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[Illustration: UNCLE JOHN AND THE YOUNG CUBANS. ]

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BOOKS FOR GIRLSBy Laura E. Richards

The MARGARET SERIES

 Three Margarets Margaret Montfort Peggy Rita Fernley House

The HILDEGARDE SERIES

 Queen Hildegarde Hildegarde's Holiday Hildegarde's Home Hildegarde's Neighbors Hildegarde's Harvest

DANA ESTES & COMPANYPublishersEstes Press, Summer St. , Boston

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THREE MARGARETS

ByLAURA E. RICHARDS

Author Of "Captain January, " "Melody, ""Queen Hildegarde, " Etc. 

Illustrated byETHELRED B. BARRY

BostonDana Estes & CompanyPublishers

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Copyright, 1897By Estes and Lauriat

Colonial Press:Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. Boston, Mass. , U. S. A. 

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CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER PAGE

I. The Arrival 9II. First Thoughts 21III. The White Lady of Fernley 36IV. Confidence 51V. The Peat-bog 65VI. The Family Chest 81VII. The Garret 98VIII. Cuba Libre 115IX. Day by Day 131X. Looking Backward 147XI. Heroes and Heroines 163XII. In the Saddle 187XIII. In the Night 208XIV. Explanations 220XV. Farewell 237

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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE

Uncle John and the Young Cubans FrontispieceAunt Faith's Room 43Peggy at the Bog 73In the Garret 105"Cuba Libre" 125Peggy Writes Home 143Horseback 201Rita's Apology 227

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THREE MARGARETS. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE ARRIVAL. 

 Long ago and long ago, And long ago still, There dwelt three merry maidens Upon a distant hill. 

 Christina G. Rossetti. 

The rain was falling fast. It was a pleasant summer rain that plashedgently on the leaves of the great elms and locusts, and tinkledmusically in the roadside puddles. Less musical was its sound as itdrummed on the top of the great landau which was rolling along theavenue leading to Fernley House; but the occupants of the carriage paidlittle attention to it, each being buried in her own thoughts. The nightwas dark, and the carriage-lamps threw an uncertain gleam on the threefigures leaning back in their corners, muffled and silent. The avenuewas long, --interminably long, it seemed to one of the three travellers;and finally the silence so oppressed her that she determined to conquerher shyness and break it. 

"What a _very_ long avenue!" she said, speaking in a low, sweet voice. 

There was no reply. She hesitated a moment, and then added timidly, "Don't you think that, as we are cousins, we might introduce ourselvesand make acquaintance? My name is Margaret Montfort. "

"Why, so is mine!" exclaimed the traveller opposite her. "And mine!"added the third, from the further corner. 

The voice of the second speaker sounded as if it might be hearty, and asif only awkwardness gave it a sullen tone. The third spoke with a soft, languid utterance and the faintest shade of a foreign accent. 

"How strange!" exclaimed the first Margaret Montfort. "Of course I knewthat we had the same surname, as our fathers were brothers; but that weshould all three be named--and yet it is not strange, after all!" sheadded. "Our grandmother was Margaret, and it was natural that we shouldbe given her name. But how shall we manage? We cannot say First, Second, and Third Margaret, as they do on the stage. "

"I am never called anything but Peggy, " said the second girl, still in ahalf-sullen, half-timid tone. 

And "My home name is Rita, " murmured the third reluctantly; and sheadded something in an undertone about "short acquaintance, " which thefirst Margaret did not choose to hear. 

"Oh, how pretty!" she said cordially. "Then I may call you Peggy andRita? About myself"--she stopped and laughed--"I hardly know what tosay, for I have always been called Margaret, since I was a baby. "

"But one of us might as well _be_ Margaret, " answered Peggy. "Andsomehow, your voice sounds as if you looked like it. If this road wereever coming to an end, we might see. "

"Oh, I do see!" cried Margaret, leaning forward to look out of thewindow. "I see the lights! I see the house! We are really here at last!"

As she spoke, the carriage drove up before a long building twinklingwith lights, and stopped at a broad flight of steps, leading to astone-paved veranda. As the coachman opened the carriage-door, the doorof the house opened too, and a cheerful light streamed out upon thethree weary travellers. Two staid waiting-women, in spotless caps andaprons, were waiting to receive them as they came up the steps. 

"This way, young ladies, if you please!" said the elder of the two. "Youmust be tired with your long drive. This is the library; and will yourest here a while, or will you be shown your rooms at once?"

"Oh, thank you!" said Margaret, "let us stay here a little while! Whatdo you say, cousins?"

"All right!" said Peggy. The girl whose home name was Rita had alreadythrown herself down in an armchair, and seemed to think no replynecessary. 

"Very well, miss, " said the dignified waiting-woman, addressing herselfmarkedly to Margaret. "Susan will come in ten minutes to show you therooms, miss, and supper will be ready in half an hour. I am Elizabeth, miss, if you should want me. The bell is here in the corner. "

Margaret thanked her with a cordial smile, the other two never glancingin her direction, and the woman withdrew. 

"Just ten minutes, " said Margaret, turning to her cousins, "to makeacquaintance in, and find out what we all look like! Suppose we begin bytaking off our wraps. How delightful the little fire is, even if we arein the middle of June. Let me help you, Peggy!"

Peggy was fumbling at her veil, which was tied in a hard knot; but in afew minutes everything was off, and the three Margaret Montforts stoodsilent, gazing at each other. 

Nearest the fire stood the girl who was called Peggy. She was apparentlyabout sixteen, plump and fair, with a profusion of blonde hair whichlooked as if it were trying to fly away. Her round, rosy cheeks, blueeyes, and pouting lips gave her a cherubic contour which was comicallyat variance with her little tilted nose; but she was pretty, in spite ofher singularly ill-devised and ill-fitting costume of green flannel. 

Reclining in the armchair next her, the Margaret who was called Ritawas a startling contrast to the rosy Peggy. She was a year older, slightand graceful, her simple black gown fitting like a glove and saying"Paris" in every seam. Her hair was absolutely black, her eyes large anddark, her delicate features regular and finely cut; but the beautifulface wore an expression of discontent, and there were two fine verticallines between the eyebrows. Her complexion had the clear pallor of aCape Jessamine. 

Facing these two, and looking with thoughtful eyes from one to theother, stood the girl whom we have spoken of as the first Margaret. Shewas seventeen, within two months of the age of her dark-eyed cousin. Lacking the brilliant colouring of the other two, her face had its owncharm. Her eyes were dark gray, with violet shades in them, deepened bythe long and heavy black lashes. The faint tinge of colour in her smoothcheeks was that of the wild rose; her wavy chestnut hair had glints ofgold here and there in it, and though her nose was nothing inparticular, she had the prettiest mouth in the world, and a dimplebeside it. In conclusion, she was dressed in dark blue, simply, yettastefully too. 

"Well, " said Peggy, breaking the silence with an embarrassed giggle, "Ihope we shall know each other the next time we meet. "

Margaret blushed. "I fear I have been staring rudely!" she said. "But Ihave never had any cousins before, --never seen any, that is, and I amreally so glad to know you both! Let us shake hands, girls, and try tobe friends!"

She spoke so pleasantly that Peggy's plump hand and Rita's delicatewhite fingers were at once extended. Holding them in her own, Margarethesitated a moment, and then, bending forward, kissed both girls timidlyon the cheek. 

"Our fathers were own brothers, " she said. "We must try to be fond ofeach other. And now, " she added, "let us all tell our tells, as thechildren say. Rita, you shall begin. Tell us about yourself and yourhome, and anything else that you will. "

Rita settled herself comfortably in her chair, and looked meditativelyat the tip of her little boot. 

"My home, " she said, "is in Havana. My mother was a Spaniard, a SanReal. My father is Richard Montfort. My mother died three years ago, andmy father has lately married again, a girl of my own age. You mayimagine that I do not find home particularly attractive now, so I wasglad to accept my Uncle John's invitation to spend the summer here. As Ihave money in my own right, I was at liberty to do as I pleased; nor intruth did my father object, but the contrary. I have never seen myuncle. "

"Nor I!" "Nor I!" exclaimed the other two. 

"But I received this note from him a month ago. "

She produced a note from her reticule, and read as follows. 

 "MY DEAR NIECE:

 The thought has occurred to me that it would be well for you to make some acquaintance with the home of your fathers. I therefore invite you to spend the coming summer here, with the daughters of my brothers James and Roger, to whom I have extended a similar invitation. Business will unhappily prevent me from receiving you in person, but my cousin and yours, Mrs. Cheriton, who resides at Fernley, will pay you every attention. 

 Trusting that this plan will meet with your approval and that of your father, I am, my dear niece, Your affectionate uncle, JOHN MONTFORT. "

"Well, I never!" cried Peggy, drawing a long breath. "Why, it's word forword like my note. "

"And like mine!" said Margaret. 

The three notes were laid side by side, and proved to be exactly alike, even to the brief flourish under the signature; with the one differencethat in Margaret's the words "and that of your father, " were omitted. 

"He must be a very methodical man!" said Margaret thoughtfully. "Isn'tit strange that none of us has ever seen him? And yet one can understandhow it has been. The other brothers, our fathers, left home when theywere quite young, --that is what Papa has told me, --and soon formed tieselsewhere. Uncle John stayed with Grandfather till he died; then he wentabroad, and was gone many years; and since he came back, he has livedhere alone. I suppose he has grown a recluse, and does not care to seepeople. I know Papa often and often begged him to come and make us avisit, and once or twice the time was actually set; but each timesomething happened to prevent his coming, and he never did come. I thinkhe would have come last year, when dear Papa died, but he had had someaccident, and had injured his foot so that he could not walk. "

"Pa read us the letter you wrote him then, " said Peggy, with an awkwardattempt at condolence. "He said he thought you must be a nice girl. "

The tears came quickly to Margaret's eyes, and she turned her head tohide them. Peggy instantly plunged into a description of her ninebrothers and sisters, and their life on the great Western farm wherethey lived; but she was hardly under way when the demure Susan tapped atthe door, and said with gentle firmness that she had come to show theyoung ladies their rooms. 

There was a sudden clutching of hats, cloaks, and bags, and the nextmoment the three maidens were ascending the wide staircase, castinglooks of curiosity and wonderment about them. 

"What beautiful twisted balusters!" whispered Margaret. 

"And such queer old pictures!" said Peggy. "My! How they stare!Wondering who we are, I suppose. "

Arrived in the wide upper hall, Susan threw open the doors of threerooms, two side by side, the third opposite. 

"This is yours, Miss Montfort, " she said. "This is the young lady's fromthe South, and this the other young lady's. Mr. Montfort arranged it allbefore he left. "

"How kind and thoughtful!" cried Margaret. 

"How precise and formal!" murmured Rita. 

Peggy said nothing, but stared with round eyes. These rooms were notlike the great whitewashed chamber at home, where she and her threesisters slept in iron bedsteads. These rooms were not large, but oh, sopretty and cosy! In each was an open fireplace, with a tiny fireburning, --"just for looks, " Susan explained. Each contained a prettybrass bedstead, a comfortable chair or two, and curtains and cushions offlowered chintz. Rita's chintz showed deep red poppies on a pale buffground; Peggy's was blue, with buttercups and daisies scattered overit; while Margaret's--oh, Margaret's was not chintz after all, butold-fashioned white dimity, with a bewilderment of tufts, andball-fringe, and tassels. Candles were lighted on the trimdressing-tables; everything was spotless, fresh, and inviting, and thethree tired girls sank each into her soft-cushioned easy chair with adelightful sense of being at home. 

"The tea-bell will ring in half an hour, if you please, " said Susan, andshe closed the three doors. 

CHAPTER II. 

FIRST THOUGHTS. 

 "The eggs and the ham, And the strawberry jam; The rollicking bun, And the gay Sally Lunn. "

"Ting! ting-a-ling!" the silver tinkle sounded cheerfully. Margaret wasthe first to leave her room, punctuality being the third virtue of hercreed. She had changed her travelling-dress for a pretty dark redcashmere, which became her well; but Peggy, who came running down amoment later, still wore her ill-fitting frock of green flannel, thescant attractions of which were not enhanced by a soiled linen collar, which she had forgotten to change. The flyaway locks were indeed braidedtogether, but the heavy braid was rough and uneven. 

"Oh, you have changed your dress!" she cried, seeing Margaret. "Howpretty you look! I didn't have time to do anything. Say, " she added, lowering her voice, "I think you are sweet, but I just hate that othergirl. _We_ sha'n't be fond of each other, you may be sure of that!"

"My dear Peggy!" said Margaret, in gentle remonstrance. "You must notjudge a person on ten minutes' acquaintance. I am sure I hope you andRita will be very good friends. You certainly must admire her beauty. "

"Oh, she's pretty enough!" rejoined Peggy; "but I think she's perfectlyhorrid!--there now! Stuck-up and conceited, and looking at other peopleas if they were stone posts. And I am _not_ a stone post, you know. "

"You certainly don't look like one, " said Margaret, laughing; "nor feellike one, " she added, putting her arm around her cousin's plump waist. 

"But come! here is Elizabeth waiting to show us the dining-room. Elizabeth, we have had a good rest, and we are _so_ hungry. "

"This way, miss, if you please, " said the grave Elizabeth. And she ledthe way across the hall. The dining-room was a pleasant square room, with crimson curtains closely drawn. There was no cloth on the darktable, which shone like a mirror, reflecting the blaze of the candles inmellow points of light. At the head stood a shining silver tea-serviceand a Dresden chocolate-pot, surrounded by the prettiest cups andsaucers that ever were seen; and a supper was laid out which seemed tohave been specially planned for three hungry girls. Everything good, andplenty of it. 

"My!" whispered Peggy, "isn't this fine? But how funny to have notable-cloth! We always have a red one at supper. "

"Do you?" said Margaret. "Papa always liked the bare table. "

"Will you take the head of the table, miss?" asked Elizabeth. "I haveset your place here, and Miss--"

"Miss Peggy's, " suggested Margaret gently. 

"Thank you, miss! Miss Peggy's at the side here. "

"Very well, " said Margaret. "We shall sit just where you put us, Elizabeth. And Miss Rita will sit opposite me and carve the chicken. Oh, here she is! Rita, are you accomplished in the art of carving?"

Rita, who now came gliding in, shook her head as she took the seatappointed her. "I have never attempted it, " she said, "and don't think Icare to try, thanks! Take this to the sideboard and carve it, " sheadded, addressing Elizabeth in a tone of careless command. The womanobeyed in silence; but the quick colour sprang to Margaret's cheek, andshe looked as much distressed as if the rude speech had been addressedto her. 

Peggy stared. "Don't they say 'please' in Havana?" she said in a loudwhisper to Margaret. But Margaret rattled the tea-cups, and pretendednot to hear. 

"Will you take tea, Rita, or chocolate?" she asked quickly. 

"Chocolate, please, " replied her cousin languidly. "I wonder if it willbe fit to drink? One hears that everything of that sort is sofrightfully adulterated in this country. "

"It looks delicious, " said Margaret, pouring out the smooth, brownliquid. "Do you see, girls, what lovely cups these are? Look, Rita, theyare all different! I shall give you this delicate pink one, for it justmatches your gown. Such a pretty gown!" she added admiringly, glancingat the pale rose-coloured silk and rich lace that set off the clearpallor of Rita's complexion in a wonderful way. 

"It is only a tea-gown!" said the latter carelessly. "I have brought noclothes to speak of. Yes, the cup does match it rather well, doesn'tit?"

"And you, Peggy, " said Margaret, "shall have this blue darling with thegold arabesques. Surely, anything would taste good out of suchcups, --take care! Oh, my dear!"

Margaret sprang up and tried to recapture the cup which had just lefther hand. But it was too late! Peggy had taken it quickly, grasping theedge of the saucer. Naturally, the saucer tilted up, the cup tiltedover, and a stream of chocolate poured over her hand and arm, anddescended into her lap, where it formed a neat brown pool with greenflannel banks. Moreover, an auxiliary stream was meandering over thetable, making rapid progress towards the rose-coloured silk and whitelace. 

With an angry exclamation of _"Bête!"_ Rita pushed her chair back out ofdanger. Poor Peggy, after the first terrified "Ow!" as the hotchocolate deluged her, sat still, apparently afraid of making mattersworse if she stirred. Margaret, after ringing the bell violently to callElizabeth, promptly checked the threatening rivulet on the table withher napkin, and then, seizing Peggy's, proceeded to sop up the pool aswell as she could. 

"I never!" gasped the unhappy girl. "Why, I didn't do a thing! it justtipped right over!"

"It is too bad!" said Margaret, as sympathetically as she could, thoughher cousin did look so funny, it was hard to keep from smiling. "Oh, here is Elizabeth! Elizabeth, we have had an accident, and I fear MissPeggy's dress is quite ruined. Can you think of anything to take thestains out?"

Elizabeth surveyed the scene with a practised eye. 

"Hot soapsuds will be the best thing, " she said. "If the young lady willcome up with me at once, and take the frock off, I will see what can bedone. "

"Yes, do go with Elizabeth, dear!" urged Margaret. "Nothing can be donetill the dress is off. "

And poor Peggy went off, hanging her head and looking very miserable. 

Rita, as soon as her dress was out of danger, was able to see the affairin another light, and as her cousin left the room burst into a peal ofsilvery laughter. 

"Oh, hush!" cried Margaret. "She will hear you, Rita!"

"And if she does?" replied Rita, drawing her chair up to the tableagain, and sipping her chocolate leisurely. "Acrobats expect to belaughed at, and certainly this was a most astonishing _tour de force_. Seriously, my dear, " she added, seeing Margaret's troubled look, "howare we to take our Western cousin, if we do not treat her as a comicmonstrosity? Is it possible that she is a Montfort? I shall call herCousin Calibana, I think!"

She nibbled daintily at a macaroon, and went on: "It is a thing to bethankful for that the green frock is probably hopelessly ruined. I amquite sure it would have affected my nerves seriously if I had beenobliged to see it every day. Do they perhaps cut dresses with amowing-machine in the West?" and she laughed again, a laugh so ripplingand musical that it was a pity it was not good-natured. 

Margaret listened in troubled silence. What could she say that would notat once alienate this foreign cousin, who seemed now inclined tofriendliness with her? And yet she could not let poor Peggy goundefended. At last she said gently, yet with meaning, "Dear Rita, youmake me tremble for myself. If you are so very severe in your judgments, who can hope to pass uncriticised?"

"You, _ma cousine_!" cried Rita. "But there is no question of you; youare of one's own kind! You are altogether charming. Surely you must seethat this young person is simply impossible. Impossible!" she repeatedwith decision. "There is no other word for it. "

"No, " said Margaret, bravely, "I do not see that, Rita! She is shy andawkward, and I should think very young for her age. But she has anhonest, good face, and I like her. Besides, " she added, unconsciouslyrepeating the argument she had used in defending Rita herself againstPeggy's animadversions, "it is absurd to judge a person on half anhour's acquaintance. "

"Oh, half an hour!" said Rita lightly; "half a lifetime! My judgments, _chère cousine_, are made at the first glance, and remain fixed. "

"And are they always right?" asked Margaret, half amused and half vexed. 

"They are right for me!" said Rita, nodding her pretty head. "That isenough. "

She pushed her chair back, and coming to Margaret's side, laid her handlightly on her shoulder. 

"_Chère cousine_, " she said, in a caressing tone, "you are so charming, I do hope you are not good. It is detestable to be good! Avoid it, _trèschère_! believe me, it is impossible!"

"Are all the people in Havana bad?" asked Margaret, returning thecaress, and resisting the impulse to shake the pretty, foolish speaker. 

"All!" replied Rita cheerfully; "enchanting, delightful people; all bad!Oh, of course when one is old, that is another matter! Then onebegins--"

"Was your mother bad, Rita?" asked Margaret quietly. 

"My mother was an angel, do you hear? a saint!" cried the girl. Andsuddenly, without the slightest warning, she burst into a tropicalpassion of tears, and sobbed and wept as if her heart would break. 

Poor Margaret! Decidedly this was not a pleasant evening for her. By thetime she had soothed Rita, and tucked her up on the library sofa, with afan and a vinaigrette, Peggy had come down again, in a state ofaggrieved dejection, to finish her supper. A wrapper of dingy brownreplaced the green frock; she too had been crying, and her eyes were redand swollen. 

"I wish I was at home!" she said sullenly, as she ate her chicken andbuttered her roll. "I wish I hadn't come here. I knew I should have ahorrid time, but Pa made me come. "

"Oh, don't say that, Peggy, dear!" said Margaret. "You are tiredto-night, and homesick, that is all; and it was very unlucky about thedress, of course. To-morrow, when you have had a good night's rest, youwill feel very differently, I know you will. Just think how delightfulit will be to explore the house, and to roam about the garden, whereyour father and mine used to play when they were boys. Hasn't yourfather told you about the swing under the great chestnut-trees, and thesummer-houses, and--"

"Oh, yes!" said Peggy, her eyes brightening. "And I was to look in thelong summer-house for his initials, cut in the roof. Uncle Roger stoodon Uncle John's shoulders, and Pa on his; and when he was finishing thetail of the M, Pa gave such a dig with his knife that he lost hisbalance, and they all tumbled down together; and Pa has the mark of thefall now, on his forehead. "

Margaret felt that the bad moment had passed. 

"Tell me about your father, and all of you at home, " she said. "Think! Ihave never even seen a picture of Uncle James! He is tall, of course;all the Montforts are tall. "

"Miles tall, " said Peggy; "with broad shoulders, and a big brown beard. So jolly, Pa is! He is out on the farm all day, you know, and in theevening he sits in the corner and smokes his pipe, and the boys tell himwhat they have been doing, and they talk crops and cattle and pigs bythe hour together. "

"The boys?" inquired Margaret. "Your brothers?"

Peggy nodded, and began to count on her fingers. 

"Jim, George, Hugh, Max, and Peter, boys; Peggy, Jean, Bessie, Flora, and Doris, girls. Oh, dear! I wish they were all here!"

"Ten whole cousins!" cried Margaret. "How rich I feel! Now you must tellme all about them, Peggy. Is Jim the eldest?"

"Eldest and biggest!" replied Peggy, beginning on the frosted cake. "Jimis twenty-five, and taller than Pa, --six feet four in his shoes. He hascharge of the stock, and spends most of his time on horseback. His horseis nearly as big as an elephant, and he rides splendidly. I think youwould like Jim, " she said shyly. 

"I am sure I should!" said Margaret heartily. "Who comes next?"

"George, " said Peggy. "George isn't very nice, I think; I don't believeyou'd like him. He has been to college, you know, and he sneers andmakes fun of the rest of us, and calls us countrified. "

Margaret was sure that she should not like George, but she did not sayso. "He's very clever, " continued Peggy, "and Pa is very proud of him. Is'pose I might like him better if he didn't tease Hugh, but I can'tstand that. "

"Is Hugh your favourite brother?" Margaret asked softly. 

"Of course. Hugh is the best of us all. He is lame. Jim and George werefighting one day, when he was a little baby, just beginning to walk; andsomehow, one of them fell back against him and threw him downstairs. Hehurt his back, and has been lame ever since. Hugh is like an angel, somehow. You never saw anybody like Hugh. He does things--well! Let metell you this that he did. He never gets into rows, but the rest of usdo, all the time. Jim and George are the worst, and when they are at it, you can hear them all over the house. Well, one day Hugh was sickupstairs, and they had an awful row. Pa was out, and Ma couldn't doanything with them; she never can. Hugh can generally stop them, butthis time he couldn't go down, you see. I was sitting with him, and Isaw him getting whiter and whiter. At last he said, 'Peggy, I wantyou--' and then he stopped and said, 'No, you are too big. Bring littlePeter here!' I went and brought Peter, who was about four then. 'Petie, 'said Hugh, 'take brother's crutch, and go downstairs, and give it toBrother Jim and Brother George. Say Hugh sent it. ' And then he told meto help Petie down with the crutch, but not go into the room. I did peepin through the crack, though, and I saw Petie toddle in, dragging thecrutch, and saw him lay it down between them, and say, 'Brudder Hughsend it to big brudders. ' They stopped and never said another word, onlyJim gave a kind of groan. Then he kissed Petie and told him to thankBrother Hugh; and he went out, and didn't come back for three days. Herides off when he feels bad, and stays away on the farm somewhere tillhe gets over it. "

"And George?" asked Margaret. 

