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HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

EDWARD P. ROE,

AUTHOR OF "BARBIEBS BURNED AWAY," «• OPENrNa A CHESTNUT BUBR.*

TORONTO,
ROSE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

MDCCCL2LSXIV.

fs^py-HC i9f(f-

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER L
Aw Embodiment of May, - - . . , . . ^"^^ u

CHAPTER IL
Mbrk Fancies, - - - 17

CHAPTER III.
The Verdict oy a Sage, - - . . . , - 26

CHAPTER IV.
Warning or Incentive, - ... . . - 29

CHAPTER V.
Impressions, --- ..; «.

CHAPTER VI.
Philosophy at Fault, - - ., _ . - - 42

CHAPTER VII.
Warren Hilland, - . ac^

CHAPTER VIII
Supreme Moments, - . . . ee

OHPATER tX.
The Revelation, - . .... . . .65

CHAPTER X.
The Kinship of Supfeeino, ------ 73

3 1??CB4

^* CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XI.

ThH OrDB^L, - . . • I'AQg

CHAPTER XII.

Flight to Natubb.

• 88

CHAPTER XIII.

IHB FbieNI>8,

- 97

CHAPTER XIV.

Noble Deception

- 107

CHAPTER XV.

"I Wish he had Known,"

, ' 116

CHAPTER XVI.

The Cloud in xhb South.

- ]24

CHAPTER XVII.
Preparation,

'•■--- - 134

CHAPTER XVni.
iHE Call to Asms.

■■"--• - 143

^ CHAPTER XIX.

iHE Blood-red Sky -

' " " - - ■ - 148

CHAPTER XX.
iwo Battles, ...

- 154

CHAPTER XXI.

iHE Logic of Events

' ■"■■--- 168

CHAPTER XXIJ.

feBLP-SBNTENCBD,

• - - - 185

CONTENTS. _••

CHAPTER XXI ri.

iA\ Early Drevm Fulfilled - - ^^^^

* ' " • - 191

CHAPTER XXIV.

Unchroniclbd Conflicts -

' "••-•- 202

CHAPTER XXV.
A Presentimbjvt,

' "■■--- 209

CHAPTER XXVI.
An Improvised Picture Gallery, - - - .. 210

CHAPTER XXVIL
A Dream, ...

224

CHAPTER XXVIII,
Its Fulfilment,

- 237

CHAPTER XXIX.
A Southern Girl,

CHAPTER XXX.
Guerillas, - . .

• - - 258

CHAPTER XXXI.
Just in Timb, - . .

267

CHAPTER XXXII,
A Wounded Spirit. - -

" - - - 275

CHAPTER XXXIII.

The Whitb-Hairbd Nurse

' 280

CHAPTER XXXIV.
Rita's Brother. - -

290

viii

Hi« Sombre Rivals,

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XXXV.

All Matkiuausts,

CHAPTER XXXVI.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

TffK ] FFoRT TO Live

CHAPTER XXXVIIL
Gii.» ham's Last SAcuiiKioB, • - . .

CHAPTER XXXIX.
Mariubd Unconsciously, - - . .

KlTA \NUKk80N,

CHAPTER XL.

CHAPTER XLL
A LiTTE Child Shall Leai> Them, -

PAOF

298

306

- 312

- 825

836

863

361

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

CHAPTER I.

AN EMBODIMENT OF MAY

gests a loved familiar nook in thZrLt world Tf '"^"
no audi niche for me nor ran r ;£ ii ■ ^"®''« '"

vhich my memory l^Age™ rth'eSX'^: ••""""'

In a gloomy and somewhat bitte? W Alfi?,d Vr.^.

thus soliloquized as he naeed H.» ^1!?, \ . '^^nam

steamer. ?n oxolanaHon ?f , u "^ ."^ »■" 'n-couiing

had been or^hanKX in 1 feLd tt^.V'' *'',''' ^'
of his guardians had nLl. k ' ^""^ *«»' t^e residences

While rcarcermoretrar.^VMT'^t ''?"'«"''« *« him.
boarding-schoo "where the ,w ^' 5*"^ ''^^" P''"'^^ ''t
youth-s life little better thZ*;f f "'J '"'""'"'^ ""^^e the
barrack. Many bovs wou^H h ' °^ %'"'**'«■• '° ^is
ive, callous, and verrprsiMv vTcinrr ^f'^^' ^^^'"'^
out on the world so^eaX tr^^T" ^''"« ""■''^»
cent and. to suporfcial ob ervers 1^ Th" T' ■"'";
to observe him clowlv l,!l ' j-^' '^"°^ «'ho cared

not diffidence but infceJlLrrtr^ ">"' '' "«^
acteiized his manner In thfn,^*-'"'* °^^^'^ *''* c^ar-
his life he had receiv(.d in J ?"'' impossible period of

in abundance, but ove Id ' ""vf^T^.^-^^ '"'«<='?•'"«

Unconsciously his hel?t Tad rP^"'y.''.?f' '^<^«" denied. •

and overshadowed bv hi. infn°T tf^^- ''^numbed,

gave him littleZd seemed to n^'- ?" ^'"''1 ^"^d

seemed to promise less, and, as a re

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

suit not at all uLnatural, he became something of a re-
cluse and bookworm even before he had left behind him
the 3^^ars of boyhood.

Both comrades and teachers eventually learned that
the retiring and solitary youth was not to be tritied with.
He looked his instructor steadily in the eye when he re-
cited, and while his manner was respectful, it was never
deferential, nor could he be induced to yield a point, when
believing himself in the right, to mere arbitrary asser-
tion ; and sometimes he brought confusion to his teacher
by quoting in support of his own view some unimpeach-
able auihoritj^

At the beginning of each school term there were usually
rough fellows who thought the quiet boy could be made
the subject of practical jokes and petty a uioyances with-
out much danger of retaliation. Graham would usually
remain patient up to a certain point, and then, in dismay
and astonishment, the offender would suddenly find
himself receiving a punishment which he seemed power-
less to resist. Blows would fall like hail, or if the
combatants closed in the struggle, the aggressor appeared
to find m Graham's slight form sinew and fury only. It
.eemed as if the lad's spirit broke forth in such a flame of
indignation that no one could withstand him. It was
also remembered that while he was not noted for prowess
on the play -ground, few could surpass him in the gyni-
na^^mm, and that he took long solitary rambles. Such of
his class-mates, therefore, as were inclined to quarrel with
hmi because o'" his unpopular ways soon learned that he
ice^pt up his muscle with the best of them, and that,
when at last roused, his anger struck like lightning from'
a cloud.

During the latter part of his college course he gradu-
ally formea a strong friendship for a young man of a dif-
ferent type, an ardent sunny -natured youth, who proved
an antidote to his morbid tendencies. They went abroad
togetlier anri stMdied for two years at a German univers-

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

ity, aiul then Warren HiJland, Graham's friend, havino
inherited large wealth, returned to his home. Grahant
left to himself, delved more and more deeply in certain
phases of sceptical philosophy. It appeared to him that
in the past men had believed almost everything, and that
the heavier the drafts made on credulity the more largely
had they been honoured. The two friends had long since
resolved that the actual and the proved should be the
base from which they would advance into the unknown
and they discarded with equal indifference unsubstanti-
ated theories of science and what they were pleased to
terra the illusions of faith. " From the verge of the
known explore the unknown/' was their motto, and it
had been their hope to spend their lives in extending the
outposts of accurate knowledge, hi some one or two di-
recticr.s, a little beyond the points already reached. Since
the scalpel and microscope revealed }io soul in the human
mechanism they regarded all theories and beliefs concern-
ing a separate spiritual existence as mere assumption.
ihey accepted the materialistic view. To them each
generation was a link in an endless chain, and man him-
self wholly tn^ product of an evolution which had no
relations to a creative mind, for they had no belief in the
existence ot such a mind. They held that one had only
to live wisely and well, and thus transmit the principle
ot hie, not only unvitiated, but strengthened and en-
arged. bins against body and mind were sins against
the race, and it was their creed that the stronger, fuller
and more nearly complete thoy made their lives the richer
and fuller would oe the life that succeeded them. Thev
scouted, as utterly unproved and irrational, the idea that
they could ive after death, excepting as the plant lives
by addmg to the material life and well-bei4 of othei
plants Vnt at that time the spring and vi(^our of vouth
were in ^J.eir hea.;t and brain, LA seeme^d to 2m a
g.orious thing to live and do their part in the advance

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

ment of the race toward a stage of perfection not dreamed
ot by the unthinking masses.

Alas for their visions of future achievement ! An aval-
anche of wealth had overwhelmed Hilland. His letters
to his fnend had grown more and more infrequent, and
they contained many traces of the business cares and the
distractions inseparable from his possessions and new re-
lations. And now for causes just the reverse Graham
also was forsaking his studies. His modest inheritance
invested chiefly in real estate, had so far depreciated that
apparently it could not much longer provide for even his
irugal life abroad.

;' I must give up my chosen career for a life of bread-
winning, he had concluded sadly, and he was ready to
avail himself of any good opening that offered. Therefore
he knew not where his lot would be cast on the broad
continent beyond the revolving light that loomed everv
moment more distinctly in the west.

A few days later found him at the residence of Mrs
Mayburn, a pretty cottage in a suburb of an eastern citv'
Ihis lady was his aunt by marriage, and had long been a
widow. She had never manifested much interest in her
nephew, but since she was his nearest relative he felt
that he could not do less than call upon her To his
agi-eeable surprise he found that time had mellowed her
spirit and softened her angularities. After the death of
her husband she had developed unusual ability to take
care of herself, and had shown little disposition to take
care of any one else. Her thrift and economy had great-
ly enhanced her resources, and her investments had been
prohtable, while the sense of increasing abundance had
had a happy effect on her character. Within the past
year she had purchased the dwelling in which she now
resided, and to which she welcomed Graham with unex-
pected warmth. So far from permitting him to make
simply a formal call, she insisted on an extended visit
and he. divorced from his studies, and therefore feel-

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

uig his isolaiion more keen y than ever before, assented
My home is acoessible," she said, "and from this
point you can make inquiries and look around for busi-
ness opportunities quite as well as from a city hotel "

She was s^o cordial, so perfectly sincere, that for the
first time m his lite he felt what it was to have kindred
and a place in the world that was not purchased

He had found his financial affairs in a much better con-
dition than he had expected. Some improvements were
on foot which promised to advance the value of his real
estate so largely as to make him independent, and he was
much inclined to return to Germany and resume his
studies.

"I will rest and vegetate for a time," he concluded. " I
will wait till my friend Hilland returns from the West
and then, when the impulse of work takes possession of
me again, I will decide upon my course."

