THE NEW PENELOPE

AND

OTHER STORIES AND POEMS. 

BY

Mrs. Frances Fuller Victor. 

San Francisco:A. L. BANCROFT & COMPANY, PRINTERS. 1877. 

Copyright, 1877, byMRS. FRANCES FULLER VICTOR. 

PREFACE. 

This collection consists of sketches of Pacific Coast life, most ofwhich have appeared, from time to time, in the _Overland Monthly_, andother Western magazines. If they have a merit, it is because theypicture scenes and characters having the charm of newness andoriginality, such as belong to border life. 

The poems embraced in the collection, have been written at all periodsof my life, and therefore cannot be called peculiarly Western. But theyembody feelings and emotions common to all hearts, East or West; and assuch, I dedicate them to my friends on the Pacific Coast, but mostespecially in Oregon. 

Portland, August, 1877. 

CONTENTS. 

STORIES. PAGE

The New Penelope 9A Curious Interview 80Mr. Ela's Story 96On the Sands 112An Old Fool 132How Jack Hastings Sold His Mine 180What They Told Me at Wilson's Bar 197Miss Jorgensen 212Sam Rice's Romance 231El Tesoro 247

POEMS. 

A Pagan Reverie 269Passing by Helicon 272Lost at Sea 275'Twas June, Not I 276Lines to a Lump of Virgin Gold 281Magdalena 284Repose 289Aspasia 291A Reprimand 296To Mrs. ---- 297Moonlight Memories 299Verses for M---- 301Autumnalia 303Palo Santo 305A Summer Day 306He and She 308O Wild November Wind 308By the Sea 309Polk County Hills 310Waiting 312Palma 314Making Moan 316Childhood 317A Little Bird that Every One Knows 318Wayward Love 319A Lyric of Life 320From an Unpublished Poem 321Nevada 324The Vine 326What the Sea Said to Me 327Hymn 328Do You Hear the Women Praying? 329Our Life is Twofold 331Souvenir 334I Only Wished to Know 335Lines Written in an Album 335Love's Footsteps 336The Poet's Ministers 336Sunset at the Mouth of the Columbia 340The Passing of the Year 342

STORIES. 

The New Penelope and Other Stories And Poems. 

THE NEW PENELOPE. 

I may as well avow myself in the beginning of my story as that anomalouscreature--a woman who loves her own sex, and naturally inclines to thestudy of their individual peculiarities and histories, in order to getat their collective qualities. If I were to lay before the reader allthe good and bad I know about them by actual discovery, and all themean, and heroic, attributes this habit I have of studying people hasrevealed to me, I should meet with incredulity, perhaps with opprobrium. However that may be, I have derived great enjoyment from having beenmade the recipient of the confidences of many women, and by learningtherefrom to respect the moral greatness that is so often coupled withdelicate physical structure, and almost perfect social helplessness. Pioneer life brings to light striking characteristics in a remarkablemanner; because, in the absence of conventionalities and in the presenceof absolute and imminent necessities, all real qualities come to thesurface as they never would have done under different circumstances. Inthe early life of the Greeks, Homer found his Penelope; in the pioneerdays of the Pacific Coast, I discovered mine. 

My wanderings, up and down among the majestic mountains and the sunnyvalleys of California and Oregon, had made me acquainted with manypersons, some of whom were to me, from the interest they inspired mewith, like the friends of my girlhood. Among this select number was Mrs. Anna Greyfield, at whose home among the foot-hills of the Sierras inNorthern California, I had spent one of the most delightful summers ofmy life. Intellectual and intelligent without being learned orparticularly bookish; quick in her perceptions and nearly faultless inher judgment of others; broadly charitable, not through any laxity ofprinciple on her own part, but through knowledge of the stumbling-blocksof which the world is full for the unwary, she was a constant surpriseand pleasure to me. For, among the vices of women I had long counteduncharitableness; and among their disadvantages want of actual knowledgeof things--the latter accounting for the former. 

I had several times heard it mentioned that Mrs. Greyfield had beentwice married; and as her son Benton was also called Greyfield, Ipresumed that he was the son of the second marriage. How I found outdifferently I am about to relate. 

One rainy winter evening, on the occasion of my second visit to thisfriend, we were sitting alone before a bright wood fire in an openfireplace, when we chanced to refer to the subject of her son's personalqualities; he then being gone on a visit to San Francisco, and of coursevery constantly in his mother's thoughts, as only sons are sure to be. 

"Benton is just like his father, " she said. "He is self-possessed andfull of expedients, but he says very little. I have often wished heconversed more readily, for I admire a good talker. "

"And yet did not marry one:--the common lot!"

Mrs. Greyfield smiled, and gazed into the fire, whose pleasant radiancefilled the room, bringing out the soft warm colors in the carpet, andmaking fantastic shadows of our easy-chairs and ourselves upon the wall. 

"Mr. Greyfield was your second husband?" I said, in an inquiring tone, but without expecting to be contradicted. 

"Mr. Greyfield was my first, last, and only husband, " she replied, witha touch of asperity, yet not as if she meant it for me. 

"I beg your pardon, " I hastened to explain: "but I had been told--"

"Yes, I can guess what you have been told. Very few people know thetruth: but I never had a second husband, though I was twice married;"and my hostess regarded me with a smile half assumed and halfembarrassed. 

For my own part, I was very much embarrassed, because I had certainlybeen informed that she had lived for a number of years with a secondhusband who had not used her well, and from whom she was finallydivorced. Doubt her word I could not; neither could I reconcile herstatement with facts apparently well known. She saw my dilemma, and, after a brief silence, mentally decided to help me out of it. I couldsee that, in the gradual relaxing of certain muscles of her face, whichhad contracted at the first reference to this--as I could notdoubt--painful subject. Straightening her fine form as if ease ofposition was not compatible with what was in her mind, she grasped thearms of her chair with either hand, and looking with a retrospectivegaze into the fire, began:

"You see it was this way: the man I married the second time had anotherwife. "

While she drew a deep breath, and made a momentary pause, I seemed totake it all in, for I had heard so many stories of deserted Easternhomes, and subsequent illegal marriages in California, that I wasprepared not to be at all surprised at what I should learn from her. Directly she went on:

"I found out about it the very day of the marriage. We were married inthe morning, and in the afternoon a man came over from Vancouver whotold me that Mr. Seabrook had a wife, and family of children, in acertain town in Ohio. " Another pause followed, while she seemed to berecalling the very emotions of that time. 

"Vancouver?" I said: "that is on the Columbia River. "

"Yes; I was living in Portland at that time. "

In reply to my glance of surprise, she changed the scene of her story toan earlier date. 

"Mr. Greyfield had always wanted to come to California, after the golddiscoveries; but when he married me he agreed not to think of it anymore. I was very young and timid, and very much attached to mychildhood's home, and my parents; and I could not bear the thought ofgoing so long a distance away from them. It was not then, as it is now, an easy journey of one week; but a long six months' pilgrimage through awilderness country infested by Indians. To reach what? anotherwilderness infested by white barbarians!"

"But I have always heard, " I said, "that women were idealized andidolized in those days. "

"That is a very pretty fiction. If you had seen what I have seen on thiscoast, you would not think we had been much idealized. Women have acertain value among men, when they can be useful to them. In the oldStates, where every man has a home, women have a fixed position andvalue in society, because they are necessary to make homes. But on thiscoast, in early times, and more or less even now, men found they coulddispense with homes; they had been converted into nomads, to whom earthand sky, a blanket and a frying-pan, were sufficient for their needs. Unless we came to them armed with endurance to battle with primevalnature, we became burdensome. Strong and coarse women who could washshirts in any kind of a tub out of doors under a tree, and iron themkneeling on the ground, to support themselves and half a dozen little, hungry young ones, were welcome enough--before the Chinamen displacedthem. We had some value as cooks, before men, with large means, turnedtheir attention to supplying their brothers with prepared food for aconsideration below what we could do with our limited means. And thenthe ladies, the educated, refined women, who followed their husbands tothis country, or who came here hoping to share, perchance, in the goldenspoils of the mines! Where are they to-day, and what is their condition?Look for them in the sunless back rooms of San Franciscoboarding-houses, and you will find them doing a little fine sewing forthe shops; or working on their own garments, which they must make out ofschool hours, because the niggardly pay of teachers in the lower gradeswill not allow of their getting them done. Idealized indeed! Men talkabout our getting out of our places where we clamor for paying work ofsome kind, for something to do that will enable us to live in halfcomfort by working more hours than they do to earn lordly livings. "

How much soever I might have liked to talk this labor question over withmy intelligent hostess at any other time, my curiosity concerning herown history having been so strongly aroused, the topic seemed lessinteresting than usual, and I seized the opportunity given by anemphasized pause to bring her back to the original subject. 

"Did you come first to California?" I asked. 

"No. I had been married little over a year when Benton was born. 'Now, 'I thought, 'my husband will be contented to stay at home. ' He had beenfretting about having promised not to take me to California; but I hopedthe baby would divert his thoughts. We were doing well, and had apleasant house, with everything in and about it that a young coupleought to desire. I deceived myself in expecting Mr. Greyfield to give upanything he had strongly desired; and seeing how much he brooded overit, I finally told him to be comforted; that I would go with him toCalifornia if he would wait until the baby was a year old beforestarting; and to this he agreed. "

"How old were you at that time?"

"Only about nineteen. I was twenty the spring we started; and celebratedmy anniversary by making a general gathering of all my relatives andfriends at our house, before we broke up and sold off our house-keepinggoods--all but such as could be carried in our wagons across theplains. "

"You were not starting by yourselves?"

"O no. There was a large company gathering together on the Missouririver, to make the start in May; and we, with some of our neighbors, made ready to join them. I shall never forget my feelings as I stood inmy own house for the last time, taking a life-long leave of everyfamiliar object! But you do not want to hear about that. "

"I want to hear what you choose to tell me; but most of all about yoursecond marriage, and what led to it. "

"It is not easy to go back so many years and take up one thread in theskein of life, and follow that alone. I will disentangle it as rapidlyas I can; but first let us have a fresh fire. "

Suiting the action to the word, my hostess touched a bell and ordered agood supply of wood, which I took as an intimation that we were to haveone of our late sittings. In confirmation of this suspicion a secondorder was given to have certain refreshments, including hot lemonade, made ready to await our pleasure. When we were once more alone I beggedher to go on with her story. 

"We left the rendezvous in May, and traveled without any unusualincidents all through the summer. "

"I beg pardon for interrupting you; but I do want to know how youendured that sort of life. Was it not terrible?"

"It was monotonous, it was disagreeable, but it was not _terrible_ whileeverybody was well. There were compensations in it, as in almost anykind of life. My husband was strong and cheerful, now that he was havinghis own way; the baby throve on fresh air and good milk--for we hadmilch cows with us--and the summer months on the grassy plains aredelightful, except for rather frequent thunder storms. The grass wasgood, and our cattle in fine order. Everything went well until thecholera broke out among us. "

"And then?"

"And then my husband died. "

"Ah, what have not pioneer women endured!"

"Mr. Greyfield had from the first been regarded as a sort of leader. Without saying much, but by being always in the right place at the righttime, he had gained an ascendancy over the less courageous, strong anddecided men. When the cholera came he was continually called upon tonurse the sick, to bury the dead and comfort the living. "

"And so became the easier victim?"

My remark was unheeded, while my hostess lived over again inrecollection the fearful scenes of the cholera season on the plains. Iwanted to divert her, and called her attention to the roaring of thewind and beating of the rain without. 

"Yes, " she said; "it stormed just in that way the night before he died. We all were drenched to the skin, and he was not in a condition to bearthe exposure. I was myself half sick with fever, and when the shock cameI became delirious. When I came to myself we were a hundred and fiftymiles away from the place where he died. "

"How dreadful!" I could not help exclaiming. "Not even to know how andwhere he was buried. "

"Nor if he were buried at all. So frightened were the people in ourtrain that they could not be prevailed upon to take proper care of thesick and dying, nor pay proper respect to the dead. After my reasonreturned, the one subject that I could not bear to have mentioned wasthat of my husband's death. Some of the men belonging to the train hadtaken charge of my affairs and furnished a driver for the wagon I wasin. The women took care of Benton; and I lived, who would much ratherhave died. Probably I should have died, but for the need I felt, when Icould think, of somebody to care for, support and educate my child. Myconstitution was good; and that, with the anxiety about Benton, made itpossible for me to live. "

"My dear friend, " I exclaimed; "what a dreadful experience! I wonderthat you are alive and sit there talking to me, this moment. "

"You will wonder more before I have done, " she returned, with what mightbe termed a superior sort of smile at my inexperience. 

"But how did you get to Oregon?" I asked, interrupting her again. 

"Our train was about at the place where the Oregon and Californiaemigrants parted company, when I recovered my reason and strength enoughto have any concern about where I was going. Some of those who hadstarted for Oregon had determined to go to California; and the mostparticular friend Mr. Greyfield had in the train had decided to go toOregon instead of to California, as he first intended. Now, when myhusband was hopeless of his own recovery, he had given me in charge ofthis man, with instructions to be governed by him in all my businessaffairs; and I had no thought of resisting his will, though that bequestwas the cause of the worst sorrows of my life, by compelling me to go toOregon. "

"Why cannot people be contented with ruling while living, withoutsubjecting others to the domination of an irrevocable will, when theyare no longer able to mold or govern circumstances. I beg your pardon. Pray go on. But first let me inquire whether the person to whom you werecommanded to trust your affairs proved trustworthy?"

"As trustworthy as nearly absolute power on one side, and timidinexperience on the other, is likely to make any one. When we arrivedfinally in Portland, he took my wagons and cattle off my hands, andreturned me next to nothing for them. Yet, he was about like the averageadministrator; it did not make much difference, I suppose, whether thisone man got my property, or a probate court. "

"Poor child! I can see just how you were situated. Alone in a newcountry, with a baby on your hands, and without means to make a home foryourself. What _did_ you do? did you never think of going back to yourparents?"

"How could I get back? The tide of travel was not in that direction. Besides, I had neither money nor a sufficient outfit. There was nocommunication by mail in those days oftener than once in three months. You might perish a thousand times before you could get assistance fromthe East. O, no! there was nothing to be done, except to make the bestof the situation. "

"Certainly, you had some friends among your fellow-immigrants whointerested themselves in your behalf to find you a home? Somebodybesides your guardian already mentioned. "

"The most of them were as badly off as myself. Many had lost nearfriends. I was not the only widow; but some women had lost theirhusbands who had several young children. They looked upon me ascomparatively fortunate. Men had lost wives, and these were the mostwretched of all; for a woman can contrive some way to take care of herchildren, where a man is perfectly helpless. Families, finding no housesto go into by themselves, were huddled together in any shelter thatcould be procured. The lines of partition in houses were often asimaginary as the parallels of latitude on the earth; or were defined bya window, or a particular board in the wall. O, I couldn't live in thatway. My object was to get a real home somewhere. As soon as I could, Irented a room in a house with a good family, for the sake of theprotection they would be to me, and went to work to earn a living. Ofcourse, people were forward enough with their suggestions. "

"Of what, for instance?"

"Most persons--in fact everybody that I talked with--said I should haveto marry. But I could not think of it; the mention of it always made mesick that first winter. I was recovering strength, and was young; so Ithought I need not despair. "

"Such a woman could not but have plenty of offers, in a new countryespecially; but I understand how you must have felt. You could not marryso soon after your husband's death, and it revolted you to be approachedon the subject. A wife's love is not so easily transferred. "

"You speak as any one might think, not having been in my circumstances. But there was something more than that in the feeling I had. I could notrealize the fact of Mr. Greyfield's death. It was as if he had onlyfallen behind the train, and might come up with us any day. I _waited_for him all that winter. "

"How distressing!" I could not help saying. Mrs. Greyfield sat silentfor some minutes, while the storm raged furiously without. She restedher cheek on her hand and gazed into the glowing embers, as if the pastwere all pictured there in living colors. For me to say, as I did, "howdistressing, " no doubt seemed to her the merest platitude. There are noconventional forms for the expression of the utmost grief or sympathy. Silence is most eloquent, but I could not keep silence. At last I asked, "What did she do to earn a living?"

"I learned to make men's clothes. There was a clothing store in theplace that gave me employment. First I made vests, and then pants; andfinally I got to be quite expert, and could earn several dollars a day. But a dollar did not buy much in those times; and oh, the crying spellsthat I had over my work, before I had mastered it sufficiently to haveconfidence in myself. Sancho Panza blessed the man that inventedsleep--I say, blessed be the woman that invented crying-fits, for theysave thousands and thousands of women from madness, annually!"

This was a return to that sprightly manner of speech that was one ofMrs. Greyfield's peculiar attractions; and which often cropped out inthe least expected places. But though she smiled, it was easy to seethat tears would not be far to seek. "And yet, " I said, "it is a badhabit to cultivate--the habit of weeping. It wastes the blood at afearful rate. "

"Don't I know it? But it is safer than frenzy. Why I used--but I'll nottell you about that yet. I set out to explain to you my marriage withMr. Seabrook. As I told you, everybody said I must marry; and thereasons they gave were, that I must have somebody to support me; that itwas not safe for me to live alone; that my son would need a man'srestraining hand when he came to be a few years older; and that I, myself, was too young to live without love!--therefore the only correctthing to do was to take a husband--a good one, if you could get him--ahusband, anyway. As spring came round, and my mind regained something ofits natural elasticity, and my personal appearance probably improvedwith returned health, the air seemed full of husbands. Everybody thathad any business with me, if he happened not to have a wife, immediatelyproposed to take me in that relation. All the married men of myacquaintance jested with me on the subject, and their wives followed inthe same silly iteration. I actually felt myself of some consequence, whether by nature or by accident, until it became irksome. "

"How did all your suitors contrive to get time for courtship?" Ilaughingly inquired. 

"O, time was the least of their requirements. You know, perhaps, thatthere was an Oregon law, or, rather, a United States law, giving a milesquare of land to a man and his wife: to each, half. Now some of theOregonians made this "Donation Act" an excuse for going from door todoor to beg a wife, as they pretended, in order to be able to take up awhole section, though when not one of them ever cultivated a quartersection, or ever meant to. "

"And they come to _you_ in this way? What did they say? how did theyact?"

"Why, they rode a spotted cayuse up to the door with a great show ofhurry, jangling their Mexican spurs, and making as much noise aspossible. As there were no sidewalks in Portland, then, they could siton their horses and open a door, or knock at one, if they had so muchpoliteness. In either case, as soon as they saw a woman they asked ifshe were married; and if not, would she marry? there was no moreceremony about it. "

"Did they ever really get wives in that way, or was it done inrecklessness and sport? It seems incredible that any woman could acceptsuch an offer as that. "

"There were some matches made in that way; though, as you mightconjecture, they were not of the kind made in heaven, and most of themwere afterwards dissolved by legislative action or decree of thecourts. "

"Truly you were right, when you said women are not idealized inprimitive conditions of society, " I said, after the first mirthfulimpulse created by so comical a recital had passed. "But how was it, that with so much to disgust you with the very name of marriage, youfinally did consent to take a husband? He, certainly, was not one of thekind that came riding up to doors, proposing on the instant?"

"No, he was not: but he might as well have been for any difference itmade to me, " said Mrs. Greyfield, with that bitterness in her tone thatalways came into it when she spoke of Seabrook. "You ask 'how was itthat I at last consented to take a husband?' Do you not know that suchinfluences as constantly surrounded me, are demoralizing as I said? Youhear a thing talked of until you become accustomed to it. It is as Popesays: You 'first endure, then pity, then embrace. ' I endured, feltcontempt, and finally yielded to the pressure. 

"Why, you have no idea, from what I have told you, of the reality. Myhouse as I have already mentioned, was one room in a tenement. It openeddirectly upon the street. In one corner was a bed. Opposite the doorwas a stove for cooking and warming the house. A table and two chairsbesides my little sewing-chair completed the furnishing of theapartment. The floor was bare, except where I had put down an oldcoverlet for a rug before the bed. Here in this crowded place I cooked, ate, slept, worked, and received company and offers!

"Just as an example of the way in which some of my suitors broachedthe subject I will describe a scene. Fancy me kneeling on the floor, stanching the blood from quite a serious cut on Benton's hand. The dooropens behind me, and a man I never have seen before, thrusts his headand half his body in at the opening. His salutation is 'Howdy!'--hisfirst remark, 'I heern thar was a mighty purty widder livin' here; andI reckon my infurmation was correct. If you would like to marry, I'magreeable. '"

"How did you receive this candidate? You have not told me what youreplied on these occasions, " I said, amused at this picture of pioneerlife. 

"I turned my head around far enough to get one look at his face, andasking him rather crossly 'if there were any more fools where he camefrom, ' went on bandaging Benton's hand. "

The recollection of this absurd incident caused the narrator to laugh asshe had not often laughed in my hearing. 

"This may have been a second Werther, " I remarked, "and surely noCharlotte could have been more unfeeling than you showed yourself. Itcould not be that a man coming in that way expected to get any otheranswer than the one you gave him?"

"I do not know, and I did not then care. One day a man, to whosemotherless children I had been kind when opportunity offered, slouchedinto my room without the ceremony of knocking and dropping into a chairas if his knees failed him, began twirling his battered old hat in anembarrassed manner, and doing as so many of his predecessors haddone--proposing off-hand. He had a face like a terra-cotta image, a longlank figure, faded old clothes, and a whining voice. "

"He told me that he had no 'woman, ' and that I had no 'man, ' a conditionthat he evidently considered deplorable. He assured me that I suited him'fustrate;' that his children 'sot gret store by me, ' and 'liked myvictuals;' and that he thought a 'heap' of my little boy. He alsoimpressed upon me that he had been 'considerin' the 'rangement of jinin'firms for some time. To close the business at once, he proposed that Ishould accept of him for my husband then and there. "

"And pray, what did you say to _him_!"

"I told him that I did not know what use I had for him, unless I shouldput him behind the stove, and break bark over his head. "

This reply tickled my fancy so much that I laughed until I cried. Iinsisted on knowing what put it into her mind to say that. 

"You see, we burned fir wood, the bark of which is better to make heatthan the woody portion of the tree; but is never sawed or split, and hasto be broken. I used to take up a big piece, and bring it down with ablow over any sharp corner to knock it into smaller fragments, andsomething in the man's appearance, I suppose, suggested that he might begood for that, if for nothing else. I did not stop to frame my replieson any forms laid down in young ladies' manuals; but they seemed to beconclusive as a general thing. "

"I should think so. Yet, there must have been some, more nearly yourequals, attracted by your youth and beauty, loving you, or capable ofloving you, to whom you could not give such answers, by whom suchanswers would not be taken. "

"As I look back upon it now, I cannot think of any one I might havetaken and did not, that I regret. There were men of all classes nearly;but they were not desirable, as I saw it then, or as I see it now. It istrue that I was young, and pretty, perhaps, and that women were in aminority. But then, too, the men who were floating about on the surfaceof pioneer society were not likely to be the kind of men that make truelovers and good husbands. Some of them have settled down intosteady-going benedicts, and have money and position. The worst effect ofall this talk about marrying was, that it prepared me to be persuadedagainst my inner consciousness into doing that which I ought not to havedone. My truer judgment had become confused, my perceptions clouded, from being so often assailed by the united majority who could not bearto see poor, little minority go unappropriated. But come, let us haveour cakes and lemonade. You need something to sustain you while Icomplete the recital of my conquests. "

I felt that she needed a brief interval in which to collect her thoughtsand calm a growing nervousness that in spite of her efforts atpleasantry would assert itself in various little ways, evident enough tomy observation. A saucepan of water was set upon the hot coals on thehearth, the lemons cut and squeezed into two elegant goblets, uponsquare lumps of sugar that eagerly took up the keen acid, and grewyellow and spongy in consequence. A sociable little round table wasrolled out of its seclusion in a corner, and made to support a traybetween us, whereon were such dainty cakes and confections as my hostessdelighted in. 

There was an air of substantial comfort in all the arrangements of myfriend's house that made it a peculiarly pleasant one to visit. Itlacked nothing to make it home-like, restful, attractive. The houseitself was large and airy, with charming views; the furnituresufficiently elegant without being too fine for use; flowers, birds, andall manner of _curios_ abounded, yet were never in the way, as they sooften are in the houses of people who are fond of pretty and curiousthings, but have no really refined taste to arrange them. Our littleten-o'clock lunch was perfect in its appointments--a "thing of beauty, "as it was of palatableness and refreshment. So strongly was I impressedat the moment with this talent of Mrs. Greyfield's, that I could notrefrain from speaking of it, as we sat sipping hot and spicy lemonadefrom those exquisite cut-glass goblets of her choosing, and tastingdainties served on the loveliest china: "Yes, I suppose it is a gift ofGod, the same as a taste for the high arts is an endowment from the samesource. Did it never strike you as being absurd, that men should expect, and as far as they can, require all women to be good housekeepers? Theymight as well expect every mechanic to carve in wood or chisel marbleinto forms of life. But it is my one available talent, and has stood mein good stead, though I have no doubt it was one chief cause of mytrouble, by attracting Mr. Seabrook. "

"You must know, " I said, "that I am tortured with curiosity to hearabout that person. Will you not now begin?"

"Let me see--where did I leave off? I was telling you that although Ihad so many suitors, of so many classes, and none of them desirable, tomy way of thinking, I was really gradually being influenced to marry. You must know that a woman so young and so alone in the world, and whohad to labor for her bread, and her child's bread, could not escape thesolicitations of men who did not care to marry; and it was this classwho gave me more uneasiness than all the presuming ignorant ones, whowould honor me by making me a wife. I know it is constantly asserted, by men themselves, that no woman is approached in that way who doesnot give some encouragement. But no statement could be more utterlyfalse--unless they determine to construe ordinary politeness andfriendliness into a covert advance. The cunning of the "father of lies"is brought to bear to entrap artless and inexperienced women intosituations whence they are assured there is no escape without disgrace. 

"During my first year of widowhood my feelings were several timesoutraged in this way; and at first I was so humiliated, and had such asense of guilt, that it made me sick and unfit for my work. The guiltyfeeling came, I now know, from the consciousness I had of the popularopinion I have referred to, that there must be something wrong in mydeportment. But by calling to mind all the circumstances connected withthese incidents, and studying my own behavior and the feelings thatimpelled me, I taught myself at last not to care so very much about it, after the first emotions of anger had passed away. Still I thought Icould perceive that I was not quite the same person: youunderstand?--the 'bloom' was being brushed away. "

"What an outrage! What a shame, that a woman in your situation could notbe left to be herself, with her own pure thoughts and tender sorrows!Was there no one to whom you could go for advice and sympathy?--noneamong all those who came to the country with you who could have helpedyou?"

"The people who came out with me were mostly scattered through thefarming country; and would have been of very little use to me if theyhad not been. In fact, they would, probably, have been first to condemnme, being chiefly of an uneducated class, and governed more bytraditions than by the wisdom of experience. There were two or threefamilies whose acquaintance I had made after arriving in Portland, whowere kindly disposed towards me, and treated me with greatneighborliness; especially the family that was in the same tenement withme. To them I sometimes mentioned my troubles; but while they werewilling to do anything for me in the way of a common friendly service, like the loaning of an article of household convenience, or sitting withme when Benton was sick--as he very often was--they could not understandother needs, or minister to the sickness of the mind. If I received anycounsel, it was to the effect that a woman was in every way better offto be married. I used to wonder why God had not made us married--why hehad given us our individual natures, since there was forever thisnecessity of being paired!"

"Yet you had loved your husband?"

"I had never ceased to love him!--and that was just what these peoplecould not understand. Death cut _them_ loose from everything, and theywere left with only strong desires, and no sentiment to sanctify them. That I should love a dead husband, and turn with disgust from a livingone, was inexplicable to them. "

"My dear, I think I see the rock on which you wrecked your happiness. "For the moment I had forgotten what she had told me in the beginning, that Seabrook had married her illegally; and was imagining her marriedto a living husband, and loving only the memory of one dead. She saw myerror, and informed me by a look. Pushing away the intervening tablewith its diminished contents, and renewing the fire, Mrs. Greyfieldproceeded:

"It would take too long to go over the feelings of those times, andassign their causes. You are a woman that can put yourself in my place, to a great extent, though not wholly; for there are some things thatcannot be imagined, and only come by experience. "

"Benton was two years and a half old; a very delicate child, sufferingnearly all the time with chills and fever. I had occasional attacks ofillness from the malaria, always to be met with on the clearing up oflow-lands near a river. Still I was able to sew enough to keep a shelterover our heads, and bread in our mouths, until I had been a year inPortland. But I could not get ahead in the least, and was often very lowspirited. About this time I made the acquaintance of Mr. Seabrook. Hewas introduced to me by a mutual acquaintance, and having a littleknowledge of medicine, gave me both advice and remedies for Benton. Heused to come in quite often, and look after the child, and praise myhousekeeping, which probably was somewhat better than that of theaverage pioneer of those days. He never paid me any silly compliments, or disturbed my tranquillity with love-making of any sort. Just for thatreason I began to like him. He was twelve or fifteen years older thanmyself; and more than ordinarily fine-looking and intelligent. You haveno idea, because you have never been so placed, what a comfort it was tome to have such a friend. "

"Yes, I think I know. "

"One day he said to me, 'Mrs. Greyfield, this sitting and sewing all dayis bad for your health. Now, I should think, being so good a housekeeper, you might do very well by taking a few boarders; and I believe you couldstand that kind of labor better than sewing. ' We had a little talk aboutit, and he proposed trying to find me a house suited to the purpose; towhich I very readily consented; for, though I was wholly inexperiencedin any business, I thought it better to venture the experiment than tokeep on as I was doing. "

"How did you expect to get furniture? Pardon me; but you see I want tolearn all about the details of so strange a life. "

"I don't think I expected anything, or thought of all the difficultiesat once. "

"Which was fortunate, because they would have discouraged you. "

"It is hard to say what has or has not been for the best. But for thatboarding-house scheme, I do not believe I should have married the man Idid. 

"As I was saying, Mr. Seabrook never annoyed me with attentions. He cameand talked to me in a friendly manner, and with a superior air thatdisarmed apprehension on that score. Mrs. ----, my neighbor in the nextroom, once hinted to me that his visits were indicative of hisintentions, and thereby caused me a sleepless night. But as _he_ neverreferred to the subject, and as I was now full of my new businessproject, the alarm subsided. A house was finally secured, or a part of ahouse, consisting of a kitchen, dining-room and bed-room, on the firstfloor; and the same number of rooms above. I had a comfortable supply ofbedding and table linen; the trouble was about cabinet furniture. But asmost of my boarders were bachelors, who quartered themselves where theycould, I got along very well. "

"You made a success of it, then?"

"I made a success. I threw all my energies into it, and had all theboarders I could cook for. "

"Mr. Seabrook boarded with you?--I conjecture that. "

"Yes; and he took a room at my house. At first I liked it well enough; Ihad so much confidence in him. But in a short time I thought I couldperceive that my other boarders were disposed to think that we lookedtoward a nearer relationship in the future. Perhaps they were justifiedin thinking so, as they could only judge from appearances; and I hadasked Mr. Seabrook to take the foot of the table, and carve, because Ihad so much else to do that it was impossible for me to do that also. Gradually he assumed more the air of proprietor than of boarder; but ashe was so much older and wiser, and had been of so much service to me, Ireadily pardoned what I looked upon as a matter of no great consequence. 

"It proved to be, however, a matter of very great consequence. I hadbeen established in the new house and business four or five weeks, whenone evening, Benton being unusually ill, I asked Mr. Seabrook's adviceabout him. My bed-room was up stairs, against the partition whichseparated my apartments from those occupied by a family of Germans. Ichose that room for myself because it seemed less lonely, and safer forme, to be where I could hear the voice of the little German woman, andshe could hear mine. In the same manner my kitchen joined on to hers, and we could hear each other at our work. Benton being too ill to bedressed, was lying on the bed in my room, and I asked Mr. Seabrook to goup and look at him. He examined him and told me what to do, in his usualdecided and assured manner, and went back to the dining-room, which wasalso my sitting-room. As soon as Benton was quieted, so that I couldleave him, I also returned to the lower part of the house to finish myevening tasks. 

"There is such a feeling of hatred arises in my heart when I recall thatpart of my history that it makes me fear my own wickedness! Do you thinkwe can hate so much as to curse and blight our own natures?"

"Undoubtedly; but that would be a sort of frenzy, and would finally endin madness. _You_ do not feel in that way. It is the over-masteringsense of wrong suffered, for which there can be no redress. Terrible asthe feeling is, it must be free from the wickedness you impute toyourself. Your nature is sound and sweet at the core--I feel sure ofthat. "

"Thank you. I have had many grave doubts about myself. But to go on. Contrary to his usual habit, Mr. Seabrook remained at the house thatevening, and in the dining-room instead of his own room. I was so busywith my work and anxious about Benton, that I did not give more than apassing thought to him. He, also, seemed much pre-occupied. 

"At last my work was done, and I took a light to go to my room, tellingMr. Seabrook to put out the lights below stairs, as I should not be downagain. 'Stop a moment, ' said he, 'I have something to tell you that youought to know. ' He very politely placed a chair for me, which I took. His manners were faultless in the matter of etiquette--and how very fara fine manner goes, in our estimate of people! I had not the shadow of asuspicion of what was coming. 'Mrs. Greyfield, ' he said, with greatgravity, 'I fear I have unintentionally compromised you very seriously. In advising you to take this house, and open it for boarders, I wasgoverned entirely by what I conceived to be your best interests; but itseems that I erred in my judgment. You are very young--onlytwenty-three, I believe, and--I beg your pardon--too beautiful to passunnoticed in a community like this. Your boarders, so far, are allgentlemen. Further, it has been noticed and commented upon that--really, I do not know how to express it--that _I_ have seemed to take the placein your household that--pray, forgive me, Mrs. Greyfield--only ahusband, in fact or in expectancy, could be expected or permitted tooccupy. Do you see what I mean?'

"I sat stunned and speechless while he went on. 'I presume your goodsense will direct you in this matter, and that you will grasp the righthorn of the dilemma. If you would allow me to help you out of it, youwould really promote my happiness. Dear Mrs. Greyfield, permit me tooffer you the love and protection of a husband, and stop these gossips'mouths. '"

"You do not think he had premeditated this?" I asked. 

"I did not take it in then, but afterwards I saw it plainly enough. Hepressed me for an answer, all the time plausibly protesting thatalthough he had hoped some time to win my love, he had not anticipatedthe necessity for urging his suit as a matter of expediency. In vain Iargued that if his presence in the house was an injury to me, he couldleave it. It was too late, he said. I indignantly declared that it wasnot my fault that my boarders were all men. I was working for my living, and would just as willingly have boarded any other creature if I couldhave got my money for it; a monkey or a sheep; it was all the same tome. He smiled superiorly on my fretfulness; and when I at last burstinto a passion of tears, bade me good night with such an air of beingextremely forbearing and judicious that I could not help regardingmyself as a foolish and undisciplined child. 

"That night I scarcely slept at all. Benton was feverish, and I halfwild. All sorts of plans ran through my head; but turn the matter overany way I would, it amounted to the same thing. The money I must earn, must come from men. Whether I sewed or cooked, or whatever I did, theywere the paymasters to whom I looked for my wages. How, then, was itpossible to escape contact with them, or avoid being misunderstood. Inone breath I resented, with all the ardor of my soul, the impertinenceof the world's judgment, and in the next I declared to myself that I didnot care; that conscious innocence should sustain me, and that I had aright to do the best I could for myself and child. 

"But that was only sham courage. I was morally a coward, and could notpossibly face the evil spirit of detraction. Therefore, the morningfound me feverish in body and faint in spirit. I kept out of sight of myboarders, except Mr. Seabrook, who looked into the kitchen with asympathizing face, and inquired very kindly after Bennie, as hepet-named Benton. When my dinner was over that day, I asked the littleGerman woman to keep the child until I could go on an errand, and wentover to Mrs. ----, my old house-mate, to get advice. 

"Do you know how much advice is worth? If you like it, you haven't neededit; and if you do not like it, you will not take it. Mrs. ---- told methat if she were in my place, as if she _could be_ in my place! she wouldget rid of all her troubles by getting some man to take charge of her andher affairs. When I asked, with transparent duplicity, where I was tofind a man for this service, she laughed in my face. People _did_ talkso then, and what Mr. Seabrook said was the unexaggerated truth. It didnot occur to me to examine into the authorship of the rumors; I was tooshrinking and sensitive for that. 

"When I reached home I found Mr. Seabrook at the house. A sudden feelingof anger flashed into my mind, and must have illuminated my eyes; for hegave me one deprecating glance, and immediately went out. This made mefear I was unjust to him. That evening he did not come to tea, but sentme a note saying he had business at Vancouver and would not return fortwo or three days; but that when he did return it would be better tohave my mind made up to dismiss him entirely out of the country, or tohave our engagement made known. 

"That threw the whole responsibility upon me; and it was, as he knew itwould be, too heavy for my twenty-three years to carry. To lose the mosthelpful and agreeable friend I had in the country, to banish him for nofault but being too kind to me, or to take him in place of one whoseimage would always stand between us: that was the alternative. 

"The next day an incident occurred that decided my destiny. I had to goout to make some purchases for the house. At the store where I usuallybought provisions I chanced to meet a woman who had crossed thecontinent in my company; and she turned her back upon me withoutspeaking. She was an ignorant, bigoted sort of woman, of an uncertaintemper, and at another time I might not have cared for the slight; butcoming at a time when I was in a state of nervous alarm, it cut me tothe quick. With great difficulty I restrained my tears, and left thestore. While hurrying home with a basket on my arm, almost choked withgrief, I passed a kind old gentleman who had always before had apleasant word for me, and an inquiry about my child. He, too, passed mewith only the slightest sign of recognition. I thought my heart wouldburst in my breast, so terrible was the sense of outrage and shame--"

"Which was, after all, probably imaginary, " I interrupted. "The insultof the ignorant, ill-tempered woman was purely an accidental display ofthose qualities, and the slight recognition of your old friend theconsequence of the other, for your face certainly expressed the state ofyour feelings, and your friend was surprised into silence by seeing youin such distress. "

"That, very likely, is the true explanation. But it did not so impressme then. You cannot, in the state of mind I was in, go after people, andask them to tell you whether or not they really mean to insult you, because you are only too certain that they do. I was sick with pain andmortification. How I got through my day's work I do not remember; butyou can understand that my demoralization was complete by this time, andthat when Mr. Seabrook returned I was like wax in his hands. All that Istipulated for was a little more time; he had my permission to announceour engagement. 

"My boarders and every one who spoke to me about it congratulated me. When I look back upon it now, it seems strange that no one eversuggested to me the importance of knowing the antecedents of the man Iwas going to marry; but they did not. It seemed to be tacitly understoodthat antecedents were not to be dragged to light in this new world, andthat "by-gones should be by-gones. " As to myself, it never occurred tomy inexperience to suspect that a man might be dishonorable, evencriminal, though he had the outside bearing of a gentleman. "

"Did he propose to relieve you of the necessity of keeping boarders?"

"No. The business was a good one; and, as I have said, I was a successin this line. My constitution was good; my energy immense, in labor; mytraining in household economy good; and, besides, I had a real talentfor pleasing my boarders. I was to be provided with a servant; and thecare of the marketing would devolve upon Mr. Seabrook. With thisamelioration of my labors, the burden could be easily borne for the sakeof the profits. "

"What business was Mr. Seabrook in?"

"I never thought of the subject at that time. He was always welldressed; associated with men of business; seemed to have money; and Inever doubted that such a man was able to do anything he proposed. Women, you know, unconsciously attribute at least an earthly omnipotenceto men. Afterwards, of course, I was disillusioned. But I must hasten, for it is growing late; and either the storm or these old memories shakemy nerves. 

"I had asked for a month's time to prepare my mind for my comingmarriage. At the end of a week, however, Mr. Seabrook came to me andtold me that imperative business called him away for an absence ofseveral weeks, and that, in his judgment, the marriage ceremony shouldtake place before he left. He should be away over the month I hadstipulated for; and, in case of accident, I would have the protection ofhis name. My objections were soon overruled, and on the morning of hisdeparture we were married--as I believed, legally and firmly bound--inthe presence of my family of boarders, and two or three women, includingMrs. ----. He went away immediately, and I was left to my tumultuousthoughts. "

"May I be permitted to know whether you loved him at all, at that time?It seems to me that you must have sometimes yearned for the ownership ofsome heart, and the strong tenderness of man's firmer nature. "

Mrs. Greyfield looked at me with a curiously mixed expression, half ofsarcastic pity, half of amused contempt. But the thought, whatever itwas, went unspoken. She reflected a moment silently before she answered. 

"I have told you that my heart remained unweaned from the memory of mydead husband. I told Mr. Seabrook the same. But I admired, respected andbelieved in him; he was agreeable to me, and had my confidence. Therecan be no doubt, but if he had been all that he seemed, I should haveended by loving him in a quiet and constant way. As it was, the shock Ifelt at the discovery of his perfidy was terrible. 

"My ears were yet tingling with my new name, when, everybody havinggone, I sat down with Benton on my lap to have the pleasure of the fewnatural tears that women are bound to shed over their relinquishedfreedom. I was very soon aroused by a knock at the door, which opened toadmit an old acquaintance, then residing in Vancouver, and a formersuitor of mine. Almost the first thing he said was, 'I hear you havebeen getting married?' 'Yes, ' I said, trying to laugh off myembarrassment, 'I had to marry a man at last to get rid of them!'

"'You made a poor selection, then, ' he returned, rather angrily. 

"His anger roused mine, for his tone was, as I thought, insolent, 'Doyou think I should have done better to have taken you?' I asked, scornfully. 

"'You would at least have got a man that the law could give you, ' heretorted, 'and not another woman's husband. '

"The charge seemed so enormous that I laughed in his face, attributinghis conduct to jealous annoyance at my marriage. But something in hismanner, in spite of our mutual excitement, unsettled my confidence. Hewas not inventing this story; he evidently believed it himself. 'ForGod's sake, ' I entreated, 'if you have any proof of what you say, giveit me at once!' And then he went on to tell me that on the occasion ofMr. Seabrook's late visit to Vancouver, he had been recognized by anemigrant out from Ohio, who met and talked with him at the Hudson's Baystore. That man had told him, my informant, that he was well acquaintedwith the family of Mr. Seabrook, and that his wife and several childrenwere living when he left Ohio. 

"'Can you bring this man to me?' I asked, trembling with horribleapprehensions. 

"'I don't know as I could, ' said he; 'for he went, I think, over to theSound to look up a place. But I can give you the name of the town hecame from, if that would be of any use. ' I had him write the address forme, as I was powerless to do it for myself. 

"'I am sorry for you, ' he said, as he handed me the slip of paper; 'thatis, if you care anything for the rascal. '

"'Thank you, ' I returned, 'but this thing is not proven yet. If youreally mean well by me, keep what you have told me to yourself. '

"'You mean to live with him?' he asked. 

"'I don't know what I shall do; I must have time to think. '

"'Very well; it is no affair of mine. I don't want a bullet through myhead for interfering; but I thought it was no more than fair to let youknow. '

"'I am very grateful, of course;--I mean I am if there is any occasion;but this story is so strange, and has come upon me so suddenly that Icannot take it all in at once, with all its consequences. '

"'I know what you think, ' he said finally: 'You suspect me of making upthis thing to be revenged on you for preferring Seabrook to me. I'd be adamned mean cuss, to do such a turn by any woman, wouldn't I? As toconsequences, if the story is true, and I believe it is, why yourmarriage amounts to nothing, and you are just as free as you werebefore!'

"I fancied his face brightened up with the idea of my freedom, and adoubt of his veracity intruded upon my growing conviction. Distracted, excited, pressed down with cares and fears, I still had to attend to mydaily tasks. I begged him to go away, and not to say a word to any othermortal about what he had told me; and he gave me the promise I desired. That was a fatal error, and fearfully was I punished. "

"How an error? It seems to me quite remarkable prudence for one in yoursituation. "

"So I thought then; but the event proved differently. "

"Pray do tell me how you bore up under all this excitement, and the careand labor of a boarding-house? The more I know of your life, the moresurprised I am at your endurance. "

"It was the care and labor that saved me, perhaps. At all events, here Iam, alive and well, to-night. I sometimes liken myself to a tree that Iknow of. It was a small fir tree in a friend's garden. For some reason, it began to pine and dwindle and turn red. My friend's husband insistedon cutting it down, as unsightly; but this she objected to, until allthe leaves were dry and faded, and the tree apparently dead. Still sheasked for it to be spared for another season; and, taking a stick, shebeat the tree all over until not a leaf was left on a single bough; andthere it stood, a mere frame of dry branches, until everybody wished itout of the way. But behold! at last it was covered with little greendots of leaves, that rapidly grew to the usual size, and now that treeis the thriftiest in my friend's garden, and a living evidence of theuses of adversity. But for the beating it got, it would now be a deadtree! I had my child to live and work for; and really, but for this lasttrouble, I should have thought myself doing well. I had found out how Icould make and lay up money, and was gaining that sense of independencesuch knowledge gives. Besides, I was young, and in good physical healthmost of the time before this last and worst stroke of fortune. _That_broke down my powers of resistance in some directions, I had so much toresist in others. "

"Do you see what o'clock it is?" I asked. 

"Yes; but if you do not mind the sitting up, let's make a night of it. Ifeel as if I could not sleep--as if something were going to happen. "

Very cheerfully I consented to the proposed vigil. I wanted to hear therest of the story; and I knew she had a sort of prophetic consciousnessof coming events. If she said "something was going to happen, " somethingsurely did happen. So the fire was renewed, and we settled ourselvesagain for "a night of it. 

"What did you do? and why do you say that you committed a fatal error bykeeping silence?"

"By suffering the matter to rest, I unfortunately fixed myself in thesituation I would have avoided. My object was what yours would havebeen, or any woman's--to save all scandal, until the facts were known toa certainty. I was so sensitive about being talked over; and besidesfelt that I had no right to expose Mr. Seabrook to a slanderousaccusation. It was not possible for me to have foreseen what actuallyhappened. 

"I took one night to think the matter over. It was a longer night thanthis one will seem to you. My decision was to write to the postmaster ofthe town from which Mr. Seabrook was said to come. _Now_ that would be asimple affair enough; the telegraph would procure us the informationwanted in a day. _Then_ a letter was five or six months going andcoming. In the meantime I had resolved not to live with Mr. Seabrook ashis wife; but you will see how I would, under the circumstances, becompelled to seem to do so. I did not think of that at first, however. You know how you mentally go over impending scenes beforehand? I meantto surprise him into a confession, if he were guilty; and believed Ishould be able to judge of his innocence, if he should be wronglyaccused. I wrote and dispatched my letter at once, and under an assumedname, to prevent its being stolen. When that was done I tried to restunconcerned; but, of course, that was impossible. My mind ran on thissubject day and night. 

"The difficulties of my position could never be imagined; you would haveto be in the same place to see them. Everybody now called me Mrs. Seabrook, and I could not repudiate the name without sufficient cause. Iwas forced to appear to have confidence in the man I had married of myown free will. Besides, I really did not know, of a verity, that he wasnot worthy of confidence. It seemed quite as credible that another manshould invent a lie, as that Mr. Seabrook should be guilty of anenormous crime. 

"Naturally I had a buoyant temper; was inclined to see the amusing sideof things; enjoyed frolicsome conversation; and in a general way waswell fitted to bear up under worries, and recover quickly from depressedconditions. The gentlemen who boarded with me were a cheerful andintelligent set, whose conversation entertained me, as they met threetimes a day at table. They were all friends of Mr. Seabrook, which gavethem the privilege of saying playful things to me about him daily. Tothese remarks I must make equally playful replies, or seem ungracious tothem. You will see how every such circumstance complicated mydifficulties afterwards. 

"You know, too, how pliable we all are at twenty-three--how often ouropinions waver and our emotions change. I was particularly mercurial inmy temperament before the events I am relating hardened me. I often laidin a half-waking state almost all night, my imagination full of horribleimages; and when breakfast-time came, and I listened to an hour ofentertaining talk, with frequent respectful allusions to Mr. Seabrook, and kindly compliments to myself, these ugly visions took flight, whileI persuaded myself that everything would come out right in the end. 

"A little while ago you asked me if I did not love Mr. Seabrook atall?--did not long for tenderness from him? The question rousedsomething of the wickedness in me that I confessed to you before; but Iwill answer the inquiry now, by asking _you_ if you think any woman inher twenties is quite reconciled to live unloved? I had not wished tomarry again; yet undoubtedly there was a great blank in my life, whichmy peculiarly friendless condition made me very sensible of; and there_was_ a yearning desire in my heart to be petted and cared for, as in mybrief married life I had been. But the coarseness and intrusiveness Ihad experienced in my widowhood had made me as irritable as the 'fretfulporcupine' towards that class of men. The thought of Mr. Seabrook lovingme had never taken root in my mind. Even when he proposed marriage, ithad seemed much more a matter of expediency than of love. But when, after I had accepted him as an avowed lover, his conduct had continuedto be unintrusive, and delicately flattering to my womanly pride, it wasmost natural that I should begin to congratulate myself on the prospectbefore me of life-long protection from such wounds as I had received, with the great satisfaction of increased dignity in point of socialposition; for then, much more than now, and in a new country more thanin an old one, a woman's position depended on her relationship to men;the wife of the most worthless man being the superior of an unmarriedwoman. Accordingly I felt my promised importance, and began to exult init. "

"In short, you were preparing to become much more subject to the secondlove than the first; a not infrequent experience, " I interrupted. "Youcertainly must have loved a handsome, agreeable, courteous, and manlyman, who would have interposed between you and the rude shocks of theworld; and you had begun to realize that you could, in spite of yourfirst love?"

"And to have a feeling of disappointment when the possibility presenteditself that after all these blessings might be wrested from me; ofhorror when I reflected that in that case my last estate would beinexpressibly worse than the first. "

"There was a terrible temptation there!"

"No; that was the one thing I was perfectly clear about. Not to bedragged into crime or deserved disgrace, I was determined upon. How Ishould avoid it was where I was in doubt. "

"I am very anxious to know how you met him on his return. "

"There was no one in the house except myself, and Benton, who was nowquite well again for the time. I was standing by the dining-room window, arranging some ferns in a hanging basket, and Benton was amusing himselfwith toys the boarders were always giving him. I heard a footstep, andturned my head slightly to see who it was. Mr. Seabrook stood in thedoor, regarding us with a pleased smile. 

"'How is my wife and boy?' he said, cheerily, advancing towards me, andproffering a kiss of greeting. 

"I put up my hand to ward him off, and my heart stood motionless. Iseemed to be struck with a chill. My teeth chattered together, while theends of my fingers turned cold at once. 

"Naturally, he was surprised; but thinking perhaps that the suddennessof his return, under the circumstances, had overcome me, he quicklyrecovered his tenderness of manner. 

"'Have I frightened you, my darling?' he asked, putting out his arms tofold me to his breast. Not being able to speak, I whirled round rapidly, and hastened to place the table between us. Of course, he could notcomprehend such conduct, but thought it some nervous freak, probably. 

"Turning to Benton, he took him up in his arms and kissed him, askinghim some questions about himself and toys. 'Could you tell me what isthe matter with your mamma, Bennie?' he asked, seeing that my mannerremained inexplicable. 

"'I tink see has a till, ' answered Benton, who by this time knew themeaning of the word 'chill' by experience. 

"'She has given _me_ one, I know, ' said Mr. Seabrook, regarding mecuriously. I began to feel faint, and sat down, leaning my head on myhand, my elbow on the table. 

"'Anna, ' said he, addressing me by my Christian name for the first time, and giving me a little shock in consequence--for I had almost forgottenI had ever been called 'Anna'--'if I am so disagreeable to you, I willgo away again; though I certainly had reason to expect a differentreception. '

"'No, ' I said, suddenly rousing up; 'you must not go until I have toldyou something; unless you go to stay--which would perhaps be best. '

"'To stay! go to stay? There seems great need of explanation here. Willyou be good enough to tell me why I am to go away to stay?'

"'The reason is, Mr. Seabrook, ' I answered, 'that your true wife, andyour own children expect you at home, in Ohio. '

"I had worded my answer with the intention of shocking the truth out ofhim, if possible. If he should be innocent, I thought, he would forgiveme. There was too much at stake to stand upon niceties of speech; and Iwatched him narrowly. "

"How did he receive such a blow as that? I am curious to know how guiltypeople act, on being accused. "

"You cannot tell an innocent from a guilty person, " Mrs. Greyfieldreturned, with a touch of that asperity that was sometimes noticeable inher utterances. Then, more quietly: "Both are shocked alike at beingaccused; one because he is innocent; the other, because he is guilty. How much a person is shocked depends upon temperament and circumstance. The guilty person, always consciously in danger of being accused, islikely to be prepared and on the defensive, while the other is not. 

"What Mr. Seabrook did, was to turn upon me a look of keen observation, not unmixed with surprise. It might mean one thing; it might meananother; how could I tell? He always impressed me so with hissuperiority that even in that moment, when my honor and life's happinesswere at stake, I was conscious of a feeling of abasement and guiltinessthat I dare accuse _him_ to his face. Perhaps, he saw that I wasfrightened at my own temerity; at all events he was not thrown off hisguard. 

"'Do I understand you to charge me with crime--a very ugly crime, indeed?' he asked pointedly. 

"'You know, ' I said, 'whether you are guilty. If you are, may God sodeal with you as you have meant to deal with me. '

"I fancied that he winced slightly at this; but in my excitement couldnot have seen very clearly. He knitted his brows, and took several turnsup and down the room. 

"'If I knew who had put this monstrous idea into your mind, ' he finallysaid with vehemence; 'I would send a bullet through his heart!'

"'In that case, ' I replied: 'you could not expect me to tell you;' and Iafterwards made that threat my excuse for concealing the name of myinformant. 

"Mr. Seabrook continued to pace the floor in an excited manner, strokinghis long blonde beard rapidly and unconsciously. I still sat by thetable, trying to appear the calm observer that I was not. He came andstood by me, saying: 'Do you believe this thing against me?'

"'I do not know what to believe, Mr. Seabrook, ' I replied, 'butsomething will have to be done about this rumor. ' I could not bear to goon; but he understood me. He leaned over my chair, and touched my cheekwith his:

"'Are you my wife, or not?' he asked. I shuddered, and put my face downon my hands. He knelt by my side, and taking my hands in his, so that myface must be seen, asked me to look into his eyes and listen to him. What he said, was this:

"'If I swear to you, by Almighty God, that you are my true and onlywife, will you then believe me?'"

Mrs. Greyfield was becoming visibly agitated by these reminiscences, andpaused to collect herself. 

"You dared not say 'yes, '" I cried, carried away with sympathy, "and yet, you could not say 'no. ' What did you do?"

"I burst into a passion of tears, and cried convulsively. He would havecaressed and consoled me, but I would have none of it. 

"'Anna, what a strange home-coming for a bridegroom!' he said, reproachfully. 

"'Go away, and leave me to myself, ' I entreated; 'You must not stayhere. '

"'What madness?' he exclaimed. 'Do you wish to set everybody to talkingabout us?' Ah! 'talking about us, ' was the bugbear I most dreaded, andhe knew it. But I wanted to seem brave; so I said that in privatematters we were at liberty to do as we thought right and best. 

"'And I think it right and best to stay where my wife is. Anna, what isto be the result of this strange suspicion of yours, but to make us bothunhappy, and me desperate! Why, I shall be the laughing-stock of thetown--and I confess it is more than I can bear without flinching, tohave it circulated about, that Seabrook married a wife who cut himadrift the first thing she did. And then look at your position, too, which would be open to every unkind remark. You must not incur thisalmost certain ruin. '

"'Mr. Seabrook, ' I said, more calmly than I had yet spoken; 'what youhave said has suggested itself to me before. Stay here, then, if youmust, until I can take measures to satisfy myself of the legality of ourmarriage. You can keep your own counsel, and I can keep mine. I havespoken to no one about this matter, nor will I for the present. There isyour old room; your old place at the table. I will try to act as naturalas possible; more than this you must not expect of me. ' Thisbusiness-like tone nettled him. 

"'May I inquire, Mrs. Seabrook, how long a probation I may anticipate, and what measures you intend taking to establish my good or badcharacter? A man may not be willing to wait always for a wife. '

"'Very well, ' I replied to this covert threat; 'when you tire ofwaiting, you know what to do. ' But my voice must have trembled, for heinstantly changed his manner. There was more chance of winning methrough my weakness than of intimidating me, coward though I was. 

"'My dear Anna, ' he said kindly, 'this is a most mortifying and tryingpredicament that I am in; and you must pardon me if I seem selfish. I donot know how I am to bear several months of this unnatural life youpropose; and in thinking of myself I forget you. Yet your case, as _you_see it, is harder than mine; and I ought to pity and comfort you. If mydarling would only let me!' He stretched out his arms to me. It was allI could do to keep from rushing into them, and sobbing on his breast. Iwas so tempest-tossed and weary!--what would I not have given to laydown my burdens?"

"That is where the unrecognized heroism of women comes in. How few menwould suffer in this way for the right! Had you chosen to ignore thetale that you had heard, and taken this man whom fortune had thrown withyou upon this far-off coast, he might have been to you a kind friend andprotector. Do you not think so?"

"Very likely. Plenty of bad men, when deferred to, have made goodhusbands, as men go. But I, by resisting the will of one bad man, madeinfinite trouble for myself. Are you becoming wearied?"

"No, no; go on. "

"I must pass over a great deal; and, thank God! some things have beenforgotten. Mr. Seabrook took his old room down stairs. As before, he satat the foot of the table and carved, but now as master of the house. Servants not being easily obtained, it was not remarked that my dutiesprevented my sitting down with my supposed husband at meals. He marketedfor me, and received the money of my boarders when pay-day came; and atfirst he did--what he failed to do afterwards--pay the money over to me. 

"You are curious to know how Mr. Seabrook conducted himself toward mepersonally, and in particular. For a few days, well; so that I began tofeel confidence that so honorable a gentleman would be proved free fromall stain. But he soon began to annoy me with the most persistentcourtship, looking, as I could see, to breaking down my reserve, andsubjecting me to the domination of a passion for him. If I had everreally loved Mr. Seabrook, it would have been a love of the senses, ofinterest, of the understanding, and not of the imagination and heart. Iwas just on the eve of such a love when it was fortunately put in checkby my suspicions. For him to endeavor to create a feeling now thatmight, nay, that was intended to subvert principle and virtue, appearedeven to my small worldly sense, an insult and an outrage. 

"When I talked in this way to him, he half laughingly and half inearnest always declared that I should get into the habit of forgettingour marriage before my 'proofs' came from Ohio, unless he every day putme in mind of it! and this willingness to refer to 'proofs' threw me offmy guard a little. He designed very cunningly, but not quite cunninglyenough. As time wore on and he feared the proofs might come before hehad bent me to his will, his attempts lost even the semblance of love ordecency. Many and many a night I feared to close my eyes in sleep, lesthe should carry out his avowed purpose; for locks and bolts in a housein those days were considered unnecessary, and I improvised suchdefenses as I could. I used to threaten to call in my little Germanneighbor, to which he replied she would probably recognize a man's rightto occupy the same apartment with his wife! Still, I think he wasdeterred somewhat by the fear of exposure from using violence. "

The recital of such sufferings and anxieties as these; endured, too, bya young and lonely woman, affected me powerfully. My excited imaginationwas engaged in comparing the Mrs. Greyfield I saw before me, wearing hernearly fifty years with dignity and grace, full of a calm and ripeexperience, still possessing a dark and striking beauty, with thepicture she had given me of herself at twenty-three. What a wonder itwas that with her lively temperament either for pain or pleasure; withher beauty and her helplessness, she had come out of the furnaceunscathed, as she now appeared. 

"How could you, " I said, with a feeling of deep disgust, "how _could_you allow such a man to remain in your house?"

"How could I get him out? We were legally married, so far as anybody inOregon knew, except himself. Everybody presumed us to be living amicablytogether. He was careful to act the courteous gentleman to me in thepresence of others. If we never went out together, it was easilyexplained by reference to my numerous household cares, and Benton'sfrequent illness. As I before said, no one could understand the positionwho had not been in it. I could not send him away from me; nor could Igo away from him. He would have followed me, he said, to the 'ends ofthe earth. ' Besides, where could I go? There was nothing for me but toendure until the answer to my letter came. Never was letter so anxiouslydesired as that one; for, of course, I fully expected that whatever newsit contained, would bring relief in some way. But I had made up my mindto his guilt, rightly judging that, had he been innocent, he wouldeither have found means to satisfy me, or have gone away and left mealtogether. 