"Oh! George just went into his room and sulked, " said Peggy. "That's_his_ way! I do declare, he's like--" Here she stopped suddenly, for avision appeared in the doorway. Pale and scornful, with her great darkeyes full of cold mockery, Rita stood gazing at them both, herrose-coloured draperies floating around her. 

"I am truly sorry, " she said, "to interrupt this torrent of eloquence. Imerely wish to say that I am going to bed. Good night, _chèreMarguerite! Senorita Calibana, je vous souhaite le bon soir!_ Continue, I pray you, your thrilling disclosures as long as my cousin's ears cancontain them!" And with a mocking courtesy she swept away, leaving theother two girls with an indefinable sense of guilt and disgrace. PoorPeggy! She had been so happy, all her troubles forgotten, pouring outher artless recital of home affairs; but now her face darkened, and shelooked sullen and unhappy again. 

"Hateful thing!" she muttered. "I wish she was in Jericho!"

"Never mind, Peggy dear!" said Margaret as cheerfully as she could. "Rita is very tired, and has a headache. It has been delightful to hearabout the brothers, and especially about Hugh; but I am sure we ought togo to bed too. You must be quite tired out, and I am getting sleepymyself. "

She kissed her cousin affectionately, and arm in arm they went up thegreat staircase. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE WHITE LADY OF FERNLEY. 

Margaret was waked the next morning by the cheerful and persistent songof a robin, which had perched on a twig just outside her window. She hadgone to bed in a discouraged frame of mind, and dreamed that her twocousins had turned into lionesses, and were fighting together over herprostrate body; but with the morning light everything seemed tobrighten, and the robin's song was a good omen. 

"Thank you, Robin dear, " she said aloud, as she brushed her long hair. "I dare say everything will go well after a while, but just now, Robin, I do assure you, things have a kittle look. "

She was down first, as the night before; but Peggy soon appeared, rubbing her eyes and looking still half asleep. 

Breakfast was ready, and Peggy, at sight of the omelette and muffins, was about to fling herself headlong into her chair; but Margaret heldher back a moment. 

"Elizabeth, " she said, hesitating, "is Mrs. Cheriton--is she not here? Isee you have put me at the head of the table again. "

"Mrs. Cheriton seldom leaves her own rooms, miss, " replied Elizabeth. "She asked me to say that she would be glad to see the young ladiesafter breakfast. And shall I call the other young lady, Miss Montfort?"

Before Margaret could reply, a clear voice was heard calling from above, in impatient tones:

"Elizabeth! somebody! come here this moment!"

Elizabeth obeyed the imperious summons, and as she reached the foot ofthe stairs, Rita's voice broke out again. 

"Why has no coffee been brought to me? I never saw such carelessness. There is no bell in my room, either, and I have been calling till I amhoarse. "

"I am very sorry, miss!" replied Elizabeth quietly. "We supposed youwould come down to breakfast with the other young ladies. Shall I bringyou a cup of tea now? There is no coffee in the house, as Mr. Montfortnever drinks it. "

"_No coffee!_" cried Rita. "I _have_ come to a wilderness! Well--bringthe tea! and have it strong, do you hear?" And the young Cuban sweptback into her room, and shut the door with more vehemence than goodbreeding strictly allowed. 

Margaret listened in distressed silence to this colloquy. Peggy giggledand chuckled. "Aha!" she said, "I'm so glad she didn't get the coffee. Greedy thing! Please hand me the muffins, Margaret. How small they are!The idea of her having her breakfast in bed!" and Peggy sniffed, andhelped herself largely to marmalade. 

"Perhaps her head aches still, " said peace-loving Margaret. 

"Don't believe a word of it!" cried Peggy. "She's used to being waitedon by darkeys, and she thinks it will be just the same here. That'sall!"

Margaret thought this was probably true, but she did not say so, preferring the safer remark that it was a delightful day. 

"When you have finished your breakfast, " she said, "we will go out intothe garden. I can see a bit of it from here, and it looks lovely. Oh! Ican just catch a glimpse of the swing. I wonder if it is the same oldone. I love to swing, don't you?"

"I like shinning better!" said Peggy, putting half a muffin in hermouth. "Can you shin?"

"Shin! what--oh! up a tree, you mean. I'm afraid not. "

"I can!" said Peggy triumphantly. "I can beat most of the boys at it, only Ma won't let me do it, on account of my clothes. Says I'm too old, too; bother! I'm not going to be a primmy, just because I am fifteen. How old are you, Margaret?"

"Seventeen; and as two years make a great difference, you know, Peggy, Ishall put on all the airs of an elder sister. You know the ElderSister's part, --

 "Good advice and counsel sage, And 'I never did so when I was your age!'"

"All right!" said Peggy. "I'll call you elder sister. Ma always says Iought to have had one, instead of being one. "

"Well, first comes something that we must both do; that is, go and seeMrs. Cheriton; and if you will let me, dear, I am going to tie yournecktie for you. "

Peggy submitted meekly, while Margaret pulled the crumpled white tieround to the front, re-tied, patted, and poked it. Then her hair must becoaxed a little--or not so very little!--and then--

"What have you done to your frock, child? it is buttoned all crooked!Why, isn't there a looking-glass in your room?"

"Oh, yes!" said Peggy. "But I hate to look in the glass! There's sure tobe something the matter, and I do despise fussing over clothes. "

By this time Margaret had rebuttoned the dress, with a sigh over thefact that the buttons did not match it, and that one sleeve was put inwrong. Now she declared that they must go without more delay, andElizabeth came to show them the way. 

Peggy hung back, muttering that she never knew what to say to strangers;but Margaret took her hand firmly, and drew her along. 

Perhaps Margaret may have felt a little nervous herself about thisstrange lady, who never left her rooms, and yet was to entertain andcare for them, as her uncle's note had said. Both girls followed insilence, as Elizabeth led them through the hall, past a door, then downthree steps and along a little passage to another door, at which sheknocked. 

"Come in!" said a pleasant voice. Elizabeth opened the door and motionedthe girls to enter. 

"The young ladies, ma'am!" she said; and then shut the door and wentaway. 

The sudden change from the dark passage to the white room was dazzling. It was a small room, and it seemed to be all white: walls, floor(covered with a white India matting), furniture, and all. The strangelady sat in a great white armchair. She wore a gown of soft whitecashmere, and her hair, and her cap, her hands, and her face, were alldifferent shades of white, each softer than the other. Only her eyeswere brown; and as she looked kindly at the girls and smiled, theythought they had never seen anything so beautiful in their lives. 

"Why, children, " she said; "do you think I am a ghost? Come here, dears, and let me look at you! I am real, I assure you. " She laughed, thesoftest little laugh, hardly more than a rustle, and held out her hand. Margaret came forward at once, still dragging Peggy after her, --Peggy, whose eyes were so wide open, it looked as if she might never be able toshut them again. 

Mrs. Cheriton took a hand of each, and looked earnestly from one to theother. 

"How are you called?" she asked. "I know that you have the same name. "

"We thought I had better be Margaret, " was the timid reply from the girlwho was able to speak, "and this is Peggy. "

"I see!" said the old lady, putting her hand on Peggy's flaxen mane. "You look like Peggy, little one! I used to call my sister Peggy. Andwhere is the third Margaret?"

"She has not come down yet; she had a headache last night, " saidMargaret, losing all shyness before the kindly glance of those softbrown eyes. "She is called Rita, and she is very beautiful. "

[Illustration: AUNT FAITH'S ROOM. ]

"That is pleasant!" said Mrs. Cheriton. "I like pretty people, when theyare good as well. You are a Montfort, Margaret! You have the Montfortmouth, and chin; but this child must look like her mother. " Peggynodded, but could not yet find speech. 

"And now, " the old lady went on, "I am sure you are longing to know whoI am, and why I live here by myself, like an old fairy godmother. Sitdown, my dears, and be comfortable! Here, Margaret, the littlerocking-chair is pleasant; Peggy, child, take the footstool! So! now youlook more at home. 

"Well, children, the truth is, I am very old. When my next birthdaycomes, I shall be ninety years old; a very great age, my dears! Yourgrandfather was my cousin; and when, five years ago, I was left alone inthe world by the death of my dear only son, John Montfort, your uncle, like the good lad he is, found me out and brought me home with him tolive. He is my godson, and I loved him very much when he was a littlechild; so now, when I am old and helpless, he makes return by lovingme. "

She paused to wipe her eyes; then went on. 

"When one is nearly ninety years old, one does not care to move aboutmuch, even if one is perfectly well, as I am. John knew this (he knowsa great deal), and he fitted up these pleasant rooms, in the warmest andquietest corner of the house, and here he put me, with my little maid, and my books, and my cat, and my parrot; and here I live, my dears, verycheerfully and happily. On pleasant days I go out in my garden, and situnder the trees. Look out of the window, girls, and see my greenparlour. Is it not pretty?"

The girls knelt on the broad window-seat, and looked out. Before themwas a square, grassy place, smooth and green as an emerald. The houseenclosed it on two sides; the other two were screened by a hedge ofNorway fir, twenty feet high, and solid as a wall. Over this thesunbeams poured in, flecking the green with gold. In one corner stood alaburnum-tree, covered with yellow blossoms; under a tall elm near bywas a rustic seat. 

"How do you like my kingdom?" asked the old lady, smiling at their eagerfaces. 

"It is like a fairy place!" said Margaret. "You are quite sure you arereal, Mrs. Cheriton?" They smiled at each other, feeling friendsalready. 

"'Mrs. Cheriton' will never do, if we are to see each other every day, as I hope we are. How would you like to call me Aunt Faith?"

"Oh, the lovely name!" cried Margaret. "Thank you so much! Now we reallybelong to some one, and we shall not feel strange any more; shall we, Peggy?"

"I--s'pose not!" stammered Peggy. "I shall like it ever so much. "

The girls sat a little longer, chatting and listening. Mrs. Cheritontold them of her parrot, who was old too, and who spoke Spanish andFrench, and did not like English; she showed them her books, many ofwhich were bound in white vellum or parchment. "It is a fancy ofJohn's, " she said, "to have all my belongings white. I think he stillremembers his Aunt Phoebe. Do you know about your Great-aunt Phoebe?"

The girls said no, and begged to hear, but Mrs. Cheriton said that mustbe for another time. 

"I must not keep you too long, " she said, "for I want you to come often. I will call Janet, and she shall show you the way through my greenparlour to the garden. The Fernley garden is the pleasantest in theworld, I think. "

She touched the bell, and told the pretty rosy-cheeked maid who appearedto take the young ladies by the back way, and introduce them toChiquito; and they took their leave regretfully, begging that they mightcome every day to the white chamber. 

Chiquito's cage hung in the porch, and Chiquito was hanging in it upsidedown. He swore frightfully at the sight of strangers, and bit Peggy'sfinger when she tried to stroke him; but at a word from Janet he wasquiet, and said, "_Me gustan todas!_" in a plaintive tone, with his headon one side. 

"What does that mean?" asked Peggy. "He's horrid, isn't he?"

Janet's feeling were hurt. "He doesn't mean it!" she said. "And healways wants to be pleasant when he says that. Something out of aSpanish song, Mrs. Cheriton says it is, and means that he likes folks. You do like folks when they like you, don't you, poor Chico?"

"_En general!_" said the bird, cocking his yellow eye at Peggy. "_Megustan todas en general!_"

"Well, I never!" said Peggy. "I think he's a witch, Margaret. "

They went through a low door cut in the green wall, and found themselvesin the great shady garden, a place of wonder and mystery. The trees andplants had been growing for two hundred years, ever since James Montforthad left the court of Charles II. In disgust, and come out to build hishome and make his garden in the new country, where freedom waited forher children. 

The great oaks and elms and chestnuts were green with moss and hoarywith lichens, but the flower-beds lay out in broad sunshine, and herewere no signs of age, only of careful tending and renewal. Margaret wasenchanted with the flowers, for her home had been in a town, and sheknew little of country joys. Peggy glanced carelessly at the geraniumsand heliotropes, and told Margaret that she should see a field ofpoppies in bloom. 

They came across the gardener, who straightened himself at sight ofthem, and greeted them with grave politeness. He was a tall, stronglymade man, with, grizzled hair and bright, dark eyes. 

"May we pick a few flowers?" asked Margaret in her pleasant way. 

"Surely, miss; any, and all you like, except these beds of young slipshere, which I am nursing carefully. I hope you will be often in thegarden, young ladies!" and he saluted again, in military fashion, as thegirls walked away. 

"What a remarkable-looking man!" said Margaret. "I wonder if I can haveseen him anywhere. There is something about his face--"

"Oh, there is the swing!" cried Peggy. "Come along, Margaret; I'll raceyou to that big chestnut-tree!" and away flew the two girls over thesmooth green turf. 

CHAPTER IV. 

CONFIDENCE. 

"What are you doing, _très chère_?" asked Rita, suddenly appearing atMargaret's door. "How is it you pass your time so cheerfully? how tolive, in this deplorable solitude? You see me fading away, positively ashadow, in this hideous solitude!"

Margaret looked up cheerfully from her work. 

"Come in, daughter of despair!" she said. And Rita came in and flungherself on the sofa with a tragic air. 

"You are doing--what?" she demanded. 

"I have rather a hopeless task, I fear, " said Margaret. "Peggy's hat!She dropped it into the pond yesterday, and I am trying to smarten it upa little, poor thing! What do you advise, Rita? I am sure you haveclever fingers, you embroider so beautifully. "

"I should advise the fire, " said Rita, looking with scorn at thebattered hat. "Put it in now, this moment. It will burn well, and it cando nothing else decently. "

"Ten miles from a shop, " said Margaret, "and nothing else save her besthat. No, my lady, we cannot be so extravagant. If you will not help me, I must e'en do the best I can. I never could understand hats!" she addedruefully. 

"_Why_ do you do these things?" Rita asked, sitting up as suddenly asshe had flung herself down. "Will you tell me why? I love you! I havetold you twenty times of it; but I cannot understand why you do thesethings for that young monster. Will you tell me why?"

"In the first place, she is not a monster, and I will not have you saysuch things, Rita. In the second place, I am very fond of her; and inthe third, I should try to help her all I could, even if I were not fondof her. "

"Why?"

"Because it is a duty. "

"Duty?" Rita laughed, and made a pretty little grimace. "English word, ugly and stupid word! I know not its meaning. You are fond of Calibana?Then I revere less your taste, that is all. Ah! what do you make there?That cannot be; it cuts the soul!"

She took the hat hastily from Margaret's hand. Had the latter been alittle overclumsy on purpose? Certainly her dimple deepened a little asshe relinquished the forlorn object. Rita held it on her finger andtwirled it around. 

"The fire is really the only place for it, " she said again; "but if itmust be preserved, do you not see that the only possible thing is toturn this ribbon? It was not wet through; the other side is fresh. "

She still frowned at the hat, but her fingers began to move here andthere, twisting and turning in a magical way. In five minutes the hatwas a different object, and Margaret gave a little cry of pleasure. 

"Rita, you are a dear! Why, it looks better than it did before thewetting, ever and ever so much better! Thank you, you clever creature! Ishall bring all my hats to you for treatment, and I am sure Peggy willbe so much obliged when I tell her--"

"If you dare!" cried Rita. "You will do nothing of the sort, I beg, _macousine_. What I have done, was done for you; I desire neither thanksnor any other thing from La Calibana. That she remain out of my sightwhen possible, that she hold her tongue when we must be together, --thatis all I demand. Reasonable, I hope? If not--" She shrugged hershoulders and began to hum a love-song. 

Margaret sighed. "If you could only see, my dear, " she began gently, "how much happier we should all be, if you and Peggy could only make upyour minds to make the best of it--"

"The best!" cried Rita, flashing into another mood, and coming to hoverover her quiet cousin like a bird of paradise. "Do I not make the best?You are the best, Marguerite. I make all I can of you--except amilliner; never could I do that. "

"Listen!" she added, dropping on the floor by Margaret's side. "You seeme happy to-day, do you not? I do not frown or pout, --I can't see why Ishould not, when I feel black, --but to-day is a white day. And why? Canyou guess?"

Margaret shook her head discreetly. 

"I cannot do more than guess, " she said, "but you seemed very muchpleased with the letter that came this morning. "

Rita flung her arms round her. "Aha!" she cried. "We perceive! We dropour dove's eyes; we look more demure than any mouse, but we perceive!Ah! Marguerite, behold me about to give you the strongest proof of mylove: I confide in you. "

She drew a bulky letter from her pocket. Margaret looked at itapprehensively, fearing she knew not what. 

"From my friend, " Rita explained, spreading the sheets of thin bluepaper, crossed and recrossed, on her lap; "my Conchita, the other halfof my soul. You shall hear part of it, Marguerite, but other parts aretoo sacred. She begins so beautifully: '_Mi alma_'--but you have noSpanish yet; the pity, to turn it into cold English! 'My soul' has afoolish sound. 'Saint Rosalie, Saint Eulalie, and the blessed SaintTeresa, have you in their holy keeping! I live the life of a witheredleaf without you; my soul flies like a mourning bird to your frozenNorth, where you are immured'--oh, it doesn't sound a bit right! Icannot read it in English. " Indeed, Margaret thought it sounded toosilly for her beloved language, but she said nothing, only giving aglance of sympathetic interest. 

"She tells me of all they are doing, " Rita went on. "All day they sit inthe closed rooms, as the sun is too hot for going out; but in theevening they drive, and Conchita has been allowed to ride on horseback. Fancy, what bliss! Fernando was with her!"

Rita stopped suddenly, and Margaret, feeling that she must saysomething, echoed, "Fernando?"

"Her brother, " said Rita, and she cast down her eyes. "Also a friend ofmine, --a cousin on my mother's side; the handsomest person in Havana, the most enchanting, the most distinguished! He sends me messages, --nomatter about those; but think of this: he is leaving Havana, he iscoming to New York, he will be in this country! Marguerite! think ofit!"

"What shall I think of it?" asked Margaret, raising her eyes to hercousin's; the gray eyes were cool and tranquil, but the dark ones werefull of fire and light. 

"Is he a friend of your father's, too, Rita?"

Rita's face darkened. "My father!" she cried impatiently. "My father isa knight of the middle ages; he demands the stiff behaviour of fifty ina youth of twenty-one. He, who has forgotten what youth is!" She wassilent for a moment, but the shadow remained on her beautiful face. 

"After all, it is no matter, " she said, rising abruptly; "I wasmistaken, Marguerite. The letter is for me alone; you would not care forit, --perhaps not understand it. You, too, have the cold Northern blood. Forget what I have said. "

"Oh, but, my dear, " cried Margaret, fearful of losing her slight hold onthis creature of moods, "don't be so unkind! I want to know why theymust sit in the house all day, and what they do from morning till night. I have always longed to know about the life you live at home. Be goodnow, wild bird, and perch again. "

Rita wavered, but when Margaret laid her cool, firm hand on hers, shesank down again, though she still looked dissatisfied. 

"We sit in the house, " she said, "of course, in the heats, --what elsecould we do? Only at night is it possible to go out. No, we do not readmuch. It is too hot to read, and Cuban women do not care for books; oh, a romance now and then; but for great, horrible books like those you_raffole_ about downstairs there, --" she shook her shoulders as ifshaking off a heavy weight. "We sew a great deal, embroider, dolace-work like that you admired. Then at noon we sleep as long aspossible, and in the evening we go out to walk, drive, ride. To walk inthe orange-groves by moonlight, --ah! that is heaven! One night lastmonth we slipped out, Conchita and I, and--you must never breathe this, Marguerite--and met my brother and Fernando beneath the greatorange-tree in the south grove--"

"Your brother!" exclaimed Margaret. "You never told me you had abrother, Rita!"

"Hush! I have so much the habit of silence about him. He is with thearmy. My father is a Spaniard. Carlos and I are Cubans. " Her eyesflashed, and she looked like the spirit of battle. 

"My father will not hear him named!" she cried. "He would have Cubacontinue a slave, she, who will be the queen and goddess of the sea whenthe war is over! Ah, Marguerite! my heart is on flame when I speak of mycountry. Well, --we met them there. They are both with the army, theinsurgents, as the Spaniards call them. We walked up and down. Theorange-blossoms were so sweet, the fragrance hung like clouds in theair. I had a lace mantilla over my head, --I will show it to you one day. We talked of _Cuba libre_, and they told us how they live there in themountains. Ah! if a girl could fight, would I be here? No; a swordshould be by my side, a plume in my hat, and I would be with Carlos andFernando in the mountains. Well, --ah, the bad part is to come! Carloshad been wounded; his arm was in a sling. Folly, to make it of a whitehandkerchief! The señora--my father's wife--must have seen it shiningamong the trees; we know it must have been that, for we girls wore blackdresses of purpose, --a woman thinks of what a man never dreams of. Shecalled my father; he came out, raging. We had a fine scene. Burningwords passed between my father and Carlos. They vowed never to see eachother more. They went, and Conchita and I go fainting, dying, into thehouse. Three days after comes my uncle's letter, --behold me here!Marguerite, this is my story. Preserve it in your bosom, it is a sacredconfidence. "

Margaret hardly knew whether she were in real life, or in a theatre. Rita's voice, though low, vibrated with passion; her eyes were liquidfire; her little hands clenched themselves, and she drew her breath inthrough her closed teeth with a savage sound. Then, suddenly, all waschanged. She flung her arms apart, and burst into laughter. 

"Your face!" she cried. "Marguerite, your face! what a study of horror!You, cool stream, flowing over white sands, you have never seen a rapid, how much less a torrent. You, do you know what life is? My faith, Ithink not! I frighten you, my cousin. "

Margaret was indeed troubled as well as absorbed in all she had heard. What a volcano this girl was! What might she not do or say, in somemoment of passion? This was all new to Margaret; her life had been sosheltered, a quiet stream indeed, till her father's death the yearbefore. She had known few girls save her schoolmates, for the most partquiet, studious girls like herself. She had lived a great deal in books, and knew far more about Spain in the sixteenth century than Cuba in thenineteenth. What should she do? How should she learn to curb and helpthese two restless spirits, so different, yet both turning to her andflying in detestation from each other?

Pondering thus, she made no reply for a moment; but Rita was in no moodto endure silence. 

"Statue!" she cried. "Thing of marble! I pour out my soul to you, andyou have no words for me! And we have been here a week, a mortal, suffering week, and I know nothing of your life, your thought. Tell me, you, how you have lived, before you came here. I frighten you, I see it;try now if you can tame me. "

She laughed again, and shook all her pretty ribbons and frills. Everyday she dressed as if for a _fête_, and took a mournful pleasure inreflecting how her toilets were all wasted. 

"How did I live?" said Margaret vaguely. "Oh, very quietly, Rita. Soquietly, I don't think you would care to hear about my days. "

"I burn to hear!" cried Rita. "I perish! Continue, Marguerite. "

"I lived with my dear father. " Margaret spoke slowly and reluctantly. Her memories were so precious, she could not bear to drag them out, andexpose them to curious, perhaps unloving, eyes. 

"Our house was in Blankton, a tiny little house, just big enough forFather and me; my mother died, you know, a good many years ago, andFather and I have been always together. He wrote a greatdeal, --historical work, --and I helped him, and wrote for him, and readwith him. Then--oh, I went to school, of course, and we walked everyafternoon, and in the evening Father read aloud while I worked, and Iplayed and sang for him. You see, Rita, there really is not much totell. "

Not much! yet in the telling, the girl felt her heart beat high andpainfully, and the sobs rise in her throat, as the dear, happy, peacefuldays came back to her; the blessed home life, the love which hedged herin so that no rough wind should blow on her, the wise, kindly, lovingcompanionship of him who had been father and mother both to her. Thetears came to her eyes, and she was silent, feeling that she could notspeak for the moment. Rita was thoughtful, too, and when she spokeagain, it was in a softened tone. 

"I can picture it!" she said. "It is a picture without colour; I couldnot have borne such a life; but for you, Marguerite, so tranquil, demanding so little, with peace in your soul, it must have been sweet. And now, --after this summer here, only not horrible because in it Ilearn to know my dear Marguerite, --after this summer, what do you do?what is your life?"

"I hope to get a position as teacher, " said Margaret. "Then, when I haveearned something, I shall go to the Library School, and learn to be alibrarian; that has been my dream for a long time. "

"Your nightmare!" cried Rita. "What dreadful things even to think about, Marguerite! But it shall not be; never, I tell you! You shall come backwith me to Cuba, and be my sister. I have money--oceans, I believe;more than I can spend, try as I will. You shall live with me; we willbuy a plantation, orange-groves, sugar-cane, --you shall studycultivation, I will ride about the plantation--"

"By moonlight?" asked Marguerite mischievously. 