He had come over the ocean to meet his fate, and not
the faintest shadow of a presentiment of this truth crossed
his mmd as he ooked tranquilly from his aunt's parlour
window at the beautiful May sunset. The cherrv blos-
soms were on the wane, and the light puflfe of wind
brought the white petals down like flurries of snow • the
plum-trees looked as if the snow had clung to everv
branch and spray and they were as white as they could
have been after some breathless, large-flaked December
storm ; but the great apple-tree that stood well down the
path was the crowning product of May A more ex-
quisite bloom of pink and white against an emerald foil
ot tender yoK.ig leaves could not have existed even in

ton the fragrance exhaled. The air was soft with sum-

Xi k"" ^r''^''^^^^^"""^"*^^*' ^^°n^^ Graham's
cheek brought no sense of chilliness. The sunset hoar
with Its spring beauty, the song of innumerable birds
and especially the strains of a wood-thrush, that like a
prima donna, trilled her melody, clear ««.:.'. ^p. *

vf+9'

f M

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

tmc'fc above the feathered chorus, penetrated his soul with
subtle and dehcious influences. A vague lonffino- for
somethm^c/he had never known or felt, for something that
books had never taught, or experimental science revealed
throbbed m his heart. He felt that his life was incom-
plete and a deeper sense of isolation came over him than
he had ever experienced in foreign cities where every face
was strange. Unconsciously he was passing under the
most subtle and powerful of all spells, that of spring
when the impulse to mate comes not to the birds alone
It so happened that he was in just the condition to
succumb to this influence. His mental tension had relaxed
He had sat down by the wayside of life to rest awhile.
tie had tound that there was no need that he should be-
stir himself in money-getting, and his mind refused to
return immediately to the deep abstractions of science
It pleaded weariness of the world and of the pros and
cons of conflicting theories and questions. He admitted
the plea and said : —

"My mind shall rest, and for a few days, possibly
weeks, it shall be passively receptive of just such influ-
ences as nature and circumstances chance to bring to it
Who knows but that I may gain a deeper insight into the
hidden mysteries than if I were delving among the dusty
tomes of a university library ? For some reason I feel
to-night as if 1 could look at that radiant, fragrant apple-
tree and listen to the luJlaby of the birds forever. And
yet their songs suggest a thought that awakens an odd
pam and dissatisfaction. Each one is singing to his mate.
Each one is giving expression to an overflowing fulness
and completeness of life ; and never before have T felt my
life so incomplete and isolated.

" I wish Hilland was here. He is such a true friend
that his silence is companionship, and his words never jar
(hscordantly. It seems to me that I miss him more to-
night than I did during the first days after his departure
Its odd that X should. X wonder if the friendship, the

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

love of a woman could be more to me than that of Hil.
land. What was that paragraph from Emerson that once
struck me so forcibly ? My aunt is a woman of solid
reading. She must have Emerson. Yes, here in her
bookcase, meagre only in the number of volumes it contains,
IS what I want," and he turned the leaves rapidly until
his eyes lighted on the following passage :—

" No man ever forgot the visitations of that power to
his heart and brain which created all things new ; which
was the dawn in him of music, poetry, and art ;' which
made the face of nature radiant with purple light, the
morning and the night varied enchantments ; when a
single tone of one voice could make the heart bound, and
the most trivial circumstance associated with one form
was put in the amber of memory ; when he became all
eye when one was present, and all memory when one was
gone.

" Emerson never learned that at a university, German
or otherwise. He writes as if it were a common human
experience, and yet I know no mor- about it than of tho
sensations of a man who ha,s lost an arm. I suppose los-
ing one s heart is much the same. As long as a man's
limbs are intact he is scarcely conscious of them, but
when one is gone it troubles him all the time, althoufrh it
isn t there. xVow when Hilland left me I felt o-uiltv at
the ease with which I could forget him in the library and
laboratory. I did not become all memory. I knew he
was my best, my only friend ; he is still, but he is not
essential to my life. Clearly, according to Emerson, I am
as Ignorant as a child of one of the deepest experiences of
lite, and very probably ha,d better remain so, and yet the
hour IS playing strange tricks with my fancy.'"

Ihu^ if may be perceived that Alford Graham was
peculiarly open on this deceitful May evening, which pro-
mised peace and security, to the impending streke of fate.
Its harbinger first appeared in the form of a whlTfe Spitz
dog, barking vivaciously under tk. .pple-tree, where a

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

fe:^ingTorS''S:;to»''!r« '"'"--to-l the walk

was prefcunding to be IcentTt K. J^e little creature, and
tude Suddenly there wL. I ^^I*^ belligerent atti-
dmperies, and X d„g rl^^afed 't^w'"^/n''"i'^' "^ ^^^^
with still greater exci^'^tef. ^^h^". ''^'••^'"g
ing up the path with quick litlvl 7 T "?? '*"' """n-
and little impetuous da^l"ls'tw '"*' ',"''<^«" P»"^es,
ing that might have Ten In If "f ?■"«. playmate, a be-
apple-tree, or. mther the h1,m»n "'l'"?-*™'" *>>« ™diant
soming period of the vearCl •?";* °*'*''« *>'"«-

neck were snowy white and n„ ""l"^"* ' ''™^ ""^ ^^^
above her could ^surp^t' ?hf W ^"''' T*''' °° '^e trees
large, dark, lust ous eyes w'i'rh"'" ^'- ''^"'^'- »»
fun, and unconscious ofTb«erT!f- ''"?'""°g "ver with
natural, unstudied 'grl "ofTcWir ''' """^"^ "^^'^ *«

out^Se7„4tte'.:nt fnT °/ "?^^ "^ "^^P^^'^ -">"
hour and season has appeared "T*^.T^ ^^"''^ "^ the
himself behind the curtS „n wn"*^ ^^ ^^'''^ <=°n<=ealed
of a picture that made eve;vnf-*°,'°'^ °°« g"»PS«

■Livexy moment she came nearAv nr^+^i «* i ^ i
opposite the window. He couldZ^ Tl^ '^''•* ^''^ ^^^^-^
ing across her temples, the S 4se and fairofT 'T °^-
caused by rather violent exPH^^l T ^^^^^^°^'^-
liglit brown hair that w«\ -faTi, ', ^^^ "^^^^ «"«ines of
back of the sha^^e ly held fc'n ?." ^'"'^'^ "»" ^^ «>e
of dark eyes and l^ht htir wV K^ *•?? ''^^ combination
eyes all the more striking U "^ '"^''* ^^^ '"«*>■« «f her
a. she stood ^ntina beEe^l never forgot that moment
girlhood's gmct Sdinr^o h» °° -^^ ,S™^'<'' ^^'k, her
ding womaWod Forf ml\rr"*f ^ r!'*" '^^'^ ''"d-
mind that under the sp:irorthe\'SS°etnl^ro^:

! '^f

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

fancy had created her and that if he looked away and
turned again he would see nothing but the pink and
wkte blossoms, and hear only the jubilant song of the

The Spitz dog, however, could not possibly have any
such unsubstantial origin, and this small Cerberus had
now entered the room, and was barking furiouslv at him
as an unrecognised stranger. A moment later his vision
under the window stood in the doorway. The sportive
girl, was transformed at once into a well-bred vouna
woman who remarked quietly, "I beg your pardon. I
expected to find Mrs Mayburn here ; " and she departed
to search for that lady through the house with a prompt
iSima'i' s^ggeslied relations of the most friendly

CHAPTER II.

MERE FANCIES.

GRAHAM'S disposition to make his aunt a visit was
not at all chilled by the discovery that she had so
tair a neighbour. He was conscious of little more than
an impulse to form the acquaintance of one who mi.rht
give a peculiar charm and piquancy to his May-day va^'ca-
tion and enrich him with an experience that had been
wholly wanting in his secluded and studious life. With
a smile he permitted the fancy—for he was in a mood
tor ah sorts of fancies on this evening—that if this ^irl
could teach him to interpret Emerson's words, he would
make no crabbed resistance. And yet the remote possi-
bility of 8uch an event gave him a sense of security; and
prompted him all the more to yield himself for the first
time to whatever impressions a young and pretty woman

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

!'^

1 1

might be able to make upon him. His very disposition
toward experiment and analysis inclined him to experi-
ment with himself. Thus it would seem that even the
periect evening, and the vision that had emerged from
under the apple-boughs, could not wholly lanish a ten-
dency to give a scientific cast to the mood and fancies of
the hour.

His aunt now summoned him to tlic supper-room where
he was formally introduced to Miss Grace Si. Johk with
whom his first meal under his relative's roof was destined
to be taken.

As may naturally be supposed, Graham was not well
turnished with small talk, and while he had not the pro-
verbial shyness and awkwardness of the student, he was
somewhat silent because he knew not what to say. The
young guest was entirely at her ease, and her familiarity
with the hostess enabled her to chat freely and naturally
on topics of mutual interest, thus giving Graham time for
those observations to which all are inclined when meet-
ing one who has taken a sudden and strong hold upon
the attention.

^ He speedily concluded that she could not be less than
nineteen or twenty years of age, and that she was not
what he would term a society girl,— a type that he had
learned to recognise from not a few representatives of his
countrywomen whom he had seen ?„broad, rather than
from much personal acquaintance. It should not be
understood that he had shunned societv altogether, and
his position had ever entitled hira to enter the best ; but
the young women whom it had been his fortune to meet had
failed to interest himas completely as he had proved himself
a bore to them. Their worlds were too widely separated
for mutual sympathy ; and after brief excursions amona
the drawing-rooms to which Hilland had usuallv dragged
him, he returned to his bocks with a deeper satisfactton
and content. Would his acquaintance with Miss St. John
lead to a like result ? He was watching and waiting to

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

Bee, and she had the advantage — if it was an advantage
— of making a good first impression.

Every moment increased this predisposition in her
favour. She must have known that she was very attrac-
tive, for few girJs reach her age without attaining such
knowledge ; but her observer, and in a certain sense her
critic, could not detect the faintest trace of 9,tfectation or
self-consciousness. Her manner, her words, and even
their accent seemed unstudied, unpractised, and unmod-
elled after any received type. Her glance was peculiarly
open and direct, and from the first she gave Graham the
feeling that she was one who might be trusted absolutely.
That she had tact and kindliness also was evidenced by
the fact that she did not misunderstand or resent his com-
parative silence. At first, after learning that he had lived
much abroad, her manner toward him had been a little
shy and wary, indicating that she may have surmised
that his reticence was the result of a certain kind of
superiority which travelled men — especially young men
— often assume when meeting those whose lives are sup-
posed to have a narrow horizon ; but she quickly dis-
covered that Graham had no foreign-bred pre-eminence
to parade,— that he wanted to talk with her if he could
only find some common subject of interest. This she
supplied by taking him to ground with which he was
perfectly familiar, for she asked him to tell her some-
thing about university life in Germany. On such a
theme he could converse well, and before long a fire of
eager questions proved that he had not only a deeply in-
terested listener, but also a very intelligent one.

Mrs. Mayburn smiled complacently, for she had some
natural desire that her nephew should make a favourable
impression. In regard to Miss St. John she had long
ceased to have any misgivings, and the approval that she
saw in Graham's eyes was expected as a matter of course.
This af)proval she soon developed into positive admira-
tion by leading her favourite to speak of her own past.