"It had been six or seven months since my marriage. I had a large familyof boarders to cook for, and Benton giving me a great deal of worry, fearing I should lose him. Working hard all day, and sleeping verylittle nights, with constant excitement and dread, had very muchimpaired my health. My boarders of ten said to me: 'Mrs. Seabrook, youare working too hard; you must make Mr. Seabrook get you a cook. ' Whatcould I say in return, except to force a smile, and turn the drift ofthe conversation? Once, carried away with indignation, I replied that'Mr. Seabrook found it as much as _he_ could do to collect the money Iearned!'"

"And you were set down at once as a vixen!" I said, smiling. 

"Well, they were not expected to know how matters stood, when I hadtaken so much pain to conceal the truth. I was sorry I had not held mypeace a little longer, or altogether. Men never can understand a woman'sright to resent selfishness, however atrocious; even when they areknowing to it, which in this case they were not. I might as well haveheld my tongue, since every unguarded speech of mine militated againstme afterwards. "

"You allowed Mr. Seabrook to have all your earnings?"

"I could not prevent it; he was _my husband_. Sometimes I thought hemeant to save up all he could, to take him out of the country, when thehoped-for proofs of his crime should arrive. And in that light I wasinclined to rejoice in his avarice. I would have given all I had forthat purpose. Oh, those dreadful, dreadful days! when I was so nearinsane with sleeplessness and anxiety, that I seemed to be walking onthe air! Such, indeed, was my mental and physical condition, thateverything seemed unreal, even myself; and it surprises me now that myreason did not give way. "

"Did you never pray?"

"My training had been religious, and I had always prayed. This, I felt, entitled me to help; and yet help did not come. I felt forsaken of God, and sullenly shut my lips to prayer or complaint. All severely triedsouls go through a similar experience. Christ himself cried out: 'MyGod, my God, why hast _forsaken_ me!'"

"No wonder you felt forsaken, indeed. "

"You think I was as tried as I could be then, when I had a hope ofescape; but worse came after that--worse, because more hopeless. "

"You were really married to him then?" I cried in alarm: "I thought youtold me in the beginning, that you were not. "

"Neither was I; but that did not release me. When at last I received ananswer to my inquiries, confirming the statement of the immigrant fromOhio, it was too late. "

"You do not mean!"--I interrupted, in a frightened voice. 

"No, no! I only mean that I had committed a great error, in keepingsilence on the subject at the first. You can imagine one of youracquaintances who had been several months peaceably living with a man ofgood appearance and repute, to whom you had seen her married, suddenlydeclaring her husband a bigamist and refusing to live with him; and onno other evidence than a letter obtained, nobody knew how. To _me_ theproof was conclusive; and it made me frantic to find that it was not soreceived by others. "

"What did he say, when you told him that you had this evidence? How didhe act?"

"He swore it was a conspiracy; and declared that now he had borne enoughof such contumelious conduct; he should soon bring me into subjection. He represented himself to me, as an injured and long-suffering man; andme, to myself, as an unkind, undutiful, and most unwomanly woman. Hetold me, what was true, that I need not expect people to believe such a'cock and bull story;' and used every possible means of intimidation, except actual corporeal punishment. _That_ he threatened long after; andI told him if he ever laid a finger on me, I should certainly shoot himdead. But we had not come to that yet. "

"Long after!" I repeated. "You do not, you cannot mean that this wretchcontinued to live under the same roof with you, long after he knew thatyou would never acknowledge him as your husband?"

"Yes, for years! For years after he knew that I knew he was _what hewas_, he lived in my house and took my earnings; yes, and ordered meabout and insulted me as much as he liked. "

"But, " I said, "I cannot understand such a condition of things. Wasthere no law in the land? no succor in the society about you? How couldother women hold still, and know that a young creature like you wasbeing tortured in that way?"

"The inertia of women in each other's defense is immense, " returned Mrs. Greyfield, in her most incisive tone. "You must not forget that Portlandwas then almost a wilderness, and families were few, and often 'farbetween. ' Among the few, my acquaintances were still fewer; for I hadcome among them poor and alone, and with all I could do to supportmyself, without time or disposition to visit. The peculiar circumstancesI have related to you broke my spirit and inclined me to seclusion. However, I did carry my evidence, and my story together, to two or threewomen that I knew, and what do you suppose they said? That I 'shouldhave thought of all that before I married!' They treated it exactly asif, having gone through the marriage ceremony, I was bound, no matterhow many wives Mr. Seabrook had back in Ohio. "

"They could not have believed your story, " I said; not being able totake in such inferior morality. 

"What they believed I do not know: what they said I have told you. Iincline to the opinion that they thought I might be a little daft--I amsure I must have looked so at times, from sheer sleeplessness andexhaustion. Or they thought I had no chance of establishing the truth, and would be better off to submit quietly. At all events, not oneencouraged me to resist Mr. Seabrook; and to overflow my cup of misery, he contrived to find the important letter, which I had hidden, anddestroy it. "

"Did you never go to men about your case, and ask for assistance?"

"At first I was afraid to appeal to them, having had so many unpleasantexperiences; and when I at last was driven to seek counsel, I was toolate, as I before explained. "

"Too late?"

"Yes; I mean that the idea of my being Mr. Seabrook's wife was so firmlyseated in their minds that they could not see it in any other light. Thefact of my having written and received a letter did not impress them asof any consequence. You will find this to be a truth among men; theyrespect the sense of ownership in women, entertained by each other; andthey respect it so much that they would as soon be caught stealing, asseeming in any way to interfere with it. That is the reason that, although there is nothing in the wording of the marriage contractconverting the woman into a bond-slave or a chattel, the man whopractices any outrage or wrong on his wife is so seldom called toaccount. In the eyes of these men, having entered into marriage with Mr. Seabrook, I belonged to him, and there was no help for me. For life anduntil death, I was his, to do what he pleased with, so long as he didnot bruise my flesh nor break my bones. Is not that an awful power to belodged with any human being?"

"But, " I said, "if they were told the whole truth, that the marriage hadnever been consummated, and why, would they not have been moved by afeeling of chivalry to interfere? Your view of their sentimentspre-supposes the non-existence of what I should call chivalry. "

"There may be in men such a sentiment as you would call chivalry; but Inever yet have seen the occasion where they were pleased to exercise it. I would not advise any other young woman to tell one of them that shehad lived alone in the same house with a man reputed to be her husband, for seven months, without the marriage having been consummated. Shewould find, as I did, that his chivalry would be exhibited by anineffectual effort to suppress a smile of incredulity. "

"Can it be possible, " I was forced to exclaim, "that there was no helpfor you?"

"You see how it was. I have outlined the bare facts to you. Nobodywanted to be mixed up in my troubles, and the worst of it was that Mr. Seabrook got more sympathy than I did, as the unfortunate husband of aterrible termagant, who made his life a burden to him. He could talk ina certain way around among men, and put on an aggrieved air at homebefore the boarders, and what was the use of my saying anything. If ithad not been for my little German neighbor, I should have felt utterlyforsaken by all the world. But she, whatever she thought of my domesticaffairs, was sorry for me. 'What for you cry so much all de time?' shesaid to me one day. 'You makes yourself sick all de time mit cryin'; an'your face be gettin' wite as my hankershif. De leedle boy, too, he seesyou, an' he gets all so wite as you are, all de same. Dat is not goot. You gomes to see me, an' brings de boy to see my Hans. You get sheeredup den. ' And I took her advice for Benton's sake. "

"What object had Mr. Seabrook in remaining where he was so unwelcome? Hecertainly entertained no hope that you would finally yield; and hisposition could not have been an agreeable one, from any point of view;for whether he was regarded as the monster he was, or only as a sadlybeshrewed husband, he must have felt himself the subject of unpleasantremark. "

"He could afford to be remarked upon when he was a free pensioner upon awoman's bounty, and in receipt of a fine income which I earned for himby ceaseless toil. I can see him now sitting at the bottom of the table, my table, flourishing his white hands, and stroking his flowing blondebeard occasionally as something very gratifying to his vanity was said;talking and laughing with perfect unconcern, while he fattened himselfat my expense; while I, who earned and prepared his dinner for him, gasped half fainting in the heat of a kitchen, sick in heart and body. Do you wonder that I hated him?"

"I wonder more that you did not kill him, " I said; feeling that thiswould have been a case of 'justifiable homicide. '

"The impulse certainly came to me at times to kill him; or if notexactly that, to wish him dead. Yet when the opportunity came to berevenged upon him by fate itself, I interfered to save him. That wasstrange, was it not? To be suffering as I suffered at this man's hands, and yet when he was in peril to have compassion upon him?"

"You could not alter your nature, " I said, "which is, as I told youbefore, thoroughly sound and sweet. It goes against us to suffer wrong;but it goes still harder with us to do wrong. Besides, you had yourreligious training to help you. "

"I had the temptation, all the same. It happened in this way: One nightI was lying awake, as I usually did, until I heard Mr. Seabrook come inand go to his room. He came in rather later than usual, and I listeneduntil all was still in the house, that I might sleep the more safely andsoundly afterwards. I had, however, become so nervously wakeful by thistime that the much needed and coveted sleep refused to visit me, and Ilaid tossing feverishly upon my bed when I became aware that there was asmell of fire in the air. Rapidly dressing, I took Benton in my arms andhastened down stairs, to have him where I could save him, should thehouse be in danger. There was a still stronger odor of burning cloth andwood in the lower rooms, but very little smoke to be detected. Afterlooking into the kitchen and finding all right there, I feared the firemight be in the other part of the house, and was about to give thealarm, when it occurred to me that the trouble might be in Mr. Seabrook's room. 

"Leaving Benton asleep on the dining-room table, I ran to his door andknocked. No answer came; but I could smell the smoke within. Pushingopen the door I discovered him lying in a perfectly unconscious state, and half undressed, on the bed, sleeping off the effects of a winesupper. A candle which he had lighted, and left burning, had consumeditself down to the socket, and by some chance had ignited a few loosepapers on the table beside the bed; the fire had communicated to thebedding on one side, and to some of his wearing apparel on the other. All was just ready to burst into a blaze with the admission of freshair, which I had the presence of mind to prevent, by closing the doorbehind me. 

"There I was, in the presence of my enemy, and he in the clutches ofdeath. I shudder when I think of the feelings of that moment! An evilspirit plainly said to me, 'Now you shall have rest. Let him alone; heis dying by his own hand, not yours--why do you interfere with thedecree of fate?' An exulting yet consciously guilty joy agitated myheart, which was beating violently. 'Let him die!' I said to myself, 'let him die!'

"Very rapidly such thoughts whirl through the brain under greatexcitement. The instant that I hesitated seemed an age of cooldeliberation to me. Then the wickedness of my self-gratulation rushedinto my mind, making me feel like a murderer. 'O, God, ' I cried inanguish of spirit, 'why have I been put to this test?' The next instantI was working with might and main to extinguish the fire, which with theaid of blankets and a pitcher of water was soon suppressed. 

"Through it all he slept on, breathing heavily, an object of disgust tomy senses and my feelings. When all was safe I returned to my room, thankful that I had been able on the spot to expiate my murderousimpulses. The next day he took occasion to say to me, 'I shouldn't haveexpected a visit of mercy from you, Mrs. Seabrook. If I had known youwere coming, I should have tried to keep awake!' 'If ever you refer tosuch a subject again, ' I replied, 'I will set fire to you myself, andlet you burn;' and either the threat deterred him, or some spark ofgenerosity in his nature was struck by the benefit received, but henever afterwards offered me any annoyance of that kind. "

"How did Mr. Seabrook usually treat your son? Was he kind to him?"

"He was not unkind. Perhaps you cannot understand such a character; buthe was one who would be kind to man, woman, or child who would begoverned by him; yet resistance to his will, however just, roused atyranny that sought for opportunities to exhibit itself. Such a onepasses in general society for a 'good fellow, ' because 'the iron hand inthe velvet glove' is scarcely perceptible there, while its unglovedforce is felt most heavily in the relations of private life. If I hadbeen in a position to flatter Mr. Seabrook, undoubtedly he would haveshown me a corresponding consideration, notwithstanding his selfishness. It would have been one way of gratifying his own vanity, by putting mein a humor to pander to it. But knowing how I hated and despised him, hefelt toward me all the rancor of his vain and tyrannical nature. It isalways more dangerous to hate justly than unjustly, and that is thereason why domestic differences are so bitter. Somebody has always donewrong and knows it, and cannot bear to suffer the naturalconsequences--the disapprobation of the injured party, in addition tothe stings of conscience. "

"I suppose, then, " I said, "it has been the perception of this truth thathas caused the sweetest and purest women in all time to ignore the basersins of man, while calling their own sex to strict account. And yet Icannot think but that this degree of mercy is injurious to their ownpurity and derogatory to their dignity. I remember being excessivelyshocked several years ago by having this trait of _forgiveness_ inwoman placed in its true light by an accidental publication in a NewYork paper, which was intended to have just the opposite effect. Itwas headed 'A Model Woman, ' and appeared in the _Evening Post_--Bryant'spaper. With a curious desire to know the poet's model for a woman--thoughthe article may have never come under his eye--I commenced reading it. It ran to this effect: A certain man in New York had a good wife and twointeresting little children. But he met and fell in love with a handsome, dashing, and rather coarse girl; and the affair had gone so far as tolead to serious expostulation on the part of the wife. The writer didnot relate whether or not the girl knew the man to be married; but onlythat the two were infatuated with each other. 

"As the story ran, the wife expostulated, and the husband was firm inhis determination to possess the girl at all hazards, concluding hisdeclaration with this business-like statement: 'I shall take the girl, and go to California. If you keep quiet about it, I will leave aprovision for you and the children; if you do not, I shall go just thesame, but without leaving you anything. ' _The wife acquiesced in theterms. _ Her husband went to California with his paramour, and tired ofher (it was in old steamer times), about as soon as he got there. Verysoon he deserted her and returned to New York _a la prodigal_, and wasreceived back to the arms of his forgiving wife. The girl followed herfaithless lover to New York, and failing to win a kind word from him bythe most piteous appeals, finally committed suicide at her hotel in thatcity. The wife continued to live with the author of this misery upon themost affectionate terms. 

"That was the whole story. Is it possible, I asked myself, that thewriter of that article, whoever he may be, could have meant its title inanything but irony? Yet, there it stood on the front page of a mostrespectable journal, indorsed by an editor of the highest reputation. Tomy way of thinking, the wife was accessory to the crime; had no womanlyself-respect, no delicacy, no Christian feeling for her husband'svictim; was, in short, morally, as guilty as he was; and yet a newspaperof high standing made her out to be a model for wives. For what? Plainlyfor consenting to, or for forgiving three of the most heinous crimes inthe decalogue, because committed _by her husband_. I confess that sincethat day I have been prone to examine into the claims of men to beforgiven, or the moral right of women to forgive them certain offenses. "

"When you examine into the motives of women, " said Mrs. Greyfield, "Ithink you will find there is a large measure of sordid self-interest intheir mercy, as in the case you have just quoted. While some women areso weak, and so foolishly fond of the men to whom they became earlyattached, as to be willing to overlook everything rather than part withthem; a far greater number yield an unwilling submission to wrongsimposed upon them, simply because they do not know how to do without thepecuniary support afforded them by their husbands. The bread-and-butterquestion is demoralizing to women as well as to men, the differencebeing that men have a wider field to be demoralized in; and that thedemoralization of women is greatly consequent upon their circumscribedfield of action. "

"Do you think that the enlargement of woman's sphere of work would havea tendency to elevate her moral influence?"

"The way the subject presents itself to me is, that it is degrading tohave sex determine everything for us: our employments, our position insociety, the obedience we owe to others, the influence we are permittedto exercise, all and everything to be dependent upon the delicate matterof a merely physical function. It affects me so unpleasantly to hearsuch frequent reference to a physiological fact, that I have oftenwished the word _female_ stricken from our literature. And when youreflect, that we are born and bred to this narrow view of ourselves, asaltogether the creatures of sex, you cannot but recognize itsbelittleing, not to say depraving effect, or fail to see the temptation;we have to seize any base advantage it may give us. "

When we had canvassed this, to us interesting, topic a little further, Ibegged Mrs. Greyfield to go on with the relation of her history. 

"I find I must be less particular, " she said, "to give so many andfrequent explanations of my feelings. By this time you can pretty wellimagine them, and my story is likely to be too long, unless Iabbreviate. 

"I had been living in the way I have described, for two years, and hadlearned to do a good many things in my own defence, very disagreeable tome, but nevertheless very useful. I had gotten a little money togetherby asking some of my boarders for pay before pay-day came, or by makingsuch remarks as prompted them to hand the money to me instead of Mr. Seabrook. It was my intention to save enough in such ways to take me toCalifornia, where I felt confident, with the experience I had gained, Ishould be able to make myself a competence. This plan I had nourished insecret for more than a year, when I was tempted to do a very unwisething. 

"I ought to say, perhaps, that with every year that had passed since myarrival in Portland, the population had increased, and with thisincrease there was a proportionate rise in the value of property. Hearing business topics discussed almost every day at table, I could nothelp being more or less infected with the spirit of speculation; and itoften almost drove me wild to think how profitably I might have investedmy earnings could I have gained possession of them for myself. 

"Having an opportunity one day to speak on the subject to a gentleman inwhose honor I placed great confidence, I mentioned that I was tempted tobuy some property, but that my means were so limited I feared I couldnot do so. He immediately said that he would sell me a certain very goodpiece of land in the best business locality, on the installment plan, and at a bargain, so that when it was paid up I could immediately sellagain at an advance. Thinking this would accelerate the carrying out ofmy scheme of fleeing from my master, to a land of freedom, I eagerlyaccepted the proposition, and paid down all the money I had, taking abond for a deed. The transaction was to be kept a secret between us, andhe was to assist me in selling when it came the proper time, by deedingdirect to my purchaser. I felt almost light-hearted in view of the factthat I should be able, after all, to achieve a kind of independence inthe course of time. "

"It seems to me, " I said, "that I should have grown reckless beforethis, and have done something of a desperate nature--committed suicide, for instance. Did the thought never occur to you to end your bondage inthat way?"

"My desperation never took that form, because I had my child to takecare of. If I killed myself, I should have to kill him, too. But manyand many a night I have felt it so impossible to be alive in themorning, and go right on in my miserable round of life, worn out in mindand body, with Benton always ailing--often very ill, that I haveprepared both myself and him for burial, and laid down praying God totake us both before another day. But Death is like our other friends--heis not at hand to do us a service when most desired. 

"I have told you that I used to cry a good deal. Weeping, though arelief to us in one way, by removing the pressure upon the brain, isterribly exhausting when excessive, and I was very much wasted by it. Anincident occurred about the time I was just speaking of, which gave mecomfort in a strange manner. I used sometimes, when my work for the daywas done, to leave Benton with my German friend, and go out for a walk, or to call on an acquaintance. All the sights and sounds of nature arebeautiful and beneficial to me in a remarkable degree. With trees andflowers and animals, I am happy and at home. 

"One evening I set out to make a visit to Mrs. ----, my old neighbor, who lived at some distance from me. The path led through the fir forest, and at the time of day when I was at liberty, was dim and gloomy. Iwalked hurriedly along, fearing darkness would overtake me; and lookingabout me as I went, was snatching a hasty pleasure from thecontemplation of Nature's beneficence, when my foot caught in aprojecting root of some tough shrub, and I fell prostrate. 

"In good health and spirits I should not have minded the fall; but tome, in my weak condition, every jar to the nervous system affected meseriously. I rose with difficulty, and seating myself upon a fallentree, burst into tears, and wept violently. It seemed as if even thesticks and stones were in league to injure me. Looking back upon myfeelings, I can understand how man, in the infancy of the race, attributed power and will to everything in Nature. In his weakness andinexperience, Nature was too strong for him, and bruised himcontinually. 

"As I sat weeping with pain and an impotent resentment, a clear sweetvoice spoke to me out of the dusky twilight of the woods. '_Don't cry somuch!_' it said. Astonishment dried my tears instantly. I looked aboutme, but no one was near; nor any sound to be heard, but the peculiar cryof a bird that makes itself heard in the Oregon woods at twilight only. A calm that I cannot explain came over my perturbed spirit. It was likethe heavenly voices heard upon the earth thousands of years ago, in itspower to move the heart. It may make you smile for me to say so; butfrom that hour I regained a degree of cheerfulness that I had not feltsince the day of my marriage to Mr. Seabrook. I did not go to Mrs. ----'s that evening, but returned home and went to my bed withoutputting on clothes to be buried in!"

We talked for a little of well attested instances of similar incidentsof the seeming supernatural. Then I said:

"And how did your investment turn out?"

"As might have been expected by a more worldly-wise person. Aftersucceeding, almost, I was defeated by the selfishness and indifferenceof the man I had trusted to help me through with it. He sold out hisproperty, including that bonded to me, when nearly the wholeindebtedness was paid, without mentioning his design, or giving me anopportunity to complete the purchase. The new proprietor wentimmediately to Mr. Seabrook, who, delighted with this unexpected pieceof fortune, borrowed the small amount remaining to be paid, and had theproperty deeded to himself. A short time after he sold it at a handsomeadvance on the price I paid for it, and I had never one dollar of themoney. The entire savings of the whole time I had been in a reallyprofitable business, went with that unlucky venture. "

"You were just as far from getting to California as ever? O, whatoutrageous abuse of the power society gives men over women!" I exclaimedwith vehemence. 

"You may imagine I was bitterly disappointed. The lesson was a hard one, but salutary. I took no more disinterested advice; I bought no moreproperty. There are too many agents between a woman and the thing sheaims at, for her ever to attain it without danger of discomfiture. Theexperience, as you may guess, put me in no amicable mood towards Mr. Seabrook. Just think of it! There were three years I had supported, bymy labor, a large family of men, for that is what it amounted to. Mymoney purchased the food they all ate, and I had really received nothingfor it except my board and the clothes I worked in. The fault was nottheirs; it was Mr. Seabrook's and society's. "

"I will tell you what you remind me of, " I said: "You are like Penelope, and her train of ravenous suitors, in the _Odyssey_ of Homer. "

"In my busy life, I have not had time to read Homer, " Mrs. Greyfieldreplied; "but if any other woman has been so eaten out of house andhome, as I was, I am sorry for her. "

"Homer's Penelope, if we may believe the poet, was in much bettercircumstances to bear the ravages of her riotous boarders, than you wereto feed yours gratuitously. "

"Talking about suitors, " said Mrs. Greyfield, "I was not without thoseentirely, either. No young mismated woman can escape them perhaps. Theuniversal opinion among men seems to be that, if you do not like the manyou have, you _must_ like some other one; and each one thinks it ishimself. "

The piquant tone in which Mrs. Greyfield uttered her observations alwaysprovoked a smile. But I caught at an intimation in her speech. "Sometimes, " I said, "you speak as if you acknowledged Mr. Seabrook asyour husband, and it shocks me unpleasantly. "

"I am speaking of things as they appeared to others. In truth, I was asfree to receive suitors as ever I had been; but such was not the commonunderstanding, and I resented the advances of men upon the ground that_they_ believed themselves to be acting unlawfully, and that they hopedto make me a party to their breaches of law and propriety. I laugh now, in remembering the blunders committed by self-conceit so long ago; but Idid not laugh then; it was a serious matter at that time. "

"Was Mr. Seabrook jealous in his behavior, fearing you might fancy someone else?"

"Just as jealous as vain and tyrannical men always are when they arethwarted in their designs. No real husband could have been more criticalin his observations on his wife's deportment, than he was in his remarkson mine. If I could have been guilty of coquetry, the desire to annoyhim would have been incentive enough; but I always considered that Icould not afford to suffer in my own estimation for the sake ofpunishing him. When I recall all these things, I take credit to myselffor magnanimity; though then I was governed only by my poor uncultivatedjudgment, and my impulses. For instance, Mr. Seabrook fell ill of afever not long after he appropriated my real estate. Of course, I was asbitter towards him in my heart as it is possible to conceive, but Icould not know that he was lying unattended in his room, withoutoffering assistance; so, after many struggles with myself to overcome mystrong repulsion, I visited him often enough to give him such attentionsas were necessary, but not more. I had no intention of raising any falseexpectations. "

"I hope you took advantage of his being confined to his room, to collectboard-money, " I said. 

"I found out, in time, several ways of managing that matter, which Iwould once have thought inadmissible. When I had begged some money froma boarder, Mr. Seabrook discovered it when payday came, very naturally. He then ordered me to do the marketing. Without paying any attention tothe command, I served up at meal-time whatever there was in the house. This brought out murmurs from the boarders, and haughty inquiries fromthe host himself. All the reply I vouchsafed was, that what he procuredI would cook. In this way I forced him to pay out the money in hispossession, at the expense of my character as a good wife, and a politeone. He took his revenge in abusive language, and occasional fits ofdestructiveness in the kitchen, which alarmed my little German neighbormore than it did me. So long as he secured all my earnings, and deceivedpeople thoroughly as to his real conduct, he maintained, before othersat least, a gentlemanly demeanor. But this was gradually giving way tothe pressure of a constant thorn in his flesh, and the consciousness ofhis own baseness. He could swear, threaten, and almost strike at slightprovocation now. He never really attempted the latter, but once, and itwas then I told him I should shoot him, if he dared it. 

"I ought to say here, that in the last year I had two or three familiesin the house for a short time. I don't know what these real wivesthought of me; that I was a termagant probably; but they were not thekind of women I could talk to about myself, and I made no confidences. Aplan was maturing in my mind that was to make it a matter ofindifference what any one thought. I had relinquished the idea ofgetting money enough together to make a sure start in California, andwas only waiting to have enough to take me out of the country in any waythat I could go cheapest. Another necessary point to gain was secrecy. That could not be gained while I was surrounded by boarders, nor whileMr. Seabrook was in the house, and I resolved to be rid of both. "

"Oh, " I cried, delighted and relieved, "how _did_ you manage that?"

"I am going to tell you by how simple an expedient. _I starved themout!_"

"How strange that in all those years you never thought of that, " I saidlaughing. "But, then, neither did Homer's heroine, who kept afirst-class free boarding house for twice or thrice as long as you. Dotell me how you accomplished the feat of clearing your house. "

"It is not quite true that I had not thought of it; but I had not daredto do it. Besides, I wanted to get some money, if possible. Perhaps Ishould not have done it at the time I did, had not a little help come tome in the shape of real friends. I was all the time like a wild bird ina cage, and the continual attempts to escape I was making, only bruisedmy wings. It occurred to me one day to go to a certain minister who hadlately come to Portland, and whose looks pleased me, as did his wife's, and tell them my story. This I did. 

"Instead of receiving it as fiction, or doubting the strange parts of itin a way to make me wish I had never spoken of them, they manifested thegreatest interest and sympathy, and promised me any assistance theycould give. This was the first recognition I had gotten from anyone asbeing what I was; a woman held in bondage worse than that of Africanslavery, by a man to whom she owed nothing, and in the midst of a free, civilized, and Christian community. They were really and genuinelyshocked, and firmly determined to help me. I told them all thedifficulties in the way, and of the expedient I had almost decided upon, to free my house from every one; for I thought that when his incomestopped, Mr. Seabrook would be forced to go away, and seek some othermeans of living. They agreed with me that there appeared no better way, and I decided to attempt it. 

"It did not take long, of course, to drive away the boarders, for theywere there only to eat; and when provisions entirely failed, or wereuncooked, there was nothing to be done but to go where they could bebetter served. I did not feel very comfortable over it, as many of themwere men I liked and respected, whose ill opinion it was disagreeable toincur, even in a righteous cause; and then no woman likes to be the talkof the town, as I knew I must be. The 'town talk, ' as it happened, intime suggested my further course to me. 

"Pray tell me if Mr. Seabrook followed the boarders, or did he stay andcompel you to cook for him?"

"He stayed, but he did not compel me to cook for him. That Iperemptorily refused to do. Neither would I buy any supplies. If hewanted a meal, he must go out, get his provisions, and cook them forhimself. Then he refused to buy anything to come in the house, lest Ishould share _his_ plenty. This reduced our rations to nothing. I usedto take Benton out and buy him good, wholesome food, myself eating aslittle as would support nature. Occasionally, now that I had time on myhands, I spent a day out among my few visiting acquaintances; andsometimes I took a meal with my German friend. In this way I compelledmy former master to look out for himself. 

"One night, there not being a mouthful in the house to eat, I went outand bought a loaf of bread and some milk for Benton's breakfast; for Iwas careful not to risk the child's health as I risked my own. In themorning when I came down stairs the bread and milk were gone. Mr. Seabrook had breakfasted. 'Bennie' and I could go hungry. And thatbrings me back to what 'town talk' did for me. 

"It soon became noised about that Mr. And Mrs. Seabrook, who had nevergot on well together, were now going on dreadfully, and that probablythere would be a divorce. 'Divorce!' I said, when my new friend, theminister, mentioned it to me, 'divorce from what? How can there be adivorce where there is no marriage?' 'Nevertheless, ' he replied, 'it isworth considering. If the society you live in insist that you aremarried, why not gratify this society, and ask its leave to be legallyseparated from your nominal husband?'

"At first I rebelled strongly against making this tacit admission of arelationship of that kind to Mr. Seabrook. It appeared to me to be aconfession of falsehood to those few persons who were in my confidence, some of whom I felt had always half-doubted the full particulars, asbeing too ugly for belief. And what was quite as unpalatable as theother was that my enemy would rejoice that for once, at least, and in apublic record, I should have to confess myself his wife. My friendsargued that it could make little difference, as that was the popularunderstanding already, which nothing could alter; and that so far as Mr. Seabrook was concerned his triumph would be short-lived and valueless. They undertook to procure counsel, and stand by me through the trial. "

"What complaint did you purpose making?" I interrupted. 

"'Neglect of support, and cruel treatment;' the general charge that ismade to cover so many abominable sins, because we women shrink fromexposing the crimes we have been in a measure partners to. My attorneyassured me that, under the circumstances, Mr. Seabrook would not makeany opposition, fearing we might prove the whole, if he did so; butwould let the case go by default. This was just what he did; and oh, youshould have witnessed his abject humility when I at last had theacknowledged right to put him out of my house!

"Up to the time the divorce was obtained, he kept possession of the roomhe had first taken, on the lower floor, and which I hired an Indianwoman to take care of as one of the chores assigned her about the house. For myself, I would not set my foot in it, except on the occasionsreferred to; but the rent, and the care of it, he had free. Such was themoral degradation of the man, through his own acts, that after all thathad passed, he actually cried, and begged of me the privilege to remainin that room, and be taken care of, as he had been used to be. "

"What did you answer him?"

"I told him never to darken my door--never to offend my sight again;that I should never be quite happy while his head was above the sod. O, I was very vindictive! And he was as mild as milk. He 'could not see whyI should hate him so, who had always had so high a regard for me. He hadnever known a woman he admired and loved so much!' Even I was astonishedat the man's abjectness. "

"It is not uncommon in similar cases. Dependence makes any one more orless mean; but it is more noticeable in men, who by nature and by customare made independent. And so you were free at last?"

"Free and happy. I felt as light as a bird, and wondered I couldn't fly!I was poor; but that was nothing. My business was broken up; but I feltconfidence in myself to begin again. My health, however, was very muchbroken down, and my friends said I needed change. That, with the desireto quit a country where I had suffered so much, determined me to come toCalifornia. It was the land of promise to my husband--the El Dorado hewas seeking when he died. I always felt that if I had come here in thefirst place, my life would have been very different. So, finally, withthe help of my kind friends I came. "

"_I_ should have felt, with your experience, no courage to undertakelife among strangers, and they mostly men. "

"On the contrary, I felt armed in almost every point. The fact of beinga divorced woman was my only annoyance; but I was resolved to suppressit so far as I was able, and to represent myself to be, as I was, thewidow of Mr. Greyfield. I took letters from my friends, to use in caseof need; and with nothing but my child, and money enough to take mecomfortably to the mines on the American River, left Oregon forever. "

"To behold you as you are now, in this delightful home, it seemsimpossible that you should have gone through what you describe; and yetthere must have been much more before you achieved the success hereindicated. "

"It was nothing--nothing at all compared with the other. I proceededdirect to the most populous mining town, hired a house, bought furnitureon credit, and took boarders again. I kept only first-class boarders, had high prices--and succeeded. "

"Did you never have the mining-stock fever, and invest and lose?"

"Not to any dangerous extent. One or two parties, in whose judgment Iknew I might confide, indicated to me where to invest, and I fortunatelylost nothing, while I made a little. My best mining-stock was a presentfrom a young man who was sick at my house for a long time, and to whom Iwas attentive. He was an excellent young fellow, and my sympathies weredrawn out towards him; alone in a mining-camp, and sick, and, as Isuspected, moneyless. When he was well enough to go away, he confessedhis inability to pay up, and presented me with several shares in a minethen but little known; saying that it might not be worth the paper itwas printed on, but that he hoped it might bring enough to reimburse myactual outlay on his account; 'the kindness he had received could not berepaid with filthy lucre. ' A few months afterwards that stock was worthseveral thousand dollars. I made diligent inquiry for my young friend, but could get no news of him from that day to this. I have beenfortunate in everything I have touched since I came to California. Benton grew well and strong; I recovered my health; Fortune's wheel forme seemed to remain in one happy position; and now there seems nothingfor me to do but to move slowly and easily down the sunset slope of lifeto my final rest. "

Mrs. Greyfield smiled and sighed, and remarked upon the fact that thehour-hand of the clock pointed to two in the morning. "It is reallyunkind of me to keep you out of bed until such an hour as this, " shesaid, laughing a little, as if we had only been talking of ordinarythings. "But I am in the mood, like the 'Ancient Mariner;' and you areas much forced to listen as the 'Wedding Guest. '"

"There is one thing yet I desire to be satisfied about, " I replied. "Asa woman, I cannot repress my curiosity to know whether, since all thetroubles of your early life have been past, you have desired to marryagain. Opportunities I know you must have had. What I want to beinformed about is your feeling upon this subject, and whether any manhas been able to fill your eye or stir your heart. "

The first smile my question called up died away, and an introspectivelook came over Mrs. Greyfield's still handsome face. She sat silent fora little time, that seemed long to me, for I was truly interested in herreply. 

"I think, " she said at last, "that women who have had anything like myexperience, are unfitted for married life. Either they are ruinedmorally and mentally, by the terrible pressure; or they become sosharp-sighted and critical that no ordinary man would be able to wintheir confidence. I believe in marriage; a single life has anincomplete, one-sided aspect, and is certainly lonely. " Then rallying, with much of her usual brightness: "Undoubtedly I have had my times ofdoubt, when I found it hard to understand myself; and still, here I am!Nobody would have me; or I would not have anybody; or both. "

"One more question, then, if it is a fair one: Could you love again thehusband of your youth; or has your ideal changed?"

Mrs. Greyfield was evidently disturbed by the inquiry. Her countenancealtered, and she hesitated to reply. 

"I beg your pardon, " I said; "I hope you will not answer me, if I havebeen impertinent. "

"That is a question I never asked myself, " she finally replied. "Myhusband was all in all to me during our brief married life. His deathleft me truly desolate, and his memory sacred. But we were both young, and probably he may have been unformed in character, to a great degree, as well as myself. How he would seem now, if he could be restored to meas he was then, I can only half imagine. What he would now _be_, if hehad lived on, I cannot at all imagine. But let us now go take a wink ofsleep. My eyelids at last begin to feel dry and heavy; and you, I amsure, are perishing under the tortures of resistance to the drowsy god. "

"The storm is over, " I said. "I thought you felt that something wasgoing to happen!"

"It will be breakfast, I suppose. By the way, I must go and put a noteunder Jane's door, telling her not to have it before half-past nine. There will be a letter from Benton, by the morning mail. Good night; or, good morning, and sweet slumber. "

"God be with you, " I responded, and in twenty minutes was sleepingsoundly. 

Not so my hostess, it seems, for when we met again at our ten o'clockbreakfast, she looked pale and distraught, and acknowledged that she hadnot been able to compose herself after our long talk. The morning wasclear and sunny, but owing to the storm of the night, the mail was lategetting in, a circumstance which gave her, as I thought, a degree ofuneasiness not warranted by so natural a delay. 

"You know I told you, " she said, trying to laugh off her nervousness, "that something was going to happen!"

"It would be a strange condition of things where nothing did happen, " Ianswered; and just then the horn of the mail-carrier sounded, and thelumbering four-horse coach rattled down the street in sight of ourwindows. 

"There, " I said, "is your U. S. M. Safe and sound, road-agents andland-slides to the contrary and of no effect. "

Very soon our letters were brought us, and my hostess, excusing herself, retired to her room to read hers. Two hours later she sent for me tocome to her. I found her lying with a wet handkerchief folded over herforehead and eyes. A large and thick letter laid half open upon a tablebeside the bed. 

"Read that, " she said, without uncovering her eyes. When I had read theletter, "My dear friend, " I said, "what _are_ you going to do? I hope, after all, this may be good news. "

"What _can_ I do? What a strange situation!"

"You will wish to see him, I suppose? 'Arthur Greyfield. ' You never toldme his name was Arthur, " I remarked, thinking to weaken the intensity ofher feelings by referring to a trifling circumstance. 

"Why have I not died before this time?" she exclaimed, unheeding myattempt at diversion. "This is too much, too much!"

"Perhaps there is still happiness in store for you, my dear Mrs. Greyfield, " I said. "Strange as is this new dispensation, may there notbe a blessing in it?"

She remained silent a long time, as if thinking deeply. "He has adaughter, " she at length remarked; "and Benton says she is very sweetand loveable. "

"And motherless, " I added, not without design. I had meant only toarouse a feeling of compassion for a young girl half-orphaned; butsomething more than was in my mind had been suggested to hers. Shequickly raised herself from a reclining posture, threw off theconcealing handkerchief, and gazed intently in my face, while sayingslowly, as if to herself: "Not only motherless, but according to law, fatherless. "

"Precisely, " I answered. "Her mother was in the same relation to Mr. Greyfield, that you were in to Mr. Seabrook; but happily she did notknow it in her lifetime. "

"Nor he--nor he! Arthur Greyfield is not to be spoken of in the samebreath with Mr. Seabrook. "

The spirit with which this vindication of her former husband was made, caused me to smile, in spite of the dramatic interest of the situation. The smile did not escape her notice. 

"You think I am blown about by every contending breath of feeling, " shesaid, wearily; "when the truth is, I am trying to make out the right ofa case in which there is so much wrong; and it is no easy thing to do. "

"But you will find the right of it at last, " I answered. "You are notcalled upon to decide in a moment upon a matter of such weight as this. Take time, take rest, take counsel. "

"Will you read the letter over to me?" she asked, lying down again, andpreparing to listen by shielding her face with her hands. 

The letter of Arthur Greyfield ran as follows:

"My Dear Anna: How strange it seems to me to be writing to you again! Itis like conversing with one returned from another world, to you, too, nodoubt. There is so much to explain, and some things that perhaps willnot ever be explained satisfactorily to you, that I know not where tobegin or what to say. Still Benton insists on my writing before seeingyou, and perhaps this is best. 

"To begin at the beginning. When I was left for dead by my frightenedcomrades on the plains, I had not died, but was only insensible; and Ido not believe they felt at all sure of my death, for they left meunburied, as if to give me a chance; and deserted me rather than takeany risks by remaining any longer in that place. How long I laidinsensible I do not know. When I came to myself I was alone, wellwrapped up in a large bed-quilt, and lying on the ground close by thewagon-trail. Nothing was left for my support, if alive, from which Iconcluded that they agreed to consider me dead. 

"When I opened my eyes again on the wilderness world about me, the sunwas shining brightly, and the wind blowing cool from the near mountains;but I was too much exhausted to stir; and laid there, kept alive by thepure air alone, until sunset. About that time of day I heard the treadof cattle coming, and the rumbling of wagons. The shock of joy caused meto faint, in which condition I was found by the advance guard of a largetrain bound for the mines in California. I need not tell you all thosemen did for me to bring me round, but they were noble fellows, andearned my everlasting gratitude. 

"You can imagine that the first thought in my mind was about you andBenton. When I was able to talk about myself and answer questions, mynew friends, who had laid by for a couple of days on my account, assuredme that they should be able to overtake the California train, in which Isupposed you were, before they came to the Sierras. But we had accidentsand delays, and failed to come up with that train anywhere on the route. 

"At last we arrived in the mining country, and my new friends speedilyscattered abroad, looking for gold. I was still too feeble to work inthe water, washing out, or to dig. I had no money or property of anykind, and was obliged to accept any means that offered of earning asubsistence. Meanwhile I made such inquiry as I could under thecircumstances, and in such a country, but without learning anything ofany of my former friends and acquaintances, for two years. Before thistime, however, my health was restored, notwithstanding great hardships;and being quite successful in mining, I was laying up considerablegold-dust. 

"About this time a man came into our camp from Oregon. As I was in thehabit of inquiring of any newcomer concerning you, and the people in thetrain you were in, I asked this man if he had ever met a Mrs. Greyfield, or any of the others. He replied that he thought there was a woman of myname living in Portland, Oregon, a year or two before--he was sure hehad heard of a young widow of that name. I immediately wrote to you atthat place; but whether the letter was lost on the way, or whether itwas intercepted there (as by some intimations I have from Benton, itmight have been), no reply ever came to it. I also sent a letter to Mr. ----, in whose care I had left you, but nothing was ever heard fromhim. 

"When I had waited a reasonable length of time I wrote again to thepostmaster of the same place, asking him if he knew of such a person asMrs. Greyfield, in Oregon. The reply came this time from a man namedSeabrook, who said that there had been a woman of the name of Greyfieldin Portland at one time, but that both she and her child were dead. Thisnews put an end to inquiries in that direction, though I continued tolook for any one who might have known you, and finally found one of ouroriginal party, who confirmed the intelligence of your having gone toOregon instead of California, and so settled the question, as Isupposed, forever. 

"You may wonder, dear Anna, that I did not go to Oregon when I had thebarest suspicion of your being there. The distance and the trouble ofgetting there were not what deterred me. I was making money where I was, and did not wish to abandon my claim while it was producing well, for anuncertain hint that might mislead me. "

"Stop there!" interrupted Mrs. Greyfield. "Do you think _I_ should havehesitated in a case like that? But go on. "

"I knew you had considerable property, and thought I knew you were withfriends who would not let you suffer--"

"Though they had abandoned him while still alive, in the wilderness! Begpardon; please go on again. "

"And that Oregon was really a more comfortable, and safe place for afamily than California, as times were then--"

Mrs. Greyfield groaned. 

"And that you, if there, would do very well until I could come for you. I could not suspect that you would avail yourself of the privilege ofwidowhood within so short a time, if ever. "

"Oh!" ejaculated my listener, with irrepressible impatience. 

I read on without appearing to observe the interruption. 

"To tell the truth, I had not thought of myself as dead, and that isprobably where I made the greatest mistake. It did not occur to me, thatyou were thinking of yourself as a widow; therefore, I did not realizethe risk. But when the news came of your death, if it were really you, as I finally made up my mind it must be--"

An indignant gesture, accompanied by a sob, expressed Mrs. Greyfield'sstate of feeling on this head. 

"I fell into a state of confirmed melancholy, reproaching myselfseverely for not having searched the continent over before stopping todig gold! though it was for you I was digging it, and our dear boy, whomI believed alive and well, somewhere, until I received Mr. Seabrook'sletter. 

"My dear Anna, I come now to that which will try your feelings; but youmust keep in view that I have the same occasion for complaint. Havingmade a comfortable fortune, and feeling miserable about you and the boy, I concluded to return to the Atlantic States, to visit my old home. While there I met a lovely and excellent girl, who consented to be mywife, and I was married the second time. We had one child, a girl, noweighteen years of age; and then my wife died. I mourned her sincerely, but not more so than I had mourned you. 

"At last, after all these years, news came of you from a reliablesource. The very man to whose charge I committed you when I expected todie, returned to the States, and from him I heard of your arrival inOregon, your marriage, and your subsequent divorce. Painful as this lastnews was to my feelings, I set out immediately for California (I hadlearned from him that you were probably in this State), and commencedinquiries. An advertisement of mine met Benton's eye only two days ago, and you may imagine my pleasure at the discovery of my only and dearson, so long lost to me. He is a fine, manly fellow, and good; for whichI have to thank you, of course. "

"You see, he appropriates Benton at once. Never so much as 'by yourleave. ' But Benton will not quit me to follow this new-found father, "Mrs. Greyfield said, with much feeling. 

"He may not be put to the test of a choice. You have a proposition toconsider, " I replied. "Let me read it. "

"No, no! Yet, read it; what do I care? Go on. "

"My daughter, Nellie, is the very picture of her mother, and as sweetand good as one could desire. Benton seems to be delighted with her fora sister. And now that the young folks have taken such a fancy to eachother, there is something that I wish to propose to you. It cannot beexpected, after all that has passed, and with the lapse of so manyyears, we could meet as if nothing had come between us--"

"Who suffered all this to come between us?" cried Mrs. Greyfield, muchagitated. 

"But I trust we can meet as friends, dear friends, and that possibly intime we may be re-united, as much for our own sakes, as the children's. "

"Oh, how can I ever forgive him? Does it not seem to you that if Mr. Greyfield had done his duty, all this terrible trouble and illegalmarrying would have been avoided? Do you think a man should consideranything in this world before his wife and children, or fail of doinghis utmost in any circumstances for them? How else is marriage superiorto any illicit relation, if its duties are not sacred and not to be setaside for anything? I could never have done as he has done, blameless ashe thinks himself. "

The condition of Mrs. Greyfield's mind was such that no answer waswritten or attempted that day nor the next. She sent a brief dispatch toBenton, asking him to come home, and come alone. I wished to go away, thinking she would prefer being left quite to herself under thecircumstances, but she insisted on my remaining until something had beendecided on about the meeting between her and Mr. Greyfield. Benton camehome as requested, and the subject was canvassed in all its bearings. The decision arrived at was, that an invitation should be sent to Mr. Greyfield and daughter to visit Mrs. Greyfield for a fortnight. Everything beyond that was left entirely to the future. When all wasarranged, I took my leave, promising and being promised frequentletters. 

The last time I was at Mrs. Greyfield's, I found there only herself andher daughter Nellie. 

"I have adopted her, " she said, "with her father's consent. She is acharming girl, and I could not bear to leave her motherless. Benton isvery much attached to his father. They are off on a mountaineeringexpedition at present, but I hope they will come home before you goaway. "

"Are you not going to tell me, " I asked, "how you finally settledmatters between Mr. Greyfield and yourself. "

"He is a very persistent suitor, " she replied, smiling, "I can hardlytell what to do with him. "

"You do not want to break bark over his head?" I said, laughing. 

"No; but I do almost wish that since he had stayed away so long he hadnever come back. I had got used to my own quiet, old-maid ways. I wasdone, or thought I was done, with passion and romance; and now to betossed about in this way, on the billows of doubt--to love and not tolove--to feel revengeful and forgiving--to think one way in the morningand another way by noon, is very tiresome. I really do _not_ know whatto do with him. "

I smiled, because I thought the admission was as good as Mr. Greyfieldneed desire, for his prospects. 

"I think I can understand, " I said, "how difficult it must be to getover all the gaps made by so many years of estrangement--of fancieddeath, even. Had you been looking for him for such a length of time, there would still be a great deal of awkwardness in the meeting, whenyou came together again. "

"Yes, " said Mrs. Greyfield, "it is inevitable. The most artistic bit oftruth in the _Odyssey_ (you see I have read Homer since you called mePENELOPE), is where the poet describes the difficulty the faithful wifehad in receiving the long-absent, and now changed, Ulysses as her truehusband. "

"But she did receive him, " I interrupted, "and so will you. "

"The minister will have to bless the reception then. And to confess thewhole truth to you, we are corresponding with my friend of long ago inPortland. He has promised to come down to perform the ceremony, and ashis health is impaired, we have invited him to bring his family, at ourexpense, and to remain in our home while Mr. Greyfield and I, withBenton and Nellie, make a tour to and through Europe. "

"How much you and Mr. Greyfield must have to talk over! It will take ayear or two of close association to make you even tolerably wellacquainted again. "

"No; the 'talking over' is _tabooed_, and that is why we are going totravel--to have something else to talk about. You see I am sounforgiving that I cannot bear to hear Mr. Greyfield's story, and toomagnanimous, notwithstanding, to inflict mine upon him. To puttemptation out of my way, I proposed this European excursion. "

"You are commencing a new life, " I said. "May it be as happy as yourdarkest days were sad. There is one thing you never told me, what becameof Mr. Seabrook. "

"I saw his death in a Nevada paper, only a few days ago. He died old, poor and alone, or so the account ran, in a cabin among the mountains. 'The mills of the gods, ' etc. , you know?"

"Then I am not to see Mr. Greyfield?"

"O yes; if you will stay until Mr. ---- comes from Portland. I shall beglad of your presence on that occasion. Mr. Greyfield, you mustunderstand, is under orders to keep out of the way until that timearrives. You can be of service to me, if you will stay. "

I staid and saw them off to Europe, then went on my way to Lake Tahoe, to meet other friends; but I have a promise from this strangely reunitedcouple, to spend a summer in Oregon, when they return from theirtrans-Atlantic tour; at which time I hope to be able to remove from Mrs. Greyfield's mind the painful impression derived from her formeracquaintance with the city of my adoption. 

A CURIOUS INTERVIEW. 

Vancouver's Island furnishes some of the finest scenery on the PacificCoast; not grandest, perhaps, but quietly charming. Its shores areindented every here and there with the loveliest of bays and sounds, forming the most exquisite little harbors to be found anywhere in theworld. The climate of the Island, especially its summer climate, isdelightful. Such bright, bracing airs as come from the sea on one side, and from the snow-capped mountains of the mainland on the other, areseldom met with on either hemisphere. Given a July day, a pleasantcompanion or two in a crank little boat, whose oars we use to makesilvery interludes in our talk, and I should not envy your sailor on theBosphorus. 

On such a July day as I am hinting at, our party had idled away themorning, splashing our way indolently through the blue waters ofNittinat Sound, the mountains towering behind us, the open sea not faroff; but all around us a shore so emerald green and touched with bits ofcolor, so gracefully, picturesquely wild, that not, in all itsunrestraint, was there an atom of savagery to be subdued in the interestof pure beauty. It was a wilderness not wild, a solitude not solitary;but rather populous with happy fancies, born of all harmoniousinfluences of earth, air and water; of sunlight, shadow, color andfragrance. 

 "My soul to-day is far away, Sailing a sunny tropic bay, "

sang Charlie, bursting with poetry. The next moment "Hallo! boat ahoy!"and into the scene in which just now we had been the only life, slippedfrom some hidden inlet, an Indian canoe. 

"Isn't she a beauty, though?" said Charlie, laying on his oar. "Fourteenpaddles; slim, crank, and what a curious figure-head! By George, that'sa pretty sight!"

And a pretty sight it was, as the canoe, with its red and blue-blanketedoarsmen, was propelled swiftly through the water, and quickly broughtalongside; when we had opportunity to observe that the crew were allstalwart young fellows, with rather fine, grand features, that looked asif they might have been cut in bronze, so immobile and fixed were they. Their dress was the modern dress of the Northern Indians, supplied bythe Hudson's Bay Company, of bright colors and fine texture. But whatmost engaged our attention was the figure of the fifteenth occupant ofthe canoe, who acted as steersman. He was evidently a very old man, andinstead of being dressed in blankets, had on a mantle of woven rushes, and leggins of wolf-skin. A quiver full of arrows hung at his back; hisbow rested on his knees. On his grizzled head was a tall, pointed andgaily painted hat, made of braided grasses, which completely resembled amammoth extinguisher. As the canoe shot past us, I imagined that Idetected an expression of contempt upon the old man's face, though henever moved nor spoke, nor in any way evinced any interest in us. 

"Eheu! what a funny-looking old cove, " said Charlie, gazing after thecanoe, "I should like to cultivate his acquaintance. "

"Well, you have the opportunity, " rejoined Fanny, the third member ofour party. "They are going to land on that point just ahead of us. "

We were all watching them, fascinated by the noiseless dexterity oftheir movements, when suddenly there was nothing to be seen of eitherboat or crew. 

"Where the deuce have they gone to?" asked Charlie, staring at thevacant spot where the canoe had disappeared. 

"Great heavens!" cried Fanny, who, like her brother, used a veryexclamatory style of speech; "why, they have all vanished into thinair!"

As I could not contradict this assertion, I proposed that we shouldfollow, and examine into the mystery; but Fanny cried out, "O, forgoodness' sake, don't! I'm afraid. If they have the power to makethemselves invisible, they may be hiding to do us harm. "

"It is only visible harm that I'm afraid of, " answered Charlie, with hiseyes still fixed wonderingly on the point of space where they had solately been; "pull fast, Pierre, let us find out what the rascals are upto. "

Thus urged, I threw what force I could into my oar-stroke (for I was buta convalescent), and very soon we came to the long sloping point ofmossy rocks where we had expected to see the canoe's passengers land. Iown that I approached it with some caution, thinking it possible that awhirlpool might have sucked the boat and its freight of fifteen livesout of sight, in some point of time when our eyes were for an instantaverted. But the water was perfectly quiet, and the whole place, both onwater and on land, silent, sunny, and not in the least uncanny oralarming. We dropped our oars and gazed at each other in amazement. 

"Well, if that don't beat the Dutch!" was Charlie's comment; and Ifancied that his brown cheek grew a shade less ruddy than usual. As forFanny, she was in a fright, paling and shrinking as if from someterrible real and visible danger; and when I proposed to land andinvestigate the mystery, fairly mustered quite a copious shower of tearswith which to melt my resolve. 

"O, Pierre--Mr. Blanchett, I mean--oh, please don't go ashore. I am sureeither that these dreadful savages are lurking here to destroy us, orthat we have been deceived by some wicked conjuror. Oh, I am sofrightened!"

"My dear Miss Lane, " I answered, "I give you my word no harm shall cometo you. Shall we let a lot of blanketed savages perform a conjurer'strick right before our faces that we do not attempt to have explained?By no means. If you are too nervous to come ashore with us, Charlie maystay with you in the boat, and I will go by myself to look into thismatter. " Whereupon Fanny gave me so reproachful a look out of her greatbrown eyes that I quailed beneath it. 

"Do you think Charlie and I would leave you to go into danger alone? No, indeed; if you _will_ be so rash, we will accompany you; and if _die_ wemust, we will all die together. " That last appeal being made with a verytouching quaver of a very melodious voice. 

For answer, I assisted her out of the boat, which Charlie was alreadyfastening by the chain to some bushes near the bit of beach; and tuckingthe little gloved hand under my arm, seized an opportunity to whispersomething not particularly relevant to this story. 

The boat being secured, we climbed a short distance up the rocky bank, stopping to gather wild roses and mock-orange blossoms, which, in spiteof her alarm, engaged Miss Lane's attention to such an extent thatCharlie had gotten fairly out of sight before we missed him. But as weturned to follow, he confronted us with a face expressive of a drollkind of perplexity. 

"Not a red rascal in sight, " said he, glancing back over his shoulder, "except that queer old cove that was sitting in the stern. _He's_ justover there, " jerking his head in the direction meant, "sitting on hishaunches like an Egyptian idol, and about as motionless, and about asancient. "

"But their canoe, " I said, "what could they have done with their canoe?It is not in the water, and there is no sign here of their havingdragged it ashore. "

"They didn't land, not in the regular way, I mean, for I was watchingfor them every instant; and how that old chap got there, and how thatcanoe got out of sight so quick, is too hard a nut for me to crack, Iconfess. "

"Let us not go near the dreadful old thing, " pleaded Fanny once more, her alarm returning. 

Again I proposed to her to stay in the boat with Charlie, which had theeffect, as before, to determine her upon going with us; whichdetermination I strengthened by an encouraging pressure of the littlegloved hand in my possession; and without waiting for further alarmspressed on at once, with Charlie for guide, to the spot where the"dreadful old thing" was understood to be. 

And there, sure enough, he was, squatting on the ground beside a spring, where grew a thicket of willows and wild roses; alone and silent, evidently watching, if not waiting, for our approach. 

"What will you say to him?" asked Fanny, as we came quite near, eyeingthe singular object with evident dread. 

"We'll ask him if he is hungry, " said Charlie lightly. "If he is a liveIndian he is sure to say 'yes' to that proposition;" and Charlieactually produced from his pockets some sandwiches, in a slightlydamaged condition. Holding these before him, very much as one holds anear of corn to a frisky colt he wishes to catch, he approached nearenough to offer them, Fanny still holding me back just enough to letthis advance be made before we came up. To her great relief the mummyput out a skinny hand, and snatched the offered provisions under itsrobe. 

"You see he is only a poor starving old Indian, " I said. 

"Me no poor--no starve; me big chief, " retorted the old man, glancingdisdainfully at us, with eyes that now appeared bright. 

I exchanged telegraphic communication with Charlie and Fanny, seated hercomfortably upon a mossy boulder, and threw myself at her feet, whileCharlie disposed of himself also, within conversational distance. 

"May I ask what is your name?" I inquired, insinuatingly. 

"My name is Nittinat--this is my country; this water is mine; thisearth, these stones--all mine that you see. "

"Such a great chief must have many warriors--many people. I do not seeany. Were those your people that I saw in the canoe?"

"Nittinat's people all gone, " answered the old man sadly, dropping hischin upon his rush-clad breast. 

"But we saw a canoe with fourteen warriors in it, besides yourself, "Charlie eagerly asserted. "Where are those young men?"

"Me great medicine man; make see canoe--make see young men, " respondedthe owner of the place, with a wan yet superior sort of smile. 

Charlie glanced at us, then asked quite deferentially, "Can you make ussee what is not here?"

"You have seen, " was the brief reply. 

"Ask him why we are thus favored, " whispered Fanny. 

"This young cloochman (you see I must talk to him in his own tongue, Fanny), wishes to know why you opened our eyes to your great medicine. "

"White man come to Nittinat's land, white man see Nittinat's power. White man ask questions!"--this last contemptuously, at which Fannylaughed, as asking questions was one of her reserved rights. 

"You must be an old man, since these waters are named after you, "suggested I. "Who was the first white man you remember seeing?"

"_Hyas tyee_, Cappen Cook. Big ship--big guns!" answered Nittinat, warming with the recollection. 

"This is a good lead, " remarked Charlie, _sotto voce_; "follow it up, Pierre. "

"You were a child then? very little?" making a movement with my hand toindicate a child's stature. 

"Me a chief--many warriors--big chief. Ugh!" said the mummy, withkindling eyes. 

At this barefaced story, Charlie made a grimace, while he commented inan undertone: "But it is ninety-six years since Captain Cook visitedthis coast. How the old humbug lies. "

At this whispered imputation upon his honor, the old chief regarded usscornfully; though how such a parchment countenance could be made toexpress anything excited my wonder. 

"Me no lie. Nittinat's heart big. Nittinat's heart good. _Closetum-tum_, ugh!"

"White man's eyes are closed--his heart is darkened, " said I, adoptingwhat I considered to be a conciliatory style of speech. "My friend cannotunderstand how you could have known Captain Cook so long ago. All thewhite men who knew the great white chief have gone to their fathers. "

"Ugh, all same as Cappen Cook. He no believe my cousin Wiccanish see bigSpanish ship 'fore he came. "

"How did he make him see it at last?" asked Charlie, stretching himselfout on the grass, and covering his eyes with his hat, from under thebrim of which he shot quizzical glances at Fanny and I. 

"Wiccanish showed Cook these, " replied Nittinat, drawing from beneathhis robe a necklace of shells, to which two silver spoons were attached, of a peculiar pattern, and much battered and worn. 

"Oh, do let me see them, " cried Fanny, whose passion for relics wasquickly aroused. Charlie, too, was constrained to abandon his lazyattitude for a moment to examine such a curiosity as these quaint oldspoons. 

"Only to think that they are more than a hundred years old! But I cannotmake out the lettering upon them; perhaps he is deceiving us after all, "said Fanny, passing them to me for inspection. 

I took out of my pocket a small magnifying-glass, which, although itcould not restore what was worn away, brought to light all that was leftof an inscription, probably the manufacturer's trade-mark, the onlylegible part of which was 17-0. 

"Did the Spanish captain give these to your cousin?" I asked. 

"Ugh!" responded Nittinat, nodding his tall extinguisher. "Wiccanish goon board big ship, see cappen. "

"And stole the spoons, " murmured Charlie from under his hat. 

Fanny touched his foot with the stick of her parasol, for she stood inawe of this ancient historian, not wishing to be made a subject of hispowerful "medicine. "

"And so you knew Captain Cook?" I repeated, when the spoons were hiddenonce more under the mantle of rushes, "and other white men too, Isuppose. Did your people and the white people always keep on friendlyterms?"