"Always by moonlight!" cried Rita. "It shall be always moonlight! Carlosshall be our intendant, and Fernando--"

"I think Fernando would much better stay in the mountains!" saidMargaret decidedly. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE PEAT-BOG. 

It was a great relief to Margaret to carry her perplexities to AuntFaith and talk them over. Mrs. Cheriton's mind and sympathies were asquick and alert as if she were still a young woman, instead of beingnear the rounding of the completed century. She listened with kindlyinterest, and her wise and tender words cleared away many of the cobwebsof anxiety that beset Margaret's sky. 

"Let patience have her perfect work!" she was fond of saying. "Neitherof these children is to be led by precept, I think. Make your own ways, ways of pleasantness as well as paths of peace, and soon or late theywill fall into them. You cannot expect to do much in a week, or twoweeks, or three weeks. Or it may be, " she would add, "that you are notto do it after all; it may be that other things and persons will becalled in. The ordering is wise, but we cannot often understand it, forit is written in cipher. Do you only the best you can, my child, andkeep your own head steady, and you will find the others settling intoharness before long. "

"It distresses me, " Margaret said, "to have Rita so rude to theservants. I cannot speak to her about that, I suppose; but it is reallytoo bad. Elizabeth is so sensible, I am sure she understands how it allis; but--well, the gardener, Aunt Faith! John Strong! Why, any one cansee that he is an uncommon man; not the least an ordinary labouring man. Do you know how much he knows?"

Mrs. Cheriton nodded. "John Strong is a very remarkable man, " she said;"you are right there, Margaret. And Rita is uncivil to him? Do you know, I should not trouble myself about that if I were you. If Elizabeth canunderstand that Rita has been brought up without learning any respectfor the dignity of labour, John Strong will understand it twice as well, for he has more than twice the intelligence. "

"Thank you, Aunt Faith! You are so comforting! He--he has been here along time, has he not? I should think my uncle must have greatconfidence in him; and he has such beautiful manners!"

"His manners, " said Mrs. Cheriton emphatically, "are perfect. " Then shesaid, changing the subject rather hastily, "And where are the two othergirls to-day, my dear? They do not incline to come to me often, Iperceive. It is not strange; many very young people dislike the sight ofextreme age; you have been taught differently, my dear, --Roger Montfortwas always a thoughtful, sensible lad, like John. No, I do not blamethem in the least for keeping away, but I like to know what they aredoing. "

"I--I don't really know, just now, " and Margaret hung her head a little;"Peggy wanted me to go to walk with her an hour or so ago, but I wasjust reading a book that Papa had always told me about, --'The Fool ofQuality, ' you know it?--and I did not want to leave it. I ought to havegone; I will go now, and see where they both are. Dear Aunt Faith, thankyou so much for letting me come and talk to you; you can't think what arelief it is when I am puzzled. "

The old lady's sweet smile lingered like a benediction with Margaret, asshe went back to the main house, carefully closing the door that shutoff the white rooms. Surely she had been selfish to stay indoors with abook, instead of going out with her cousin; but oh, the book understoodher so much better, and was so much more companionable! Now, however, she would be good, and would go and see what both the cousins weredoing. They were not together, of course; Rita was very likely asleep atthis hour; but Peggy, what had Peggy been doing?

What had Peggy been doing?

She had sauntered out rather disconsolately, on Margaret's refusing toaccompany her. She was so used to being one of a large, shouting, struggling family, that she felt, perhaps more than any of the threegirls, the retirement and quiet of Fernley. She wanted to run and screamand make a noise, but there was no fun in doing it alone. If Jean wereonly here!

She went through the garden, and found some consolation in a talk withJohn Strong, who, always the pink of courtesy, leaned on his hoe, andtold her many valuable things concerning the late planting. Herquestions were shrewd and intelligent, for Peggy had not lived on a farmfor nothing, and she already knew more about the possibilities ofFernley than Margaret or Rita would learn in a year. 

"Where shall I go for a walk?" she asked, when John Strong showed signsof thinking about his work again. "I hate to go alone, but no one wouldcome with me. I have been over the hill and into the oak woods. What isanother nice way to go, where there will be strawberries?"

John Strong considered. "About two miles from here, miss, you'll find avery pretty strawberry patch. Go through the oak woods and along besidethe bog; but be careful not to step into the bog itself, for it is atreacherous bit. "

"What kind of a bog? Why don't you drain it?" asked Peggy. 

"It is a peat-bog, " returned the gardener. "It would be a very costlymatter to drain it, but I believe Mr. Montfort is thinking of it, miss. A short way beyond the woods you'll come upon the strawberry meadow; itis the best I know of hereabouts. Good morning, miss. "

Off went Peggy, swinging her hat by the ribbon, a loop of which wascoming off, and thinking of home and of Jean, her most intimate sister. She loved Margaret dearly already, but one had always to be on one'sgood behaviour with her, she was so good herself. Oh, how delightful itwould be to have Jean here, and to have a race through the woods, andthen a good, jolly romp, and perhaps a "spat, " before they settled downto the business of strawberry-picking! She could have spats enough withthat horrid, spiteful Cuban girl, but there was no fun in those; justcold, sneering hatefulness. Thinking of her cousin Rita, Peggy gave herhat a twist and a fling, and sent it flying across the green meadow onwhich she was now entering. 

"There!" she said, "I just wish that was you, Miss Rita, --I do! Iwouldn't help you up, either. "

Then, rather ashamed of her outburst, she went to pick up the hat again;but, setting foot on the edge of the green meadow, she drew it backhastily. 

"Aha!" said Peggy. "The peat-bog! _Now_ I've been and gone and done it!"

She whistled, a long, clear whistle that would have done credit to anyone of her brothers, and gazed ruefully at the hat, which lay out ofreach, resting quietly on the smooth emerald velvet of the quaking bog. 

"Oh, bother! Now I suppose I shall have to fish the old thing out. Itwill never look fit to be seen again, and Margaret retrimmed it only theother day. Well, here goes!"

Looking about carefully, Peggy pulled a long bulrush from a clump thatgrew at the side of the bog. Then she walked along the edge, skirtingwith care the deceitful green that looked so fair and lovely, till shecame to where a slender birch hung its long drooping branches out overthe bog. Clinging to one of these branches, Peggy leaned forward as faras she dared, and began to angle for her hat. "He rises well, " shemuttered, "but he doesn't bite worth a cent. "

Twice she succeeded in working the end of the bulrush through the loopof ribbon that perked cheerfully on the top of the hat; twice the loopslipped off as she raised it, and the hat dropped back. The third time, however, was successful, and the skilful angler had the satisfaction ofdrawing the hat toward her, and finally rescuing it from its perilousposition. Not all of it, however; the flower, the yellow rose, oncePeggy's pride and joy, had become loosened during the variousunaccustomed motions of its parent hat, and now lay, lonely and lovely, a golden spot on the bright green grass. Peggy fished again, but thistime in vain; and finally she was obliged to give it up, and go offflowerless in search of her strawberries. 

Meanwhile, Margaret had been searching high and low for Peggy. JohnStrong could have told her where she was, but he had gone to a distantpart of the farm, and no one had seen the two talking together. 

"A search for Calibana?" said Rita, when her cousin inquired for thewanderer. "My faith, why? If she can remain hidden for a time, Marguerite, consider the boon it would be!"

[Illustration: PEGGY AT THE BOG. ]

But Margaret turned from her impatiently, seeing which, Rita wasjealous, and said, "I had hoped you would take a walk with me, _macousine_. I perish for air! I cannot go alone through these places, --Imight meet a dog. "

Margaret could not help laughing. 

"I think you might, " she said. "And what then?"

"I should die!" said Rita simply. Then, linking her arm in her cousin'swith her most caressing gesture, she said, "Come with me, _alma mia_. Wewalk, --very likely we find La Calibana on our way. She cannot havestrayed far, it is too near dinner-time; and she has a clock inside her;you know it well, Marguerite. "

Margaret could not refuse the offered company, and they set out in thesame direction that Peggy had taken. Margaret had been in the oak woodsseveral times with Peggy, and thought she might very likely find herthere; but no one answered her call; only the trees rustled, and thehermit-thrush called in answer, deep in some thicket far away. Presently, as they walked, there shot through the dark oak branches asunny gleam, a flash of green and gold. They pressed forward, and inanother moment stood on the edge of the quaking bog. But they had notbeen warned; neither had they Peggy's practised eye, which would havetold her even without the warning that this was no safe place. 

"Oh, what a lovely meadow!" cried Margaret. "I always wondered what laybeyond these woods, but have never come so far before. Shall we crossit, Rita? or does it look a little damp, do you think?"

"It may be damp, " said Rita indifferently. "I care not for damp, _trèschère_. Let us cross, by all means. And look! see the golden flower;what can it be?"

"I don't know, I am sure!" said Margaret, gazing innocently at theyellow muslin rose which had been under her hands only the day before. "It looks--I don't know what it looks like, Rita. But I am afraid thegrass is very wet. Don't you see the wet shining through?"

"Pouf!" said Rita. "Wait thou here, faint heart, while I bring theflower; that, at least, I must do, even if we go no further. "

She stepped over the grass so lightly and quickly that she had gone somesteps before her feet began to sink in the black, oozy bog. Margaretsaw the water bubbling up behind her, and cried to her in alarm to comeback; and Rita, finding the earth plucking at her feet, turned willinglytoward the solid ground; but return was impossible. She tried to lifther feet, but the bog held them fast, and with the effort, she feltherself sinking, slowly but surely. 

"Ah, " she cried, "it is bad ground! It is a pit, Marguerite! Do notmove, do not come near me! Run and get help!" For Margaret was alreadystepping forward with outstretched hands. 

"Stop where you are!" cried Rita imperiously. "Do you not see that ifyou come in, we are both lost? I tell you there is no ground here, nobottom! I sink, I feel it sucking me down, down! Ah, _Madre_! go, Marguerite, fly for help!"

Poor Margaret turned in distraction. Whither should she fly? They weremore than a mile from home. How could she leave her cousin in thisdreadful plight? Before help could come, she might be lost indeed, drawnbodily under by the treacherous ooze. She turned away, but came runningback suddenly, for she heard a sound coming from the opposite direction, a cheerful whistle. 

"Oh, Rita!" she cried; "help is near. I hear some one whistling, a boyor a man. Oh, help! help! Come this way, please!"

The whistle changed to a cry of surprise, uttered in a familiar voice. The next minute, Peggy came running through the wood, her hands and facered with strawberry juice. 

Margaret could only gasp, and point to Rita, for her heart seemed to diewithin her when she saw that the newcomer was only a girl likeherself, --only poor, awkward Peggy. 

They were no better off than before, save that now one could go forhelp, while the other could stay to cheer poor Rita. Rita was now deadlywhite; she had ceased to call. The black ooze had crept to her knees, and she no longer made any effort to extricate herself. Margaret wasturning to run again, but Peggy stopped her. "Stand still!" she said. "I'll get her out. "

Ah, poor, awkward, ill-dressed Peggy, your hour has come now! Not fornothing were you brought up on a prairie, your eyes trained toquickness, your arms strong as steel, your wits ever on the alert wherethere is danger! Poor Peggy, this is your hour, and the haughty beautyand the gentle student must own you their superior. 

Peggy cast a keen glance around; she was looking for something. Spying astout stake that had been broken off and was lying on the ground, shecaught it up, and the next moment had thrown herself flat on her face. Lying flat, she began slowly and cautiously to wriggle out across thesurface of the quaking bog. The black water seethed and bubbled underher; but her weight, evenly distributed, did not bear on any one spotheavily enough to press her down. Slowly, carefully, she worked her wayout, while the other girls held their breath and dared not speak. Once, indeed, Rita moaned, and cried, "No, no, one is enough! Go back! Icannot let you come!"

But Margaret had seen that in Peggy's eyes and mien which kept hersilent. She stood trembling, with clasped hands, praying for both. Shecould do no more. 

"Lie down now, Rita!" Peggy commanded. "Lie flat, just as I am! Stretchout your arms, --so! Now, catch hold!"

Rita obeyed to the point. It was terrible to lie down in that awfulblack slough that was to be her grave, perhaps, but she obeyed without aword. Stretching her arms as far as they would go, she touched the endof the stake, --touched, grasped, held fast; and now Peggy, still holdingfast to her end, began to wriggle back, slowly, cautiously, moving byinches. 

"Kneel down on the edge, Margaret!" she said; "don't come over, butreach out and give us a haul in when you can touch. It's getting prettydeep here!"

Margaret knelt and reached out her arms; could she touch them? Peggy wassinking now, but she still moved backward, dragging Rita with her; theywere close by, --she had hold of Peggy's skirt. The stout gathersheld, --which was a miracle, Peggy said afterward, --and the next momentall three girls were sitting on the safe, dry ground, crying and holdingeach other tight. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE FAMILY CHEST. 

Little was said on the homeward walk. Rita walked between her twocousins, holding fast a hand of each. She seemed hardly conscious oftheir presence, however; she sobbed occasionally, dry, tearless sobs, and murmured Spanish words to herself. Margaret caught the word_"Madre!"_ repeated over and over, and pressed her cousin's hand, andspoke soothing words; but Rita did not heed her. Peggy walked quickly, head in air, cheeks glowing, and eyes shining. All the awkwardness, thehanging head and furtive air, was gone, and Margaret looked at her inwonder and admiration. But both girls were a piteous sight as regardedtheir clothes. From head to foot they dripped with black mud, thick andslimy. Peggy's dress gave no hint of the original colour in the entirefront, and Rita's was little better. Their very faces were bedabbledwith black, and they left a black trail behind them on the grass. Inthis guise they met the astonished gaze of John Strong as he passedthrough the garden on his way to the seed-house. He came hurrying towardthem with anxious looks. 

"My dear children, " he cried, "what has happened?" Then, in a differenttone, "I beg your pardon, young ladies! I was startled at seeingyou, --there has been some accident?"

But Rita was herself again now in an instant. Her eyes blazed with angrypride. 

"Keep your place, John Strong!" she said haughtily. "When we addressyou, it will be time for you to speak to us. " She swept past him intothe house, her superb bearing presenting a singular contrast to herattire; and Peggy followed her, already beginning to giggle and lookfoolish again. But Margaret lingered, distressed and mortified. 

"Oh, John, " she said, "there _has_ been an accident! You willunderstand, --Miss Rita got into that terrible bog, and might have beendrowned there before my eyes, if Miss Peggy had not come by, and drawnher out so cleverly. " And she told him the whole story, dwelling warmlyupon Peggy's courage and presence of mind, and blaming herself for nothaving perceived the danger in time. 

"It is I who am to blame, Miss Margaret!" said John Strong. "Very, verymuch to blame. Every one about here knows that peat-bog, and avoids it;I had warned Miss Peggy, but did not think of your going so far in thatdirection. I am very much to blame. "

He seemed so much disturbed that Margaret tried to speak more lightly, though she was still pale and trembling; but the gardener kindly beggedher to go in and rest, and she was glad enough to go. 

John Strong stood looking after her a moment. 

"I ought to be shot!" he said to himself. "And that is the lassie forme! Good stuff in both the others, as I supposed, but this is the onefor me. " And shaking his head, he went slowly on his way. 

Margaret went straight to Peggy's room, but found it empty, and passingby Rita's found the door shut, and heard voices within. She paused amoment, wondering. Should she go in? No; she remembered Mrs. Cheriton'swords, "It may be that you are not to do it, after all, " and she wentinto her own room and shut the door. 

It might have been half an hour after that she heard a whispering in thehall outside, and then a knock at her door. She ran to open it, andstood amazed. There was Peggy, blushing and smiling, looking as pleasedas a little child, arrayed in the rose-coloured tea-gown whose existenceshe had endangered on the night of her arrival; and there beside her, holding her hand, was Rita, in pale blue and swansdown, --Rita, alsosmiling, but with the mockery for once gone from eyes and mouth, andwith traces of tears on her beautiful face. She now led Peggy forward, and presented her formally to Margaret, with a sweeping courtesy. 

"Miss Montfort, " she began, "this is my sister. I desire for her thehonour and privilege of your distinguished acquaintance. She kisses yourhands and feet, as do I myself. "

Then suddenly she threw herself upon Margaret's neck, still holdingPeggy's hand, so that all three were wrapped in one embrace. 

"Marguerite, " she cried, "behold this child! I have been a brute to her, you know it well--" and Margaret certainly did. "A brute, a devil-fish, what you will! and she--she has saved my life! You saw it, you heard it;another moment, and I should have gone--" she shuddered. "I cannot speakof it. But now, Marguerite, hear me swear!"

"Oh my!" ejaculated Peggy, in some alarm. 

"Hear me swear!" repeated Rita passionately; "from this moment Peggy ismy sister. You are not jealous, no? You are also my own soul, but youare sufficient to yourself; what do you need, piece of Northernperfection that you are? Peggy needs me; I take her, I care for her, Iform her! so shall it be!" And once more she embraced both cousinswarmly. 

Margaret's eyes filled with happy tears. 

"Dear Peggy! Dear Rita!" was all she could say at first, as she returnedtheir embraces. Then she made them come in and sit down, and looked fromone to the other. "It is so good!" she cried. "Oh, so good! You can'timagine, girls, how I have longed for this! It did seem so dreadful thatyou should not have the pleasure of each other--but we will not speakof that any more! No! and we will bless the black bog for bringing youtogether. "

But Rita shuddered again, and begged that she might never hear of thebog again. 

"Do you observe Peggy's hair?" she asked. "What do you think of it?"

The fair hair was brought smoothly up over the well-shaped head, andwound in a pretty, fluffy Psyche knot. The effect was charming in oneway, but--

"It makes her look too grown-up, " Margaret protested. "It is verypretty, but I want her to be a little girl as long as she can. You don'twant to be a young lady yet, do you, Peggy?"

"Oh, no!" cried Peggy. "Indeed I don't! But Rita thought--"

"Rita thought!" cried that young lady, nodding her head sagely. "Ritathought wrong, as usual, and Margaret thought right. It is too old; butwhat of that? We will try another style. Ten, twenty ways of dressinghair I know. Often and often Conchita and I have spent a whole daydressing each other's hair, trying this effect, that effect. Ah, thesuperb hair that Conchita has; it sweeps the floor, --and soft--ah, as abat's wool!"

A few hours ago, Peggy would have sniffed scornfully at all this; butnow she listened with interest, and something of awe, as her beautifulcousin discoursed of braids and puffs, and told of the extraordinaryeffect that might sometimes be produced by a single small curl set atthe proper curve of the neck. It sounded pretty frivolous, to be sure, but then, Rita looked so earnest and so lovely, and it was so new anddelightful to be addressed by her as an equal, --and a beloved equal atthat; Peggy's little head was in evident danger of being turned by thenew position of affairs. 

Margaret, feeling that there were limits, even to the subject ofhairdressing, presently proposed a visit to Aunt Faith, and for onceneither cousin made any objection. Peggy was mortally afraid of thewhite old lady, and Rita said frankly that she did not like old people, and saw no reason why she should put herself out, simply because heruncle, whom she had never seen, had chosen to saddle himself with theburden of a centenarian. But to-day, Rita was shaken and softened outof all her waywardness, and she readily admitted the propriety oftelling Mrs. Cheriton what had happened. 

Aunt Faith listened with deep interest, and was as shocked anddistressed as heart could desire. The peat-bog, she told them, did notbelong to their uncle; he had in vain tried to buy the land, in orderthat he might drain or fence it, but the proprietor refused to sell it. There was a terrible story, she said, of a man's being lost there, manyyears ago; it was a dreadful place. 

Then, seeing Rita shudder again, she changed the subject, and spoke ofthe charming contrast of the pale blue and rose-colour, in the twogirls' dresses. "The pink suits you well, little Peggy, " she said. "Ihave not seen you in a delicate colour before. "

"This isn't mine, " said honest Peggy; "it is Rita's--" but Rita laid herhand over her mouth. 

"It _is_ hers!" she said; "a nothing! a tea-gown of last year! One isashamed to offer such a thing, not fit to scour floors in--"

"Certainly not!" said Mrs. Cheriton, laughing. "Ah, Rita! you have theSpanish ways, I see. I have heard nothing of that sort since I was inSpain sixty years ago. "

"What, you have been in Spain!" cried Rita, with animation. "Ah, I didnot know! Please tell us about it. "

"Another time. You would like to hear, I think, about the winter I spentin Granada, close by the Alhambra. But now I have something else to say. Your pretty dresses remind me that there is a chest of old gowns herethat it might interest you to look over. Some of them are quite old, twohundred years or more. "

Then, while the girls uttered cries of delight, she called Janet andbade her open the cedar chest in the next room. 

"This way, my dears!" and she led the way into a bedroom, as white andfresh and dainty as the sitting-room. Janet was already on her kneesbefore a deep chest, quaintly carved, and clamped with brass. Now, ather mistress's request, she began to lift out the contents. 

"Oh! oh! oh!" cried the three girls, positively squeaking with raptureand wonderment. The old lady looked from them to the dresses with apleased smile. "They are handsome!" she said. 

And they were! They must have been stately dames indeed, the Montfortladies who wore these splendid clothes! Here was a crimson damask, soheavily embroidered in silver that it stood alone when Janet set it upon the floor; here, again, a velvet, somewhat rubbed by long lying inthe chest, but of so rich and glowing a purple that only a queen couldhave found it becoming. Here were satins that gleamed like fallingwater; one, of the faint, moonlight tint that we call aqua-marine, another with a rosy glow like a reflected sunset. And the peach-colouredsilk! and the blue and silver brocade! and the amber velvet!

Before the bottom of the chest was reached, the girls were silent, having exhausted their stock of words. 

At last Margaret cried, "Who were these people, Aunt Faith? Were theyprincesses, or runaway Indian begums, or what? They certainly cannothave been simple gentlewomen!"

Mrs. Cheriton laughed her soft, rustling laugh. 

"It is a curious old Montfort custom, " she said; "it has come downthrough many generations, I believe. The women have had the habit ofkeeping the handsomest gown they had, or one connected with some specialgreat event, and laying it in this old chest. Some of them arewedding-gowns, --those two satins, for example, and that white brocadewith the tiny rosebuds, --that was your Grandmother Montfort'swedding-gown, my dears, and she looked like a rose in it; I wasbridesmaid at her wedding. But others, --ah! hand me the blue and silverbrocade, Janet! Yes, here is an inscription that will, I think, amuseyou, my children. This was my own mother's contribution to the familychest. "

She beckoned the girls to look, and they bent eagerly forward. Under therich lace in the neck of the splendid brocade, a piece of paper wasneatly stitched, and on the paper was written: "This Gown was worne atMadam Washington's Ball. I danced with Gen. Washington, the CourtMinuet, and he praised my dancing. Afterwards the Gen. Spilled Wineuppon the Front Peece, but I put French Chalks to it, and now the Spottemay hardly be Seen. "

"Oh, " sighed Margaret, "how enchanting! how perfectly delightful! Arethey all marked, Aunt Faith?"

"Not all, but a good many of them. See! Here is something on thissea-green cloak; notice the sleeves, Rita: they are something in theSpanish style, as it was in my youth. Let us see what is written here, for I forget. "

They bent over the yellow writing; in this case it was pinned on thehanging sleeve, and read as follows: "This Cloak, with the floweredsatin Gown, was worn by me, Henrietta Montfort, the last time I went toa worldly Assemblage. I lay them away, having entered upon a Life ofRetirement and Meditation since the Death of my deere Husband. Mem. TheCloake was lined with Sabels, which I have removed, lest Moth and Rustdo corrupt, and have made them into Muffs for the Poor. "

"I believe she became a great saint, " said Mrs. Cheriton, "and a verysevere one. I have heard that in the coldest winter weather she wouldnot let her servants build fires on Sunday because she did not considerit a necessary work. There is a story that one bitter cold Sunday someone came to call, and found the whole family in bed, servants and all, trying to keep warm. I know they never had any warm victuals on thatday. "

"How pleasant to live now, " said Margaret, "instead of then! Aren't youglad, girls?"

"My faith!" said Rita, "I would have made a fire with the house, andburned her in it; then I should have been warm. But what is this, AuntFaith? If I am truly to call you so, yes? What horror is this? Look atthe beautiful satin, all destroyed! Cut!--it is cut with knives, Marguerite! Look!"

Janet held up a white satin gown, of quaint and graceful fashion. Sureenough, it was cut and slashed in every direction, the sleeves hangingin ribbons, the skirt slit and gashed down its entire length. Mrs. Cheriton shook her head in answer to the girls' looks of amazement andinquiry. 

