearest Marian, has been nobly appropriated--and for the rest, it is my blessed privilege to assume all your responsibilities--and Irejoice that they are great! for, sweetest wife, and fairest lady, Ifeel that I never can sufficiently prove how much I love and reverenceyou--how much I would and ought to sacrifice for you!"

"And even now, dear Thurston, I came hither, bound on a mission to theWestern prairies, to find a suitable piece of land for a colony ofemigrants. "

"I know it, fairest and dearest lady, I know it all. I will lift thatburden from your shoulders, too, and all liabilities of yours do Iassume--oh! my dear Marian! with how much joy! and I will labor with andfor you, until all your responsibilities of every sort are discharged, and my liege lady is free to live her own life!"

This scene took place in the private parlor of the hotel, while PaulDouglass was gone to Colonel Thornton's lodgings, to carry the gladtidings to Miriam, and also to procure a carriage for the conveyance ofthe whole party to Dell-Delight. 

He returned at last, accompanied by Miriam, whom he tenderly conductedinto the room, and who, passing by all others, tottered forward, andsank, weeping, at the feet of Mr. Willcoxen, and clasping his knees, still wept, as if her heart would break. 

Thurston stooped and raised her, pressed the kiss of forgiveness on heryoung brow, and then whispered:

"Miriam, have you forgotten that there is another here who claims yourattention?" took her by the hand and led her to Marian. 

The young girl was shy and silent, but Marian drew to her bosom, saying:

"Has my 'baby' forgotten me? And so, you would have been an avenger, Miriam. Remember, all your life, dear child, that such an office isnever to be assumed by an erring human creature. 'Vengeance is mine, andI will repay, saith the Lord. '" And kissing Miriam fondly; she resignedher to Paul's care, and turned, and gave her own hand to Thurston, whoconducted her to the carriage, and then returned for little Angel, whoall this time had sat demurely in a little parlor chair. 

They were followed by Paul and Miriam, and so set forth forDell-Delight. 

But little more remains to be told. 

Thurston resigned his pastoral charge of the village Church; settled uphis business in the neighborhood; procured a discreet woman to keephouse at Dell-Delight; left Paul, Miriam and poor Fanny in her care, andset out with Marian on their western journey, to select the site for thesettlement of her emigrant _protégés_. After successfully accomplishingthis mission, they returned East, and embarked for Liverpool, and thenceto London, where Marian dissolved her connection with the "Emigrants'Help, " and bade adieu to her "Orphans' Home. " Thurston made largedonations to both these institutions. And Marian saw that her place waswell supplied to the "Orphans' Home" by another competent woman. Thenthey returned to America. Their travels had occupied more than twelvemonths. And their expenses, of all sorts, had absorbed more than a thirdof Mr. Willcoxen's princely fortune--yet with what joy was it lavishedby his hand, who felt he could not do too much for his priceless Marian. 

On their return home a heartfelt gratification met them--it was that theparish had shown their undiminished confidence in Mr. Willcoxen, andtheir high appreciation of his services, by keeping his pulpit open forhim. And a few days after his settlement at home a delegation of thevestry waited upon him to solicit his acceptance of the ministry. Andafter talking with his "liege lady, " as he fondly and proudly termedMarian, Mr. Willcoxen was well pleased to return a favorable answer. 

And in a day or two Thurston and Marian were called upon to givedecision in another case, to wit:

Jacquelina had not returned to Bethlehem, nor renewed her vows; but haddoffed her nun's habit for a young lady's dress, and remained atLuckenough. Cloudy had not failed to push his suit with all his might. But Jacquelina still hesitated--she did not know, she said, but shethought she had no right to be happy, as other people had, she hadcaused so much trouble in the world, she reckoned she had better go backto her convent. 

"And because you unintentionally occasioned some sorrow, now happilyover, to some people, you would atone for the fault by adding one moreto the list of victims, and making me miserable. Bad logic, Lina, andworse religion. "

Jacquelina did not know--she could not decide--after so many graveerrors, she was afraid to trust herself. The matter was thenreferred--of all men in the world--to the commodore, who graciouslyreplied, that they might go to the demon for him. But as Cloudy and Linahad no especial business with his Satanic Majesty they declined to availthemselves of the permission, and consulted Mrs. Waugh, whose deep, mellow laugh preceded her answer, when she said:

"Take heart, Lapwing! take heart, and all the happiness you can possiblyget! I have lived a long time, and seen a great many people, good andbad, and though I have sometimes met people who were not so happy asthey merited--yet I never have seen any one happier than they deservedto be! and that they cannot be so, seems to be a law of nature thatought to reconcile us very much to the apparent flourishing of thewicked. "

But Mrs. L'Oiseau warned her daughter not to trust to "Aunty, " whowas so good-natured, and although such a misguided woman, that if shehad her will she would do away with all punishment--yes, even withSatan and purgatory! But Jacquelina had much less confidence in Mrs. L'Oiseau than in Mrs. Waugh; and so she told Cloudy, who thought thathe had waited already quite long enough, to wait until Marian andThurston came home, and if they thought it would be right for her to behappy--why--then--maybe--she might be! But the matter must be referredto them. 