"Me have good heart, " answered Nittinat rather sadly. "Me and my cousinsWiccanish, Clyoquot, Maquinna, and Tatoocheatticus, we like heap sellour furs, and get knives, beads, and brass buttons. Heap like nails, chisels, and such things. If my young men sometimes stole very littlethings, Nittinat's heart was not little. He made the white chiefswelcome to wood and water; he gave them his women; and sometime make abig feast--kill two, three, six slaves. White chief heap mean to maketrouble about a few chains or hammers after all that!"

"Oh, the horrid wretch!" whispered Fanny: "Does he say he killed half adozen slaves for amusement?"

"If he did, Miss Lane, " I answered; "was it worse than the elegantRomans used to do? The times and the manners have to be considered, youknow. "

Fanny shuddered, but said nothing, and I went on addressing myself toNittinat:

"How many ships did you ever see in these waters at one time?--I meanlong ago, in Captain Cook's time?"

The old chief held up five fingers, for answer. 

"And you and your cousins were friendly to all of them?"

"Maquinna's heart good, too, --_close tum-tum_. Sell land to one Cappen;he go 'way. Sell land to other Cappen; he go 'way, too. Bime-by twoCappens come back, quarrel 'bout the land. Maquinna no say anything. When one Cappen ask: 'Is the land mine?' Maquinna tell him 'yes. ' Whenother Cappen ask: 'Is the land mine?' Maquinna tell him 'yes, ' too, allsame. O yes; Indian have good heart; no want to fight great white chiefwith big guns. He stay in his lodge, and laugh softly to himself, andlet the white chiefs fight 'bout the land. Ugh!"

"The mercenary old diplomat!" muttered Charlie, under his hat. "Here'syour 'noble savage, ' Fanny. Burn a little incense, can't you?" But Fannypreferred remaining silent to answering her brother's bantering remarks;and if she was burning incense at all, I had reason to think it was toone who shall be nameless. 

"Did you always have skins to sell to so many vessels?" I asked, returning to the subject of the trading vessels. 

"Long ago had plenty; bime-by not many. White chief he heap mean. Skinnot good, throw 'em back to Indian. My young men take 'em ashore, stretch tail long like sea-otter, fix 'em up nice; give 'em to otherIndian, tell him go sell 'em. All right. Cappen buy 'em next time; paygood price; like 'em heap;" at which recollection the mummy actuallylaughed. 

"How is that for Yankee shrewdness?" asked a muffled voice under a hat;to which, however, I paid no attention. 

"You speak of the white chiefs fighting about land. Did they ever usetheir big guns on each other? Tell me what you remember about the whitemen who came here in ships, long ago. "

"After Cappen Cook go 'way, long time, come Spanish ship, King Georgeship, Boston ship. Spanish Cappen no like King George Cappen. One dayfight with long knives; (swords) and Spanish Cappen put King George manin big ship; send him 'way off. Many ships came and went; sold manyskins. One time all go 'way but the Boston ships. Bime-by King George'sships came back and fight the Boston's. "

"And you kept your good heart all the time? Never killed the Bostons orKing George men?"

At this interrogation, Nittinat shuffled his withered limbs uneasilybeneath his rush mantle, and averted his parchment countenance. Upon mypressing the question, as delicately as I knew how, he at lengthrecovered his immobility, and answered in a plausible tone enough:

"Boston Cappen Gray, he build a fort at Clyoquot. My cousin Wiccanishsell him the ground, and Cappen Gray bring all his goods from the ship, and put them in the fort for winter. Our young men were lazy, and hadnot many skins to sell; but they wanted Cappen Gray's goods; they likedthe firewater a heap. So the young men they say, 'kill Cappen Gray, andtake his goods. ' My cousin say, 'no; that a heap bad. ' Nittinat say thatbad too. But we tell our young men if they _will_ do this bad thing, wewill not leave them without a chief to direct them. So my young men cameto Clyoquot to help their cousins take the big guns of the fort. ButCappen Gray find all out in time to save our young men from doing wrong. We tell him our hearts all good. He give us presents, make _closetum-tum_. No use kill Boston _tyee_ when he give us what we want. "

Charlie tilted up his sombrero, and shot an approving glance at thevenerable philosopher that caused a smile to ripple Fanny's face at theinstant she was saying, "The horrid wretch!" with feminine vehemence. Tocover this by-play, I asked if Nittinat remembered the _Tonquin_. 

"Oh, come!" ejaculated Charlie, starting up, "I say we have had enoughof this artless historian's prattle; don't you?"

"Consider, " I urged, "how rare the opportunity of verifying tradition. Compose yourself, my friend, while I continue my interviewing. " Turningto Nittinat I asked: "Why did the Indians destroy Captain Thorn'svessel?"

"Cappen Thorn big chief; no like Indian; big voice; no give presents; nolet Indian come on board without leave; Indian no like Cappen Thorn. Heget mad at my cousin Kasiascall for hiding on his ship; keep him allnight prisoner, cause he no punish his young men for cutting theboarding-netting. Kasiascall get mad. Next day no Indian go to tradewith the ship; then Cappen Thorn he send McKay ashore to say he issorry, and talk to Indian 'bout trade. 

"Indian very good to McKay; say not mad; say come next day to tradeplenty. Kasiascall, too, tell McKay all right; come trade all same. ButMcKay he look dark; he no believe my cousin; think Indian lie. All samehe tell come to-morrow; and he shake hands, and go back to ship. He tellCappen Thorn, 'Indian say he trade to-morrow. ' Big Cappen walk the deckvery proud. He say he 'teach the damned Indians to behave themselves. '

"Next day six white men come ashore to visit our lodges. My cousin treatwhite men well. Kasiascall and his young men go to the ship to trade. Pretty soon Kasiascall come back: say McKay look dark and sad; sayIndian buy plenty of knives and hide under their blankets; say I willsee the ship taken by the Indians in one hour. My heart was sad forMcKay. He good man. Indian like McKay heap. But my cousin and his peoplewant plenty goods; no like Cappen Thorn; so Nittinat say nothing. 

"Bimeby there was big noise like a hundred guns, and the ship was all inpieces, flying through the air like leaves on the wind. My cousin'speople were all in pieces too; one arm, one leg, one piece head. Ugh!"

"Served them right, too!" ejaculated Charlie. "Is that the whole story, old mortality?"

But Nittinat was silent--overcome, as it seemed by these sadreminiscences. He bowed his head upon his breast until the extinguisherpointed directly at Fanny's nose, as her brother mischievously made heraware. When I thought that Nittinat had taken time to sufficientlyregret his cousin's misfortune in losing so many young men, I gentlyreminded him of Charlie's question. 

"Kasiascall's heart was very little when he saw the destruction of hiswarriors, and heard the wailing of the women and children. To comforthim the six white men were taken and bound for slaves. When the days ofmourning were past, my cousin laid the six white slaves in a row, theirthroats resting on the sharp edge of a rock, and set his Indian slavesto saw off their heads with a cedar plank. It was a very fine sight; ourhearts were good; we were comforted. "

As no one uttered an opposing sentiment, Nittinat, after a pause, continued:

"For many moons we feared the Bostons down on the Columbia would come tomake war on us; and we went no more to trade with any ships. But after atime Kasiascall's heart grew big within him. He asked my advice. I said'you are my brother. Go kill all the whites on the Columbia. ' Then wedanced the medicine dance; and Kasiascall went alone to the country ofthe Chinooks, to the fort of the Boston men. He told the chief of theBostons how the _Tonquin_ was destroyed, with all on board; but he kepta dark place in his heart, and his tongue was crooked. He saidKasiascall knew not of the treachery of his relations, and people, andhe said nothing of the six white slaves. Then the Boston chief gave himpresents, and he staid many days at the fort, until he heard that someIndians from Sooke were coming there. Fearing the Sooke Indians mighthave straight tongues, Kasiascall left the fort that day, and went amongthe Klatskenines, and stirred them up to take the fort and kill all theBostons. But the chief discovered the plot, and my cousin fled back toNeweeta. Ugh?"

"These events occurred a long time ago, " I suggested. "Your hearts weredark then, but surely you have a better heart now. You would not killthe whites to-day if you could?"

A very expressive "Ugh!" was the only rejoinder. 

"But the Indians I see about here look very comfortable and happy. Theyhave good warm blankets, and enough to eat. "

"Indian hunt furs to pay for blanket; Indian catch fish for eat. Bime-byfurs grow scarce; white man catch fish, too. Bime-by Hudson Bay men goway; Indian go naked. Then come black-gowns (priests, or preachers). Hesay, 'Indian pray for what he want. ' But that all d----d lie; pray onemoon--two, three moons, nothing comes. White man say to Indian, 'work. 'What can Indian do? Indian big fool--know nothing. "

"He is making out a case, " said Charlie; "but he don't look as if _he_need concern himself about the future. "

"Ask him if he ever saw any white ladies, in that long ago time he hasbeen telling us of, " whispered Fanny, who could not muster courage toaddress the manikin directly. I considered how best to put the desiredquestion, but Nittinat was beforehand with me. 

"I have seen many things with my eyes. First came the big ships, withwings; and only men came in them. By and by came a long, black ship, without sails, or oars, but with a great black and white smoke. I wenton board this vessel with one of my wives, the youngest and prettiest;and here I saw the first white woman that came to my country. I likedthe white woman, and asked her to be my wife. She laughed, and said, 'goask the Cappen. ' I asked the Cappen, but he would not hear. I offeredhim many skins, and my new wife. He swore at me. I am sworn at andlaughed at for wanting wife with a white skin. White man take Indianwife when he please. Nittinat has many wrongs; yet Nittinat has goodheart, all same. Bime-by big medicine-man come and make all right. Whiteman all melt away like snow on the mountain-side. Indian have plentyhouse, plenty blankets, plenty eat--all, everything, all the time. Good!"

"White wives included, I presume. Well, " said Charlie, "I think thisinterview might be brought to a close. Hold fast to Pierre and I, Fanny, or the wizard may spirit you off to his wigwam, to inaugurate the goodtime coming that he speaks of. "

So saying, Charlie rose to his feet, stretched his limbs lazily, andturned to disengage his sister's veil from a vicious thorn-bush in ourway. Not succeeding immediately, I lent my assistance, and the delicatetissue being at last rescued with some care, turned to say farewell tothe chief of all the Nittinats, when lo! I addressed myself to space. 

"The old cove has taken himself off as mysteriously as he came. That isa confounded good trick; couldn't do it better myself. Does anybody missanything?" was Charlie's running comment on the transaction. 

"Can't say that I do, unless it is my luncheon. I'm ravenously hungry, and every sandwich gone. Could that dreadful old ghoul have eaten thoseyou gave him, Charlie? Do you know, I couldn't help thinking he must bea ghost?"

"Well, the ghost of an Indian could eat, steal, and beg, I should think. I felt like rattling his dry bones, when he so coolly confessed to themost atrocious murders of white men. "

"That is because you are not an Indian, I presume, " said I, with a heavysense of conviction about what I gave expression to. "Indian virtue isnot white men's virtue. If it won you rank, and riches, and power, tobecome a mighty slayer, a slayer you would undoubtedly become. A man, even an Indian, is what his circumstances make him. The only way I canconceive to make a first-class man, is to place him under first-classinfluences. I am generalizing now, of course; the exceptions are rareenough to prove the rule. "

"I wish I had those spoons, " said Fanny, "they would be such a curiosityat home. "

"The spoon I wish for is one of the vessel's forks, with a bit of roastbeef on it. Here, Sis, jump in; we shall be late for dinner, and theCaptain will call us to account. "

In a few moments we were out of the little cove, and in open water ofthe sound, pulling back toward the harbor, where the steamer was lyingthat had brought us this summer excursion. As we came abreast of acertain inlet, Fanny cried out, "Look there!" and turning our eyes inthe direction of her glance, we saw the canoe with its bronzed crew justdisappearing up the narrow entrance, half-hidden in shrubbery. 

Our adventure was related at dinner in the steamer's cabin, and variouswere the conjectures regarding the identity of Chief Nittinat. Thecaptain declared his ignorance of any such personage. Most of the partywere inclined to regard the whole affair as a practical joke, though whocould have been the authors of it no one ventured to say. It wasproposed that another party should repeat the excursion on the followingday, in order that another opportunity might be given the mysteriousmedicine man to put in an appearance. And this, I believe, really wascarried into effect, but without result, so far as solving the mysterywas concerned. A canoe, similar to the one we had seen, had beendiscovered up one of the numerous arms of the Sound, but on attemptingto overtake it, the pursuing party had been easily distanced, and theclue lost, so that all hope of clearing up the mystery was relinquished. 

One evening, shortly after, Fanny and I sat together in the soft, clearmoonlight, listening to the dance-music in the cabin, and the gentlesplash of the waters about the vessel's keel. All at once, a canoe-loadof Nootkans shot across the moon's wake, not fifty yards from ouranchorage, and as suddenly was lost again in shadow. "Fanny, " I said, "being the only invalid of this party, I feel a good deal nervous aboutthese apparitions. They are usually regarded, I believe, as portentious. Without designing to take advantage of your too sympathizingdisposition, I am tempted to remind you that if I am ever to have thehappiness of calling your precious self truly my own, it ought to bebefore the third appearance of the ghostly presence; will you condescendto name the day?"

"I should prefer, Pierre, not to have any ghostly influences brought tobear on this occasion. Suppose we try a valse, which I think will tendto dissipate your melancholy forebodings. "

I may as well own it here: the little witch could not be brought to makeany final arrangements, although I did entreat her seriously. 

"You must talk about these things when I am at home with my papa andmamma, " she insisted; and I was compelled to respect her decision. 

But we have been married almost a year, and we often refer to thestrange interview we had with Chief Nittinat. Perhaps the Smoke-ellerdoctrine now popular among the northern Indians, and which correspondsto our spiritualism, may have some foundation in similar occurrencesthemselves. Who knows but Nittinat was talking to us through a medium?

MR. ELA'S STORY. 

Three or four years ago, my husband and I were making a winter voyage upthe Oregon coast. The weather was not peculiarly bad: it was theordinary winter weather, with a quartering wind, giving the ship anawkward motion over an obliquely-rolling sea. Cold, sick, thoroughlyuncomfortable, with no refuge but the narrow and dimly-lightedstate-room, I was reduced in the first twenty-four hours to a conditionof ignominious helplessness, hardly willing to live, and not yet fullywishing or intending to die. 

In this unhappy frame of mind the close of the second weary day foundme, when my husband opened our state-room door to say that Mr. Ela, of----, Oregon, was on board, and proposed to come and talk to me, in thehope of amusing me and making me forget my wretchedness. Submittingrather than agreeing to the proposal, chairs were brought and placedjust inside the door-way, where the light of the saloon lamps shownathwart the countenance of my self-constituted physician. He was a youngman, and looked younger than his years; slightly built, thoughpossessing a supple, well-knit frame, with hands of an elegant shape, fine texture, and great expression. You saw at a glance that he had apoet's head, and a poet's sensitiveness of face; but it was only afterobservation that you saw how much the face was capable of which it didnot convey, for faces are apt to indicate not so much individual cultureas the culture of those with whom we are habitually associated. Mr. Ela's face clearly indicated to me the intellectual poverty, the want ofæsthetic cultivation in his accustomed circle of society, at the sametime that it suggested possible phases of great beauty, should it everbecome possible for certain emotions to be habitually called to thesurface by sympathy. Evidently a vein of drollery in his nature had beenbetter appreciated, and oftener exhibited to admiring audiences, thanany of the finer qualities of thought or sentiment of which youinstinctively knew him to be capable; and yet the face protested againstit, too, by a gentle irony with a hint of self-scorn in it, as if itsowner, in his own estimation, wrote himself a buffoon for hiscondescension. Altogether it was a good face; but one to make you wishit were better, since by not being so, it was untrue to itself. Iremember thinking all this, looking out with sluggish interest from myberth, while the two gentlemen did a little preliminary talking. 

Mr. Ela's voice, I observed, like his face, was susceptible of greatchange and infinite modulations. Deep chest tones were followed byfinely attenuated sounds; droning nasal tones, by quick and clear ones. The quality of the voice was soft and musical; the enunciation slow, often emphatic. His manner was illustrative, egotistic, and keenlywatchful of effects. 

"You never heard the story of my adventure in the mountains?" Ela began, turning to me with the air of a man who had made up his mind to tell hisstory. 

"No; please tell it. "

"Well"--running his tapering fingers through his hair and pulling itover his forehead--"I started out in life with a theory, and it wasthis: that no young man should ask a woman to marry him until he hadprepared a home for her. Correct, wasn't it? I was about nineteen yearsold when I took up some land down in the Rogue River Valley, and workedaway at it with this object. "

"Had you really a wife selected at that age?"

"No; but it was the fashion in early times in that country to marryearly, and I was getting ready, according to my theory; don't you see? Iwas pretty successful, too; had considerable stock, built me a house, made a flower garden for my wife, even put up the pegs or nails she wasto hang her dresses on. I intended that fall to get on my horse, ridethrough the Wallamet Valley, and find me my girl. "

At the notion of courting in that off-hand, general style, both myhusband and I laughed doubtingly. Ela laughed, too, but as if therecollection pleased him. 

"You think that is strange, do you? 'Twasn't so very strange in thosedays, because girls were scarce, don't you see? There was not a girlwithin forty miles of me; and just the thought of one now, as I wasfixing those nails to hang her garments on; why, it ran just through melike a shock of electricity!

"Well, as I said, I had about two hundred and fifty head of cattle, ahouse with a garden, a young orchard, and vegetables growing; everythingin readiness for the wife I had counted on getting to help me take careof it. And what do you think happened? There came such a plague ofgrasshoppers upon the valley that they destroyed every green thing:crops, orchard, flowers, grass, everything! My stock died, the greaterportion of them, and _I was ruined_. " (Deep bass. ) "I considered myselfdisappointed in love, too, because, though I hadn't yet found my girl, Iknew she was somewhere in the valley waiting for me; and I felt somehow, when the grasshoppers ate up every thing, as if I had been jilted. Actually, it pierces me with a pang now to think of those useless pegson which so often my imagination hung a pink calico dress and a girl'ssun-bonnet. "

Knitting his brows, and sighing as he shifted his position, Ela oncemore pulled the hair over his forehead, in his peculiar fashion, andwent on:

"I became misanthropic; felt myself badly used. Packing up my books anda few other traps, I started for the mountains with what stock I hadleft, built myself a fort, and played hermit. "

"A regular fort?"

"A stockade eighteen feet high, with an embankment four feet high aroundit, a strong gate, a tent in the middle of the inclosure, all myproperty, such as books, feed, arms, etc. , inside. "

"On account of Indians?"

"Indians and White Men. Yes, I've seen a good many Indians through thebead of my rifle. They learned to keep away from my fort. There weremining camps down in the valley, and you know the hangers-on of thosecamps? I sold beef to the miners; had plenty of money by me sometimes. It was necessary to be strongly forted. "

"What a strange life for a boy! What did you do? How spend your time?"

"I herded my cattle, drove them to market, cooked, studied, wrote, andindulged in misanthropy, with a little rifle practice. By the time I hadbeen one summer in the mountains, I had got my hand in, and knew how tomake money buying up cattle to sell again in the mines. "

"So there was method in your madness--misanthropy, I mean?"

"Well, a man cannot resign life before he is twenty-one. I was doingwell, and beginning to think again of visiting the Wallamet to hunt upmy girl. One Sunday afternoon, I knew it was Sunday, because I kept ajournal; I was sitting outside of my fort writing, when a shadow fellacross the paper, and, looking up, lo! a skeleton figure stood beforeme. " (Sepulchral tones, and a pause. ) "Used as I was to lonelyencounters with strange men, my hair stood on end as I gazed on thespectre before me. He was the merest boy in years; pretty and delicateby nature, and then reduced by starvation to a shadow. His story wassoon told. He had left Boston on a vessel coming out to the northwestcoast, had been wrecked at the mouth of the Umpqua, and been wanderingabout in the mountains ever since, subsisting as best he could on rootsand berries. But you are becoming tired?"

"No, I assure you; on the contrary, growing deeply interested. "

"The boy was not a young woman in disguise, or anything like that, youknow"--with an amused look at me. "I thought you'd think so; but as hecomes into the story as a collateral, I just mention his introduction tomyself. I fed him and nursed him until he was able to go to work, andthen I got Sam Chong Lung to let him take up a claim alongside a Chinesecamp, promising to favor the Chinaman in a beef contract if he was goodto the boy. His claim proved a good one, and he was making money, whentwo Chinamen stole a lot of horses from Sam Chong Lung, and he offeredfour hundred dollars to Edwards if he would go after them and bring themback. Edwards asked my advice, and I encouraged him to go, telling himhow to take and bring back his prisoners. " (Reflective pause. ) "Youcan't imagine me living alone, now, can you? Such an egotistical fellowas I am, and fond of ladies' society. You can't believe it, can you?"

"Hermits and solitaires are always egotists, I believe. As to theladies, your loneliness was the result of circumstances, as you haveexplained. "

"Well, I should have missed Edwards a good deal, if it had not been forsome singular _incidents_ which happened during his absence. " Ela alwaysaccented the last syllable of any word ending in e-n-t, like "incident"or "commencement, " giving it besides a peculiar nasal sound, which wassure to secure the attention. The word incident, as he pronounced it, produced quite a different effect from the same word, spoken in theusual style. 

"A man came to my fort one day who was naked and starving. He was abad-looking fellow; but a man naturally does look bad when his clothesare in rags, and his bones protruding through his skin. I clothed him, fed him, cared for him kindly, until he was able to travel, and then hewent away. The next Sunday, I was sitting outside the stockade, ascustomary, reading some translations of the Greek poets, when, onraising my eyes from the book to glance over the approach to my fort--Iwas always on the alert--I beheld a VISION. Remember, I had notseen a woman for a year and half! She was slowly advancing, riding withsuperb grace a horse of great beauty and value, richly caparisoned. Shecame slowly up the trail, as if to give me time for thought, and Ineeded it. That picture is still indelibly impressed upon my mind; thevery flicker of the sunlight and shadow across the road, and the glitterof her horse's trappings, as he champed his bit and arched his neck withimpatience at her restraining hand----. Are you very tired?" asked Ela, suddenly. 

"Never less so in my life; pray go on. "

"You see I had been alone so long, and I am very susceptible. Thatvision coming upon me suddenly as it did, in my solitude, gave me thestrangest sensations I ever had. I was spell-bound. Not so she. Reiningin her horse beside me, she squared around in her saddle, as if askingassistance to dismount. Struggling with my embarrassment, I helped herdown, and she accepted my invitation into the fort, signifying, at thesame time, that she wished me to attend to stripping and feeding herhorse. This gave us mutually an opportunity to prepare for the cominginterview. 

"When I returned to my guest, she had laid aside her riding-habit andclose sun-bonnet, and stood revealed a young, beautiful, elegantly-dressed woman. To my unaccustomed eyes, she looked a goddess. Her figure was noble; her eyes large, black, and melting; her hair longand curling; her manner easy and attractive. She was hungry, she said;would I give her something to eat? And, while I was on hospitable caresintent, she read to me some of my Greek poems, especially an ode of oneof the votaries of Diana, with comments by herself. She was a splendidreader. Well, " said Ela, slowly, with a furtive glance at me, and in hispeculiar nasal tones, "you can guess whether a young man, used to themountains, as I was, and who had been disappointed and jilted as I hadbeen, enjoyed this sort of thing or not. It wasn't in my line, you see, this entertaining goddesses; though, doubtless, in this way, before now, men have entertained angels unawares. You shall judge whether I did. 

"What with reading, eating together, singing--she sang 'Kate Kearney'for me, and her voice was glorious--our acquaintance ripened very fast. Finally, I conquered my embarrassment so far as to ask her somequestions about herself, and she told me that she was of a good NewEngland family, raised in affluence, well educated, accomplished, but bya freak of fortune, reduced to poverty: that she had come to Californiaresolved to get money, and had got it. She went from camp to camp of theminers with stationery, and other trifling articles needed by them; soldthem these things, wrote letters for them, sang to them, nursed themwhen sick, or carried letters express to San Francisco, to be mailed. For all these services, she received high prices, and had also had agood deal of gold given to her in specimens. I asked her if she likedthat kind of a life, so contrary to her early training. She answered me:'It's not what we choose that we select to do in this world, but whatchooses us to do it. I have made a competency, and gained a rich andvaried experience. If life is not what I once dreamed it was, I amcontent. ' But she sighed as she said it, and I couldn't believe in hercontent. "

"You have not told us yet what motives brought her to you, " I remarked, in an interval of silence. 

"No; she hadn't told me herself, then. By and by, I asked her, in mygreen kind of way, what brought her to see _me_. I never shall forgetthe smile with which she turned to answer me. We were sitting quiteclose: it never was in my nature, when once acquainted with a woman, tokeep away from her. Her garments brushed my knees; occasionally, in theenthusiasm of talk, I leaned near her cheek. You know how it was. I wasthinking of the useless pegs in my house down in the valley: 'You willbe disappointed, ' she said, 'when you learn that I came to do you a realservice. ' And then she went on to relate that, having occasion to passthe night at a certain place not many miles away, she had overheardthrough the thin partitions of the house, the description of my fort, anaccount of my wealth, real or supposed, and a plan for my murder androbbery. The would-be murderer was so described as to make it quitecertain that it was he whom I had fed, clothed, and sent away rejoicing, only a few days previous. I was inclined to treat the matter as a jest;but she awed me into belief and humility at once by the majesty withwhich she reproved my unbelief: 'A _woman_ does not trifle with subjectslike this; nor go out of her way to tell travelers tales. I warn you. Good bye. '

"After this she would not stay, though I awkwardly expressed my regretat her going. By her command I saddled her horse, and helped her mounthim. Once in the saddle, her humor turned, and she reminded me that Ihad not invited her to return. She said she 'could fancy that a week ofreading, talking, riding, trout-fishing, and romancing generally, upthere in those splendid woods, might be very charming. Was I going toask her to come?'

"I didn't ask her. A young man with a reputation to sustain up there inthe mountains, couldn't invite a young lady to come and stop a week withhim, could he? I must have refused to invite her, now, mustn't I?"

The perfect ingenuousness with which Ela put these questions, and theplaintive appeal against the hard requirements of social laws in themountains, which was expressed in his voice and accent, were soindescribably ludicrous that both my husband and myself laughedconvulsively. "I never tell my wife that part of the story, for fear shemight not believe in my regard for appearances, knowing how fond I am ofladies' society. And the struggle _was_ great; I assure you, it was_great_. 

"So she went away. As she rode slowly down the trail, she turned andkissed her hand to me, with a gesture of such grace and sweetness that Ithrilled all over. I've never been able to quite forgive myself for whathappened afterward. _She came back, and I drove her away!_ Usually, whenI tell that to women, they call me mean and ungrateful; but a young manliving alone in the mountains has his reputation to look after--now, hasn't he? That's what I ought to have done--now, wasn't it--what Ialways say I did do. It was the right thing to do under thecircumstances, wasn't it?"

While we had our laugh out, Ela shifted position, shook himself, andthridded his soft, light hair with his slender fingers. He was satisfiedwith his success in conveying an impression of the sort of care he tookof his reputation. "Now, then, I was left alone again, in no pleasantframe of mind. I couldn't doubt what my beautiful visitant had told me, and the thought of my murder all planned out was depressing, to say theleast of it. But, as sure as I am telling you, the departure of myunknown friend depressed me more than the thought of my possible murder. The gate barred for the night, I sat and looked into my fire for hours, thinking wild thoughts, and hugging to my lonely bosom an imaginaryform. The solitude and the sense of loss were awful. 

"This was Sunday night. Tuesday morning I received a visit from three orfour mounted men, one of whom was my former naked and hungry _protege_. He did not now try to conceal his character from me, but said he wasgoing down to clean out the Chinese camp, and proposed to me to joinhim, saying that when Edwards returned with the horses we would pay himthe $400, as agreed by Sam Chong Lung. I was on my guard; but told him Iwould have nothing to do with robbing the Chinese; that they were myfriends and customers, and he had better let them alone; after whichanswer he went off. That afternoon, Edwards came in with his prisonersand horses. He was very tired, on account of having traveled at night, to prevent the rescue of his prisoners by other vagabonds, and to avoidthe Indians. 

"You will understand how the presence of the horses increased my peril, as there was no doubt the scoundrels meant to take them. It wouldn't doeither to let Edwards go on to the Chinese camp; so I persuaded him towait another day. We brought the prisoners, bound, inside the fort, andtook care of the horses. I said nothing to Edwards of my suspicions. 

"About dusk, my expected visitor came. He appeared to have beendrinking; and, after some mumbling talk, laid down inside the fort, nearthe gate. I made the gate fast, driving the big wooden pins home with anaxe; built up a great fire, and sent Edwards to bed in the tent. TheChinese prisoners were already asleep on the ground. Then I sat down onthe opposite side of the fire, facing the gate, placed mydouble-barreled rifle beside me, and mounted guard. "

"Had you no arms but your rifle?" asked my husband, anxiously. 

"I wanted none other, for we understood each other--my rifle and I. "

"What were you looking for; what did you expect? A hand-to-handencounter with these men?" was my next inquiry. 

"It seemed most likely that he had planned an attack on the fort. If so, his associates would be waiting outside for a signal. He had intended, when he laid down close to the gate, to open it to them; but when Idrove the pins in so tight, I caught a gleam from his eyes that was nota drunken one, and he knew that I suspected him. After that, it was acontest of skill and will between us. He was waiting his opportunity, and so was I. 

"You think I've a quick ear, don't you? You see what my temperament is;all sense, all consciousness. My hearing was cultivated, too, bylistening for Indians. Well, by and by, I detected a very stealthymovement outside the fort, and then a faint chirrup, such as a youngsquirrel might make. In an instant the drunken man sprang up; and Icovered him with my rifle, cocked. He saw the movement and drew hispistol, but not before I had ordered him to throw down his arms, _or_DIE. "

It is impossible to convey, by types, an idea of Ela's manner or tone ashe pronounced these last words. They sounded from the bottom of hischest, and conveyed in the utterance a distinct notion that death waswhat was meant. Hearing him repeat the command, it was easy to believethat the miscreant dared not do more than hesitate in his obedience. After a moment's silence--which was the climax to his rendering of thescene--he continued:

"I haven't told you, yet, how the man looked. He was a tall, swarthy, black-bearded fellow, who might have been handsome once, but who hadlost the look which distinguishes men in sympathy with their kind; sothat then he resembled some cruel beast, in the shape of a man, yetwhose disguise fitted him badly. His eyes burned like rubies, out of thegloomy caverns under his shaggy eyebrows. His lips were drawn apart, sothat his teeth glistened. The man's whole expression, as he stood there, glaring at me, was Hate and Murder. 

"My eye never winked, while he hesitated. He saw that, and it made himquail. With my finger on the trigger, I kept my rifle leveled, while hethrew down his arms--pistols and knife--with a horrible oath. With theknife in his hand, he made a movement, as if he would rush on me; butchanged his purpose in time to stop my fire. His cursing was awful; thefoam flew from his mouth. He demanded to be let out of the fort; accusedme of bad intentions toward him, and denounced me for a robber andmurderer. To all his ravings I had but one answer: To be quiet, to obeyme, and he might live; dare to disobey me, and he should die. 

"I directed him to sit down on the opposite side of the fire--not tomove from that one spot--not to make a doubtful motion. And then I toldhim I knew what he was, and what he had meant to do. When he becameconvinced of this, he broke down utterly, and wept like a child, declaring that now he knew my pluck, and I had been the first man everto get the best of him, he loved me like a brother!

"There was a long night before us, and I had got to sit there, with myrifle across my knees, till morning. I could move a little, to stir upor add to the fire; but he could have no liberty whatever. The restraintwas horrible to him. One moment he laughed uneasily--another cursed orcried. It was a strange scene, wasn't it? Finally, to pass the time, Iasked him to relate the history of his life. He wanted first to shakehands, for the love he bore me. Touching my rifle, significantly, Ipointed to a stick lying across the fire between us. 'That is ourboundary line; don't go to reaching your hands over that. ' Then he sankinto a fit of gloom and sullenness. 

"We must have remained thus silent until near midnight. Several times Iobserved him listening to slight sounds outside the fort. But hisassociates must have given up the game and gone off, for, as the morninghours approached, he ceased to listen, and everything remained quiet. His head was bent forward, his chin resting on his breast, the shaggybeard spreading over it like a mantle. "

"How horrible it must have been to keep such company. Why not call onEdwards?"

"The boy was worn out, and there was no need. I was very much strung up, too; so that the exhaustion of sleeplessness, fatigue, or excitement wasnot felt or noticed. But _he_ suffered. He was like a hyena caged, though he showed it only by involuntary movements and furtive glances. Finally, he could bear it no longer, and entreated me piteously, abjectly, to give him his freedom or blow out his brains. I told him hecouldn't have his freedom just yet; but he knew how to get his brainsblown out, if he desired it. Then followed more execration, ending inrenewed protestations of regard for me. I reminded him that talkingwould relieve the irksomeness of his position, again inviting him totell me his history. He replied that if he talked about himself, hewould be sure to get excited and move about; but I promised to remindhim. 

"Once on the subject of himself, it seemed to have a fascination forhim. What he told me was, in substance, this: He had been honestlyraised, by good, affectionate parents, in the State of Missouri; loved ayoung girl in the town where he lived; and, wishing to marry her, hadresolved to go to California, to make the necessary money, quickly. Hewas successful; returned full of joyful anticipations, and arrived at anold neighbor's, a few miles from his home, having hardly tasted food ortaken any rest the previous twenty-four hours. 

"While he hastily ate some breakfast and listened to the friendly gossipof his entertainers, one name, the name of her he loved, his promisedwife, was mentioned. _She was married. _ He staggered to his feet, askingthe name of her husband; and when he heard it, he knew he had beenbetrayed by that man. He could recall a strange sensation in his brain, as if molten lead had been poured into it; that was the last of hisrecollections. Afterward, he learned that he had been weeks in a brainfever. 

"When he had recovered, some of his old friends, thinking to do himhonor, made an evening party for him. To this party came his love, andher husband; his betrayer. When she gave her hand to welcome him home, and looked in his eyes, he knew that she too had been betrayed. Againthe molten lead seemed poured upon his brain. Turning to leave the room, fate placed in his path the man he now hated with a deadly hatred. Withone blow of a knife, he laid him dead at his feet. A few hours later, inthe desperation of trying to escape, he killed two other men. Then heeluded his pursuers, and got back to California. Since then he hadreveled in murder, and every species of crime. Once he had seen, in thestreets of Sacramento, the woman he loved. Up to that moment, it hadnever occurred to him that she was free. Following her to her home, heforced himself into her house, and reminded her of their formerrelations. She had denied all knowledge of him, finally calling upon herhusband to satisfy him. The husband ordered him out of the house, and heshot him. Then the Vigilantes made it hazardous to remain in California. He fled to the mountains, where he was nearly starved out, when I tookhim in and fed and clothed him. 

"Such was his story. My blood curdled in my veins, as I listened to therecitals of his atrocities. 'In God's name, ' I said, 'who are you--whatis your name?' 'I am BOONE HELM. '"

"Who was Boone Helm?" I asked. 

"One of the greatest desperadoes that ever was on this coast. He met hisfate, afterward, up east of the mountains. "

"What did you do with him? What _could_ you do with him?"

"You ought to have shot him while you had him, " my husband suggested. 

"_I_ didn't want to shoot him. He said, if I had been a coward, I wouldhave killed him. To confess the truth, the wretch appealed to mysympathies. I don't think he had ever been sane since the time when hefelt the 'molten lead poured into his brain. ' I knew somebody was sureto kill him, before long; so, when morning came, I called Edwards toopen the gate; and, when it was unbarred, escorted my visitor out, telling him that there was not room enough in that part of the countryfor both of us, and that the next time I pointed my rifle at him itwould be to shoot. I never saw him again. "

"Then he did not molest the Chinese camp?"

"No. Edwards got his four hundred dollars, and went home to Boston. "

There fell a silence upon us, and, through my open door, I could seethat the cabin was nearly deserted. Ela seemed wearied--sighed, and madea movement, as if to go. 

"What about your Guardian Angel?" my husband asked. "You have not toldus about her second coming. "

"I always say that she didn't come; or else I say that she came, and Idrove her away. That is proper; isn't it, now?" glancing at me. 

"But _I_ want to know if you have seen her--if you never met heranywhere in the world--since that time. I have a right to becurious--yes, or no?" I urged, laughingly. 

"How do you feel, now?"--with a light laugh and peculiar change ofexpression. 

"O, better; a great deal better. To be perfectly cured, I only need tohear the sequel. "

"I may as well tell it, I suppose. It has been running in my head allday. Wouldn't want my wife to know it. Didn't think of meeting her whenI came down to 'Frisco. You see, I've been in Oregon a long while--nevertraveled on a railroad in my life--wanted to see something of the greatoutside world--and so, ran down to the great city to see the sights. Thefirst thing I did, I went up to Colfax, on the cars; and while I was upthere, the engineer invited me to take a ride on the engine--a specialone. Now, I knew that he meant to astonish me, because he thought I wasgreen; and I didn't know, really, how fast the thing ought to run. Butwe came down the grade with a speed that was ter-rif-ic!--more than amile a minute, the engineer said. When we got to Lincoln, the fellowasked me, with his superior sort of smile, 'How I liked _that_ rate oftravel?' I told him I liked _that_ pretty well; 'but, I suppose, whenyou want to make time, you can travel at a considerably _more_accelerated rate of locomotion?'"

How we laughed at the natural drollery of the man, the deliberateutterance, the unsophisticated air. While we laughed, he preparedhimself to finish his story. 

"It was only day before yesterday, " he said, "that I met her. I happenedto be in the parlor of the hotel when she came in. At first, I wasn'tcertain of its being her; but, as I watched her, I became certain of it. And she recognized me; I felt certain of that, too. It was in the earlypart of the evening, and I had to wait until the people in the parlorwould disperse. She saw what I was waiting for, and stayed, too; shetold me with her eyes that she _remembered_. After a while she went tothe piano, and played and sang 'Kate Kearney. ' Then I was satisfied thatshe would not leave me before I had spoken to her. As soon as theopportunity came, we confessed ourselves. "

"Was she married? was she happy?"

"She was married, yes. Happy? she told me, as she had once before, thatshe was 'content. ' She said it with a sigh, as she did the first time;and I doubted her as I did then. But they are putting out the lights. There is always, in this world, somebody going around, putting out ourlights. Good-night. "

"Good-night. "

ON THE SANDS. 

I was summering at our Oregon Newport, known to us by the aboriginalname of Clatsop. Had a balloonist, uninstructed in the geography andtopography of this portion of the Pacific coast, dropped down among us, his impression would have been that he had alighted in a militaryencampment, very happily chosen, as military encampments usually are. 

Given, one long, low, whitewashed house enclosed by whitewashed pickets;a group of tents outside the enclosure and on the bank of a beautifulgraveled-bottom, tree-shadowed stream, and you have the brief summing upof accommodations for summer visitors at Clatsop. The plentifulsprinkling of army buttons among the guests--for there are two fortswithin a three hours' ride of this beach--tend to confirm the impressionof military possession. Besides, our host of the whitewashed hotel is ahalf-breed; and there is enough of the native element hanging about theplace, picking berries and digging clams, to suggest an Indian familywhere a temporary station might be demanded. It would only be by peepinginside those tents where ladies and children are more numerous thanbearded men, that one could be convinced of the gypsy nature of thisencampment; though, to be sure, one need not press inside to find them, for the gay campers are sauntering about in all directions, ladies withtheir escorts, children with their nurses, parties returning fromboating or fishing, or riding or bathing: everybody living out in theopen air the whole day through on one pretense or another, and onlyrepairing to the hotel at meal times, when the exquisite dishes preparedby French half-breeds suffer the most instant demolition--such hungerdoes open air inspire. 

I had come here just invalid enough to be benefited by our primitivestyle of living; not too delicate to endure it, nor too robust to enjoythe utter vagabondism of it. There had been no necessity upon us to apefashionable manners; no obligation to dress three times a day; no ballsto weary ourselves with at night. Therefore this daily recurring picnicwas just sufficient for our physical recreation, while our mental powerstook absolute rest. For weeks I had arisen every morning to a breakfastof salmon-trout. French coffee (_au lait_), delicious bread, and freshberries; and afterwards to wander about in the cool sea-fog, wellwrapped up in a water-proof cloak. Sometimes we made a boating party upthe lovely Neah-can-a-cum, pulling our boat along under the overhangingalders and maples, frightening the trout into their hiding-places underthe banks, instead of hooking them as was our ostensible design. Thelimpid clearness of the water seemed to reflect the trees from the verybottom, and truly made a medium almost as transparent as air, throughwhich the pebbles at the greatest depth appeared within reach of ourhands. A morning idled away in this manner, and an afternoon spent inseeing the bathers--I never trust my easily curdled blood to the chillof the sea--and in walking along the sands with a friend, or dreamingquietly by myself as I watched the surf rolling in all the way fromTilamook Head to Cape Disappointment, --these were my daily labors andrecreations. The arrival of a bundle of letters, or, still better, of anew visitor, made what variety there was in our life. 

I had both of these excitements in one day. One of my correspondents hadwritten: "I hope to see you soon, and to have the opportunity, longsought, of telling you some of the experiences of my early life. When Ipromised you this I had not anticipated the pleasure of talking over therecollections of my youth while listening with you to the monotone ofthe great Pacific, whose 'ever, forever' is more significant to me thanto most lovers of its music. I never gaze upon its restless waves, norhear the sound of their ripple on the sands, or their thunder on therocks without being reminded of one episode in my life peculiarlyagitating to remember; but perhaps when I have told it to you, you mayhave power to exercise the restless spirit which rises in me at therecollection. "

So here was promise of the intellectual aliment I had begun to craveafter all these weeks of physical, without mental, action. I folded myletter with a feeling of self-congratulation, and turned to watch themovements of a newly arrived party for whom our half-breed host wasspreading a tent, and placing in it rather an extra amount of furniture;for, be it known to the uninitiated, we had platform floors under ourtents, real bedsteads, dressing-bureaus, rugs, and other comforts tomatch. That our new arrival exceeded us in elegant conveniences was, ofcourse, duly noted by such idlers as we. 

The party consisted of a lady, a little girl of ten, and a Kanakaservant. The lady's name, we learned, was Mrs. Sancy, and she was fromthe Sandwich Islands. More than that no one was informed. We discussedher looks, her manners, her dress, and her probable circumstances, as wesat around the camp-fire that evening, after the way of idle people. Itoccurred to me, as I glanced toward her tent door, illuminated by ourblazing fire, and saw her regarding the weird scene with evidentadmiration of its picturesqueness, to ask her to come and sit with usand help us eat roast potatoes--roasted as they cook pigs in theIslands, by covering up in the ground with hot stones. The fact that thepotatoes, and the butter which went with them, were purloined from ourhost's larder, gave a special flavor to the feast--accompanied as itwas, too, by instrumental and vocal music, and enlivened by sallies ofwit. 

Mrs. Sancy seemed to enjoy the novelty of her surroundings, contributingher quota to the general fund of mirth and sparkling talk, and Icongratulated myself on having acquired an interesting acquaintance, whose cheerfulness, notwithstanding the partial mourning of her dress, promised well for its continuance. Had she been sad or reserved shecertainly would not have been sought as she was by our pleasure-lovingsummer idlers, consequently my chances of becoming intimate with herwould have been greatly abridged. As she was, she soon became, withoutquestion, one of the chief social attractions; easily falling into ourvagabond ways, yet embellishing them with so much grace and elegancethat they became doubly precious to us on account of the new charmimparted to them. All the things any of us could do, Mrs. Sancy could dobetter; and one thing she could do that none of the rest of us could, which was to swim out and float herself in on a surf-board, like anative island woman; and seeing Mrs. Sancy do this became one of thedaily sensations of Clatsop Beach. 

I had known Mrs. Sancy about one week, and came to like her extremely, not only for her brilliant, social qualities, but on account of hernative originality of thought, and somewhat peculiar culture. I saypeculiar, because her thinking and reading seemed to be in the bywaysrather than the highways of ordinary culture. If she made a figure ofspeech, it was something noticeably original; if she quoted an author, it was one unfamiliar though forcible. And so she constantly supplied mymind with novelties which I craved, and became like a new education tome. One forenoon, a misty one, we were out on the beach alone, wrappedup in water-proofs, pacing up and down the sands, and watching the greysullen sea, or admiring the way in which the masses of fog roll in amongthe tops of the giant firs on Tilamook Head, and were torn intofragments, and tangled among them. 

"You never saw the like of this in the islands?" I said, meaning thefoggy sea, and the dark, fir-clad mountains. 

"I have seen _this_ before;" she answered, waving her hand to indicatethe scene as we then beheld it. "You look surprised, but I am familiarwith every foot of this ground. I have lived years in thisneighborhood--right over there, in fact, under the Head. This spot has, in truth, a strong fascination for me, and it was to see it once morethat I made the voyage. "

"You lived in this place, and liked it years ago! How strange! It is buta wilderness still, though a pleasant one, I admit. "

She gave me a playfully superior smile: "We are apt to think ourselvesthe discoverers of every country where we chance to be set down; and soAdam thought he was the first man on the earth, though his sons went outand found cities where they learned the arts of civilization. So birth, and love, and death, never cease to be miracles to us, notwithstandingthe millions who have been born, and loved, and died, before ourexperience began. "

"But how did it happen, " I urged, unable to repress my curiosity, "thatyou lived here, in this place, _years ago_? That seems so strange tome. "

"My parents brought me here when a little child. It is a common enoughhistory. My mother was an enthusiast with brain, who joined her fortunesto those of an enthusiast without brain, and emigrated to this coast, when it was an Indian country, in the vain hope of doing good to thesavages. They only succeeded in doing harm to themselves, andindirectly, harm to the savages also. The spirit of the man becameembittered, and the mean traits of his nature asserted themselves, andwreaked their malice, as is customary with mean natures, on the nearestor most inoffensive object. My poor mother! Maternity was marred for youby fear and pain and contempt; and whatever errors your child has falleninto, were an evil inheritance that only years of suffering anddiscipline could eradicate. "

As Mrs. Sancy pronounced the last sentence, she seemed for the moment tohave forgotten my presence, and stood, looking off over the calm greysea, with absent unrecognizing gaze. After a brief silence she turned tome with a smile: "Pardon my mental desertion. It is not good to talk ofour own lives. We all become Adams again, and imagine ourselves sole inthe universe. "

On this hint I changed the conversation, and we returned to the hotel tolunch, after which, I saw no more of Mrs. Sancy for that day. 

That afternoon, my correspondent, Mr. Kittredge arrived; and as it wasbright and sunny after the fog, we took a boat, and pulled along underthe alders that shade the Neah-can-a-cum. It was there that I listenedto this story:

"While I was still a young man, nearly fifteen years ago, I floated onthis stream, as we are doing to-day. My companion was a young girl whomI shall call Teresa. She was very young, I remember now with sorrow, andvery beautiful; though _beautiful_ is not so much the word to describeher as _charming_--magnetic, graceful, intelligent. A lithe, rather tallfigure, a high-bred, sensitive, fine face, and pleasing manners. Sheseemed older than she really was, on account of her commanding physiqueand distinguished manner. 

"I will not go over the details of our acquaintance, which ripenedrapidly into love;--so I thought. This was a new country then, even moreemphatically that it is now; new with the charm of novelty--not newbecause it had ceased to progress, as is now the case. Scattered aroundhere within a radius of a dozen miles were half-a-dozen other young menlike myself, who had immigrated to the far west, in the spirit ofromantic adventure; and once here, were forced to do whatever came toour hands to gain a subsistence. I lived on a farm which I improved, keeping house quite by myself, and spending my leisure hours in study. Of course, the other young men, similarly situated, often visited me, and we usually talked over authors, or such questions of the day as wewere familiar with or interested in. 

"But one evening love was the theme of our conversation, and incidently, Teresa's name was mentioned among us. I don't know who first uttered it, but I observed at once, that the faces of all three of my companionsbetrayed an interest too strong and too peculiar to be attributed to anordinary acquaintanceship with the subject of our remarks. For myself, Ifelt my own face flushing hotly, as a horrible suspicion seized myconsciousness, becoming on the instant, conviction too painful toendure. 

"You being a woman, cannot imagine the situation. I believed myself tobe Teresa's accepted lover; and so I knew intuitively, did all my threecompanions; their faces revealing their thoughts to me, as did mine tothem. Whatever you women do in the presence of your rivals, I know not. Men rage. It is not often, either, that a man encounters more than onerival at a time. But three!--each of us poor rivals saw three rivalsbefore him. Whatever of friendship had hitherto existed among us wasforgotten in the extreme anguish of the moment, and we sat glaring ateach other in silence, with heaving chests and burning brows. 

"All but Charlie Darling--darling Charlie, we used to call him--his facewas deathly white, and his eyes glowed like a panther's in the dark. Yethe was the first to recover himself. 'Boys, ' said he, 'we ought not tohave brought a lady's name into the discussion; but since Teresa's hasbeen mentioned, we may as well have an understanding. I consider theyoung lady as engaged to me, and you will please remember that fact whenyou are talking of her. '

"He said it bravely, proudly, though his lip trembled a little, but heeyed us unflinchingly. No one replied for some moments. Then Tom Allen, a big clumsy, good-hearted, but conceited fellow, lifted his eyesslowly, and answered with a hysterical laugh: 'You may be her darlingCharlie, but I'll be d----d if I am not to be her husband!'

"This was the match to the powder. Charlie, myself, and Harry King, eachsprang simultaneously forward, as if we meant to choke poor Tom for hiswords. Again Charlie was the first to use reason:

"'Hold, boys;' cried he hoarsely; 'let us take a little time to reflect. Two of us have declared ourselves to be engaged to Teresa. Let us hearif she contemplates marrying King and Kittredge, also. What do you say, King?'

"'I say yes!' thundered King, bending his black brows, and bringing downhis fist on the table by which he stood. 

"'And _I_ say, I contemplate marrying _her_, ' was my answer to Charlie'schallenge. 

"Charlie flung himself into a chair, and covered his face with hishands. The action touched some spring in our ruder natures whichresponded in sympathy for our favorite, and had the effect to calm us, in manner at least. I motioned the others to sit down, and addressedmyself to Charlie Darling. 'See here, Charlie?' I said, 'it seems thatTeresa has been playing us false. A girl who could be engaged to fouryoung men at once cannot be worth the regards of any of us. Let usinvestigate the matter, and if she is truly guilty of such falsehood, let us one and all quit her forever without a word of explanation. Whatdo you say? do you agree to that?'

"'How are you going to investigate?' asked Tom Allen, roughly. 'Have notwe each declared that she was committed to us individually, and whatmore can be said?'

"'It appears incredible to me that any girl, much less a girl likeTeresa, could so compromise her self-respect as to encourage foursuitors, each in such a manner as that he expected to marry her. It isso strange that I cannot believe it, except each man swears to hisstatement. Can we all swear to it?'

"I laid my little pocket-bible on the table, and set the example oftaking an oath to the effect that Teresa had encouraged me to believethat she meant to marry me. King and Allen followed with a similar oath. Charlie Darling was the last to take the oath; but as he did so, a gleamof gladness broke over his pale, handsome face; for he could word hisoath differently from ours. 'I swear before these witnesses and AlmightyGod, ' said Charlie, 'that Teresa Bryant is my _promised wife_. '

"'That takes the wind out of our sails, ' remarked Allen. 

"'Do you allow other men to kiss your promised wife?' asked King, with asneer. 

"Charlie sprang at King, and had his hand on his throat in an instant;but Allen and I interfered to part them. It was no difficult matter, forDarling, excited as he was, felt the force of my observations on thequarrel. I said: 'Shall a trifling girl make us enemies, when she has sobehaved that no one of us can trust her. You, Darling, do not, cannothave confidence in her promise, after all you have this night learned. You had best accept my first suggestion, and join with the rest of us inrenouncing her forever and at once. '

"'That _I_ will not, ' broke out King, vehemently. 'Her word is no betterthan her acts, and I have as much right to her as Charlie Darling, oreither of you, and I'll not give up the right to a man of you. '

"'We'll have to fight a four-cornered duel, ' remarked Tom Allen, beginning to see the ludicrous side of the affair. 'Shall we choose up, two on a side?'

"'I will withdraw my pretensions, ' I reiterated, 'if the others will doso, or even if King and Allen will quit the field to Charlie, who feelshimself bound by Teresa's promise to him. '

"'I have said I would not withdraw, ' replied King, sullenly. And thus wecontended, hot-browed and angry-voiced, for more than an hour. Thenrough but practical Tom proposed a scheme, which was no less than tocompel Teresa to decide between us. After long deliberation, anagreement was entered into, and I hope I shall not shock you too muchwhen I tell you what it was. "

Kittredge paused, and looked at me doubtingly. I glanced aside at theover-hanging trees, the glints of sunshine on the bank, a brown birdamong the leaves, at anything, rather than him, for he was living overagain the excitement of that time, and his face was not pleasant tostudy. After a little waiting, I answered:

"I must know the remainder of the story, since I know so much; what didyou agree upon?"

"A plan was laid by which Teresa should be confronted with her fourlovers, and forced to explain her conduct. To carry out our design itwas necessary to use artifice, and I was chosen as the one who shouldconduct the affair. I invited her to accompany me to a neighboringfarm-house to meet the young folks of the settlement. There was nothingunusual in this, as in those primitive times great latitude was grantedto young people in their social intercourse. To mount her horse and rideseveral miles to a neighbor's house with a single escort, not to returnuntil far into the night, was the common privilege of any young lady, and therefore there was no difficulty about obtaining either her consentor that of her parents to my proposition. 

"We set off just at sunset, riding along the beach some distance, admiring the gorgeous western sky, the peaceful sea, and watching thesand-pipers skating out on the wet sands after every receding wave. Ihad never seen Teresa more beautiful, more sparkling, or morefascinating in every way; and my heart grew 'very little' as the Indianssay. It was impossible to accuse her even in my thoughts, while underthat bewitching influence. She was so full of life and vivacity that shedid not observe the forced demeanor I wore, or if she did, had too muchtact to seem to do so. As for me, guarded both by my hidden suspicionsand by my promise to my friends, I uttered no word of tenderness oradmiration with my tongue, whatever my eyes may have betrayed. 

"The road we were going led past my house. When we were almost abreastof it I informed Teresa that there were some of our friends waiting forus there, and invited her to alight. Without suspicion she didso. ----Don't look at me that way, if you can help it. It was terriblymean of us fellows, as I see it now. It looked differently then; and wehad none of us seen much of the world and were rude in our notions ofpropriety. 

"When she came inside of the house and saw only three men in place ofthe girls of her acquaintance she expected to meet, she cast a rapid, surprised glance all round, blushed, asked, 'where are the girls?'--allin the most natural manner. There was positively nothing in herdeportment to betray a guilty conscience. I recognized that, and so, Icould see, did Darling. He made haste to hand her a chair, which shedeclined, still looking about her with a puzzled, questioning air. I wasgetting nervous already over my share in the business, and so plunged atonce into explanation. 

"'Teresa, ' I said, 'we four fellows have made a singular discovery, recently, to the effect that we each believed himself to be youraccepted lover. We have met together to hear your explanation. Is therea man in the house you are engaged to?"

"She gave one quick, scrutinizing glance at our faces, and read in themthat we were in earnest. Indeed, the scene would have given scope to thegenius of a Hogarth. Alternate red and white chased each other in quicksuccession over her brow, cheeks, neck. Her eyes scintillated, and herchest heaved. 

"'Please answer us, Teresa, ' said Darling, after a most painful silenceof a minute, which seemed an hour. 

"She raised her flashing eyes to his, and her tones seemed to stab himas she uttered, '_You_? you too?' Then gathering up her riding-skirt, she made haste to leave us, but found the door guarded by Tom Allen. When she saw that she was really a prisoner among us, alarm seized her, and woman-like, she began to cry, but not passionately or humbly. Herspirit was still equal to the occasion, and she faced us with the tearsrunning over her cheeks. 

"'If there is a man among you with a spark of honor, open this door! Mr. Kittredge, this is your house. Allow me to ask if I am to be retained aprisoner in it, or what you expect to gain by my forcible detention?"

"Tom Allen whispered something unheard by any save her, and she struckat him with her riding-whip. This caused both Darling and myself tointerpose, and I turned door-keeper while Allen retreated to the otherside of the room with rather a higher color than usual on his lumpishface. All this while--not a long while, at all--King had remained insullen silence, scowling at the proceedings. At this juncture, however, he spoke:

"'Boys, ' said he, 'this joke has gone far enough, and if you will permitus to take our leave, I will see Miss Bryant safe home. '

"Involuntarily she turned toward the only one who proffered help; butDarling and I were too angry at the ruse to allow him to succeed, andstood our ground by the door. 'You see, Teresa, how it is, ' continuedKing, glancing at us defiantly: 'these fellows mean to keep you aprisoner in this house until they make you do and say as they please. '

"'What is it you wish me to do and say?" asked Teresa, with forcedcomposure. 

"'We wish you to state, ' said I, hoarsely, 'whether or not you are orhave been engaged to either of us. We want you to say it because we areall candidates for your favor, and because there is a dispute among usas to whose claim is the strongest. It will put an end to our quarrel, and secure to you the instant return of your liberty, if you willdeclare the truth. '

"At that she sank down on a chair and covered her face with her hands. After a little time she gathered courage and looked up at Darling andme. I observed, even then, that she took no notice of the others. 'If Iam promised to either of you, you know it. But this I say now: if I werea hundred times promised, I would break that promise after such insultas you have all offered me this evening. Let me go!'

"What Charlie Darling suffered all through the interview had been patentto each of us. When she delivered his sentence in tones so determined, acry that was a groan escaped his colorless lips. To say that _I_ did notwrithe under her just scorn would be false. Tears, few, but hot andbitter, blinded my eyes. She took no further notice of any of us, butsat waiting for her release. 

"'You knew by this time, ' I said, 'that you had been deceived. '

"I felt by this time that I had been a fool--a poor, coarse fool; therehad been treachery somewhere, and that all together we were a villainouslot. I was only hesitating about how to get out of the scrape decently, when Darling spoke in a voice that was hardly recognizable:

"'Teresa, we _were_ engaged; I told these others so before; but theywould not believe me. On the contrary, each one claims to have receivedsuch encouragement from you as to entitle him to be considered yourfavored lover. Hard as it was for me to believe such falsehood possibleto you, two of these claimants insisted upon their rights against mine, and they overruled my judgment and wishes to such a degree that Iconsented to this trial for you. It has resulted in nothing except shameto us and annoyance to you! I beg your pardon. More I will not sayto-night. '

"Then she rose up and faced us all again with burning cheeks andflashing eyes. 'If any other man says I have given him a promise, oranything amounting to a promise, he lies. To Tom Allen I have alwaysbeen friendly, and have romped with him at our little parties; butto-night he grossly insulted me, and I will never speak to him again. Asto Harry King, I was friendly with him, too, until about a fortnight agohe presumed to kiss me rudely, in spite of resistance, since which timeI have barely recognized him. If Mr. Kittredge says I have made him anypromises, he is unworthy of the great respect I have always had forhim;' and with that last word she broke down, and sobbed as if her heartwould break. But it was only for a few minutes that she cried--she washerself again before we had recovered our composure. 

"'What was it Tom Allen said to you?' asked Charlie, when her tears weredried. 

"'He said _he_ would have me, if the rest did cast me off. Thank you, 'with a mocking courtesy to Allen. 'It is fortunate for you--and for youall, that I have no "big brother. "'

"'I beg you will believe no "big brother" could add to my punishment, 'Charlie answered; and I felt included in the confession. Then he offeredto see her home without more delay, but she declined any escortwhatever, only requesting us to remain where we were until she had beengone half an hour; and rode off into the moonlight and solitudeunattended, with what feelings in her heart God knows. We all watchedher until she was hidden from sight by the shadows of a grove of pines, and I still remember the shudder with which I saw her plunge recklesslyinto the gloom--manlike, careful about her beautiful body, and notregarding her tender girl heart. "

"That must have been a pleasant half hour for you, " I could not helpremarking. 

"Pleasant! yes; we were like a lot of devils chained. That nightdissolved all friendships between any two of us, except between Darlingand me; and _that_ could never be quite the same again, for had I notshown him that I believed myself a favored rival? though I afterwardspretended to impute my belief to vanity. "

"How did you account _to yourself_ for the delusion? Had she notflirted, as it is called, with you?"

"She had certainly caused me to be deluded, innocently or otherwise, into a belief that she regarded me with peculiar favor; and I had beenaccustomed to take certain little liberties with her, which probablyseemed of far greater importance to me than they did to her; for herpassional nature was hardly yet awakened, and among our primitivesociety there was no great restraint upon any innocent familiarities. "

"What became of her after that night?--did she marry Darling?"