HIS SOMBRE IIIVAIA

" Grace, you must know, Alford, h tlie dauffhtoi- of an
army othcer, and has seen some odd phases uf" fe at the
vanous nuhtary stations where her Lher Is been on

These words piqued Graham's curiosity at once and he
became the questioner. His own frank effort to entertain
was now rewarded, and the young girl, possess^M easv
and natural powers of description,|a^e k^etehesofliS

ot novelty Unconsciously she was accounting for her-
self. In the rehned yet unconventional society of officers
and their wives she had acquired the frank mani^r so
pecuhar y her own. But the characteristic which won
Graham s interest most strongly was her abounding miX
fulness. It inn hrough all her words like a ^Iden
fZl- V'' '"f °<=«^« caving of every nature kfo?
that which .supplements itself. aSd Graham found some-
thing so genia m Miss St. John's ready smile and Wh
mg eyes which suggested an over-fuU fountain of joyous
Tur^^'",; that his heart, chilled and represse^rom

W H fl''' }T" "i4^" "'S"" °f "' existence, even du"
ing the first hour of their acquaintance. It is true as we
W seen that he was in a very receptive conduL b^t

fZta :?;ref "" ''"'' '^ '''' '"''"' --'^-. - -er
The long May twilight had faded, and they were still
lingering over the supper-table, when a middle-atd
coloured woman in a flaming red turban appeared in the
doorway and said : "PardoS, Mis' MaybumTse honin'
youilscuseme. Ijesstep over to teU Miss Grace dat
de niajor's po'ful onea.,y,Apected you back af^.'' ' ''"'
IhS giri arose with alacrity, saying : " Mr Gralifl,m

r '^pa rf n* •"' ?'° ^"4 ''^' "-' "°- «" '"e

me i-apa i ; an inveterate whist-player and vou hivp

tor the sake of your dehcious muffins altogether"— with
a nod at her hostess; "our game has been broken up

HIS SOMMHE RIVALS.

you know, Mrs. Maybum, by the departure of Mrs
Weeks and her daughter. You have often played a good

lid come

hand with us, and

j)apa

thought vou woul

over

this evening and that you, from your better acquaintance
with our neighbours, might know of some one who en-
joyed the game sufficiently to join us quite often. Mr.
Graham, you must be the one I am seeking. A gentle-
man versed in the lore of two continents certainly under-
stands whist, or, at least, can penetrate its mysteries at a
single sitting."

"Sujppose I punish the irony of your concluding
words,' Graham replied, *•' by saying that I know just
enough about the game to be aware how much skill is re-
quired to play with such a veteran as your father."

" If you did you would punish papa also, who is inno-
cent.

" That cannot be thought of, although, in truth, I play
but an indifferent game. If you will make amends by
^aaching me I will try to perpetrate as few blunders as
possible."

" Indeed, sir, you forget. You are to make amends for
keeping me talking here, forgetful of filial duty, by givin>
me a chance to teach you. You are to be led meekly in
as a trophy by which I am to propitiate my stern parent,
who has nailitary ideas of promptness and obedience."

" What if he should place me under arrest ? "

"Then Mrs. May burn and I will become your jailers,
and we shall keep you here until you are one of the most
accomplished whist-players in the land."

" If you will promise to stand guard over me some of
the time I will submit to any conditions."

" You are already making one condition, and may think
of a dozen more. It will be better to parole you with the
understanding that you are to put in an appearance at the
hour for whist;" and with similar light talk they went
down the walk under the apple-boughs, whence in Gra-
ham s fancy the fair girl had had her origin. As they

li I

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

|.Mssed mider the .sl,a.]ow ho saw the .lusky outlin.. „f «
.UHtio aeat leaning agairist tl,e bole of the tree and ho

wondered .fhesl-oulJcver induce hi.spre.sent«ud;throu.V^
he darkened paths to come there ,Le moon i'd eJl"
mg, and listen to the fancies which her unexpected ap-
|.earance had occasioned. The possibility of such an event
m contrast wUh ite far greater' improba^bil t^ lused hi"
to s,gh, and then he smiled broadlj! at himself in the dark-

IluSo.

When they had passed a clump of evergreens a lighted
eottage presented itself, and Miss St. John" sprang fehtlv
up the steps pushed open the hall door, and cried^throuih

host?l?rr« """' 'i"." ""y "P'-rtment, "No occasion ftr
hostilit.es papa. I have made a capture that gives the

ha.^:d'r:;rK''hi^?ooS'^^^^^^^^^^^^^

with some little difficulty, but hav^g g^lnerilis eet h
bearing was erect and soldier-like, and his couitesy per'
feet, a hough toward Mrs. Mayburn it was tingeTwHh
thegallantry of a former generation. Some brfefexpla

?thr ?i T*^,' '■"'^ *•'?' ' ^^''J"'- St. John turned upon
Graham the dark eyes which his daughter had inherited
and which seemed all the more brilliant in contrast wTth
his frosty eyebrows, and said genially, " It is very Snd

i^lo ,W "T^^ ^ '".V" <l^"gl»te'- he added a little que-

drewlhi, b, ;i'""''^ " "•'"■'" ''••"^^S- G'ace," and he
arew iii his breath as if m pain.

asked g^illy:'' *°""' "•"""•= y"" *°--g'^*- P-P- ? " «he
II Yes, just as it always does before a storm '
It is perfectly clear without." she resumed. « Perhaps

■ '^f'

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

iino of a
and lie
stlirough
lit even-
cted ap-
an event
sed him
ha dark-

i lighted
: lightly
through
Lsion for
ves the
or seve-

, white-
ud rose
feet, his
isy per-
d with
' expla-
d upon
lerited,
it with
y kind
I man's
le que-
andhe

? " she

erhaps
re still
lets of
cheej--

Tho room seemed to bo a combination of parlour and
library, and it satisHed Graham's ideal of a living apart-
ment. Easv-chairs of various patterns stood here and there
and looked as if constructed by tl •; very genius of com-
fort. A secretary in the corner near a window was open,
suggesting absent friends and the pleasure of writing to
them amid such agreeable surroundings, Again Graham
queried, prompted by the peculiar intiuences that had
gained the mastery on this tranquil but eventful evening,
•'Will Mi»s St. John ever sit there penning words straight
from her heart to me ?"

He was brought back to prose and reality by the major.
Mrs. Alayburn had been condoling with him, and he now
turned and said, " I hope, my dear sir, that you may never
carry around such a barometer as I am afflicted with. A
man with an infirmity grows a little egotistical, if not
worse."

*' You have much consolation, sir, in remembering how
you came by your infirmity," Graham replied. " Men
bearing such proofs of service to their country are not
plentiful in our money-getting land."

His daughter's laugh rang out musically as she cried,
" That was meant to be a fine stroke of diplomacy. Papa,
you will now have to pardon a sco»-e of blunders."

*' 1 have as yet no proof that any will be made," the
major remarked, and in fact Graham had underrated his
acquaintance with tlie game. He was quite equal to his
aunt in proficiency, and with Miss St. John for his part-
ner he was on his mettle. He found her skilful indeed,
quick, penetrating, and possessed of an excellent memory.
They held their own so well that the major's spirits rose
hoiuly. He forgot his wound in the complete absorption
of his favourite recreation.

As opportunity occurred Graham could not keep his
eyes frani wandering here and there about the apartment
that had so taken his fancy, especially at the large and
well-filled bookcase and some pictures, which, if not very

I «

Ul« SOMBRE KIVALS.

.ocponsive, had evidently been tl,e cl.oice „f .. c„ltiv,,ted

They were brought to a consciousness of the (ii.rbt of
t aie by a clock chiming out the hour of eleven and tl?.

m:ttlZ''^'fV''f^'" '-^ Mrs MayCnrt
Miss bt. John touched a silver bell, and a moment llv,

the same negress who had reminded l>er of her fatWs

"Have I earnlrri?' ^-Tf' """d «ome wafer-like cakes,
books rGraTmtl'ed.'"'"'""'^"" "' "" glance at your

" i es, indeed," Miss St. John renlied • « ,,«„.
Ike submission shall be further rtCded CLZ ^^"'
to borrow any of them while in town Idouhf tT'''"""

y^thif ot^i:;^ s tuii-Lr^e,ttS'rL\'

^tt hL?an^ra°":ok'»^''"" ''^''-'^ -''- ^0"

thin^'hTis'I^tui.""' " *''^ ""^ °^ -^« -J p-'ry ; but

r Sri^^* ' ^^^ you make them ? "
" Why not ? "

empJ^t'oplatf^ltdfT ^'^ "f "r'^-^ ?«"""< ^

i-evisl ma'nT: f'rourtTri:^!"-" ^ ^°" "'^'"'^^^ ^
officers are natuSy ™Teon?nH.? .''°"'' ''"''^^'^ *™y
c«m«., but then we hke to Tel ■ .*k "i'P°''t "''"^ *
can simplicity." "^^ "P ">« "I^ °f '•epubli-

toL^^mefrmake'lTTf^'"''"^ *° '"<>»«« y°- father
as possible ?" °* ^•'"'" "^<'™°S 'J"''- ^^'te as often

. JXihTiiat *?:', tKeiY'r^i^- ^n "

get to make them." ^ ^ sometimes for- .

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

" Their absence would not prevent my taste from beijj^
gratified if you will permit me to come. Here is a mark*^
ed volume of Emerson's works. May I take it for a day
or two V • "^

She blushed slightly, hesitated perceptibly, and then
said, " Yes."

" Alford," broke in his aunt, " you students have the
name of being great owls, but for an old woman of my
regular habits it's getting late."

"My daughter informs me," the major remarked to
Graham in parting, " that we may be able to induce you
to take a hand with us quite often. If you should ever
become as old and crippled as I am you will know how
to appreciate such kindness."

"Indeed, sir, Miss St. John must testify that I asked to
share your game as a privilege. I can scarcely remember
to have passed so pleasant an evening."

" Mrs. Mayburn, do try to keep him in this amiable
frame of mind," cried the girl.

" I think I shall need your aid," said that lady, with a
smile. " Come, Alford, it is next to impossible to get you
away.'*

" Papa's unfortunate barometer will prove correct, I
fear," said Miss St. John, following them out on the pi-
azza, for a thin scud was already veiling the stars, and
there was an ominous moan of the wind.

"To-morrow M'ill be a stormy day," remarked Mrs.
Mayburn, who prided herself on her weather wisdom.

" I'm sorry," Miss St. John continued, " for it will spoil
our fairy world of blossoms, and I am still more sorry for
papa's sake."

Should the day prove a long, dismal, rainy one," Gra-
ham ventured, " may I not come over and help entertain
your father ? "

" Yes,'' said the girl earnestly. " It cannot seem strange
to you that time should often hang heavily on his hands,
and I am grateful to any one who helps me tc '
hours."

inirQi

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

I I

Before Graham repassed under the apple-tree boughs
tude ^ *"" "^"^ ^* ^^^^^ Miss St. John's grati-

CHAPTER ITT.

THE VERDICT OF A SAQR

WHEN Graham reached his room he was in no mood
for sleep. At first he lapsed into a lon^ reverie
over the events of the evening, trivial in themsefves and
yet for some reason holding a controlHng influence over
his thoughts Miss St. John was a nel reXtln of
womanhood to him, and for the first time in his lif e l^s

tJn Wh ;",!\^« r^»re vibrated when she spoke and

tTnermif Th^^^ f'^ '^ "^T ' ?" ^^^ ^^^^^^^^ ^is impulse
to permit this stranger to make any impression within

Mm^T/'r? ^'/r ^ '^^' '^' had decidedly interested
thrift ^]^T^- to analyze her power he concluded
her p I "sh^ '" *l' mirthfulness. the joyousness of
ner spirit. She quickened his cool, deliberate pulse
Her smile was not an affiur of facial muscles, but had a
vivifying warmth. It made him suspect that h^ life
was becoming CO d and self-centred, that he was mSs ng
the deepest and best experiences of an existence that wj

ever ''thIV' ^"f T^' ^' ^^ ^'^''^'^' «^«« «^^«ed Jot
f Jf i. f ! r/u '^^^y ^^^ ambition had sufficed thus
far, but actuated by his own materialistic creed he w^
bound to make he most of life while it lasted. AccoTd!
mg to Emerson he wa^ as yet but in the earlier stages of

m^tT^'"''^^'' ^'f''' T^^°«^ ^^«".y undevised
Had not 'music, poetry, and art" dawned in his mind?