"I am sorry you saw that, Rita!" she said. "It recalls a sad story, which might better be forgotten. However--well, that gown belonged to mypoor Aunt Penelope. She was a beautiful girl, but headstrong, and shemarried, against her parents' wishes, a handsome, good-for-nothing man, who made her desperately unhappy, and finally left her. She lost hermind, poor soul, from sorrow and suffering. When her father brought herhome to Fernley, she took this, her wedding-gown, and cut it up in thisstrange fashion that you see, and laid it so in the chest; as a warning, she told her mother. She died very soon after her return; poor AuntPenelope!"

She signed to Janet to lay the tattered gown back; and it seemed to thegirls as if the poor lady herself were being laid back in her coffin torest after her troubled life. 

"Does--does she walk?" asked Peggy, in an awestruck voice. 

"Walk?" repeated Mrs. Cheriton. "I don't--oh, yes! her ghost, you mean, Peggy? No, my dear. I fancy she was too tired to think of anything butresting. There is only one Montfort ghost that I ever heard of, and thatone is not a woman's. "

"Oh, tell us! Tell us, please!" cried all three girls eagerly. "A realghost? How thrilling!"

"I did not say it was a real ghost, you impetuous children. I do notbelieve in ghosts myself, and I never saw this one. But people used tothink that the spirit of Hugo Montfort haunted one of the rooms. He diedsuddenly, in great trouble about some family papers that had been lost, and the family tradition is that he comes back from time to time to huntonce more through desks and drawers, in hope of finding them. He hasnever done so, I believe; but then, he has never been here since I cameto Fernley. Your Uncle John is no ghost-lover, any more than I am, and Ifear poor Hugo may feel the lack of sympathy. And now, " she added, "thisis positively enough of old-time gossip. I do not know when I havetalked so much, children; you make me young and frivolous once more. "

"Oh, " cried Peggy, who had listened open-mouthed to the last tale; "butjust tell us what he looks like, when any one does see him. I havewanted all my life to be where there was a ghost. Is he--is he inwhite?"

"Oh, dear, no! Hugo Montfort is no hobgoblin ghost in a white sheet, with a pumpkin head! He was a very elegant gentleman in his time, and Ibelieve his favorite wear is black velvet. By the way, his portrait isin the long gallery upstairs. Have you been there, my dears? There aresome curious old portraits. And there is the garret; you have surelyvisited the garret?"

But the girls had not, they confessed. There had been so much to do, thedays had gone so rapidly. Margaret alone realised, and she perhaps forthe first time, how little they had really seen of the house itself. There was so much to see out of doors, and when indoors she was alwaysdrawn irresistibly to the library and its entrancing folios and quartos. Peggy had, one rainy day, proposed to "see if there wasn't a garret orsome place where they could have some fun. " But Margaret, as she nowremembered with a pang, had just discovered the "Hakluyt Chronicles, "and was conscious of nothing in the world save the volume before her, and the longing wish for her father to enjoy it with her. 

"We will go this very afternoon!" she cried, with animation. "Is itunlocked? May we roam about wherever we like, Aunt Faith? It soundslike Bluebeard! Are there no doors that we may not open?"

"None among those that you will see there, " said Mrs. Cheriton. AndMargaret fancied that she looked grave for a moment. "You will find moretrunks there, " she added quickly, "full of old trumpery, less valuablethan these dresses, and which you may like to amuse yourselves with. Here are the keys of some of them--the wig trunk, the military trunk;yes, I think you may be sure of an afternoon's amusement if you are asfond of dressing up as I was at your age. Now we must say good-bye, mydear children; Janet is shaking her head at me, and it is true that Imust not talk too long. "

She kissed them all affectionately, and they sped away, Margaret onlylingering to look back with one parting glance at the beautiful oldfigure in its white chair. 

"The garret! the garret!" cried Rita. "Hurrah!" shouted Peggy. And theyflew up the stairs like swallows. 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE GARRET. 

On the wide landing of the second story, the girls paused to draw breathand look about them. The long gallery ran around three sides of thehouse, with the stairs forming the fourth. It was hung with pictures, save where two or three doors broke the wall-space. Singular picturesthey were, mostly family portraits, it was evident. Some of them werevery good, though the gems of the collection, the Copleys and Stuarts, and the precious Sir Joshua Reynolds, were in the drawing-rooms below. The girls ran from one to the other, and great was their delight torecognise here and there one of the very gowns they had been admiring inthe Family Chest. 

"Here is Henrietta Montfort, in the sea-green cloak!" cried Margaret. "Look, girls, what a haughty, disagreeable face; I don't wonder herfamily trembled before her. "

"And here--oh, here is Hugo!" cried Peggy; "black velvet, she said. Lookhere, Margaret!"

The portrait was that of a man in middle life, handsomely dressed inblack velvet, with hat and ruff. His face was sad, but the bright, darkeyes looked intelligently at the girls, and the whole face had afamiliar look. 

"He has a look of Papa, " said Margaret softly; "it is a weaker face, butthere is a strong resemblance. "

"_I_ think he looks like John Strong, " said Peggy decidedly. 

"My dear Peggy, " said Rita, "I must pray that you will take less noticeof our uncle's gardener. What does it matter to you how he looks? I askyou. Now that you are my sister I must teach you to forget this habit ofspeaking to servants as if they were your equals. I overheard you theother day conversing--absolutely conversing--with this man. Dear child, it is wholly unsuitable. I tell you, and I know. "

Margaret, who loved peace almost too well, was tempted to let this pass, but her conscience shouted at her, and she spoke. 

"I am sorry to have you regard John Strong as an ignorant or inferiorperson, Rita, " she said gently, knowing that she seemed priggish, butencouraged by Peggy's confused and abashed look. 

"I think that if you were to talk with him a little yourself, you wouldfeel differently. He is a very superior man, and Uncle John has thehighest opinion of him; Aunt Faith has told me so. "

Rita shrugged her shoulders. "Really, _très chère_, " she said, "this isa case in which it is not necessary, believe me, to go back a hundredyears. We hear about the manners of the _vieille école_; my faith, theschool may become too old!"

"Rita!" cried Margaret indignantly. "How can you?"

Rita only shrugged her shoulders; her eyes shone with the very spirit ofwilfulness. 

"_Ma cousine_, " she said, "it is a thousand pities that you cannot cometo Havana with me. The quality of being always virtuous--it isabhorrent, _très chère_; correct it, if possible. And the garret criesout for us!" she said, turning away, with the straight line between hereyes that meant mischief, as Margaret had already learned. She turned toPeggy, who stood in some alarm, not knowing whether the old friend orthe new should claim her allegiance. 

"_Allons!_" she cried. "The door, Peggy! which door will take us to thisplace of joy? this one? _Hein!_ it is locked; it will not open. "

"That must be Uncle John's room, " said Peggy. "It is always locked. I--Ihave tried it two or three times. " And she stole a guilty glance, whichmade the two older girls laugh outright. 

"Fatima!" said Margaret, trying to speak lightly, though her heart stillburned from Rita's insolent words. "Peggy, it is a dangerous thing totry doors in a house like Fernley. "

"Oh, I dare say it is only a linen closet, " said Peggy. "I shouldn'thave cared, only it is provoking not to be able to see what is in there. But this is the garret door, this way. I went up part way once, but itseemed so big and spooky, I didn't want to go all the way alone. "

It was a big place, indeed, this garret! The girls looked about them inwonder, as soon as their eyes grew accustomed to the dim light that camefrom the small gable windows. The corners were black and deep, --milesdeep, poor Peggy thought, as she peered into them. Old furniture layabout, broken chairs and gouty-legged tables. In one corner a huge chestof drawers loomed, with round, hunched shoulders, as if it were leaningforward to watch them; in another--oh, mercy! what was that?

The three caught sight at once of an object so terrifying that Rita andPeggy both shrieked aloud, and turned to flee; but Margaret held themback. 

"Girls, " she said, and her voice trembled a little, whether fromlaughter or fear; "wait! It--it can't be what it looks like, you know!It must--" She advanced cautiously a few steps, and began to laugh. Itcertainly had looked at first like the figure of a man hanging from therafters; it proved to be only an innocent suit of clothes, dangling itslegs in a helpless way, and holding out its arms stiffly, as if insalutation. 

Recovering from their fear, the girls advanced again, Peggy gigglingnervously. "I thought it was him!" she whispered. 

"_He_, not _him_, " was on Margaret's lips, but she kept the words back. She could not always be a schoolmistress; and then she scorned herselffor moral cowardice. 

"Thought it was who, Peggy?" she asked. "Hugo Montfort?"

"Ye--yes!" said Peggy. 

"But he did not hang himself, child! He wants to find his papers, thatis all. Ah, here are the trunks; now for the wigs, girls!"

The wig trunk proved a most delightful repository. The wigs were in neatboxes; many of them were of horsehair, but a few were of human hair, frizzed and tortured out of all softness or beauty. Dainty Margaret didnot incline to put them on, but Peggy was soon glorious in a huge whitestructure, with a wreath of roses on the top, that made her look twiceher height. "Ain't I fine?" she cried. "Here, Margaret, here is one foryou. "

Margaret twirled the wig around, and examined it curiously. "What theyall must have looked like!" she said. "This is a judge's wig, I think. "

"Then it can fit none but you, Señorita Perfecta!" cried Rita; but thesting was gone from her tone, and she had wholly forgotten her moment ofspite. "Here! here is mine. Behold me, a gallant of the court! Iadvance, I bow--but my cloak, where is my cloak? Quick, Marguerite, thekey of the other chest!"

The other chest, a great black one, studded with brass nails, contained, as Mrs. Cheriton had said, any amount of material for the delightfulpastime of dressing up. The gauzes were crumpled, to be sure, the goldlace tarnished, and the satins and brocades more or less spotted anddecayed; but what of that? The splendours of the Family Chest were toosolemn to sport with; here was material for hours and days of joy. Ritawas soon arrayed in a scarlet military coat, a habit skirt of darkvelvet, and a plumed hat which perched like a bird on top of her flowingwig. Peggy was put into a charming Watteau costume of flowered silk, inwhich she looked so pretty that Rita declared it was a shame for herever to wear anything else; while Margaret found a long, gold-spottedgauze that took her fancy mightily. Thus attired, the three girlsfrisked and danced about the huge, dim old garret, astonishing thespiders, and sending the mice scuttling into their holes in terror. Theseventeen years that sometimes weighed heavily on Margaret's slendershoulders, and that sat like a flame of pride on Rita's white forehead, seemed utterly forgotten; these were three merry children that ran toand fro, waking the echoes to mirth. Rita proposed a dance, and criedout in horror when Peggy confessed that she could not dance at all, andMargaret that she had had few lessons and no experience. 

[Illustration: IN THE GARRET. ]

"Poor victims!" cried the Cuban. "Slaves of Northern prejudice! I willteach you, my poors! Not to dance, not to understand the management of afan--how are you to go through life, without equipment, I ask you?"

She held out her arms with a gesture so tragic that Margaret could nothelp laughing. 

"Rita, forgive me!" she said. "I was trying to fancy my poor dearfather giving me a lesson in the management of a fan. He was really mychief teacher, you know. "

"Yes, and who was there for me to dance with?" cried Peggy, holding outher gay flounces. "Brother Jim would be rather like a grizzly bear, Ithink, and none of the others would. Jean and I used to dance with eachother, but it was just jumping up and down, for we didn't know anythingelse. "

Rita sighed, and felt the weight of empire on her shoulders. "You shalllearn, " she said again. "I will teach you. But not here, it is too dimand dusty. The courtesy, however, we can try. Mesdames! Raise the skirt, thus, the left foot in advance; the _left_, Peggy, child of despair! nowbend the right knee, and slowly, slowly, sink thus, with grace anddignity. Oh, pity on me, what have you done now?"

Poor Peggy had done her best, but when it came to sinking slowly andgracefully, it was too much for her. She stepped on her train, tripped, lost her balance, and fell heavily back against the wall. She clutchedthe wooden panel behind her, and felt it move under her fingers. 

"Oh, mercy!" she cried, "it's moving! The wall is moving! Margaret, catch hold of my hand!"

Margaret caught her hand, and helped her to her feet. When she movedaway from the wall, it was seen that the wooden panel had indeed moved. It had slid open a few inches, and blackness looked through at them. Peggy clutched her cousins and trembled. Where was now the courage, thecoolness, which had made her the heroine of the morning's adventure?Gone! Anything in the ordinary course of nature, bogs and such matters, Peggy was mistress of, but black spaces, with possible white figureslurking in them, were out of her province. 

"Margaret, " she whispered, "do you see? It is open!"

"Yes, I see!" said Margaret. "What a delightfully mysterious thing, girls! A secret chamber, perhaps, or a staircase! It must be astaircase, for it is in the thickness of the wall behind the chimney. Dorun and get a lamp, Peggy, like a good girl, and we will see. How dampand earthy it smells!"

Peggy flew, only too glad to get away from the black, yawning hole. Shewas back in three minutes with the lamp, and the three cousins peeredinto the open space, Margaret holding the lamp high above her head, sothat the light might penetrate as far as possible. 

It was indeed a staircase; a narrow, winding way, wide enough for oneperson, but no more. It plunged down like a black pit, and its end couldnot be seen. 

"But this is superb!" cried Margaret. "Shall we explore it, girls? Idon't suppose there can be any objection, do you? It is probably neverused. "

"By all means, let us explore!" said Rita. "But do you know what I amthinking, Marguerite?"

"Something romantic and mysterious, I am sure!" said Margaret, smiling. 

"Something practical and businesslike, rather, _très chère_. I amthinking that for a concealment, if a concealment were necessary, thisis the finest house in the world. Come on!"

Peggy hung back, her round cheeks pale with dread; but she could notbear to be left behind; and as Margaret and Rita plunged down thenarrow stair, she followed, with beating heart. She had longed all herbreezy little life for mystery, adventure, something wonderful to happento her, with which she could impress and awe the younger children; nowit had really come, and her heart beat with mingled terror andexcitement. 

Down--down--down. The lamplight shone on the rough walls of discolouredplaster, the old steps creaked beneath their tread; that was all. Nowthey came to a tiny landing, and something gleamed before them, --thebrass handle of a door. Margaret hesitated, fearing that they might betrenching on forbidden ground; but Rita opened the door quickly, andPeggy pressed down behind her. 

They saw a room, like the other bedrooms in the house, large and airy. It was evidently ready for use, the bed neatly made, everything inspotless order. Brushes and shaving-tools lay on the dressing-bureau. The table was covered with books. 

"Uncle John's room!" whispered Margaret. "It must be, of course; andthis is where the locked door is on the second story. Come along, girls; we ought not to go prying into people's rooms!"

"My faith, I cannot see that!" retorted Rita. "If there were anything ofinterest in the room, --but nothing--a plain room, and nothing more! Apretty thing to end a secret staircase; he should have shame for it. Butcome, as you say; we have yet a way to go down. "

They closed the door carefully, and once more began the descent. Down--down--down. But this second half of the way was different. Thestaircase was wider, and the walls were cased in wood. Moreover, itshowed marks of usage. The steps above were covered with thick dust, evidently long undisturbed; but these were clean and shining. Decidedly, the mystery was deepening. 

"Suppose we find it is just a back way to the servants' rooms!"whispered practical Margaret. 

"Suppose feedle-dee-dee!" said Rita; and her funny little foreign accenton the word made Peggy choke and splutter behind her. 

Now they were evidently approaching the ground floor, for sounds wereaudible below them: a footstep, and then the clink of metal, as if someone were moving fire-irons. 

"Elizabeth, probably!" whispered Margaret. "What shall we say to her?"

"Let's yell and rush out and scare her!" proposed Peggy. 

"Hush!" said Rita. "Oh, hush! we know not who it is. Look! a gleam oflight, --the crack of a door! quick, the lamp!" and with a swift, silentbreath she blew out the lamp, and they were in total darkness. 

They now saw plainly the light that shone through the crack of a door, afew steps below them. The sounds in the room beneath had ceased. All wasstill for a moment; then suddenly Peggy made a false step in the dark, and stumbled; she uttered a smothered shriek, and then began to giggle. 

"Animal!" muttered Rita through her teeth. "Can you not be silent?"

Peggy was now in front, and seeing that light came also through thekeyhole, she stooped and looked through it. The next instant she uttereda dreadful shriek, and staggered back into Margaret's arms. "The man!"she cried; "the man in black velvet!"

A chair was hastily pushed back in the room below; steps crossed thefloor, and as Margaret flung open the door, another door at the furtherend of the room was seen to close softly. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

CUBA LIBRE. 

"But, Marguerite, when I tell you that I _know_!"

"But, Rita, my dear, how _can_ you know?"

"Look at me; listen to me! Have you your senses?"

"Most of them, I hope. "

"Very well, then, attend! When stupid, stupid Peggy--I love her, observe; she is my sister, but we must admit that she is stupid, --truth, Marguerite, is the jewel of my soul--when she stumbled against the door, when she screamed, we heard sounds, did we not?"

"We did!" Margaret admitted. 

"Sounds, --and what sounds? Not the broom of a servant, not the rustle ofa dress, --no, we hear the step of a man! We enter, and a door closes atthe further end of the room; click, a lock snaps! I rush to the window;a figure disappears around the corner of the house; I cannot see whatit is, but I would swear it was no woman. I return, --we look about us atthis room, which never have we seen before. A gentleman's room, as aninfant could perceive. A private library, study, what you will, luxurious, enchanting. Books over which you sob with emotion, --or wouldsob, if your temperament permitted you expression; pictures that fill mysoul with enchantment; a writing-table, and on it papers--heaps andmounds of papers! Am I right? do I exaggerate? Alps, Pyrenees of papers!You saw them?"

"I didn't see anything higher than Mt. Washington, " said Margaretsoberly. "There were a good many, I confess. "

"They burst from drawers, " pursued Rita, enjoying herself immensely;"they toppled like snow-drifts; they strewed the floor to a depth of--"

"Oh, Rita, Rita! do rein your Pegasus in, or he will fly awayaltogether. There certainly were a great many papers, and they confirmedour poor little Peggy in her belief that the man she had seen was HugoMontfort, making his ghostly search for the papers he lost. Whereas youthink--"

"Think! when I tell you that I _know_!"

"You think, " Margaret went on calmly, "that it was John Strong, thegardener. Well, and what if it was?"

"What if it was? Marguerite, you are impossible; you have theintelligence of a babe new born. What! we find this man in his master'sroom, spying upon his private things, _romaging_--what is thatword?--_romaging_ his papers, most likely making himself possessed ofwhat he will, and you say, what of this? _Caramba_, I will tell you whatof this it would be in Cuba! String him up to the wall and give himquick fifty lashes; that would be of it!"

"Long Island is a good way from Cuba!" said Margaret. "I don't think wewill try anything of that sort here, Rita. And when you come to think ofit, my dear, we have been here a few weeks, and John Strong was herebefore we were born; Aunt Faith told me so. Don't you think he mayperhaps know what he is about rather better than we do?"

"Know what he is about!" Rita protested, with a shower of nods, that heknew very well what he was about. The question was, did their uncleknow? And the black velvet coat, what had Margaret to say to that? shedemanded. It was evident that this good man, this worthy servant, was inthe habit of wearing his master's clothes during his absence. Didgardeners habitually appear in black velvet? Ha! tell her that!

Margaret did not know that they did, but it was perfectly possible thatMr. Montfort might have given some of his old clothes, a cast-offsmoking-jacket, for example, to his gardener and confidential servant. There would be nothing remarkable in that, surely. Besides, were theyabsolutely certain that the mysterious individual was dressed in blackvelvet? Poor, dear Peggy was in such a state of excitement, she mightwell have fancied--and so on, and so on. The two cousins went over theground again and again, but could come to no decision. 

"Say what you will, _très chère_!" said Rita, finally; "glorify yourgardener, give him the family wardrobe, the family papers; I keep watchon him, that is all! Let Master Strong beware! Not for nothing was Ibrought up on a plantation. Have I not known overseers, to say nothingof hosts of servants, white, black, yellow? Your books, _chèreMarguerite_, do they teach you the knowledge of persons? Let him beware!he knows not a Cuban!" and she nodded, and bent her brows so tragicallythat Margaret could hardly keep her countenance. 

"Have you ever acted, Rita?" she asked, following the train of herthoughts. "I am sure you must do it so well. "

"_Mi alma!_" cried Rita, "it was my joy! Conchita and I--_ahi_! whatplays we have acted in the myrtle-bower in the garden! Will you see meact? You shall. "

John Strong and his iniquities were forgotten in a moment. BiddingMargaret call Peggy, and make themselves into an audience in the lowerhall, Rita whirled away to her own room, where they could hear hersinging to herself, and pulling open drawers with reckless ardour. Thetwo other girls ensconced themselves in a window-seat of the hall andwaited. 

"Do you know what she is going to do?" asked Peggy. 

Margaret shook her head. "Something pretty and graceful, no doubt. Sheis a born actress, you know. "

"I never saw an actress, " said Peggy. "She--she is awfully fascinating, Margaret, isn't she?"

Margaret assented warmly. There was no tinge of jealousy in hercomposition, or she might have felt a slight pang at the tone ofadmiring awe in which Peggy now spoke of her Cuban cousin. Things werechanged indeed since the night of their arrival. 

"It isn't only that she is so awfully pretty, " Peggy went on, "but shemoves so--and her voice is so soft, and--oh, Margaret, do you suppose Ican ever be the least like her, just the least bit in the world?"

She looked anxiously at Margaret, who gazed back affectionately at her, at the round, rosy childish face, the little tilted nose, the fluffy, fair hair. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to stroke andpat Peggy as if she were a kitten, but no one would think of pattingRita. 

"Dear, " said Margaret softly, "dear Peggy! I like you better as you are. Of course Rita is very beautiful, and neither you nor I could ever lookin the least like her, Peggy. But--it is a great deal better to looklike our own selves, isn't it, and learn to appear at our best in a waythat suits us? That is what I think. Now that you have learned to doyour hair so nicely, and to keep your dress neat--"

"You taught me that, " said honest Peggy; "you taught me all that, Margaret. I was a perfect pig when I came here; you know I was. "

"Don't call my cousin names, miss! I cannot permit it. But if I havetaught you anything, Peggy, it is Rita who has given you the littlegraces that you have been picking up. I never could have taught you tobow, --and really, you are quite superb since the last lesson. Then, these pretty dresses--"

"Oh, _do_ you think I ought to take them?" broke in Peggy. "Margaret, doyou think so? She brought them into my room, you know, and flung themdown in a heap, and said they were only fit for dust-cloths--you knowthe way she talks, dear thing. The lovely brown crepon, she said it wasthe most hideous thing she had ever seen, and that it was the deed ofan assassin to offer it to me. And when I said I couldn't take so many, she snatched up the scissors, and was going to cut them all up--shereally was, Margaret. What could I do?"

"Nothing, dear child, except take them, I really think. It was a realpleasure to Rita to give them to you, I am sure, and she could notpossibly wear a quarter of all the gowns she brought here. But see, herecomes our bird of paradise herself. Now we shall see something lovely!"

Rita came down the stairs, singing a little Spanish song. Her dress ofblack gauze fluttered in wide breezy folds, a gauze scarf floated fromher shoulders; she was indeed a vision of beauty, and the two cousinsgazed at her with delight. Advancing into the middle of the hall, sheswept a splendid courtesy, and suddenly unfurled a huge scarlet fan. With this, she proceeded to go through a series of astonishingperformances. She danced with it, she sang with it. She closed it, andit was a dagger, and she swooped upon an invisible enemy, and stabbedhim to the heart; she flung it open, and it became the messenger oflove, over which her black eyes gleamed and glowed in irresistiblecoquetry. All the time she kept up a dramatic chant, sometimes sinkingalmost to a whisper, again rising to a shriek of joy or passion. Suddenly she stopped. 

"All this is play!" she said, turning to her rapt audience. 

"Now you shall see the real thing: you shall see _Cuba libre_. But forthis I must have another person; it is impossible to do it alone. Margaret, --no! Peggy can better do this! Peggy, come, and you shall beSpain, the tyrant. "

Peggy looked as if she would much rather be aspiring Cuba, but she cameforward obediently, and was bidden to put herself in an attitude ofinsolent defiance. Peggy scowled and doubled up her fists, thinking of apicture of a prizefighter that she had once seen. 