The answer did not come at once. Thought and feeling were with the past;and I could not bring myself to intrude the present upon it, but busiedmyself with the leaves and vines and mosses that I had snatched from thebanks in passing, while my friend was absorbed in his silentreminiscences. 

"You have not heard the saddest part of the story yet, " he said at last, slowly and reluctantly. "She kept her word with each of us; ignoringAllen and King entirely; and only vouchsafing a passing word to Charlieand me. Poor Charlie was broken-hearted. He had never been strong, andnow he was weak, ill; in short, fell into a decline, and died in thefollowing year. "

"Did the story never get out?"

"Not the true story. That scoundrel King spread a rumor abroad whichcaused much mischief, and was most cruel after what we had done tooutrage her feelings in the first instance; but that was his revenge forher slight--I never knew whether she regretted Darling or not. She wasso sensitive and willfully proud that she would have died herself soonerthan betray a regret for any one who had offended her. Her mother died, and her father took her away with him to the Sandwich Islands. It wassaid he was not kind to her, especially after her 'disgrace, ' as hecalled it. "

"She never forgave you? What do you know about her subsequent history?"

"Nothing of it. But she had her revenge for what went before. After shewent to the Islands I wrote her a very full and perfect confession of myfault, and the extenuating circumstances, and offered her my love, withthe assurance that it had always been hers. What do you think she wroteme in return? Only this: that once she _had_ loved me; that she had butjust made the discovery that she loved me, and not Charlie Darling, whenwe mutually insulted her as we did, and forced her to discard both ofus; for which she was not now sorry. "

"After all, she was not an angel, " I said, laughing lightly, to hisembarrassment. 

"But to think of using a girl of sixteen like that!"

"You are in a self-accusing mood to-day. Let us talk of our neighbors. Bad as that practice is, I believe it is better than talking aboutourselves:--Mrs. Sancy thinks so, I know?"

"Who is Mrs. Sancy?"

"I will introduce you to-morrow. "

Next to being principal in a romantic _affaire de coeur_ is theexcitement of being an interested third party. In consonance with thisbelief I laid awake most of the night imagining the possible andprobable "conclusion of the whole matter. " I never doubted that Mrs. Sancy was Teresa, nor that she was more fascinating at thirty-one thanshe had been at sixteen: but fifteen years work great changes in theintellectual and moral person, and much as I desired to play the part ofFate in bringing these two people together, I was very doubtful aboutthe result. But I need not have troubled myself to assume theprerogative of Fate, which by choosing its own instruments saved me allresponsibility in the matter. 

As Mr. Kittredge messed with a party of military officers, and was offon an early excursion to unknown localities, I saw nothing of him thefollowing morning. We were to ride on the beach after lunch, returningon the turn of the tide to see the bathers. Therefore no opportunityseemed likely to present itself before evening for the promisedintroduction. 

The afternoon proved fine, and we were cantering gaily along in thefresh breeze and sunshine, when another party appeared, advancing fromthe opposite direction, whom I knew to be Mrs. Sancy, her littledaughter Isabelle, and the Kanaka servant. The child and servant weregalloping hard, and passed us with a rush. But the lady seemed in aquieter mood, riding easily and carelessly, with an air ofpre-occupation. Suddenly she too gave her horse whip and rein, and asshe dashed past I heard her exclaim, "The quicksands! the quicksands!"

Instinctively we drew rein, turned, and followed. We rode hard for a fewminutes, without overtaking her; then slackened our speed on seeing hercome up with the child, and arrest the race which had so alarmed her. 

"There are no quicksands in this direction;" was the first remark ofKittredge when we could speak. 

"What should make her think so?"

"There _were_ quicksands there a number of years ago, and by her mannershe must have known it then. "

"And by the same token, " I replied, "she cannot have been here since thechange. "

"Who is she?"

"My friend, Mrs. Sancy. "

"Where is she from?"

"From the quicksands;" I replied evasively, as I saw the ladyapproaching us. 

"I fear you have shared my fright, " she said, as soon as she came withinspeaking distance. "When I used to be familiar with these sands therewas a dangerous spot out there; but I perceive time has effaced it, ashe does so many things;" smiling, and bowing to my escort. 

"There are some things time never effaces, even from the sands, "returned Kittredge, growing visibly pale. 

"That is contrary to the poets, " laughingly she rejoined; "but I believethe poets have been superseded by the scientists, who prove everythingfor you by a fossil. "

I could not help watching her to learn how much or how littlerecognition there was in her face. The color came and went, I couldperceive; but whether with doubt or certainty I could not determine. Ifelt I ought to introduce them, but shrunk from helping on thedenouement in that way. In my embarrassment I said nothing. We were nowapproaching the vicinity of the bathing-houses, and seeing the visitorscollecting for the bath, an excuse was furnished for quickening ourpaces. Mrs. Sancy bowed and left us. Mr. Kittredge seemed to have lostthe power of speech. 

Fifteen minutes after I was sitting on some drift-wood, watching thepranks of the gayest of the crowd as they "jumped the rollers, " whenMrs. Sancy came out of a dressing-room, followed by her Kanaka with asurf-board. Her bathing-dress was very jaunty and becoming, and herskill as a swimmer drew to her a great deal of attention. To swim outand float in on the rollers seemed to be to her no more of a feat thanit would be to a sea-gull, she did it so easily and gracefully. Butto-day something went wrong with her. Either she was too warm fromriding, or her circulation was disturbed by the meeting with Kittredge, or both; at all events the second time she swam out she failed toreturn. The board slipped away from her, and she sank out of sight. 

While I gazed horror-stricken, scarce understanding what had takenplace, a man rushed past me in his bathing clothes, running out to wherethe water was deep enough to float him, and striking out rapidly fromthere. I could not recognize him in that dress, but I knew it wasKittredge. Fate had sent him. The incoming tide kept her where she sank, and he soon brought her to the surface and through the surf to thebeach. I spread my cloak on the sand, and, wrapping her in it, beganrubbing and rolling her, with the assistance of other ladies, forresuscitation from drowning. 

In three minutes more Kittredge was kneeling by my side with abrandy-flask, administering its contents drop by drop, and givingorders. "It is congestion, " said he. "You must rub her chest, her back, her hands and feet; so, so. She will die in your hands if you are notquick. For God's sake, work fast!"

By his presence of mind she was saved as by a miracle. When she wasremoved to her lodgings, and able to converse, she asked me who it wasthat had rescued her. 

"Mr. Kittredge, " I said. 

"The same I met on the beach?"

"The same. "

She smiled in a faint, half-dreaming way, and turned away her face. Shethought I did not know her secret. 

I am not going to let my hero take advantage of the first emotion ofgratitude after a service, to mention his wishes in, as manystory-tellers do. I consider it a mean advantage; besides Mr. Kittredgedid not do it. In fact, he absented himself for a week. When hereturned, I introduced him formally to Mrs. Sancy, and we three walkedtogether down to the beach, and seated ourselves on a white oldcottonwood that had floated out of the Columbia river, and been cast bythe high tides of winter above the shelving sands. 

We were rather a silent party for a few minutes. In his abstraction, Mr. Kittredge reached down and traced a name in the sand with the point ofmy parasol stick--TERESA. 

Then, seeing the letters staring at him, he looked up at her, and said, "I could not brush them out if I would. Time has failed to do that. " Hergaze wandered away, out to sea, up towards the Capes, down toward theHead; and a delicate color grew upon her cheek. "It has scarcely changedin fifteen years, " she said. "I did not count on finding all things thesame. "

With that I made a pretense of leaving them, to seek shells along thebeach; for I knew that fate could no longer be averted. When I returnedshe was aware that I possessed the secret of both, and she smiled uponme a recognition of my right to be pleased with what I saw; what Ibeheld seeming the prelude to a happy marriage. That night I wrote in mydiary, after some comments on my relations with Mr. Kittredge:

 "It is best to be off with the old love, Before you are on with the new. "

AN OLD FOOL. 

PART I. 

The annual rain-fall on the lower Columbia River is upward of eightyinches--often almost ninety; and the greater amount of this fall isduring the winter months, from November to March, generally the leastintermittent in December. I mention this climatic fact, the better to beunderstood in attempting to describe a certain December afternoon in theyear 186-. 

It lacked but two days of Christmas, and the sun had not shone outbrightly for a single hour in three weeks. On this afternoon the steadypour from the clouds was a strong reminder of the ancient deluge. Between the rain itself and the mist which always accompanies therain-fall in Oregon, the world seemed nearly blotted out. Standing onthe wharf at Astoria, the noble river looked like a great gray caldronof steaming water, evaporating freely at 42°. The lofty highlands on theopposite shore had lost all shape, or certain altitude. The statelyforest of firs along their summits were shrouded in ever-changing massesof whitish-gray fog. Nothing could be seen of the light-house on theheadland at the mouth of the river; nothing of Tongue Point, two milesabove Astoria; and only a dim presentment of the town itself, and thehills at the back of it. Even the old Astorians, used to this sort ofweather and not disliking it, having little to do in the winter time, and being always braced up by sea-airs that even this fresh-water floodcould not divest of their tonic flavor--these old sea-dogs, pilots, fishermen, and other _amphibia_, were constrained at last to giveutterance to mild growls at the persistent character of the storm. 

A crowd of these India-rubber clad, red-cheeked, and, alas! too oftenred-nosed old men of the sea, had taken shelter in the RailroadSaloon--called that, apparently, because there was no railroad thenwithin hundreds of miles--and were engaged in alternate wild railings atthe weather, reminiscences of other storms, and whisky-drinking; therebeing an opinion current among these men that water-proof garments alonedid not suffice to keep out the all-prevailing wet. 

"If 'twant that we're so near the sea, with a good wide sewage of riverto carry off the water, we should all be drownded; thet's my view on't, "said Rumway, a bar pilot, whose dripping hat-rim and general shinyappearance gave point to his remark. 

"You can't count on the sea to befriend you this time, Captain. Bettergit yer ark alongside the wharf; fur we're goin' to hev the Columbiarunnin' up stream to-night, sure as you're born. "

"Hullo! Is that you, Joe Chillis? What brought you to town in this kindo' weather? And what do you know about the tides?--that's _my_ business, I calculate. "

"Mebbe it is; and mebbe a bar pilot knows more about the tides nor amountain man. But there'll be a rousin' old tide to-night, and asou'wester, to boot; you bet yer life on that!"

"I'll grant you thet a mountain man knows a heap thet other men don't. But I'll never agree thet he can tell _me_ anything about _my_ business. Take a drink, Joe, and then let's hear some o' your mountain yarns. "

"Thankee; don't keer ef I do. I can't stop to spin yarns, tho', thisevenin'. I've got to git home. It won't be easy work pullin' agin thetide an hour or two from now. "

"What's your hurry?" "A story--a story!" "Let's make a night of it. " "O, come, Joe, you are not wanted at home. Cabin won't run away; wife won'tscold. " "Stop along ov us till mornin';" were the various rather noisyand ejaculatory remarks upon Chillis's avowed intention of abandoninggood and appreciative company, without stopping to tell one of hisever-ready tales of Indian and bear fighting in the Rocky Mountainsthirty years before. 

"Why, you ain't goin' out again till you've shaken off the water, Joe. You're dripping like a Newfoundland;" said Captain Rumway, as Chillisput down his empty glass, and turned toward the door, which he hadentered not five minutes before. This thoughtfulness for his comfort, however, only meant, "Stay till you've taken another drink, and thenmaybe you will tell us a story;" and Chillis knew the bait well enoughto decline it. 

"Thankee, Captain. One bucketful more or less won't make no difference. I'm wet to the skin now. Thank ye all, gentlemen; I've got business toattend to this evenin'. Have any of you seen Eb Smiley thisarternoon?"--looking back, with his hand on the door-knob. "I'd like tospeak to him afore I leave, ef you can tell me whar to find him. "

"You'll find him in there, " answered the bar-tender, crooking his thumbtoward a room leading out of the saloon, containing a tumbled single-bedand a wooden settee, besides various masculine bijouterie in the shapeof boots, old and new, clean and dirty; candle and cigar ends; dustybits of paper on a stand, the chief ornament of which was ablack-looking derringer; coats, vests, fishing-tackle; and cheap prints, adorning the walls in the wildest disregard of effect--except, indeed, the effect aimed at were chaos. 

Into this apartment Chillis unceremoniously thrust himself through thehalf-open door, frowning as darkly as his fine and pleasant featureswould admit of, and muttering to himself, "Damme, I thought as much. "

On the wooden settee reclined a man thirty years his junior--Chillis wasover sixty, though he did not look it--sleeping the heavy, stupid sleepof intoxication. The old hunter did not stand upon ceremony, norhesitate to invade the sleeper's privacy, but marched up to the settee, his ragged old blanket-coat dripping tiny streams from every separatetatter, and proceeded at once roughly to arouse the drunken man by aprolonged and vigorous shaking. 

"Wha'er want? Lemme 'lone, " grumbled Smiley, only dimly conscious ofwhat was being said or done to him. 

"Get up, I say. Get up, you fool! and come along home. Your wife isneedin' ye. Go home and take care of her and the boy. Come along--d'yehear?"

But the sleeper's brain was impervious to sound or sense. He onlymuttered, in a drowsy whisper, "Lemme 'lone, " a few times, and went offinto a deeper stupor than before. 

"You miserable cuss, " snarled Chillis, in his wrath, "be d----d to you, then! Drink yerself to death, ef you want to--the sooner the better;"and, with this parting adjuration, and an extra shake, the old mountainman, who had drank barrels of alcohol himself with comparative immunityfrom harm, turned his back upon this younger degenerate victim of modernwhisky, and strode out of the room and the house, without stopping toreply to the renewed entreaties of his friends to remain and "make anight of it. "

Making directly for the wharf, where his boat was moored, half filledwith water, he hastily bailed it out, pushed off, and, dropping the oarsinto the row-locks, bent to the work before him; for the tide wasalready beginning to run up, and the course he had to take brought himdead against it for the first two or three miles, after which the tidewould be with him, and, if there should not be too much sea, the laborof impelling the boat would be materially lessened. 

The lookout from a small boat was an ugly one at three o'clock of thisrainy December afternoon. A dense, cold fog had been rolling in from thesea for the last half hour, and the wind was rising with the tide. Underthe shelter of the hills at the foot of which Astoria nestled, the winddid not make itself felt; but once past "The Point, " and in the exposedwaters of Young's Bay, the south-westers had a fair sweep of the greatriver, of which the bay is only an inlet. One of these dreaded stormswas preparing to make itself felt, as Chillis had predicted, and as henow saw by the way in which the mist was being blown off the face of theriver, and the "white-caps" came instead. Before he arrived off thePoint he laid down his oars, and, taking out of his coat-pocket asaturated yellow cotton handkerchief, proceeded to tie his old soft felthat down over his ears, and otherwise make ready for a struggle withwind and water--neither of them adversaries to be trifled with, as heknew. 

Not a minute too soon, either; for, just when he had resumed the oars, the boat, having drifted out of her course, was caught by a wave and ablast on its broadside, and nearly upset. 

"Steady, little gal, " said Chillis, bringing his boat round, head to thewind. "None o' your capers now. Thar is serious work on hand, an' I wantyou to behave better'n ever you did afore. It's you an' me, an' theWhite Rose, this time, sure, " and he pressed his lips together grimly, and peered out from under his bent old hat at the storm which wasdriving furiously against his broad breast, and into his white, anxiousface, almost blinding and strangling him. His boat was a small one--toosmall for the seas of the lower Columbia--but it was trim and light, andsteered easily. Besides, the old mountaineer was a skilled oarsman, albeit this accomplishment was not a part of the education of Americanhunters and trappers, as it was of the French _voyageurs_. Keeping hislittle craft head to the wind, he took each wave squarely on the prow, and with a powerful stroke of the oars cut through it, or sprang overit, and then made ready for the next. Meanwhile, the storm increased, the rain driving at an angle of 45°, and in sheets that flappedsmotheringly about him like wet blankets, and threatened to swamp hisboat without assistance from the waves. It was growing colder, too, andhis sodden garments were of little service to protect him from the chillthat comes with a south-wester; nor was the grip of the naked hands uponthe oars stimulating to the circulation of his old blood through theswollen fingers. 

But old Joe Chillis had a distinct comprehension of the situation, andfelt himself to be master of it. He had gone over to Astoria that day, not to drink whisky and tell stories, but to do a good turn for the"White Rose. " Failing in his purpose, he was going back again, at anycost, to make up for the miscarriage of that effort. Death itself couldnot frighten him; for what was the Columbia in a storm to the dangers hehad passed through in years of hunting and trapping in the RockyMountains? He had seemed to bear a charmed life then; he would believethat the charm had not deserted him. 

But, O, how his old arms ached! and the storm freshening every minute, with two miles further to row, in the teeth of it. The tide was with himnow; but the wind was against the tide, and made an ugly sea. If he onlycould reach the mouth of the creek before dark. If he could? Why, hemust. The tide would be up so that he could not find the entrance in thedark. He worked resolutely--worked harder than ever--but he did notaccomplish so much, because his strength was giving out. When he firstbecame aware of this, he heaved a great sigh, as if his heart werebroken, then pressed his lips together as before, and peered through thethick gray twilight, looking for the creek's mouth while yet there was alittle light. 

He was now in the very worst part of the bay, where the current fromYoung's River was strongest, setting out toward the Columbia, and wherethe wind had the fairest sweep, blowing from the coast across the lowClatsop plains. Only the tide and his failing strength were opposed tothese; would they enable him to hold his own? He set his teeth harderthan ever, but it was all in vain, and directly the catastrophe came. His strength wavered, the boat veered round, a sudden gust and roll ofwater took it broadside, and over she went, keel up, more than a milefrom land. 

But this was not the last of Joe Chillis--not by any manner of means. Hehad trapped beaver too many years to mind a ducking more or less, if heonly had his strength. So, when he came up, he clutched an oar that wasfloating past him, and looked about for the boat. She was not faroff--the tide was holding her, bobbing up and down like a cork. In a fewminutes she was righted, and Chillis had scrambled in, losing his oarwhile doing it, and regaining it while being nearly upset again. 

It had become a matter of life and death now to keep afloat, with onlyone oar to fight the sea with; and, though hoping little from theexpedient, in such a gale--blowing the wrong way, besides--Chillisshouted for assistance in every lull of the tempest. To his own intenseastonishment, as well as relief, his hail was answered. 

"Where away?" came on the wind, the sound seeming to flap and flutterlike a shred of torn sail. 

"Off the creek, about a mile?" shouted Chillis, with those powerfullungs of his, that had gotten much of their bellows-like proportionsduring a dozen years of breathing the thin air of the mountains. 

"All right!" was returned on the snapping, fluttering gale. After thisanswer, Chillis contented himself with keeping his boat right side up, and giving an occasional prolonged "Oh-whoo!" to guide his rescuersthrough the thickening gloom. How long it seemed, with the growingdarkness, and the effort to avoid another upset! But the promised helpcame at last, in the shape of the mail-carrier's plunger, her trimlittle mast catching his eyes, shining white and bare out of the dusk. Directly he heard the voices of the mail-carrier and another. 

"Where be ye? _Who_ be ye?"

"Right here, under yer bow. Joe Chillis, you bet your life!"

"Waal, come aboard here, mighty quick. Make fast. Mind your boat; don'tlet her strike us. Pole off--pole off, with yer oar!"

"Mind _your_ oars, " returned Chillis; "I'll mind mine"--every wordspoken with a yell. 

"What was the row, out there?" asks the mail-carrier, making a trumpetof his hand. 

"Boat flopped over; lost an oar, " answered Chillis, keeping his littlecraft from flying on board by main force. 

"Guess I won't go over to-night, " says the carrier. "'Taint safe forthe mail"--The wind snatching the word "mail" out of his mouth, andscattering it over the water as if it had been a broken bundle ofletters. "I'll go back to Skippanon"--the letters flying every wayagain. 

"Couldn't get over noways, now, " shouts back Chillis, glad in his heartthat he could not, and that the chance, or mischance, favored hisprevious designs. Then he said no more, but watched his boat, warding itoff carefully until they reached the mouth of the creek and got inside, with nothing worse to contend against than the insolent wind and rain. 

"This is a purty stiff tide, for this time o' day. It won't take long topull up to Skippanon, with all this water pushin' us along. Goin' hometo-night, Joe?"

"Yes, I'm goin' home, ef I can borrer an oar, " said Chillis. "My houseain't altogether safe without me, in sech weather as this. "

"Safer 'n most houses, ef she don't break away from her moorin's, "returned the mail-carrier, laughing. "Ef I can git somebody to take myplace for a week, I'm comin' up to spend it with you, an' do someshootin'. Nothin' like such an establishment as yours to go huntin'in--house an' boat all in one--go where you please, an' stay as long asyou please. "

"Find me an oar to git home with, an' you can come an' stay as long asthe grub holds out. "

"Waal, I can do that, I guess, when we git to the landin'. I keep anextra pair or two for emergencies. But it's gittin' awful black, Chillis, an' I don't envy you the trip up the creek. It's crooked as astring o' S's, an' full o' shoals, to boot. "

"It won't be shoal to-night, " remarked Chillis, and relapsed intosilence. 

In a few minutes the boat's bow touched the bank. "Mind the tiller!"called out both oarsmen, savagely. But as no one minded it, and it wastoo dark to see what was the matter, the mail-carrier dropped his oar, and stepped back to the stern to _feel_ what it was. 

"He's fast asleep, or drunk, or dead, I don't know which, " he called tothe other oarsman, as he got hold of the steering gear, and headed theboat up-stream again. His companion made no reply, and the partyproceeded in silence to the landing. Here, by dint of much shouting andhallooing, the inmates of a house close by became informed of somethingunusual outside, and, after a suitable delay, a man appeared, carrying alantern. 

"It's you, is it?" he said to the mail-carrier. "I reckoned you wouldn'tcross to-night. Who ye got in there?"

"It's Joe Chillis. We picked him up outside, about a mile off the land. His boat had been upset, an' he'd lost an oar; an' ef we hadn't gone tohis assistance it would have been the last of old Joe, I guess. "

"Hullo, Joe! Why don't you git up?" asked the man, seeing that Chillisdid not rise, or change his position. 

"By George! I don't know what's the matter with him. Give me thelantern;" and the mail-carrier took the light and flashed it overChillis's face. 

"I don't know whether he's asleep, or has fainted, or what. He's awfulwhite, an' there's an ugly cut in his shoulder, an' his coat all tornaway. Must have hurt himself tryin' to right his boat, I guess. George!the iron on the rowlock must have struck right into the flesh. "

"He didn't say he was hurt, " rejoined the other oarsman. 

"It's like enough he didn't know it, " said the man with the lantern. "When a man's in danger he doesn't feel a hurt. Poor old Joe! he wasn'tdrunk, or he couldn't have handled his boat at all in this weather. Wemust take him in, I s'pose. "

Then the three men lifted him upon his feet, and, by shaking andtalking, aroused him sufficiently to walk with their support to thehouse. There they laid him on a bench, and brought him a glass of hotwhisky and water; and the women of the house gathered about shyly, gazing compassionately upon the ugly wound in the old man's delicatewhite flesh, white and delicate as the fairest woman's. 

Presently, Chillis sat up and looked about him. "Have you got me theoars?" he said to the mail-carrier. 

"You won't row any more to-night, Joe, _I_ guess, " the carrier answered, smiling grimly. "Look at your shoulder, man. "

"Shoulder be d----d!" retorted Chillis. "Beg pardon, ladies; I didn'tsee you. Been asleep, haven't I? Perhaps, sence you seem to think I'mnot fit for rowin', one of these ladies will do me the favor to help meput myself in order. Have you a piece of court-plaster, or a healingsalve, ma'am?"--to the elder woman. "Ladies mostly keep sech triflesabout them, I believe. "

Then he straightened himself up to his magnificent height, and threw outhis broad, round chest, as if the gash in his shoulder were an epauletor a band of stars instead. 

"Of course, I can do something for you, " said the woman he hadaddressed, very cheerfully and quickly. "I have the best healing salvein all the country;" and, running away, she quickly returned with a rollof linen, and the invaluable salve. 

"I must look at the wound, and see if it wants washing out. Ugh! O, dear! it is a dreadful cut, and ragged. You will have to go to thedoctor with that, I'm afraid. But I'll just put this on to-night, toprevent your taking cold in it; though you will take cold, anyway, ifyou do not get a change of clothes;" and the good woman looked round ather husband, asking him with her eyes to offer this very necessarykindness. 

"You'll stop with us to-night, Joe, " said the man, in answer to thisappeal, "an' the sooner you git off them wet clothes the better. I'lllend you some o' mine. "

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Chillis, you must get out of these wet things, and puton some of Ben's. Then you will let me get you a bit of hot supper, andgo right to bed. You don't look as if you could sit up. There!" sheadded, as the salve was pressed gently down over the torn flesh, andheaving a deep sigh, "if you feel half as sick as I do, just looking atit, you will do well to get ready to lie down. "

"Thankee, ma'am. It's worth a man's while to git hurt a leetle, ef hehas a lady to take care o' him, " answered Chillis, gallantly. "But Ican't accept your kindness any furder to-night. Ef I can git the loan ofa lantern an' a pair o' oars, it is all I ask, for home I must go, assoon as possible. "

"Ben will lend you a lantern, " said the mail-carrier, "an' I will lendyou the oars, as I promised; but what on earth you want to go anyfurther in this storm for, beats me. "

"This storm has only jist begun, and its goin' to last three days, "returned Chillis. "No use waitin' for it to quit; so, good-night to youall. I've made a pretty mess o' your floor, " he added, turning to glanceat the little black puddles that had drained out of his great spongyblanket coat, and run down through his leaky boots on to thewhite-scoured boards of the kitchen; then, glancing from them to themistress of the house--"I hope you'll excuse me. " And with that heopened the door quickly, and shut himself out into the tempest oncemore, making his way by the lantern's aid to the boat-house at thelanding, where he helped himself to what he needed, and was soon pullingup the creek. Luckily there was no current against him, for it wassickening work making the oar-stroke with that hurt in his shoulder. 

He could see by the light of the lantern, which he occasionally heldaloft, that the long grass of the tide-marsh was already completelysubmerged, the immense flats looking like a sea, with the wind drivingthe water before it in long rolls, or catching it up and flirting itthrough the air in spray and foam. His only guide to his course was thescattering line of low willows whose tops still bent and shook above theflood, indicating the slightly raised banks of the creek, everythingmore distant being hidden in the profound darkness which brooded overand seemed a part of the storm. But even with these landmarks hewandered a good deal in his reckoning, and an hour or more had elapsedbefore his watchful eyes caught the gleam of what might have been a starreflected in the ocean. 

"Thank God!" he whispered, and pulled a little faster toward that sparkof light. 

In ten minutes more, he moored his boat to the hitching-post in front ofa tiny cottage, from whose uncurtained window the light of a briskwood-fire was shining. As the chain clanked in the ring, the dooropened, and a woman and child looked out. 

"Is that you, Eben?" asked the woman, in an eager voice, made husky byprevious weeping. "I certainly feared you were drowned. " Then seeing, asher eyes became accustomed to the darkness, that the figure stilllingering about the boat was not her husband's she shrank back, fearingthe worst. 

"I'm sorry I'm not the one you looked for, Mrs. Smiley, " answeredChillis, standing on the bit of portico, with its dripping honeysucklevines swinging in the wind; "but I'm better than nobody, I reckon, an'Smiley will hardly be home to-night. The bay's awful rough, an' ef Ihadn't started over early, I shouldn't have ventured, neither. No, youneedn't look for your husband to-night, ma'am. "

"Will you not come in by the fire, Mr. Chillis?" asked the woman, hesitatingly, seeing that he seemed waiting to be invited. 

"Thankee. But I shall spile your floor, ef I do. I'm a perfect sponge, not fit to come near a lady, nohow. I thought, " he added, as he closedthe door and advanced to the hearth, "that I would jest stop an' see efI could do anything for you, seein' as I guessed you'd be alone, andmebbe afeard o' the storm an' the high tide. Ladies mostly is afeard tobe alone at sech times"--untying the yellow cotton handkerchief andthrowing his sodden hat upon the stone hearth. 

"Do you think there is any danger?" asked Mrs. Smiley, embarrassed, yetanxious. She stood in the middle of the room, behind him, with thatirresolute air an inexperienced person has in unexpected circumstances. 

He turned around with his back to the blaze, while a faint mist ofevaporation began to creep out all over him, and occasionally to dartout in slender streams and float up the wide chimney. 

"There's no danger _now_, an' mebbe there won't _be_ any. But the tidewill not turn much afore midnight, an' it's higher now than it generallyis when it is full. "

"What's that?" cried Willie, the boy, his senses sharpened by themention of danger. 

"It's the wind rattlin' my boat-chains, " returned Chillis, smiling atthe little fellow's startled looks. 

"Your boat-chain!" echoed his mother, not less startled. "Was it yourboat that you were fastening to the hitching-post? I thought it was yourhorse. Is the water up so high, then, already?"--her cheeks paling asshe spoke. 

"I dragged it up a little way, " returned Chillis, slowly, and turninghis face back to the fire. He was listening attentively, and thought hecaught the sound of lapping water. 

"Have you just come from Astoria?" asked Mrs. Smiley, approaching, andstanding at one corner of the hearth. The fire-light shone full upon hernow, and revealed a clear white face; large, dark-gray eyes, full ofsadness and perplexity; a beautifully shaped head, coiled round andround with heavy twists of golden hair, that glittered in its highlights like burnished metal; and a figure at once full and lithe in itsproportions, clad in a neat-fitting dress of some soft, dark material, set off with a tiny white collar and bright ribbon. It was easy to seewhy she was the "White Rose" to the rough old mountain man. She waslooking up at him with an eager, questioning gaze, that meant, O, everso much more than her words. 

"Not quite direct. I stopped down at the landin', an' I lost a littletime gittin' capsized in the bay. I left about three o'clock. "

"Might not Eben have left a little later, " the gray eyes added, "andhave been capsized, too?"

"He wouldn't _try_ to cross half an hour later--I'll wager my head onthat. He can't get away from town to-night; an', what is worse, I don'tthink he can cross for two or three days. We've got our Christmas stormon hand, an' a worse one than we've had for twenty years, or I'mmistaken. "

"If you thought the storm was going to be severe, why did you not warnEben, Mr. Chillis?" The gray eyes watched him steadily. 

"I did say, there would be a sou'-wester uncommon severe; but Rumwaylaughed at me for prophesyin' in his company. Besides, I was in a hurryto get off, myself, and wouldn't argue with 'em. Smiley's a man to takehis own way pretty much, too. "

"I wish you had warned him, " sighed Mrs. Smiley, and turned wearilyaway. She left her guest gazing into the fire and still steaming in avery unsavory manner, lighted a candle, set it in the window, and openedthe door to look out. What she saw made her start back with a cry ofaffright, and hurriedly close the door. 

"Your boat is this side of the hitching-post, and the water is allaround us!"

"An' it is not yet eight o'clock. I guessed it would be so. "

Just then, a fearful blast shook the house, and the boat's chain clankednearer. Willie caught his mother's hand, and shivered all over withterror. "O, mamma!" he sobbed, "will the water drown our house?"

"I hope not, my boy. It may come up and wet our warm, dry floor; but Itrust it will not give us so much trouble. We do not like wet feet, dowe, Willie?"

Then the mother, intent on soothing the child, sat down in thefire-light and held his curly head in her lap, whispering little cooingsentences into his ear whenever he grew restless; while her strange, unbidden guest continued to evaporate in one corner of the hearth, sitting with his hands on his knees, staring at something in the coals. There was no attempt at conversation. There had never, until thisevening, been a dozen words exchanged between these neighbors, who kneweach other by sight and by reputation well enough. Joe Chillis was not aman whose personal appearance--so far as clothes went--nor whosereputation, would commend him to women generally--the one being shabbyand careless, the other smacking of recklessness and whisky. Not thatany great harm was known of the man; but that he was out of the pale ofpolite society even in this new and isolated corner of the earth. He hadhad an Indian wife in his youth; being more accustomed to the ways ofher people than of his own. For nearly twenty years he had lived athriftless, bachelor existence, known among men, and by hearsay amongwomen, as a noted story-teller, and genial, devil-may-care, old mountainman, whose heart was in the right place, but who never drew very heavilyupon his brain resources, except to embellish a tale of his earlyexploits in Indian-fighting, bear-killing and beaver-trapping. It waswith a curious feeling of wonder that Mrs. Smiley found herself_tête-a-tête_ with him at her own fireside; and, in spite of her anxietyabout other matters, she could not help studying him a good deal, as hesat there, silent and almost as motionless as a statue; nor keep fromnoticing his splendid _physique_, and the aristocratic cut of hisfeatures; nor from imagining him as he must have been in his youth. Shewas absorbed for a little while, picturing this gallant young Whiteamong his Indian associates--trying to fancy how he treated his squawwife, and whether he really cared for her as he would for a White woman;then, she wondered what kind of an experience his present life would befor any one else--herself, for instance--living most of the year on aflat-boat housed in, and hiding in sloughs, and all manner of watery, out-of-the-way places. She loved forest and stream, and sylvan shades, well enough; but not well enough for that. So a human creature who couldthus voluntarily exile himself must be peculiar. But Joe Chillis did notlook peculiar; he looked as alive and human as anybody--in fact, particularly alive and human just now; and it was not any eccentricitywhich had brought him to her this night, but a real human reason. Whatwas the reason?

What with his mother's cooing whispers, and the passing of her lighthand over his hair, Willie had fallen asleep. Mrs. Smiley lifted him inher arms and laid him on the lounge, covering him carefully, andtouching him tenderly, kissing his bright curls at the last. Chillisturned to watch her--he could not help it. Perhaps he speculated about_her_ way of living and acting, as she had speculated about his. Meantime, the tempest outside increased in fury, and the little cottagetrembled with its fitful shocks. 

Now that Willie was asleep, Mrs. Chillis felt a growing nervousness andembarrassment. She could not bring herself to sit down again, alone withJoe Chillis. Not that she was afraid of him--there was nothing in hisappearance to inspire a dread of the man; but she wanted to know what hewas there for. The sensitive nerves of the man felt this mental inquiryof her, but he would not be the first to speak; so he let her flutterabout--brightening the fire, putting to right things that were rightenough as they were, and making a pretense of being busied withhousehold cares. At length, there was nothing more to do except to windthe clock, which stood on the mantel, over the hearth. Here was heropportunity. "The evening has seemed very long, " she said, "but it isnine o'clock, at last. "

Chillis got up, went to the door, and opened it. The boat was bumpingagainst the floor of the tiny portico. She saw it, too, and her heartgave a great bound. Chillis came back, and sat down by the fire, lookingvery grave and preoccupied. With a little shiver, she sat down opposite. It was clear that he had no intention of going; and, strange as she feltthe situation to be, she experienced a sort of relief that he was there. She was not a cowardly woman, nor was her guest one she would have beenlikely to appeal to in any peril; but, since a possible peril had come, and he was there of his own accord, she owned to herself she was notsorry. She was a woman, any way, and must needs require services of men, whoever they might be. Having disposed of this question, it occurred toher to be gracious to the man whose services she had made up her mind toaccept. Glancing into his face, she noticed its pallor; and thenremembered what he had said about being capsized in the bay, and that hewas an old man; and then, that he might not have had any supper. All ofwhich inspired her to say, "I beg pardon, Mr. Chillis. I presume youhave eaten nothing this evening. I shall get you something, rightaway--a cup of hot coffee, for instance. " And, without waiting to hearhis faint denial, Mrs. Smiley made all haste to put her hospitableintentions into practice, and soon had spread a little table with a veryappetizing array of cold meats, fruit, bread, and coffee. 

While her guest, with a few words of thanks, accepted and disposed ofthe refreshments, Mrs. Smiley sat and gazed at the fire in her turn. Thelittle cottage trembled, the windows rattled, the storm roared without, and--yes, the water actually lapped against the house! She started, turning to the door. The wind was driving the flood in under it. Shefelt a chill run through her flesh. 

"Mr. Chillis, the water is really coming into the house!"

"Yes, I reckoned that it would, " returned the old man, calmly, risingfrom the table and returning to the hearth. "That is the nicest supperI've had for these dozen years; and it has done me good, too. I was alittle wore out with pullin' over the bay, agin the wind. "

Mrs. Smiley looked at him curiously, and then at the water splashing inunder the door. He understood her perfectly. 

"A wettin' wouldn't hurt you, though it would be disagreeable, an' Ishould be sorry to have you put to that inconvenience. But the wind_and_ the water may unsettle the foundation o' your house, the chimneybein' on the outside, an' no support to it. Even that would notcertainly put you in danger, as the frame would likely float. But Iknew, ef sech a thing should happen, an' you here alone, you would bevery much frightened, an' perhaps lose your life a-tryin' to save it. "

"And you came up from the landing in all this storm to take care of me?"Mrs. Smiley exclaimed, with flushing cheeks. 

"I came all the way from Astoria to do it, " answered Chillis, looking atthe new-blown roses of her face. 

"And Eben----" She checked herself, and fixed her eyes upon the hearth. 

"He thought there was no danger, most likely. "

"Mr. Chillis, I can never thank you!" she cried, fervently, as sheturned to glance at the sleeping child. 

"White Rose, " he answered, under his breath, "I don't want any thanksbut those I've got. " Then, aloud to her: "You might have some blanketsready, in case we are turned out o' the house. The fire will be 'mostsure to be put out, any way, an' you an' the boy will be cold. "

Mrs. Smiley was shivering with that tenseness of the nerves which thebravest women suffer from, when obliged to wait the slow but certainapproach of danger. Her teeth chattered together, as she went about herband-box of a house, collecting things that would be needed, should shebe forced to abandon the shelter of its lowly roof; and, as she was thusengaged, she thought the place had never seemed so cosy as it did thiswild and terrible night. She put on her rubber overshoes, tied snugly ona pretty woollen hood, got ready a pile of blankets and a warm shawl, lighted a large glass lantern (as she saw the water approaching thefireplace), and, last, proceeded to arouse Willie, and wrap him up inovercoat, little fur cap, and warm mittens; when all was done, sheturned and looked anxiously at the face of her guest. It might have beena mask, for all she could learn from it. He was silently watching her, not looking either depressed or hopeful. She went up to him, and touchedhis sleeve. "How wet you are, still, " she said, compassionately. "I hadforgotten that you must have been uncomfortable after your capsize inthe bay. Perhaps it is not too late to change your clothes. You willfind some of Eben's in the next room. Shall I lay them out for you?"

He smiled when she touched him, a bright, warm smile, that took away tenyears of his age; but he did not move. 

"No, " said he, "it's no use now, to put on dry clothes. It won't hurt meto be wet; I'm used to it; but I shall be sorry when this cheerful fireis out. "

He had hardly spoken, when a blast struck the house, more terrific thanany that had gone before it, and a narrow crack became visible betweenthe hearth-stone and the floor, through which the water oozed in quiterapidly. Mrs. Smiley's face blanched. 

"That started the house a leetle, " said Chillis, lighting his lantern bythe fire. 

"Could we get to the landing, do you think?" asked Mrs. Smiley, springing instinctively to the lounge, where the child lay in ahalf-slumber. 

"Not afore the tide begins to run out. Ef it was daylight, we might, bykeepin' out o' the channel; but the best we can do now is to stick tothe place we're in as long as it holds together, or keeps right side up. When we can't stay no longer, we'll take to the boat. "

"I believe you know best, Mr. Chillis; but it's frightful waiting forone's house to float away from under one's feet, or fall about one'shead. And the tide, too! I have always feared and hated the tides, theyhave been a horror to me ever since I came here. It seems so dreadful tohave the earth slowly sinking into the sea; for that is the way itappears to do, you know. "

"Yes, I remember hearin' you say you were nervous about the tides, once, when I called here to see your husband. Curious, that I often thought o'that chance sayin' o' yours, isn't it?"

Mrs. Smiley's reply was a smothered cry of terror, as anotherblast--sudden, strong, protracted--pushed the house still further awayfrom the fire-place, letting the storm in at the opening; for it wasfrom that direction that the wind came. 

"Now she floats!" exclaimed Chillis. "We'll soon know whether she'sseaworthy or not. I had better take a look at my boat, I reckon; forthat's our last resort, in case your ark is worthless, Mrs. Smiley. " Helaughed softly, and stepped more vigorously than he had done, as thedanger grew more certain. 

"All right yet--cable not parted; ready to do us a good turn, if we needit. "

"We shall not be floated off to the bay, shall we?" asked Mrs. Smiley, trying to smile too. 

"Not afore the tide turns, certain. "

"It seems to me that I should feel safer anywhere than here. Unseendangers always are harder to battle with, even in imagination. I do notwish to put you to any further trouble; but I should not mind the stormand the open boat so much as seeing my house going to pieces, with me init--and Willie. "

"I've been a-thinkin', " replied Chillis, "that the house, arter all, ain't goin' to be much protection, with the water splashin' under foot, an' the wind an' rain drivin' in on that side where the chimney is tookaway. It's an awful pity such a neat, nice little place should come togrief, like this--a real snug little home!"

"And what else were you thinking?"--bringing him back to the subject ofexpedients. 

"You mentioned goin' to the landin'. Well, we can't go there; for Idoubt ef I could find the way in the dark, with the water over the topsof the bushes on the creek bank. Besides, in broad daylight it would betough work, pullin' agin' the flood; an' I had the misfortin to hurt myshoulder, tryin' to right my boat in the bay, which partly disables me, I am sorry to say; for I should like to put my whole strength to yourservice. "

"O, Mr. Chillis!--say no more, I beg. How selfish I am! when you havebeen so kind--with a bruise on your shoulder, and all! Cannot I doanything for you? I have liquor in the closet, if you would like tobathe with it. "

"See--she moves again!" cried he, as the house swayed yet further awayfrom the smouldering fire. "I've heard of 'abandonin' one'shearth-stone;' but I'd no idea that was the way they done it. "

"I had best get the brandy, any way, I think. We may need it, if we areforced to go into the boat. But do let me do something for you now, Mr. Chillis? It seems cruel, that you have been in your wet clothes forhours, and tired and bruised besides. "

"Thankee--'tain't no use!"--as she offered him the brandy-flask. "Thelady down at the landin' put on a plaster, as you can see foryourself"--throwing back the corner of a cloth cape the woman had placedover his shoulders, to cover the rent in his coat. "The doctor will haveto fix it up, I reckon; for it is cut up pretty bad with the iron. "

Mrs. Smiley turned suddenly sick. She was just at that stage ofexcitement when "a rose-leaf on the beaker's brim" causes the overflowof the cup. The undulations of the water, under the floor and over it, contributed still further to the feeling; and she hurried to the loungeto save herself from falling. Here she threw herself beside Willie, andcried a little, quietly, under cover of her shawl. 

"There she goes! Well, this isn't pleasant, noways, " said Chillis, asthe house, freed with a final crash from impediments, swayed aboutunsteadily, impelled by wind and water. "I was sayin', a bit ago, thatwe could not git to the landin', at present. There are three ways o'choosin', though, which are these: to stay where we are; to git into theboat, an' let the house take its chances; or to try to git to my cabin, where we would be safe an' could keep warm. "

"How long would it take us to get to your house?" asked Mrs. Smiley, from under her shawl. 

"An hour, mebbe. We should have to feel our way. "

Mrs. Smiley reflected. Sitting out in an open boat, without trying to doanything, would be horrible; staying where she was would be hardly lessso. It would be six or seven hours still to daylight. There was nochance of the storm abating, though the water must recede aftermidnight. 

"Let us go, " she said, sitting up. "You will not desert _me_, I know;and why should I keep you here all night, in anxiety and peril? Once athome, you can rest and nurse yourself. "

"So be it; an' God help us!"

"Amen!"

Chillis opened the door and looked out, placing a light first in thewindow. Then coming back for a basin, he waded out, bailed his boat, and, unfastening the chain, hauled it alongside the doorway. Mrs. Smileyhad hastily put some provisions into a tin bucket, with a cover, andsome things for Willie into another, and stood holding them, ready to bestowed away. 

"You will have to take the tiller, " said Chillis, placing the bucketssafely in the boat. 

"I meant to take an oar, " said she. 

"If you know how to steer, it will be better for me to pull alone. Now, let us have the boy, right in the bottom here, with plenty o' blanketsunder and over him; the same for yourself. The lanterns--so. Now, jumpin!"

"The fire is dead on the hearth, " she said, looking back through theempty house, and across the gap of water showing through the brokenwall. "What a horrible scene! God sent you, Mr. Chillis, to help me livethrough it. "

"I believe he did. Are you quite ready?"

"Quite; only tell me what I must do. I wish I could help you. "

"You do?" he answered; and then he bent himself to the work before him, with a sense of its responsibility which exalted it into a deed of thepurest chivalry. 

 * * * * *

PART II. 

The widow Smiley did not live on Clatsop Plains. Ever since the greatstorm at Christmas, when her house was carried off its foundations bythe high tide, she had refused to go back to it. When the neighborsheard of her husband's death, they took her over to Astoria to see himburied, for there was no home to bring him to, and she had neverreturned. Smiley, they say, was drowned where he fell, in the streets ofAstoria, that night of the high tide, being too intoxicated to get up. But nobody told the widow that. They said to her that he stumbled offthe wharf, in the dark, and that the tide brought him ashore, and thatwas enough for her to know. 

She was staying with the family at the landing when the news came, twodays after his death. Joe Chillis brought her things down to thelanding, and had them sent over to Astoria, where she decided to stay;and afterward she sold the farm and bought a small house in town, where, after two or three months, she opened a school for young children. Andthe women of the place had all taken to making much of Joe Chillis, inconsideration of his conduct during that memorable time, and of hissufferings in consequence; for he was laid up a long while afterwardwith that hurt in his shoulder, and the consequences of his exposure. Mrs. Smiley always treated him with the highest respect, and did notconceal that she had a great regard for him, if he _was_ nothing but anold mountain man, who had had a squaw wife; which regard, under thecircumstances, was not to be wondered at. 

Widow Smiley was young, and pretty, and _smart_; and Captain Rumway, thepilot, was dreadfully taken up with her, and nobody would blame her fortaking a second husband, who was able and willing to provide well forher. If it was to be a match, nobody would speak a word against it. Itwas said that he had left off drinking on her account, and was buildinga fine house up on the hill, on one of the prettiest lots in town. Suchwas the gossip about Mrs. Smiley, a year and a half after the night ofthe high tide. 

It was the afternoon of a July day, in Astoria; and, since we have giventhe reader so dismal a picture of December, let us, in justice, say aword about this July day. All day long the air had been as bright andclear as crystal, and the sun had sparkled on the blue waters of thenoblest of rivers without blinding the eyes with glare, or sickening thesenses with heat. Along either shore rose lofty highlands, crowned withcool-looking forests of dark-green firs. Far to the east, like a cloudon the horizon, the snowy cone of St. Helen's mountain stood up abovethe wooded heights of the Cascade Range, with Mount Adams peeping overits shoulder. Quite near, and partly closing off the view up the river, was picturesque Tongue Point--a lovely island of green--connected withthe shore only by a low and narrow isthmus. From this promontory to thepoint below the town, the bank of the river was curtained and garlandedwith blossoming shrubs--mock-orange, honeysuckle, spirea, _aerifolia_, crimson roses, and clusters of elder-berries, lavender, scarlet, andorange--everywhere, except where men had torn them away to make room fortheir improvements. 

Looking seaward, there was the long line of white surf which marks wheresea and river meet, miles away; with the cape and light-house towerstanding out in sharp relief against the expanse of ocean beyond, andsailing vessels lying off the bar waiting for Rumway and his associatesto come off and show them the entrance between the sand-spits. Andnearer, all about on the surface of the sparkling river, snowy sailswere glancing in the sun, like the wings of birds that skim beside them. It is hard, in July, to believe it has ever been December. 

Perhaps Mrs. Smiley was thinking so, as from her rose-emboweredcottage-porch on the hill, not far from Captain Rumway's new house, shewatched the sun sinking in a golden glory behind the light-house and thecape. Her school dismissed for the week, and her household taskscompleted, she was taking her repose in a great sleepy-hollow of achair, near enough to the roses to catch their delicate fragrance. Herwhite dress looked fresh and dainty, with a rose-colored ribbon at thethroat, and a bunch of spirea; sea-foam, Willie called it, in hergleaming, braided hair. Her great gray eyes, neither sad nor bright, butsweetly serious, harmonized the delicate pure tones that made up herperson and her dress, leaving nothing to be desired, except, perhaps, asuggestion of color in the clear, white oval of her cheeks. And that anaccident supplied. 

For, while the sun yet sent lances of gold up out of the sea, the gardengate clicked, and Captain Rumway came up the walk. He was a handsomeman, of fine figure, with a bronzed complexion, dark eyes, and hairalways becomingly tossed up, owing to a slight wave in it, and a springyquality it had of its own. The sun and sea-air, while they had bronzedhis face, had imparted to his cheeks that rich glow which is often theonly thing lacking to make a dark face beautiful. Looking at him, onecould hardly help catching something of his glow, if only throughadmiration of it. Mrs. Smiley's sudden color was possibly to beaccounted for on this ground. 

"Good evening, Mrs. Smiley, " he said, lifting his hat gracefully. "Ihave come to ask you to walk over and look at my house. No, thank you; Iwill not come in, if you are ready for the walk. I will stop here andsmell these roses while you get your hat. "

"Is your house so nearly completed, then?" she asked, as they went downthe walk together. 

"So nearly, that I require a woman's opinion upon the insidearrangements; and there is no one whose judgment upon such matters Ivalue more than yours. "

"I suppose you mean to imply that I am a good housekeeper? But there isgreat diversity of taste among good housekeepers, Mr. Rumway. "

"Your taste will suit me--that I am sure of. I did not see Willie athome; is he gone away?" he asked, to cover a sudden embarrassingconsciousness. 

"I let him go home with Mr. Chillis, last evening, but I expect him hometo-night. "

"Poor old Joe! He takes a great deal of comfort with the boy. And nowonder!--he is a charming child, worthy such parentage, "--glancing athis companion's face. 

"I am glad when anything of mine gives Mr. Chillis pleasure, " returnedMrs. Smiley, looking straight ahead. "I teach Willie to have a greatrespect and love for him. It is the least we can do. "

Rumway noticed the inclusive _we_, and winced. "He is a strange man, " hesaid, by way of answer. 

"A hero!" cried Mrs. Smiley firmly. 

"And never more so then when in whisky, " added Rumway, ungenerously. 

"Younger and more fortunate men have had that fault, " she returned, thinking of Eben. 

"And conquered it, " he added, thinking of himself. 

"Here we are. Just step in this door-way a bit and look at the view. Glorious, isn't it? I have sent for a lot of very choice shrubs andtrees for the grounds, and mean to make this the prettiest place intown. "

"It must be very pretty, with this view, " replied Mrs. Smiley, drinkingin the beauty of the scene with genuine delight. 

"Please to step inside. Now, it is about the arrangement of the doors, windows, closets, and all that, I wanted advice. I am told that ladiesclaim to understand these things better than men. "

"They ought, I am sure, since the house is alone their realm. What acharming room! So light, so airy, with such a view! and the doors andwindows in the right places, too. And this cunning little porch towardsthe west! I'm glad you have that porch, Mr. Rumway. I have always saidevery house should have a sunset porch. I enjoy mine so much theselovely summer evenings. "

And so they went through the house: she delighted with it, in the main, but making little suggestions, here and there; he palpitating with herpraises, as if they had been bestowed on himself. And, indeed, was notthis house a part of himself, having so many of his sweetest hopes builtinto it? For what higher proof does a man give of a worthy love then inconstructing a bright and cheerful shelter for the object of it--than inmaking sure of a fitting home?

"It will lack nothing, " she said, as they stood together again on the"sunset porch, " talking of so grouping the shrubbery as not to interceptthe view. 

"Except a mistress, " he added, turning his eyes upon her face, full ofintense meaning. "With the right woman in it, it will seem perfect tome, without her, it is nothing but a monument of my folly. There is butone woman I ever want to see in it. Can you guess who it is? Will youcome?"

Mrs. Smiley looked up into the glowing face bent over her, searching thepassionate dark eyes with her clear, cool gaze; while slowly thedelicate color crept over face and neck, as her eyes fell before hisardent looks, and she drew in her breath quickly. 

"I, I do not know; there are so many things to think of. "

"What things? Let me help you consider them. If you mean--"

"O, mamma, mamma!" shouted Willie, from the street. "Here we are, andI've had such a splendid time. We've got some fish for you, too. Are youcoming right home?" And there, on the sidewalk, was Chillis, carrying abasket, with his hat stuck full of flowers, and as regardless as a childof the drollery of his appearance. 

Mrs. Smiley started a little as she caught the expression of his face, thinking it did not comport with the holiday appearance of hishabiliments, and hastened at once to obey its silent appeal. Rumwaywalked beside her to the gate. 

"Have you no answer for me?" he asked, hurriedly. 

"Give me a week, " she returned, and slipped away from him, taking thebasket from Chillis, and ordering Willie to carry it, while she walkedby the old man's side. 

"You have been lookin' at your new house?" he remarked. "You need nottry to hide your secret from me. I see it in your face;" and he lookedlong and wistfully upon the rosy record. 

"If you see something in _my_ face, I see something in yours. You have atrouble, a new pain of some kind. Yesterday you looked forty, andradiant; this evening your face is white and drawn by suffering. "

"You do observe the old man's face sometimes, then? That other has notquite blotted it out? O, my lovely lady! How sweet an' dainty you look, in that white dress. It does my old eyes good to look at you. "

"You are never too ill or sad to make me pretty compliments, Mr. Chillis. Do you know, I think I have grown quite vain since I have hadyou to flatter me. We constitute a mutual admiration society, I'm sure. "

Then she led him into the rose-covered porch, and seated him in the"sleepy-hollow;" brought him a dish of strawberries, and told him torest while she got ready his supper. 

"Rest!" he answered; "_I'm_ not tired. Willie an' I cooked our ownsupper, too. So you jest put Willie to bed--he's tired enough, Iguess--an' then come an' talk to me. That's all I want to-night--is jestto hear the White Rose talk. "

While Mrs. Smiley was occupied with Willie--his wants and hisprattle--her guest sat motionless, his head on his hand, his elbowresting on the arm of the chair. He had that rare repose of bearingwhich is understood to be a sign of high breeding, but in him wastemperament, or a quietude caught from nature and solitude. It gave apositive charm to his manner, whether animated or depressed; adignified, introspective, self-possessed carriage, that suited with hispowerfully built, symmetrical frame, and regular cast of features. Yet, self-contained as his usual expression was, his face was capable ofvivid illuminations, and striking changes of aspect, under the influenceof feelings either pleasant or painful. In the shadow of the rose-vines, and the gathering twilight, it would have been impossible to discern, byany change of feature, what his meditations might be now. 

"The moon is full to-night, " said Mrs. Smiley, bringing out her lowrocker and placing it near her friend. "It will be glorious on theriver, and all the 'young folks' will be out, I suppose. "

"Did not Rumway ask you to go? Don't let me keep you at home, ef hedid. "

"No; I am not counted among young folks any longer, " returned she, witha little sigh, that might mean something or nothing. Then a silence fellbetween them for several minutes. It was the fashion of these friends towait for the spirit to move them to converse, and not unfrequently asilence longer than that which was in heaven came between theirsentences; but to-night there was thunder in their spiritual atmosphere, and the stillness was oppressive. Mrs. Smiley beat a tattoo with herslipper. 

"Rumway asked you to marry him, did he?" began Chillis, at last, in alow and measured tone. 

"Yes. "

"An' you accepted him?"

"Not yet"--in a quavering adagio. 

"But you will?"

"Perhaps so. I do not know"--in a firmer voice. 

"Rumway is doin' well, an' he is a pretty good fellow, as men go. But heis not half the man that I was at his age--or, rather, that I might havebeen, ef I had had sech a motive for bein' a man as he has. "

"It is not difficult to believe that, Mr. Chillis. There is heroicmaterial in you, and, I fear, none in Mr. Rumway. " She spoke naturallyand cheerfully now, as if she had no sentiment too sacred to be revealedabout the person in question. "But why was there no motive?"

"Why? It was my fate; there was none--that's all. I had gone off to themountains when a lad, an' couldn't git back--couldn't even git lettersfrom home. The fur companies didn't allow o' correspondence--it madetheir men homesick. When I came to be a man, I did as the other men did, took an Indian wife, an' became the father o' half-breed children. Inever expected to live any other way than jest as we lived then--roamin'about the mountains, exposed to dangers continually, an' recklessbecause it was no use to think. But, after I had been a savage for adozen years--long enough to ruin any man--the fur companies began tobreak up. The beaver were all hunted out o' the mountains. The men wereashamed to go home--Indians as we all were--an' so drifted off downhere, where it was possible to git somethin' to eat, an' where there wasquite a settlement o' retired trappers, missionaries, deserted sailors, and such-like Whites. "

"You brought your families with you?"

"Of course. We could not leave them in the mountains, with the children, to starve. Besides, we loved our children. They were not to blame forbein' half-Indian; an' we could not separate them from their mothers, efwe had a-wished. We did the only thing we could do, under thecircumstances--married the mothers by White men's laws, to make thechildren legitimate. Even the heads of the Hudson's Bay Company wereforced to comply with the sentiment of the White settlers; an' theirdescendants are among the first families of Oregon. But they had moneyan' position; the trappers had neither, though there were some splendidmen among them--so our families were looked down upon. O, White Rose!didn't I use to have some bitter thoughts in those days? for my bloodwas high blood, in the State where I was raised. "

"I can imagine it, very easily, " said Mrs. Smiley, softly. 

"But I never let on. I was wild and devil-may-care. To hide mymortification, I faced it out, as well as I could; but I wasn't made, inthe beginnin', for that kind o' life, an' it took away my manhood. Afterthe country began to settle up, an' families--real White families--beganto move in, I used to be nearly crazy, sometimes. Many's the day thatI've rode through the woods, or over the prairies, tryin' to git awayfrom myself; but I never said a cross word to the squaw wife. Why shouldI?--it was not her fault. Sometimes she fretted at me (the Indian womenare great scolds); but I did not answer her back. I displeased her withmy vagabond ways, very likely--her White husband, to whom she looked forbetter things. I couldn't work; I didn't take no interest in work, likeother men. "

"O, Mr. Chillis! was not that a great mistake? Would not some kind ofambition have helped to fill up the blank in your life?"

"I didn't have any--I couldn't have any, with that old Indian womansittin' there, in the corner o' my hearth. When the crazy fit came on, Ijest turned my back on home, an' mounted my horse for a long, lonelyride, or went to town and drank whisky till I was past rememberin' mytrouble. But I never complained. The men I associated with expected meto amuse them, an' I generally did, with all manner o' wild freaks an'incredible stories--some o' which were truer than they believed, for Ihad had plenty of adventures in the mountains. White Rose, do youimagine I ever loved that squaw wife o' mine?"

"I remember asking myself such a question, that night of the storm, asyou stood by the fire, so still and strange. I was speculating aboutyour history, and starting these very queries you have answeredto-night. "

"But you have never asked me. "

"No; how could I? But I am glad to know. Now I understand the greatpatience--the tender, pathetic patience--which I have often remarked inyou. Only those who have suffered long and silently can ever attain toit. "

"An' so people say, 'Poor old Joe!' an' they don't know what they mean, when they say it. They think I am a man without the ambitions an'passions of other men; a simple, good fellow, without too much brain, an' only the heart of a fool. But they don't know me--they don't knowme!"

"How could they, without hearing what you have just told me, or withoutknowing you as I know you?"

"They never will know. I don't want to be pitied for my mistakes. 'Poorold Joe' is proud, as well as poor. "

Mrs. Smiley sat silent, gazing at the river's silver ripples. Hershapely hands were folded in her lap; her whole attitude quiet, absorbed. Whether she was thinking of what she had heard, or whether shehad forgotten it, no one could have guessed from her manner; and Chilliscould not wait to know. The fountains of the deep had been stirred untilthey would not rest. 

"Was there no other question you asked yourself about the old mountainman which he can answer? Did you never wonder whether he ever had lovedat all?"

"You have made me wonder, to-night, whether, at some period of yourlife, you have not loved some woman of your own race and color. You musthave had some opportunities of knowing white women. "

"Very few. An' my pride was agin seekin' what I knew was not for me; forthe woman I fancied to myself was no common white woman. White Rose, Icarried a young man's heart in my bosom until I was near sixty, _an'then I lost it_. " He put out a hand and touched one of hers, ever solightly. "I need not tell you any more. "

A silence that made their pulses seem audible followed this confession. A heavy shadow descended upon both hearts, and a sudden dreary sense ofan unutterable and unalterable sorrow burdened their spirits. 