Wa^ nature but a mechanism after whose laws he had

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

been gioping like an anatomist who finds in the God-like
form bone and tissue merely ? As he had sat watching
the sunset a few hours previous, the element of beauty
had been present to him as never before. Could this
sense of beauty become so enlarged that the world would
be transfigured, " radiant with purple light "? Morning had
often brought to him weariness from sleepless hours during
which he had racked his brain over problems too deep for
him, and evening had found him still baffled, disappoint-
ed, and disposed to ask in view of his toil, Cui bono ?
What ground had Emerson for saying that these same
mornings and evenings might be filled with " varied en-
chantments " ? The reason, the cause of these unknown
conditions was given unmistakably. The Concord sage
had virtually asserted that he, Alford Graham, would
never truly exist until his one-sided masculine nature
had been supplemented by the feminine soul which alone
could give to his being completeness and the power to
attain his full development.

" Well," he soliloquized, laughing, " I have not been
aware that hitherto I have been only a mollusk, a polyp
of a man, I am inclined to think that Emerson's ' Pega-
sus' took the bit, — got the better of him on one occasion ;
but if there is any truth in what he writes it might not
be a bad idea to try a lii'de of the kind of evolution that
he suggests and see what comes of it. I am already con-
tident that I could see infinitely more than I do if I could
iook at the world through Miss St. John's eyes as well
as my own, but I run no slight risk in obtaining that
vision. Her eyes are stars that must have drawn wor-
shippers, not only from the east, but from every point of
the compass. I should be in a sorry plight if 1 should
become ' all memory,' and from my fair divinitv receive
as sole response, ' Please forget.' If the philosopher could
guarantee that she also would be 'all eye and all me-
mory,' one might indeed covet Miss St. John as the teacher
of the higher mysteries. Life is not very exhilarating at

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

tt t'^Vr" \P*"yP- C<"°«. come Alford &ahkm
S^M'^^JjetoH won't' Lf-'?"'"-''--' "''^^^^Ze

therefore penn.t no delusio,. and the grotth of n'o fake
dweUing up^n H ZllttZ.^^Z' '' "^^ ''-"

to ie^d^^e thrvX'i:^^\S2"^^*x^"^ -^r*^^

read in this instance, 'No wolnfverWotf''o/. "^^

i«;^rtith-c-^

catfnrappttTanrir?,t'f ?^k""^«'°^' ^'^^^ '°-J-

aa to'su^UtatlrstTg stfeTe 1° '^^':
passage was not the work of MiV.%f ^T k u f ^"^^^^^^^
some heavy masculinrhand Tl!- ''^^' ^"* '^^^^^ ^^

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

ourable for him. I can win her gratitude by amusing the
old major, and with that, no doubt, I should have to be
content."

This limitation of his chances caused Graham so littl?
solicitude that he was soon sleeping soundly.

CHAPTER IV.

WARNING OR INCENTIVE?

THE next morning proved that the wound which Ma-
jor St. John had received in the Mexican war was
a correct barometer. From a leaden, lowering sky the
rain fell steadily, and a chilly wind was fast dismantling
the trees of their blossoms. The birds had suspended
their nest-building, and but few had the heart to sing.

"You seem to take a very complacent view of^^the
dreary prospect without," Mrs. Mayburn remarked, as
Graham came smilingly into the breakfast -room and
greeted her with a cheerful note in his tones. " Such a
day as this means rheumatism for me and an achino- leo-
for Major St. John." " "^

"lam verry sorry, aunt," he replied, "but I cannot
help remembering also that it is not altogether an ill wind,
for it will blow me over into a cosy parlour and very
charming society— that is, if Miss St. John will give me
a little aid in entertaining her fa her."

" So we old people don't count for anythino-."

" That doesn't follow at all. I would do anythino- in
my power to banish your rheumatism and the mafor's
twinges, but how was it with you both at my af^e ? I
can answer for the major. If at that time he knew ano-
ther major with such a daufrhtfir as Waqboc. hia k^, — |,,v
devotion to the preceding: veteran was a little mixed '

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

;; Are you so taken by Miss St. John ?"
i have not the slightest hope of being taken bv her"
You know what 1 mean ? " ^

expeIMoL^L'';^!;f ^" '"^^f^ ^^ ™«d^«t hopes and
mS J • t^-at youmay have no anxieties if I avail

Whenever you will express your wishes." ^ ''

there but Tl"1,r\"''",,"'^* '^' '^ fi"«<l '"^hine any
TdStrmJ Ht'f^r'-''"^^-^'T that I love and
indeed he iHLn f ^f-^'' ," '^^W'^'' a»d querulous :

m his regiment, and occasionally he emnhaX^, hi, a
without much regard to the thfrd commandme^ Bu?
his gusts of anger are over quickly, and a kind«- heartd
and more upright man never livp,l nt „ " . "parted
servants won't stand harsh words t?1 "'^'. -^""1™^"

:t^L-oit-teir=fn^^

3r'^4ot::iouVriadVt:/^^^^^^^^

W J!. • ••. 5"^°^® ?' sunshine embodied She make^

ofler last evening, fort-" tnl ,,' airdulne'sl^olTr
fathers life seem, her constant thought. ^ifJoTwth

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

by her."

)pes and
it' I avcail
what I
it-h such
eglected.
r service

d fault.
)od old-
, selfish
^ see her
ilknow
ae any-
)ve and
Jrulous :
rything

he did
s words
. But
hearted
nerican

do all
id hr.ve
vs how
woman

at her
Grace's
[• gave
wife to
makes
)py in
•f your
m her
I wish

to grow in the young lady's favour don't be so attentive
to her as to neglect the old gentleman."

Graham listened to this good-natured gossip with
decided interest, feeling that it contained valuable sug-
gestions. The response seemed scarcely relevant. " When
is she to be married ? " he asked.

" Married !

" Yes. It is a wonder that such a paragon has escaped
Jius long."

" You have lived abroad too much," said his aunt sat-
^ically. " American girls are not married out of hand at
a certain age. They marry when they please or not at
all if they please. Grace easily escapes marriage."

" Not from want of suitors, I'm sure."

" You are right there."

"How then?"

" By saying, ' No, I thank you.' You can easily learn
how very effectual such a quiet negative is, if you
choose."

" Indeed ! Am I such a very undesirable party ? " said
Graham, laughing, for he heartily enjoyed his aunt's
brusque way of talking, having learned already the kind-
liness it masked.

"Not in my eyes. I can't speak for Grace. She'd
marry you if she loved you, and were you the Czar of
all the Russias you wouldn't have the ghost of a chance
unless she did. I know that she has refused more than
one fortune. She seems perfectly content to live with
her father, until the one prince having the power to
awaken her appears. When he comes rest assured she'll
follow him, and also be assured that she'll take her father
with her, and to a selfish, exacting Turk of a husband he
might prove an old man of the sea. And yet I doubt it.
Grace would manage any one. Not that she has much
management either. She simply laughs, smiles, and
talks everyone into good humour. Her mirthfulness,
her own happiness, is so genuine that it is contagious!

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

the old lady ™lSoCJy '''''*'" '^^'" ^''''>-'" '='''><=l"<ied

have d'Sdllt:"'" '"^^ ^"'"' " ««'•>' -«*«-'' - you
.o;/i::i^^r:"L^,^- -e exeu.. Weil, be on
and therefore you will beTn all ^L'' *f **?*"« y".
captured l/ yorLe you hearrrv'rf \°' ''^'"^
will need more than Gemifln ntf;? ^ *™ '" ^«'' yo"
, " I have already made r ^^lu^^^ *» sustain you."
last remark." ^ ^ "^^^'^ "> substance your

th:We?yTearny;ire':U tlt'r''"',?"^ P-^'^P' ^r
attack." -^ ™ ^'^ *'^« more hable to an acute

•' stS tS'tTtur: n ''•°?' *« *^^'«. ""d asked,
would I nothaveyotwes^ing^'?"^* *° ^'- »*• Jo*"";
'■ m;r^'^ '°°™ *''*" "y Messing."

"StreommTmtSr ^f ^o"' "'--^^ "
and I do not wSh ™u t^^^kl '^ y"" commit yourself,

■ appreciating the risTOb^^^^^^^^^^

hearSf .. t; SZy^Wri^S^-J' h"- '^^""^
one evening with the gi>l » ' ^ ^^^® ^P^nt but

piiS ■'! KoTltd t'o mv^tf ^'^f ^-"«y - ^''^ -
ing a thing or two Mv ^ ^ T "^ ''*« ^'*out learn-

you looked at Gr^e W . •^'^ *' "« °°«« J"st as

ca^eofitinlreTante :S; %' ' '"°"! "''*'
and you may be invulnerabir»T^ J.O" afesafe now,

ike it ; but^you Tn seTmu^h of ^^ote' St'l T '°1
rema:n untouched you are unlike mostlen.'- "'"' '"^

Bnt-Xptii:ii--niiuXron-,^:

ome over
Joncluded

I as you

1, be on
ure you,
of being
her you
in you."
ce your

aps for
tn acute

i asked,
>. John.

g?"

3urself,

without

aghing
nt but

ihe re-
learn-
as yet.
ist as
what
J now,
t look
1 and

c:now.
ICC ? "

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS. 35

"Yes. I think we both have had the name of being a
ittle pecuhar.and my brusque, direct way of coming righ?
to the point ,s one of my peculiarities. *" I am very inti-
mate with the St. Johns, and am almost as fond of Grace
as if she were my own child. So of course you can see
V^f^d.^fl of her if you wi«h, and this aCi'ement
about whist will add to your opportunities. I know wha
young men are, and I know too what often happen! when
their faces express as much admiration and interest as

LTdd^) f ""'^t ^^"^'^ "^^^^'" continued the ener-
get c old lady with an emphatic tap on the floor with her

foot, and a decided nod of her head, "if I were a vouna

man, Grace would have to marry some one else to /et rid

of me. Now I've had my say. and my conscience is clear

ttfrrestt'Tut I ^^^^ ''''''' /^' yout'srsttTe
tnat question, but I am sincere and cordial in my reouest

ne sam, l thank you for your kindness, and more than
all for your downright sincerity. When I came hemTt

fTnd" rf r ^"'AC"™-' -^'^ll- With the exceptZ of one
friend I believed that I stood utterly alone in the world
-that no one cared what I did or what became of me

witn It but 1 find it more pleasant than I can make von
understand to know there is one place in the St^
which I can come, not u, a stranger to an inn buTa, o^

»wer:i^.ri;-ci^ilv£43

ude7"Lrn"''-^/f ^^™'"^ ™y Iive7hoS"L\r

then ouite nrlif '' *° "^ ""?"'''' "> ^«^' ^^^le. and
inen quite probably resume my studies here or abroad

you lor > our note of alarm in rejjard to Miss St

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

John, although T must say that to my mind there is more
ot mcentive than of warning in your words. I think
1 can at least venture on a few reconnoissances, as the ma-
jor might say, before I beat a retreat. Is it too earlv to
make one now ? "

Mrs. Maybum smiled. « No," she said, laconically.

■ ,f^^ ,** y^^ ^^^^^ ^y reconnoissance will lead to a
«iege, Graham added. " Well, I can at least Dromise that
tJiere shall be no rash movements."

CHAPTER V.