"_Ahi!_" cried Rita, springing upon her. "Not thus! you have the air ofa cross child. Thus, do you see? Fold the arms upon the chest, abase thehead, bring the eyebrows down till you have to look through them! So!that is better! Now gnaw your under lip, and draw in your breath with ahiss, thus!" and Rita herself uttered a hiss so malignant that poorPeggy started back in affright. "But be still!" cried Rita, "you are nowperfect. You are an object--is she not, Marguerite?--to turn cold theblood. " Margaret did not commit herself, being wholly occupied inkeeping back the smiles that Peggy's aspect called forth. She certainlywas an object, poor dear child, but Rita was so absorbed in her playthat she saw nothing absurd even in a tyrant scowling through flaxeneyebrows with a pair of helpless, frightened blue eyes. She now drewback, knelt, flung up her arms, and raised her eyes to heaven. Her lipsmoved; she was praying for the success of her cause. Rising, she cameforward, and with noble earnestness demanded her freedom. The tyrant wasbidden to look about on the ruin and desolation that he had wrought; hewas implored by all that was holy, all that was just and noble, towithdraw from the land where he had long ceased to have any real rightof ownership. Peggy, in obedience to whispered orders, shook her headwith stubborn violence, and stamped her foot. Cuba then, drawing herselfto her full height, threw down her gage of defiance (a tinypearl-covered glove) and declared war to extermination. The banner offreedom (the fan) was unfurled and waved on high, the national song waschanted, and the war began. Spain, the tyrant, now had a hard time ofit. She was pounced upon from one side, then from another; she wassurrounded, hustled this way and that; the fan was fluttered wide in herface, poked sharply between her ribs. A single straightforward blow fromher strong young arm would have laid the slender Cuba at her feet, butshe could strike no blow. She was only to hiss, and clutch the air inimpotent fury, and when she did this, Margaret had such anuncontrollable fit of coughing that it almost produced an armistice. 

[Illustration: "CUBA LIBRE. "]

Now Spain was told that she was growing weak, a decrepit, bleeding oldwoman. Her fate was upon her; let her die!

Obeying the imperious gesture, Peggy sank on her knees, and had thesatisfaction of hearing that "the old serpent died bravely. " The fan didmore and more dreadful execution, and now she lay gasping, dying, on thefloor. Standing above her was a triumphant young goddess, waving theflag of _Cuba libre_, and declaring, with her foot on the neck of theprostrate tyrant, that despotism was dead, and that Freedom wasdescending from heaven, robed in the Cuban colours, and surrounded by achoir of angels, all singing the national anthem. And here Rita actuallypulled from her bosom a small flag showing the Cuban colours, and wavedit, crying that the blood-red banner of war (the fan) was now furledforever, and that Cuba and the United States, now twin sisters, wouldproceed to rule the world after the most approved methods. This endedthe scene, and the two actors stood before Margaret, one very red andsheepish, the other glowing like flame with pride and enthusiasm, awaiting her plaudits. Margaret clapped and shouted as loud as shecould, and expressed her admiration warmly enough; but Rita shook herhead and sighed. 

"Ah, for an audience!" she cried. "To pour out one's heart, to live thelife of one's country, and have but one to see it, --it is sad, it istragic. Do I exaggerate, Marguerite?--it is death-dealing!" Then shepraised Peggy, and told her that she had made a magnificent tyrant, andhad died as game as possible. "Ah!" she said. "What it would be if youcould only do something real for Cuba! I would shed my blood, would pourout its ultimate drops (Rita's idioms were apt to become foreign whenshe was excited), but if you also could do something, my cousins, whatglory, what joy for you; and it may be possible. No, hush! not a word!At present, I breathe not a whisper, I am the grave. But there may comea day, an hour, when I shall call to you with the voice of a trumpet;and you, --you will awaken, halves of my heart; you will spring to myside, you will--Marguerite, you are laughing! At what, I ask you?"

"I beg your pardon, dear, " said Margaret. "I was only thinking that atrumpet might really be needed, since a bell is not loud enough. Thedinner-bell rang five minutes ago, and Elizabeth has come to see what weare about. "

But at sight of Elizabeth, standing demurely in the doorway, _Cubalibre_ vanished, and there remained only a very pretty young lady inthe sulks, who had to be coaxed for five minutes more before she wouldcome to her dinner. 

"Am I seventeen, or thirty-seven?" thought Margaret, as she finally ledthe way to the dining-room. 

CHAPTER IX. 

DAY BY DAY. 

 "Oh! what a mystery The study is of history!"

For some time things continued to go smoothly and pleasantly at Fernley. The days slipped away, with nothing special to mark any one, but allbright with flowers and gay with laughter. The three girls wereexcellent friends, and grew to understand each other better and better. The morning belonged rather to Margaret and Peggy; Rita was always late, and often preferred to have her breakfast brought to her room, apractice of which the other girls disapproved highly. They were alwaysout in the garden by half past eight, with breakfast a thing of thepast, and the day before them. The stocking-basket generally came withthem, and waited patiently in a corner of the green summer-house whilethey took their "constitutional, " which often consisted of a run throughthe waving fields, or a walk along the top of the broad stone wall thatran around the garden; or again, a tree-top excursion, as they calledit, in the great swing under the chestnut-trees. Then, while they mendedtheir stockings, Margaret would give Peggy a "talk-lesson, " the onlykind that she was willing to receive, on English history, with anoccasional digression to the Trojan war, or the Norse mythology, as thecase might be. Peggy detested history, and knew next to nothing of it, and this was a grievous thing to Margaret. 

 "First William the Norman, Then William his son; Henry, Stephen and Henry, Then Richard and John, "

had been one of her own nursery rhymes, and she could not understand anyone's not thrilling responsive when the great names were spoken thatfilled her with awe and joy, or with burning resentment. 

"But, my dear, " she would cry, when Peggy yawned at Canute, and said hewas an old stupid, "my dear, think of the place he holds! think of thethings he did!"

"Well, he's dead!" Peggy would reply; "I don't see what good it does tobother about him now. Who cares what he did, all that time ago?"

"But, " Margaret explained patiently, "if he had not done the things, Peggy, don't you see, everything would have been different. We mustknow, mustn't we, how it all came about that our life is what it is now?We must see what we came from, and who the men were that made thechanges, and brought us on and up. "

"I don't see why!" said Peggy; "I don't see what difference it makes tome that Alfred played the harp. I don't want to play the harp, and Inever saw any one who did. It is rather fun about the cakes, but he wasawfully stupid to let them burn, seems to me. "

Not a thrill could Margaret awaken by any recital of the sorrows andsufferings of the Boy Kings, or even of her favourite Prince Arthur. When her voice broke in the recital of his piteous tale, Peggy wouldlook up at her coolly and say, "How horrid of them! But he would havebeen dead by this time anyway, Margaret; why do you care so much?"

Still Margaret persevered, never losing hope, simply because she couldnot believe that the subject itself could fail to interest any one inhis senses. It was her own fault a good deal, she tried to think; shedid not tell the story right, or her voice was too monotonous, --Papa wasalways telling her to put more colour into her reading, --or something. The history itself could not be at fault. 

"And, Peggy dear; don't think I want to be lecturing you all the time, but--these are things that one _has_ to know something about, or onewill appear uneducated, and you don't want to do that. "

"I don't care. I don't see the use of this kind of education, Margaret, and that is just the truth. Ma never had any of what you calleducation, --she was a farmer's daughter, you know, and had always livedon the prairie, --and she has always got on well enough. Hugh talks justlike you do--"

"Please, dear, _as_ you do, not _like_. "

"Well, _as_ you do, then. He talks William the Conqueror and all thoseold fuddy-duddies by the yard, but he can't make me see the use ofthem, and you can't. Now if you would give me some mathematics; _that_is what I want. If you would give me some solid geometry, Margaret!"

But here poor Margaret hung her head and blushed, and confessed that shehad no solid geometry to give. Her geometry had been fluid, or rather, vapourous, and had floated away, unthought of and unregretted. 

"I am sorry and ashamed, " she said. "Of course I ought to be able toteach it, and if I go into a school, of course I shall have to studyagain and make it up, so that I can. But it never can be possible thattriangles should be as interesting as human beings, Peggy. "

"A great deal more interesting, " Peggy maintained, "when the humanbeings are dead and buried hundreds of years. "

"One word more, and I have done, " said poor Margaret. "You used anexpression, dear, --old fuddy-duddies, was it? I never heard it before. Do you think it is an elegant expression, Peggy dear?"

"It's as good as I am girl!" said Peggy; and Margaret shut her eyes, andfelt despair in her heart. But soon she felt a warm kiss on herforehead, and Peggy was promising to be good, and to try harder, andeven to do her best to learn the difference between the twoHarolds, --Hardrada and Godwinsson. 

And if she would promise to do that, might she just climb up now and seewhat that nest was, out on the fork there?

Perhaps Rita would come down soon, with her guitar or herembroidery-frame; and they would sing and chatter till the early dinner. Rita's songs were all of love and war, boleros and bull-fights. She sangthem with flashing ardour, and the other girls heard with breathlessdelight, watching the play of colour and feeling, that made her face aliving transcript of what she sang. But when she was tired, she wouldhand the guitar to Margaret, and beg her to sing "something cool, peaceful, sea-green, like yourself, Marguerite!"

"Am I sea-green?" asked Margaret. 

"Ah! cherub! you understand me! My blood is in a fever with these songsof Cuba. I want coolness, icy caves, pine-trees in the wind!"

So Margaret would take the guitar, and sing in her calm, smoothcontralto the songs her father used to love: songs of the North, thathad indeed the sound of the sea and the wind in them. 

 "It was all for our rightful king That we left fair Scotland's strand. It was all for our rightful king, We ever saw Irish land, My dear, We ever saw Irish land!"

The plaintive melody rose and fell like the waves on the shore; and Ritawould curl herself like a panther in the sun, and murmur with pleasure, and call for more. Then, perhaps, Margaret would sing that lovely balladof Hogg's, which begins, "Far down by yon hills of the heather sae green, And down by the corrie that sings to the sea, The bonnie young Flora sat sighing her lane, The dew on her plaid and the tear in her e'e. 

 "She looked on a boat with the breezes that swung Afar on the wave, like a bird on the main, And aye as it lessened, she sighed and she sung, 'Fareweel to the lad I shall ne'er see again!'"

But Rita had no patience with Flora McDonald. 

"Why did she not go with him?" she asked, when Margaret, after the songwas over, told the brave story of Prince Charlie's escape afterCulloden, and of how the noble girl, at the risk of her own life, ledthe prince, disguised as her waiting-woman, through many weary ways, till they reached the seashore where the vessel was waiting to take himto France. 

"He could not speak!" said Margaret. "He just took her hand, and stoodlooking at her; but she could hardly see him for her tears. Then he tookoff his cap, and stooped down and kissed her twice on the forehead; andso he went. But after he was in the boat, he turned again, and said toher:

"'After all that has happened, I still hope, madam, we shall meet in St. James's yet!' But of course they never did. "

"But why did she not go with him?" demanded Rita. "She had spirit, itappears. Why did she let him go without her?"

Margaret gazed at her wide-eyed. 

"He was going into exile, " she said. "She had done all she could, shehad saved his life; there was nothing more to be done. "

"But--that she should leave him! Did she not love him? was hefaithless?"

Margaret blushed, and drew herself up unconsciously. "You do notunderstand, Rita, " she said gravely. "This was her prince, the son ofher sovereign; she was a simple Scottish gentlewoman. When he was flyingfor his life, she was able to befriend him, and to save his life atperil of her own; but when that was over, there was no more need of her, and she went back to her home. What should she have done in France, atthe king's court?"

"Even if so, " muttered Rita, with the well-known shrug of her shoulders, "I would have gone, if it had been I. He should not have thrown me offlike that. "

Margaret raised her eyes, full of angry light, and opened her lips tospeak; but instead kept silence for a moment. Then, "You do notunderstand, " she said again, but gently; "my mother was a Scotchwoman, so I feel differently, of course. It is no matter, but I will tell youthis about Miss McDonald: that when she died, years after, an old womanof seventy, she was buried in the sheet that had covered Prince CharlesStuart, that night after Culloden. "

"My!" said Peggy, "it must have been awfully yellow!"

After dinner it was Rita's custom to take a siesta. She declared thatshe required more sleep than most people, and that without eleven hours'repose she should perish. So while she slept, Margaret and Peggyarranged flowers, or Peggy would write home, with many sighs ofweariness and distress, while Margaret, sitting near her, snatched ahalf-hour for some enchanting book. It sometimes seemed to her more thanshe could bear, to be among so many fine books, and to have almost notime to read. At home, several hours were spent in reading, as a matterof course; often and often, the long, happy evening would pass without aword exchanged between her father and herself. Only, when either lookedup from the book, there was always the meeting glance of love andsympathy, which made the printed page shine golden when the eyesreturned to it. Here, reading was considered a singular waste of time. Rita read herself to sleep with a novel, but Peggy was entirely frank inher confession that she should not care if she never saw a book again. Even the home letters were a grievous task to her, for she never couldthink of anything to say. Margaret, deep in the precious pages ofFroissart, it might be, would be roused by a portentous sigh, andlooking up, would find Peggy champing the penhandle, and gazing at herwith lack-lustre eyes. 

"What's the matter now, Peg of Limavaddy?"

"I can't--think--of a single thing to say. "

"Child! I thought you had so much to tell them this time. Think of thatlovely drive we took yesterday; I thought you were going to tell aboutthat. Don't you remember the sunset from the top of the long hill, andhow we made believe the clouds were our fairy castles, and each saidwhat she would do when she got there? Rita was going to organise aSunset Dance, with ten thousand fairies in crimson and gold, and youwere going to be met by a hundred thoroughbred horses, all white assnow, and were going to drive them abreast in a golden chariot; don'tyou remember all that? Tell them about the drive!"

"I have told them, " said Peggy gloomily. "I couldn't put in all that, Margaret; it would take all day, and besides, Ma would think I wascrazy. "

"Do you mind my seeing what you wrote?--oh, Peggy!"

For Peggy had written this: "We had an elagant ride yesterday. "

"What's the matter?" asked Peggy. "Isn't it spelled right?"

"Oh, that isn't it!" said Margaret. "At least, that is the smallestpart. 'Elegant' has two _e_'s, not two _a_'s. But, --Peggy dear, yousurely would not speak of a _drive_ as _elegant_!"

"Why not? I said ride, not drive, but I don't see any difference. It_was_ elegant; you said so yourself. I don't understand what you mean, Margaret. " And Peggy looked injured, and began to hunch her shouldersand put out her under lip; but for once Margaret, wounded in a tenderpart, took no heed of the signs of coming trouble. 

[Illustration: PEGGY WRITES HOME. ]

"_I_ say so? Never!" she cried indignantly. "I hope I--that is, I--Idon't think the word can be used in that way, Peggy; I do not, indeed. You speak of an elegant dress, or an elegant woman, but _not_ of anelegant drive or an elegant sunset. The word implies something refined, something--"

"Oh, bother!" said Peggy rudely. "I didn't come here to school, MargaretMontfort!"

"I sometimes wonder if you ever went anywhere to school!" said Margaret;and she took her book and went away without another word, her heartbeating high with anger and impatience. 

Such affairs were short-lived, however. Margaret had too much sense andgood feeling, Peggy too much affection, to let them last. The kiss andthe kind word were not long in following, and it was to be noticed thatRita was never allowed to find out that her two Northern cousins everdisagreed by so much as a word. There was some unspoken bond that badethem both make common cause before the foreign cousin whom both lovedand admired. So when Rita made her appearance beautifully dressed forthe afternoon drive or walk (for they could not have the good whitehorse every day, --a fact which made the señorita chafe and rage againstJohn Strong more than ever), she always found smiling faces to welcomeher, and the three would go off together in high spirits, to exploresome new and lovely part of the country. 

Peggy was always the driver. On their first drive John Strong had gonewith them, to the intense disgust of Rita, and the indignation of Peggy, who, though she was very fond of the grave factotum, resented the doubthe implied of her skill. It was a silent drive, Margaret aloneresponding to the remarks of their conductor, as he pointed out this orthat beautiful view. He never went with them again, but having firsttested Peggy's powers by a _tête-à-tête_ drive with her, cheerfullyresigned the reins, and used to watch their departure with calmapproval. 

"The little one makes much the best figure on the box!" John Strongwould say to himself. "If life were all driving, now--but--

 "Weel I ken my ain lassie; Kind love is in her e'e!"

CHAPTER X. 

LOOKING BACKWARD. 

But in the twilight came Margaret's hour of comfort. Then Peggy had herdancing-lesson from Rita, and while the two were whirling and stumpingabout the hall, she would steal away through the little door and downthe three steps to the white rooms, where peace and quiet, gentle wordsand kind affection were always awaiting her. Aunt Faith alwaysunderstood the little troubles, and had the right word to say, ofsympathy or counsel. The two had grown very near to each other. 

"How is it, " Margaret asked one evening, "I seem so much nearer yourage, Aunt Faith, than the girls'? Do you suppose I really belong to yourgeneration, and got left behind by accident?"

Aunt Faith laughed. "My dear, you ought to have had half a dozenbrothers and sisters!" she said. "An only child grows up too fast, especially where, as in your case, the companionship with father ormother is close and intimate. No doubt your dear father did his best togrow down to your age, when you were little; but he did not succeed, Ifear, so you had to grow up to his. Was not that the way?"

Margaret nodded thoughtfully. "I remember his playing horse with me!"she said. "Poor dear Papa! I asked him to play, and he said in his deep, slow way, 'Surely! surely! the child must have play. Play is necessaryfor development. ' And then he sat and looked at me, with his Greek bookin his hand, as if I were a word that he could not find the meaning of. Oh! I remember it so well, though I must have been a little tot. Then hegot up and said, 'I will be a horse, Margaret! Consider me a horse!' andhe gave me the tassels of his dressing-gown, and began to amble aboutthe room slowly, among the piles of books. Oh, dear! I can see him now, dear Papa! He made a _very_ slow horse, Aunt Faith, and I felt, in ababy way, that there was something awful about it, and that he was notmeant to play. I think I must have dropped the tassels pretty soon, forhe came to a great book lying open on a chair, and forgot everythingelse, and stood there for an hour reading it. I never asked him to playagain, but we used to laugh over it when we were big--I mean when I wasbig, and had grown up to him a little bit. "

Mrs. Cheriton laid her hand on the girl's head, and smoothed her hairtenderly. 

"You must have been lonely sometimes, dear?" she said. 

"Oh, no; never, I think. You see, I learned so many things that I couldplay by myself, and it never troubled Papa to have me in the room wherehe was writing; I think he rather liked it. I had the waste-paperbasket; that was one of my chief delights. I might do what I wanted withthe papers, if I only put them back. So I carpeted the room with them, and I laid out streets and squares, and had the pamphlets for walls andhouses. Or I was a queen, with a great correspondence, and all theletters were brought to me by pages in green and gold, and when I readthem (this was before I could really read, of course), they were allfrom my baby sister, and they told of all the lovely things she wasseeing, and the wonderful countries she and Mamma were travelling in. Aunt Faith, I never see a waste-paper basket now, without feeling as ifthere must be a letter for me in it. "

"Was there really a baby sister, dear?"

"Yes, oh, yes! she died with Mamma, only a few days after herbirth, --little Penelope! It seems such a great name for a tiny baby, doesn't it, Aunt Faith? But it is a family name, Papa told me. "

"Yes, indeed, many of the Montforts have been named Penelope. Youremember the poor Aunt Penelope I told you about, who made the unhappymarriage; and there were many others. "

"Oh, that reminds me!" said Margaret. "Aunt Faith, you promised to tellme some day about Aunt Phoebe. Don't you remember? We were speaking ofthese white rooms, and you said it was a fancy of Uncle John's to havethem so, and you thought he remembered his Great-aunt Phoebe; and thenyou said you would tell me some time, and this is some time, isn't it, Auntie dear?"

"I cannot deny that, Margaret, certainly. And I don't know why this isnot a very good time; the twilight is soft and dusky, and Aunt Phoebe'sstory ought not to be told in broad daylight. "

She was silent a moment, as if looking back into the past. "It is thesequel, rather than the story itself, that is singular, " she said. "Thefirst part is like only too many other stories, alas! Your Great-auntPhoebe--your Great-great-aunt, I should say--was betrothed to a braveyoung officer, Lieutenant Hetherington. It was just at the breaking outof the War of 1812, and the engagement was made just as he was goinginto active service. She was a beautiful girl, with large dark eyes, andsuperb fair hair, --none of you three girls have this combination, but itis not uncommon among the Montforts; I myself had fair hair and darkeyes. Phoebe was highly romantic, and when her lover went to war, shegave him a sword-belt plaited of her own hair. "

"Oh, " cried Margaret, "like Sir Percival's sister!"

"Exactly! Very likely it was from that story that she took the idea, for she was a great reader. However it might be, her mother was greatlydistressed at her cutting off so much of her fine hair, and did her bestto prevent it, but to no purpose, as you may imagine. Giles Hetheringtonjoined the army, carrying the braided belt with him, and they say henever parted with it, night or day, but slept with it beside him on thepillow. Poor fellow! He was killed in a night attack by the Indians, seton by the British. He was in a hut with some other officers, and thesentry must have slept at his post, they supposed. They were surrounded, the house set on fire, and the officers all killed. One private escapedto tell the dreadful story, and he told of the gallant fight they made, and how Giles Hetherington fought for the life that was so dear toothers. He defended the door while two of his comrades forced the windowopen, hoping to steal around and take the savages in the rear; but thewindow was watched, too, and these officers were shot down, and then anIndian sprang in at the window, and stabbed Hetherington in the back. Ah, me! It is a terrible story, dear child! He staggered back to thebed, the soldier said, and caught up the belt, that was lying therewhile he slept. He was past speech, but he gave it to this soldier, whowas a lad from this place, and motioned him to the window; then he fellback dead, and the man crept out of the window, --the Indians having runaround to the front, --and crawled off, lying flat in the grass, and soescaped with his life. He brought the belt, all dabbled with blood, backto Fernley, meaning to give it to Madam Montfort quietly, that she mightbreak the news to her daughter, but poor Phoebe chanced to come throughthe garden just as he was standing on the steps with the belt in hishand, and she saw it. "

"Oh! oh, dear!" cried Margaret, clasping her hands. "Aunt Faith, it istoo dreadful! How could she bear it?"

"My dear, she could not bear it. She had not the strength. She did notlose her mind, like poor Aunt Penelope, but really, it might almost havebeen as well if she had, poor soul. When she woke from the long swooninto which she had fallen at sight of the belt, she heard all the storythrough without a word, and then she came here, and left the world. "

"Came here?" repeated Margaret. 

"Here, to these rooms; but what different rooms! She sent for a painter, and had the walls painted black. She had everything with an atom ofcolour in it taken away; and in these black rooms she lived, and in themshe died. She wept so much--partly that, and partly the want oflight--that her eyes became abnormally sensitive, and she could not beareven to see anything white. As time went on--Margaret, you will hardlybelieve this, but it is literally true--she would not even have whitechina on her table. She declared it hurt her eyes. So her father, whocould refuse her nothing, sent for a set of dark brown china, and sheate brown bread on it, --would not look at white bread, --and was servedby a mulatto woman, an old nurse who had been in the family from herchildhood. "

"Aunt Faith, can it be--you say it really is true! but--how could theylet her? Why did they not have an oculist?"

"My dear child, oculists did not exist in those days. If she were livingto-day, it would be pronounced a case of nervous exhaustion, and shewould be taken for a sea voyage, or sent to a rest-cure, or treated inone of the hundred different ways that we know of nowadays. But then, nobody knew what to do for her, poor lady. To be 'crossed in love, ' asit was called, was a thing that admitted of no cure, unless the patientwere willing to be cured. People spoke of Phoebe Montfort under theirbreath, and called her 'a blight, ' meaning a person whose life has beenblighted. The world has gone on a good deal in the two generations sincethen, my dear Margaret. "

"I should think so, " said Margaret; "poor soul! And did she have to livevery long, Aunt Faith? I hope not!"