After a little, "Mr. Chillis! Mr. Chillis!" wailed the woman's patheticvoice; and "O, my lovely lady!" sighed the man's. 

"What shall I do? what shall I do? I am so sorry. What shall I do?"

"Tell me to go. I knew it would have to end so. I knew that Rumway woulddrive me to say what I ought not to say; for he is not worthy of you--noman that I know of is. Ef I was as young as he, an' had his chance, Iwould _make_ myself worthy o' you, or die. But it is too late. Old JoeChillis may starve his heart, as he has many a time starved his body inthe desert. But I did love you so! O, my sweet White Rose, I did loveyou so! always, from the first time I saw you. "

"What is that you say?" said Mrs. Smiley, in a shocked voice. 

"Always, I said, from the first time I saw you. My love was true; it didnot harm you. I said, '_There_ is such a woman as God designed for me. But it is too late to have her now. I will jest worship her humbly, agreat ways off, an' say "God bless her!" when she passes; an' think o'her sweet ways when I am ridin' through the woods, or polin' myhuntin'-boat up the sloughs, among the willows an' pond-lilies. Shewould hardly blame me, ef she knew I loved her that way. '

"But it grew harder afterwards, White Rose, when you were grateful tome, in your pretty, womanly way, an' treated me so kindly before all theworld, an' let your little boy love me, an' loved me yourself--I knewit--in a gentle, friendly fashion. O, but it was sweet!--but not sweetenough, sometimes. Ef I have been crazed for the lack o' love in myyounger days, I have been crazed with love since then. There have beendays when I could neither work nor eat, nights when I could not sleep, for thinkin' o' what might have been, but never could be; times when Ihave been tempted to upset my boat in the bay, an' never try to rightit. But when I had almost conquered my madness, that you might neverknow, then comes this Rumway, with his fine looks, an' his fine house, an' his fine professions, an' blots me out entirely; for what will oldJoe be worth to Madame Rumway, or to Madame Rumway's fine husband?"

Mrs. Smiley sat thoughtful and silent a long time after this declarationof love, that gave all and required so little. She was sorry for it; butsince it was so, and she must know it, she was glad that she had heardit that night. She could place it in the balance with that otherdeclaration, and decide upon their relative value to her; for she saw, as he did, that the two were incompatible--one must be given up. 

"It is late, " she said, rising. "You will come up and take breakfastwith Willie and me, before you go home? My strawberries are in theirprime. "

"I thought you would a-told me to go, an' never come back, " he said, stepping out into the moonlight with the elastic tread of twenty-five. He stopped and looked back at her, with a beaming countenance, like aboy's. 

She was standing on the step above him, looking down at him with apleasant but serious expression. "I am going to trust you never torepeat to me what you have said to-night. I know I can trust you. "

"So be it, White Rose, " he returned, with so rapid and involuntary achange of attitude, voice, and expression, that the pang of his hurtpierced her heart also. "But I know I can trust you, " she repeated, asif she had not seen that shrinking from the blow. "And I am going to tryto make your life a little pleasanter, and more like other people's. When you are dressed up, and ordered to behave properly, and made tolook as handsome as you can, so that ladies shall take notice of you andflatter you with their eyes and tongues, and you come to have the sameinterest in the world that other men have--and why shouldn't you?--thenyour imagination will not be running away with you, or making angels outof common little persons like myself--how dreadfully prosy andcommonplace you have no idea! And I forbid you to allow Willie to stickyour hat full of flowers, when you go fishing together; and order you tomake that young impudence respectful to you on all occasions--assertingyour authority, if necessary. And, lastly, I prefer you should not callme Madame Rumway until I have a certified and legal claim to the title. Good-night. "

He stood bareheaded, his face drooping and half-concealed, pulling thewithered flowers out of his hat. Slowly he raised it, made a militarysalute, and placed it on his head. "It is for you to command and me toobey, " he said. 

"Breakfast at seven o'clock precisely, " called out the tuneful voice ofMrs. Smiley after him, as he went down the garden-path with bent head, walking more like an old man than she had ever seen him. Then she wentinto the house, closed it carefully, after the manner of lone women, andwent up to her room. But deliciously cool and fragrant as was the tinychamber, Mrs. Smiley could not sleep that night. Nor did Chillis come tobreakfast next morning. 

A month passed away. Work was suspended on Mr. Rumway's house, the doorsand windows boarded up, and the gate locked. Everybody knew it couldmean but one thing--that Mrs. Smiley had refused the owner. But thehandsome captain put a serene face upon it, and kept about his businessindustriously and like a gentleman. The fact that he did not return tohis wild courses was remarked upon as something hardly to be credited, but greatly to his honor; for it was universally conceded, that such adisappointment as his was enough to drive almost any man to drink whohad indulged in it previously; such is the generally admitted frailty ofman's moral constitution. 

Toward the last of August, Mrs. Smiley received a visit from Chillis. Hewas dressed with more than his customary regard to appearances, andlooked a little paler and thinner than usual. Otherwise, he was just thesame as ever; and, with no questions asked or answered on either side, their old relations were re-established, and Willie was rapturouslyexcited with the prospect of more Saturday excursions. Yet there wasthis difference in their manner toward each other--that he now seldomaddressed her as "White Rose, " and never as "my lovely lady;" while itwas she who made graceful little compliments to him, and was always gayand bright in his company, and constantly watchful of his comfort orpleasure. She prevailed upon him, too, to make calls with her upon otherladies; and gave him frequent commissions that would bring him incontact with a variety of persons. But she could not help seeing, thatit was only in obedience to her wishes that he made calls, or mingledwith the town-people; and when, one evening, returning together from avisit where he had been very much patronized, he had remarked, with ashrug and smile of self-contempt, "It is no use, Mrs. Smiley--oil an'water won't mix, " she had given it up, and never more interfered withhis old habits. 

So the summer passed, and winter came again, with its long rains, darkdays, and sad associations. Although Mrs. Smiley was not at all a"weakly woman, " constant effort and care, and the absence of anythingvery flattering in her future, or inspiring in her present, wore uponher, exhausting her vitality too rapidly for perfect health, as theconstantly increasing delicacy of her appearance testified. In truth, when the spring opened, she found herself so languid and depressed as tobe hardly able to teach, in addition to her house-work. Then it was thatthe gossips took up her case once more, and declared, with considerableunanimity, that Mrs. Smiley was pining for the handsome Captain, afterall, and, if ever she had refused him, was sorry for it--thus revengingthemselves upon a woman audacious enough to refuse a man many otherswould have thought "good enough for them, " and "too good for" sounappreciative a person. 

With the first bright and warm weather, Willie went to spend a week withhis friend, and Mrs. Smiley felt forced to take a vacation. Ayachting-party were going over to the cape, and Captain Rumway was totake them out over the bar. Rumway himself sent an invitation to Mrs. Smiley--this being the first offer of amity he had felt able to makesince the previous July. She laughed a little, to herself, when the notecame (for she was not ignorant of the town-tattle--what school-teacherever is?) and sent an acceptance. If Captain Rumway were half ascourageous as she, the chatterers would be confounded, she promisedherself, as she made her toilet for the occasion--not too nice forsea-water, but bright and pretty, and becoming, as her toilets alwayswere. 

So she sailed over to the cape with the "young folks, " and, as widowscan--particularly widows who have gossip to avenge--was more charmingthan any girl of them all, to others beside Captain Rumway. The officersof the garrison vied with each other in showing her attentions; and thelight-house keeper, in exhibiting the wonders and beauties of the place, always, if unconsciously, appealed to Mrs. Smiley for admiration andappreciation. Yet she wore her honors modestly, contriving to share thishomage with some other, and never accepting it as all meant for herself. And toward Captain Rumway her manner was as absolutely free from eithercoquetry or awkwardness as that of the most indifferent acquaintance. Nobody, seeing her perfectly frank yet quiet and cool deportment withher former suitor, could say, without falsehood, that she in any wayconcerned herself about him; and if he had heard that she was pining forhim, he was probably undeceived during that excursion. Thus she camehome feeling that she had vindicated herself, and with a pretty color inher face that made her look as girlish as any young lady of them all. 

But, if Captain Rumway had reopened an acquaintance with Mrs. Smiley outof compassion for any woes she might be suffering on his account, or outof a design to show how completely he was master of himself, or, inshort, for any motive whatever, he was taken in his own devices, andcompelled to surrender unconditionally. Like the man in Scripture, outof whom the devils were cast only to return, his last estate was worsethan the first, as he was soon compelled to acknowledge; and one of thefirst signs of this relapse into fatuity was the resumption of work onthe unfinished house, and the ornamentation of the neglected grounds. 

"I will make it such a place as she cannot refuse, " he said to himself, more or less hopefully. "She will have to accept the house and grounds, with me thrown in. And whatever she is pining for, she _is_ pining, _that_ I can see. It may be for outdoor air and recreation, and the carewhich a husband only can give her. If it be that she can take them alongwith me. "

Thus it was, that when Chillis brought Willie home from his long visitto the woods and streams, he saw the workmen busy on the Captain'shouse. He heard, too, about the excursion to the cape, and theinevitable comments upon Rumway's proceedings. But he said nothing aboutit to Mrs. Smiley, though he spent the evening in the snug littleparlor, and they talked together of many things personally interestingto both; especially about Willie's education and profession in life. 

"He ought to go to college, " said his mother. "I wish him to be ascholarly man, whatever profession he decides upon afterward. I couldnot bear that he should not have a liberal education. "

"Yes, Willie must be a gentleman, " said Chillis; "for his mother's sakehe must be that. "

"But how to provide the means to furnish such an education as he oughtto have, is what puzzles me, " continued Mrs. Smiley, pausing in herneedle-work to study that problem more closely, and gazing absently atthe face of her guest. "Will ten years more of school-teaching do it, Iwonder?"

"Ten years o' school-teachin', an' house-work, an' sewin'!" cried he. "Yes, long before that you will be under the sod o' the grave-yard!_You_ cannot send the boy to college. "

"Who, then?"--smiling at his vehemence. 

"_I_ will. "

"You, Mr. Chillis? I thought.... " She checked herself, fearing to hurthis pride. 

"You thought I was poor, an' so I am, for I never tried to make money. _I_ don't want money. But there is land belongin' to me out in thevalley--five or six hundred acres--an' land is growin' more valuableevery year. Ten years from now I reckon mine would pay a boy'sschoolin'. So you needn't work yourself to death for that, Mrs. Smiley. "

The tears sprang to the gray eyes which were turned upon him with sucheloquent looks. "It is like you, " she said, in a broken voice, "and Ihave nothing to say. "

"You are welcome to my land, White Rose, an' there is nothin' _to_ besaid. "

Then she bent her head over her sewing, feeling, indeed, that there waslittle use for words. 

"Do you know, " he asked, breaking a protracted silence, "that you havegot to give up teachin'?"

"And do what? I might take to gardening. That would be better, perhaps;I have thought about it. "

"Let me see your hands. They look like gardenin': two rose-leaves! Don'tit make me wish to be back in my prime? Work for you! Wouldn't I love towork for you?"

"And do you not, in every way you can? Am I to have no pride aboutaccepting so much service? What a poor creature you must take me for, Mr. Chillis. "

"There is nothin' else in the world that I think of; nothin' else that Ilive for; an' after all it is so little, that I cannot save you fromspoilin' your pretty looks with care. An' you have troubled yourselfabout me, too; don't think I haven't seen it. You fret your lovely soulabout the old man's trouble, when you can't help it--you, nor nobody. An', after all, what does it matter about _me_? _I_ am nothin', and youare everything. I want you to remember that, and do everything for yourown happiness without wastin' a thought on me. I am content to keep mydistance, ef I only see you happy and well off. Do you understand me?"

Mrs. Smiley looked up with a suffused face. "Mr. Chillis, " she answered, "you make me ashamed of myself and my selfishness. Let us never refer tothis subject again. Work don't hurt me; and since you have offered toprovide for Willie's education, you have lifted half my burden. Whyshould you stand at a distance to see me happier than I am, when I am sohappy as to have such a friend as you? How am I to be happier by yourbeing at a distance, who have been the kindest of friends? You are outof spirits this evening, and you talk just a little--nonsense. " And shesmiled at him in a sweetly apologetic fashion for the word. 

"That is like enough, " he returned gravely; "but I want you to remembermy words, foolish or not. Don't let me stand in your light--not for oneminute; and don't forgit this: that Joe Chillis is happy when he seesthe White Rose bloomin' and bright. "

Contrary to his command, Mrs. Smiley did endeavor to forget these wordsin the weeks following, when the old mountain-man came no more to herrose-embowered cottage, and when Captain Rumway invented many ingeniousschemes for getting the pale school-teacher to take more recreation andfresh air. She endeavored to forget them, but she could not, though herresolve to ignore them was as strong as it ever had been when herburdens had seemed lighter! But in spite of her resolve, and in spite ofthe fact that it could not be said that any encouragement had been givento repeat his addresses, Rumway continued to work at his house andgrounds steadily, and, to all appearance, hopefully. And although henever consulted Mrs. Smiley now concerning the arrangement of either, heshowed that he remembered her suggestions of the year before, byfollowing them out without deviation. 

Thus quietly, without incident, the June days slipped away, and theperfect July weather returned once more, when there was always a chairor two out on the sunset porch at evening. At last Chillis re-appeared, and took a seat in one of them, quite in the usual way. He had beenaway, he said, attending to some business. 

"An' I have fixed that matter all right about the boy's schoolin', " headded. "The papers are made out in the clerk's office, an' will be sentto you as soon as they are recorded. There are five hundred and fortyacres, which you will know how to manage better than I can tell you. Youcan sell by and by, ef you can't yet the money out of it any other way. The taxes won't be much, the land being unimproved. "

"You do not mean that you have _deeded_ all your land to Willie?" askedMrs. Smiley. "I protest against it: he must not have it! Would you letus rob you, " she asked wonderingly. "What are _you_ to do, by and by, asyou say?"

"Me? I shall do well enough. Money is o' no use to me. But ef I shouldwant a meal or a blanket that I couldn't get, the boy wouldn't see mewant them long. Ef he forgot old Joe Chillis, his mother wouldn't, Ireckon. "

"You pay too high a price for our remembrance, Mr. Chillis; we are notworth it. But why do you talk of forgetting? You are not going away fromus?"

"Yes; I am goin' to start to-morrow for my old stampin' ground, east o'the mountains. My only livin' son is over there, somewhar. He don'tamount to much--the Indian in him is too strong; but, like enough, hewill be glad to see his father afore I die. An' I want to git away fromhere. "

"You will come back? Promise me you will come back?" For something inhis voice, and his settled expression of melancholy and renunciation, made her fear he was taking this step for a reason that could not benamed between them. 

"It is likely, " he said; "but ef I come or no, don't fret about me. Justremember this that I am tellin' you now. The day I first saw you was themost fortunate day of my life. Ef I hadn't a-met you, I should have diedas I had lived--like a creature without a soul. An' now I have a soul, in you. An' when I come to die, as I shall before many years, I shalldie happy, thinkin' how my old hands had served the sweetest woman underheaven, and how they had been touched by hers so kindly, many a time, when she condescended to serve _me_. "

What could she say to a charge like this? Yet say something she must, and so she answered, that he thought too highly of her, who was nobetter than other women; but, that, since in his great singleness ofheart, he did her this honor, to set her above all the world, she couldonly be humbly grateful, and wish really to be what in his vividimagination she seemed to him. Then she turned the talk upon lesspersonal topics, and Willie was called and informed of the loss he wasabout to sustain; upon which there was a great deal of childishquestioning, and boyish regret for the good times no more to be thatsummer. 

"I should like to take care of your boat, " said he--"your hunting-boat, I mean. If I had it over here, I would take mamma down to it everySaturday, and she could sew and do everything there, just as she does athome; and it would be gay, now, wouldn't it?"

"The old boat is sold, my boy; that an' the row-boat, and the pony, too. You'll have to wait till I come back for huntin', and fishin', andridin'. "

Then Mrs. Smiley knew almost certainly that this visit was the last shewould ever receive from Joe Chillis, and, though she tried hard to seemunaffected by the parting, and to talk of his return hopefully, theeffort proved abortive, and conversation flagged. Still he sat theresilent and nearly motionless through the whole evening, thinking whatthoughts she guessed only too well. With a great sigh, at last he roseto go. 

"You will be sure to write at the end of your journey, and let us knowhow you find things there, and when you are coming back?"

"I will write, " said he; "an' I want you to write back and tell me thatyou remember what I advised you some time ago. " He took her hands, folded them in his own, kissed them reverently, and turned away. 

Mrs. Smiley watched him going down the garden-walk, as she had watchedhim a year before, and noted how slow and uncertain his steps had grownsince then. At the gate he turned and waved his hand, and she in turnfluttered her little white handkerchief. Then she sat down with thehandkerchief over her head, and sobbed for full five minutes. 

"There are things in life one cannot comprehend, " she muttered toherself, "things we cannot dare to meddle with or try to alter;Providences, I suppose, they are. If God had made a man like that forme, of my own age, and given him opportunities suited to his capacities, and he had loved me as this man loves, what a life ours would havebeen!"

The summer weather and bracing north-west breezes from the oceanrenewed, in a measure, Mrs. Smiley's health, and restored her cheerfulspirits; and, if she missed her old friend, she kept silent about it, asshe did about most things that concerned herself. To Willie'squestioning she gave those evasive replies children are used to receive;but she frequently told him, in talks about his future, that Mr. Chillishad promised to send him to college, and that as long as he lived hemust love and respect so generous a friend. "And, Willie, " she neverfailed to add, "if ever you see an old man who is in need of anything;food, or clothes, or shelter; be very sure that you furnish them, as faras you are able. " She was teaching him to pay his debt: "for, inasmuchas ye have done it unto the least of these, " he had done it unto hisbenefactor. 

September came, and yet no news had arrived from beyond the mountains. Captain Rumway's house was finished up to the last touch of varnish. Thelawn, and the shrubbery, and fence were all just as they should be; yet, so far as anybody knew, no mistress had been provided for them, when, one warm and hazy afternoon, Mrs. Smiley received an invitation to lookat the completed mansion, and pass her judgment upon it. 

"I am going to furnish it in good style, " said its master, rathervauntingly, Mrs. Smiley thought, "and I hoped you would be so good as togive me your assistance in making out a list of the articles required tofit the house up perfectly, from parlor to kitchen. "

"Any lady can furnish a list of articles for each room, Mr. Rumway, moreor less costly, as you may order; but only the lady who is to live inthe house can tell you what will please _her_;" and she smiled the veryshadow of a superior smile. 

Mr. Rumway had foolishly thought to get his house furnished according toMrs. Smiley's taste, and now found he should have to consult Mrs. Rumway's, present or prospective, and the discovery annoyed him. Yet, why should he be annoyed? Was not the very opportunity presented that hehad desired, of renewing his proposal to her to take the establishmentin charge? So, although it compelled him to change his programme, heaccepted the situation, and seized the tide at flood. 

"It is that lady--the one I entreat to come and live in it--whose wishesI now consult. Once more will you come?"

Mrs. Smiley, though persistently looking aside, had caught the eloquentglance of the Captain's dark eyes, and something of the warmth of hisface was reflected in her own. But she remained silent, looking at thedistant highlands, without seeing them. 

"You must have seen, " he continued, "that notwithstanding your formeranswer, I have been bold enough to hope you might change your mind; for, in everything I have done here, I have tried to follow your expressedwishes. I should in all else strive to make you as happy as by acceptingthis home you would make me. You do not answer; shall I say it is'yes?'" He bent so close that his dark, half-curling mop of hair justbrushed her golden braids, and gave her a little shock like electricity, making her start away with a blush. 

"Will you give me time to decide upon my answer, Mr. Rumway?"

"You asked for time before, " he replied, in an agitated voice, "and, after making me suffer a week of suspense, refused me. "

"I know it, " she said simply, "and I was sorry I had asked it; but myreasons are even more imperative than they were then for wishing todelay. I want to decide right, at last, " she added, with a faint attemptat a smile. 

"That will be right which accords with your feelings, and certainly youcan tell me now what they are--whether you find me the least bit lovableor not. "

The gray eyes flashed a look up into the dark eyes, half of mirth andhalf of real inquiry. "I think one might learn to endure you, Mr. Rumway, " she answered, demurely. "But"--changing her manner--"I can nottell you whether or not I can marry you, until--until--well, " sheconcluded desperately--"it may be a day, or a week, or a month. There issomething to be decided, and until it is decided, I can not give ananswer. "

Captain Rumway looked very rebellious. 

"I do not ask you to wait, Mr. Rumway, " said Mrs. Smiley, tormentingly. "Your house need not be long without a mistress. "

"Of course, I must wait, if you give me the least ground of hope. Thisplace was made for you, and no other woman shall ever come into it as mywife--that I swear. If you will not have me, I will sell it, and live abachelor. "

Mrs. Smiley laughed softly and tunefully. "Perhaps you would prefer tolimit your endurance, and tell me how long you _will_ allow me todeliberate before you sell and retire to bachelorhood?"

"You know very well, " he returned, ruefully, "that I shall always behoping against all reason that the wished-for answer was coming atlast. "

"Then we will say no more about it at present. "

"And I may come occasionally to learn whether that 'something' has beendecided?"

"Yes, if you have the patience for it. But, I warn you, there is achance of my having to say 'No. '"

"If there is only a chance of your having to say 'No, ' I think I mayincur the risk, " said Rumway, with a sudden accession of hopefulness;and, as they walked home together once more, the gossips pronounced itan engagement. The Captain himself felt that it was, although, when hereviewed the conversation, he discovered that he founded his impressionupon that one glance of the gray eyes, rather than upon anything thathad been said. And Mrs. Smiley put the matter out of mind as much aspossible, and waited. 

One day, about the last of the month, a letter came to her from over themountains. It ran in this wise:

 "MY LOVELY LADY: I am once more among the familyar seanes of 40 year ago. My son is hear, an' about as I expected. I had rather be back at Clatsop, with the old bote; but, owin' to circumstances I can't controll, think it better to end my dais on this side ov the mountains. You need not look for me to come back, but I send you an' the boy my best love, an' hope you hav done as I advised. 

 "Yours, faithfully, til deth, "JOE CHILLIS. "

Soon after the receipt of this letter, Captain Rumway called to inquireconcerning the settlement of the matter on which his marriage depended. That evening he stayed later than usual, and, in a long confidentialtalk which he had with Mrs. Smiley, learned that there was a conditionattached to the consummation of his wishes, which required hisrecognition of the claims of "poor old Joe" to be considered a friend ofthe family. To do him justice, he yielded the point more gracefullythan, from his consciousness of his own position, could have beenexpected. 

The next day, Mrs. Smiley wrote as follows:

 "DEAR MR. CHILLIS: I shall move into the new house about the last of October, _according to your advice_. We--that is, myself, and Willie, and the present owner of the house--shall be delighted if you will come and stay with us. But if you decide to remain with your son, believe that we think of you very often and very affectionately, and wish you every possible happiness. R. Agrees with me that the land ought to be deeded back to you; and _I_ think you had best return and get the benefit of it. It would make you very comfortable for life, properly managed, and about that we might help you. Please write and let us know what to do about it. 

 "Yours affectionately, "ANNIE SMILEY. "

No reply ever came to this letter; and, as it was written ten years ago, Mrs. Rumway has ceased to expect any. Willie is about to enter College. 

HOW JACK HASTINGS SOLD HIS MINE. 

The passenger train from the East came thundering down the head of theHumboldt Valley, just as morning brightened over the earth--refreshingeyes wearied with yesterday's mountains and cañons, by a vision of greenwillows and ash trees, a stream that was not a torrent, and a stretch ofgrassy country. 

Among the faces oftenest turned to the flitting views was that of ayoung, gracefully-formed, neatly-dressed, delicate-looking woman. Thelarge brown eyes often returned from gazing at the landscape, to scanwith seriousness some memoranda she held in her hand. "Arrive at Elko ateight o'clock a. M. " said the memorandum. Consulting a tiny watch, whosehands pointed to ten minutes of eight, the lady began making those littlepreparations which betoken the journey's end at hand. 

"What a strange looking place it is!" she thought, as the motleycollection of board shanties and canvas houses came in sight;--for thefamous Chloride District had been discovered but a few months before, and the Pacific Railroad was only four weeks open. "I wish Jack had cometo meet me! I'm sure I don't see how I am to find the stage agent togive him Jack's letter. What a number of people!"

This mental ejaculation was called forth by the sight of the longplatform in front of the eating-house, crowded with a surging mass ofhumanity just issuing from the dining-room. They were the passengers ofthe eastward-bound train, ready to rush headlong for the cars when themomently-expected "All aboard!" should be shouted at them by theconductor. Into this crowd the freshly-arrived passengers of thewestward-bound train were a moment after ejected--each eyeing the otherwith a natural and pardonable interest. 

The brown-eyed, graceful young lady conducted herself in a verybusiness-like manner--presenting the checks for her baggage; inquiringout the office of Wells, Fargo & Co. , and handing in her letter, all inthe briefest possible time. Having secured a seat in a coach to ChlorideHill, with the promise of the agent to call for her when the time fordeparture arrived, the lady repaired to the dining-room just in time tosee her acquaintances of the train departing. Sitting down alone to ahastily-cooked and underdone repast, she was about finishing a cup ofbitter black coffee with a little shudder of disgust, when a gentlemanseated himself opposite her at table. The glance the stranger cast inher direction was rather a lingering one; then he ordered his breakfastand ate it. Meanwhile the lady retired to the ladies' sitting-room. 

After an hour of waiting, one, two, three, coaches rolled past the door, and the lady began to fear she had been forgotten, when the polite agentappeared to notify "Mrs. Hastings" that "the stage was ready. " This wasMrs. Alice Hastings, then--wife of Mr. Jack Hastings, of Deep Cañon, Chloride District. The agent thought Mr. Hastings had a very prettywife, and expressed his opinion in his manner, as men will. 

When, just before starting, there entered three of the roughest-lookingmen she had ever encountered, Mrs. Hastings began to fear that in hiszeal to obey instructions, the agent had exceeded them, and in packingthe first three coaches with first-comers, had left this one to catch upthe fag end of travel. If the first impression, gained from sight, hadmade her shrink a little, what was her dismay when, at the end of tenminutes, one of her fellow-travelers--the only American of thethree--produced a bottle of brandy, which, having offered it first toher, he passed to the bullet-headed Irishman and very shabby Jew:repeating the courtesy once in twenty minutes for several times. 

Mrs. Hastings was a brave sort of woman, where courage was needful; andshe now began to consider the case in hand with what coolness she couldcommand. One hundred and thirty miles--eighteen or twenty hours of suchcompanionship--with no chance of change or intermission; a wildernesscountry to travel over, and all the other coaches a long way ahead. Thedainty denizen of a city home, shuddering inwardly, showed outwardly aserene countenance. Her American friend, with wicked black eyes and ajolly and reckless style of carrying himself, continued to offer brandyat short intervals. 

"Best take some, Madame, " said he; "this dust will choke you if youdon't. "

"Thanks, " returned the lady, with her sweetest smile, "I could not drinkbrandy. I have wine in my traveling-basket, should I need it; but muchprefer water. "

At the next station, although hardly four minutes were lost in changinghorses, the men procured for her a cup of water. Mrs. Hastings' thankswere frank and cordial. She even carefully opened a conversation aboutthe country they were passing over, and contrived to get them to ask aquestion or two about herself. When they learned that she had come allthe way from New York on the newly-opened railroad, their interest wasat its height; and when they heard that she was going to join herhusband in the Chloride District, their sympathy was thoroughlyenlisted. 

"Wonderful--such a journey! How she could be six days on the cars, andyet able to take such a stage-ride as this, is astonishing. "

Such were the American's comments. The Jew thought of the waitinghusband--for your Israelite is a man of domestic and family affections. "Her husband looking for her, and she behind time! How troubled he mustbe! Didn't _he_ know how it was? Wasn't his wife gone away on a visitonce, and didn't write; and he a running to the express office everymorning and evening for a letter, and getting so anxious as totelegraph? Such an expense and loss of time!--and all because he felt souneasy about his wife!"

The bullet-headed young Irishman said nothing. He was about half asleepfrom brandy and last night's travel; too stupid to know that his hat hadflown out of the window, and was bowling along in the wind and dust halfa mile behind--all the better for his head, which looked at a red heatnow. 

The lady had lifted the rude men up to her level, when directly theywere ashamed of their brandy and other vices, and began to showinstinctive traits of gentlemen. By the time they arrived at the dinnerstation, where half an hour was allowed for food and rest out of theeighteen or twenty, she had at least two humble servitors, who showedgreat concern for her comfort. 

The day began to wane. They had traveled continuously over a longstretch of plain between two mountain ranges, over a country entirelyuninhabited except by the stage company's employees, who kept thestations and tended the stock. This lone woman had seen but one otherwoman on the road. Plenty of teams--great "prairie schooners, " loadedwith every conceivable thing for supplying the wants of an isolatednon-producing community, and drawn by ten or fourteen mules--had beenpassed through the day. 

As night fell, Mrs. Hastings saw what she had never before seen orimagined--the camps of these teamsters by the roadside; horses and mulesstaked, or tied to the wagons; the men lying prone upon the earth, wrapped in blankets, their dust-blackened faces turned up to the frostytwinkling stars. Did people really live in that way?--how manysuperfluous things were there in a city!

The night was moonless and clear, and cold as at that altitude theyalways are. Sleep, from the roughness of the road, was impossible. Hercompanions dozed, and woke with exclamations when the heavy lurchings ofthe coach disturbed them too roughly. Mrs. Hastings never closed hereyes. When morning dawned, they were on the top of a range of mountains, like those that had been in sight all the day before. Down these heightsthey rattled away, and at four in the morning entered the streets ofChloride Hill--a city of board and canvas houses. Arrived at the stageoffice, the lady looked penetratingly into the crowd of men alwayswaiting for the stages, but saw no face she recognized. Yes, one--andthat the face of the gentleman who sat down opposite her at table inElko. 

"Permit me, " he said; "I think you inquired for Mr. Hastings?"

"I did; he is my husband. I expected to find him here, " she replied, feeling that sense of injury and desire to cry which tired women feel, jostled about in a crowd of men. 

Leaving her a moment to say something to an employee of the office, thestranger returned immediately, saying to the man: "Take this lady toMrs. Robb's boarding-house. " Then to her: "I will inquire for yourhusband, and send him to you if he is in town. The hack does not go overto Deep Cañon for several hours yet. Meanwhile you had better take somerest. You must be greatly fatigued. "

Fatigued! her head swam round and round; and she really was too muchexhausted to feel as disappointed as she might at Jack's non-appearance. Much relieved by the prospect of a place to rest in, she followed theman summoned to escort her, and fifteen minutes after was sound asleepon a sofa of the boarding-house. 

Three hours of sleep and a partial bath did much to restore tirednature's equilibrium; and, although her head still felt absurdly light, Mrs. Hastings enjoyed the really excellent breakfast provided for her, wondering how such delicacies ever got to Chloride Hill. Breakfast over, and no news of Jack, the time began to drag wearily. She was more thanhalf inclined to be angry--only relenting when she remembered that shewas two or three days behind time, and of course Jack could not knowwhen to expect her. She had very full directions, and if she could notfind her way to Deep Cañon she was a goose, that was all!

So she sent for the driver of the hack, told him to get her baggage fromthe express office; and started for Deep Cañon. Who should she find inthe hack but her friend of the morning!

"I could not hear of your husband, " said he; "but you are sure to findhim at home. "

Mrs. Hastings smiled faintly, and hoped she should. Then she gave herthoughts to the peculiar scenery of the country, and to the sharpness ofthe descent, as they whirled rapidly down the four miles of cañon at thebottom of which was the town of that name--another one of those placeswhich had "come up as a flower" in a morning. She longed to ask abouther husband and his "home"; but as there were several persons in thestage, she restrained her anxiety, and said never a word until theystopped before the door of a saloon where all the other passengersalighted. Then she told the driver she wanted to be taken to Mr. Hastings' house. 

He didn't know where that was, he said, but would inquire. 

Did he know Dr. Earle?

"That's him, ma'am;" pointing out her friend of the morning. 

"How can I serve you?" he asked, raising his hat politely. 

Mrs. Hastings blushed rosily, between vexation at Jack's invisibilityand confusion at being so suddenly confronted with Dr. Earle. 

"Mr. Hastings instructed me to inquire of you, if I had any difficultyin finding him, " she said, apologetically. 

"I will show you his place with pleasure, " returned the Doctorpleasantly; and, jumping on the box, proceeded to direct the driver. 

Had ladies of Mrs. Hastings' style been as plenty in Deep Cañon as inNew York, the driver would have grumbled at the no road he had to followalong the stony side of a hill and among the stumps of mahogany trees. But there were few like her in that mountain town, and his chivalrycompelled him to go out of his way with every appearance ofcheerfulness. Presently the stage stopped where the sloping ground madeit very uncertain how long it could maintain its balance in thatposition; and the voice of Dr. Earle was heard saying "This is theplace. "

Mrs. Hastings, who had been looking out for some sign of home, wasseized with a doubt of the credibility of her senses. It was on the tipof her tongue to say "This must be the house of some other Mr. Hastings, " when she remembered prudence, and said nothing. Getting outand going toward the house to inquire, the door opened, and a man in arough mining suit came quickly forward to meet her. 

"Alice!"

"Jack!"

Dr. Earle and the driver studiously looked the other way whilesalutations were exchanged between Mr. And Mrs. Hastings. When theyagain ventured a look, the lady had disappeared within the cabin, thefirst glimpse of which had so dismayed her. 

That afternoon, Jack initiated Alice into the mysteries of cooking by anopen fire, and expatiated largely on the merits of his outside kitchen. Alice hinted to him that she was accustomed to sleep on something softerthan a board, and the two went together to a store to purchase materialsout of which to make a mattress. 

After that, for two or three weeks, Mrs. Hastings was industriouslyengaged in wondering what her husband meant when he wrote that he hadbuilt a house, and was getting things ready to receive her. Reason orromance as she might, she could not make that single room of roughboards, roofed with leaky canvas and unfurnished with a single comfortof life, into a house or home. At last, Jack seemed to guess herthoughts, for she never spoke them. 

"If I could sell my mine, " he then often said, "I could fix things up. "

"If you sold your mine, Jack, you would go back to New York, and thenthere would be no need of fixing up this place. " Alice wanted to say"horrid" place, but refrained. 

At length, from uncongenial air, water, food, and circumstances ingeneral, the transplanted flower began to droop. The great heat andrarified mountain air caused frantic headaches, aggravated by the glarewhich came through the white canvas roof. Then came the sudden mountaintempests, when the rain deluged everything, and it was hard to find aspot to stand in where the water did not drip through. She grew wild, looking forever at bare mountain sides simmering in the sun by day, andat night over their tops up to the piercing stars. A constant anxiousfever burnt in her blood, that the cold night air could not quench, though she often left her couch to let it blow chilly over her, in herloose night robes. Then she fell really ill. 

Sitting by her bedside, Jack said: "If I could sell my mine!" And shehad answered, "let the mine go, Jack, and let us go home. Nothing isgained by stopping in this dreadful place. "

Then Mr. Hastings had replied to her, "I have no money, Alice, to gohome with, not a cent. I borrowed ten dollars of Earle to-day to buysome fruit for you. "

That was the last straw that broke the camel's back. By night Mrs. Hastings was delirious, and Dr. Earle was called. 

"She has a nervous fever, " he said, "and needs the carefullest nursing. "

"Which she cannot have in this d----d place, " Mr. Hastings replied, profanely. 

"Why don't you try to get something to do?" asked Earle of thesad-visaged husband, a day or two after. 

"What is there to do? Everything is flat; there is neither business normoney in this cursed country. I've stayed here trying to sell my mine, until I'm dead broke; nothing to live on here, and nothing to get outwith. What I'm to do with my wife there, I don't know. Let her die, perhaps, and throw her bones up that ravine to bleach in the sun. God!what a position to be in!"

"But you certainly must propose to do something, and that speedily. Couldn't you see it was half that that brought this illness on yourwife; the inevitable which she saw closing down upon you?"

"If I cannot sell my mine soon, I'll blow out my brains, as that poorGerman did last week. Alice heard the report of the shot which killedhim, and I think it hastened on her sickness. "

"And so you propose to treat her to another such scene, and put an endto her?" said Earle, savagely. 

"Better so than to let her starve, " Jack returned, growing pale with theburden of possibilities which oppressed him. "How the devil I am to saveher from that last, I don't know. There is neither business, money, norcredit in this infernal town. I've been everywhere in this district, asking for a situation at something, and cannot get anything better thandigging ground on the new road. "

"Even that might be better than starving, " said Dr. Earle. 

Jack was a faithful nurse; Dr. Earle an attentive physician; youngpeople with elastic constitutions die hard: so Alice began to mend, andin a fortnight was convalescent. Jack got a situation in a quartz millwhere the Doctor was part owner. 

Left all day alone in the cabin, Alice began staring again at the drearymountains whose walls inclosed her on every side. The bright scarlet andyellow flowers which grew out of their parched soil sometimes temptedher to a brief walk; but the lightness of the air fatigued her, and shedid not care to clamber after them. 

One day, being lonely, she thought to please Jack by dressing insomething pretty and going to the mill to see him. So, laying aside thewrapper which she had worn almost constantly lately, she robed herselfin a delicate linen lawn, donned a coquettish little hat and parasol, and set out for the mill, a mile away. Something in the thought of thepleasant surprise it would be to Jack gave her strength and animation;and though she arrived somewhat out of breath, she looked as dainty andfresh as a rose, and Jack was immensely proud and flattered. Heintroduced her to the head of the firm, showed her over the mill, pointed out to her the mule-train packing wood for the engine fires, gotthe amalgamator to give her specimens, and in every way showed hisdelight. 

After an hour or so she thought about going home; but the walk homelooked in prospect very much longer than the walk to the mill. In truth, it was harder by reason of being up-hill. But opportunely, as it seemed, just as Jack was seeing her off the door-stone of the office, Dr. Earledrove up, and, comprehending the situation, offered to take Mrs. Hastings to her own door in his carriage, if she would graciously allowhim five minutes to see the head man in. 

When they were seated in the carriage, a rare luxury in Deep Cañon; andhad driven a half mile in embarrassed silence--for Mrs. Hastings somehowfelt ashamed of her husband's dependence upon this man, --the Doctorspoke, and what he said was this:

"Your life is very uncongenial to you; you wish to escape from it, don'tyou?"

"Yes, I wish to escape; that is the word which suits my feeling--a verystrange feeling it is. "

"Describe it, " said the Doctor, almost eagerly. 

"Ever since I left the railroad, in the midst of a wilderness and wasborne for so many hours away into the heart of a still more desertwilderness, my consciousness of things has been very much confused. Ican only with difficulty realize that there is any such place as NewYork; and San Francisco is a fable. The world seems a great baremountain plane; and I am hanging on to its edge by my fingertips, readyto drop away into space. Can you account for such impressions?"

"Easily, if I chose. May I tell you something?"

"What is it?"

"I've half a mind to run away with you. "

Now, as Dr. Earle was a rather young and a very handsome man, had beenvery kind, and was now looking at her with eyes actually moistened withtears, a sudden sense of being on the edge of a pitfall overcame Mrs. Hastings; and she turned pale and red alternately. Yet, with theinstinct of a pure woman, to avoid recognizing an ugly thought, sheanswered with a laugh as gay as she could make it. 

"If you were a witch, and offered me half of your broomstick to NewYork, I don't know but I should take it;--that is, if there was room onit anywhere for Jack. "

"There wouldn't be, " said the Doctor, and said no more. 

The old fever seemed to have returned that afternoon. The hills glaredso that Mrs. Hastings closed the cabin door to shut out the burningvision. The ground-squirrels, thinking from the silence that no one waswithin, ran up the mahogany tree at the side, and scampered over thecanvas roof in glee. One, more intent on gain than the rest, invadedJack's outside kitchen, knocking down the tin dishes with a clang, andscattering the dirt from the turf roof over the flour-sack and the twowhite plates. Every sound made her heart beat faster. Afraid of thesilence and loneliness at last, she reopened the door; and then arough-looking man came to the entrance, to inquire if there were anysilver leads up the ravine. 

Leads? she could not say: prospectors in plenty there were. 

Then he went his way, having satisfied his curiosity; and the door wasclosed again. Some straggling donkeys wandered near, which were mistakenfor "Diggers;" and dreading their glittering eyes, the nervous prisonerdrew the curtain over the one little sliding window. There was nothingto read, nothing to sew, no housekeeping duties, because no house tokeep; she was glad when the hour arrived for preparing the lateafternoon meal. 

That night she dreamed that she was a skeleton lying up the cañon--thesunshine parching her naked bones; that Dr. Earle came along with apack-train going to the mill, and picking her up carefully, laid her ontop of a bundle of wood; that the Mexican driver covered her up with ablanket, which so smothered her that she awakened, and started upgasping for breath. The feeling of suffocation continuing, she stolesoftly to the door, and opening it, let the chilly night air blow overher. Most persons would have found Mr. Hastings' house freelyventilated, but some way poor Alice found it hard to breathe in it. 

The summer was passing; times grew, if possible, harder than before. Theprospectors, who had found plenty of "leads, " had spent their "bottomdollar" in opening them up and in waiting for purchasers, and were goingback to California any way they could. The capitalists were holding off, satisfied that in the end all the valuable mines would fall into theirhands, and caring nothing how fared the brave but unlucky discoverers. In fact, they overshot themselves, and made hard times for their ownmills, the miners having to stop getting out rock. 

Then Jack lost his situation. Very soon food began to be scarce in thecabin of Mr. Hastings. Scanty as it was, it was more than Alice craved;or rather, it was not what she craved. If she ate for a day or two, forthe next two or three days she suffered with nausea and aversion toanything which the outside kitchen afforded. Jack seldom mentioned hismine now, and looked haggard and hopeless. The conversation between herhusband and Dr. Earle, recorded elsewhere, had been overheard by Alice, lying half conscious; and she had never forgotten the threat aboutblowing out his brains in case he failed to sell his mine. Trifling assuch an apprehension may appear to another, it is not unlikely that ithad its effect to keep up her nervous condition. The summer wasgoing--was gone. Mrs. Hastings had not met Dr. Earle for several weeks;and, despite herself, when the worst fears oppressed her, her firstimpulse was to turn to him. It had always seemed so easy for him to dowhat he liked!

Perhaps _he_ was growing anxious to know if he could give thethumb-screw another turn. At all events, he directed his steps towardMr. Hastings' house on the afternoon of the last day in August. Mrs. Hastings received him at the threshold and offered him thecamp-stool--the only chair she had--in the shade outside the door; atthe same time seating herself upon the door-step with the same grace asif it had been a silken sofa. 

She was not daintily dressed this afternoon; for that luxury, likeothers, calls for the expenditure of a certain amount of money, andmoney Alice had not--not even enough to pay a Chinaman for "doing up"one of her pretty muslins. Neither had she the facilities for doing themherself, had she been skilled in that sort of labor; for even to do yourown washing and ironing pre-supposes the usual conveniences of alaundry, and these did not belong to the furniture of the outsidekitchen. She had not worn her linen lawn since the visit to the mill. The dust which blew freely through every crack of the shrunken boardsprecluded such extravagance. Thus it happened that a soiled cashmerewrapper was her afternoon wear. She had faded a good deal since hercoming to Deep Cañon; but still looked pretty and graceful, and rathertoo _spirituelle_. 

The Doctor held in his hand, on the point of a knife, the flower of acactus very common in the mountains, which he presented her, warning herat the same time against its needle-like thorns. 

"It makes me sick, " said Alice hastily, throwing it away. "It is thecolor of gold, which I want so much; and of the sunshine, which I hateso. "

"I brought it to you to show you the little emerald bee that is alwaysto be found in one: it is wonderously beautiful, --a living gem, is itnot?"

"Yes, I know, " Alice said, "I admired the first one I saw; but I admirenothing any longer--nothing at least which surrounds me here. "

"I understand that, of course, " returned the Doctor. "It is because yourhealth is failing you--because the air disagrees with you. "

"And because my husband is so unfortunate. If he could only get awayfrom here--and I!" The vanity of such a supposition, in their presentcircumstances, brought the tears to her eyes and a quiver about hermouth. 

"Why did you ever come here! Why did he ever ask you to come;--how_dared_ he?" demanded the Doctor, setting his teeth together. 

"That is a strange question, Doctor!" Mrs. Hastings answered withdignity, lifting her head like an antelope. "My husband was deceived bythe same hopes which have ruined others. If I suffer, it is because weare both unfortunate. "

"What will he do next?" questioned the Doctor curtly. The cruel meaningcaused the blood to forsake her cheeks. 

"I cannot tell what he will do, "--her brief answer rounded by anexpressive silence. 

"You might help him: shall I point out the way to you?"--watching herintently. 

"Can you? _can_ I help him?"--her whole form suddenly inspired withfresh life. 

Dr. Earle looked into her eager face with a passion of jealous inquirythat made her cast down her eyes:

"Alice, do you _love_ this Hastings?"

He called her Alice; he used a tone and asked a question which could notbe misunderstood. Mrs. Hastings dropped her face into her hands, herhands upon her knees. She felt like a wild creature which the dogs holdat bay. She knew now what the man meant, and the temptation he used. 

"Alice, " he said again, "this man, your husband, possesses a prize hedoes not value; or does not know how to care for. Shall you stay hereand starve with him? Is he worth it?"

"He is my husband, " she answered simply, lifting up her face, calm, ifmortally pale. 

"And I might be your husband, after a brief interval, " he said quickly. "There would have to be a divorce;--it could be conducted quietly. I donot ask you to commit yourself to dishonor. I will shield you; no careshall fall upon you, nor any reproach. Consider this well, dearestdarling Alice! and what will be your fate if you depend upon him. "

"Will it help _him_ then, to desert him?" she asked faintly. 

"Yes, unless by remaining with him you can insure his support. Maintainyou he cannot. Suppose his mine were sold, he would waste that money ashe wasted what he brought here. I don't want his mine, yet I will buy ittomorrow if that will satisfy you, and I have your promise to go withme. I told you once that I wanted to run away with you, and now I meanto. Shall I tell you my plan?"

"No, not to-day, " Mrs. Hastings answered, struggling with her pain andembarrassment; "I could not bear it to-day, I think. "

"How cruel I am while meaning to be kind! You are agitated as you oughtnot to be in your weak state. Shall I see you to-morrow--a professionalvisit, you know?"

"You will buy the mine?"--faintly, with something like a blush. 

"Certainly; I swear I will--on what conditions, you know. "

"On none other?"

"Shall I rob myself, not of money only, but of what is far dearer?--On_none other_. " He rose, took her cold hand, clasped it fervently, andwent away. 

When Jack came home to his very meagre dinner, he brought a can ofpeaches, which, being opened, looked so deliciously cool and temptingthat Alice could not refrain from volubly exulting over them. "But howdid you get them, Jack?" she asked; "not by going into debt, I hope. "

"No. I was in Scott's store, and Earle, happening to come in just asScott was selling some, and praising them highly, paid for a can, andasked me to take them to you and get your opinion. They are splendid, byJove!"

"I do not fancy them, " said Alice, setting down her plate; "but don'ttell the Doctor, " she added hastily. 

"You don't fancy anything, lately, Alice, " Mr. Hastings replied, rathercrossly. 

"Never mind, Jack; my appetite will come when you have sold your mine;"and upon that the unreasonably fastidious woman burst into tears. 

"As if my position is not trying enough without seeing you cry!" saidJack, pausing from eating long enough to look injured. Plastic Jack!your surroundings were having their effect on you. 

The _Mining News_ of the second of September had a notice of the sale ofMr. Hastings' mine, the "Sybil, " bearing chloride of silver, to Dr. Eustance Earle, all of Deep Cañon. The papers to be handed over and cashpaid down at Chloride Hill on the seventh; at which time Dr. Earle wouldstart for San Francisco on the business of the mining firm to which hebelonged. Mr. Hastings, it was understood, would go east about the sametime. 

All the parties were at Chloride Hill on the morning of the seventh, promptly. By eleven o'clock, the above-mentioned transaction wascompleted. Shortly after, one of the Opposition Line's stages stopped atMrs. Robb's boarding-house, and a lady, dressed for traveling, steppedquickly into it. Having few acquaintances, and being closely veiled, thelady passed unrecognized at the stage-office, where the other passengersgot in. 

Half an hour afterwards Mr. Jack Hastings received the following note:

 "DEAR JACK: I sold your mine for you. Dr. Earle is running away with me, per agreement; but if you take the express this afternoon, you will reach Elko before the train leaves for San Francisco to-morrow. There is nothing worth going back for at Deep Cañon. If you love me, save me. 

 "Devotedly, "ALICE. "

It is superfluous to state that Jack took the express, which, arrivingat Elko before the Opposition, made him master of the situation. Notthat he felt very masterful; he didn't. He was thinking of many thingsthat it hurt him to remember; but he was meaning to do differently infuture. He had at last sold his mine--no, he'd be d----d if _he_ hadsold it; but--Hallo! there's a big dust out on the road there!--it mustbe the other stage. Think what you'll do and say, Jack Hastings!

What he did say was: "Ah, Doctor! you here? It was lucky for my wife, wasn't it, since I got left, to have you to look after her? Thanks, oldfellow; you are just in time for the train. Alice and I will stop over aday to rest. A thousand times obliged: good-bye! Alice, say good-bye toDoctor Earle! you will not see him again. "

Their hands and eyes met. He was pale as marble: she flushed oneinstant, paled the next, with a curious expression in her eyes which theDoctor never forgot and never quite understood. It was enough to knowthat the game was up. He had another mine on his hands, and an ugly painin his heart which he told himself bitterly would be obstinate of cure. If he only could be sure what that look in her eyes had meant!

WHAT THEY TOLD ME AT WILSON'S BAR. 

The mining season was ended in the narrow valley of one of theSacramento's northern tributaries, as, in fact, it was throughout thewhole region of "placer diggings;" for it was October of a dry year, andwater had failed early in all the camps. The afternoon of a long, idleday at Wilson's Bar was drawing to a close. The medium through which thesun's hot rays reached the parched earth was one of red dust, the effectof which was that of a mellow Indian summer haze, pleasing to the eye, if abhorred by the skin and lungs, compelled to take it in, whetherbrute or human. In the landscape was an incongruous mingling of beautyand deformity; the first, the work of nature; the last, the marring ofman. 

To the east and to the west rose hills, whose ruggedness was softened bydistance to outlines of harmonious grandeur. Scattered over the valleybetween them, the stately "digger, " or nut-pines, grew at nearintervals, singly or in groups of three or five, harmonizing by theirpale gray-green with the other half-tints of earth, air, and sky. Following the course of the dried up river was a line, more or lesscontinuous, of the evergreen oaks, whose round, spreading tops are sucha grateful relief to the eye in the immense levels of the lowerSacramento and upper San Joaquin valleys. Depending from these, hunglong, venerable-looking beards of gray moss, as devoid of color aseverything else in the landscape; everything else, except the Californiawild grape, which, so far from being devoid of color, was gorgeousenough in itself to lighten up the whole foreground of the picture. Growing in clumps upon the ground, it was gay as a bed of tulips. Clambering up occasional tall trees, it flaunted its crimson andparty-colored foliage with true bacchanalian jollity, each leaf seemingdrunk with its own red wine. There is truly nothing that grows in theGolden State more beautiful than the _Vitus Californica_ in October. 

That was Nature's side of the picture. The reverse was this: the eartheverywhere torn and disfigured by prospectors, whose picks had producedthe effect of some huge snout of swine, applied with the industrycharacteristic of that animal in forbidden grounds. Rude cabins werescattered about, chiefly in the neighborhood of the stream. Rockers, sluice-boxes, and sieves strewed its borders. Along the dusty road whichled to Wilson's Bar toiled heavily laden trains of freight-wagons, carrying supplies for the coming winter. At each little deviation fromthe general level, the eight-mule teams strained every muscle; thedust-enswathed drivers swore frantically and whipped mercilessly; theimmense wagons groaned and creaked, and--the world moved on, howevermuch the pained observer might wish to bring it to a stand-still. 

A rosy sunset beyond the western mountains was casting its soft glamourover the scene--happily not without one appreciative beholder--when BobMatheny's wagon drew up in front of the Traveler's Rest, the principalhotel of Wilson's Bar. From the commotion which ensued immediatelythereupon, it would appear that Matheny was a person widely and alsosomewhat favorably known; such ejaculations as "Hulloa! thar's BobMatheny, " "How-dy, old feller!" and many other similar expressions ofwelcome greeting him on all sides, as he turned from blocking the wheelsof his wagon, which else might have backed down the slight incline thatled to Traveler's Rest. 

At the same moment that the hand-shaking was progressing, a young woman, mounted on a handsome filly, rode up to the rude steps of the hotel andprepared to dismount; and Bob Matheny instantly broke away from hisnumerous friends, to lift her from the saddle, which act occasioned asympathetic smile in that same numerous circle, and a whisper ran roundit, half audible, to the effect that Bob had "bin gittin' married, " "Adog-goned purty gal, " "The old cock's puttin' on frills, " and similarappropriate remarks, _ad infinitum_. In the meantime--the young womandisappearing within the hotel, and Matheny occupying himself firstlywith the wants of his team, and lastly with his own and those of histraveling companion--gossip had busily circulated the report among theidlers of Wilson's Bar that Bob Matheny had taken to himself a youngwife, who was accompanying him on his monthly trip to the mountains. This report was published with the usual verbal commentaries, legends, and annotations; as relevant and piquant as that sort of gossip usuallyis, and as elegant as, from the dialect of Wilson's Bar, might beexpected. 

Late that evening, a group of honest miners discussed the matter in theStar Empire Saloon. 

"He's the last man I'd a-suspected ov doin' sech a act, " said Tom Davis, with a manly grief upon his honest countenance, as he hid the ace andright-bower under the brim of his ragged old _sombrero_, and proceededto play the left upon the remainder of that suit--with emphasis, "thevery last man!"

"It's a powerful temptation to a feller in _his_ shoes, " remarked thetall Kentuckian on his right. "A young gal is a mighty purty thing tolook at, and takes a man's mind off from his misfortin's. You mind theverse, don't ye:

 'Sorrows I divide, and joys I double?'"

"And give this world a world o' trouble, " subjoined Davis's partner, with a good natured laugh at his own wit. "It's your deal, Huxly. Lookand see if all the cards are in the pack. Deuced if I don't suspectsomebody's hidin' them. "

"Every keerd's thar thet I hed in my hands, ef you mean _me_, " said theKentuckian, sharply. 

"Waal, I _don't_ mean you. A feller may have his little joke, Isuppose. "

"Depends on the kind o' jokes. Here's the two missin' keerds on thefloor. Now, ef you say I put 'em thar, it's a little joke I reckon Iwon't stand. _Sabe_?"

"Come, I'll pay for the drinks, old fel', if you'll allow me toapologize. Waiter, drinks all round. What'll you take, gentlemen?"

"Now, that's what I call blarsted 'an'some, " remarked Huxley, who was anEnglishman from Australia:

 "'Friend of me soul, this goblet sip, 'Twill dry the starting tear; 'Tis not so bright as woman's lip, But oh, 'tis more sincere!'

"Here's to ye, me hearties. "

"Which brings us back to our subject, " responded Davis's partner, commonly called "Gentleman Bill, " as the glasses were drained and sentaway. "Do you believe in curses, Kentuck?"

"B'lieve in cusses? Don't the Bible tell about cussin'? Wasn't thar anold man in the Bible--I disremember his name--that cussed one of hissons, and blessed t'other one? I reckon I _do_ b'lieve in cussin'. "

His interlocutor laughed softly at the statement and argument. "Did youever know any body to be cursed in such a manner that it was plain hewas under a ban of unintermitting vengeance?"

"Ef you mean did I ever know a man as was cussed, I ken say I did, onct. He was a powerful mean man--a nigger-driver down in Tennessee. He wasorful to swear, and cruel to the niggers, an' his wife besides. One dayshe died an' left a mite of a baby; an' he was so mad he swore he'wouldn't bury her; the neighbors might bury her, an' the brat, too, ifthey liked. ' As he was a-swearin' an' a-tearin' with all his might, an'a-callin' on God to cuss him ef he didn't do so an' so, all of asuddent, just as his mouth opened with a oath, he was struck speechless, an' never has spoke a word till this day!--leastways, not that I everheard ov. "

"That is what I should call a special example of Divine wrath, " saidGentleman Bill, deftly dealing the cards for a new game. "What I meantto ask was, whether any one, yourself especially, had ever known one manto curse another man so as to bring ruin upon him, in spite of his willto resist it. "

"Waal, I've heern tell of sech things; can't say as I know such a man, without it's Bob Matheny. _He_ says he's cussed; an' I reckon he _is_. Everybody in Wilson's Bar has heern about that. "

"Not everybody, for I am still ignorant of his story. Was that why Mr. Davis objected so strongly to his marriage? I begin to be interested. Count me another game, partner. I should like to hear about Mr. Matheny. "

"You may tell the story, Davis, " said Kentuck, magnanimously. "I wantter chaw terbacker fur awhile, an' I can't talk an' chaw. "

Tom Davis gladly took up the theme, as it gave him an opportunity todisplay his oratorical and rhetorical abilities, of which he was almostas proud as he was of his skill in hiding cards in his sleeves, his hat, his hair, his boots. 

"Gentlemen, " he began, hesitating an instant--while, attention beingfixed on what he was about to say, he stocked the cards--"gentlemen, it's one of the curusest things you ever heerd in yer life. It seemsthar was a woman at the bottom of it--I believe thar allers is at thebottom of everything. Waal, he stole another man's sunflower--I've heerdBob say so, hisself--an' the other feller got mad--as mad asthunder--an', when he found his gal had vamosed with Bob, he cursed him;an' his curse was this: that as long as he lived all that he did shouldprosper for a little while, an' jest when he begun to enj'y it, a curseshould come onto it. Ef it wor business, when he thought he was sure ofa good thing, it should fail. Ef it wor love, the woman he loved shoulddie. Ef it wor children, they should grow up, and turn agin' him; or, ifthey stuck to him, the same curse should be on them; what they undertookshould fail; what they loved should die. "

"Did the woman he loved die? did his children desert him?" asked theEnglishman, eagerly. 

"His wife died seven year arter he married her; one ov his boys waskilled by his horse fallin' on him; the other got into bad company downto Red Bluffs, an', arter leadin' the old man a devil of a life for twoyear or more, run off, an' got taken by the lynchers--so folks said. Ib'lieve he has a gal, back in the States; but his wife's folks won't lether come to Californy. They're a-eddicatin' her quite grand, an' shewrites a powerful nice letter. The old man showed me one, last time hewas up to the Bar. Han'some as any school-marm's ever ye saw. But Bobsays he don't see what's the use; somethin's sure to happen her;somethin' allers does happen to him an' to his chillern. "

"Is that why he thinks he's cursed--because 'something always happens?'"asked Gentleman Bill, indifferently. 

"Sart'in; an' it's so, as sure as yer born. Nothin' never pans out longwith Bob Matheny. His beginnin's is all good, an' his endin's all bad. Ireckon thar never was a man to Wilson's Bar has been cleaned eout, downto the bed-rock, as often as Matheny. "

"Is he a good man?" asked the Englishman, interested. 

"Never had a better man to Wilson's Bar, " responded Kentuck, decidedly, as he cast his quid under the table. "He ain't a lucky feller, an' he'smighty superstitious an' the like; but I make a heap o' Bob Matheny. Hisluck an' his cuss don't hurt him none for me. It's jest a notion, mebbe. "

"Notion or no notion, " said Davis, with a knowing leer, "he's not theman to marry a nice gal like that 'un he's got up to the Rest. Betterlet her be for some lucky young feller as could make her happy. Don'tyou say so, boys?"

While the laugh went round, the crowd that had been gradually collectingand listening to the story, began to move, and then to part, as the manso much talked of forced his way toward the group of speakers. 

"Hold yer tongue, Tom Davis, " said Kentuck. "Hulloa, Bob! take my hand, won't ye? I'll introduce ye to my friends. My pardner is Huxly--atip-top feller, as you'll diskiver fur yerself. Davis' pardner isRandolph--Gentleman Bill, we call him fur short, he's so nice andperlite. He's from yer State, too, I reckon. "

"Randolphs of Booneville, " said Gentleman Bill; rising and extending hishand. 

Matheny, who was a mild-looking man of about fifty, with a hesitatingmanner and rather care-worn countenance, half concealed under awide-brimmed, dusty black hat, instead of meeting half-way the extendedhand of his friend's friend, thrust his own into his pockets and gazedfixedly at young Randolph. "Be ye Boone Randolph, or be ye his sperrit?"he asked, hoarsely. 