IMPRESSIONS.

ri RA.HAM, smiling at his aunt and still more amused
yj at himself, started to pay his mornina visit " Yes-
terday afternoon/' he though?, ^' I expected^o make but
a bnef call on an aunt who was almost a stranger to me
and now I am domiciled under her roof indefinitely. She
has introduced me to a charming girl, and in an ostensi-
ble warning shrewdly inserted the strongest incentives to
venture everything, hinting at the same time that if I
succeeded she would give me more than her blessing
What a vista of possibilities has opened since I crossed
her threshold ! A brief time since I was buried in German
iibraries, unaware of the existence of Miss St. John, and
forgetting that of my aunt. Apparently I have crossed
the ocean to meet them both, for had I remained abroad
a tew days longer, letters on the way would have prevent-
ed my returning. Of course it is all chance, but a curious
chance. I don t wonder that people are often supersti-
tious ; and yet a moment's reasoning proves the absurdity
ot this .ort of thing. Nothing truly strange often hap-

Mis SOMBUK RIVALS.

pens and only our egotism invests events of personal in-
teiest with a tract of the marvellous. My busine^ man

. i^ u . '*''"®- % »»»' receives me, not as I

a relative. She haa a fair young neighbour with whom
.she 1., mtima e, and whom I meet as a matter of cL^
and m a matter of course I can continue to meet hei as'

Sk^ f ?u^ ? """ '='"' ''"J"-^' "•« 'o^ety of any woman
without the danger my aunt suggests and-as I half be

.eve-would like to bring about What signify my f^-'
cies of ast evening? We often enjoy imao-inine wW

nigh be without ever intending it shall be. AUny rate
I sha 1 not sigh for Mis,s St. John or any other woman un!

1 satisfied that 1 should not sigh in vain. The proba-
bilities are therefore that I shalF never sigh at all "^
As he approached Major St. John's dwelling he saw the

bf a le"tt r" A°"^'''' ''^^^^.^ ^^ *« ^'"^ow andTead!
ing a letter. A synnga shrub part ally concealed him ind
his umbrella, and he could not forbearVusinsra mTment
to note what a pretty picture she made A spfig rf"
tT^Z"' '".herlight wavy hair, and anot'^ef fo,rened
by her breastpin drooped over her bosom. Her mornin"
wrapper was of the hue of the sky that lay bi=k of thf
leaden clouds. A heightened colour mantltd hTr cheeks

anch,.rite to look often at such a vision as tC and ™

HIS SOMBRE KIVALS.

ThXZlT.!'iu": ^''?' ^^''^"''"' ''"'« "O'l and """e-
~ tL T ^°l'^'"\ .">«'?"tly. "nd a moment later 8he
opened the door for him herself, savinc " Since I Imv^
seen you and you have come on «. k^n.f kn e rand I have
d>,pe^«,.,l w,th the formality of Honding a servant to ad!

askeT'"'«Yn,l'j'!l «' l"""^' ^' " ^'"■"'«'' reward?" he
..^i . Y"" .*'" ''"'^ ™® ^'ery mercenary."
Oh, certamly. Pardon the oversight. I should have

U": me""""" ^'■'""'^""S ''°<=« '^ - - long since w:
"And h-.ving known each other so long also " he ail.',..l
m the same hght vein, conscious meantime that Ire he '
hand that was as full of vitality as it was shapely and wl
toyout" *'''<'P'"^^; "^^"^ '''■'t evening .s'eem an age

»„I/.*''-'?'!w'";°'°"^,'*.' ''"'•yo" must remember that mv
aunt said t;hat she could not get me away ; and tins moni.

ing I was indiscreet, enough to welcome the rain, at which
wound"?' "'" "^ ^"^ '-heumatism and your father'

" And at which I also hope you had a twinge or two of
conscience Papa," she added, leading the way into the

Ulkabout life 1,1 Germauy that so delayed me last even-

ing

The old gentleman started out of a doze, and his man-
ner proved that he we corned any break in the monotony
of the day, "You wil pardon my not rising," he said^
s confounded weather is playing the deuS with my

l|f

HIS 80MHUE HIV Ah

(Jmham was observant as he Joined in a general con-
Hi'iiination of the weather; and the manner in which Miss
St. John rearranged the cushion on which her father's
toot rested, coaxed the tire into a more cheerful blaze and
l.est()we<l other little attentions, proved beyond a doubt
that all efforts in behalf of the sutiering veteran would be
appreciated. Nor was he so devoid of a kindly good-na-
ture himself as to anticipate an irksome task, and he did
his utmost to discover the best methods of entertaining
his host. The effort soon became remunerative, for the
major had seen much of life, and enjoyed reference to his
experiences. Graham found that he could be induced to
fight his battles over again, but always with very modest
allusion to himself. In the course of their talk it also
becjime evident that he was a man of somewhat extensive
reading, and the daily paper must have been almost lite-
rally devoured to account for his acquaintance with con-
temporary affairs. The daughter was often not a little
amused at Graham's blank looks as her father broached
topics of American interest which to the student from
abroad were as little known or understood as the ques-
tions which might have been agitating the inhabitants of
Jupiter. Most ladies would have been politely oblivious
ol her guest's blunders and infelicitous remarks, but Miss
t5t. John had a frank, merry way of recognising them, and
yet mahce and ridicule were so entirely absent from her
words and ways that Graham soon positively enjoyed be-
ing laughed at, and much preferred her delicate open rail-
lery which gave him a chance to defend himself, to a
smiling mask that would leave him in uncertainty as to
the h tness of his replies. There was a subtle flattery also
in this course, for she treated him as one capable of hold-
ing his own, and not in need of social charity and protec-
tion. With pleasure he recognised that she was adopting
toward him something of the .same sportive manner vvhich
characterized her relations with his aunt, and which also
indicated that as Mrs. Mayburn's nephew he had met with

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

a reception which would not have been accorded to one
less favourably introduced.

How vividly in after years Graham remembered thai
rainy May morning ! He could always call up before him.
like a vivid picture, the old major with his bushy white
eyebrows and piercing black eyes, the smoke from his
meerschaum creating a sort of halo around his gray head
the fine, venerable face often drawn by pain led to half-
muttered imprecations that courtesy to his guest and
daughter could not wholly suppress. How often he saw
again the fire curling softly from the hearth with a con-
tented crackle, as if pleased to be once more an essential
to the home from which the advancing summer would
soon banish it ! He could recall every article of the
furniture with which he afterwards became so familiar
But that which was engraven on his memory forevei
was a fair young girl sitting by the window with a back-
ground of early spring greenery swaying to and fro ir
the storm. Long afterwards, when watching on tho
perilous picket line or standing in his place on the battle-
field, he would close his eyes that he might recall mort-
vividly the little white hands deftly crocheting ou some
feminine mystery, and the mirthful eyes that often glanced
Trom it to him as the quiet flow of their talk rippled on,
A rill, had it conscious life, would never forget the pebble
that deflected its course from one ocean to another ;
human life as it flows onward cannot fail to recognise
events, trivial in themselves, which nevertheless gave
direction to ail the future.

Graham admitted to himself that lie had found a charn
at this fireside which he had never enjoj^ed elsewhere in
society, — the pleasure of being perfectly at ease. There
was a genial frankness and simplicity in his entertainers
which banished restraint, and gave him a sense of security.
He felt instinctively that there were no adverse currents
of mental criticism and detraction, that they were loyal
to him as their invited guest, notwithstanding Jest, banter,
and good-natured satire.

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

3d to one

sred tlial
fore him.
ly white
from his
ray head

to half-
lest and
I he saw
th a con-
esi-entia]
ir would
e of the
familiar
' forevei
h a back-
id fro ir

on tho
le battle-
call more
on some
1 glanced
ppled on,
le pebble
another ;
'ecognise
3SS gave

a charn
vhere in
. There
3rtainer.s
security,
currents
jre loyal
;. banter.

The hours had vanished so swiftly that he was at a loss
to account for them. Miss St. John was a natural foe to
(lulness of all kinds, and this, too, without any apparent
etfort. Indeed, we are rarely entertained by evident and
deliberate exertion. Pleasurable exhilaration in society
is obtained from those who impart, like warmth, their
own spontaneous vivacity. Miss St. John's smile was an
antidote for a rainy day, and he was loath to pass from
its genial power out under the dripping clouds. Follow-
ing an impulse, he said to the girl, " You are more than a
match for the weather."

These words were spoken in the hall after he had bid-
den adieu to the major.

" If you meant a compliment it is a very doubtful one,"
she replied, laughing. " Do you mean that I am worse
than the weather which gives papa the horrors, and Mrs.
Mayburn the rheumatism ? "

"And me one of the most delightful mornings I ever
enjoyed," he added, interrupting her. "You were in
league with your wood fire. The garish sunshine of a
warm day robs a house of all cosiness and snugness. In-
stead of being depressed by the storm and permitting
others to be dull, you have the art of making the clouds
your foil."

"Possibly I may appear to some advantage against such
a dismal background," she admitted.

" My meaning is interpreted by my unconscionably
long visit. I must now reluctantly retreat into the dis-
mal background."

"A rather well-covered retreat, as papa might say, but
you will need your umbrella all the same ; " for he, in
looking back at the archly smiling girl, had neglected to
open it.

"I am glad it is not a final retreat," he called back. "I
shall return this evening reinforced by my aunt."

Well," exclaimed that lady, when he appeai-ed before
her. " lunch has been waiting ten minutes or more."

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

^J^^ feared as much," he replied, shaking his head rue-

" What kept you ? "
" Miss St. John."

'' q.''V!j'^"'u-*^/ ' ^ *^«"ght you were to entertain him."
bo 1 did, but man proposes — "

dismay. I thought you promised to do nothing rash "
You are more precipitate than I have been. All that

ch'aSI Wend.^"^ "^ ^''^'''"' '"'^ '""^ '""'''y "'^-^

"The major ?" she suggested.

" A natural error on your part, for I perceived he was
very gallant to you. After your remarks, however you
cannot think it strange that I found the daughter mo°e
mteresting-so interesting indeed that I hav! kept yoi'

tran7in'".,7"''-A/?.' ""* ^P?'-^* "•« ''ff^"''^ any oK
than I can he p. At the same time 1 find that I have not

lost my appetite, or anything else that I am aware of "

down riuLch '^^''' ' " ^'' ""^^ ^^^-^ ^ *'^«y -♦■

" Like herself."

" Then not like anyone else you know »"

" We agree here perfectly."

" You have no fear ? "

" No, nor any hopes that I am conscious of. Can I not
admire your paragon to your heart's content without in
^stmgthat she bestows upon me the treasures of her
life ? Miss St. John has a frank, cordial manner all her
own, and I think also that for your sake she has received
me rather graciously, but I should be blind indeed dd I

and that u'ould be useless, as you said, unless her own
heart prompted the surrender. I have heard and read
that many women are capable of passing fancies
of which adroit su.t»rs can take advantage, and they are
engaged or mamed before fully comprehending what it

HIS SOMBRE EIVALS.

lead ruo-

;am him."

assumed
ig rash."