"A good many years, my dear. She must have been an elderly woman whenshe died; not old, as I count age, but perhaps seventy-five, orthereabouts. I lived far away at that time, but John Montfort has oftentold me of the time of her death. He was a little lad, and he regardedthe Black Rooms and their tenant with the utmost terror. He used to runpast the door, he says, for fear the Black Aunt should come out andseize him, and take him into her dreary dwelling. Poor Aunt Phoebe wasthe mildest creature in the world, and would not have hurt a fly, but tohim she was something awful, --out of nature. He was taken in to see heronce or twice a year, and he always had nightmare after it, being anervous child. Well, one day he was running through the Green Parlourhere, and looking back at the windows of the Black Rooms, as he nevercould help doing; and he saw Rosalie, the coloured woman, come to thewindow and throw it wide open, letting in the full light of day. Thenshe went to the next, and so on; and the child knew what had happenedbefore she spoke. I remember her words:

"'She's gone, honey! Her sperit's gone. It went out'n dis window, straight by whar you's standin', and into the cedar bush. De Lord habmercy!'

"And poor little John took to his heels, and ran, and never stoppedrunning till he was in his own bed upstairs. 

"That is the story, Margaret; but I ought to add that the belt of hairwas laid in the grave with her, at her special request. "

"What a sad, sad story! Poor soul! Poor, forlorn, tortured soul! Howglad she must have been to go! Aunt Faith--"

"Yes, dear Margaret!"

"Oh, nothing, --only--it seems dreadful sometimes, to feel that terriblethings may be coming, coming toward one, and that one never can lookforward, never know when they may come! I sometimes think, if I couldsee a year ahead, or even a week, --but one never knows. I suppose it isbest, or it would not be!"

"Assuredly, dear child! When you think a little more, you will see thewisdom and the mercy of it. How could we go steadfastly along our pathof every day, if some day we saw a pit at the farther end? Life would beimpossible, Margaret. "

"Yes, I--I suppose so!" said Margaret thoughtfully. 

"And all the time, " Mrs. Cheriton went on, "all the time, during theclear, calm days and years, my child, we are, or we ought to be, layingby, as it were; storing up light and strength and happiness for the darkdays when we may so deeply need them. Think a moment! Think of all thehappy days and years with your father! They are blessed memories, arethey not, Margaret? every day is like a jewel that you take out and lookat, and then put back in its case; you never lose these precious thingsthat are all your own!"

"Oh, never! oh, how well you know, Aunt Faith! how you must have felt itall!" The girl raised her head, and saw the face of the aged womantransfigured with light and beauty. She also was looking back throughthe years, --who could tell how long!

"But suppose, "--it was still she who spoke, --"suppose now, Margaret, that these memories were other than they are! Suppose that instead ofthe blessed golden days, you had days of storm and anger anddisagreement to look back on; that there had been unkindness on oneside, unfaithfulness on the other; suppose it had been with you and yourfather as it has been with some parents and children that I haveknown, --how then?"

"Oh!" murmured Margaret, her eyes filling with tears, that yet had nobitterness in them; "but it could not have been so, Aunt Faith. Papawas an angel, you know; an angel of goodness and love. "

"Now you see what I mean by storing up light against the dark days, "said Mrs. Cheriton. "If he had not been loving and good, --and if you, too, had not been a good and dear daughter, --think what your possessionswould be to-day. As it is, you have what can never be taken from you;and so if we go on steadfastly, as I said, content not to see before us, but cherishing and making the best of what we have to-day, the best ofwhat to-day holds will be ours forever, till death comes to end all thepartings and all the sorrow. "

The last words were spoken rather to herself than to Margaret. Thelatter sat still, not daring to speak; for it seemed as if somebeautiful vision were passing before the eyes of the old woman. She satlooking a little upward, with her lips slightly parted, the breathcoming and going so softly that one could not perceive it, her handsclasped in her lap. Now the lips moved, and Margaret heard the low wordsof a prayer, rather breathed than whispered. Another moment, and thebrown eyes grew bright and smiling once more, and the kindly gaze fellon the girl, who sat awestruck, half afraid to breathe. 

"My poor Margaret!" said Mrs. Cheriton quickly. "My poor little girl, Ihave frightened you. Dear, when one is so old as I am the veil seemsvery thin, and I often look half through it and feel the air from theother side. But you--you must not stay here too long, you must not besaddened by an old woman's moods. You love to stay, and I love to haveyou, but it must not be too long. I will just tell you about the changein the rooms, and then--well, the Black Rooms remained shut up for many, many years after Aunt Phoebe's death. Indeed, I fancy they were neverused until after your grandfather's death, when the property wasdivided, and your Uncle John took Fernley as his share. Then one of thefirst things he did was to throw open these rooms, send for a painter, and have them painted white from floor to ceiling, as you see. He had nouse for them at that time, but he has told me that he did not like to bein the same house with anything black. Everything burnable wasburned, --for your grandfather, as long as he lived, kept Aunt Phoebe'sbelongings just as she left them, --the brown crockery was smashed--"

"Oh, that was a pity!" cried Margaret. "Just for the curiosity--"

"I have a piece, my dear!" said Mrs. Cheriton. "Elizabeth Wilson--goodElizabeth--saved a piece for me; and she kept one of the black silkgowns (she has been in the house ever since she was a child), to put inthe family chest. So there, Margaret, you have the story of Aunt Phoebefrom beginning to end. And now you must go out and play. "

"Oh, just a moment!" pleaded Margaret. "Aunt Faith, --Uncle John must be_very_ nice. "

"My dear, he is the best man in the world. There is not a doubt aboutit. "

"Shall we see him at all, Aunt Faith?"

"You shall see him. I cannot say exactly when, but you shall see him, Margaret; that I promise you on the word of a centenarian. Now will yougo, or shall Janet--"

"Oh, I will go! I will go! Good-bye, dear Aunt Faith. I have had themost delightful hour, " and Janet came and closed the white door softlyafter her. 

CHAPTER XI. 

HEROES AND HEROINES. 

 "Oh for a knight like Bayard, Without reproach or fear!"

"How to support life on such a day as this?" demanded Rita, coming outof her room, and confronting her cousins as they came upstairs. She hadbeen asleep, and her dark eyes were still misty and vague. The others, on the contrary, had been running in the rain, and they were alla-tingle with life and fresh air, and a-twinkle with rain-drops. Themoment was not a good one, and Rita's straight brows drew togetherominously. 

"You have been--amusing yourselves, it appears, " she said, in the oldwithering tone that they were learning to forget. "Of course, herenothing matters; one may as well be a savage as an _élégante_ in thewilderness; but I should be sorry to meet you in Havana, my cousins!"

Peggy hung her head, and tried to keep her muddy feet out of sight. Margaret only laughed, and held up her petticoats higher. 

"You ought to have been with us, Rita!" she said. "We have had greatfun. The garden is one great shower-bath, and the brook is roaring likea baby lion. I am really beginning to learn how to walk in wet feet, amI not, Peggy? I used to think I should die if my feet were wet. It isreally delightful to feel the water go 'plop!' in and out of one'sboots. Now, my dear, " she added, "I really cannot let you be cross, because Peggy and I are in the most delightful good humour, and we camein on purpose, because we thought you would be awake, and would want tobe amused. If you frown, Rita, I shall kiss you, all dripping wet, andyou know you could not bear that. "

She advanced, holding up her rosy, shining face, down which the dropswere still streaming. Rita uttered a shriek and vanished. 

"I don't see how you can talk to her that way, " said Peggy admiringly. "When she opens her eyes at me, and pulls her eyebrows together, I feelabout two inches high and three years old. You are brave in your ownway, Margaret, if you can't pull people out of bogs. "

Margaret laughed again. "My dear, I found it was the only way, " shesaid. "If I let her ride over me--" Here she stopped suddenly, and witha change of tone bade Peggy hasten to change her wet clothes. "It is allvery fine to get wet, " she said, "and I am grateful for the lesson, Peggy; but I know that one _must_ change when she comes in. "

Peggy made a grimace, and said that at home she was often wet throughfrom morning till night, and nobody cared; but Margaret resolutelypushed her into her room and shut the door, before going on to her own. 

In a few minutes both girls, dry and freshly clad, knocked at Rita'sdoor; and though her "Come in" still sounded rather sullen, it was yet adistinct invitation, and they entered. Rita had made this room over inher own way, much to Elizabeth's inconvenience. The chintz curtains werealmost covered with little flags, emblems, feathery grasses, and thelike, pinned here and there in picturesque confusion. A large Cuban flagdraped the mantelpiece, and portraits of the Cuban leaders adorned thewalls. Over the dressing-table was the great scarlet fan which hadplayed such a conspicuous part in the drama of "_Cuba Libre_, " and itwas pinned to the wall with a dagger of splendid and alarmingappearance. The mirror was completely framed in photographs, mostly ofdark-eyed señoritas in somewhat exaggerated toilets. Inscriptions inevery variety of sprawling hand testified to the undying love ofConchita, Dolores, Manuela, and a dozen others, for their all-beautifulMargarita, to part from whom was death. 

If this were literally true, the youthful population of Cuba must havebeen sensibly diminished by Rita's departure. There were black-browedyouths, too, some gazing tenderly, some scowling fiercely, all wearingthe Cuban ribbon with all possible ostentation. One of these youths wasmanifestly Carlos Montfort, Rita's brother, for they were like enough tohave been twins; another had been pointed out to Margaret, in a whispercharged with dramatic meaning, as "Fernando, " the cousin on her mother'sside, the handsomest man in Havana, and the most fascinating. Margaretlooked coolly enough at this devastator of hearts, and thought that herown cousin Carlos was far handsomer. Peggy thought so, too; indeed, hersusceptible sixteen-year-old heart was deeply impressed by CousinCarlos's appearance, and she would often steal into the room duringRita's absence, to peep and sigh at the delicate, high-bred face, withits flashing dark eyes, and the hair that grew low on the forehead, withjust the same tendril curls that made Rita's hair so lovely. Oh! Peggywould think, if her own hair were only dark, or even brown, --anythingbut this disgusting, wishy-washy flaxen. She had longed for dark eyesand hair ever since she could remember. Poor Peggy! But she kept herlittle romance to herself, and indeed it was a very harmless one, andhelped her a good deal about keeping her hair neat and her shoe-stringstied. 

When the girls went in now, they found Rita curled up on her sofa, withthe robe and pillow of chinchilla fur that had come with her from Cuba. It was a bad sign, Margaret had learned, when the furs came out in warmweather. It meant a headache generally, and at any rate a chilly stateof body, which was apt to be accompanied by a peevish state of mind. Still, she looked so pretty, peeping out of the soft gray nest! She wassuch a child, after all, in spite of her seventeen years, --decidedly, she must be amused. 

"Well, " said Rita, half dolefully, half crossly, "I cannot commandsolitude, it appears. I am desolated; I desire to die, while thisfrightful rain pours down, but I cannot die alone; that is not sufferedme. "

"Certainly not, " replied Margaret cheerfully. "Don't die yet, please, dear, but when you feel that you must, we will be at hand to take yourlast wishes, won't we, Peggy?"

But Peggy thought Margaret cruel, and could only look at Ritaremorsefully, feeling that she had sinned, she knew not how. 

"And how are we to amuse ourselves?" added Margaret, seating herself onthe couch at Rita's feet. "I think we must tell stories; it is a perfectday for stories. Oh, Peggy, don't you want to get my knitting, like thedear good child you are? I cannot listen well unless I have myknitting. "

Peggy brought the great pink and gray blanket which had been Margaret'sfriend and companion for several months, and with it her own diminutivepiece of work, a doily that she was supposed to be embroidering. Ritalay watching them with bright eyes, her eyebrows still nearer togetherthan was desirable. At last, "Well, " she said again. There wasimpatience and irritation in the tone, but there was interest, too. 

"Well, " replied Margaret, "I was only thinking what would be pleasantestto do; there are so many things. How would it do for each of us to tella story, --a heroic story, such as will stand the rain, and not be afraidof a wetting?"

"Of our own deeds?" inquired Rita. 

"Oh, perhaps hardly that. If I waited to find a heroic deed of my ownperformance, you might get tired, my dear. Somehow heroics do not comeevery day, as they used in story times. But I can tell you one of myfather. Will you hear it?"

Rita nodded languidly; Peggy looked up eagerly. 

"It was in the great Blankton fire, " said Margaret. "I don't supposeyou know about it, Rita, but Peggy may have heard. No? Well, the countryis very big, after all. It seems as if all the world must have heard ofthat fire. I was hardly more than a baby at the time, but I rememberseeing the red glare, and thinking that we were not going to have anynight that time, as the sun was getting up again as soon as he had goneto bed. We were living in Blankton that winter, for papa had some workthat made it necessary for him to be near the Blankton libraries;Historical Society work, you know, as so much of his work was. " Shepaused for some appreciative word, but none came. Apparently neither ofher cousins had heard of the Historical Society, which had played solarge a part in her father's life and her own. 

"The whole sky was like blood!" she went on; "and when the smoke-cloudsthat hung low over the city blew aside, we could see the flames dartingup, high, high, like pillars and spires. Oh! it was a beautiful, dreadful sight! I watched it, baby as I was, with delight. I neverthought that my own father was in all that terrible glow and furnace, and that he came near losing his precious life to save another's. "

"How?" cried Peggy, roused at the mention of saving life. "Did he startanother fire to meet it?"

"Oh, no, no!" cried Margaret, in her turn failing to appreciate theWestern point of view. "He tried to help put it out at first in thebuilding where he was, and when he saw that was impossible, he went towork getting out his books and papers. They were very, very valuable; nomoney could have bought some of them, he said, for they were originaldocuments, and in some cases there were no duplicates. They were Papa'streasures, --more to him than twenty fortunes. So he began taking themout, slowly and carefully, thinking he had plenty of time. But after hehad taken out the first load, he heard cries and groans in a room nearhis own office, and going in, he found an old man, a wretched old miserthat lived there all alone, in dirt and misery, though every one knew hewas immensely rich. He seemed to have gone out of his mind with fright, and there he sat, his hands full of notes and bonds and things, screaming and crying, and saying that he could not go out, for he wouldbe robbed, and he must stay there and burn to death. Papa tried toreason with him, but he would not listen, only screamed louder, andcalled Papa a robber when he tried to take the papers from him. ThenPapa called to the men who were passing by to help him, but they wereall so busy saving their own things, they could not stop, I suppose, orat any rate, they did not; and all the time the fire was coming nearer, and the smoke was getting thicker and thicker. Somebody who knew Papacalled to him that the fire had reached his entry, and that in fiveminutes his office would be in flames. He started to run, thinking hecould get out a few precious books, and let the others go while he gotthe old man out; but this time the poor old soul clung to him, andbegged not to be left to burn, and looking out into the hall, Papa sawthe smoke-cloud all shot with flame, and bright tongues licking alongthe walls toward him. So he took the old man by the arm and tried tolead him out, but he screamed that his box must go too, his preciousbox, or he should die of grief. That was his strong-box, and it was tooheavy for him to lift, so he sat down beside it, hugging it, and sayingthat he would never leave it. Poor Papa was at his wit's end, for at anymoment they might be surrounded and cut off from the stairs. So heheaved up the box and threw it out of the window, and then he took theold miser on his back and ran for his life. Oh, girls, there was onlyjust time! He had to run through the fire, and his hair and beard weresinged, and his clothes; but he got through, half blinded and choked, and almost strangled, too, for the old miser was clutching his throatall the time, and screaming out that he had murdered him. "

"Why did he not drop him?" inquired Rita. "My faith, why should he besaved, the old vegetable?"

"Oh, Rita, you don't know what you are saying. It was a human life, andof course he _had_ to save it; but it did seem cruel that the preciousbooks and papers had to be sacrificed for just wretched money. That wasthe heroic part of it, --Papa's leaving the things that meant more to himthan anything in the world, except me and his friends, and saving theold miser's money. "

"If he could have saved him and the books, and let the money go toJericho!" said Peggy; "but I suppose he couldn't. "

"That was just it! The man was really out of his mind, you see, and ifPapa had left him he might have run into the fire, or jumped out of thewindow, or done any other crazy thing. Well, that is my story, girls. Who shall come next, --you, Rita?"

Rita had been only partly roused by the story of the fire. An unclesaving a dirty old man and his money did not specially appeal to her;the hero should have been young and ardent, and should have saved a ladyfrom the burning house. Peggy wanted to be responsive, but it seemed agreat fuss to make over musty old books and papers; probably they werelike those that Margaret made such a time about in the library here;Peggy had looked at some of them, and they were as dry as dry could be. If he had saved a dog, now, or a child, --and at the thought her eyesbrightened. 

"Do heroines count, " she asked; "or must it be a man?"

"Of course they count!" cried Margaret, bending over her work to hidethe tears that came to her eyes. She felt the glow checked in herheart, --knew that her story, her beloved story, had not struck the notethat always thrilled her when she saw in thought her father, slender, gray-haired, carrying out the strange man, and leaving behind him, without a word, the fruits of years of toil. 

"Of course heroines count, my dear! Have you one for us?"

"Ma did something nice once, " said Peggy shyly; "she saved my life whenI was a baby. "

"Tell us!" cried both girls, and Rita's eyes brightened, for this seemedto promise better. 

"It was when Pa first took up the claim, " said Peggy. "The country waspretty wild then, --Indians about, and a good many big beasts: panthers, and mountain lions, and so on. I was the only girl, and I was two yearsold. Pa used to be out on the claim all day, and the boys with him, allexcept Hugh, and he was in bed at that time; and Ma used to work in thegarden, and keep me by her so that I wouldn't get into mischief. 

"One day she was picking currants, and I had been sitting by her, playing with some hollyhock flowers she had given me. She did not noticewhen I crawled away, but suddenly she heard me give a queer sort ofscream. She turned round, and there was a big panther dragging me offdown the garden path by my dress. Ma felt as if she was dead for aminute; but then she ran back to the seed-house--it was only a few stepsoff--and got a hoe that she knew was there, and tore off after thepanther. It wasn't going very fast, for I was a pretty heavy baby, andit didn't know at first that any one was after it. When it heard Macoming it started off quicker, and had almost got to the woods when shecaught up. Ma raised that hoe and brought it down on the beast's head ashard as she knew how. It dropped me, and turned on her, grinning andsnarling, and curling its claws all ready for a spring. She neverstopped to draw breath; she raised the hoe again, and that time, shesays, she prayed to the swing of it; and she brought it down, and heardthe creature's skull go crash under it, and felt the hoe sink in. Thepanther gave a scream and rolled over, and then Ma rolled over too; andwhen Pa came home to dinner, a few minutes later, they were both lyingthere still, and I was trying to pick up my hollyhock flowers. We havenever had hollyhocks since then; Ma can't bear 'em. "

There was no doubt about the effect of Peggy's story. Before it wasfinished Rita was sitting bolt upright, her chinchilla robe thrown back, her hands clasped over her knee, her eyes alight with interest; andMargaret cried, "Oh, Peggy, Peggy, what a splendid story!"

"Well, it's true!" said Peggy. 

"Of course it is; that's the splendid part. Oh, I am so proud to have anaunt so brave and strong. Aunt--why, Peggy, you have never told me yourmother's name!"

"You never asked, " said Peggy. "Her name is Susan. "

Margaret blushed, and mentally applied the scourge to herself. It wastrue; she never had asked. Peggy had said that her mother had noeducation, and had got along very well without it; this was all thatMargaret wanted to know. A shallow, ignorant woman, who had let herchild grow up in such ignorance as Peggy's; and now she learned, all ina moment, of a strong, brave woman, helping her husband to clear thewaste where their home was to be, making that home, bringing up hergreat family in love and rude plenty, and killing wild beasts with herown hard, honest hand. Margaret was learning a good deal this summer, and this was one of the most salutary lessons. She bowed her head andaccepted it, but she only said aloud:

"Aunt Susan! I hope I shall know her some day. I shall put her in myheroine book, Peggy, from this minute. " And the tone was so warm andhearty that Peggy's eyes filled with tears, and she felt dimly that she, too, had been neglectful of "Ma" of late, and resolved to write a goodlong letter that very afternoon. 

"And now it is your turn, Rita!" said Margaret. "I give you till I knitto the end of this row to find a hero or heroine in your family. Youmust have plenty of them. "

Rita laughed, and curled herself into another graceful, sinuousattitude. Her eyes shone. "My brother Carlos is in the mountains, " shesaid; "my cousin Fernando with him. Pouf! if I were with them!"

She was silent a moment, and then went on, speaking slowly, and pausingevery few minutes to blow little holes in her chinchilla robe, afavourite amusement of hers. 

"The San Reals have plenty of heroes, heroines too; my mother was a SanReal, you remember. What will you have, Marguerite? Far back, anancestor of mine was the most beautiful woman in Spain. Her lover wasseized by the Inquisition; she went to the Tribunal, accused herself, and died in his place. Will you have her for a heroine? Mygreat-grandfather--he was a Grandee of Spain. The nephew of the kinginsulted him to the death, and thought his rank made him safe. He wasfound dead the next morning, and my great-grandfather lay dead besidehim, with the dagger in his heart that had first slain the prince. Is hea hero such as you love, Marguerite?"

"No, not at all!" cried Margaret, "Rita, what dreadful tales! Those werethe dark days, when people did not know better; but surely you musthave some ancestors who were not murd--who did not die violent deaths. "

"They are San Reals!" said Rita. "They had royal blood of Spain in theirveins. Cold, thin, Northern blood cannot warm to true heroism. " Shesulked for some time after this, and refused to say anything more; butdesire of imparting was strong in her, and Margaret's smile could not beresisted indefinitely. 

"Come!" she said. "You meant no harm, Marguerite; you cannot understandme or my people, but I should have known it, and your birth is not yourfault. Listen, then, and see if this will please you. "

She seemed to meditate for some time, and when she spoke again it wasstill more slowly, as if she were choosing her words. 

"Once on a time, --no matter when, --there was a war. A cruel, unjust, devilish war, when the people of--when my people were ground to theearth, tortured, annihilated. All that was right and true and good wason one side; on the other, all that was base and brutal and horrible. There was no good, none! they are--they were devils, allowed to come toearth, --who can tell why?

"The--the army of my people had suffered; they were in need of manythings, of food, of shoes, but most of all of arms. The whole nationcried for bloodshed, and there were not arms for the half of them. Howto get weapons? Near by there was another country, but a short wayacross the water--"

"Africa?" asked Peggy innocently. But Rita flashed at her with eyes andteeth. 

"If you will be silent, Calibana! Do I tell this story, or do you? haveI mentioned a name?"

"I beg pardon!" muttered poor Peggy. "I didn't mean to interrupt, Rita;I only thought Africa was the nearest to Spain across the water. "

Rita glowered at her, and continued. "This neighbour-country was rich, great, powerful; but her people were greedy, slothful, asleep. They hadarms, they had food, money, everything. Did they help my people in theirneed? I tell you, no!"

She almost shrieked the last words, and Margaret looked up in somealarm, but concluding that Rita was merely working herself up to adramatic crisis, she went on with her knitting. 

"To this rich, slothful country, " Rita went on, dwelling on everyadjective with infinite relish, "came a girl, a daughter of the countrythat was bleeding, dying. She was young; she had fire in her veinsinstead of blood; she was a San Real. She stayed in a house--aplace--near the seashore, a house empty for the great part; full ofrooms, empty of persons. The thought came to her, --Here I could concealarms, could preserve them for my country, could deliver them to vesselscoming by sea. It is a night expedition, it is a little daring, a littlevalour, the risk of my life, --what is that? I could arm my country, mybrothers, against the tyrants. I could--" Rita paused, and both girlslooked at her in amazement. She had risen from the couch, and now stoodin the middle of the room; her slender form quivered with emotion; hergreat eyes shone with dark fire; her voice vibrated on their ears withnew and powerful cadences. 

"This girl--was alone. She needed help. With her in the house wereothers, her friends, but knowing little of her heart. Their bloodflowed slowly, coldly; they were good, they were kind, but--would theyhelp her? Would they brave danger for her sake, for the sake of thecountry that was dearer to her than life? Alone she was but one, withtheir aid--

"Listen! there came one day a letter to this house by the sea; it wasfor--for the person of whom I speak. Her brother was near, in a city notfar off. He had come to collect arms, he had bought them, he must find aplace to conceal them. Her dream was about to come true. She turned toher friends, the two whom she loved! She opened her arms, she opened hersoul; she cried to them--"

"Stop!" said Margaret. She, too, had risen to her feet, and her face wasvery pale. Peggy looked from one to the other in alarm. Were they goingto quarrel? Margaret's eyes were as bright as Rita's, but their lightwas calm and penetrating, not flashing and glowing with passion. 