"Neither, quite, " said the young man, smiling, yet a little flushed. "Iam son of Boone Randolph of Booneville, if you know who he was. "

Matheny turned and hurried out of the crowd, followed by Kentuck, whowanted to have explained this singular conduct of Bob's towards hisfriends. As there was no witness of their conversation, its meaning canonly be guessed at by another which took place two hours later, afterMatheny had turned in at the Traveler's Rest. It was late, even for him, when Kentuck started for his lodgings at the other end of the long, densely crowded street--crowded not only with buildings of wood andcanvas, but choked up with monstrous freight wagons, and their numeroushorse and mule-teams, for which there was not stable-room enough in allWilson's Bar. Stumbling along the uneven sidewalk, often touching withhis feet some unhoused vagabond, Kentuck was about to mount the stairswhich led to his bedroom, when some one touched him on the shoulder, andthe voice of Gentleman Bill addressed him:

"I beg your pardon, Kentuck; but you've been with Matheny, haven't you?I want to know why he wouldn't shake hands. He told you, of course?"

"Waal, I'm a friend of Bob's, ye know, Bill; an' he is mighty rough onyou, sure. Better not say nothin' about it. "

"That wouldn't suit me, Kentuck. I want to understand something aboutthe matter which concerns me so evidently. Come, out with it, and I'llleave you to go to bed. "

"Waal, you heerd Tom Davis' blab this evenin'; an' you know that Bob'sgot the idee into his intelleck that the cuss of a sart'in man as heonct wronged is a-stickin' to him yit, an' never will let loose till hepasses in his checks?"

"Who was the man?"

"Boone Randolph, of Booneville. "

"My father?"

"Yaas, yer pap. He's down powerful on your pap, that's sart'in. Sez heto me: 'Loh! that's the ornary whelp ov the devil that cussed me. Old'sI am I'd like to fight him, fur the sake o' the man that I knowed onct. I feel my young blood a-risin'; he looks so mighty like Boone Randolph. 'But I tole him he war a fool to talk ov fightin' yer; ye'd whip him allter flinders. "

"I wouldn't fight him, of course: he's too old for me. And then he'sjust married, too, isn't he? I have no wish to make that young woman awidow. "

"A widow!" said Kentuck, laughing. "That girl's name is Anne Matheny;but she ain't Bob's wife, not by a long shot. Why, she's Bob's darter, as has just come out to see her old pap. "

"Well, I like that. I am less than ever inclined to fight the man whoowns such a daughter. I must find a way to make friends with him, evenif I have to quarrel with him to do it. Good-night, Kentuck. Pleasantdreams to you. "

Gentleman Bill felt more than ordinarily wide-awake, whether it was fromthe novel excitement of the brief encounter with Matheny or not. WhenKentuck had left him, he stood for some time irresolute, with no wishfor rest, and no desire to go anywhere in particular. He looked up tothe sky. It was murky with filmy fog-clouds and dust not yet settled tothe earth. Not a star was visible in the whole arch of heaven. He lookeddown the street, and his eyes, accustomed to the darkness, could justfaintly distinguish the outlines of the wagons that crowded it. Everysound was hushed, except the occasional movement of a restless animal, or the deep sighing of a sleeping one. Not a light was burning anywherealong the street. While gazing aimlessly into the gloom he saw, all atonce, as if lighted by a flash from the sky, a sudden illuminationspring up, and a column of flame stand erect over the Traveler's Rest. 

Now, Wilson's Bar did not boast a fire company. At some seasons of theyear, had a fire broken out, there would have been a chance of itsextinguishment, inflammable as were the materials of which the place wasbuilt; but just after the long, hot summer, when the river was all butdried up, and every plank in houses, fences, and sidewalks so muchtinder, a fire that should get under headway would have everything itsown way. Seeing the danger, Gentleman Bill started down the street on arun, shouting, in his clarion tones, that ever-thrilling cry of "Fire!fire! fire!" till it seemed to him he must wake the dead. But it wasthat hour of the night, or rather morning, when sleep is heaviest, andthe watchful senses off their guard. The teamsters, who slept in theirwagons, were the first to be aroused; but they, seeing the peril whichmight come to their teams, and destruction to their property, kept bytheir own. The inhabitants of the dwellings awoke more slowly, and camepouring into the street only in time to see the roof of the Traveler'sRest falling in, although the lower story was not yet consumed. 

Nobody knew much about the details of the scene that ensued. The currentof heated air produced the usual rush of cold wind, which spread and fedthe flames, until, in half an hour, all hope of saving any part of theprincipal street in the Bar was abandoned, and people were flying forsafety to the outskirts of the town. 

On a little eminence, overlooking the burning buildings, together stoodGentleman Bill and a young woman he had rescued from smoke and flamejust in time to save her from suffocation. Together they looked downupon the conflagration, and together listened to the horrible medley ofsounds proceeding from it. 

"If I could only know that my father is safe!" was the repeated moan ofAnne Matheny, as she gazed intently upon the scene of distress. 

Seeing the fright and trouble in her eyes, her companion cunninglydiverted her attention for one moment to the weird landscape stretchingaway toward the western mountains. It was the same scene she had beheldfor the first time with such interest twelve hours before; but in whata different aspect! The murky heavens reflected the red glare of theflames upon every object for miles around, tinging each with a luridgleam like nothing in nature. The dark neutrals of the far-offmountains, the gray-green of the pines, the sere colors of the parchedvalley, the dark dull-green of the oaks, garlanded with hoary moss, andthe gay foliage of the wild grape; all came out distinctly in thisfurnace-glow, but with quite new effects. In the strong and strangefascination of the scene, both these young people, so singularlysituated, forgot for three minutes their mutual anxiety. Longer itwould be impossible to forget it. 

"Do not you think I might go to look for my father now, Mr. ----?"

"Randolph"--supplied that gentleman. 

"Oh, thank you!--Mr. Randolph?"

"I do not see how you could, really;" and, without intending it in theleast, but simply through his embarrassment, Randolph glanced hastily ather scanty dress, which thereby she blushingly understood to be hisobjection. 

"If I could get only a blanket from father's wagon! Do you think itwould be possible? Would you be running a risk to try for a blanket, doyou think, Mr. Randolph? If there is any risk, please do not go; but Iam so anxious--so terribly anxious. "

He knew she was, and knew the reason she had for her apprehensions; so, although he mistrusted the result of his errand, he answered simply:"Certainly; I will go, if you are not afraid to be left alone. _I_ shallbe in no danger. "

"O, thank you--thank you! You will bring me a message from my father?"

"I hope so, indeed, since you desire it so much. I think you had bettersit down on this newspaper, and let me cover your shoulders with mycoat. "

"No, indeed. If you are going near the fire, you will need it to protectyou from cinders. "

But Randolph quickly divested himself of his upper garment, and laid itlightly over her shivering form; then quietly charging her to feel noalarm, and as little anxiety as possible, strode rapidly away toward thefire. Fifteen minutes afterward he returned more slowly, with a blanket, which Anne rose up to receive. 

"My father? Did you see my father?"

"I did not see him. He must have taken his horses off a little distancefor safety, and you may not see him for several hours. Do not indulge inapprehensions. In the morning we shall find him: it is almost daylightnow. "

He pointed to a faint light along the eastern horizon; but her eyes wereblinded with tears. 

"It is not like my father to leave me so long--at such a time, too! Hewould not care for his horses, nor for anything but me. O, can he haveperished!"

She spoke as though the awful significance of her loneliness had justdawned upon her. Randolph, from whom the thought had never been absentfrom the moment he saw the pillar of flame shooting up over theTraveler's Rest, was startled by the suddenness of her anguish; and anexpression of profound grief came over his face, noticeable even to herinattentive eyes, and which comforted her by its sympathy, even in themidst of her alarm and distress. 

The day had dawned when Anne Matheny lifted her tear-swollen face fromher knees, and looked upon the smoking ruins of Wilson's Bar. It wasbut a blackened heap of rubbish; yet somewhere in its midst, she feltassured, were buried the charred remains of her father. Each moment thathe came not deepened her conviction, until at last her companion ceasedhis efforts to inspire hope, and accepted her belief as his own. Then, with the inconsistency of sorrow, she violently repudiated the suspicionof her father's death, and besought him piteously to seek and bring himto her side. 

It was while obeying this last command that Gentleman Bill encounteredKentuck, who, after the confusion of the fire was over, was, likehimself, looking for Matheny. When they had consulted together, thetwo returned to the place where Anne was awaiting them. 

"There is one request I have to make, Kentuck: which is, that you willnot inform Miss Matheny of the enmity of her father toward my father andmyself. It would only distress her. Besides, I should like to befriendher, poor girl! and I could not, if she looked upon me with her father'seyes. "

"No, 'tain't no use to tell her nothin' about that, sure enough. It'smighty curus, though, 'bout that fire: not another man got hurt, not amite; and Bob Matheny dead! I'll be hanged if it ain't mighty curus. Ihope _ye_ won't hurt the gal, bein' yer the son of yer father. "

"Hurt her! I'd----"

Gentleman Bill did not say what he would do: but Kentuck, glancing hisway, caught a perfectly comprehensible expression, and muttered softlyto himself:

"Waal, if that ain't the dog-gondest curusest sarcumstance I ever seed. Hit, the first pop! Waal, I'm not the feller to come atween 'em efthet's ther notion. Far play's my rule. "

To Bill, aloud, he said: "Reckon you'll hev' to let _me_ be her unclefor awhile yet. Yer most too young a feller to offer to take car' of agal like that. Bob Matheny's darter has a right to what leetle dust pansout o' Kentuck's claim. Thet's my go. "

Just at this moment Anne, who had been watching for the return of herfriend, seeing two figures approaching, uttered a cry of joy and ranforward to meet them. The shock of her disappointment at seeing astranger in place of her father, caused her nearly to swoon away inKentuck's arms. 

"Neow, don't ye, honey, " he said, soothingly, in his kind Kentuckydialect. "Sho! don't ye take on. We's all got to die, sometime or'nother. Don't mind me: I'm yer pap's oldest friend on this coast--hev'prospected an' dug an' washed up with him sence '49; and a kindercomrade a man never hed. In course, I consider it my dooty an' privilegeto see that you're took car' ov. The Bar's purty much clearedeout--thet's so; but I'll soon hev' a cabin up somewhere; an' ye canjest run my shebang anyway ye like. Reckon I can find some nice woman tostay along with ye, fur comp'ny. "

This was just the kind of talk best calculated to engage the attentionof one in Anne's situation--half soothing and half suggestive--and bydegrees her father's old friend succeeded in arousing her to face herloss, and the prospects of her future. 

 * * * * *

They told me at Wilson's Bar, only last October--it must have been aboutthe anniversary of the fire--that in two or three months Anne hadrecovered her spirits and health so far as to essay teaching the littleflock of children at the Bar, with flattering success; and that in twoor three more it began to be observed that Gentleman Bill--now morecommonly called Mr. Randolph, out of respect to Miss Matheny--generallyhappened to be in the neighborhood of the school-house about the hour ofclosing, in order that he might walk home with the teacher. In truth, the young people had taken to looking and sighing after each other in away that provoked remark, and augured a wedding. As Anne insisted oncompleting her term of teaching, as well as on taking a little time forpreparation, the wedding did not come off until the first part ofSeptember. 

On this occasion--the only one of the kind Kentuck had ever had anythingto do with--the rude, but generous-hearted Kentuckian made a point ofdisplaying his hospitality on a scale commensurate with his ideas of itsimportance; and the _êlite_ of Wilson's Bar were invited to eat, drink, and dance from dusk till dawn of that memorable day. As for the bride, she looked as lovely as it is the right and duty of all brides tolook--even lovelier than the most; and the groom was the very prince ofbridegrooms--so all the maiden guests declared. 

On the following morning, when the young couple were to go away, Anniekissed and cried over Kentuck, her second father, in a truly gratifyingfashion; and Randolph behaved very gentlemanly and kindly--as, in fact, he always did; and Kentuck put on paternal airs, blessing his childrenin all the honeyed epithets of a true Kentuckian. 

Alas, that the legend does not end here! If the reader is of my mind, hewill wish that it had. But if he is of that sanguinary sort who alwaysinsist upon seeing the grist the gods send to their slow-grinding mills, he will prefer to know the sequel. As I have already told you, it was inSeptember they were married. On the morning they left Kentuck theweather was extremely hot, with queer little clouds hanging about themountains. They took the road up the cañon, toward McGibeney'sranch--laughing and chatting, as they rode along side by side, Annereplying to every lark singing by the roadside in a voice almost asmusical. 

Well, if it must be told, there was a cloud-burst on the mountains aboutnoon that day. Not four hours after they had taken leave of him, Kentuckreceived their poor bruised bodies at his very threshold, brought therewithout the interposition of human hands. Wilson's Bar will longremember that day. The fire took chiefly that which could be replaced;but the flood washed out claims, ruined aqueducts, and destroyed livesof men and brutes, carrying away with it the labors and hopes of years. 

MISS JORGENSEN. 

I am a plain, elderly, unmarried man, and I board at Mrs. Mason's. Agreat deal of what I am about to relate came under my own observation;and the remainder was confided to me from time to time by my landlady, with whom I am upon terms of friendship and intimacy, having had a homein her house for a period of seven years. 

Mrs. Mason lives in her own tenement, in a quiet part of the city; andbesides myself, has usually three or four other boarders, generallyteachers, or poor young authors--some person always of the class that, having few other pleasures, makes it a point to secure rooms with a fineview of the bay. When Miss Jorgensen came to us, we were a quiet, studious, yet harmonious and happy family; so well satisfied with ourlittle community that we did not take kindly to the proposed addition toour circle when Mrs. Mason mentioned it. Neither did our landlady seemto desire any change; but she explained to us that the young personapplying had made a strong appeal; that her classes (she was a teacherof French) were principally in our part of the city; and that she wouldbe satisfied with a mere closet for a room. The only privilege for whichshe stipulated was the use of the common parlor twice a week to receiveher company in. 

"But I cannot agree to give up the parlor any single evening, " Mrs. Mason replied, "because it is used by all the family, every evening. Youwill be entitled to the same privileges with the others. " After somehesitation this was agreed to, and our new boarder was installed in theupper hall bed-room, which, when it had received the necessary furnitureand a saratoga trunk, with numerous boxes and baskets, would scarcelyallow space enough to dress in. However, Mrs. Mason reported that thetenant professed real satisfaction with her quarters; and we all were ontiptoe with curiosity to see the new inmate. 

"Miss Jorgensen, " said Mrs. Mason, that evening, as she escorted to thedinner-table a small, pale, dark-eyed young person, in deep mourning;and we being severally and separately presented afterward, endeavored toplace this little lonely scrap of humanity at ease with ourselves. Butin this well-intentioned effort Miss Jorgensen did not seem to meet ushalf way. On the contrary, she repelled us. She was reserved withoutbeing diffident; mercilessly critical, and fierily disputatious--all ofwhich we found out in less than a week. She never entered or left a roomwithout somehow disturbing the mental atmosphere of it, and giving theinmates a little shock; so that Mr. Quivey, our dramatic writer, soontook to calling her the "Electrical Eel, " substituting "E. E. " when theperson indicated was within ear-shot possibly or probably. In return, aswe afterward discovered, Miss Jorgensen told Miss Flower, our otheryoung lady boarder, that she had christened Mr. Quivey "I. I. "--"Incurable Idiot. " How the "E. E. " came to her knowledge was nevermade plain. Before three months were past, she had quarreled with everyone in the house except Mrs. Mason and myself; though, to her credit beit said, she always apologized for her temper when they were over, witha frankness that disarmed resentment. Nevertheless, she was sofrequently in a hostile attitude toward one or another in the family, that the mere mention of Miss Jorgensen's name was sure to arrestattention and excite expectations. Thus, when I only chanced to whisperto Mrs. Mason at breakfast one morning, "Miss Jorgensen keeps latehours, " every one at the table glanced our way inquiringly, as much asto ask, "What has the little woman done now?" And when she appeared atthe close of the meal with pale face and swollen eyes, explaining hertardiness by saying she had a headache, no one gave her sympathizinglooks except the landlady. 

That kind-hearted person confided to me, later in the day, that her newboarder troubled and puzzled her very much. "She will sit up until oneor two o'clock every night, writing something or other, and that makesher late to breakfast. She goes out teaching every morning, and comesback tired and late to luncheon; and you see she is never in her placeat dinner until the soup is removed, and every one at the table helped. When I once suggested that she ought not to sit up so long at night, andthat her classes should be arranged not to fatigue her so much, withother bits of friendly advice, she gave me to understand, very promptly, that her ways were her own, and not to be interfered with by any one. And directly afterward the tears came into her eyes. I confess I did notunderstand her at all. "

"What about the young man who calls here twice a week?" I inquired. 

"She is engaged to him, she says. "

"What sort of a person does he seem to be?"

"He looks well enough, only rather shabby, is very quiet, very attentiveto her, and what you might call obedient to her requirements. She oftenseems displeased with him, but what she says to him at such times isunknown to me, for she does her scolding all in French; and he usuallythen invites her out to walk, by way of diversion, I suppose. "

"Do you know that he comes every morning and carries her books for her?He certainly cannot be employed, or he would not have time for suchgallantries. "

"Perhaps he is engaged on one of the morning papers, and so is off dutyin the forenoon. I cannot think so industrious a person as she wouldtake up with a man both poor and idle. But you never know what a womanwill do, " sighed Mrs. Mason, who had known something of heart-troublesin her youth, and could sympathize with other unlucky women. "Excuse me;I must not stand here gossiping. " And the good lady went about her houseaffairs. 

A few moments later I was hurrying down town to my office, when Iovertook Miss Jorgensen and Mr. Hurst. As usual, she was leaning uponhis arm, and he was carrying her books. She was talking excitedly, inFrench, and I thought her to be crying, though her face was covered witha black veil. The few words I caught before she recognized me remindedme of my conversation with Mrs. Mason. 

"You _must_ get something to do, Harry, " she was saying. "You know thatI work every instant of the time, yet how little I can save if I have tosupply you with money. It is a shame to be so idle and helpless, whenthere is so much to be done before----"

She perceived me and stopped short. "So, " I thought, "this preciousscamp is living off the earnings of the little French teacher, is he? Apretty fellow, truly! I'll get him his _congé_ if I have to make love toher myself. " Which latter conceit so amused me, that I had forgotten tobe indignant with Mr. Hurst before I reached my office and plunged intothe business of the day. 

But I never made love to Miss Jorgensen. She was not the kind of personeven a flirtish man would choose to talk sentiment with, and I wasalways far enough from being a gallant. So our affairs went on in justthe usual way at Mrs. Mason's for three or four months. Miss Jorgensenand Mr. Quivey let fly their arrows of satire at each other; MissFlower, the assistant high-school teacher, enacted the amiablego-between; our "promising young artist" was wisely neutral; Mrs. Masonand myself were presumed to be old enough to be out of the reach ofboarding-house tiffs, and preserved a prudent unconsciousness. Mr. Hurstcontinued to call twice a week in the evening, and Miss Jorgensen kepton giving French lessons by day, and writing out translations for thepress at night. She was growing very thin, very pale, and cried a gooddeal, as I had reason to know, for her room adjoined mine, and more thana few times I had listened to her sobbing, until I felt almost forced tointerfere; but interfered I never had yet. 

One foggy July evening, on coming home to dinner, I encountered MissJorgensen in the hall. She appeared to be just going out, a circumstancewhich surprised me somewhat, on account of the hour. I however openedthe door for her without comment, when by the fading daylight Iperceived that her face was deathly pale, and her black eyes burning. She passed me without remark, and hurried off into the foggy twilight. Nor did she appear at dinner; but came in about eight o'clock and wentdirectly to her own room. When Mrs. Mason knocked at her door to inquireif she was not going to take some refreshments, the only reply thatcould be elicited was, that she had a headache, and could not be inducedto eat or drink--spoken through the closed door. 

"She's been having a row with that sunflower of hers, " was Mr. Quivey'scomment, when he overheard Mrs. Mason's report to me, made in anundertone. Truth to tell, Mr. Quivey, from associating so much withtheatrical people in the capacity of playwright, had come to be ratherstagy in his style at times. "By the way, he was not on escort duty thismorning. I saw her proceeding along Powell street alone, and anxiouslypeering up and down all the cross streets, evidently on the lookout, buthe failed to put in an appearance. "

"Which was very unkind of him, if she expected that he would, " put inMiss Flower, glancing from under her long lashes at the speaker. 

"That is so, " returned Quivey; "for the fellow does nothing else, I dobelieve, but play lackey to Miss Jorgensen; and if that is his soleoccupation, he ought to perform that duty faithfully. I do not see, formy part, how he pays his way. "

"Perhaps it pays him to be a lackey, " I suggested, remembering what Ihad once overheard between them. Mrs. Mason gave me a cautioning glance, which she need not have done, for I had no intention of making knownMiss Jorgensen's secrets. 

"Well, " said Miss Flower, as if she had been debating the question inher mind for some time previous, "I doubt if a woman can love a man whosubmits to her will as subserviently as Mr. Hurst seems to, to MissJorgensen. I know _some women_ could not. "

"By which you mean _you_ could not, " Mrs. Mason returned, smiling. "I donot see that the case need be very different with men. Subserviencynever won anybody's respect or love either. Neither does willfulopposition, any more. Proper self-respect and a fair share of self-loveis more sure of winning admiration, from men or women, than too littleself-assertion or too much. "

"But where the self-assertion is all on one side, and the self-abasementall on the other--as in the case of Miss Jorgensen and Mr. Hurst--thenhow would you establish an equilibrium, Mrs. Mason?"

"It establishes itself in that case, I should say, " clipped in Mr. Quivey. "Oil and water do not mix, but each keeps its own placeperfectly, and without disturbance. "

I do not know how long this conversation might have gone on in thishalf-earnest, half-facetious style, with Miss Jorgensen for its object, had not something happened just here to bring it abruptly to a close;and that something was the report of a pistol over our very heads. 

"Great heaven!" ejaculated Miss Flower, losing all her color andself-possession together. 

"E. E. , as I live--she has shot herself!" cried Quivey, half doubting, half convinced. 

I caught these words as I made a rapid movement toward the staircase. They struck me as so undeniably true that I never hesitated in making anassault upon her door. It was locked on the inside, and I could hearnothing except a faint moaning sound within. Fearing the worst, I threwmy whole weight and strength against it, and it flew open with a crash. There lay Miss Jorgensen upon the floor, in the middle of her littleroom, uttering low moaning sobs, though apparently not unconscious. Istooped over and lifted her in my arms to lay her upon the bed, and as Idid so, a small pocket-pistol fell at my feet, and I discovered bloodupon the carpet. 

"Yes, Miss Jorgensen had certainly shot herself, I told Mrs. Mason, andthe rest who crowded after us into the little woman's room; but whetherdangerously or not, I could not say, nor whether purposely oraccidentally. Probably not dangerously, as she was already making signsto me to exclude people from the apartment. 

"You had better bring a surgeon, " I said to Quivey, who turned awaymuttering, followed by Miss Flower. 

With Mrs. Mason's assistance, I soon made out the location of the wound, which was in the flesh of the upper part of the left arm, andconsequently not so alarming as it would be painful during treatment. 

"Could she have meant to shoot herself through the heart, and failedthrough agitation?" whispered Mrs. Mason to me, aside. 

"No, no; it was an accident, " murmured the victim, whose quick ear hadcaught the words. "I did not mean to shoot myself. "

"Poor child, I am very sorry for you, " returned Mrs. Mason gently, whosekind heart had always leaned toward the little French teacher, in spiteof her singular ways. "It is very unfortunate; but you shall receivecareful nursing until you recover. You need not worry about yourself, but try to bear it the best you can. "

"O, I cannot bear it--I _must_ be well to-morrow. O, what shall I do!"moaned Miss Jorgensen. "O, that this should have happened to-night!" Andmomently, after this thought occurred to her, her restlessness seemed toincrease, until the surgeon came and began an examination of the wound. 

While this was going on, notwithstanding the sickening pain, thesufferer seemed anxious only about the opinion to be given upon theimportance of the wound as interfering with her usual pursuits. 

When, in answer to a direct appeal, she was told that it must be someweeks before she could resume going out, a fainting fit immediatelyfollowed, which gave us no little trouble and alarm. 

Before taking leave, the doctor accompanied me to my own apartment andproceeded to question me. 

"What is the history of the case?" said he. "Is there anything peculiarin the life or habits of Miss Jorgensen, to account for her greatanxiety to get well immediately?"

"She fears to lose her classes, I presume; and there may be otherengagements which are unknown to us. " I still had a great reluctance tosaying what I suspected might be troubling Miss Jorgensen. 

"Neither of which accounts for all that I observe in her case, " returnedthe doctor. "What are her connections?--has she any family ties--anylover, even?"

"I believe she told Mrs. Mason she was engaged to a young man who callshere twice a week. "

"Ah! Do you know where this young man is to be found? It might be bestto communicate with him, in the morning. Possibly he may be able todispel this anxious fear of hers, from whatever cause it arises. "

I promised the Doctor to speak to Mrs. Mason about it, and he soon aftertook leave, having first satisfied himself that the unlucky pistol wasincapable of doing further mischief, and safely hidden from MissJorgensen. 

Naturally, the next morning, the table-talk turned upon the incident ofthe evening previous. 

"She need not tell me that it was an accident, " Mr. Quivey was saying, very decidedly. "She is just the sort of woman for desperate remedies;and she is tired of living, with that vampire friend of hers drainingher life-blood!"

I confess I felt startled by the correspondence of Quivey's opinion withmy own; for I had heretofore believed that myself and Mrs. Mason werethe only persons who suspected that Hurst was dependent upon MissJorgensen for the means of living. In my surprise I said: "You know thathe does this?"

"I know that Craycroft paid him yesterday for a long translation done byMiss Jorgensen, and I do not believe he had an order for it, other thanverbal. Craycroft seeing them so much together, paid the money, and tooka receipt. "

"Perhaps he paid the money to Mr. Hurst by her instructions, for her ownuse, " suggested Miss Flower. "But then he did not see her last evening, did he? I hope he does not rob Miss Jorgensen. Such a delicate littlewoman has enough to do to look out for herself, I should think. "

"One thing is certain, " interposed Mrs. Mason, "Miss Jorgensen does whatshe does, and permits what she permits, intelligently; and ourspeculations concerning her affairs will not produce a remedy for whatwe fancy we see wrong in them. " Which hint had the effect of silencingthe discussion for that time. 

Before I left the house that morning, I had a consultation with Mrs. Mason, who had passed the night in attendance upon Miss Jorgensen, andwho had informed me that she had been very restless, in spite of thequieting prescription left by the doctor. "I wish you would go up andspeak to her, " Mrs. Mason said. "Perhaps you can do something for herwhich I could not; and I am sure she needs some such service. "

Thus urged, I obeyed an impulse of my own, which had been to do thisvery thing. When I tapped softly at her door, she said, "Come in!" in apained and petulant tone, as if any interruption was wearisome to her;but when she saw who it was, her countenance assumed an eager andanimated expression, which rewarded me at once for the effort I wasmaking. 

"Thank you for coming to see me, " said she quickly. "I was almost on thepoint of sending for you. " Pausing for a moment, while her eyes searchedmy face, she continued: "I am in trouble, which cannot be all explained, and which will force you, if you do a service for me, to take me verymuch upon trust; but I will first assure you that what you may do for mewill not involve _you_ in any difficulty. More than this I cannot nowsay. Will you do this service for me, and keep your agency in the mattersecret? The service is slight, the importance of secrecy great. "

I expressed my willingness to do anything which would not compromise mewith myself, and that, I told her, I did not fear her requiring. 

She then proceeded, with some embarrassment, to say that she wished anote conveyed to Mr. Hurst; upon which I smiled, and answered, "I hadconjectured as much. "

"But you must not conjecture anything, " she replied, with some asperity;"for you are sure to go wide of the truth. You think I have only to sendfor Mr. Hurst to bring him here; but you are mistaken. He cannot come, because he _dare_ not. He is in hiding, but I cannot tell you why. Onlydo not betray him; I ask no more. You are not called upon to do anymore--to do anything against him, I mean. " Seeing me hesitate, shecontinued: "I need not tell you that I believe my life is in your hands. I have been living a long time with all my faculties upon a severestrain, so severe that I feel I shall go mad if the pressure isincreased. I entreat you not to refuse me. "

"Very well, " I answered, "I will do what you require. "

"It is only to take this"--she pulled a note from beneath her pillow, addressed to "Mr. Harry Hurst, " and handed it to me--"to the address, which you will have no difficulty in finding, though I am sorry to haveto send you on a walk so out of your way. And please take thisalso"--handing me a roll of coin, marked $100. "No answer is expected. Ofcourse, you will not give these things to any one but Mr. Hurst. That isall. " And she sunk back wearily upon her pillow, with closed eyes, as ifshe had no further interest in the affair. 

I know as well as if she had told me that this note was a warning tofly, and this money the means to make flight good. I had promised todeliver them on her simple entreaty and assurance that I should notdishonor myself. But might I not wrong society? Might not she be herselfdeceived about Hurst? The assertion of Quivey that he had collectedmoney from her employers the day before occurred to me. Did she know itor not? I questioned, while regarding the thin, pale, weary face on thepillow before me. While I hesitated she opened her eyes with awondering, impatient gaze. 

"Do you repent?" she asked. 

"I deliberate, rather, " I replied. "I chanced to learn yesterday, thatMr. Hurst had drawn money from Craycroft & Co. , and was thinking that ifyou knew it, you might not wish to send this also. "

For an instant her black eyes blazed with anger, but whether at me or atMr. Hurst I could not tell, and she seemed to hesitate, as I had done. 

"Yes, take it, " she said, with hopeless sadness in her tone, "He mayneed it; and for myself, what does it matter now?"

"I shall do as you bid me, " I replied, "but it is under protest; for itis my impression that you are doing yourself an injury, and Mr. Hurst nogood. "

"You don't understand, " she returned, sharply. "Now go, please. "

"Very well; I am gone. But I promise you that if you exact services ofme, I shall insist on your taking care of your health, by way of return. You are in a fever at this moment, which I warn you will be serious ifnot checked. Here comes the doctor. Good-morning. "

I pass over the trifling incidents of my visit to the residence of Mr. Hurst. Suffice to say that Mr. Hurst had departed to parts unknown, andthat I had to carry about all day Miss Jorgensen's letter and money. Onreturning home to dinner that afternoon, I found a stranger occupyingMiss Jorgensen's place at table. He was a shrewd-looking man of aboutforty years, talkative, versatile, and what you might call "jolly. "Nothing escaped his observation; nothing was uttered that he did nothear, often replying most unexpectedly to what was not intended forhim--a practice that would have been annoying but for a certain tact andgood humor which disarmed criticism. The whole family, while admittingthat our new day-boarder was not exactly congenial, confessed to likinghis amusing talk immensely. 

"He quite brightens us up; don't you think so, Mr. Quivey?" was MissFlower's method of indorsing him. 

"He does very well just now, " replied Quivey, "though I'd lots rathersee E. E. Back in that place. When one gets used to pickles or pepper, one wants pickles or pepper; honey palls on the appetite. "

"I thought you had almost too much pepper sometimes, " said Miss Flower, remembering the "I. I. "

"It's a healthful stimulant, " returned Quivey, ignoring the covertreminder. 

"But not always an agreeable one. "

I suspected that Miss Flower, who had an intense admiration for dramatictalent, entertained her own reasons for jogging Mr. Quivey's memory; andbeing willing to give her every opportunity to promote her own views, Itook this occasion to make my report to Miss Jorgensen. As might havebeen expected, she had been feverishly anticipating my visit. I had nosooner entered the room than she uttered her brief interrogation:

"Well?"

I laid the note and the money upon the bed. "You see how it is?" I said. 

"He is gone?"

"Yes. "

"I am so very glad!" she said, with emphasis, while something like asmile lighted up her countenance. "This gives me a respite, at least. Ifhe is prudent"--she checked herself, and giving me a grateful glance, exclaimed, "I am so much obliged to you. "

"Nobody could be more welcome, I am sure, to so slight a service. Ishall hope now to see you getting well. "

"O, yes, " she answered, "I must get well; there is so much to do. But myclasses and my writing must be dropped for a while, I presume, unlessthe doctor will let me take in some of my scholars, for, of course, Icannot go out. "

"Your arm must begin to heal before you can think of teaching, ever solittle. I have an idea, Miss Jorgensen, from what you have said ofyourself, that this necessity for repose, which is forced upon you, willprove to be an excellent thing. Certainly, you were wearing out veryfast with your incessant labor. "

"Perhaps so--I mean, perhaps inforced rest will not be bad for me; but, O, there is such need to work! I can so poorly afford to be idle. "

"What you say relieves my mind of a suspicion, which at first Iharbored, that the firing of that mischievous pistol was not whollyaccidental. I now see you wish to live and work. But why had you such aweapon about you? Are you accustomed to fire-arms?"

"The mischief this one did me shows that I am not; and my having itabout me came from a fear I had of its doing worse mischief in the handsof Mr. Hurst. "

"Are affairs so desperate with him?"

"Please don't question me. I cannot answer you satisfactorily. Mr. Hurstis in trouble, and the least that is said or known about him is thebest. And yet you wonder, no doubt, that I should interest myself abouta man who is compelled to act the part of a culprit. Well, I cannot tellyou why at present; and it would be a great relief to know that youthought nothing more about it. " This last she uttered rather petulantly, which warned me that this conversation was doing her no good. 

"Believe, then, " I said, "that I have no interest in your affairs, except the wish to promote your welfare. And I think I may venture toaffirm that everybody in the house is equally at your service when youwish to command him or her. "

"Thank you all; but I do not deserve your kindness; I have been soill-tempered. The truth is I cannot afford to have friends; friends pryinto one's affairs so mercilessly. Mrs. Mason tells me there is a newboarder, " she said, suddenly changing the subject. 

I assented, and gave what I intended to be an amusing account of thenew-comers' conversation and manners. 

"Was there anything said about me at dinner?" she asked, with a painfulconsciousness of the opinion I might have of such a question. 

"I do not think there was. We were all so taken up with the latestacquisition that we forgot you for the time. "

"May I ask this favor of you, to keep the conversation away from me asmuch as possible? I am morbidly sensitive, I presume, " she said, with apoor attempt at a smile, "and I cannot keep from fancying, while I liehere, what you are saying about me in the dining-room or parlor. "

Of course, I hastened to disavow any disposition on the part of thefamily to make her a subject of conversation, and even promised todiscountenance any reference to her whatever, if thereby she would bemade more comfortable; after which I bade her good-night, havingreceived the assurance that my visit had relieved her mind of severaltorturing apprehensions. 

The more I saw and thought of Miss Jorgensen, the more she interestedand puzzled me. I should have inclined to the opinion that she was alittle disturbed at times in her intellect, had it not been that therewas apparent so much "method in her madness;" this reflection alwaysbringing me back at last to the conclusion that her peculiarities couldall be accounted for upon the hypothesis she herself presented; too muchwork and some great anxiety. The spectacle of this human mite fightingthe battle of life, not only for herself but for the strong man whoshould have been her protector, worked so upon my imagination and mysympathy that I found it difficult to keep the little woman out of mythoughts. 

I kept my word to her, discountenancing, as far as I could, thediscussion of her affairs, and in this effort Mrs. Mason co-operatedwith me; but it was practically impossible to prevent the inquiries andremarks of those of the family who were not so well informed concerningher as we were. The new boarder, also, with that quick apprehension hehad of every subject, had caught enough to become interested in thepatient up-stairs, and daily made some inquiries concerning hercondition, and, as it appeared to me--grown a little morbid, like MissJorgensen--was peculiarly adroit in extracting information. 

Three weeks slipped away, and Miss Jorgensen had passed the most painfulperiod of suppuration and healing in her arm, and had promised to comedown-stairs next day to dine with the family. Mrs. Mason had justcommunicated the news to us in her cheeriest tones, as if eachindividual was interested in it, and was proceeding to turn out ourcoffee, when a servant brought in the letters for the house and laidthem beside the tray, directly under the eye of the new boarder, who saton the landlady's left. 

"'Miss Jorgensen, " said he, reading the address of the topmost one. "Avery peculiar handwriting. " Then taking up the letter, as if to furtherexamine the writing, I observed that he was studying the postmark aswell, which, being offended at his unmannerly curiosity, I sincerelyhoped was illegible. But that it was only too fatally plain will soonappear. 

With an air of _hauteur_ I seldom assumed, I recalled the servant, andordered the letter to be taken at once to Miss Jorgensen. Before leavingthe house I was informed that Miss Jorgensen wished to speak to me. 

"Mr. Hurst has done a most imprudent thing!" she exclaimed, the moment Iwas inside the door. "I ought to have published a 'personal, ' or donesomething to let him know I could not go to the post-office, and toaccount for his not hearing from me. "

"He has returned to the city?"

"Yes!" She fairly ground her teeth with rage at this "stupidity, " as shetermed it. "He always does the very thing he ought never to have done, and leaves undone the things most important to do. Of course he cannotcome here, and I can not go to him without incurring the greatest risk. I really do not know what to do next. "

Tears were now coursing down her pale cheeks--tears, it seemed, as muchof anger as of sorrow. 

"Let him take care of himself, " I said, rather hotly. "It is not yourprovince to care for him as you do. "

She gave me an indescribable look. "What can you, what can any one knowabout it? He may want money; how can he take care of himself in suchcircumstances without money? I sent for you to contrive some plan bywhich he can be communicated with. Do tell me at once what to do. "

"How can I tell you, when, as you say, I do not know what is required. You wish to see him, I presume?"

"How can I--O, I dislike so much to ask this of you--but _will_ you takea message to him?" She asked this desperately, half expecting me todecline, as decline I did. 

"Miss Jorgensen, you are now able to ride. Shall I send a carriage foryou?"

"There may be those on the lookout who would instantly suspect mypurpose in going out in that way. On the contrary, nobody would suspectyou. "

"Still, I might be observed, which would not be pleasant, I can imagine, from what you leave me to surmise. No, Miss Jorgensen, much as I shouldlike to serve you personally, you must excuse me from connecting myselfin any way with Mr. Hurst; and if I might be allowed to offer advice, Ishould say that, in justice to yourself, you ought to cut loose from himat once. "

Miss Jorgensen covered her face with one little emaciated hand, and satsilent a few seconds. "Send me the carriage, " she said, "and I will go. "

"You forgive me?"

"You have been very good, " she said. "I ought not have required more ofyou. I will go at once; the sooner the better. "

When I had reached the head of the stairs, I turned back again to herdoor. 

"Once more let me counsel you to free yourself from all connection withMr. Hurst. Why should you ruin your chances of happiness for one soundeserving, as I must think he is? Keep away from him; let him shiftfor himself. "

"You don't know what you are talking about, " she replied, with a touchof the old fierceness. "I have no chances of happiness to lose. Pleasego. "

On my way down to the office I ordered a carriage. 

What happened afterward I learned from Mrs. Mason and the eveningpapers. Miss Jorgensen, dressed in deep black, with her face veiled, entered the carriage, directing the driver to take her to the houses ofsome of her pupils. At the corner of the street, a gentleman, who provedto be our day-boarder, got upon the box with the driver, and remainedthere while Miss Jorgensen made her calls. Finding him constantly there, and becoming suspicious, she ordered the carriage home, and gavedirections to have it return an hour later to take her down town forsome shopping. At the time set, the carriage was in attendance, andconveyed her to one of the principal stores in the city. Afterre-entering the carriage, and giving her directions, our day-boarderonce more mounted the box, though unobserved by her, and was conveyedwith herself to the hiding-place of Mr. Hurst, contriving, by gettingdown before the door was opened, to elude her observation. 

Another carriage, containing officers of the police, was following inthe wake of this one, and drew up when Miss Jorgensen had entered thehouse where Hurst was concealed. After waiting long enough to make itcertain that the person sought was within, the officers entered tosearch and capture. 

At the moment they entered Hurst's apartment, he was saying, with muchemotion, "If I can only reach China in safety, a way will be opened forme--"

"Hush!" cried Miss Jorgensen, seeing the door opened, and by whom. 

"All is over!" exclaimed Hurst. "I will never be taken to prison!" And, drawing a revolver, he deliberately shot himself through the head. 

Miss Jorgensen was brought back to Mrs. Mason's in a fainting condition, and was ill for weeks afterward. That same evening our day-boardercalled, and while settling his board with Mrs. Mason, acknowledged thathe belonged to the detective police, and had for months been "workingup" the case of a bank-robber and forger who had escaped from one of theeastern cities, and been lost to observation for a year and a half. 

And we further learned in the same way, and ultimately from the ladyherself, that Miss Jorgensen was a myth, and that the little Frenchteacher was Madame ----, who had suffered, and toiled, and riskedeverything for her unworthy husband, and who deserved rather to becongratulated than condoled with upon his loss. 

It is now a year since all this happened, and it is the common gossip ofour boarding-house that Mr. Quivey is devoted to the little dark-eyedwidow; and although Miss Flower still refers to "E. E. " and "I. I. , "nobody seems to be in the least disturbed by the allusion. When I say toQuivey, "Make haste slowly, my dear fellow;" he returns: "Never fear, myfriend; I shall know when the time comes to speak. "

SAM RICE'S ROMANCE. 

The coach of Wells, Fargo & Co. Stood before the door of Piney-woodsStation, and Sam Rice, the driver, was drawing on his lemon-coloredgloves with an air, for Sam was the pink of stage-drivers, from his highwhite hat to his faultless French boots. Sad will it be when hisprofession shall have been altogether superseded; and the coach-and-six, with its gracious and graceful "whip, " shall have been supplanted, onall the principal lines of travel, by the iron-horse with its grimy"driver" and train of thundering carriages. 

The passengers had taken their seats--the one lady on the box--and SamRice stood, chronometer held daintily between thumb and finger, waitingfor the second hand to come round the quarter of a minute, while thegrooms slipped the last strap of the harness into its buckle. At theexpiration of the quarter of a minute, as Sam stuck an unlighted cigarbetween his lips and took hold of the box to pull himself up to hisseat, the good-natured landlady of Piney-woods Station called out, withsome officiousness:

"Mr. Rice, don't you want a match?"

"That's just what I've been looking for these ten years, " responded Sam;and at that instant his eyes were on a level with the lady's on the box, so that he could not help seeing the roguish glint of them, which so fardisconcerted the usually self-possessed professor of the whip that heheard not the landlady's laugh, but gathered up the reins in such ahasty and careless manner as to cause Demon, the nigh-leader, to go offwith a bound that nearly threw the owner of the eyes out of her place. The little flurry gave opportunity for Mrs. Dolly Page--that was thelady's name--to drop her veil over her face, and for Sam Rice to showhis genteel handling of the ribbons, and conquer the unaccountabledisturbance of his pulses. 

Sam had looked at the way-bill, not ten minutes before, to ascertain thename of the pretty black-eyed woman seated at his left hand; and theconsciousness of so great a curiosity gratified, may have augmented hisunaccustomed embarrassment. Certain it is, Sam Rice had driven sixhorses, on a ticklish mountain road, for four years, without missing atrip; and had more than once encountered the "road-agents, " without everyet delivering them an express box; had had old and young ladies, plainand beautiful ones, to sit beside him, hundreds of times: yet this wasthe first time he had consulted the way-bill, on his own account, tofind a lady's name. This one time, too, it had a _Mrs. _ before it, whichprefix gave him a pang he was very unwilling to own. On the other hand, Mrs. Dolly Page was clad in extremely deep black. Could she be inmourning for Mr. Page? If Demon had an unusual number of starting fitsthat afternoon, his driver was not altogether guiltless in the matter;for what horse, so sensitive as he, would not have felt the magnetism ofsomething wrong behind him?

But as the mocking eyes kept hidden behind a veil, and the rich, musicalvoice uttered not a word through a whole half-hour, which seemed an ageto Sam, he finally recovered himself so far as to say he believed hewould not smoke, after all; and thereupon returned the cigar, stillunlighted, to his pocket. 

"I hope you do not deprive yourself of a luxury on my account, " murmuredthe soft voice. 

"I guess this dust and sunshine is enough for a lady to stand, withoutmy smokin' in her face, " returned Sam, politely, and glancing at theveil. 

"Still, I beg you will smoke, if you are accustomed, " persisted thecooing voice behind it. But Sam, to his praise be it spoken, refused toadd anything to the discomforts of a summer day's ride across themountains. His chivalry had its reward; for the lady thus favored, feeling constrained to make some return for such consideration, began totalk, in a vein that delighted her auditor, about horses--their pointsand their traits--and, lastly, about their drivers. 

"I have always fancied, " said Mrs. Dolly Page, "that if I were a man Ishould take to stage-driving as a profession. It seems to me a free andmanly calling, one that develops some of the best qualities of a man. Ofcourse, it has its drawbacks. One cannot always choose one's society ona stage, and there are temptations to bad habits. Besides, there arestorms, and upsets, and all that sort of thing. I've often thought, "continued Mrs. Dolly, "that we do not consider enough the hardships ofdrivers, nor what we owe them. You've read that poem--the Post-boy'sSong:

 "'Like a shuttle thrown by the hand of Fate, Forward and back I go. '

"Well, it is just so. They do bring us our letters, full of good and illnews, helping to weave the web of Fate for us; yet not to blame for whattidings they bring, and always faithful to their duties, in storm orshine. "

"I shall like my profession better after what you have said of it, "answered Sam, giving his whip a curl to make it touch the off-leader'sright ear. "I've done my duty mostly, and not complained of thehardships, though once or twice I've been too beat out to get off thebox at the end of my drive; but that was in a long spell of bad weather, when the roads was just awful, and the rain as cold as snow. "

"Would you mind letting me hold the lines awhile?" asked the cooingvoice, at last. "I've driven a six-in-hand before. "

Though decidedly startled, and averse to trusting his team to such apair of hands, Sam was compelled, by the psychic force of the littlewoman, to yield up the reins. It was with fear and trembling that hewatched her handling of them for the first mile; but, as she reallyseemed to know what she was about, his confidence increased, and hewatched her with admiration. Her veil was now up, her eyes weresparkling, and cheeks glowing. She did not speak often, but, when shedid, it was always something piquant and graceful that she uttered. Atlast, just as the station was in sight, she yielded up the lines, with adeep-drawn sigh of satisfaction, apologizing for it by saying that herhands, not being used to it, were tired. "I'm not sure, " she added, "butI shall take to the box, at last, as a steady thing. "

"If you do, " responded Sam, gallantly, "I hope you will drive on myline. "

"Thanks. I shall ask you for a reference, when I apply for thesituation. "

There was then a halt, a supply of fresh horses, and a prompt, livelystart. But the afternoon was intensely hot, and the team soon sobereddown. Mrs. Page did not offer again to take the lines. She was overwarmand weary, perhaps, quiet and a little sad, at any rate. Mr. Rice wasquiet, too, and thoughtful. The passengers inside were asleep. The coachrattled along at a steady pace, with the dust so deep under the wheelsas to still their rumble. At intervals, a freight-wagon was passed, drawn to one side, at a "turn-out, " or a rabbit skipped across the road, or a solitary horseman suggested alternately a "road-agent, " or one ofJames's heroes. Grand views presented themselves of wooded cliffs andwild ravines. Tall pines threw lengthening shadows across the openspaces on the mountain-sides. And so the afternoon wore away; and, whenthe sun was setting, the passengers alighted for their supper at theprincipal hotel of Lucky-dog--a mining-camp, pretty well up in theSierras. 

"We both stop here, " said Sam, as he helped the lady down from her highposition; letting her know by this remark that her destination was knownto him. 

"I'm rather glad of that, " she answered, frankly, with a little smile;and, considering all that had transpired on that long drive, Sam wascertainly pardonable if he felt almost sure that her reason for beingglad was identical with his own. 

Lucky-dog was one of those shambling, new camps, where one street servesfor a string on which two or three dozen ill-assorted tenements arestrung, every fifth one being a place intended for the relief of theuniversal American thirst, though the liquids dispensed at thesebeneficent institutions were observed rather to provoke than to abatethe dryness of their patrons. Eating-houses were even more frequent thanthose which dispensed moisture to parched throats; so that, taking acursory view of the windows fronting on the street, the impression wasinevitably conveyed of the expected rush of famished armies, whose wantsthis charitable community were only too willing to supply for asufficient consideration. The houses that were not eating anddrinking-houses were hotels, if we except occasional grocery and generalmerchandise establishments. Into what out-of-the-way corners theinhabitants were stowed, it was impossible to conjecture, until it wasdiscovered that the men lived at the places already inventoried, andthat women abode not at all in Lucky-dog--or if there were any, not morethan a half a dozen of them, and they lived in unaccustomed places. 

The advent of Mrs. Page at the Silver Brick Hotel naturally made asensation. As assemblage of not less than fifty gentlemen of leisurecrowded about the entrance, each more intent than the other on getting alook at the arrivals, and especially at this one arrival--whose age, looks, name, business, and intentions in coming to Lucky-dog, werediscussed with great freedom. Sam Rice was closely questioned, butproved reticent and non-committal. The landlord was besieged withinquiries--the landlady, too--and all without anybody being made muchthe wiser. There was the waybill, and there was the lady herself; putthat and that together, and make what you could of it. 

Mrs. Dolly Page did not seem discomposed in the least by the evidentinterest she inspired. With her black curls smoothly brushed, her blackrobes immaculately neat, with a pretty color in her round cheeks, and aquietly absorbed expression in her whole bearing, she endured theconcentrated gaze of fifty pairs of eyes during the whole of dinner, without so much as one awkward movement, or the dropping of a fork orteaspoon. So it was plain that the curious would be compelled to awaitMrs. Page's own time for developments. 

But developments did not seem likely to come overwhelmingly. Mrs. Pagemade a fast friend of the landlady of the Silver Brick, by means oflittle household arts peculiarly her own, and, before a fortnight wasgone, had become as indispensable to all the boarders as she was to Mrs. Shaughnessy herself. If she had a history, she kept it carefully fromcurious ears. Mrs. Shaughnessy was evidently satisfied, and quitechallenged criticism of her favorite. Indeed, there was nothing tocriticise. It was generally understood that she was a widow, who had toget on in the world as best she could, and thus the public sympathy wassecured, and an embargo laid upon gossip. To be sure, there were certainmen in Lucky-dog, of a class which has its representatives everywhere, who regarded all unappropriated women, especially pretty women, verymuch as the hunter regards game, and the more difficult the approach, the more exciting the chase. But these moral Nimrods had not half thechance with self-possessed Mrs. Dolly Page that they would have had witha different style of woman. The grosser sort got a sudden _congé_; andwith the more refined sportsmen she coquetted just enough to show themthat two could play at a game of "make-believe, " and then sent them offwith a lofty scorn edifying to behold--to the mingled admiration andamusement of Mrs. Shaughnessy. 

The only affair which seemed to have a kernel of seriousness in it, wasthat of Mr. Samuel Rice. Regularly, when the stage was in, on Sam'snight, he paid his respects to Mrs. Page. And Mrs. Page always receivedhim with a graceful friendliness, asking after the horses, and evensometimes going so far as to accompany him to their stables. On theseoccasions she never failed to carry several lumps of sugar in herpocket, which she fed to the handsome brutes off her own pink palm, until there was not one of them she could not handle at her will. 

Thus passed many weeks, until summer was drawing to a close. Two orthree times she had gone down to Piney-woods Station and back, on Sam'scoach, and always sat on the box, and drove a part of the way, but neverwhere her driving would excite remark. It is superfluous to state, thaton these occasions there was a happy heart beneath Sam's linen-duster, or that the bantering remarks of his brother-drivers were borne withsmiling equanimity, not to say pride; for Sam was well aware that Mrs. Dolly Page's brunette beauty, and his blonde-bearded style, togetherfurnished a not unpleasing _tableau_ of personal charms. Besides, Sam'smotto was, "Let those laugh who win;" and he seemed to himself to be onthe road to heights of happiness beyond the ken of ordinarymortals--especially ordinary stage-drivers. 

"I don't calkelate to drive stage more than a year or two longer, " Samsaid to Mrs. Page, confidentially, on the return from their last triptogether to Piney-woods Station. "I've got a little place down inAmador, and an interest in the Nip-and-tuck gold-mine, besides a fewhundreds in bank. I've a notion to settle down some day, in a cottagewith vines over the porch, with a little woman to tend the flowers inthe front-garden. "

As if Sam's heightened color and shining eyes had not sufficientlypointed this confession of his desires, it chanced that at this momentthe eyes of both were attracted to a way-side picture: a cottage, aflower-bordered walk, a fair young woman standing at the gate, with acrowing babe in her arms lifting its little white hands to thesun-browned face of a stalwart young farmer who was smiling proudly onthe two. At this sudden apparition of his inmost thoughts, Sam's heartgave a great bound, and there was a simultaneous ringing in his ears. His first instinctive act was to crack his whip so fiercely as to setthe leaders off prancing; and when, by this diversion, he had partlyrecovered self-possession to glance at the face of his companion, a newembarrassment seized him when he discovered two little rivers of tearsrunning over the crimsoned cheeks. But a coach-box is not a convenientplace for sentiment to display itself; and, though the temptation wasgreat to inquire into the cause of the tears, with a view of offeringconsolation, Sam prudently looked the other way, and maintained silence. The reader, however, knows that those tears sank into the beholder'ssoul, and caused to germinate countless tender thoughts and emotions, which were, on some future occasion, to be laid upon the alter of hisdevotion to Mrs. Dolly Page. And none the less, that, in a few minutes, the eyes which shed them resumed their roguish brightness, and the ladywas totally unconscious of having heard, seen, or felt anyembarrassment. Sentiment between them was successfully _tabooed_, so faras utterance was concerned, for that time. And so Sam found, somewhat tohis disappointment, it continued to fall out, that whenever he got upondelicate ground, the lady was off like a humming-bird, darting hitherand yon, so that it was impossible to put a finger upon her, or get somuch as a look at her brilliant and restless wings. But nobody evertired of trying to find a humming-bird at rest; and so Sam never gave uplooking for the opportune moment of speaking his mind. 

Meanwhile, Lucky-dog Camp was having a fresh sensation. An organizedband of gamblers, robbers, and "road-agents" had made a swoop upon itsproperty, of various kinds, and had succeeded in making off with it. Thevery night after the ride just mentioned, the best horses in Sam Rice'steam were stolen, making it necessary to substitute what Sam called "apa'r of ornery cayuses. " To put the climax to his misfortunes, the"road-agents" attacked him next morning, when, the "ornery cayuses"becoming unmanageable, Sam was forced to surrender the treasure-box, andthe passengers their bullion. The excitement in Lucky-dog was intense. Avigilance committee, secretly organized, lay in waiting for theoffenders, and, after a week or two, made a capture of a well-knownsporting-man, whose presence in camp had for some time been regardedwith suspicion. Short shrift was afforded him. That same afternoon hisgentlemanly person swung dangling from a gnarled pine-tree limb, and hisfrightened soul had fled into outer darkness. 

When this event became known to Mrs. Dolly Page, she turned ghostlywhite, and then fainted dead away. Mrs. Shanghnessy was very muchconcerned for her friend; berating in round terms, the brutishness ofpeople who could talk of such things before a tender-hearted lady likethat. To Mr. Rice, particularly, she expatiated upon the coarseness ofcertain people, and the refined sensitiveness of others; and Sam wasmuch inclined to agree with her, so far as her remarks applied to herfriend, who was not yet recovered sufficiently to be visible. Indeed, Mrs. Page was not visible for so many days, that Sam's soul began tolong for her with a mighty longing. At length, she made her appearance, considerably paler and thinner than was her wont; but doubly interestingand lovely to the eyes of so partial an observer as Sam, who wouldwillingly have sheltered her weakness in his strong, manly arms. Sam, naturally enough, would never have hinted at the event which had sodistressed her; but she relieved him of all embarrassment on thatsubject, by saying to him almost at once:

"Mr. Rice, I am told they have not buried the man they hung, soshockingly, the other day. They certainly will not leave him _there_?"she added, with a shudder. 

"I don't know--I suppose, " stammered Sam, "it is their way, with themfellows. "

"But you will not allow it? You _cannot_ allow it!"--excitedly. 

"I couldn't prevent them, " said Sam, quite humbly. 

"Mr. Rice, " and her voice was at once a command and an entreaty, "you_can_ and _must_ prevent it. You are not afraid? I will go withyou--this very night--and will help you. Don't say you will not; for Icannot sleep until it is done. I have not slept for a week. "

She looked so white and so wild, as she uttered this confession, thatSam would have been the wretch he was not, to refuse her. So he said:

"Don't you fret. I'll bury him, if it troubles you so. But you needn'tgo along. You couldn't; it's too far, and you're too weak, "--seeing howshe trembled. 

"I am not weak--only nervous. I prefer to go along. But we must besecret, I suppose? Oh!"--with a start that was indeed "nervous. "

"Yes, we must be secret, " said Sam; and he looked as if he did not halflike the business, but would not refuse. 

"You are a good man, Mr. Rice, and I thank you. " And with that, Mrs. Dolly Page caught up one of his hands, and kissing it hastily, began tocry, as she walked quickly away. 

"Don't cry, and don't go until I have promised to do whatever you ask, if it will make you well again, " Sam said, following her to the door. 

"Then call for me to take a walk with you to-night. The moon is full, but no one will observe us. They would not think of our going_there_, "--with another shudder--and she slipped away from his detaininghand. 

That evening Mr. Samuel Rice and Mrs. Page took a walk by moonlight. Laughing gossips commented on it after their fashion; and disagreeablegossips remarked that they came home very late, after _their_ fashion. But nobody, they believed, saw where they went, or what they did. Yetthose two came from performing an act of Christian charity, each with asense of guilt and unworthiness very irritating to endure, albeit fromvery different causes. One, because an unwelcome suspicion had thrustitself into his mind; and the other----

The ground of Sam's suspicion was a photograph, which, in handling thegambler's body somewhat awkwardly, by reason of its weight--Mrs. Pagehad found, at the last, she could not render any assistance--had slippedfrom some receptacle in its clothing. A hasty glance, under the fulllight of the moon, had shown him the features of the lady who sat twelvepaces away, with her hands over her face. It is not always those thatsin who suffer most from the consciousness of sin; and Sam, perhaps, with that hint of possible--nay, almost certain--wickedness in hisbreast-pocket, was more burdened by the weight of it than many acriminal about to suffer all the terrors of the law; for the woman thathe loved stood accused, if not convicted, before his conscience and herown, and he could not condemn, because his heart refused to judge her. 

When the two stood together under the light of the lamp in the desertedparlor of the Silver Brick Hotel, the long silence which, by her quickperceptions, had been recognized as accusing her, upon what evidence shedid not yet know, was at length broken by Sam's voice, husky withagitation. 

"Mrs. Page, " he said, assuming an unconscious dignity of mien andsternness of countenance, "I shall ask you some questions, sometime, which you may not think quite polite. And you must answer me: youunderstand. I'm bound to know the truth about this man. "

"About this man!" Then he suspected her of connection with the wretchedcriminal whose body had only just now been hidden from mocking eyes? Howmuch did he suspect? how much did he _know_? Her pale face andfrightened eyes seemed to ask these questions of him; but not a soundescaped her lips. The imploring look, so strange upon her usually brightface, touched all that was tender in Sam's romantic nature. In anothermoment he would have recalled his demand, and trusted her infinitely;but in that critical moment she fainted quite away, to his mingledsorrow and alarm; and Mrs. Shaughnessy being summoned, Sam received awordy reprimand for having no more sense than to keep a sick woman uphalf of the night; smarting under which undeserved censure, he retired, to think over the events of the evening. 

The hour of departure from Luckydog, for Sam's coach, was four o'clockin the morning; and its driver was not a little surprised, when about tomount the box, to discover Mrs. Page waiting to take a seat beside him. After the adventure of the previous night, it was with some restraintthat he addressed her; and there was wanting, also, something of hischeerful alacrity of manner, when he requested the stranger who hadtaken the box-seat, to yield it to a lady. The stranger's mood seemeduncongenial, for he declined to abdicate, intimating that there was roomfor the lady between himself and the driver, if she insisted upon anoutside seat. 

But Mrs. Page did not insist. She whispered Sam to open the coach-door, and quietly took a seat inside; and Sam, with a sense of irritation veryunusual with him, climbed reluctantly to his place, giving the "cayuses"the lash in a way that set them off on a keen run. By the time he hadgotten his team cooled down, the unusual mood had passed, and thelonging returned to hear the sweet voice, and watch the bright eyes thathad made his happiness on former occasions. Puzzled as he was, andpained by the evidence he possessed of her connection, in some way, withthe victim of lynch-law, _that_ seemed like a dream in the clear, sunnyair of morning, while the more blissful past asserted its claim to beconsidered reality. Not a lark, warbling its flute-notes by theway-side, not a pretty bit of the familiar landscape, nor glimpse ofbrook, that leaped sparkling down the mountain, but recalled somecharming utterance of Mrs. Dolly Page, as he first knew her; as he couldnot now recognize her in the pale, nervous, and evidently sufferingwoman, sitting, closely veiled, inside the coach. 