All that
y of your

d he was
3ver, you
ter more
kept you
y oftener
have not
re of."
they sat

all

'an I not
hout in-
i of her
r all her
received
d did I
i^in her;
ler own
nd read
fancies
hey are
what it

means. Wore Miss St. John of this class, I should
still hesitate to venture, for nothing in my training haH
fitted nie to take an advantage of a lady's mood. I don't
think your favourite is given to fancies. She is too well
poised. Her serene, laughing confidence, her more than
content, comes either from a heart already happily
given, or else from a nature so sound and healthful that
hte in Itself is an unalloyed joy. She impresses me as
the hai)piest being I ever met, and as such it is a delight
to be 111 her presence ; but if I should approach her like a
lover, something tells me that I should find her like a
snowy peak, warm and rose-tinted in the sunlight, as seen
in the distance, but growing cold as you draw near. There
may be subterranean fires, but they would manifest them-
selves from some inward impulse. At least I do not feel
conscious of any power to awaken them." '

Mrs. Mayburn shook her head ominously.

" You are growing very fanciful," she said, " which is a
sign it not a bad one. Your metaphors, too, are so far-
tetched and extravagant as to indicate the earliest stages
ot the divine madness. Do you mean to suggest that
Crrace will break forth like a volcano on some fortuitous
man ? If that be your theory you would stand as good a
chance as any one. She might break forth on you/'

" I have indeed been unfortunate in my illustration
since you can so twist my words even in jest. Here's
plain enough prose for you. No amount of wooing would
make the slightest difference unless by some law or im-
res ond ''"^'^ own nature Miss St. John was compelled to

" Isn't that true of every woman ? "
" I don't think it is."

thlfemTnfneV^^^^^^ "^ " """' ^" *^^ ^^^^^^^ °«

k;.7 ^^7,^«<^ livf, altogether the life of a monk, and the
history of the world is the history of women as well as of
men. 1 am merely giving the impression that has been
made unon me."

pi I

5 J

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

CHAPTER VI.

PHILOSOPHY AT FAULT.

TF Mrs Mayburn had fears that her nephew's peace

Tm'^'' Q? T^ f ^^^J^^ ^y ^"* exposure to the fascinations
ot Miss St. John, they were quite allayed by his course
tor the next two or three weeks. If she had indulged the
hope that he would speedily be carried away by the
charms which seemed to her irresistible, and so give the
chance of a closer relationship with her favourite, she saw
httle to encourage such a hope beyond Graham's evident
enioyment m the young girl's society, ai.d his readiness to
seek It on all fitting occasions. He played whist assidu-
ously, and appeiired to enjoy the game. He often spent
two or three hours with the major during the day, and
occasionaly beguiled the time by readirjg aloud to him
but the element ot gallantry toward the daughter seemed
wanting, and the aunt concluded, " No woman can rival
a book m Alfords heart,-that is, if he has one,-and he
IS simply studying Grace as if she were a book There is
one symptom, however, that needs explanation,~he is
not so ready to talk about her as at first, and I don't be-
lieve that indifference is the cause."

She was right .;^ indifference was not the cause. Gra-
ham s interest in Miss St. John was growing deeDer every

f^^' t\i^^'^ '^'^"-"^ ^^'^ ^^^^ «^^ g^iSed upon his
thought, the less was he inclined to speak of her He
was the last man in the world to be carried away by a

TJ"""!; i/u^"'*^^^ P.^''^^'^' ^^^ ^« ^»iount of beauty
could hold his attention an hour, did not the mind ray

m"^ aJ 7't^ ? '?^''^^^ ^""^ power essentially its own.

Miss bt John had soon convinced him that she could
do more than look sweetly and chatter. She could not
only talk to a university. bred man, but also tell iiim

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

ew's peace
iascinations

his course
dulged the
ly by the
io give the
te, she saw
)'s evident
jadiness to
ist assidu-
>tten spent
?. day, and
id to him,
ter seemed

can rival
J, — and he

There is
on, — he is
; don't be-

ise. Gra-
sper every
upon his

her. He
way by a
)f beauty
mind ray
r its own.
she could
could not

tell iiim

much that was now. He found his peer, not in his lines
of thought, but in her own, and he was so little of an
egotist that he admired her all the more because she knew
what he did not, and could never become an echo of him-
self. In her world she had been an intelligent observer
and thinker, and she interpreted that world to him as
naturally and unassumingly as a flower blooms and ex-
hales its fragrance. For the first time in his life he gave
himself up to the charm of a cultivated woman's society,
and to do this in his present leisure seemed the most sen-
sible thing possible.

" One can see a rare flower," he had reasoned, " without
wishing to pluck it, or hear a wood-thrush sing without
straightway thinking of a cage. Miss St. John's affections
may be already engaged, or I may be the last person in
the world to secure them. Idle fancies of what she might
become to me are harmless enough. Any man is prone
to indulge in these when seeing a woman who pleases his
taste and kindles his imagination. When it comes to
practical action one may expect and desire nothing more
than the brightening of one's wits and the securing of
agreeable pastime. I do not see why I should not be en-
tirely content with these motives until my brief visit is
over, notwithstanding my aunt's ominous warnings ; " and
so without any misgivings had at first yielded himself
to all the spells that Miss fcit. John might unconsciously
weave.

As time passed, however, he began to doubt whether
he could maintain his cool, philosophic attitude of enjoy-
ment. He found himself growing more and more eager
for the hours to return when he could seek her society,
and the intervening time was becoming dull and heavy-
paced. The impulse to go back to Germany and to re-
sume his studies was slow in coming. Indeed, he was at
laot obliged to admit to himself that a game of whist with
the old major had more attractions than the latest scien-
tific treatise. Not that he_jdoted on the irascible veteran,

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

but because iie thus secared a fair partner whose dark
eyes were beaming with mirth and intelligence, whose
ever-springmg fountain of happiness was so full that even
in the solemnity of the game it found expression in little
piquant gestures, brief words, and smiles that were like
glints of sunshine. Her very presence lifted him to a
Higher plane, and gave a greater capacity for enjoyment,
and sometimes simply an arch smile or an unexpected tone
set his nerves vibrating in a manner as deli'rbtful •^'^ ^'t,
was unexplainable by any past experience t : . could
recall. She was a good walker and horsewon . and as
their acquaintance ripened he began to ask permission to
join her m her rides and rambles. She assented without
the slightest hesitancy, but he soon found that she gave
him no exclusive monopoly of these excursions, and that
he must share them with other young men. Her absences
from home were always comparatively brief, however,
and that which charmed him most was her sunny devo-
tion to her invalid and often very irritable father. She
was the antidote to his age and to his infirmities of body
ana temper. While she was away the world in general,
and his own little sphere in particular, tended toward a
hopeless snarl. Jinny, the coloured servant, was subser-
viency itself, but her very obsequiousness irritated him
although her drollery was at times diverting. It was
usually true, however, that but one touch and one voice
could soothe the jangling nerves. As Graham saw this
womanly magic, which apparently cost no more effort
than the wood fire put forth in banishing chilliness and
discomfort, the thought would come, "Blessed will be
the man who can win her as the light and life of his
home I

Wheo days passed, and no (me seemed to have a greater
place m her thoughts and interest than himself, was it
unnatural that the hope should dawn that she mif^ht
create a home for him ? If she had a favoured suitor hia
•unt would be apt to know oj it. She did not seem ^m-

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

bitious, or disposed to invest her heart so that it might
bring fortune and social eminence. Never by word or
sign had she appeared to chafe at her father's modest
competency, but with tact and skill, taught undoubtedly
by army experience, she made their slender income yield
the essentials of comfort and refinement, and seemed quite
indifferent to non-essentials. Graham could never hope
to possess wealth, but he found in Miss St. John a woman
who could impart to his home the crowning grace of
wealth — simple, unostentatious elegance. His aunt had
said that the 3'oung girl had already refused more than
one fortune, and the accompanying assurance that she
would marry the man she loved, whatever might be his
circumstances, seem.ed verified by his own observation.
Therefore why might he not hope ? Few men are so
modest as not to indulge the hope to which their heart
piompts them. Graham was slow to recognise the exist-
ence of this hope, and then he watched its growth warily.
Not for the world would he lose control of himself, not
for the world would he reveal it to any one, least of all to
his aunt or to her who had inspired it, unless he had some
reason to believe she would not disappoint it. He was
prompted to concealment, not only by his pride, which
was great, but more by a characteristic trait, an instinc-
tive desire to hide his deeper feelings, his inner personality
from all others. He would not admit that he had fallen
in love. The very phrase was excessively distasteful.
To his friend Hilland he might have given his confi-
dence, and he would have accounted for himself in some
such way as this : —

" I have found a child and a woman ; a child in frank-
ness and joyousness, a woman in beauty, strength, mental
rnaturity, and unselfishness. She interested me from the
first, and every day I know better the reason why, — be-
■ause she is interesting. My reason has kept pace with
my fancy and my deeper feeling, and impels me to seek
this girl quite as much as does my heart. I do not think

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

a man meets such a woman or such a chance for happi-
ness twice in a lifetime. I did not believe there was such
a woman in the world. You may laugh and say that is
the way all lovers talk. I answer emphatically, No. I
have not yet lost my poise, and 1 never was a predestined
lover. I might easily have gone through life and never
given to these subjects an hour's thought. Even now I
could quietly decide to go away and take up my old life
as I left it. But why should I ? Here is an opportunity
to enrich existence immeasurably, and to add to all my
chances of success and power. So far from being a drag
upon one, a woman like Miss St. John would incite and
inspire a man to his best efforts. She would sympathize
with him because she could understand his aims and keep
pace with his mental advance. Granted that my pros-
pects of wmning her are doubtful indeed, still as far as I
can see there is a chance. I would not care a straw for
a woman that I could have for the asking, — who would
take me as a dernier ressort Any woman that I would
marry, many others would gladly marry also, and I must
take my chance of winning her from them. Such would
be my lot under any circumstance, and if I give way to a
faint heart now I may as well give up altogether and
contejit myself with a library as a bride."

Since he felt that he might have taken Hilland into
his confidence, he had, in terms substantially the same as
those given, imagined his explanation, and he smiled as
he portrayed to himself his friend's jocular response,
which would have nevertheless its substratum of true
sympathy. " Hilland would say," he thought, " ' That is
just hke you, Graham. You can't smoke a cigar or make
love to a girl without analyzing and philosophizing and
arranging all the wisdom of Solomon in favour of your
course. Now I would make love to a girl because I loved
her, and that would be the end on't.' "

Graham was mistaken in this case. Noifn laughing
sympathy, but in pale dismay, would Hilland have recei-

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

or happi-
! was such
y that is
y, No. I
edestined
-nd never
m now I
y old life
portunity
o all my
ig a drag
acite and
mpathize
and keep
my pros-
3 far as I
5traw for
10 would
I would
id I must
ch would
way to a
ther and

and into
) same as
miled as
response,

of true

' That is

or make

dng and

of your
e I loved

laughing
ve recei-

ved this revelation, for he was making love to Grace St.
John hecause he lovt.d her with all his heart and soul.
There had been a time when Graham might have obtain-
ed a hint of this had circumstances been difi'erent, and it
had occurred quite early in kis acquaintance with Miss
St. John. After a day that had been unusually delight-
ful and satisfactory he was accompanying the young girl
home from his aunt's cottage in the twilight. Out of the
complacency of his heart he remarked, half to himself,
" If Hilland were only here, my vacation would be com-
plete."

In the obscurity he could not see her sudden burning
flush, and since her hand was not on his arm he had no
knowledge of her startled tremor. All that he knew was
that she was silent for a moment or two, and then she
asked quietly, " Is Mr. Warren Hilland an acquaintance
of 3'^ours ? "

" Indeed he is not," was the emphatic and hearty re-
sponse. " He is the best friend I have in the world, and
the best fellow in the world."

fatal obscurity of the deepening twilight ! Miss St.
John's face was crimson and radiant with pleasure, and
could Graham have seen her at that moment he could not
have failed to surmise the truth.