"Rita, " she said, "I hope--I trust I am entirely wrong in what I cannothelp thinking. I trust this is a story, and nothing else. It cannot beanything else!" she continued, her voice gaining firmness as she wenton. "We are here in our uncle's house. He is away, he has left us incharge, having confidence in his brothers' daughters. If--ifanything--if anybody should plan such a thing as you suggest, it wouldnot only be ungrateful, it would be base. I could not harbour such athought for an instant. Oh, I hope I wrong you! I hope it was only adramatic fancy. Tell me that it was, my dear, and I will beg your pardonmost humbly. "

She paused for an answer, but Rita made none for the moment. 

She stood silent, the very soul of passion, her eyes dilating, her lipsapart, her breast heaving with the furious words that her will would notsuffer to escape. Margaret almost thought she would spring upon her, like the wild creature she seemed. But presently a change came over theCuban girl. A veil gathered over the glowing eyes; her hands unclenchedthemselves, opened softly; her whole frame seemed to relax its tension, and in another moment she dropped on her couch with a low laugh. 

"_Chère Marguerite_, " she said, "you, too, were born for the stage. Yourclimax, it was magnificent, _très chère_; pity that you spoiled it withan anti-climax. " And she shrugged her shoulders. "My poor little story!You would not even let me finish it. No matter; perhaps it has no end;perhaps I was but trying to see if I could put life into you, statuesthat you are. Ah, it was a pretty story, if I could have been permittedto finish it!"

Margaret turned scarlet. "My dear, if I have been rude, " she said, "I amvery sorry, Rita; I thought--"

"You thought!" said Rita, her full voice dropping the words scornfully, in a way that was hard to bear. "Your thoughts are very valuable, _trèschère_; I must not claim too many of them; they would be wasted on apoor patriot like me. And thou, Peggy, how didst thou like my story, eh?"

Rita turned so suddenly on Peggy that the poor child had not time toshut her mouth, which had been open in sheer amazement. 

"Shut it!" said Rita sharply. "Is it a whale, or the Gulf of Mexico? Iasked how you like my story, little stupid. Have you had sense to attendto it?"

Peggy's eyes filled with tears. A month ago she would have answeredangrily, but now Rita was her goddess, and she could only weep at aharsh word from her. 

"I--I think it is fine for a story, Rita, " she answered slowly. "I lovedto hear it. But--" Her blue eyes wandered helplessly for a moment, thenmet Margaret's steady gaze, and settled. "But if such a thing were true, Margaret would be right, wouldn't she?"

"And if you removed yourselves now?" queried Rita, turning her back tothem with a sudden fling of the fur robe over her shoulder. "One mustsleep in this place, or be talked to death, it appears. I choose sleep. My ears ring at present as with the sound of the sea, --a sea of coldbabble! _Adios_, Señorita Calibana, Doña Fish-blood! I pray for relief!"

Margaret took Peggy's hand without a word, and they went out; but Peggycried till dinner-time, and would not be comforted. 

CHAPTER XII. 

IN THE SADDLE. 

 "To witch the world with noble horsemanship. "

Rita's "story" was not the first thing to rouse suspicion in Margaret'smind. It was rather the concluding word of a sentence that had beenforming in her mind during the last ten days. 

Something was on foot; some mystery hung about; she had felt thus much, and had felt, too, that it was connected with Rita; but all had beenvague, uncertain. 

Rita had been receiving many letters with the New York postmark; butwhat of that? It was not Margaret's business to take notice of hercousin's letters. She had met Rita once or twice at the foot of thegarret stairs, evidently returning from a visit to that place of shadowydelight. What of that? Rita had said each time that she had been lookingfor such and such a costume; that she was planning a charade, a newtableau, that would be sure to ravish her cousins; and in the eveningshe would produce the charade or the tableau, and sure enough, it wouldbe enchanting, and they were delighted, and most grateful to her for thepains she took to amuse them. And yet--and yet--had she been at thesepains until lately? Had not Margaret herself been the one who must thinkof the evening's amusement, plan the game, the reading, or singing, which should keep the three various natures in harmonious accord? So ithad surely been, until these last ten days; and now--

But how hateful to suspect, when it might be that Rita was merelyfeeling that perhaps she had not done her share, and had realised thatwith her great talent and her lovely voice and presence, she was the oneto plan and execute their little entertainments? And what shouldMargaret suspect? It was not her nature to be anything but trustful ofthose around her; and yet--and yet--

But now her suspicions had taken definite shape, and Rita herself hadconfirmed them. There could no longer be any doubt that she wasplanning to take advantage of their uncle's continued absence to aid herbrother, --who was in New York, as Margaret knew, in spite of Rita'srecent declaration that he was in the mountains, --and to conceal arms inFernley House, and have them shipped from there. It seemed impossible;it seemed a thing out of a play or a novel, but she could not doubt thefact. After all, Rita was a person for a play or a novel. This thing, which to Margaret seemed unspeakable, was to Rita but a natural impulseof patriotism, a piece of heroism. 

Of course she would not be able to do it; no person in her senses wouldattempt such a thing, on Long Island, only a few miles from New York;but the hot-blooded young Cubans would not realise that, and they mightmake some attempt which, though futile, would bring disagreeableconsequences to Mr. Montfort and to all concerned. What was Margaret todo? The absurdity of the whole thing presented itself to her keenly, andshe would have been glad enough to turn it all into a jest, and take itas the "story" with which Rita had tried to rouse her cool-bloodedcousins; but that could not be. Rita had meant every word she said, andmore; that was evident. What was Margaret to do? Her first thought wasof Mrs. Cheriton; her second of John Strong, the gardener. Aunt Faithought not, she was sure, to be disturbed or made anxious; her hold onlife was too slender; her days must flow evenly and peacefully, as UncleJohn had arranged them for her; it would never do to tell her of thisthreatened, fantastic danger. But John Strong! he was Mr. Montfort'sconfidential servant, almost his friend. Nay, Aunt Faith had spoken ofhim as "a good friend, " simply and earnestly. He knew Uncle John'saddress, no doubt; he would give it to her, or write himself, as seemedbest. It was dreadful to betray her cousin, but these were not the daysof melodrama, and it was quite clear that Fernley House could not bemade a deposit of arms for the Cuban insurgents during its master'sabsence. So with a clear conscience, though a heavy heart, Margaretsought the garden. 

John Strong was there, as he always was in the morning, fondling hisroses, clipping, pruning, tying up, and setting out. In the afternoonshe was never visible. Margaret had heard his voice occasionally in Mrs. Cheriton's rooms, but had never seen him there; he had evidently otherwork, or other haunts of his own, which kept him out of the way. Shecould not help knowing that he used her uncle's private sitting-room, but she took it for granted that it was with Mr. Montfort's leave andfor his business. Rita might mistrust this man; but no one of Northernblood could look on the strong, quiet face without feeling that it wasthat of one of nature's noblemen, at least. 

"John, " said Margaret, after she had admired the roses and listened to abrief but eloquent dissertation upon Catherine Mermet and Maréchal Niel, "how near are we to the sea?"

"To the sea, Miss Margaret? Call it a quarter of a mile. The rise of theland hides it from Fernley, but you will notice that we are near, by thesound of it; and you have been down to the shore a number of times, Ithink. "

"Yes; oh, yes! I know it is very near. I was only thinking--John, wouldit be easy for--persons--to come here from the shore, without beingseen? I mean, could a vessel lie off here and not attract attention?"

John Strong looked at her keenly. "That depends, Miss, " he said. "Byday, no; by night, yes. It is a quiet part of the shore, you see. "

"Do you know when Mr. Montfort is coming home?" was Margaret's nextquestion; and as she put it she looked straight into the gardener'sbrown eyes, and they looked straight into hers. She fancied that JohnStrong changed colour a little. 

"I have not heard from him lately, " he said quietly. "I think he will behere very soon now. Could I--may I ask if anything is distressing you, my--Miss Margaret?"

Margaret hesitated. The temptation was strong upon her to tell the wholetale to this man, whom she felt she could trust entirely; but thethought of Rita held her back. She would say what was necessary, and nomore. 

"I--I think--" she began timidly, "it might be well for you to bewatchful at night, John. The Cubans--I have heard rumours--there mightbe vessels, --do you think, possibly--"

She broke off. The whole thing seemed like a nursery nightmare, impossible to put into plain English without exposing its absurdity. ButJohn Strong glanced at her again, and his eyes were grave. 

"Miss Rita is deeply interested in the Cuban war, I believe, " he said, with meaning. 

Margaret started. "How did you know?" she asked. "Surely she has not--"

John Strong laughed. "Hardly, " he said. "Miss Rita does not conversewith menials. It was Peggy--Miss Peggy, I should say--who told me aboutit. She was quite inclined to take fire herself, but I think I cooledher down a bit. These are dangerous matters for young ladies to meddlewith. I think she told me that young Mr. Carlos Montfort was now in NewYork?"

"I--I believe so, " said Margaret. She was angry with Peggy for talkingso freely, yet it was a great help to her now, for John Strong evidentlyunderstood more of the matter than she would have liked to tell him. 

"You may trust me, Miss Margaret, I think, " he said presently, after afew moments of silent snipping. "It is not necessary for me to knowanything in particular, even if there is anything to know. I am an oldsoldier, and used to keeping watch, and sleeping with one eye open. Youmay trust me. You have said nothing of this to Mrs. Cheriton?" He lookedup quickly. 

"No; I thought she ought not to be distressed--"

"That was right; that was very right. You have shown--that is, you maydepend on me, young lady. May I cut this bud for you? It is a perfectone, if I may say so. Perhaps you will look closer at it, Miss; (MissRita is observing you from the balcony, and you would not wish)--there, Miss. I shall bring some cut flowers into the dining-room later, forarrangement, as you ask. Good morning, Miss. "

Margaret returned to the house, half relieved, half bewildered. JohnStrong was certainly a remarkable person. She did not understand hisposition here, which seemed far removed from that of a domestic, butafter all, it was none of her business. And even if he did speak ofPeggy by her first name, was it Margaret's place to reprove him? He wasalmost old enough to be Peggy's grandfather. 

Rita had apparently forgotten the storm of the day before. She was inhigh good humour, and greeted Margaret with effusion. 

"Just in time, Marguerite. Where have you been? We have called till weare hoarse. Look at us; we go to ride. We are to have an exhibition ofskill, on the back of the white beast. Behold our costumes, found in thegarret. "

Margaret looked, and laughed and admired. Rita was dressed in a longblack velvet riding-habit, with gold buttons, a regal garment in itstime, but now somewhat rubbed and worn; a tall hat of antique formperched upon her heavy braids, and she looked very businesslike. Peggyhad found no such splendour, but had put on a scarlet military coat overher own bicycle skirt. "Finery is good, " she said, "but not onhorseback. " A three-cornered hat, with the mouldering remains of afeather, completed her costume, and she announced herself as thegentleman of the party. 

"Rita was saying what a pity it was there were no boys here, and I toldher I ought to have been a boy, and I would do my best now, " said Peggygood-naturedly. Rita made a little grimace, as if this were not thekind of boy she desired, but she nodded kindly at Peggy, and said shewas "fine. "

"And you, Marguerite? How will you appear? Will you find a cap andspectacles, and come as our grandmother? That would approve itself, _n'est-ce-pas_?" It was laughingly said, but the sting was there, nevertheless, and was meant to be felt. 

"Oh, I should delay you, " replied Margaret. "Let me come as I am, and beringmaster, or audience, or whatever you like. I never rode in my life, you know. " Peggy opened wide her eyes, Rita curled her lip, but Margaretonly laughed. "Frightful, isn't it? but how would you have me ride in myfather's study? And the horses that went by our windows had mostly draysbehind them, so they were not very tempting. Is William going to saddleWhite Eagle for you, girls?"

"William has gone to the mill, or to bed, or somewhere, " said Peggy. "Iam going to saddle him myself. John Strong said I might. "

They went out to the great, pleasant barn, and while Peggy saddled thegood horse, Rita and Margaret mounted the old swing, and went flyingbackward and forward between the great banks of fragrant hay. 

"Isn't it good to be a swallow?" said Margaret. "I wonder if we shallreally fly some day; it really seems as if we might. "

"I would rather be an eagle, " said Rita. "To flutter a little, here andthere, and sleep in a barn, --that would not be a great life. An eagle, soaring over the field of battle, --aha! he is my bird! But what is thisoutcry? Has he bitten thee, Peggy?"

For Peggy was shouting from below; yet when they listened, the shoutswere of wonder and delight. 

"Oh, girls, do just look here! There is a new horse, --a colt! Oh, what abeauty!"

The girls came down hastily, and ran to the door of the second boxstall, which had been empty since they came. There stood a noble younghorse, jet black, with a single white mark on his forehead. His coatshone like satin, his eyes beamed with friendly inquiry. Already Peggyhad her head against his shoulder, and was murmuring admiration in hisear. 

"You lovely, you dear, beautiful thing, where did you come from? Oh, Margaret, isn't he a darling? Come and see him!"

Margaret came in rather timidly; she was not used to animals, and thehorse seemed very large, tramping about freely in his ample stall. Buthe received her so kindly, and put his nose in her pocket with suchconfiding grace, that her fears were soon conquered. Rita patted himgraciously, but kept her distance. "Very fine, my dear, but the strawsmells, and gets on one's clothes so. Saddle me this one, Peggy, and youcan have the white one yourself. "

"Are we--have we leave to take this horse?" asked Margaret, colouring. It was too horrid that she must always play the dragon, --as if she likedit, --and of course the others thought she did. 

"Have we been forbidden to take the horse, dear?" asked Rita withdangerous sweetness. "No? But perhaps you were told to keep watch on usby your friend, the servant, who wears his master's clothes? Again, no?Then kindly permit me, at least, to do as I think best. "

"Oh, Rita!" cried Peggy, "perhaps we ought not--"

"_Chut!_" cried Rita, flashing upon her in the way that alwaysfrightened Peggy out of her wits. "Do you saddle me the horse, or do Ido it myself?"

Margaret thought it was highly improbable that Rita could do it herself, but she said no more. A difficulty arose, however. There was found to bebut one saddle. "Never mind!" said Peggy. "I can ride bareback just aswell as saddleback; but I am afraid, Rita--"

"Afraid!" cried Rita. "You too, Peggy? My faith, what a set!"

"Afraid the saddle will not fit the black!" said Peggy, looking for oncedefiantly at her terrible cousin. "White Eagle is so big, you see; thesaddle was made for him, and it slips right off this fellow's back. "

Rita fretted and stamped her pretty feet, and said various explosivethings under her breath, and not so far under but that they could beheard pretty well, but all this did not avail to make the saddle smalleror the new horse bigger; so at last she was obliged to mount WhiteEagle, and to have the mortification of seeing Peggy vault lightly onthe back of the black beauty. He had never been ridden before, perhaps;certainly he was not used to it, for he reared upright, and a lesspractised horsewoman than Peggy would have been thrown in an instant;but she sat like a rock, and stroked the horse between his ears, andpatted his neck, and somehow wheedled him down on his four legs again. Margaret watched with breathless interest. This was all new to her. Ritalooked graceful and beautiful, and rode with ease and skill, but Peggywas mistress of the situation. The black horse flew here and there, rearing, squealing with excitement, occasionally indulging in somethingsuspiciously like a "buck;" but Peggy, unruffled, still coaxed andcaressed him, and showed him so plainly that she was there to stay aslong as she felt inclined, that after a while he gave up the struggle, and settling down into a long, smooth gallop, bore her away like thewind over the meadow and up the slope that lay beyond. Now they came toa low stone wall, and the watchers thought they would turn back; butPeggy lifted the black at it, and he went over like a bird. Next momentthey were out of sight over the brow of the hill. 

[Illustration: HORSEBACK. ]

"Oh, " cried Margaret, turning to Rita, her face aglow with pleasure, "wasn't that beautiful? Why, I had no idea the child could ride likethat, had you? I never knew what riding was before. "

Rita tried to look contemptuous, but the look was not a success. "Agentlewoman does not require to ride like a stable-boy!" was all shesaid. She was evidently out of humour, so Margaret was silent, onlywatching the hill, to see when the pair would come galloping back overthe brow. 

Here they were! Peggy was waving her hand--her hat had flown off at thefirst caracole, and Rita had ridden over it several times--and shoutingin jubilation. Her hair flew loose over her shoulders, her short skirtwas blown about in every direction, but her eyes were so bright, herface so rosy and joyous, that she was a pleasant sight to see, as, leaping the fence, she came sweeping along over the meadow. 

"Hail!" cried Margaret, when she came within hearing. "Hail, daughter ofChiron! gloriously ridden, O youthful Centauress!"

Peggy did not know who Chiron was, but she caught the approving sound ofthe words, and waved her hand. "Come on, Rita!" she cried. "Take theEagle over the fence! It's great fun. I'm going to try standing up in aminute, when he is a little more used to me. "

They set off at an easy gallop, and White Eagle took the fence wellenough, though it was his first, and he was no colt, like the black. Then they circled round and round the meadow, sometimes neck and neck, sometimes one far in advance. Generally it was Peggy, for the black wasfar the swifter animal of the two; but now and then she pulled him in, like the good-natured girl she was, and let her cousin gallop ahead. Margaret watched them with delight, not a pang of envy disturbing herenjoyment. What a perfect thing it was! how enchanting to be one withyour horse, and feel his strong being added to your own! How--

But what was this? All in a minute, something happened. The black puthis foot in a hole, --a woodchuck's burrow, --stumbled, pitched forward, and threw Peggy heavily to the ground. He recovered himself in a moment, and stood trembling; but Peggy lay still. Margaret was at her side in aninstant. The child had struck her head on a stone, and was insensible, and bleeding profusely from a cut on the left temple. Rita dismountedand came near. 

"Some water, please!" said Margaret. "Bring water quickly, Rita, while Istop the bleeding. And give me your handkerchief, will you, before yougo?" She held out one hand, which was already covered with blood;glancing up, she saw that Rita was pale as death, and tremblingviolently. 

"What is it?" cried Margaret. "Are you hurt, --ill? hold her, then, and Iwill run. "

"No, --no!" said Rita, shuddering. "It is--the blood! I cannot bear thesight. I will go--I will send Elizabeth. Is she dead, Margaret? It istoo terrible!"

"Dead? no!" said Margaret vehemently. 

"She is only stunned a little, and has cut her head. If I had somewater, I could manage perfectly. Do go, Rita!"

Rita seemed hardly able to move. She was ghastly white; her eyes sought, yet avoided, the red stream which Margaret was checking with steadyhand. She did, however, move toward the house; and at the same momentMargaret had the satisfaction of feeling Peggy move slightly. The blueeyes opened part way; the mouth twitched, --was Peggy giggling, evenbefore she regained consciousness? Margaret bent over her anxiously, afraid of some shock to the brain. But now the eyes opened again, and itwas Peggy's own self that was looking at her, and--yes! undoubtedlylaughing. 

"Don't be scared, Margaret, " she said, speaking faintly, but withperfect command of her senses. "It isn't the first 'cropper' I havecome; I shouldn't have minded at all, only for my head. But--I say, Margaret, didn't I hear Rita going on about blood, and asking if I wasdead?"

"Yes, dear; she is evidently one of those people who faint at the sightof blood. And you do look rather dreadful, dear, though I don't mind youa bit. And you must not talk now; you truly must not!"

"Rubbish! I'm going to get up in a minute, as soon as the water comes. But--I say, Margaret, how about the Cuban war? Do you suppose--the restof them--feel the same way about blood? because--"

"Peggy, I am surprised at you!" said Margaret. "Hush this moment, or Iwill let your head drop!"

CHAPTER XIII. 

IN THE NIGHT. 

 "Quand on conspire, sans frayeur Il faut se faire conspirateur; Pour tout le monde il faut avoir Perruque blonde, et collet noir!"

Peggy's injury proved to be slight, as she herself had declared, but thejar had been considerable, and her head ached so that she was glad to beput to bed and nursed by Margaret. Rita hovered about, still very pale, and apparently much more disturbed by the accident than the actualsufferer. She put many questions: Would Peggy be well to-morrow?Probably still weak? Would it be necessary for her to remain in her roomthis evening? In that case, what would Margaret do? Would she leave herto Elizabeth's care, and come down as usual?

"Certainly not!" Margaret replied. "Elizabeth will stay with Peggy attea-time, but otherwise I shall not leave her. You don't mind stayingalone, Rita? Of course, there is not much to be done; Peggy is not illat all, only weak and tired, but she likes to have me with her. You willnot be lonely?"

No; Rita had letters to write. She should do very well. Desolated, ofcourse, without the two who were her soul and her existence; butMargaret understood that she could not bear the sight of sickness; ithad been thus from infancy. Margaret nodded kindly, and went back intoPeggy's room, with an impression that Rita was pleased at having her outof the way. Out of the way of what? But Margaret could not think aboutmysteries now. Peggy wanted to talk, and to have her head stroked, andto know that Margaret was near her. 

"Your hand is so smooth, Margaret. I never felt anything like it; andthe smoothness and coolness seem to go into my head, and stop theaching. Do you think this is being sick? If it is, I like it. "

Margaret saw that the child was excited, and her eyes were overbright. "No; this is not being sick, " she said quietly. "But you ought to besleepy by this time, my pussy. Lie still now, like a good child, and Iwill sing to you. Will you have the 'Bonny House o' Airlie?'"

But it was long before Peggy could be quieted. She wanted to talk. Shewas full of reminiscences of former "croppers" in the lives of thevarious members of her family. She wanted to tell how Jim was dragged bythe buffalo bull he was taming; how Pa caught the young grizzly by hispaws, and held him until George came with the rifle; how Brown Billy ranaway with her when she was six years old, and how she held on by hismane till he lay down and rolled in the creek, and then swam ashore. Herbrain was feverishly excited, and it was not till late in the eveningthat Margaret succeeded in singing and soothing the tired girl to sleep. At length Peggy lay still, and her thoughts began to sink away into softdreams, lulled by the soft hand on her brow, and the smooth, sweet voicein her ears. She opened her eyes to say, "I love you, Margaret; I loveyou best, over and over, all the time. If I thought I didn't for a bit, that was just because I was a stupid, and she--but now I know. " AndPeggy smiled, and smiling, fell asleep. 

Margaret sat still for a time, listening to the breathing that grewdeeper and more regular as the minutes went on. She had brought her ownbed across the hall, meaning to sleep with Peggy, in case of her wakingin the night; though that was hardly likely. It was ten o'clock now, andRita was probably asleep. She would go down for a moment to see that allwas well, and perhaps have a word with Elizabeth, if she were not goneto bed. She went softly to the door, and turned the handle noiselessly. The door was locked!

Greatly startled, Margaret stood motionless for a few minutes, thinkingand listening. At first all was still. Footsteps above herhead, --Elizabeth was going to bed; then the familiar creak of the goodwoman's bed; then silence again. Rita's room was across the hall, andshe could hear no sound from there. Through the open window came thesoft night noises: the dew dripping from the chestnut leaves, a littlesleepy wind stirring the branches, a nut falling to the ground. Howstill!

Hark! did a twig snap then? Was some one moving through the shrubbery, brushing gently against the leaves? And then, as her heart stood stillto listen, Margaret heard a low, musical whistle. She stole to thewindow, and standing in the shadow of the curtain, looked out. A lightwas burning in her room, and at first she could see nothing butblackness outside. Gradually, the outlines of the great chestnut stoleout from the empty darkness, a hard black against the soft gloom of thenight. Then the shrubbery behind; and then--was something moving there?Were those two figures standing by the tree?

The whistle was repeated; and now Margaret heard the swift rustle ofsilk brushing against her door, then fluttering from baluster tobaluster, as Rita sped down the stairs. A door opening softly, and nowthree figures stood under the chestnut-tree. Words were whispered, greetings exchanged; then the three figures stole away into theblackness. 

Margaret felt helpless for a moment. Locked in, --her cousin asleep here, exhausted if not ill, and needing absolute quiet, --and going ondownstairs--what? She must know! She must call John Strong, and warnhim that her fears were realised, and that unwelcome visitors werealready at the doors of Fernley, perhaps already within. But how was itpossible? She ran to the window and looked down. Full twenty feet! Tojump was impossible; even Peggy could not have done it. Peggy! yes! butPeggy could get out. Only the other night she had had a climbing frenzy, and had slid down the gutter-spout, half for the joy of it, half totease Margaret, who was in terror till she reached the ground, and thenin greater terror when the young gymnast came "shinning" up again, shouting and giggling. The spout! Margaret stood looking at it now. Fora moment her courage deserted her, and she wrung her hands and began tosob under her breath; but this would not do! Her nerves knew theresolute shake of the shoulders, and shrank into obedience. She set herlips firmly, and there crept into her face a certain "dour" look thatmay have come from her Scottish ancestors. "If a thing has to be done, why, it must be done!" she said to herself. "Anyhow, there will besolid ground at the bottom, not a quaking bog. "

Could she do it? She had never climbed in her life. She had been wont togrow dizzy on any great height; and here she reflected that she hadinwardly laughed at Rita, a few hours before, for growing dizzy at thesight of blood. "But I have to learn so many lessons!" said poorMargaret, and with that she laid her hand on the spout. A moment longershe waited, but no longer in hesitation, --she was simply asking forstrength from One who had never refused it yet; then she clasped thepipe with both hands, swung herself out as she had seen Peggy do, andslid down, down, down. 