Occupied with these thoughts, Sam felt a disagreeable shock when theoutside passenger--in a voice that contrasted roughly with that othervoice which was murmuring in his ear--began a remark about the miningprospects of Lucky-dog. 

"Some rich discoveries made in the neighborhood, eh? Did you ever tryyour luck at mining?"

"Waal, no. I own a little stock, though, " answered Sam, carelessly. 

"In what mine?"

"In the Nip-and-tuck. "

"Good mine, from all I hear about it. Never did any prospecting?" askedthe stranger, in that tone which denotes only a desire to make talk, with a view to kill time. 

"No, " in the same tone. 

"That's odd, " stuffing a handful of cut tobacco into his mouth. "I'dhave sworn 'twas you I saw swinging a pick in the cañon east of camplast night. "

"I'm not much on picks, " Sam returned, with a slowness that wellcounterfeited indifference. "I was visiting a lady last evening, which isa kind of prospecting more in my line. "

"Yes, I understand; that lady inside the coach. She's a game one. "

"It strikes me you're devilish free in your remarks, " said Sam, becomingirritated again. 

"No offense meant, I'm sure. Take a cigar? We may as well talk thismatter over calmly, Mr. Rice. You see it's ten to one that you areimplicated in this business. Been very attentive to Mrs. Page. Madeseveral trips together. Let her handle your horses, so she could takethem out of the stable for them thieves. Buried her thieving, gamblinghusband for her. You see the case _looks_ bad, anyway; though I'minclined to think you've just been made a tool of. I know she's a smartone. Tain't often you find one smarter. "

Sam's eyes scintillated. He was strangely minded to pitch the outsidepassenger off the coach. The struggle in his breast between convictionand resistance to conviction amounted to agony. He could not, in thatsupreme moment, discriminate between the anger he felt at being falselyaccused, and the grief and rage of being so horrible disillusioned. Their combined anguish paled his cheeks, and set his teeth on edge: ofall of which the outside passenger was coolly cognizant. As they were, at that moment, in sight of the first station, he resumed. 

"Let her get up here, if she wants to; I can ride inside. I don't wantto be hard on her; but mind, if you breathe a word to her about my beingan officer, I'll arrest you on suspicion. Let every tub stand on its ownbottom. If she's guilty, you can't help her, and don't want to, either;if she's innocent, she'll come out all right, never fear. Are you on thesquare, now?"

"Have you got a warrant?" asked Sam, in a low tone, as he wound thelines around the break, previous to getting down. 

"You bet! but I'm in no hurry to serve it. Piney-woods station 'ill dojust as well. Telegraph office there. "

Mr. Rice was not in any haste this morning, being, as he said, ahead oftime. He invited Mrs. Page to take her usual place on the box, tellingher the gentleman had concluded to go inside; and brought her a glass ofwater from the bar. While he was returning the glass, the passengers, including him of the outside, being busied assuaging their thirst withsomething stronger than water, a rattle of wheels and a clatter of hoofswas heard, and, lo! Mrs. Dolly Page was discovered to be practicing herfavorite accomplishment of driving six-in-hand!

When the "outside" recovered from his momentary surprise, he clapped hishand on the shoulder of Mr. Rice, and said, in a voice savage with spiteand disappointment:

"I arrest you, sir. "

"Arrest and be d----d!" returned Sam. "If you had done your duty, you'dhave arrested _her_ while you had the chance. "

"That's so--your head is level; and if you'll assist me in getting on toPiney-woods station in time to catch the run-away--for she can't verywell drive beyond that station--I'll let you off. "

"You'll wait till I'm on, I reckon. My horses can't go on that errand, and you darsn't take the up-driver's team. Put that it your pipe andsmoke it, old smarty!"--and Sam's eyes emitted steel-blue lightnings, though his face wore a fixed expression of smiling. 

Upon inquiry, it was ascertained that horses might be procured a mileback from the station; and, while the baffled officer, and such of thepassengers as could not wait until next day, went in pursuit of them, Sam mounted one of the "cayuses, " and made what haste he could after thecoach and Wells, Fargo & Company's express-box. Within a mile or less ofPiney-woods Station, he met the keeper, the grooms, and an odd man ortwo, that chanced to have been about the place, all armed to the teeth, who, when they saw him, halted in surprise. 

"Why, we reckoned you was dead, " said the head man, with an air ofdisappointment. 

"Dead?" repeated Sam. "Have you seen my coach?"

"That's all right, down to the station; and the plucky gal that druv ittold us all about the raid the 'road-agents' made on you. Whar's thepassengers? any of 'em killed?"

"Passengers are all right. Where is Mrs. Page?"

"She cried, an' tuk on awful about ye; an' borrered a hoss to ride righton down the road to meet the other stage, an' let 'em know what's up. "

"She did, did she?" said Sam, very thoughtfully. "Waal, that _is_ odd. Why, she ran away with my team--that's what she did; and it's all a hoaxabout the 'road-agents. ' The passengers are back at the other station. "

Sam had suddenly become "all things to all men, " to a degree thatsurprised himself. He was wrong about the horse, too, as was proven byits return to its owner four days after. By the same hand came thefollowing letter to Mr. Samuel Rice:

 "DEAR MR. RICE: It was so good of you! I thank you more than I can say. I wish I could set myself right in your eyes, for I prize your friendship dearly--dearly; but I know that I cannot. It has not been all my fault. I was married to a bad, bad man, when I was only fifteen. He has ruined my life; but now he is dead, and I need not fear him. I _will_ hereafter live as a good woman should live. The tears run down my cheeks as I write you this farewell--as they did that day when I saw that sweet woman and her babe at the farm-house gate; and knew what was in your thought. Heaven send you such a wife. Good-bye, dear Mr. Rice, good-bye. 

 "DOLLY PAGE!"

There are some men, as well as women, in this world, who could figure inthe _role_ of _Evangeline_, who have tender, loyal, and constant hearts. Such a one was the driver of the Lucky-dog stage. But, though he sat onthat box for two years longer, and scrutinized every dark-eyed, sweet-voiced lady-passenger who rode in his coach during that time, often with an intense longing for a sight of the face he craved--itnever came. Out of the heaven of his life that star had vanishedforever, and nothing was left him but a soiled photograph, and atear-stained letter, worn with frequent folding and unfolding. 

EL TESORO. 

"Wimmen nater is cur'us nater, that I'll allow. But a feller kind o'hankers arter 'em, fur all that. They're a mighty handy thing to hevabout a house. "

The above oracular statement proceeded from the parched and puckeredlips of Sandy-haired Jim--one of the many "hands" employed on theimmense Tesoro Rancho, which covered miles of valley, besides extendingup on to the eastern flank of the Coast Range, and taking inconsiderable tracts of woodland and mountain pasture. Long before, whenit acquired its name, under Spanish occupancy, there had been a rumor ofthe existence of the precious metals in the mountains which formed aportion of the grant; hence, its name, Tesoro, signifying _treasure_. All search for, or belief in, gold mines, had been abandoned, evenbefore the land came into the possession of American owners, and now wasonly spoken of in the light of a Spanish legend; but the name wasretained, partly as a geographical distinction of a large tract ofcountry, though it was sometimes called the Edwards Ranch, after itspresent proprietor, and after the American fashion of pronunciation. 

John Edwards had more than once said, in hearing of his men, that hewould give half the proceeds of the mine and an interest in the ranch, to any one who would discover it and prove it to be of value; a remarkwhich was not without weight, especially with the herders and shepherds, whose calling took them into the mountains a considerable portion of theyear. But as the offer of the proprietor never seemed to assume the airof a business proposition, the men who might have been inflamed by itwith a prospecting fever, held in check their desire to acquire suddenriches, and never looked very sharp at the "indications, " which it waseasy sometimes to imagine they had found. But that is neither here northere with Sandy-haired Jim, who was not a cattle-herder, nor yet ashepherd, but farmer or teamster, as the requirement was, at differentseasons of the year. 

He was expressing himself concerning John Edwards' sister, who, just oneyear ago, had come to set up domesticity in the house of her brother;whereas, previous to her advent, John had "bach'd it" on the ranch, withhis men, for four or five years. Jim, and the chum to whom his remarkswere addressed, were roosting on a fence, after the manner of a certainclass of agriculturists, hailing usually from Missouri, and mostfrequently from the county of Pike. 

The pale December sunshine colored with a soft gold the light morninghaze which hung over the valley in which lay the Tesoro Rancho. In spiteof the year of drought which had scorched up the grain-fields, and givena character of aridity to the landscape, it had a distinctive softbeauty of tint and outline, seen in the favoring light we havementioned. Of all the fascinating pictures we remember to have seen, themost remarkable was one of a desert scene, with nothing but thestretches of yellow sand and the golden atmosphere for middle distanceand background, and, for a foreground, a white tent, with camels andpicturesquely costumed Arabs grouped before it. There was the sense ofinfinite distance in it which is so satisfying to the mind, which thefew figures and broken lines intensified; and there was that witchingwarmth and mellowness of coloring which does not belong to landscapeswhere green and gray hues predominate. 

Having said thus much about a picture, we have explained why Californianviews, even in our great, almost treeless valleys, grow so into ourhearts and imaginations, after the first dash of disappointment at notfinding them like the vernal vales of New England or central New York. But Tesoro Rancho was not treeless. Great spreading oaks furnished justthe necessary dark-green tones in the valley landscape; and themountain-sides had multifarious shades of color, furnished by rocks andtrees, by shadows, and by the atmosphere itself. 

It was no wonder, then, that sandy-haired Jim, sitting on a rail-fence, in an attitude more curious than graceful, cast his glance oftenunconsciously over the far valley-reaches, and up the mountain-sides, with a dim perception of something pleasant in the view which histhought took no cognizance of. In fact, for the last minute or two, hisgaze had been a silent one; and any observer might have pondered, considering the sharpness of the perch beneath him, whether he might notbe making up his mind to descend from it as soon as his slow-workingmentality had had time to convey the decision of his brain to hismuscles. 

At all events, that was what he did in answer to our mental query, taking up the thread of his discourse where it was broken off, asfollows:

"Miss Edwards, neow (thar she is, a-comin down from the mount'in, withher arms full of them 'zalias she's so fond of), she's a mighty peartkind of a gal, and wuth a heap more to keep a man's house in good shapethan one o' them soft-lookin' Chinee. Them's my sentiments. "

"That's _so_, " responded his chum, seeming constitutionally disinclinedto a longer sentence. 

"John Edwards has tuk to dressin' hisself nicer, and fixin' up the placeas he didn't used to when he bach'd it, I can tell ye! When I see herbringin' her pianny, and her picturs, and books, and sich like traps, Ijust told myself, 'Neow, John Edwards has got a pretty passel of trashon his hands, I veow. ' And I ment _her_ as well as the otherfol-de-rols. But, you bet your life, she's got more sense, two to one, than ary one of us! It was a lucky day for Edwards when she came ontothis ranch, sure's you're born. "

What further this equally philosophical and devoted admirer of MissEdwards might have said on this, to him, evidently interesting topic, had he not been interrupted, will never be known. For the lady herselfappeared upon the scene, putting an end to her own praises, anddiscovering to us, upon nearer view, that she added youth and grace, ifnot absolute beauty, to her other qualities. 

Checking the rapid lope of her horse, as she came near where the menwere standing, in attitudes of frank, if awkward, deference, she salutedthem with a cheerful "Good-morning, " and drew rein beside them. 

"Take Brownie by the head, and walk a little way with me, if you please, James. I have something I wish to say to you, " was the lady's low-voicedcommand. A certain flush and pleased expression on honest Jim's ruddycountenance reminded her instantly of the inherent vanity of man, andwhen she next addressed her attendant it was as "Mr. Harris, " for such, indeed, was the surname of our lank Missourian, though not many of hisassociates had ever heard it. 

"How long have you been on this place, Mr. Harris?"

"Near onto six year, Miss Edwards, " replied Jim. 

"Did you know Mr. Charles Erskine, my brother's former partner?"

"Just as well as I know your brother, Miss. "

"What became of him, after he left this place?"

"I couldn't rightly say, miss. Some said he went to the mines, up inIdaho, and other folks said they'd seen him in 'Frisco: but I don't knownary thing about him. "

"He must be found, Mr. Harris. Do you think you could find him, if Iwere to send you on such a mission? It is a very important one, and itis not every one I would intrust it to. "

The flush and the pleased look returned to Jim's face. "I'd do the bestI could, miss; and, mebbe, I'd do as well as another. "

"That is what I was thinking, Mr. Harris. You have been a long timehere, and you are prompt and capable about your own business; so Iconcluded I could trust you with mine. I am sure I was quite right. "

Jim was going on to "swar she was, " when Miss Edwards interrupted him, to enlighten him further as to the requirements of "her business:" "I donot wish my brother to know what errand I send you on. They had adreadful quarrel once, I believe; and he might not agree with me as tothe wisdom of what I am about to do. It will, therefore, be necessaryfor you to ask John's permission to go on a visit to San Francisco, asif it was for yourself you were going. The drought has left so little todo that you can be spared, without embarrassment, until the rains begin. I am going to have a grand festival at Christmas, and I would like youto be home before that time. I will explain further when you have gotJohn's consent to your absence. Come to the house after, and ask if Ihave any commission for you. "

When Miss Edwards cantered off, leaving him alone in the road, Jim wasin a state of pleased bewilderment, not unmixed with an instinctivejealousy. 

"I do wonder, neow, what she wants with Charlie Erskine. He was apowerful nice feller, and smart as lightnin'; but, somehow, he an'Edwards never could hitch hosses. Erskine allus went too fast for steadyJohn, an' I doubt ef he didn't git him into some money troubles. I'dlike to know, though, what that girl's got to do about it. Wonder ef sheknowed him back in the States. Wimmen is cur'us, sure enough. "

Jim's suggestion was the true one. Miss Edwards had known CharlesErskine "back in the States, " and when they parted last, it had been asengaged lovers. When she left her home in the East to join her brother, a speedy marriage with him had been in contemplation. But how often didit happen, in old "steamer times, " that wives left New York to joinhusbands in San Francisco, only to find, on arrival at the end of a longvoyage, the dear ones hidden from sight in the grave, or the false onesgone astray! And so it happened to Mary Edwards, that, when she set footon California soil, no lover appeared to welcome her, and her tremblingand blushing were turned to painful suspense and secret bitter tears. 

Her brother had vouchsafed very little explanation; only declaringCharles Erskine a scoundrel, who had nearly ruined him, and swearing heshould never set foot on Tesoro Rancho until every dollar ofindebtedness was paid. Poor Mary found it hard settling into a place sonew, and duties so unaccustomed; but her good sense and good spiritsconquered difficulties as they arose, until now she was quite inclinedto like the new life for its own sake. Her brother was kind, andgathered about her every comfort and many luxuries; though, owing toembarrassments into which Erskine had drawn him, and to the losses of ayear of drought, his purse was not overflowing. Such was the situationof affairs on the December morning when our story opens. 

Miss Edwards mentioned to her brother, during the day, that James Harrishad spoken of going to the city, and that she had some commissions forhim to perform. She had made up her mind to discountenance the heathenhabits into which everybody on the ranch had fallen. She had done allshe could to keep the men from going to bull-fights on the Sabbath, andhad offered to read the morning service, if the men would attend; andnow she was going to celebrate Christmas, though she realty did believethat the people who never saw snow forgot that Christ was ever born! Yetwas he not born in a country very strongly resembling this very onewhich ignored him?

John smiled, and offered no opposition; only bidding her remember not tomake her commissions to the city very expensive ones, and suggesting, that, since she meant to be gay, she had better send some invitations tocertain of their friends. 

"By the way John, do you know where Charles Erskine is?" Miss Edwardsasked, with much forced composure. 

"The last I heard of him he was in San Francisco, lying dangerouslyill, " answered John coldly. 

"Oh, John!"

"Mary, you must hope nothing from that man. Don't waste your sympathieson him, either; he'll never repay you the outgo. "

"Tell me just one thing, John: Was Charles ever false to me? Tell me thetruth. "

"I think he kept good faith with you. It is not that I complain of inhis conduct. The quarrel is strictly between us. He can never come here, with my consent. "

"But I can go to him, " said Miss Edwards, very quietly. 

And she did go--with Sandy-haired Jim for an escort, and her brother'sfrowning face haunted her. 

"If all is right, " she said to him, at the very last, "I will be back tokeep Christmas with you. Think as well as you can of me, John, and--good-by. "

It will be seen, that, whatever Miss Edwards' little, womanly plan ofreconciliation had been, it was, as to details, all changed by theinformation John had given her. What next she would do depended oncircumstances. It was, perhaps, a question of life and death. The long, wearying, dusty stage-ride to San Francisco, passed like a disagreeabledream; neither incident of heat by day, nor cold by night, or influenceof grand or lovely scenes, seemed to touch her consciousness. JamesHarris, in his best clothes and best manners--the latter having acertain gentle dignity about them that was born of the occasion--satbeside her, and ministered assiduously to those personal wants which shehad forgotten in the absorption of her painful thoughts. 

What Jim himself thought, if his mental processes could be calledthinking, it would be difficult to state. He was dimly conscious that inhis companion's mind there was a heavy trouble brooding; and conscious, also, of a desire to alleviate it, as far as possible, though in whatway that might be done, he had not the remotest idea. There seemed animmense gulf between her and him, over which he never could reach toproffer consolation; and while he blindly groped in his own mind forsome hint of his duty, he was fain to be content with such personalattentions as defending her from heat and cold, dust and fatigue, andreminding her that eating and drinking were among the necessaryinconveniences of this life. After a couple of days spent in revolvingthe case hopelessly in his brain, his thoughts at length shapedthemselves thus:

"Waal, neow, 'taint no concern of mine, to be sure; but I'm beound tosee this gal threough. She's captain of this train, an' only got tergive her orders. I'll obey 'em, ef they take me to thunder. That's so, Iveow!" After which conclusion of the whole matter, Jim appeared more athis ease in all respects. In truth, the most enlightened of us go toschool to just such mental struggles, with profit to our minds andmanners. 

Arrived at San Francisco, Miss Edwards took quarters at a hotel, determined before reporting herself to any of her acquaintance to firstfind whether Charles Erskine was alive, and, if so, where he could befound. What a wearisome search was that before traces of him werediscovered, in a cheap boarding-house, in a narrow, dirty street. Andwhat bitter disappointment it was to learn that he had gone away someweeks before, as soon as he was able to be moved. To renew the search inthe city, to send telegrams in every direction, was the next effort, which, like the first, proved fruitless; and, at the end of ten daysMiss Edwards made a few formal calls on her friends, concluded somenecessary purchases, and set out on her return to Tesoro Rancho, exhausted in mind and body. 

If Jim was careful of her comfort before, he was tender toward her now;and the lady accepted the protecting care of the serving-man with a dullsense of gratitude. She even smiled on him faintly, in a languid way, but in a way that seemed to him to lessen the distance between them. Jim's education had been going on rapidly during the last ten days. Heseemed to himself to be quite another man than the one who sat on thefence with Missouri Joe, less than two weeks agone. 

Perhaps Miss Edwards noticed the change, and innocently encouraged himto aspire. We must not blame her if she did. This is what woman'seducation makes of her. The most cultured women must be grateful andflattering toward the rudest men, if circumstances throw them together. Born to depend on somebody, they must depend on their inferiors whentheir superiors are not at hand; must, in fact, assume an inferiority tothose inferiors. If they sometimes turn their heads with the dangerousdeference, what wonder!

Secure in the distance between them, Miss Edwards assumed that she couldsafely defer to Sandy-haired Jim, if, as it seemed, he enjoyed the senseof being her protector. Even had he been her equal, she would have saidto herself, "He knows my heart is breaking for another, and will respectmy grief. " In this double security, she paid no heed to the devotion ofher companion, only thinking him the kindest and most awkward of goodand simple-minded men. That is just what any of us would have thoughtabout Sandy-haired Jim, gentle readers. 

John Edwards received his sister with a grave kindliness, whichaggravated her grief. He would not ask her a question, nor give her thesmallest opportunity of appealing to his sympathies. She had undertakenthis business without his sanction, and without his sympathy she mustabide the consequences. Toward her, personally, he should ever feel andact brotherly; but toward her foolish weakness for Erskine, he felt nocharity. He was surprised and pleased to see that his sister's spiritwas nearly equal to his own; for, though visibly "pale and pining, "after the absurd fashion of women, she went about her duties andrecreations as usual, and prosecuted the threatened preparations forChristmas with enthusiasm. 

In some of these, it was necessary to employ the services of one of themen, and Miss Edwards, without much thought of why, except that she wasused to him, singled out Jim as her assistant. To her surprise, heexcused himself, and begged to substitute Missouri Joe. 

"You see, Miss Edwards, I've been a long time meanin' to take a tripinto the mount'ins. I allow it'll rain in less nor a week, an' thenit'll be too late; so ef you'll excuse me this onct, I'll promise to beon hand next time, sure. "

"Oh, certainly, Mr. Harris; Joe will do very well, no doubt; and thereis no need for you to make excuses. I thought you would like to assistabout these preparations, and I am sure you would, too; but go, by allmeans, for, as you say, it must rain very soon, when it will be toolate. "

"Thar's nothing I'd like better nor stayin' to work for you, MissEdwards, " answered Jim, with some appearance of confusion; "but thistime I'm obleeged to go--I am, sure. "

"Well, good-by, and good luck to you, Mr. Harris, " Miss Edwards said, pleasantly. 

"Ef she only knowed what I'm a goin' fur!" muttered Jim to himself, ashe went to "catch up" his horse, and pack up two or three days' rationsof bread and meat. "But I ain't goin' to let on about it to a singlesoul. It's best to keep this business to myself, I reckon. 'Peared like'twas a hint of that kind she give me, the other day, when she said, 'The gods help them that help themselves, Mr. Harris. ' Such a heap o'sense as that gal's got! She's smarter'n John Edwards and me, andMissouri Joe, to boot: but I'm a-gainin' on it a leetle--I'm a-gainin'on it a leetle, " concluded Jim, slowly, puckering his parched andsunburnt lips into a significant expression of mystery. 

What it was he was "gainin' on, " did not appear, for the weight of histhoughts had brought him to a dead-stand, a few feet from the fence, onthe hither side of which was the animal he contemplated riding. At thisjuncture of entire absence of mind, the voice of John Edwards, hailinghim from the road, a little way off, dissolved the spell:

"I say, Jim, " hallooed Edwards; "if you discover that mine, I will giveyou half of it, and an interest in the ranch. "

The words seemed to electrify the usually slow mind to which the ideawas addressed. Turning short about, Jim, in a score of long strides, reached the fence separating him from Edwards. 

"Will you put that in writin'?"

"To be sure, I will, " answered John, nodding his head, with a puzzledand ironical smile. 

"I'll go to the house with ye, an' hev it done to onct, " said Jim, sententiously. "I hev about an hour to spar, I reckon. "

John Edwards was struck by the unusual manner of the proverbiallydeliberate man, who had served him with the same unvarying "slow andsure" faithfulness for years; but he refrained from comments. Jim, inhis awkward way, proved to be more of a man of business than could havebeen expected. 

"I want a bond fur a deed, Mr. Edwards. That's the best way to settleit, I reckon. "

"That is as good a way as any; the discovery to be made within a certaintime. "

"An' what interest in the ranch, Mr. Edwards?"

"Well, about the ranch, " said John, thoughtfully, "I don't want to runany risk of trading it off for nothing, and there will have to beconditions attached to the transfer of any portion of that more than theone of discovery of the mine. Let it be this way: that on the mineproving by actual results to be worth a certain sum--say $50, 000--thedeed shall be given to half the mine and one-third interest in theranch; the supposition being, that, if it is proved to be worth $50, 000, it is probably worth four times or ten times that amount. "

"That's about it, I should say, " returned Jim. "It's lib'ral in you, anyway, Mr. Edwards. "

"The truth is, Harris, " said Edwards, looking him steadily in the eye, "I am in a devil of a pinch, that's the truth of it; and I am takinggambling chances on this thing. I only hope you may earn your third ofthe ranch. I'll not grudge it to you, if you do. "

"Thank ye, sir. An' when them papers is made eout, I'll be off. "

John handed him his papers half an hour afterward, which Jim prudentlytook care to have witnessed. Miss Edwards being called in, signed hername. 

"So, this is what takes you to the mountains, Mr. Harris? I'm sure Iwish you good luck. "

"You did that afore, miss; an' it came, right on the spot. "

"I must be your 'wishing fairy, '" said she, laughing. 

"I'll bring you a Christmas present, Miss Edwards, like as not, " Jimanswered, coloring with delight at the thought. 

"I hope you may. Thank you for the intention, any way. "

"Are you going all alone, Harris?" asked Edwards, as he accompanied hima short distance from the house. "It is not quite safe going alone, isit? Have you any heirs, supposing you lose yourself or break your neck?"

Once more Jim was electrified with an idea. His light, gray eyes turnedon his questioner with a sudden flash of intelligence:

"I mought choose my heir, I reckon. "

"Certainly. "

"Mought we go back to the house, an' make a will?"

"Aren't you afraid turning back so often may spoil your luck?" askedEdwards, laughing. 

"Ef you think so, I'll never do it, " answered Jim, soberly. "But I'lltell you, onct fur all, who it is shall be my heir if any thing chanceme, an' I'll expect you'll act on the squar: that person is Miss MaryEdwards, your own sister, an' you'll not go fur to dispute my will?"

"I've no right to dispute your will, whether I approve of it or not. There will be no proof of it, however, and I could not make over yourproperty to my sister, should there be other heirs with a natural andrightful claim to it. But you are not going to make your will just yet, Harris; so, good-by. You'll be home on Christmas?"

"I reckon I will. "

John Edwards turned back to the house, and to banter his sister on JimHarris's will, while that individual went about the business of hisjourney. His spirits were in a strange state of half-elation, half-depression. The depression was a natural consequence of the talkabout a will, and the elation was the result of a strong and suddenfaith which had sprung up in him in the success of his undertaking, andof the achievements of every kind it would render possible. 

"She's my 'wishin' fairy, ' she said, an' she wished me luck twice. I gotthe first stroke of it when John Edwards called to me across the field. I've got him strong on that; an' I war a leetle surprised, too. Hewanted to make me look sharp, that's clar as mud. I'll look sharp, youbet, John Edwards! Didn't her hand look purty when she wrote her name?I've got her name to look at, any way. " And at this stage of hisreverie, Jim drew from an inner breast-pocket the bond which MissEdwards had witnessed, and, after gazing at the signature for a momentwith moveless features, gave a shy, hasty glance all round him, andpressed his parched and puckered lips on the paper. 

The sentiment which caused this ebullition of emotion in Sandy-hairedJim was one so dimly defined, so little understood, and so absolutelypure in its nature, that had Miss Edwards been made aware of it, shecould only have seen in it the touching tribute which it was to abstractwomanliness--to the "wimmen nater, " of which Jim was so frank anadmirer. The gulf which was between them had never yet been crossed, even in imagination, though it is presumable; that, unknown to himself, Jim was trembling on the verge of it at this moment, dragged thither bythe excitement of prospective wealth and the possibilities involved init, and by the recollection of the pleasant words and smiles of this, tohim, queen of women. 

After this gush of romance--the first and only one Jim had ever beenguilty of--he returned the document to his pocket, and, with hiscustomary deliberation, proceeded to catch and mount his horse, andbefore noon was on his way across the valley, toward that particulargorge in the mountain where _el tesoro_ was supposed to be located. JohnEdwards stood in the house door watching him ambling over the waste, yellow plain, until Jim and his horse together appeared a mere speck inthe distance, when he went to talk over with his sister the latetransaction, and make some jesting remarks on the probability of thedesired discovery. 

The days sped by, and there remained but two before Christmas. John andhis sister were consulting together over the arrangement of someevergreen arches and wreaths of bay-leaves. Miss Edwards was explainingwhere the floral ornaments should come in, where she would have thispicture, and where that, and how it would be best to light the rooms. 

"I confess, John, " she said, sitting down to braid the scarlet berriesof the native _arbutus_ into a wreath with the leaves of the Californianutmeg, "that I can not make it seem like winter or like Christmas, withthese open doors, these flowers, and this warm sunlight streaming in atthe windows. I do wish we could have a flurry of snow, to make it seemlike the holidays. "

"Snow is out of the question; but I should be thankful for a goodrain-storm. If it does not rain soon, there will be another failure ofcrops next year in all this part of the country. "

"And then we should have to 'go down into Egypt for corn, ' as theIsraelites used to. Do you feel very apprehensive, John?"

Before John could reply, his attention was diverted by a strangearrival. Dismounting from Jim's horse was a man whom he did not at oncerecognize, so shabby were his clothes, so worn and haggard hisappearance. With a feeling of vague uneasiness and curiosity, hesauntered toward the gate, to give such greeting as seemed fit to thestranger who came in this guise, yet riding a well-conditioned horsebelonging to one of his own men. 

Miss Edwards, who had also recognized the animal, ran, impulsively, tothe door. She saw her brother advance to within a few feet of thestranger, then turn abruptly on his heel and return toward the house. The man thus contemptuously received, reeled, as if he would havefallen, but caught at the gate-post, where he remained, leaning, as ifunable to walk. 

"Who is it, John?" asked Miss Edwards, anxiously regarding her brother'sstern countenance; but he passed her, without a word. 

A sudden pallor swept over her face, and she looked, for one moment, asif she might have fainted; then, with a cry of, "Oh, John, John, bemerciful!" she ran after him, and threw her arms about him. 

"Let me go, Mary, " said he, hoarsely. "If you wish to see CharlesErskine, you can do as you please. _I_ wash my hands of him. "

"But, John, he is ill; he is suffering; he may die--and at your gate!"

"Let him die!"

It was then that the soul of Miss Edwards "stood up in her eyes, andlooked at" her brother. She withdrew her arms and turned mutely towardthe door, out of which she passed, with a proud, resolute, and rapidtread. Without hesitation she did that which is so hard for a woman todo--make advances toward the man with whom she had once been in tenderrelations, but whose position has, for any reason, been made to appeardoubtful. She went to him, took him by the hand, and inquired, moretremulously than she meant, what she could do for him. 

"Mary!" answered the sick man, and then fainted quite away. 

Miss Edwards had him conveyed to her own room, by the hands of MissouriJoe and the Chinese cook, where she dispensed such restoratives asfinally brought back consciousness; and some slight nourishment beingadministered, revealed the fact that exhaustion and famine, more thandisease, had reduced the invalid to his present condition; on becomingaware of which fact, Miss Edwards grew suddenly embarrassed, and, arranging everything for his comfort, was about to withdraw from theapartment, when Erskine beckoned to her, and, fumbling in his pockets, brought out several pieces of white quartz, thickly studded with yellowmetal, but of the value of which she had little conception. 

"Take these to John, " he said, "and tell him they are a peace-offering. They came from _el tesoro_. "

"You have seen James Harris; and he has discovered the mine!"

"I have seen no one. I discovered the mine myself. "

"But the horse? It was Harris' horse you were riding. "

"I did not know it; I found him, fortunately, when I could no longerwalk. "

"Poor Charlie, " whispered Miss Edwards, moved by that womanly weaknesswhich is always betraying the sex. She never knew how it was, but herhead sank on the pillow; and, when she remembered it afterward, she wascertain that, in the confusion of her ideas, he kissed her. Then shefled from the room, and sought her brother everywhere, saying, over andover, to herself, "Poor Jim! I wonder what has happened to him;" withtears streaming from her eyes, which she piously attributed toapprehensions for James Harris. 

When John was found, and the "specimens" placed in his hands, he wasfirst incredulous, and then indignant; for it hurts a proud man to beforced to change an opinion, or forgive an injury. The pressure ofcircumstances being too strong for him, he relented so far as to seeErskine, and talk over the discovery with him. What more the two mentalked of, never transpired; but Miss Edwards concluded that everythingwas settled, as her brother gave orders concerning the entertainment ofhis former partner, and looked and spoke with unusual vivacity for theremainder of the day. 

Many conjectures were formed concerning the fate of Sandy-haired Jim, bythe men on the ranch, who generally agreed that his horse would notleave him, and that, if he were alive, he would be found not far fromthe spot where Charles Erskine picked up the animal. From Erskine'saccount, it appeared that he had been several weeks in the mountains, prospecting, before he discovered the mine; by which time he was soreduced in strength, through hardship and insufficient food, that it waswith difficulty he made his way down to the valley. Just at a time whento proceed further seemed impossible, and when he had been absent twodays from the mine, he fell in with a riding-horse, quietly grazing, atthe foot of the mountain. Catching and mounting him, he rode, firstalong the edge of the valley for some distance, to find, if possibly aparty were encamped there; but finding no one, started for his old home, riding as long as his strength allowed, and dismounting quite often torest. In this way, three days and a half had passed, since the discoveryof the mine. Judging from where the horse was found, Harris must havegone up on the other side of the ridge or spur, in which _el tesoro_ waslocated. At all events, it was decided to send a party to look for him, as, whether or not any accident had befallen him, he was now without themeans of reaching home; and, to provide for any emergencies, Johnordered the light wagon to be taken along, with certain other articles, so suggestive of possible pain and calamity, that Miss Edwards felt herblood chilled by the sight of them. 

"He will be so disappointed, " she said, "not to have been the discovererof the mine. John, you must make him a handsome present, and I will seewhat I can do, to show my gratitude for his many kindnesses. "

And then, happy in the presence of her lover, and the returningcheerfulness of her brother, Miss Edwards forgot to give more than apassing thought to James Harris, while she busied herself in thepreparations for a holiday, which, to her, would be doubly ananniversary, ever afterward. 

The clouds, which had been gathering for a storm, during the past week, sent down a deluge of rain, on Christmas Eve, making it necessary tolight fires in the long-empty fire-places, and giving a truly festiveglow to the holiday adornments of the Edwards Rancho. The ranch handswere dancing to the music of the "Arkansas Traveler, " in their separatequarters. John Edwards's half-dozen friends from the city, with two orthree of his sister's, and the now convalescent Charles Erskine, clothedin a suit of borrowed broadcloth, were making mirth and music, aftertheir more refined fashion, in Miss Edwards's parlor. 

At the hour when, according to tradition, the Bethlehem Babe was born, Missouri Joe appeared at the door, and made a sign to the master of thehouse. 

"It's a pity, like, " said Joe, softly, "to leave him out thar in thestorm. "

"'Him!' Do you mean Harris? How is he?"

"The storm can't hurt him none, " continued Joe; "an' it do not lookright to fetch him in yer, nor to 'tother house, no more. "

"What is it, John?" Miss Edwards asked anxiously, looking over hisshoulder into the darkness. "Has Harris returned?"

"They have brought him, " answered John; "and we must have him in here. "

She shrank away, frightened and distressed, while the men brought whatremained of Sandy-haired Jim, and deposited it carefully on a woodenbench in the hall. There was little to be told. The men had found him atthe foot of a precipice where he had fallen. Beside him was a heavynugget of pure gold, which he was evidently carrying when he fell. Hehad not died immediately, for in his breast-pocket was found the bond, with this indorsement, in pencil:

 "I hev lit onto the mine foller mi trail up the kenyon miss Mary edwards is mi air so help me God goodby. 

 "JAMES HARRIS. "

They buried him on Christmas Day; and Miss Edwards, smiling through herquiet-flowing tears, adorned his coffin with evergreen-wreaths andflowers. "I am glad to do this for him, " she whispered to her lover, "for if ever there was a heart into which Christ was born at its birth, it was poor Jim's. "

POEMS. 

 A PAGAN REVERIE. 

 Tell me, mother Nature! tender yet stern mother! In what nomenclature (fitlier than another) Can I laud and praise thee, entreat and implore thee; Ask thee what thy ways be, question yet adore thee. 

 Over me thy heaven bends its royal arches; Through its vault the seven planets keep their marches: Rising, shining, setting, with no change or turning; Never once forgetting--wasted not with burning. 

 On and on, unceasing, move the constellations, Lessening nor increasing since the birth of nations: Sun and moon unfailing keep their times and seasons, -- But man, unavailing, pleads to thee for reasons. 

 Why the great dumb mountains, why the ocean hoary-- Even the babbling fountains, older are than story, And his life's duration's but a few short marches Of the constellations through the heavenly arches!

 Even the oaks of Mamre, and the palms of Kedar, (Praising thee with psalmry) and the stately cedar, Through the cycling ages, stinted not are growing, -- While the holiest sages have not time for knowing. 

 Mother whom we cherish, savage while so tender, Do the lilies perish mourning their lost splendor? Does the diamond shimmer brightlier that eternal Time makes nothing dimmer of its light supernal?

 Do the treasures hidden in earth's rocky bosom, Cry to men unbidden that they come and loose them? Is the dew of dawntide sad because the Summer Kissed to death the fawn-eyed Spring, the earlier comer?

 Would the golden vapors trooping over heaven, Quench the starry tapers of the sunless even? When the arrowy lightnings smite the rocks asunder, Do they shrink with frightenings from the bellowing thunder?

 Inconceivable Nature! these, thy inert creatures, With their sphinx-like stature, are of man the teachers; Silent, secret, passive, endless as the ages, 'Gainst their forces massive fruitlessly he rages. 

 Winds and waves misuse him, buffet and destroy him; Thorns and pebbles bruise him, heat and cold annoy him; Sting of insect maddens, snarl of beast affrights him; Shade of forest saddens, breath of flowers delights him. 

 O thou great, mysterious mother of all mystery! At thy lips imperious man entreats his history. -- Whence he came--and whither is his spirit fleeing: Ere it wandered hither had it other being:

 Will its subtile essence, passing through death's portal, Put on nobler presence in a life immortal? Or is man but matter, that a touch ungentle, Back again may shatter to forms elemental?

 Can mere atoms question how they feel sensation? Or dust make suggestion of its own creation? Yet if man were better than his base conditions, Could things baser fetter his sublime ambitions?

 What unknown conjunction of the pure etherial, With the form and function of the gross material, Gives the product mortal? whose immortal yearning Brings him to the portal of celestial learning. 

 To the portal gleaming, where the waiting sphinxes, Humoring his dreaming, give him what he thinks is Key to the arcana--plausible equation Of the problems many in his incarnation. 

 Pitiful delusion!--in no nomenclature-- Maugre its profusion--O ambiguous nature! Can man find expression of his own relation To the great procession of facts in creation?

 Fruitless speculating! none may lift the curtain From the antedating ages and uncertain When what is was not, and tides of pristine being Beat on shores forgot, and all, as now, unseeing. 

 Whence impelled or whither, or by what volition; Borne now here, now thither, in blind inanition. Out of this abysmal, nebulous dim distance, Haunted by a dismal, phantomic existence, Issued man?--a creature without inspiration, Gross of form and feature, dull of inclination? Or was his primordial self a something higher? Fresh from test and ordeal of elemental fire. 

 Were these ages golden while the world was younger, When the giants olden knew not toil nor hunger? When no pain nor malice marred joy's full completeness, And life's honeyed chalice rapt the soul with sweetness?

 When the restless river of time loved to linger; Ere flesh felt the quiver of death's dissolving finger; When man's intuition led without deflection, To a sure fruition, and a full perfection. 

 Individual man is ever new created: What his being's plan is, loosely predicated On the circumstances of his sole condition, Colored by the fancies borrowed from tradition. 

 His creation gives him clue to nothing older: Naked, life receives him--wondering beholder Of the world about him--and ere aught is certain, Time and mystery flout him; and death drops the curtain. 

 Man, the dreamer, groping after what he should be, Cheers himself with hoping to be what he would be: When he hopes no longer, with self-adulation, Fancies he was stronger at his first creation:

 Else--in him inhering powers of intellection-- Death, by interfering with his mind's perfection, Itself gives security to restore life's treasure, Freed from all impurity and in endless measure. 

 Thou, O Nature, knowest, yet no word is spoken. Time, that ever flowest, presses on unbroken: All in vain the sages toil with proof and question-- The immemorial ages give no least suggestion. 

 PASSING BY HELICON. 

 My steps are turned away; Yet my eyes linger still, On their beloved hill, In one long, last survey: Gazing through tears that multiply the view, Their passionate adieu!

 O, joy-empurpled height, Down whose enchanted sides The rosy mist now glides, How can I loose thy sight? How can my eyes turn where my feet must go, Trailing their way in woe?

 Gone is my strength of heart; The roses that I brought From thy dear bowers, and thought To keep, since we must part-- Thy thornless roses, sweeter until now, Than round Hymettus' brow. 

 The golden-vested bees Find sweetest sweetness in-- Such odors dwelt within The moist red hearts of these-- Alas, no longer give out blissful breath, But odors rank with death. 

 Their dewiness is dank; It chills my pallid arms, Once blushing 'neath their charms; And their green stems hang lank, Stricken with leprosy, and fair no more, But withered to the core. 

 Vain thought! to bear along, Into this torrid track, Whence no one turneth back With his first wanderer's song Yet on his lips, thy odors and thy dews, To deck these dwarfed yews. 

 No more within thy vales, Beside thy plashing wells, Where sweet Euterpe dwells With songs of nightingales, And sounds of flutes that make pale Silence glow, Shall I their rapture know. 

 Farewell, ye stately palms! Clashing your cymbal tones, In thro' the mystic moans Of pines at solemn psalms: Ye myrtles, singing Love's inspired song, We part, and part for long!

 Farewell, majestic peaks! Whereon my listening soul Hath trembled to the roll Of thunders that Jove wreaks-- And calm Minerva's oracles hath heard All more than now unstirred!

 Adieu, ye beds of bloom! No more shall zephyr bring To me, upon his wing, Your loveliest perfume; No more upon your pure, immortal dyes, Shall rest my happy eyes. 

 I pass by; at thy foot, O, mount of my delight! Ere yet from out thy sight, I drop my voiceless lute: It is in vain to strive to carry hence Its olden eloquence. 

 Your sacred groves no more My singing shall prolong, With echoes of my song, Doubling it o'er and o'er. Haunt of the muses, lost to wistful eyes, What dreams of thee shall rise!

 Rise but to be dispelled-- For here where I am cast, Such visions may not last, By sterner fancies quelled: Relentless Nemesis my doom hath sent-- This cruel banishment!

 LOST AT SEA. 

 A fleet set sail upon a summer sea: 'Tis now so long ago, I look no more to see my ships come home; But in that fleet sailed all 'twas dear to me. 

 Ships never bore such precious freight as these, Please God, to any woe. His world is wide, and they may ride the foam, Secure from danger, in some unknown seas. 

 But they have left me bankrupt on life's 'change; And daily I bestow Regretful tears upon the blank account, And with myself my losses rearrange. 

 Oh, mystic wind of fate, dost hold my dower Where I may never know? Of all my treasure ventured what amount Will the sea send me in my parting hour!

 'TWAS JUNE, NOT I. 

 "Come out into the garden, Maud;" In whispered tones young Percy said: He but repeated what he'd read That afternoon, with soft applaud: A snatch, which for my same name's sake, He caught, out of the sweet, soft song, A lover for his love did make, In half despite of some fond wrong:-- And more he quoted, just to show How still the rhymes ran in his head, With visions of the roses red That on the poet's pen did grow. 

 The poet's spell was on our blood; The spell of June was in the air; We felt, more than we understood, The charm of being young and fair. Where everything is fair and young-- As on June eves doth fitly seem: The Earth herself lies in among The misty, azure fields of space, A bride, whose startled blushes glow Less flame-like through the shrouds of lace That sweeter all her beauties show. 

 We walked and talked beneath the trees-- Bird-haunted, flowering trees of June-- The roses purpled in the moon: We breathed their fragrance on the breeze-- Young Percy's voice is tuned to clear Deep tones, as if his heart were deep: This night it fluttered on my ear As young birds flutter in their sleep. My own voice faltered when I said How very sweet such hours must be With one we love. At that word he Shook like the aspen overhead: "Must be!" he drew me from the shade, To read my face to show his own: "Say _are_, dear Maud!"--my tongue was stayed; My pliant limbs seemed turned to stone. 

 He held my hands I could not move-- The nerveless palms together prest-- And clasped them tightly to his breast; While in my heart the question strove. The fire-flies flashed like wandering stars-- I thought some sprang from out his eyes: Surely some spirit makes or mars At will our earthly destinies! "Speak, Maud!"--at length I turned away: He must have thought it woman's fear; For, whispering softly in my ear Such gentle thanks as might allay Love's tender shame; left on my brow, And on each hand, a warm light kiss-- I feel them burn there even now-- But all my fetters fell at this. 

 I spoke like an injured queen: It's our own defence when we're surprised-- The way our weakness is disguised; I said things that I could not mean, Or ought not--since it was a lie That love had not been in my mind: 'Twas in the air I breathed; the sky Shone love, and murmured it the wind. It had absorbed my soul with bliss; My blood ran love in every vein, And to have been beloved again Were heavenly!--so I thought till this Unlooked for answer to the prayer My heart was making with its might, Thus challenged, caught in sudden snare, Like two clouds meeting on a height, And, pausing first in short strange lull, Then bursting into awful storm, Opposing feelings multiform, Struggled in silence: and then full Of our blind woman-wrath, broke forth In stinging hail of sharp-edged ice, As freezing as the polar north, Yet maddening. O, the poor mean vice We women have been taught to call By virtue's name! the holy scorn We feel for lovers left love-lorn By our own coldness, or by the wall Of other love 'twixt them and us!

 The tempest past, I paused. He stood Silent, --and yet "Ungenerous!" Was hurled back, plainer than ere could His lips have said it, by his eyes Fire-flashing, and his pale, set face, Beautiful, and unmarred by trace Of aught save pain and pained surprise. --I quailed at last before that gaze, And even faintly owned my wrong: I said I "spoke in such amaze I could not choose words that belong To such occasions. " Here he smiled, To cover one low, quick-drawn sigh: "June eves disturb us differently, " He said, at length; "and I, beguiled By something in the air, did do My Lady Maud unmeant offence; And, what is stranger far, she too, Under the baleful influence of this fair heaven"--he raised his eyes, And gestured proudly toward the stars-- "Has done me wrong. Wrong, lady, mars God's purpose, written on these skies, Painted and uttered in this scene: Acknowledged in each secret heart; We both are wrong, you say; 'twould mean That we too should be wide apart-- And so, adieu!"--with this he went. 

 I sat down whitening in the moon, With heat as of a desert noon, Sending its fever vehement Across my brow, and through my frame-- The fever of a wild regret-- A vain regret without a name, In which both love and loathing met. 

 Was this the same enchanted air I breathed one little hour ago? Did all these purple roses blow But yestermorn, so sweet, so fair? Was it _this_ eve that some one said "Come out into the garden, Maud?" And while the sleepy birds o'erhead Chirped out to know who walked abroad, Did _we_ admire the plumey flowers On the wide-branched catalpa trees, And locusts, scenting all the breeze; And call the balm-trees our bird-towers? Did _we_ recall the "black bat Night, " That flew before young Maud walked forth-- And say this Night's wings were too bright For bats'--being feathered, from its birth, Like butterflies' with powdered gold: Still talking on, from gay to grave, And trembling lest some sudden wave Of the soul's deep, grown over-bold, Should sweep the barriers of reserve, And whelm us in tumultuous floods Of unknown power? What did unnerve Our frames, as if we walked with gods? Unless they, meaning to destroy, Had made us mad with a false heaven, Or drunk with wine and honey given Only for immortals to enjoy. 

 Alas, I only knew that late I'd seemed in an enchanted sphere; That now I felt the web of fate Close round me, with a mortal fear. If only once the gods invite To banquets that are crowned with roses; After which the celestial closes Are barred to us; if in despite Of such high favor, arrogant We blindly choose to bide our time, Rejecting Heaven's--and ignorant What we have spurned, attempt to climb To heavenly places at our will-- Finding no path thereto but one, Nemesis-guarded, where atone To heaven, all such as hopeful still, Press toward the mount, --yet find it strewn With corses, perished by the way, Of those who Fate did importune Too rashly, or her will gainsay. If _I_ have been thrust out from heaven, This night, for insolent disdain, Of putting a young god in pain, How shall I hope to be forgiven? Yet let me not be judged as one Who mocks at any high behest; My fault being that I kept the throne Of a JOVE vacant in my breast, And when APOLLO claimed the place I was too loyal to my Jove; Unmindful how the masks of love Transfigure all things to our face. 

 Ah, well! if I have lost to fate The greatest boon that heaven disposes; And closed upon myself the gate To fields of bliss; 'tis on these roses, On this intoxicating air, The witching influence of the moon, The poet's rhymes that went in tune To the night's voices low and rare; To all, that goes to make such hours Like hasheesh-dreams. These did defy, With contrary fate-compelling power, The intended bliss;--'_twas June, not I_. 

 LINES TO A LUMP OF VIRGIN GOLD. 

 Dull, yellow, heavy, lustreless-- With less of radiance than the burnished tress, Crumpled on Beauty's forehead: cloddish, cold, Kneaded together with the common mold! Worn by sharp contact with the fretted edges Of ancient drifts, or prisoned in deep ledges; Hidden within some mountain's rugged breast From man's desire and quest-- Would thou could'st speak and tell the mystery That shrines thy history!

 Yet 'tis of little consequence, To-day, to know how thou wert made, or whence Earthquake and flood have brought thee: thou art here, At once the master that men love and fear-- Whom they have sought by many strange devices, In ancient river-beds; in interstices Of hardest quartz; upon the wave-wet strand, Where curls the tawny sand By mountain torrents hurried to the main, And thence hurled back again:--

 Yes, suffered, dared, and patiently Offered up everything, O gold, to thee!-- Home, wife and children, native soil, and all That once they deemed life's sweetest, at thy call; Fled over burning plains; in deserts fainted; Wearied for months at sea--yet ever painted Thee as the shining Mecca, that to gain Invalidated pain, Cured the sick soul--made nugatory evil Of man or devil. 

 Alas, and well-a-day! we know What idle dreams were these that fooled men so. On yonder hillside sleep in nameless graves, To which they went untended, the poor slaves Of fruitless toil; the victims of a fever Called home-sickness--no remedy found ever; Or slain by vices that grow rankly where Men madly do and dare, In alternations of high hope and deep abysses Of recklessnesses. 

 Painfully, and by violence: Even as heaven is taken, thou wert dragged whence Nature had hidden thee--whose face is worn With anxious furrows, and her bosom torn In the hard strife--and ever yet there lingers Upon these hills work for the "effacing fingers" Of time, the healer, who makes all things seem A half forgotten dream; Who smooths deep furrows and lone graves together, By touch of wind and weather. 

 Thou heavy, lustreless, dull clod! Digged from the earth like a base common sod; I wonder at thee, and thy power to hold The world in bond to thee, thou yellow gold! Yet do I sadly own thy fascination, And would I gladly show my estimation By giving house-room to thee, if thou'lt come And cumber up my home;-- I'd even promise not to call attention To these things that I mention!

 "The King can do no wrong, " and thou Art King indeed to most of us, I trow. Thou'rt an enchanter, at whose sovereign will All that there is of progress, learning, skill, Of beauty, culture, grace--and I might even Include religion, though that flouts at heaven-- Comes at thy bidding, flies before thy loss;-- And yet men call thee dross! If thou art dross then I mistaken be Of thy identity. 

 Ah, solid, weighty, beautiful! How could I first have said that thou wert dull? How could have wondered that men willingly Gave up their homes, and toiled and died for thee? Theirs was the martyrdom in which was planted A glorious State, by precious memories haunted: Ours is the comfort, ease, the power, the fame Of an exalted name: Theirs was the struggle of a proud ambition-- Ours is the full fruition. 

 Thou, yellow nugget, wert the star That drew these willing votaries from afar, 'Twere wrong to call thee lustreless or base That lightest onward all the human race, Emblem art thou, in every song or story, Of highest excellence and brightest glory: Thou crown'st the angels, and enthronest Him Who made the cherubim: My reverend thought indeed is not withholden, O nugget golden!

 MAGDALENA. 

 You say there's a Being all-loving, Whose nature is justice and pity; Could you say where you think he is roving? We have sought him from city to city, But he never is where we can find him, When outrage and sorrow beset us; It is strange we are always behind him, Or that He should forever forget us. 

 But being a god, he is thinking Of the masculine side of the Human; And though just, it would surely be sinking The God to be thoughtful for woman. For him and by him was man made: Sole heir of the earth and its treasures; An after-thought, woman--the handmaid, Not of God, but of man and his pleasures. 

 Should you say that man's God would reprove us, If we found him and showed him our bruises? It is dreary with no one to love us, Or to hold back the hand that abuses: Man's hand, that first led and caressed us, Man's lips, that first kissed and betrayed;-- If his God could know how he's oppressed us, Do you think that we need be afraid?

 For we loved him--and he who stood nearest To God, who could doubt or disdain? When he swore by that God, and the dearest Of boons that he hoped to obtain Of that God, that he truly would keep us In his heart of hearts precious and only: Say, how could we think he would steep us In sorrow, and leave us thus lonely?

 But you see how it is: he has left us, This demi-god, heir of creation; Of our only good gifts has bereft us, And mocked at our mad desolation: Says that we knew that such oaths would be broken-- Says we lured him to lie and betray; Quotes the word of his God as a token Of the law that makes woman his prey. 

 And now what shall we do? We have given To this master our handmaiden's dower: Our beauty and youth, aye, and even Our souls have we left in his power. Though we thought when we loved him, that loving Made of woman an angel, not demon; We have found, to our fond faith's disproving, That love makes of woman a leman!

 Yes, we gave, and he took: took not merely What we gave, for his lying pretences: But our whole woman world, that so dearly We held by till then: our defences Of home, of fair fame; the affection Of parents and kindred; the human Delight of child-love; the protection That is everywhere owed to a woman. 

 You say there's a Being all-loving, Whose nature is justice and pity: Could you say where you think he is roving? We have sought him from city to city. We have called unto him, our eyes streaming With the tears of our pain and despair: We have shouted unto him blaspheming, And whispered unto him in prayer. 

 But he sleeps, or is absent, or lending His ear to man's prouder petition: And the black silence over us bending Scorches hot with the breath of perdition. For this fair world of man's, in which woman Pays for all that she gets with her beauty, Is a desert that starves out the human, When her charms charm not squarely with duty. 

 For man were we made, says the preacher, To love him and serve him in meekness, Of man's God is man solely the teacher Interpreting unto our weakness: He the teacher, the master, dispenser Not only of law, but of living, Breaks his own law with us, then turns censor, Accusing, but never forgiving. 

 Do you think that we have not been nursing Resentment for wrong and betrayal? From our hearts, filled with gall, rises cursing, To our own and our masters' dismayal. 'Tis for this that we seek the all-loving, Whose nature is justice and pity; And we'll find Him, wherever he's roving, In country, in town, or in city. 

 He must show us his justice, who made us; He must place sin where sin was conceived; We must know if man's God will upbraid us Because we both loved and believed. We must know if man's riches and power, His titles, crowns, sceptres and ermine, Weigh with God against womanhood's dower, Or whether man's guilt they determine. 

 It would seem that man's God should restrain him, Or else should avenge our dishonor: Shall the cries of the hopeless not pain him, Or shall woman take all guilt upon her? Let us challenge the maker that made us; Let us cry to Christ, son of a woman; We shall learn if, when man has betrayed us, Heaven's justice accords with the human. 

 We must know if because we were lowly, And kept in the place man assigned us, He could seek us with passions unholy And be free, while his penalties bind us. We would ask if his gold buys exemption, Or whether his manhood acquits him; How it is that we scarce find redemption For sins less than his self-law permits him. 

 Do we dare the Almighty to question? Shall the clay to the potter appeal? To whom else shall we go with suggestion? Shall the vase not complain to the wheel? God answered Job out of the groaning Of thunder and whirlwind and hailing; Will he turn a deaf ear to our moaning, Or reply to our prayers with railing?

 Did you speak of a Christ who is tender-- A deity born of a woman? Of the sorrowful, God and defender, And brother and friend of the human? Long ago He ascended to heaven, Long ago was His teaching forgotten; The lump has no longer the leaven, But is heavy, unwholesome and rotten. 

 The gods are all man's, whom he praises For laws that make woman his creature; For the rest, theological mazes Furnish work for the salaried preacher. In the youth of the world it was better, We had deities then of our choosing; We could pray, though we wore then a fetter, To a GODDESS of binding and loosing. 

 We could kneel in a grove or a temple, No man's heavy hand on our shoulder: Had in Pallas Athene example To make womanhood stronger and bolder. But the temples are broken and plundered, Sacred altars profanely o'erthrown; Where the oracle trembled and thundered, Are a cavern, a fount, and a stone. 

 Yet we would of the Christ hear the story, 'Twas familiar in days that are ended; His humility, purity, glory, Are they not into heaven ascended? We see naught but scorning and hating; We hear naught but threats and contemning: For your Christian is good and berating, And your sinner is first in condemning. 

 Should you say that the Christ would reprove us, If we found him and told him our trouble? It is fearful with no one to love us, And our pain and despair growing double. It is mad'ning to feel we're excluded From the homes of the mothers that bore us; And that man, by no false arts deluded, May enter unchallenged before us. 

 It is hard to be humble when trodden; We cannot be meek when oppressed; Nor pure while our souls are made sodden With loathing that can't be confessed; Or true, while our bread and our shelter By a lying pretence is obtained-- Deceived, in deception we welter; By a touch are we evermore stained. 

 O hard lot of woman! the creature Of a creature whose God is asleep, Or gone on a journey. You teach her She was made to sin, suffer, and weep; We wait for a new revelation, We cry for a God of our own; O God unrevealed, bring salvation, From our necks lift the collar of stone!

 REPOSE. 

 I lay me down straight, with closed eyes, And pale hands folded across my breast, Thinking, unpained, of the sad surprise Of those who shall find me thus fall'n to rest; And the grief in their looks when they learn no endeavor, Can disturb my repose--for my sleep is forever. I know that a smile will lie hid in my eyes, Even a soft throb of joy stir the pulse in my breast, When they sit down to mourning, with tears and with sighs, And shudder at death, which to me is but rest. 

 So sweet to be parted at once from our pain; To put off our care as a robe that is worn; To drop like a link broken out of a chain, And be lost in the sands by Time's tide overborne: And to know at my loss all the wildest regretting, Will be as a foot-print, washed out in forgetting. To be certain of this--that my faults perish first; That when they behold me so calmly asleep, They can but forgive me my errors at worst, And speak of my praises alone as they weep. 

 "Whom the gods love die young, " they will say; Though they should think it, they will not say so: "Whom the world pierces with thorns pass away, Grieving, yet asking and longing to go!" No, when they see how divine my repose is, They'll forget that my-life-path is not over roses; And they'll whisper together, with hands full of flowers, How always I loved them to wear on my breast; And strewing them over my bosom in showers, With hands shaken by sobs, leave me softly to rest. 

 There is one who will come when the rest are away; One bud of a rose will he bring for my hair; He knows how I liked it, worn always that way, And his fingers will tremble while placing it there. Yes, he'll remember those soft June-day closes, When the sky was as flushed as our own crimson roses; He'll remember the flush on the sky and the flowers, And the red on my cheek where his lips had been prest; But the throes of his heart in the long, silent hours, Will disturb not my dreams, so profoundly I'll rest. 

 So, all will forget, what to think of mere pain, That the heart now asleep in this solemn repose, Had contended with tempests of sorrow in vain, And gone down in the strife at the feet of its foes: They will choose to be mute when a deed I have done, Or a word I have spoke I can no more atone; They'll remember I loved them, was faithful and true; They'll not say what a wild will abode in my breast; But repeat to each other, as if they were new, Old stories of what did the loved one at rest. 

 Ah! while I lie soothing my soul with this dream, The terror of waking comes back to my heart; Why is it not as I thus make it seem? Must I come back to the world, ere we part? Deep was the swoon of my spirit--why break it? Why bring me back to the struggles that shake it? Alas, there is room on my feet for fresh bruises-- The flowers are not dead on my brow or my breast-- When shall I learn "sweet adversity's uses, " And my tantalized spirit be truly at rest!

 ASPASIA. 

 O, ye Athenians, drunken with self-praise, What dreams I had of you, beside the sea, In far Miletus! while the golden days Slid into silver nights, so sweet to me; For then I dreamed my day-dreams sweetly o'er, Fancying the touch of Pallas on my brow-- Libations of both heart and wine did pour, And offered up my being with my vow. 

 'Twas thus to Athens my heart drew at last My life, my soul, myself. Ah, well, I learn To love and loathe the bonds that hold me fast, Your captive and your conquerer in turn; Am I not shamed to match my charms with those Of fair boy-beauties? gentled for your love To match the freshness of the morning rose, And lisp in murmurs like the cooing dove. 