The young girl was as jealous of her secret as Graham
soon became of his, and she only remarked demurely, " I
have met Mr. Hilland in society," and then she changed
the subject for they were approaching the piazza steps,
and she felt that if Hilland should continue the theme of
conversation under the light of the chandelier, a telltale
face and manner would betray her, in spite of all effort at
control. A fragrant blossom from the shrubbery border-
ing the walk brushed against Graham's face, and he
plucked it, saying, " Beyond that it is fragrant I don't
know what this flower is. Will vou take it from me ? "

" Yes," she said, hesitatingly, for at that moment her
absent -lover had been brought so vividly to her conscious-

I H

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

ness that her heart recoiled from even the slirrhtest hint

^^'^^T,^'"''^- ^ 7^--^^ ^-^- the thou';
occuried Mr Graham is 7m dearest friend- ther^W

JDseivant eyes. It is a woman's delisht to hear h^r

overpraised by other men, and Graham's words hTbeen

Lsure'd Lr tit T VV"" ^f P"'»«^ bounding, for th'y

wJh^ti^y:^^^^^^^^^

Whe fir^'^B r*",/ T '"'"^ *at I didlot "eft

Ct;lp".rnrnXrd''Sx^^^^^^^^

strongest, purest emotions of the soul. ^ ^ '

^Il_

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

ite.st hint
3 thought
therefore
a-nk with

cool her
ham saw
er to her
3d him a
lour door

Jeep, full
inder his
lear her
lad been
for they
ve's par-
standing
best fel-
5t see it
he drew

the vis-
n itself,
deepest,

CHAPTER VIL

WARREN HILLAND.

THE closing scenes of the preceding chapter demand
some explanation. Major St. John had spent part
of the preceding summer at a seaside resort, and his daugh-
ter had inevitably attracted not a little attention. Among
those that sought her favour was Warren Hilland, and in
accordance with his nature he had teen rather precipitate.
He was ardent, impulsive, and, indulged from earliest
childhood, he had been spoiled in only one respect — when
he wanted anything he wanted it with all his heart and
immediately. Miss St. John had seemed to him from the
first a pearl among women. As with Graham, circum-
stances gave him the opportunity of seeing her daily, and
he speedily succumbed to the " visitation of that power "
to which the strongest must yield. Almost before the
young girl suspected the existf nee of his passion, he de-
clared it. She refused him, buo he would take no refusal.
Having won from her the admission that he had no fa-
voured rival, he lifted his handsome head with a resolu-
tion which she secretly admired, and declared that only
when convinced that he had become hateful to her would
he give up his suit.

He was not a man to become hateful to any Wouian.
His frank nature was so in accord with hers that she re-
sponded In somewhat the same spirit, and said, half laugh-
ingly and half tearfully, " Well, if you will, you will, but
I can offer no encouragement."

And yet his downright earnestness had agitated her
deeply, disturbing her maiden serenity, and awaking for
the first time the woman within her heart. Hitherto her
girlhood's fancies had been like summer zephyrs, disturb-
ing but briefly the still, clear waters of her soul; but now

HIS SOMBKE ItlVALS.

•ho became an enigma to herself as she sJowly ..rew con-
scoua of l>o.- own heart and ti.e law of her wonWs na
ture to ove and give herself to anothe,- C To Cl

r°'l, 1 !>? " '''^°'" '0 """enilcr easily ijoth

G.aham and Mrs. Mayburn were right in their e;timate
-she would never yield her heart unless eon.pel^d " bv

z'l^z^eZr'''''' ^' '"' '"''''''"'"""■ ''"' '" "--"^

The first and chief efTeet of Hilland's impetuous wooing

Z^»rt^LaZ r"- ^ i'''°y ^" sen'seo?maTSf
Thl .^' , """"S ''''"' ^""^ to fa<=« with her destiny

Then h.s openly ayowed siege speedily compelled her ta
withdraw her thoughts from^man^n th"^ ab7ra t to h m-
■selt She could not brush him aside bv a quiet nelti^
as she had already done in the case" of sTyeral frher^'
Glmging to her old life, howeyer, and fearing to embark
on this unknown sea of new experiences, she hesHated
and would not commit hei-self until the force that m
f„ f lYtl «'™t«'"«i" that which restraTned Heat
last had the tact to understand her and to r cognise that

h mult ";!" ft'th'"'' "'"^ ''r^' ^ <='>'>^'' -d 'ha
ae must, wait tor the woman to deyelop Honefnl .,1

most confident, for success and prosperity\af SLlv"

watt^'fc/"!; 'i™ '" ^"'^'"8^' he^LcoXnt^J
wait, ihe major had sanctioned his addresses from th.

first and he sought to attain his objecrw careftiTand
skilfu! approaches. He had shown himself such an Z
petuous wooer that she might well doubt his peiSisTence"

Sstrld^Td^u'l'tT^^- ^^*^- -"^^^^

th»b/p^;---^^^^^
to h s earnest plees, in which he moyingly por^rlyed his
iTteTLr" * '■"'^' njining yiUage, sht^sLKiih
11.5 -uf ""''"'^'""''"y' ""dhe had written so Quietlv
Wd sensibly, so nearly as a friend might adr5res.s aQ

HIS HOMHRE RIVALS.

that sho felt there could be no harm in a correspondence
of thus character. During the winter season their letters
had grown more frecjuent, and he with consummate skill
had gradually tinged his words with a warmer hue. She
smiled at his artifice. There was no longer any need of
it, for by the wood fire, when all the house was still and
wrapped in sleep, she had become fully revealed unto her-
self She found that she had a woman's heart, and that
she had given it irrevocably to Warren Hi Hand.

She did not tell him so, — far from it. The secret
seemed so strange, so wonderful, so exquisite in its blend-
ing of pain and pleasure, that she did not tell anyone.
Hers was not the nature that could babble of the heart's
deepest mysteries to half a score of contidents. To him
first she would make the supreme avowal that she had be-
come his by a sweet compulsion that had at last proved
irresistible, and even he must again seek that acknow-
ledgement directly, earnestly. He was left to gather
what hope he could from the fact that she did not resent
his warmer expressions, and this leniency from a girl like
Grace St. John meant so much to him that he did gather
hope daily. Her letters were not nearly so frequent as
his, but when they did come he fairly gloated over them.
They were so fresh, crisp, and inspiring that they reminded
him of the seaside breezes that had quickened his pulses
with health and pleasure during the past summer. She
wrote in an easy, gossiping style of the books she was
reading, of the good things in the art and iiterary jour-
nals, and of such questions of the day as would naturally
interest her, and he so gratefully assured her that by this
course she kept him within the pale of civilization, that
she was induced to write often er. In her efibrt to gather
inaterial that would interest him, life gained a new and
richer zest, and she learned how the kindling flame with-
in her heart could illumine even common things. Each
day brought such a wealth of joy that it was like a new
and ^lad surprise. The page she read had not only thg

MIS HOMIIUK KIVALN,

iutviuMt iiuimd.nl to it, l.y M.n H.iM.or. hut, aim, Mh
KiVHtor ol.unu ot hukkonMii^' MuM.^l.tH .,1' lm„ ...• \W I

M\ii H{\ ht^iirtH

with

>Krtn an iiitoivhan^.^ of hookn aiwl
P«^';;''''HiKH .,„ori,<s. lunrlvH of approval 'an.'l ij

IMwal ;;lwilLshowhi,u.''.shohaa.4olvo,l

Ui»t H (K»|| to ho pottt'd, iMit

IVitMul HM«1 rompaniou."

Aiul sht^provtHl this «piitoas truly hy I

» fur

liiii;

|H«iiotliralH,

iHHp-

that I

H Woman who mu ho h

ail)

lutollii^oui iutonvst in I
iVi;ion of Ium m.journ. as hy I
with whifh nI

loitpio.sMoiiH.luu'
>»>< inmm^r pu,-.suit,s. and t,ho wild

10 was faiuilinr.
It WHS hard for ilillaiid t

'V \\oh\h ooni'oniin^r thai

^uhinit to tl

ivvt^nlod tlu> rioh it^wofof I

''''I'^^'^-^Jtv of his lou^^ ,,|

«» maintain Ids n^tioonoo or

^onvv. Sho had

haii

"UMonsoil witli tinu^ and

»'^'" ">''"' NO fully that, his I

ohtuin tht

not for tho wvm'KI would I

Nt^paration. and ho lon^od t

ovo

iasl»
K

^';;'«'l;l;^to assumnro of his lwH.pin,-,ss. And yot
' ' ' *' »»K'dn ondaii^or his hop.is'hv

»no><>^ Ho vonturod. how<uor. to Houd th
>uo«'Mvn with tho ,|uotation ahvad

o Co

py of

nnv{
sul

orsoiuvd. Sint't> si

ail
w)u>ll

vsotpiont lotM\ lu^ ao

y givon strongly
10 nuuh> no allusion to this in \u

\ov

vanotHl tho tido of hu'liui-- I

"III oivw nioiv wary, hut assprin^^

y rx^pjvNsod. and words nulicatini)- I

MH'aiuo too HtroniT to I

»(^

Hlip into his lottoiN in spito'of"iiimsi;i|"'"sJ

Wils tH»nuno- a^s truly as si

iuvasino- ovidt^not's \>f tl

i;; ins passion wt»uld
hat

10 saw w

u> saw all around hor tho

hirvl

sanvj Nvitli a fullor

u> api^rvmch of sunn

in-

ntu\ and no

honrt iit tho prvKspt>ot

or moro joyt>us noto than <lid |

K^r

Umham witnos^od this onhninatinv. I
would havo iHvn wvW tor hiui had luri

er joyousnoss had soonuni to 1..... ,, ,
and so It was. hut ho oould not know lu
onhanivd by a oauso that would haw lod
Hction on his part

wippinoss. and it
l<nown its souroo.
dm a oharaotoristic trait

U)W^ iifivat ly it was
to very ditleront

Uilland liad dooidod tliat lio would not

friend iMnioorninij 1

write to his

us suit until his fato was dooiiiod

one way or the otJier. In fact, his I

ottei*s liad iifrowTi

INM HOMIWll'; HIVAI.H,

s spring
^' to h{\
I would
iV what
llu> ill-
aixl lut
lid h('r

and it

soiiivo.
<^ trait,

it WHH

ll'tTont

to ln*8
(iod in
L^rowrj

rutlmr infuMjiK'iit, not from wanjn/jj rri<<ndM}iip, fxit iathi',i'
Ihciiiihh tlicir iiiiitii/i,l intiu'i^'it.^ iuid dri/lcd ajxttt. 'i'lu^ii
icIiiMoiiH w<;n'' too liiKily itHtaMiHliiNJ to uf^ti i\n', aid ol
(•oirtiH|)(»iid<Mic<i, and iuch kn<^w that wln^n tln^y /in^t again
tliuy w<»uid ivHiiniii tlnur old way«. in Urn Hyni|/at)n<ti<!
niaujnftiHni oj' j)i'rM<»nal pnw^n*;^, (uniiU\t',ncMH would \nt
^Mv«in that tlmy would juiturally lj«;«itatn to wiiUi out in

(Miol l)loo<l.