And now it was referred to them, by the sorely tried Cloudy. And theygave Jacquelina leave to be "happy. " And she was happy! And as forCloudy, poor, constant fellow! he was so overjoyed that he declared hewould petition the Legislature to change his name as no longerappropriate, for though his morning had been cloudy enough, his day wasgoing to be a very bright one!

When Mrs. L'Oiseau heard of this engagement, she crossed herself, andtold her beads, and vowed that the world was growing so wicked that shecould no longer live in it. And she commenced preparations to retire toa convent, to which in fact she soon after went, and where in stricttruth, she was likely to be much happier than her nature would permither to be elsewhere. 

Cloudy and Lina were very quietly married, and took up their abode atthe pleasant farmhouse of Locust Hill, which was repaired andrefurnished for their reception. But if the leopard cannot change hisspots, nor the Ethiope his skin--neither can the fairy permanentlychange her nature; for no sooner was Jacko's happiness secured, than theelfish spirit, the lightest part of her nature, effervesced to thetop--for the torment of Cloudy. Jacko and Cloudy, even, had onequarrel--it was upon the first occasion after their marriage, of hisleaving her to join his ship--and when the whilom Sister of Charitydrove Cloudy nearly frantic by insisting--whether in jest or earnest noone on earth could tell--upon donning the little middy's uniform andgoing with him! However, the quarrel happily was never renewed, forbefore the next time of sailing, there appeared a certain tiny Cloudy athome, that made the land quite as dear as the sea to its mother. Andthis little imp became Mrs. Waugh's especial pet. And if Jacquelina didnot train the little scion very straight, at least she did not twist himawry. And she even tried, in her fitful, capricious way, to reform herown manners, that she might form those of her little children. And Mrs. Waugh and dear Marian aided her and encouraged her in her uncertainefforts. 

About this time, Paul and Miriam were united, and went to housekeepingin the pretty villa built for them upon the site of Old Field Cottage byThurston, and furnished for them by Mrs. Waugh. 

And a very pleasant country neighborhood they formed--these three youngfamilies--of Dell-Delight, Locust Hill and the villa. 

Two other important events occurred in their social circle--first, poorharmless Fanny passed smilingly to her heavenly home, and all thought itvery well. 

And one night Commodore Waugh, after eating a good, hearty supper, wascomfortably tucked up in bed, and went into a sound, deep sleep fromwhich he never more awoke. May he rest in peace. But do you think Mrs. Waugh did not cry about it for two weeks, and ever after speak of him asthe poor, dear commodore?

But Henrietta was of too healthful a nature to break her heart for theloss of a very good man, and it was not likely she was going to do sofor the missing of a very uncomfortable one; and so in a week or twomore her happy spirits returned, and she began to realize to whatfreedom, ease and cheerfulness she had fallen heir! Now she could liveand breathe, and go and come without molestation. Now when she wished toopen her generous heart to the claims of affection in the way of helpingLapwing or Miriam, who were neither of them very rich--or to the greaterclaims of humanity in the relief of the suffering poor, or the pardon ofdelinquent servants, she could do so to her utmost content, and withouthaving to accompany her kind act with a deep sigh at the anticipation ofthe parlor storm it would raise at home. And though Mrs. Henrietta still"waxed fat, " her good flesh was no longer an incumbrance to her--theleaven of cheerfulness lightened the whole mass. 

Mrs. Waugh had brought her old maid Jenny back. Jenny had begged to comehome to "old mistress" for she said it was "'stonishin how age-able, "she felt, though nobody might believe it, she was "gettin' oler andoler, ebery singly day" of her life, and she wanted to end her days"'long o' ole mistress. "

Old mistress was rich and good, and Luckenough was a quiet, comfortablehome, where the old maid was very sure of being lodged, boarded, andclothed almost as well as old mistress herself--not that these selfishconsiderations entered largely into Jenny's mind, for she really lovedMrs. Henrietta. 

And old mistress and old maid were never happier than on some fine, clear day, when seated on their two old mules, they ambled along throughforest and over field, to spend a day with Lapwing or with Hebe--orperhaps with the "Pigeon Pair, " as they called the new married couple atthe villa. 

Yes; there was a time when Mrs. Henrietta was happier still! It was, when upon some birthday or other festival, she would gather all theyoung families--Thurston and Hebe, Cloudy and Lapwing, the Pigeons, andall the babies, in the big parlor of Luckenough, and sit surrounded by aflock of tiny lapwings, hebes and pigeons, forming a group that ourfairy saucily called, "The old hen and chickens. "

And what shall we say in taking leave of Thurston and Marian? He had hadsome faults, as you have seen--but the conquering of faults is thenoblest conquest, and he had achieved such a victory. He called Marianthe angel of his salvation. Year by year their affection deepened andstrengthened, and drew them closer in heart and soul and purpose. Fromtheir home as from a center emanated a healthful, beneficent andelevating influence, happily felt through all their social circle. Alovely family grew around them--and among the beautiful children nonewere more tenderly nursed or carefully trained than the little waif, Angel. And in all the pleasant country neighborhood, the sweetest andthe happiest home is that of Dell-Delight.