 O, men of Athens! by the purple sea In far Miletus, when I dreamed of you, Watching the winged ships that invited me To follow their white track upon the blue; 'Twas the desire to mate my lofty soul That drew me ever like a viewless chain Toward Homer's land of heroes, 'til I stole Away from home and dreams, to you and pain. 

 I brought you beauty--but your _boys_ invade My woman's realm of love with girlish airs. I brought high gifts, and powers to persuade, To charm, to teach, with your philosophers. But knowledge is man's realm alone, you hold; And I who am your equal am cast down Level with those who sell themselves for gold-- A crownless queen--a woman of the town!

 Ye vain Athenians, know this, that I By your hard laws am only made more free; Your unloved dames may sit at home and cry, But, being unwed, I meet you openly, A foreigner, you cannot wed with me; But I can win your hearts and sway your will, And make your free wives envious to see What power Aspasia wields, Milesian still. 

 Who would not be beloved of Pericles? I could have had all Athens at my feet; And have them for my flatterers, when I please; Yet, one great man's great love is far more sweet! He is my proper mate as I am his-- You see my young dreams were not all in vain-- And I have tasted of ineffable bliss, If I am stung at times with fiery pain. 

 It is not that I long to be a wife By your Athenian laws, and sit at home Behind a lattice, prisoner for life, With my lord left at liberty to roam; Nor is it that I crave the right to be At the symposium or the Agora known; My grievance is, that your proud dames to me Came to be taught, in secret and alone. 

 They fear; what _do_ they fear? is't me or you? Am I not pure as any of them all? But your laws are against me; and 'tis true, If fame is lowering, I have had a fall! O, selfish men of Athens, shall the world Remember you, and pass my glory by? Nay, 'til from their proud heights your names are hurled, Mine shall blaze with them on your Grecian sky. 

 Am I then boastful? It is half in scorn Of caring for your love, or for your praise, As women do, and must. Had I been born In this proud Athens, I had spent my days In jealousy of boys, and stolen hours With some Milesian, of a questioned place, Learning of her the use of woman's powers Usurped by men of this patrician race. 

 Alas! I would I were a child again, Steeped in dream langours by the purple sea; And Athens but the vision it was then, Its great men good, its noble women free: That I in some winged ship should strive to fly To reach this goal, and founder and go down! O impious thought, how could I wish to die, With all that I have felt and learned unknown?

 Nay, I am glad to be to future times As much Athenian as is Pericles; Proud to be named by men of other climes The friend and pupil of great Socrates. What is the gossip of the city dames Behind their lattices to one like me? More glorious than their high patrician names I hold my privilege of being free!

 And yet I would that they were free as I; It angers me that women are so weak, Looking askance when ere they pass me by Lest on a chance their lords should see us speak; And coming next day to an audience In hope of learning to resemble me: They wish, they tell me, to learn eloquence-- The lesson they should learn is _liberty_. 

 O Athens, city of the beautiful, Home of all art, all elegance, all grace; Whose orators and poets sway the soul As the winds move the sea's unstable face; O wonderous city, nurse and home of mind, This is my oracle to you this day-- No generous growth from starved roots will you find, But fruitless blossoms weakening to decay. 

 You take my meaning? Sappho is no more, And no more Sapphos will be, in your time; The tree is dead on one side that before Ran with such burning sap of love and rhyme. Your glorious city is the utmost flower Of a one-sided culture, that will spend Itself upon itself, 'till, hour by hour, It runs its sources dry, and so must end. 

 That race is doomed, behind whose lattices Its once free women are constrained to peer Upon the world of men with vacant eyes; It was not so in Homer's time, I hear. But Eastern slaves have eaten of your store, Till in your homes all eating bread are slaves; They're built into your walls, beside your door, And bend beneath your lofty architraves. 

 A woman of the race that looks upon The sculptured emblems of captivity, Shall bear a slave or tyrant for a son; And none shall know the worth of liberty. Am I seditious?--Nay, then, I will keep My lesson for your dames when next they steal On tip-toe to an audience. Pray sleep Securely, and dream well: we wish your weal!

 Why, what vain prattle: but my heart is sore With thinking on the emptiness of things, And these Athenians, treacherous to the core, Who hung on Pericles with flatterings. I would indeed I were a little child, Resting my tired limbs on the sunny sands In far Miletus, where the airs blow mild, And countless looms throb under busy hands. 

 The busy hand must calm the busy thought, And labor cool the passions of the hour; To the tired weaver, when his web is wrought, What signifies the party last in power? But here in Athens, 'twixt philosophers Who reason on the nature of the soul; And all the vain array of orators, Who strove to hold the people in control. 

 Between the poets, artists, critics, all, Who form a faction or who found a school, We weave Penelope's web with hearts of gall, And my poor brain is oft the weary tool. Yet do I choose this life. What is to me Peace or good fame, away from all of these, But living death? I do choose liberty, And leave to Athens' dames their soulless ease. 

 The time shall come, when Athens is no more, And you and all your gods have passed away; That other men, upon another shore, Shall from your errors learn a better way. To them eternal justice will reveal Eternal truth, and in its better light All that your legal falsehoods now conceal, Will stand forth clearly in the whole world's sight. 

 A REPRIMAND. 

 Behold my soul? She sits so far above you Your wildest dream has never glanced so high; Yet in the old-time when you said, "I love you, " How fairly we were mated, eye to eye How long we dallied on in flowery meadows, By languid lakes of purely sensuous dreams, Steeped in enchanted mists, beguiled by shadows, Casting sweet flowers upon loitering streams, My memory owns, and yours; mine with deep shame, Yours with a sigh that life is not the same. 

 What parted us, to leave you in the valley And send me struggling to the mountain-top? Too weak for duty, even love failed to rally The manhood that should float your pinions up. On my spent feet are many half-healed bruises, My limbs are wasted with their heavy toil, But I have learned adversity's "sweet uses, " And brought my soul up pure through every soil; _Have I_ no right to scorn the man's dead power That leaves you far below me at this hour?

 Scorn you I do, while pitying even more The ignoble weakness of a strength debased. Do I yet mourn the faith that died of yore-- The trust by timorous treachery effaced? Through all, and over all, my soul mounts free To heights of peace you cannot hope to gain, Sings to the stars its mountain minstrelsy, And smiles down proudly on your murky plain; 'Tis vain to invite you--yet come up, come up, Conquer your way toward the mountain-top!

 TO MRS. ----. 

 I cannot find the meaning out That lies in wrong and pain and strife; I know not why we grope through grief, Tear-blind, to touch the higher life. 

 I see the world so subtly fair, My heart with beauty often aches; But ere I quiet this sweet pain, Some cross so presses, the heart breaks. 

 To-day, this lovely golden day, When heaven and earth are steeped in calm; When every lightest air that blows, Sheds its delicious freight of balm. 

 If I but ope my lips, I sob; If but an eyelid lift, I weep; I deprecate all good or ill, And only wish for endless sleep. 

 For who, I ask, has set my feet In all these dark and troubled ways? And who denies my soul's desire, When with its might it cries and prays?

 In my unconscious veins there runs Perchance, some old ancestral taint; In Eve _I_ sinned: poor Eve and I! We each may utter one complaint:--

 One and the same--for knowledge came Too late to save _her_ paradise; And I my paradise have lost; Forsooth because _I_ am not wise. 

 O vain traditions! small the aid We women gather from your lore: Why, when the world was lost, did death Not come our children's birth before?

 It had been better to have died, Sole prey of death, and ended so; Than to have dragged through endless time, One long, unbroken trail of woe. 

 To suffer, yet not expiate; To die at last, yet not atone; To mourn our heirship to a guilt, Erased by innocent blood alone!

 You lift your hands in shocked surprise; You say enough I have not prayed: Can prayer go back through centuries, And change the web of fate one braid?

 Nay, own the truth, and say that we Are but the bonded slaves of doom; Unconscious to the cradle came, Unwilling must go to the tomb. 

 Your woman's hands are void of help, Though my soul should be stung to death; Could I avert one pang from you, Imploring with my latest breath?

 And men!--we suffer any wrong That men, or mad, or blind, may do;-- Let me alone in my despair! There is no help for me or you. 

 I wait to find the meaning out That lies beyond the bitter end; Comfort yourself with 'wearying heaven, I ask no comfort, oh my friend!

 MOONLIGHT MEMORIES. 

 Do thy chamber windows open east, Beloved, as did ours of old? And do you stand when day has ceased, Withdrawn thro' evening's porch of gold, And watch the pink flush fade above The hills on which the wan moon leans, Remembering the sweet girlish love That blest this hour in other scenes!

 I see your hand upon your heart-- I see you dash away the tears-- It is the same undying smart, That touched us in the long-gone years; And cannot pass away. You stand Your forehead to the window crest, And stifle sobs that no command Can keep from rising in your breast. 

 Dear, balm is not for griefs like ours, Nor resurrection for dead hope: In vain we cover wounds with flowers, That grow upon life's western slope. Their leaves tho' bright, are hard, and dry, They have no soft and healing dew; The pansies of past spring-times lie Dead in the shadow of the yew. 

 You feel this in your heart, and turn To pace the dimness of your room; But lo, like fire within an urn, The moonlight glows through all the gloom. It sooths you like a living touch, And spite of the slow-falling tears, Sweet memories crowd with oh, so much, Of all that girlhood's time endears. 

 On nights like this, with such a moon, Full shining in a wintry sky; Or on the softer nights of June, When fleecy clouds fled thought-like by, Within our chamber opening east, With curtains from the window parted, With hands and cheeks together prest, We dreamed youth's glowing dreams, light-hearted. 

 Or talked of that mysterious love That comes like fate to every soul: And vowed to hold our lives above, Perchance its sorrowful control. Alas, the very vow we made, To keep our lives from passion free, To wiser hearts well had betrayed Some future love's intensity. 

 How well that youthful vow was kept, Is written on a deathless page-- Vain all regrets, vain tears we've wept, The record lives from age to age. But one who "doeth all things well, " Who made us differ from the throng, Has it within his heart to quell This torturing pain of thirst, ere long. 

 And you, whose soul is all aglow With fire Prometheus brought from heaven, Shall in some future surely know Joys for which high desires are given. Not always in a restless pain Shall beat your heart, or throb your brow; Not always shall you sigh in vain For hope's fruition, hidden now. 

 Beloved, are your tear-drops dried? The moon is riding high above:-- Though each from other's parted wide, We have not parted early love. And tho' you never are forgot, The moonrise in the east shall be The token that my evening thought Returns to home, and love and thee!

 VERSES FOR M----. 

 The river on the east Ripples its azure flood within my sight; And, darting from the west, Are "sunset arrows, " feathered with red light. The northern breeze has hung His wintry harp upon some giant pine; And the pale stars among, I see the star I love to name as mine: But toward the south I turn my eager eyes-- Beyond its flushed horizon my heart lies. 

 The snow-clad isles of ice, Launched by wild Boreas from a northern shore, Journey the way my eyes Turn with an envious longing evermore-- Smiling back to the sky Its own pink blush, and, floating out of sight, Bear south the softest dye Of northern heavens, to fade in southern night:-- My eyes but look the way my joys are gone, And the ice-islands travel not alone. 

 The untrod fields of snow, Glow with the rosy blush of parting day; And fancy asks if so The snow is stained with sunset far away; And if some face, like mine, Its forehead pressed against the window-pane, Peers northward, with the shine Of the pole-star reflected in eyes' rain: "Ah yes, " my heart says, "it is surely so;" And, like a bound bird, flutters hard to go. 

 Sad eyes, that, blurred with tears, Gaze into darkness, gaze no more in vain Whence no loved face appears, And no voice comes to lull the heart's fond pain! Sad heart! restrain thy throbs, For beauty, like a presence out of heaven, Rests over all, and robs Sorrow of pain, and makes earth seem forgiven:-- Twilight the fair eve ushers in with grace, And rose clouds melt for stars to take their place. 

 AUTUMNALIA. 

 The crimson color lays As bright as beauty's blush along the West; And a warm golden haze, Promising sheafs of ripe Autumnal days To crown the old year's crest. Hangs in mid air, a half-pellucid maze, Through which the sun at set, Grown round and rosy, looks with Bacchian blush, For an old wine-god meet-- Whose brows are dripping with the grape-blood sweet, As if his southern flush Rejoiced him, in his northern-zone retreat. 

 The amber-colored air Musical is with hum of tiny things Held idly, struggling there, As if the golden mist entangled were About the viewless wings, That beat out music on their gilded snare. 

 If but a leaf, all gay With Autumn's gorgeous coloring, doth fall, Along its fluttering way A shrill alarum wakes a sharp dismay, And, answering to the call, The insect chorus swells and dies away With a fine piping noise. As if some younger singing notes cried out, As do mischievous boys-- Startling their playmates with a pained voice, Or sudden thrilling shout, Followed by laughters, full of little joys. 

 Perchance a lurking breeze Springs, just awakened to its wayward play, Tossing the sober trees Into a frolic maze of ecstasies, And snatching at the gay Banners of Autumn, strews them where it please. 

 The sunset colors glow A second time in flame from out the wood, As bright and warm as though The vanished clouds had fallen, and lodged below Among the tree-tops, hued With all the colors of heaven's signal-bow. 

 The fitful breezes die Into a gentle whisper, and then sleep; And sweetly, mournfully, Starting to sight, in the transparent sky, Lone in the upper deep, Sad Hesper pours its beams upon the eye; And for one little hour, Holds audience with the lesser lights of heaven; Then to its western bower Descends in sudden darkness, as the flower That at the fall of Even Shuts its bright eye, and yields to slumber's power. 

 Soon, with a dusky face, Pensive and proud as an East Indian queen, And with a solemn grace, The moon ascends, and takes her royal place In the fair evening scene; While all the reverential stars, apace, Take up their march through the cool fields of space, And dead is the sweet Autumn day whose close we've seen. 

 PALO SANTO. 

 In the deep woods of Mexico, Where screams the "painted paraquet, " And mocking-birds flit to and fro, With borrowed notes they half forget; Where brilliant flowers and poisonous vines Are mingled in a firm embrace, And the same gaudy plant entwines Some reptile of a poisonous race; Where spreads the _Itos'_ icy shade, Benumbing, even in summer's heat, The thoughtless traveler who hath laid Himself to noonday slumbers sweet;-- Where skulks unseen the beast of prey-- The native robber glares and hides, -- And treacherous death keeps watch alway On him who flies, or he who bides. 

 In these deep tropic woods there grows A tree, whose tall and silvery bole Above the dusky forest shows, As shining as a saintly soul Among the souls of sinful men;-- Lifting its milk-white flowers to heaven, And breathing incense out, as when The passing saints of earth are shriven. 

 The skulking robber drops his eyes, And signs himself with holy cross, If, far between him and the skies, He sees its pearly blossoms toss. The wanderer halts to gaze upon The lovely vision, far or near, And smiles and sighs to think of one He wishes for the moment here. 

 The Mexic native fears not fang Of poisonous serpent, vine, nor bee, If he may soothe the baleful pang With juices of this "holy tree. "

 How do we all, in life's wild ways, Which oft we traverse lost and lone, Need that which heavenward draws the gaze, Some _Palo Santo_ of our own!

 A SUMMER DAY. 

 Fade not, sweet day! Another hour like this-- So full of tranquil bliss-- May never come my way, I walk in paths so shadowed and so cold: But stay thou, darling hour, Nor stint thy gracious power To smile away the clouds that me enfold: Oh stay! when thou art gone, I shall be lost and lone. 

 Lost, lone, and sad; And troubled more and more, By the dark ways, and sore, In which my feet are led;-- Alas, my heart, it was not always so! Therefore, O happy day, Haste not to fade away, Nor let pale night chill all thy tender glow-- Thy rosy mists, that steep The violet hills in sleep--

 Thy airs of gold, That over all the plain, And fields of ripened grain, A shimmering glory hold, -- The soft fatigue-dress of the drowsy sun; Dreaming, as one who goes To peace, and sweet repose, After a battle hardly fought, and won: Even so, my heart, to-day, Dream all thy fears away. 

 O happy tears, That everywhere I gaze, Jewel the golden maze, Flow on, till earth appears Worthy the soft perfection of this scene: Beat, heart, more soft and low, Creep, hurrying blood, more slow: Waste not one throb, to lose me the serene, Deep, satisfying bliss Of such an hour as this!

 How like our dream, Of that delightful rest God keepeth for the blest, This lovely peace doth seem;-- Perchance, my heart, He sent this gracious day, That when the dark and cold, Thy doubtful steps enfold, Thou, may'st remember, and press on thy way, Nor faint midway the gloom That lies this side the tomb. 

 All, all in vain, Sweet day, do I entreat To stay thy wingéd feet; The gloom, the cold, the pain, Gather me back as thou dost pale and fade; Yet in my heart I make A chamber for thy sake, And keep thy picture in warm color laid:-- Thy memory, happy day, Thou can'st not take away. 

 HE AND SHE. 

 Under the pines sat a young man and maiden, "Love, " said he; "life is sweet, think'st thou not so?" Sweet were her eyes, full of pictures of Aidenn, -- "Life?" said she; "love is sweet; no more I know. "

 Into the wide world the maid and her lover Wandered by pathways that sundered them far; From pine-groves to palm-groves, he flitted a rover, She tended his roses, and watched for his star. 

 Oft he said softly, while melting eyes glistened, "Sweet is my life, love, with you ever near:" Morning and evening she waited and listened For a voice and a foot-step that never came near. 

 Fainting at last, on her threshold she found him: "Life is but ashes, and bitter, " he sighed. She, with her tender arms folded around him, Whispered--"But love is still sweet;" and so died. 

 O WILD NOVEMBER WIND. 

 O wild November wind, blow back to me The withered leaves, that drift adown the past; Waft me some murmur of the summer sea, On which youth's fairy fleet of dreams was cast; Return to me the beautiful No More-- O wild November wind, restore, restore!

 November wind, in what dim, loathsome cave, Languish the tender-plumed gales of spring? No more their dances dimple o'er the wave, Nor freighted pinions song and perfume bring: Those gales are dead--that dimpling sea is dark; And cloudy ghosts clutch at each mist-like bark. 

 O wild, wild wind, where are the summer airs That kissed the roses of the long-ago? Taking them captive--swooned in blissful snares-- To let them perish. Now no roses blow In the waste gardens thou art laying bare: Where are my heart's bright roses, where, oh where?

 Thou hast no answer, thou unpitying gale? No gentle whisper from the past to me! No snatches of sweet song--no tender tale-- No happy ripple of that summer sea; Are all my dreams wrecked on the nevermore? O wild November wind, restore, restore!

 BY THE SEA. 

 Blue is the mist on the mountains, White is the fog on the sea; Ruby and gold is the sunset, -- And Bertha is waiting for me. 

 Down on the loathsome sand-beach, Her eyes as blue as the mist; Her brows as white as the sea-fog, -- Bertha, whose lips I have kissed. 

 Bertha, whose lips are like rubies, Whose hair is like coiléd gold; Whose sweet, rare smile is tenderer Than any legend of old. 

 One morn, one noon, one sunset, Must pass before we meet; O wind and sail bear steady on, And bring me to her feet. 

 The morn rose pale and sullen, The noon was still and dun; Across the storm at sunset, Came the boom of a signal-gun. 

 Who treads the loathsome sand-beach, With wet, disordered hair; With garments tangled with sea-weed, And cheeks more pale than fair?

 O blue-eyed, white-browed maiden, He will keep love's tryst no more; His ship sailed safely into port-- But on the heavenward shore. 

 POLK COUNTY HILLS. 

 November came that day, And all the air was gray With delicate mists, blown down From hill-tops by the south wind's balmy breath; And all the oaks were brown As Egypt's kings in death; The maple's crown of gold Laid tarnished on the wold; The alder and the ash, the aspen and the willow, Wore tattered suits of yellow. 

 The soft October rains Had left some scarlet stains Of color on the landscape's neutral ground; Those fine ephemeral things, The winged motes of sound, That sing the "Harvest Home" Of ripe Autumn in the gloam Of the deep and bosky woods, in the field and by the river, Sang that day their best endeavor. 

 I said: "In what sweet place Shall we meet face to face, Her loveliest self to see-- Meet Nature at her sad autumnal rites, And learn the mystery Of her unnamed delights?" Then you said: "Let us go Where the late violets blow In hollows of the hills, under dead oak leaves hiding;-- We'll find she's there abiding. "

 Do we recall that day? Has its grace passed away? Its tenderest, dream-like tone, Like one of Turner's landscapes limned on air-- Has its fine perfume flown And left the memory bare? Not so; its charm is still Over wood, vale and hill-- The ferny odor sweet, the humming insect chorus, The spirit that before us

 Enticed us with delights To the blue, breezy hights. O, beautiful hills that stand Serene 'twixt earth and heaven, with the grace Of both to make you grand, -- Your loveliness leaves place For nothing fairer; fair And complete beyond compare. O, lovely purple hills, O, first day of November, Be sure that I remember!

 WAITING. 

 I cannot wean my wayward heart from waiting, Though the steps watched for never come anear; The wearying want clings to it unabating-- The fruitless wish for presences once dear. 

 No fairer eve e'er blessed a poet's vision; No softer airs e'er kissed a fevered brow; No scene more truly could be called Elysian, Than this which holds my gaze enchanted now. 

 And yet I pine;--this beautiful completeness Is incomplete, to my desiring heart; 'Tis Beauty's form, without her soul of sweetness-- The pure, but chiseled loveliness of art. 

 There is no longer pleasure in emotion. I envy those dead souls no touch can thrill; Who--"painted ships upon a painted ocean, "-- Seem to be moved, yet are forever still. 

 Where are they fled?--they whose delightful voices, Whose very footsteps had a charmed fall: No more, no more their sound my heart rejoices: Change, death, and distance part me now from all. 

 And this fair evening, with remembrance teeming, Pierces my soul with every sharp regret; The sweetest beauty saddens to my seeming, Since all that's fair forbids me to forget. 

 Eyes that have gazed upon yon silver crescent, 'Till filled with light, then turned to gaze in mine, Lips that could clothe a fancy evanescent, In words whose magic thrilled the brain like wine:

 Hands that have wreathed June's roses in my tresses, And gathered violets to deck my breast, Where are ye now? I miss your dear caresses-- I miss the lips, the eyes, that made me blest. 

 Lonely I sit and watch the fitful burning Of prairie fires, far off, through gathering gloom; While the young moon, and one bright star returning Down the blue solitude, leave Night their room. 

 Gone is the glimmer of the silent river; Hushed is the wind that sped the leaves to-day; Alone through silence falls the crystal shiver Of the sweet starlight, on its earthward way. 

 And yet I wait, how vainly! for a token-- A sigh, a touch, a whisper from the past; Alas, I listen for a word unspoken, And wail for arms that have embraced their last. 

 I wish no more, as once I wished, each feeling To grow immortal in my happy breast; Since not to feel will leave no wounds for healing-- The pulse that thrills not has no need of rest. 

 As the conviction sinks into my spirit That my quick heart is doomed to death in life; Or that these pangs must pierce and never sear it, I am abandoned to despairing strife. 

 To the lost life, alas! no more returning-- In this to come no semblance of the past-- Only to wait!--hoping this ceaseless yearning May, 'ere long, end--and rest may come at last. 

 PALMA. 

 What tellest thou to heaven, Thou royal tropic tree? At morn or noon or even, Proud dweller by the sea, What is thy song to heaven?

 The homesick heart that fainted In torrid sun and air, With peace becomes acquainted Beholding thee so fair-- With joy becomes acquainted:

 And charms itself with fancies About thy kingly race-- With gay and wild romances That mimic thee in grace-- Of supple, glorious fancies. 

 I feel thou art not tender, Scion of sun and sea-- The wild-bird does not render To thee its minstrelsy-- Fearing thou art not tender:

 But calm, serene and saintly, As highborn things should be: Who, if they love us faintly, Make us love reverently, Because they are so saintly. 

 To be loved without loving, O proud and princely palm! Is to fancy our ship moving With the ocean at dead calm-- The joy of love is loving. 

 Because the Sun did sire thee, The Ocean nurse thy youth, Because the Stars desire thee, The warm winds whisper truth, Shall nothing ever fire thee?

 What is thy tale to heaven In the sultry tropic noon? What whisperest thou at even To the dusky Indian Moon-- Has she sins to be forgiven?

 Keep all her secrets; loyal As only great souls are-- As only souls most royal, To the flower or to the star Alike are purely loyal. 

 O Palma, if thou hearest, Thou proud and princely tree! Thou knowest that my Dearest Is emblemed forth in thee-- My kingly Palm, my Dearest. 

 I am his Moon admiring, His wooing Wind, his Star; And I glory in desiring My Palm-tree from afar-- Glad as happier lovers are, Am happy in desiring!

 MAKING MOAN. 

 _I have learned how vainly given_ _Life's most precious things may be. _

 --Landon. 

 O, Christ, to-night I bring A sad, weak heart, to lay before thy feet; Too sad, almost, to cling Even to Thee; too suffering, If Thou shouldst pierce me, to regard the sting; Too stunned to feel the pity I entreat Closing around me its embraces sweet. 

 Shepherd, who gatherest up The weary ones from all the world's highways; And bringest them to sup Of Thy bread, and Thy blessed cup; If so Thou will, lay me within the scope Only of Thy great tenderness, that rays Too melting may not reach me from Thy face. 

 Here let me lie, and press My forehead's pain out on Thy mantle's hem; And chide not my distress, For this, that I have loved thee less, In loving so much some, whose sordidness Has left me outcast, at the last, from them And their poor love, which I cannot contemn. 

 No, cannot, even now, Put Thee before them in my broken heart. But, gentle Shepherd, Thou Dost even such as I allow The healing of Thy presence. Let my brow Be covered from thy sight, while I, apart, Brood over in dull pain my mortal hurt. 

 CHILDHOOD. 

 A child of scarcely seven years, Light haired, and fair as any lily; With pure eyes ready in their tears At chiding words, or glances chilly; And sudden smiles, as inly bright As lamps through alabaster shining, With ready mirth, and fancies light, Dashed with strange dreams of child-divining: A child in all infantile grace, Yet with the angel lingering in her face. 

 A curious, eager, questioning child, Whose logic leads to naive conclusions; Her little knowledge reconciled To truth amid some odd confusions; Yet credulous, and loving much The problems hardest for her reason, Placing her lovely faith on such, And deeming disbelief a treason; Doubting that which she can disprove, And wisely trusting all the rest to love. 

 Such graces dwell beside your hearth, And bless you in a priceless pleasure, Leaving no sweeter spot on earth Than that which holds your household treasure. No entertainment ever yet Had half the exquisite completeness-- The gladness without one regret, You gather from your darling's sweetness: An angel sits beside the hearth Where e're an innocent child is found on earth. 

 A LITTLE BIRD THAT EVERY ONE KNOWS. 

 There's a little bird with a wondrous song-- A little bird that every one knows-- (Though it sings for the most part _under the rose_), That is petted and pampered wherever it goes, And nourished in bosoms gentle and strong. 

 This petted bird has a crooked beak And eyes like live coals set in its head, A gray breast dappled with glowing red-- DABBLED--not dappled, I should have said, From a fancy it has of which I shall speak. 

 This eccentricity that I name Is, that whenever the bird would sing It darts its black head under its wing, And moistens its beak in--darling thing!-- A human heart that is broken with shame. 

 Then this cherished bird its song begins-- Always begins its song one way-- With two little dulcet words, THEY SAY, Carolled in such a charming way That the listener's heart it surely wins. 

 This sweetest of songsters sits beside Every hearth in this Christian land, Ever so humble or never so grand, Gloating o'er crumbs which many a hand Gathers to nourish it, far and wide. 

 Over each crumb that it gathers up It winningly carols those two soft words In the dulcet notes of the sweetest of birds, Darting its sharp beak under its wing As it might in a ruby drinking-cup. 

 A delicate thing is our bird withal And owns but a fickle appetite, So that old and young take a keen delight In serving it ever, day and night, With the last gay heart now turned to gall. 

 Thus, though a dainty dear, it sings In a very well-conditioned way A truly wonderful sort of lay, Whose burden is ever the same--THEY SAY-- Darting its dabbled beak under its wings. 

 WAYWARD LOVE. 

 I leant above your chair last night, And on your brow once and again, I pressed a kiss as still and light As I would have your bosom's pain. You did not feel the gentle touch, It gave you neither grief nor pleasure, Though that caress held, oh, so much, Of love and blessing without measure. 

 Thus ever when I see you sad, My heart toward you overflows; But when again you're gay and glad, I shrink back into cold repose, I know not why I like you best, O'erclouded by a passing sorrow-- Unless because it gives a zest To the _insouciance_ of to-morrow. 

 You're welcome to my light caress, And all the love that with it went; To live, and love you any less, Would rob me of my soul's content. Continue sometimes to be sad, That I may feel that pity tender, Which grieves for you, and yet is glad Of an excuse for love's surrender. 

 A LYRIC OF LIFE. 

 Said one to me: "I seem to be-- Like a bird blown out to sea, In the hurricane's wild track-- Lost, wing-weary, beating back Vainly toward a fading shore, It shall rest on nevermore. "

 Said I: "Betide, some good ships ride, Over all the waters wide; Spread your wings upon the blast, Let it bear you far and fast: In some sea, serene and blue, Succor-ships are waiting you. "

 This soul then said: "Would I were dead-- Billows rolling o'er my head! Those that sail the ships will cast Storm-waifs back into the blast; Omens evil will they call What the hurricane lets fall. "

 For my reply: "Beneath the sky Countless isles of beauty lie: Waifs upon the ocean thrown, After tossings long and lone, To those blessed shores have come, Finding there love, heaven, and home. "

 This soul to me: "The seething sea, Tossing hungry under me, I fear to trust; the ships I fear; I see no isle of beauty near; The sun is blotted out--no more 'Twill shine for me on any shore. "

 Once more I said: "Be not afraid; Yield to the storm without a dread; For the tree, by tempests torn From its native soil, is borne Green, to where its ripened fruit Gives a sturdy forest-root. 

 "That which we lose, we think we choose, Oft, from slavery to use. Shocks that break our chains, tho' rude, Open paths to highest good: Wise, my sister soul, is she Who takes of life the proffered key. "

 FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM. 

 "Nay, Hylas, I have come To where life's landscape takes a western slope, And breezes from the occidental shores Sigh thro' the thinning locks around my brow, And on my cheeks fan flickering summer fires. Oh, winged feet of Time, forget your flight, And let me dream of those rose-scented bowers That lapped my soul in youth's enchanted East! It needs no demon-essence of Hasheesh To flash _that_ sunrise glory in my eyes!-- It needs no Flora to bring back those flowers-- No gay Apollo to sound liquid reeds-- No muse to consecrate the hills and streams-- No God or oracle within those groves To render sacred all the emerald glooms: For here dwelt such bright angels as attend The innocent ways of youth's unsullied feet; And all the beautiful band of sinless hopes, Twining their crowns of pearl-white amaranth; And rosy, dream-draped, sapphire-eyed desires Whose twin-born deities were Truth and Faith Having their altars over all the land. Beauty held court within its vales by day, And Love made concert with the nightingales In singing 'mong the myrtles, starry eves. "

 "You are inspired, Zobedia, your eyes Look not upon the present summer world, But see some mystery beyond the close Of this pale blue horizon. "

 "Erewhile I wandered from this happy land. Crowned with its roses, wearing in my eyes Reflections of its shining glorious heaven, And bearing on my breast and in my hands Its violets, and lilies white and sweet, -- Following the music floating in the air Made by the fall of founts, the voice of streams And murmur of the winds among the trees, I strayed in reveries of soft delight Beyond the bounds of this delicious East. 

 "But oh, the splendors of that newer clime! It was as if those oriental dreams In which my soul was steeped to fervidness, Were here transmuted to their golden real With added glories for each shape or hue. The stately trees wore coronals of flowers That swung their censers in the mid-day sun: The pines and palms of my delightful east Chaunted their wild songs nearer to the stars; Even the roses had more exquisite hues, And for one blossom I had left behind I found a bower in this fragrant land. Bright birds, no larger than the costly gems The river bedded in their golden sands, Sparkle like prismal rain-drops 'mong the leaves; And others sang, or flashed their plumage gay Like rainbow fragments on my dazzled eyes. The sky had warmer teints: I could not tell Whether the heavens lent color to the flowers, Or but reflected that which glowed in them. The gales that blew from off the cloud-lost hills, Struck from the clambering vines Eolian songs, That mingled with the splashing noise of founts, In music such as stirs to passionate thought: This peerless land was thronged with souls like mine, Straying from East to South, impelled unseen, And lost, like mine, in its enchanted vales:-- Souls that conversed apart in pairs, or sang Low breeze-like airs, more tender than sweet words; Save here and there a wanderer like myself, Dreaming alone, and dropping silent tears, Scarce knowing why, upon the little group Of Eastern flowers we had not yet resigned:-- 'Till one came softly smiling in my eyes, And dried their tears with radiance from his own. 

 "At last it came--I knew not how it came-- But a tornado swept this sunny South, And when I woke once more, I stood alone. My senses sickened at the dismal waste, And caring not, now all things bright were dead, That a volcano rolled its burning tide In fiery rivers far athwart the land, I turned my feet to aimless wanderings. The equatorial sun poured scorching beams, On my defenceless head. The burning winds Seemed drying up the blood within my veins. The straggling flowers that had outlived the storm Won but a feeble, half-contemptuous smile; And if a bird attempted a brief song, I closed my ears lest it should burst my brain. After much wandering I came at last To cooler skies and a less stifling air; And finally to this more temperate clime. Where every beauty is of milder type-- Where the simoon nor tempest ever come, And I can soothe the fever of my soul In the bland breezes blowing from the West. "

 NEVADA. 

 Sphinx, down whose rugged face The sliding centuries their furrows cleave By sun and frost and cloud-burst; scarce to leave Perceptible a trace Of age or sorrow; Faint hints of yesterdays with no to-morrow;-- My mind regards thee with a questioning eye, To know thy secret, high. 

 If Theban mystery, With head of woman, soaring, bird-like wings And serpent's tail on lion's trunk, were things Puzzling in history; And men invented For it an origin which represented Chimera and a monster double-headed, By myths Phenician wedded--

 Their issue being this-- This most chimerical and wonderous thing From whose dumb mouth not even the gods could wring Truth, nor antithesis: Then, what I think is, This creature--being chief among men's sphinxes-- Is eloquent, and overflows with story, Beside thy silence hoary!

 Nevada!--desert waste! Mighty, and inhospitable, and stern; Hiding a meaning over which we yearn In eager, panting haste-- Grasping and losing, Still being deluded ever by our choosing-- Answer us Sphinx: What is thy meaning double But endless toil and trouble?

 Inscrutable, men strive To rend thy secret from thy rocky breast; Breaking their hearts, and periling heaven's rest For hopes that cannot thrive; Whilst unrelenting, Upon thy mountain throne, and unrepenting, Thou sittest, basking in a fervid sun, Seeing or hearing none. 

 I sit beneath thy stars, The shallop moon beached on a bank of clouds--; And see thy mountains wrapped in shadowed shrouds, Glad that the darkness bars The day's suggestion-- The endless repetition of one question; Glad that thy stony face I cannot see, Nevada--Mystery!

 THE VINE. 

 "Too many clusters weaken the vine"-- And that is why, on this morn in May, She who should walk doth weakly recline By the window whose view overlooks the Bay; While I and the "clusters" dance in the sun, Defying the breeze coming in from the sea, Mocking the bird-song and chasing the bee, Letting our fullness of mirth over-run, While the "Vine" at the window smiles down on our glee. 

 If I should vow that these "clusters" are fair, So, you would say, are a million more; Ah, even jewels a rank must share-- Not every diamond's a Koh-i-noor! Thus when our LILLIAN, needing but wings, Plays us the queen of the fairies, we deem Grace such as hers a bewildering dream-- Her laughter, her gestures, a dozen things, Furnish our worshiping fondness a theme. 

 Or when our ALICE, scarcely less tall, And none the less fair, tries her slim baby feet, Or a new has lisped, to the pride of us all, Smiling, we cry, "was aught ever so sweet?" Even wee BERTHA, turning her eyes, Searching and slow from one face to another-- Wrinkling her brow in a comic surprise, And winking so soberly at her pale mother, For a baby, is wondrously pretty and wise!

 Well, _let_ the "vine" recline in the sun-- Three such rare "clusters" in three short years, Have sapped the red wine in her veins that should run-- For the choicest of species the gardener fears! LILLIAN, queen of the lilies shall be, Fair, tall and graceful--queenly in will; ALICE a Provence rose--rarely sweet she; BERTHA NARCISSA--white daffodil-- And the "vine, " once more strong, shall entwine around the three!

 WHAT THE SEA SAID TO ME. 

 One evening as I sat beside the sea, A little rippling wave stole up to me, And whispered softly, yet impressively, The word Eternity: I smiled, that anything so small should utter, A word the ocean in its wrath might mutter; And with a mirthful fancy, vainly strove, To suit its cadence to some word of love-- But all the little wave would say to me, Was, over and again, Eternity!

 After a time, the winds, from their dark caves, Arose, and wrestled with the swelling waves, Shrieking as doth a madman when he raves; Yet still Eternity Was spoken audibly unto my hearing; While foaming billows, their huge crests up-rearing, Rushed with a furious force upon the shore, That only answered with a sullen roar; As if it hoarsely echoed what the sea Said with such emphasis--Eternity!

 And by and by, the sky grew dun and dim; Soon all was darkness, save the foam's white gleam; And all was silence save the sea's deep hymn-- That hymn Eternity: While some dread presence, all the darkness filling, Crept round my heart, its healthy pulses chilling; Making the night, so awful unto me, More fearful with that word Eternity. 

 So that my spirit, trembling and afraid, Bowed down itself before its God, and prayed For His strong arm of terror to be stayed; And sighed Eternity From its white lips, as the dark sea, subsiding, Sank into broken murmurs; and the gliding Of the soothed waters seemed once more to me The whisper I first heard, Eternity. 

 But now I mocked not what the ripple said: I only reverently bent my head, While the pure stars, unveiled, their lustre shed Upon the peaceful sea-- And the mild moon, with a majestic motion, Uprose, and shed upon the murmuring ocean, Her calm and radiant glory, as if she Knew it the symbol of Eternity. 

 HYMN. 

 Down through the dark, my God, Reach me Thy hand; Guide me along the road I fail to understand. Blindly I grope my way, In doubt and fear, Uncertain when I pray If Thou art near. 

 O, God, renew my trust, Hear when I cry; Out of the cloud and dust Lift me to thee on high. The crooked paths make plain, The burden light; Touch me and heal my pain, And clear my sight. 

 O, take my hand in Thine, And lead me so That all my steps incline In Thy right way to go. Out of this awful night Some whisper send, That I may feel my God, My loving friend. 

 O, let me feel and see Thy hand and face; And let me learn of Thee My true right place. For I am Thine, and Thou Art also mine. Unto Thy will I bow, Helper divine!

 DO YOU HEAR THE WOMEN PRAYING?

 [Read before the Women's Prayer League of Portland, Oregon, May 27, 1874. ]

 Do you hear the women praying, oh my brothers? Do you hear what words they say? These, this free-born nation's wives and mothers, Bowing, where you proudly stand, to pray! Can you coldly look upon their faces, Pale, sad faces, seamed with frequent tears; See their hands uplifted in their places-- Hands that toiled for all your boyhood's years?

 Can you see your wives and daughters pleading In the dust you spurn beneath your feet, Baring hearts for years in secret bleeding, To the scoffs and jestings of the street? Can you hear, and yet not heed the crying Of the children perishing for bread? Born in fear, not love, and daily dying, Cursed of God, they think, but cursed of _you_ instead?

 Do you hear the women praying, oh my brothers? Hear the oft-repeated burden of their prayer-- Hear them asking for one boon above all others-- _Not_ for vengeance on the wrongs they have to bear; But imploring, as their Lord did, "God forgive them, For they know not what they do; Strike the sin, but spare the sinners--save them"-- Meaning, oh ye men and brothers, _you_!

 For your heels have ground the women's faces; You have coined their blood and tears for gold; Have betrayed their kisses and embraces-- Returned their love with curses twentyfold; Made the wife's crown one of thorns and not of honor, Made her motherhood a pain and dread; Heaped life's toil unrecompensed upon her; Laid her sons upon her bosom, dead!

 Do you hear the women praying, oh my brothers? Have you not one word to say? Will a _just_ God be as gentle as these mothers, If you dare to say them nay? Oh, ye men, God waits for _you_ to answer The prayers that to him rise, He waits to know if _you_ are just ere _He_ is-- There your deliverance lies!

 Rise and assert the manhood of this nation, Its courage, honor, might-- Wipe off the dust of our humiliation-- Dare nobly to do right! Shall women plead from out the dust forever? Will you not work, men, if you cannot pray? Hold up the suppliant hands with your endeavor, And seize the world's salvation while you may. 

 Yes, from the eastern to the western ocean, The sound of prayer is heard; And in our hearts great billows of emotion At every breath are stirred. From mountain tops of prayer down to sin's valley The voice of women sounds the cry, "Come up!" O, men and brothers, heed that cry, and rally-- Help us to dash to earth the deadly cup!

 "OUR LIFE IS TWOFOLD. "

 Sweet, kiss my eyelids close, and let me lie, On this old-fashioned sofa, in the dim And purple twilight, shut out from the sky, Which is too garish for my softer whim. And while I, looking inward on my thought, Tell thee what phantoms thicken in its air. Twine thou thy gentle fingers, slumber-fraught, With the loose shreds of my disheveled hair: I shall see inly better if thou keep My outer senses in a charmed sleep. 

 Sweet friend!--I love that pleasant name of friend-- We walk not ever singly, through the world; But even as our shadow doth attend Our going in the sunshine, and is furled About us in the darkness--so that shade Which haunts our other self, is faintly seen Beside us in our gladness, and is made To wrap us coldly life's bright hours between. Unconsciously we court it. In our youth, While yet our morning sky is pink with joy, We, curious if our happiness be truth, Try to discern the shadow of alloy. O, I remember well the earliest time A sorrow touched me, and I nursed it then; Tho' but few summers of our northern clime Had sunned my growth among the souls of men. 

 In an old wood, reputed for its age, And for its beauty wild and picturesque; The bound and goal of each day's pilgrimage, Where were all forms of graceful and grotesque; And countless hues, from the dark stately pine That whispered its wild mysteries to my ear, To the smooth silver of the birch-trees shine, Showing between the aspens straight and fair; With forest flowers, and delicate vines that crept From the rich soil far up among the trees, Seeking that light their boughs did intercept, And dalliance and caresses of the breeze. In midst of these, sheltered from sun and wind Glimmered a lake, in long and shining curves, Like a bright fillet that should serve to bind That scene to earth--if she the gem deserves! For gem it was, as proud upon her brow As jewels on the forehead of a queen; And one thought as one turned from it, of how Eve exiled, must have missed some just such scene. O, there I type my life! I used to sigh Sitting on this side, with my lap piled up With violets of the real sapphire dye, For the gay gold of the bright buttercup Spangling the green sod on the other side-- For the lake's breadth was but an arrow's flight, And the brief distance did not serve to hide What yet could not be reached except by sight. 

 Day after day I dreamed there, while my heart Gathered up knowledge in its childish way, Making fine pictures with unconscious art, And learning beauty more and more each day. Ever and ever haunted I that spot-- Sitting in dells scooped out between the hills, That rising close around me, formed a grot Fragrant with ferns, and musical with rills. Far up above me grew the long-armed beech, Dropping its branches down in graceful bent; While farther up, beyond my utmost reach, Stood dusky hemlocks, crowning the ascent. And all about were sweeter sights and sounds Than elsewhere, but in poet's dream, abounds. 

 Thus, and because my life was all too fair, I sought to color it with thoughts I nursed In sylvan solitudes: and in the air Of these soft, silent influences, I first Saw, or felt, rather, that the shadow fell Upon my pathway from the light behind-- The light of youth's first joyousness. Ah, well, If it had stayed there, nor been more unkind! My earliest sorrow was a flower's death-- At which I wept until my swollen eyes Refused to shed more tears--just that my wreath One morn in autumn lacked its choicest dyes. So, knowing what it was to have a loss, I went on losing, and the shadow grew Darker and longer, 'till it lies across My pathway to the measure of my view. We all remember sorrow's first impress-- No matter whether we had cause to grieve, Or whether sad in very willfulness-- The lesson is the same that we receive. And afterwards, when the great shadow falls-- The tempest--when the lightning's flash reveals The darkness brooding o'er us, and appals Hope by the terror of the stroke it deals-- _Then_, how the shadow hugs us in its fold! We see no light behind, and none to come; But dumbly shiver in the gloom and cold, Or with despair lie down, and wait our doom. 

 Sweet, press thy cheek upon my own again-- Even now my life's dark ghost is haunting nigh: Sing me to sleep with some old favorite strain-- Some gentle poet's loving lullaby; For I would dream, and in my dream forget Our twofold life is full of shadows set. 

 SOUVENIR. 

 You ask me, "Do you think of me?" Dear, thoughts of thee are like this river, Which pours itself into the sea, Yet empties its own channel never. 

 All other thoughts are like these sail Drifting the river's surface over; _They_ veer about with every gale-- The _river_ keeps its course forever. 

 So deep and still, so strong and true, The current of my soul sets thee-ward, Thy river I, my ocean you, And all myself am running seaward. 

 I ONLY WISH TO KNOW. 

 Pray do not take the kiss again I risked so much in getting, Nor let my blushes make you vain To your and my regretting. I'm sure I've heard your sex repeat A thousand times or so, That stolen kisses are most sweet-- I only wished to know!

 I own 'twas not so neatly done As you know how to do it, And that the fright out-did the fun, But still I do not rue it. I can afford the extra beat My heart took at your "Oh!" Which plainly said _that_ kiss was sweet-- _When I so wished to know!_

 Nay, I will not give back the kiss, Nor will I take a second; _Creme de la creme_ of pain and bliss This one shall e'er be reckoned. The pain was mine, the bliss was--_ours_, You smile to hear it so; But the same thought was surely yours, As I have cause to know. 

 LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 

 The highest use of happy love is this; To make us loving to the loveless ones; Willing indeed to halve our meed of bliss, If our sweet plenty others' want atones: Of love's abundance may God give thee store, To spend in love's sweet charities, LENORE. 

 LOVE'S FOOTSTEPS. 

 I sang a song of olden times, Sitting upon our sacred hill-- Sang it to feel my bosom thrill To the sweet pathos of its rhymes. 

 I trilled the music o'er and o'er, And happy, gazed upon the scene, Thinking that there had never been So blue a sea, so fair a shore. 

 A vague half dream was in my mind; I hardly saw how sat the sun; I noted not the day was gone The rosy western hills behind. 

 'Till, soft as if Apollo blew For me the sweet Thessalian flute, I heard a sound which made me mute, And more than singing thrilled me through. 

 THY STEP--well known and well beloved! No more I dreamed on shore or sea; I thought of, saw but only thee, Nor spoke, but blushed to be so moved. 

 THE POET'S MINISTERS. 

 POET. 

 Oh, my soul! the draught is bitter Yet it must be sweetly drunken: Heart and soul! the grinding fetter Galls, yet have ye never shrunken: Heart and soul, and pining spirit, Fail me not! no coward weakness Such as ye are should inherit-- Be ye strong even in your meekness. 

 Born were ye to these strange uses, To brief joy and crushing ill, To small good and great abuses; Yet oh, yield not, till they kill. The stag wounded runneth steady With his blood in streams a-gushing; Soul and spirit, be ye ready For the arrows toward ye rushing. 

 SPIRIT OF THE FLOWERS. 

 Now what ails our gentle friend? In his eye a meaning double, Sorrow and defiance blend-- Let us soothe him of his trouble. Poet! do not pass us by: See how we are robed to meet you; Heed you not our perfumed sigh? Heed you not how sweet we greet you? Ever since the breath of morn We have waited for your coming, Fearing when the bee's dull horn Round our quiet bower was humming: We have kept our sweets for thee-- Poet, do not pass us by: Place us on thy breast, for see! By the sunset we must die. 

 SPIRIT OF THE MOUNTAIN STREAM. 

 Bathe thy pale face in the flood Which overflows this crystal fountain, Then to rouse thy sluggish blood, Seek its source far up the mountain. Note thou how the stream doth sing Its soft carol, low and light, To the jagged rocks that fling Mildew shadows, black and blight. Learn a lesson from the stream, Poet! though thy path may lie Hid forever from the gleam Of the blue and sunny sky, -- Though thy way be steep and long, Sing thou still a cheerful song!

 SPIRIT OF BEAUTY. 

 Come sister spirits, touch his eyelids newly, With that rare juice whose magic power it is, To give the rose-hue to those things which truly Wear the sad livery of ugliness. Oh, dignify the office of the meanest Of all God's manifold created things; And sprinkle his heart's wounds with the serenest Waters of sweetness, from our fabled springs. Oh, close him round with visions of all rareness, Make him see everything with smiling eye; Let all his dreams be unsurpassed for fairness, And what we feign out-charm reality. Come, sister spirits, up and do your duty; When the Poet pines, feast his soul with beauty. 

 SPIRIT OF THE TREES. 

 Let us wave our branches gently With a murmur low and loving; He will say we sang him quaintly Some old ballad, sweetly moving. 'Tis of all the ways the surest To awake a poet's fancies, For he loves these things the purest-- Sigh of leaves, and scent of pansies. He has loved us, we will love him, And will cheer his hour of sadness, Spirits, wave your boughs above him To a measure of soft gladness. 

 SPIRIT OF LOVE. 

 Ye gentle ministers, ye have done well, But 'tis for love that most the poet pineth, And till I spell him with my magic spell, In vain for him earth smiles or heaven shineth. Behold I touch his heart, and there upspring Blooms to his cheeks, and flashes to his eyes; His scornful lips upon the instant sing, And all his pulses leap with ecstasies. 'Tis love the poet wants; he cannot live Without caressing and without caress, Which all to charity his fellows give; But I will wrap his soul in tenderness, And straightway from his lips will burst a song All loving hearts shall echo and prolong. 

 POET. 

 O Earth, and Sky, and Flowers, and Streams agushing, God made ye beautiful to make us blest: O bright-winged Songsters through the blue air rushing; O murmuring Tree-tops, by the winds carest; O Waves of Ocean, Ripples of the River, O Dew and Fragrance, Sunlight, and Starbeam, O blessed summer-sounds that round me quiver, Delights impassable that round me teem-- Oh all things beautiful! God made ye so That the glad hearts of men might overflow!

 O Soul within me, whose wings sweep a lyre-- God gave thee song that thou might'st give him praise; O Heart that glows with the Promethean fire, O Spirit whose fine chords some influence plays: O all sweet thoughts and beautiful emotions, O smiles and tears, and trembling and delight, Have ye not all part in the soul's devotions, To help it swell its anthem's happy height? Spirit of Love, of God, of inspiration, The poet's glad heart bursts in acclamation!

 CHORUS OF SPIRITS. 

 Ring every flower-bell on the wind, And let each insect louder sing; Let elfin "joy be unconfined;" And let the laughing fairies bring A wreath enchanted, and to bind Upon the Poet's worthy brow Heartsease and laurel, and a kind Of valley lily, white as snow; And fresh May-roses, branching long-- Braid all these in a garland gay, To crown the Poet for his song, Sung in our haunts this summer day!

 SUNSET AT THE MOUTH OF THE COLUMBIA. 

 There sinks the sun; like cavalier of old, Servant of crafty Spain, He flaunts his banner, barred with blood and gold, Wide o'er the western main, A thousand spear heads glint beyond the trees In columns bright and long: While kindling fancy hears upon the breeze The swell and shout of song. 

 And yet, not here Spain's gay, adventurous host, Dipped sword or planted cross; The treasures guarded by this rock-bound coast, Counted them gain nor loss. The blue Columbia, sired by the eternal hills, And wedded with the sea; O'er golden sands, tithes from a thousand rills, Rolled in lone majesty--

 Through deep ravine, through burning, barren plain, Through wild and rocky strait, Through forest dark, and mountain rent in twain, Toward the sunset gate. While curious eyes, keen with the lust of gold, Caught not the informing gleam; These mighty breakers age on age have rolled To meet this mighty stream. 

 Age after age these noble hills have kept, The same majestic lines: Age after age the horizon's edge been swept By fringe of pointed pines. Summers and Winters circling came and went, Bringing no change of scene; Unresting, and unhasting, and unspent, Dwelt nature here serene. 

 Till God's own time to plant of Freedom's seed, In this selected soil; Denied forever unto blood and greed; But blest to honest toil. There sinks the sun. Gay Cavalier! no more His banners trail the sea, And all his legions shining on the shore Fade into mystery. 

 The swelling tide laps on the shingly beach, Like any starving thing; And hungry breakers, white with wrath, upreach, In vain clamoring. The shadows fall; just level with mine eye Sweet Hesper stands and shines, And shines beneath an arc of golden sky, Pinked round with pointed pines. 

 A noble scene! all breadth, deep tone and power, Suggesting glorious themes; Shaming the idler who would fill the hour With unsubstantial dreams. Be mine the dreams prophetic, shadowing forth The things that yet shall be, When through this gate the treasures of the North Flow outward to the sea. 

 THE PASSING OF THE YEAR. 

 Worn and poor, The Old Year came to Eternity's door. Once, when his limbs were young and strong, From that shining portal came he forth, Led by the sound of shout and song, To the festive halls of jubilant earth;-- Now, his allotted cycle o'er, He waited, spent, by the Golden Door. 

 Faint and far--faint and far, Surging up soft between sun and star, Strains of revelry smote his ear; Musical murmurs from lyre and lute-- Rising in choruses grand and clear, Sinking in cadences almost mute-- Vexing the ear of him who sate Wearied beside the Shining Gate. 

 Sad and low, Flowed in an undertone of woe: Wailing among the moons it came, Sobbing in echoes against the stars; Smothered behind some comet's flame, Lost in the wind of the war-like Mars, --Mingling, ever and anon, With the music's swell a sigh or moan. 

 "As in a glass, Let the earth once before me pass, " The Old Year said; and space untold Vanished, till nothing came between; Folded away, crystal and gold, Nor azure air did intervene; "As in a glass" he saw the earth Decking a bier and waiting a birth. 

 "You crown me dead, " the Old Year said, "Before my parting hour is sped: O fickle, false, and reckless world! Time to Eternity may not haste; Not till the last Hour's wing is furled Within the gate my reign is past! O Earth! O World! fair, false and vain, I grieve not at my closing reign. "

 Yet spirit-sore The dead king noted a palace door; He saw the gay crowd gather in; He scanned the face of each passer by; Snowiest soul, and heart of sin; Tried and untried humanity: Age and Youth, Pleasure and Pain, Braided at chance in a motley skein. 

 "Ill betide Ye thankless ones!" the Old Year cried; "Have I not given you night and day, Over and over, score upon score, Wherein to live, and love, and pray, And suck the ripe world to its rotten core? Yet do you reek if my reign be done? E're I pass ye crown the newer one! At ball and rout ye dance and shout, Shutting men's cries of suffering out, That startle the white-tressed silences Musing beside the fount of light, In the eternal space, to press Their roses, each a nebula bright, More close to their lips serene, While ye wear this unconscious mein!"

 "Even so. " The revelers said: "We'll have naught of woe. Why should we mourn, who have our fill? Enough that the hungry wretches cry: We from our plenty cast at will Some crumbs to make their wet eyelids dry; But to the rich the world is fair-- Why should we grovel in tears and prayer?"

 In her innocent bliss, A fair bride said with sweet earnestness, "For the dead Year am I truly sad; Since in its happy and hopeful days, Every brief hour my heart was glad, And blessings were strewn in all my ways: Will it be so forevermore? Will the New Years bring of love new store?"

 Youth and maid. Of their conscious blushes half afraid, Shunning each other's tell-tale eyes, Yet cherishing hopes too fond to own; Speed the Old Year with secret sighs; And smile that his time is overflown; Shall they not hear each other say "Dear Love!" ere the New Year's passed away?

 "O, haste on! The year or the pleasure is dead that is gone!" Boasted the man of pomp and power; "That which we hold is alone the good; Give me new pleasures for every hour, And grieve over past joys ye who would-- Joys that are fled are poor, I wis-- Give me forever the newest bliss!"

 "Wish me joy, " Girl-Beauty cried, with glances coy: "In the New Year a woman I; I'll then have jewels in my hair, And such rare webs as Princes buy Be none too choice for me to wear: I'll queen it as a beauty should, And not be won before I'm wooed!"

 "Poor and proud--poor and proud!" Sighed a student in the motley crowd-- "I heard her whisper that aside: O fatal fairness, aping heaven When earthly most!--I'll not deride-- God knows that were all good gifts given To me as lavishly as rain, I'd bring them to her feet again. "

 "Here are the fools we use for tools; Bending their passion, ere it cools, To any need, " the cynic said: "Lo, I will give him gold, and he Shall sell me brain as it were bread! His very soul I'll hold in fee For baubles that shall buy the hand Of the coldest woman in the land!"

 Spirit sore, The Old Year cared to see no more; While, as he turned, he heard a moan-- Frosty and keen was the wintry night-- Prone on the marble paving-stone, Unwatched, unwept, a piteous sight, Starved and dying a poor wretch lay; Through the blast he heard him gasping say:

 "O, Old Year! From sightless eyes you force this tear; Sorrows you've heaped upon my head, Losses you've gathered to drive me wild, All that I lived for, loved, are dead, -- Brother and sister, wife and child, I, too, am perishing as well; I shall share the toll of your passing bell!"

 Grieved, and sad, For the sins and woes the Human had, The Old Year strove to avert his eyes; But fly or turn wherever he would, On his vexed ear smote the mingled cries Of revel and new-made widowhood-- Of grief that would not be comforted With the loved and beautiful lying dead. 

 Evermore, every hour, Rising from hovel, hall and tower, Swelling the strain of discontent; Gurgled the hopeless prayer for alms, Rung out the wild oath impotent; Echoed by some brief walls of calms, Straining the listener's shrinking ears, Like silence when thunderbolts are near. 

 Across that calm, like gales of balm, Some low, sweet household voices came; Thrilling, like flute-notes straying out From land to sea, some stormy night, The ear that listens for the shout Of drowning boatmen lost to sight-- And died away, again so soon The pulseless air seemed fallen in a swoon. 

 Once pure and clear, Clarion strains fell on his ear: The preacher shook the soulless creeds, And pierced men's hearts with arrowy words, Yet failed to stir them to good deeds: Their new-fledged thoughts, like July birds, Soared on the air and glanced away, Before the eloquent voice could stay. 

 "'Tis very sad the man is mad, " The men and women gaily said; As they, laughing, thread their homeward road, Talking of other holidays; Of last year, how it rained or snowed; Who went abroad, who wed a blaze Of diamonds with his shoddy bride, On certain days--and who had died. 

 "Would I were dead, And vexed no more, " the Old Year said: "In vain may the preacher pray and warn; The tinkling cymbals in your ears Turn every gracious word to scorn; Ye care not for the orphan's tears; Your sides are fed, and your bodies clad Is there anything heaven itself could add?"

 And then he sighed, as one who died, With a great wish unsatisfied; Around him like a wintry sea, Whose waves were nations, surged the world, Stormy, unstable, constantly Upheaved to be again down-hurled; Here struggled some for freedom; here Oppression rode in the high career. 

 In hot debate Men struggled, while the hours waxed late; Contending with the watchful zeal Of gladiators, trained to die; Yet not for life, nor country's weal, But that their names might hang on high As men who loved themselves, indeed, And robbed the State to satisfy their need!

 Heads of snow, and eyes aglow With fires that youth might blush to know; And brows whose youthful fairness shamed The desperate thoughts that strove within; While each his cause exulting named As purest that the world had seen: All names they had to tickle honest ears, Reform, and Rights, and sweet Philanthropy's cares. 

 "Well-a-day! Well-a-day!" The Old Year strove to put away Sight and sound of the reckless earth; But soft! from out a cottage door, Sweet strains of neither grief nor mirth, Upon his dying ear did pour; "Give us, O God, " the singers said, "As good a year as this one dead!"

 Pealing loud from sod to cloud, Earth's bell's rang out in a chorus proud; Great waves of music shook the air From organs pulsing with the sound; Hushed was the voice of sob and prayer, As time touched the eternal bound: To the dead monarch earth was dimmed, But the golden portals brighter beamed. 

 Sad no more, The Old Year reached the golden door, Just as the hours with crystal clang Aside the shining portals bent And murmuring 'mong the spheres there rang The chorus of earth's acknowledgment: One had passed out at the golden door, And one had gone in forevermore!

 THE END.