Her hands were torn and bleeding, but she reached the ground in safety, falling several feet, but escaping with a few bruises which she did notfeel at the time. She ran round the house toward the east wing, wherethe gardener's room was, but stopped half-way. The door of theground-floor room, her uncle's private room, was open; a light wasburning inside. Possibly John Strong was himself on the watch, and sheneed go no farther. Margaret turned hastily, entered the room, --and wasconfronted by two young gentlemen in Spanish cloaks and broad-brimmedhats. 

Margaret's first impulse was to run away; her second, to stand and wait, feeling that she was at a play, and that the next scene was going to bevery thrilling; but the third impulse was the right one, and she steppedforward, holding out her hand. 

"You are my Cousin Carlos, I am sure!" she said, addressing the tallerof the two lads (for they were only lads, she saw to her unspeakablerelief; the elder could not be more than twenty). "I am MargaretMontfort. You--you have seen Rita?"

Don Carlos Montfort gasped and bowed, hat in hand. He and his companionwere evidently new to their rôle of conspirators, for they werepiteously ill at ease, and their dark eyes roamed about as if in searchof retreat; but he managed to say something about the distinguishedhonour--a spare hour to visit his sister--delight at making theacquaintance of a relative so charming, --here he stopped and looked overhis shoulder, for footsteps were heard, and he hoped Rita was coming. Already he and his comrade were cursing themselves for having been assesenough to be drawn into this scrape; why had they attended to a foolishgirl instead of going their own way? Now they were in a trap--was thatRita coming?

The door of the secret staircase was open, showing which way the girlhad gone. But the steps that were now descending were heavy, thoughquiet, --far different from the rush of an excited bird that had gone upa moment before Margaret's appearance. They were to follow Rita, --shewent to light a candle. Ah! what was this?

The young men recoiled, and their dark eyes opened to their fullestwidth; Margaret's hands came together with a violent clasp. Down thenarrow stair and into the room came a man in a black velvet jacket; atall man, with bright, dark eyes and a grave face. He held a candle inhis hand; he set it down, and turned to the two disconcerted Spaniards. 

"My nephew, " said Mr. Montfort, "I am glad to welcome you and yourfriend to Fernley House. I am your Uncle John!"

Margaret was not conscious of any surprise. It seemed part of the play, and as if she had known it all along, but had not been allowed torealise it, for some dramatic reason. She saw John Strong--JohnMontfort--shaking hands with the two unhappy young men, and trying toput them at their ease by speaking of the bad roads and the poorconveyances that were undoubtedly to blame for their arriving so late. She saw and heard, but still as in a dream. Her real thought was forRita; what would she do? What desperate step might follow thisdisconcerting of her cherished plan?

Unconsciously Margaret had moved forward, till now she stood the nearestto the foot of the stairs. She looked up into the darkness, with somethought of going to her cousin, telling her gently what had happened, and quieting her so that she might come down and face the situation, andmeet her uncle. All at once, from that darkness above, a bright lightsprang up, and the same instant there rang out a wild and terribleshriek. 

"Help! Carlos, help! I burn!"

The three men started forward, but they were not the first. Margaretwas conscious of but a single movement as she flew up the stairs, neverstumbling, lighted by that fearful glare above. To spring into thegarret, to drag down the heavy old cloak--the same that once hadfrightened the three girls on their first visit--that hung close by thestairway, to fling herself upon Rita, throwing her down, muffling her, smothering and beating out the flames that were leaping up toward thegirl's white, wild face, --all this was done in one breath, it seemed toher. She knew nothing in the world but the fire she was fighting, thelittle flames that, choked down in one place, came creeping out at herfrom another, playing a dreadful hide-and-seek among the folds of thecloak, starting up under her very hands; but Margaret caught them in herhands, and strangled the life out of them, and fought on. It was but amoment, in reality. Another second or two and the flames would have hadthe mastery; but Margaret's swift rush had been in time, and the goodheavy cloak--oh, the blessed weight and closeness of its fabric!--hadshut out the air, so that by the time the last of the three anxiouspursuers had reached the garret, the fire was out, and only smoke andcharred woollen remained to tell of the terrible danger. Only these--andthe two hands, burned and blistered, that Margaret was holding out toher uncle, as he bent anxiously over her. 

"Don't be angry with her, Uncle!" cried the girl. And she knew nothingmore. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

EXPLANATIONS. 

"And she really is not hurt, Uncle John?"

"Not so much as an eyelash! You were so quick, child! How did you manageit? She had only time to scream and put her hands to her face, beforeyou were upon her. The thing that flared up so was a lace shawl she hadon her arm, --switched it into the candle, of course!--and that shedropped. It is not of her I am thinking, but of you, my dear, braveMargaret!" He bent over her tenderly and anxiously; but she smiledbrightly in his face. 

"Truly, they hardly hurt at all! As you say, I must have been veryquick, and the flames were only little ones. Elizabeth has bandaged themso beautifully; the pain is almost gone already. "

They were in Margaret's room; she on her sofa, with her hands swathed inbandages, but otherwise looking quite her own self, only a little palerthan usual; her uncle sitting by her, his hand on her arm. Peggyfluttered in and out of the room, entirely recovered from the effect ofher fall the day before, and proud beyond measure of having charge ofMargaret, who last night had been watching and tending her. Peggy'snursing was of doubtful quality; already she had baptised Margarettwice, --once with gruel, again with cologne, when the cork with whichshe had been struggling came out suddenly, deluging her patient withfragrance. 

But her good will was so hearty, her affection so ardent and so anxiousto prove itself, that Margaret had not the heart to deny her anything, and submitted to having her hair brushed in a style that was entirelynew to her, and that made her wink at each vigorous stroke of the brush. 

Rita had not been seen since the night before, save by Elizabeth, whopronounced her well, but "a little upset, Miss!" and Elizabeth's facewas a study in repression as she spoke. 

"And the boys, Uncle?" Margaret asked, when she was assured of Rita'ssafety. "What have you done with them?"

Mr. Montfort laughed. 

"Poor boys!" he said. "Poor lads! they have had a hard time of it. "

"Oh, do tell me!" cried Margaret. 

"Why, they are all right; the boys are all right!" said Mr. Montfort. "It is that little monkey over there, " nodding toward Rita's room, "whohas made all the trouble. They have been fighting, it is true, and havebeen in the mountains with the insurgents. Very interesting theiraccount of it is, too. If I were thirty years younger--but that is notthe point. They were sent to New York by their chief on privatebusiness; something of importance, but perfectly legitimate, --nothing todo with arms or anything of the kind. Well, Carlos did not tell Rita theobject of his coming, and she instantly saw fire and gunpowder, treasonand plot, --in short, cooked up a whole melodrama to suit herself, --andbelieved it, I have no doubt, an hour after she invented it. She wroteCarlos mysterious letters, imploring him to come to her secretly; thather fate and that of her country depended upon his faithfulness andsilence; that she was surrounded by spies--"

"Poor Peggy and me!" cried Margaret. "And you, too, Uncle John! She hasreally had painful suspicions of you. "

"No doubt, no doubt! but in my case she had a right to suspicions. Wewill come to that presently. In short, the boy got the impression thathis sister was immured in a kind of dungeon, surrounded by people whowere unkind to her, and unable to get away or to call for help openly. He says he ought to have known better, for apparently she has beenacting plays ever since she was short-coated; but this time he wasreally taken in, and came here last night, with his friend and cousin, meaning to rescue his sister and take her home to Cuba. Found her notdesiring in the least to be rescued, but bent on hiding them both in thegarret, and keeping them there till a cargo of arms and a vessel couldbe brought from New York. You know the rest. Carlos was in the librarywhen I came up, waiting for an interview with Rita. I think it may be alively one. "

"And the other; the cousin? I hardly saw him. They were both soembarrassed, poor dears!"

"Seems a good little fellow; good little fellow enough! Gentlemanlyboys, both of them. Carlos is much more of a person than the other. He--Fernando Sanchez--admires Rita a good deal, I should say, and triesto find her conduct admirable; but her brother--hark!"

Something like a silken whirlwind came rushing up the stairs and acrossthe hall; something that sobbed with fury, and stamped with feet thatwere too small to make much noise; then a door on the other side of thehall shut with a bang that made the solid walls quiver. Margaret and heruncle looked at each other. Presently Peggy came in, with round, frightened eyes. 

"What is the matter with Rita?" she asked. "Has she been in here? Shecame flying across the hall just now--oh, dear! I was just coming out ofmy room, and she took me and shook me, just as hard as she could shake. Why, my teeth chattered, Margaret! and then she flung off into her room, and slammed the door. My! she was in a tantrum! Oh, I--I--beg yourpardon!" She faltered at the sight of her uncle, and hung back. She hadonly learned this morning of the astonishing transformation of herfriend the gardener into the unknown and formidable relative. 

Mr. Montfort held out his hand, with the smile that always went toPeggy's heart. 

"Well, Miss Peggy, " he said, "and what roses will you have to-day? Mydear child, " he added, seeing that she was really distressed, "you arenot really troubled at my little masquerade? I am going to tell you allabout it soon, --as soon as I can see my three Margarets together. I feelthat I owe you all an explanation. Margaret has already heard part of mystory, and when Rita comes in, as I hope she will do soon, --I sent wordto her that I should be glad to see her here when she had had her talkwith her brother, --we will go over the whole matter, and find out whatJohn Strong and John Montfort have to say for themselves. "

He turned the subject, and began to talk of the garden and the flowers, in his usual quiet, cheerful way, till Peggy began to steal shy glancesat him under her eyelashes, and finally to hold her head up and smilewithout looking as if she had stolen a sheep. 

They had not long to wait. Before they had settled the position of thenew rose-bed, Rita's door was heard to open softly; then came the soundof trailing garments in slow and stately motion, and the next momentRita entered the room. 

She was dressed in deep black from head to foot. A black veil coveredher hair, and hung gracefully from her shoulders, and in her hand shecarried a black fan. 

There were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked pale but lovely. Mr. Montfort rose and came forward, holding out his hand. "My dearniece, " he said with some formality, "let us shake hands in allfriendliness. "

But Rita did not take the outstretched hand. Instead, she folded herhands, and sank down in the deepest and most beautiful courtesy thatever was seen. Her eyes remained downcast, the long lashes resting onher clear, white cheek. 

[Illustration: RITA'S APOLOGY. ]

"My uncle, " she said, and her tone was dignified, pathetic, andresentful, all in one, "I come to make my submission to you, and to askyour pardon for my offences. My brother demands it, and I obey the headof my house, the representative of my father. I pray you to forgive me!"

Mr. Montfort subdued an unruly twinkle in his eyes, and answeredgravely:

"I pardon you, my niece, freely. I beg you to consider the matter as ifit had never existed. My house is yours, and all that it contains; praybe seated. "

Rita looked up, startled at hearing in English the phrase of Spanishcourtesy so familiar to her ears; but Mr. Montfort's face wasinscrutable, as he brought forward a chair, and handed her to it as ifshe were a duchess. 

But Rita was not ready to sit down yet; she had arranged her scene, andmust go through with it. She advanced, and knelt down by Margaret'scouch. "Marguerite, " she said sadly, "you saved my life. It wasvalueless, I have learned; it was not worth the saving; nevertheless Ithank you from my heart of hearts. I--" Here she caught sight of thebandaged hands, which Margaret had been trying to conceal beneath theafghan. Instantly the tragic mask fell from Rita's face, and left a realhuman countenance, full of pity and anxiety. "My dear!" she cried. "Myangel, my poor suffering Marguerite. Ah! you sent me word it wasnothing. You are injured, terribly injured, and by my fault. Ah! nowCarlos _must_ let me die, as I desire. Life is no longer possible!"

The words were extravagant, but there was real grief and distress in thetone. She laid her head on Margaret's shoulder and sobbed aloud; andPeggy was heartily glad to hear her cry, and cried in sympathy. Margaretcould not stroke the dark head, but she moved her own near it, andwhispered little comforting words, and kissed the soft hair. Andpresently, finding that the sobs only increased in violence, shewhispered to Rita that she was distressing her uncle, and that shereally must try to be quiet on his account. At the sound of his name, Rita froze again, though not to her former degree of rigour; with afervent kiss on Margaret's brow, she rose, and finally took the chairthat had been placed for her. Mr. Montfort sat down opposite, and abrief silence followed. He seemed to be thinking what he should say. Atlength he spoke. 

"My dear nieces, this is a day of explanations, and I feel that I oweyou all an explanation of my conduct, which, doubtless, must appearstrange to you. I--well, I suppose I am an eccentric man. I have alwaysbeen considered so, and I confess not without apparent reason. I haveoften been able to justify to myself conduct which has seemed strange toothers; and it has been my misfortune to live so much alone, thatperhaps I may rely too much on this practice of self-justification. 

"It is now five years since my friend and cousin, Mrs. Cheriton, came tolive with me. I have been made sensible, by her sweet and graciouspresence, that my life before had been very grim and solitary, and Idetermined that it should be so no more. I also felt that while she wasspared to me it would be a happiness and a benefit to her to have someyoung life about the house; to have, in short, some young and sweetwoman, who could be her companion in a hundred ways that would not bepossible for a solitary bachelor like myself. 

"With these thoughts in my mind, I naturally turned to the young womendirectly connected with me, --to the daughters of my brothers. I hadnever seen any of them; troubles into which it is not necessary for meto enter had made me withdraw until lately from all society, and I hadnot felt able to respond to the kind invitations sent me from time totime to visit one brother or another. I conceived the plan of sendingfor you three cousins to spend the summer with me, with the idea that atthe end of the time I might ask one of you--the one who should seem mostcontented, and who should be best suited to a quiet, countrylife--to--a--to remain longer. This was my first plan. Perhaps it mighthave been better if I had adhered to it; but I subsequently modified it, not without a good deal of thought. It would be dull for you, Ireflected--_triste_, as Rita would say, --here with me. A strange uncle, an elderly man, unused to young people, could not fail to be a constantcheck, a constant restraint upon gay and youthful spirits. I wanted youto be happy, so I decided to efface myself for a time, to let you havethe home of your fathers for your own, unhampered by the presence ofits owner. "

Margaret made a motion of eager remonstrance, but her uncle checked herwith raised hand. 

"One moment, my dear! I now come to John Strong. "

Rita raised her eyes to his, full of proud defiance. 

"I deceived you!" he went on, answering her look. "I now think it waswrong, and Mrs. Cheriton, I ought to add, was opposed to the plan. Butin the first place my presence here was necessary for many reasons; andin the second place I wanted to see you. I wanted to see you as youreally were, not constrained or on good behaviour, or in any way changedfrom your own true selves. I think I succeeded. "

There was a moment's silence, which none of the girls dared to break. 

"My name is John Strong Montfort. I have been in the habit of spending apart of every day among my plants and flowers, for reasons of health andpleasure. It was simple enough for me to go from my private rooms to thegarden, to use the private staircase which--a--with which you arefamiliar, "--Peggy winced and Margaret blushed, but Rita continued herdirect gaze at her uncle and gave no sign, --"and to pass (by a way thathas not yet been discovered) to and from the White Rooms. I intended tokeep up this little farce for a few weeks only, but somehow the time hasslipped by, and each day has brought you some new occupation which I wasloath to interrupt. Lately, I confess, there has been a new incentive tosecrecy, and perhaps--Rita--perhaps I may have been boy enough, old as Iam, to enjoy my own little conspiracy. It is over; the play is playedout. I have already made my peace with Margaret, and I think Peggy isprepared to accept my explanation. What do you say?"

Rita had followed every word with breathless attention, her colourcoming and going, her eyes growing momently brighter. Now, at thisdirect appeal, she rose and flung out her arms with the dramatic gestureso familiar to two of her hearers. 

"I say?" she repeated. "I say it was magnificent! It was superb!Marguerite, do I exaggerate? It was _inspired_! My uncle, I am preparedto adore you!"

Mr. Montfort looked alarmed, but pleased. Rita went on, glowing withenthusiasm. 

"It was perfectly conceived, perfectly carried out! Ah, why were you noton my side? Together, you and I, we could have done--everything!"

"You did not ask me, my dear!" said Mr. Montfort dryly. There was thatin his look that made Rita blush at last. But in her present mood shecould bear anything. 

"I beg again your pardon!" she cried. "Uncle, this time I beg for my ownself pardon, of my own will. I was bad, wicked, abominable! Margueritewas right; she is always right! I kneel to you in penitence!"

And she would have knelt down, then and there, if her uncle had notstopped her hastily and positively. 

"Give me a kiss instead, my dear!" he said. "We have had heroics enoughfor one day, and we must come down to plain common sense. Rita, Peggy, Margaret, --my three Margaret Montforts, --I wish and mean to love youall. " He stooped and kissed each girl on the forehead; but he lingeredby Margaret's side, and laid his hand on her hair with a silent gesturewhich held a blessing in it. 

"Margaret, you must rest now!" he said with kind authority. "Rita, wehave left your brother and cousin too long alone. Come with me, and letus see what we can do to make them forget their untoward introduction toFernley House. "

CHAPTER XV. 

FAREWELL. 

The days that followed were merry ones at Fernley House. Mr. Montfortinsisted on treating both the young Cubans as his nephews, and foundthem, as he said, very pleasant lads. Carlos had something of Rita'sfire, but with it a good share of common sense that kept him from folly. Fernando was a mild and gentle youth, with nothing passionate about himsave his moustache, which curled with ferocity. His large, dark eyeswere soft and melting, his smile pleased and apologetic; but Ritapersisted in considering him a fire-eater of the most incendiary type, and enjoyed this view so much that no one had the heart to undeceiveher. Altogether, the two lads made a charming addition to the party, andno one was in a hurry to break it up. Rita was to return to Cuba withher brother, but Carlos showed a most thoughtful unwillingness to hastenhis sister's departure. Peggy's flaxen hair and blue eyes had been arevelation to the young man, accustomed to dark beauties all his life, and he found "Cosine Paygi" a charming companion. They were excellentfriends, and when Rita and Fernando sighed and rolled their eyes (asthey were very fond of doing), Peggy and Carlos laughed. 

Margaret was still kept a little quiet by her hands, though the blisterswere rapidly healing. The other four scampered here and there, playinghide and seek in the house, straying through the garden, dancing, singing, from morning to night. Margaret was always at hand to welcomethem when they came in, to listen and laugh, or sympathise, as the casemight demand. She was happy, too, in her own way, but she found herselfwondering, as she had wondered before, whether she were seventeen orthirty-seven, and there was no doubt in her mind that Uncle John wasnearer her in age than any of the others. Her heart was full of quiethappiness, for this dear uncle had asked her if she would stay with him, would make her home here at Fernley with him and Aunt Faith. She feltas if nothing in the world could have given her such happiness, and sheshook her head, smiling, at Rita's violent protestations that she mustcome to Cuba, and at Peggy's equally earnest prayers that she would comeout with her to the Ranch. 

"Some day!" was all she could be brought to say, when her cousins hungabout her with affection whose sincerity she could not doubt. 

"Some day, dear girls, when Uncle John can come with me. As long as heneeds me here, here I stay!"

And Peggy would pout and shake her shoulders, and Rita would fling awayand call her an iceberg, a snow-queen, with marble for a heart; and twominutes after they would both be waltzing through the hall like wildcreatures, calling on Margaret to observe how beautifully the boys werelearning the new step. 

The young men had been taken to visit Mrs. Cheriton, and came away sodeeply smitten that they could talk of nothing else for some time. Ritaand Peggy opened their young eyes very wide when Carlos declared she wasthe most beautiful person he had ever seen, and Fernando responded withfervour:

"She eess a _go_dess! the wairld _con_tains not of soche. "

But the goddess could not dance, nor play "I spy!" and the girls soonhad it their own way again. 

And so the day came when the dancing and playing must stop. The daycame, and the hour came; and a group, half sad, half joyful, wasgathered on the stone veranda, while White Eagle stood ready at the footof the steps, with William, waiting to drive the four travellers to theferry. Four; for Peggy was to be met in New York by a friend andneighbour of her father's who was to take her home. 

Peggy's eyes were red with weeping. Her hat was on wrong side before, and her veil was tied in a hard knot, as it had been on the night of herarrival; but Peggy did not care. She submitted while Margaret set thehat straight; then clung round her neck, and sobbed till Carlos wasquite distracted. "Margaret, I--I want to tell you!" she whisperedthrough her tears. "I am going to be a different girl at home now. I amgoing to--try--to remember the way you do things, and to be a littlelike you. Oh, Margaret, only a little! but I want you to think that I amtrying, and--and--I will remember about my buttons--and--have my bootsblacked. Oh, Margaret, you have been so good to me, and I do love youso, and now I--am--going away to leave you!"

Margaret was in tears, too, by this time, seventeen having got the upperhand of thirty-seven completely. 

"My dear!" she said. "My dear, darling little Peggy, I shall missyou, --oh, so much! And dear, you have taught me as much as I have taughtyou, and more. Think of the bog! oh, Peggy, think of the bog! and thegutter-spout! I shall never be such a coward again, and all because ofyou, Peggy. And we will write to each other, dear, every week, won't we?and we will always be sisters, just the same as own sisters. Good-bye, my little girl! good-bye, my dear little girl!"

The sobbing Peggy was lifted into the carriage; and now it was Rita'sturn to cling about Margaret with fondest words and caresses. 

"Marguerite, we part!" she said. "_Très chère_, how can I leave thee?I--I have learned much since I came here. We are different, yes! but Iknow that it is lovely to be good, though I am not good myself. Youwould not have me good, Marguerite? It would destroy my personnel! But Ilove goodness, and thee, the spirit of it. Don't shake your head, for Iwill not submit to it. You are good, I tell you, --good like my mother, my angel. You will think of me, _chérie_?--you will think of yourSpanish Rita, and warm your kind, cool heart with the thought? Yes, Iknow you will. You will be happy here with the uncle. Yes! he's likeyou, --you will suit each other! For me, it would be death in two weeks;yet he is noble, he has the grand air. _Très chère_, I have left for youthe bracelet with the rubies; it is on your toilet-table. You admiredit, --it was yours from that moment, but I waited, for I knew that oneday we must part. They are drops of blood, Marguerite, from myheart, --Rita's heart, --which beats ever for you. _Adios, mi alma!_"

All this was poured into Margaret's ear with such rapidity and fire thatshe could make no reply; could only embrace her cousin warmly, andpromise constant thought and frequent letters. 

And now Carlos was bending to kiss her hand, rather to her confusion. Heregarded her with awe and veneration, and murmured that she was a lilyof goodness. Fernando was saluting her with three bows, each moremagnificent than the other. Mr. Montfort kissed the girls warmly, shookhands cordially with the young men. 

Hands were kissed, handkerchiefs waved. Peggy, drowned in tears, lookedback to utter a last farewell. 

"Good-bye, Margaret! Good-bye, darling Margaret! Don't forget us!"

They were gone, and Margaret stood on the veranda and wept, her heartlonging for her mates; but presently she dried her eyes, and looked upto greet her uncle with a smile. 

"Dear girls!" she said; "it has been so good, so good, to have them andknow them. You have given us all a great happiness, Uncle John. And nowthey are going home to their own people, and that is well, too. "

"And you are staying at home, " said John Montfort, "with your ownpeople. This is your home, Margaret, as long as it is mine. I cannot beyour father, dear, but you must let me come as near as you can, for wehave only one another, --you and Aunt Faith and I. You will stay, always, will you not, to be our light and comfort? I don't feel as if I couldever let you go again. "

"Oh, " said Margaret, and her eyes ran over again with happy tears, "Oh, if I can really be a comfort, Uncle, I shall be so glad--so glad! but Iknow so little! I am--"

But Uncle John had only one word to say, and that was the one word of anold song that he loved, and that his mother had sung to him when he wasa little lad in the nursery:

 "Weel I ken my ain lassie; Kind love is in her e'e!"

THE END.