'riui« (jraliani waM l<?ft to drift and )>liiloHO[>hI/4*, at (ir«t.
Hut liin jiunt waM right: h<: <;ould not daily h<j(} inn', who
MO I'idly H»i,tiHll)id th(! cntvingH of hiw nature an<l (coolly
<!onMid(ir thn proH and conM. Il<? waM on<i who would kin-
dhi Miowly, hut it would hu an anthra<;it<} llanio that would
hurn on while, lii'i; la^titd,

Iln hilt that he, h/id no n'anon for il'nnumnijj^itinimt, for
hIui hi'(!ui(m| to grow nionf kind and fri<^/i<lly <iv<;ry day,
TliiH WMH trim of li<!r umuin'v, for lo','king u|>on him hh
Ililhuid'H h(iHt frittnd, hIk; gav<; him a g<;nuin<t r<tgard, hut
it w/iH an c.hU'Mh whi<'h, lik<5 n-MitcU'A light, wan d<iVoid
of tim warmth of alloction that com«!H direct from th«
hrait.

Sh(! did nr)t HUHp(!(;t the? fr;«',ling that at lawt h(igan i/t
drcpcn rapidly, nor had he, any ad<;<juat<} idea of iUs
Htrcnglh. Whon a grain of corn in ]>lant<;d it in tlje liid-
d(iri root that (irnt devitlopH, an<l tin; controlling inllucnw
of his life wan taking root in (Jraham'H Ijcart. If ha did
not fully (ton»pr;;h(;n(l thin at an <;arly day, it innotBtrangc
that she di<J not. SIm; had no (JiHjiOHition to fall in love
with i'.vv.ry intcironting man kIk; met, and it Hcemed e<pjal-
ly al)Hurd to credit tin; gentlemen of lie*' acquaintanwj
witli any hucIi t(indency. Her nuirmer, t}if;r«ifore, toward
the oth(!r hcx waH chara(;t<;rized hy a frank, pleanant
friendlinesH wliich could he miHtak(;n for coquetry hy
only the moHt ohtuHc or the mont conceiUid of meiL With
all his faultH, Graham wan nciither Htupid nor vain. He
understood her regard, and douhted whether he could ever
change itB character. He only hoped that he miirht. and

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

m '.

until he saw a better chance for this he determinefl nof fn

"My best course," he reasoned, "is to see her as often

me'^rrifl', !',•!■' g-eh- 'he opportunit^ to know
me well, it I shall ever have any power to win her love
she, by something in her manner or one. will unconseio™

tuyluM I lo* ♦^ "t ^^^^ } ""■ "-" be sloTtTaTt.
Wl y should I lose the pleasure of these golden houra bv

This appeared to him a safe and judicious policy and
yet It may well be doubted whether"^ it would^ ever 'have
been successful with Grace St. John, even had she been
as fancy free as when Hilland first met her. She was a
so diers daughter, and could best be won by HilG's
soldier-hke woomg. Not that she could have been won
any more readily by direct and impetuous advances had
not her heart been touched; but theVobabiE are that
her heart never would have been touched by felham's
army-of-observation tactics. It would scarcely have oc-
curred to her to think seriously of a man who did not
follow her with an eager quest.

fir.?" '^^ n""? ''*"''' "^ ^'^ ^"°' I'a.'l suggested from the
first, poor Graham was greatly endangerhig his peace bv
this clo,se study of a woman lovely in heilelf and «! Z
fully believed, peculiarly adapted t^ satisfreTeVrrequirt
ment of his nature. A man who knows nothing^of S-
den treasure goes unconcernedly on his way if he dileovlr.
It and then loses it, he feels impoverishei'

«=

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

ined not to
i terminate

er as often
Y to know
n her love,
iconscious-
ilow to act.
I hours by
e slightest

olicy, and
ever have

she been
She was a

Hilland's
been won
anees had
;s are that
Graham's
' have oc-
o did not

from the
peace by
nd, as he
' require-
of a hid-
discovera

O&APTER VIII.

SUPREME MOMENTS.

aRAHAM'S visit was at last lengthened to a month,
and yet the impulse of work or of departure had
not seized him. Indeed, there seemed less prospect of
anything of the kind than ever. A strong mutual at-
tachment was growing between himself and his aunt. The
brusque, quick-witted old lady interested him, while her
genuine kindness and hearty welcome gave to him, for
the first time in his life, the sense of being at home. She
was a woman of strong likes and dislikes. She had taken
a fancy to Graham from the first, and this interest fast
deepened into affection. She did not know how lonely
she was in her isolated life, and she found it so pleasant
to have some one to look after and think about, that she
would have been glad to have kept him w^ith her always.
Moreover, she had a luiking hope, daily gaining con-
firmation, that her nephew was not so indifferent to her
favourite as he seemed. In her old age she was begin-
ning to long for kindred and closer ties, and she felt that
she could in effect adopt Grace, and could even endure the
invalid major for the sake of one who was so congenial.
She thought it politic, however, to let matters take their
own course, for her strong good sense led her to believe
that meddling rarely accomplishes anything except mis-
chief. She was not averse to a little indirect diplomacy,
however, and did all in her power to make it easy and
natural for Graham to see the young girl as often as pos-
sible, and one lovely day, early in June, she planned a
little excursion, which, according to the experience of her
earlv da'v^s T^romissd well for her aims,

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

■i i

One breatliless June morning that was warm, but not
Miltry she went over to the St. Johns', and suggested a
drive to the brow of a hill from which there was a superb
view of the surrounding country. The plan struck the ma-
jor pleasantly, and Grace was delighted. She had the
craving for out-of-door life common to aU healthful
natures, but there was another reason why she longed for
a day under the open sky with her thoughts partially
und p easantly distracted from one great truth to which
she telt she must grow accustomed by degrees. It was
arranged that they should take their lunch and spend the
greater part of the afternoon, thus giving the affair some •
thing ot the aspect of a quiet little picnic.

Although Graham tried to take the proposition qui'^tlv
he could not repress a flush of pleasure and a certain
alacrity ot movement eminently satisfactory to his aunt.
Indeed his spirits rose to a degree that made him a mar-
vel to himself, and he wonderingly queried, " Can I be
the same man who but a few weeks since watched the
dark Ime of my native country loom up in the night, and
with prospects as vague and dark as that outline ? "

Miss St. John seemed perfectly radiant that morning
her eyes vying with the June sunlight, and her cheeks
emulating the roses everywhere in bloom. What was
the cause of her unaffected delight ? Was it merely the
prospect of a day of pleasure in the woods ? Could he
hope tfiat his presence added to her zest for the occa-
sion ? Such were the questions with which Graham's
mind was busy as he aided the ladies in their preparations
bhe certainly was more kind and friendly than usual —
yes, more familiar. He was compelled to admit however
that her manner was such as would be natural towards
an old and trusted friend, but he hoped— never before
had he realized how dear this hope was becomino-— that
some day she would awaken to the conciousness that he
might be more than a friend. In the mean time he would
be patient, and with the best skill h^ could master, endea-

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

, but not
^gested a
a superb
i the ma-
had the
bealthful
^ngejl for
partially
:o which
It was
pend the
lir some •

I quietly,
I certain
his aunt.
1 a mar-
/an I be
ched the
ight, and
e?"

morning,
f cheeks
hat was
rely the
!ould he
he occa-
rraham's
irations.
usual, —
lowever,
towards
' before
ig — that
that he
e would
•, endea-

vour to win her favour, instead of putting her on the de-
fensive by seeking her love.

"Tw3 elements cannot pass into combination until
there is mutual readiness," reasoned the scientist. " Con-
tact is not combination. My province is to watch until in
some unguarded moment she gives the hope that she
would listen with her heart. To speak before that, either
by word or action, would be pain to her and humiliation
to me."

The gulf between them was wide indeed, although she
smiled so genially upon him. In tying up a bundle their
hands touched. He felt an electric thrill in all his
nerves ; she only noticed the circumstance by saying,
" Who is it that is so awkward, you or I? "

" You are Grace," he replied. '* It was I."

*' I should be graceless indeed were I to find fault with
anything to-day," she said impulsively, and raising her
heau she looked away into the west as if her thoughts
had followed her eyes.

" It certainly is a very fine day," Graham remarked
sententiously.

She turned suddenly, and saw that he was watching
her keenly. Conscious of her secret she blushed under
his detected scrutiny, but laughed lightly, saying, " You
are a happy man, Mr. Graham, for you suggest that per-
fect weather leaves nothing else to be desired."

" Many have to be content with little else," he replied,
" and days like this are few and far between."

" Not few and far between for me," she murmured to
herself as she moved away.

She wds kinder and more friendly to Graham than ever
before, but the cause was a letter received that morning,
against which her heart now throbbed. She had written
to Hilland of Graham, and of her enjoyment of his so-
ciety, dwelling slightly on his disposition to make himsel P
agreeable without tendencies toward sentiment and g;i '
lantiy.

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

Love IS quick to take alarm, and although Graham was
his nearest friend, Hilland could not endure the thoucdit
of leaving the field open to him or to any one a day Wer.
He knew that Graham was deliberate and by no means
susceptible And yet. to him, the fact conveyed by the
letter that his recluse friend had found the society of Grace
BO satisfactory that he had lingered on week after week
spoke volumes. It was not like his studious and solitary
companion of old. Moreover, h^ understood Graham
sufhciently well to know that Grace would have peculiar
attractions for him, and that upon a girl of her mind he
would make an impress-ion very different from that which
had led society butterflies to shun iiim as a bore Her
letter already indicated this truth. The natural uneasi-
ness that he had felt all along lest some masterspirit
should appear was intensitied. Although Graham was so
quiet and undemonstrative, Hilland knew him to be pos-
sessed of an indomitable energy of will when once it was
aroused and directed toward an object. Thus far from
Grace s letter he beheved that his friend was onlv inter-
ested m the g;irl of his heart, and he determined to fore-
stall trouble, it possible, and secure the fruits of his pa-
tient waiting and wooing, if any were to be gathered. At
the same time he resolved to be loyal to hi. friend, as far
a« he could admit his claims, and he wrote a glowing
eulogy of Graham, unmarred by a phrase or word of de-
traction, llien as frankly, he admitted his feai's, in re-
gard not only to Graham, but to others, and followed
these words with a strong and impassioned plea in his
own behalf, assuring her that time and absence, so far
from diminishing her mastery over him, had rendered it
complete He entreated for permission to come to her
saying that his business interests, vast as they were'
counted as less than nothing compared with the posses-
sion of her love— that he would have pressed his suit by
personal presence long before had not obligations to
otrei^ detamed him. These obligations he now could

w»^

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

eai's, in re-

And would delegate, for all the wealth of the mines on the
continent would only be a burden unless she could share
it with him. He also informed her that a ring made of
gold, which he himself had mined deep in the mountain's
heart, was on the way to her — that his own hands had
helped to fashion the rude circlet — and that it was signi-
ticant of the truth that he sought her not from the van-
tage ground of wealth, but because of a manly devotion
that would lead him to delve in a mine or work in a shop
for her rather than live a life of luxury with any one else
in the world.

For the loving girl what a treasure was such a letter !
The joy it brought was so overwhelming that she was
glad of the distractions which Mrs. Mayburn's little ex-
cursion promised. She wished to quiet the tumult at
her heart, so that she could write as an earnest woman
to an earnest man, which she could not do this bright
June morning, with her heart keeping tune with every
bird that sang. Such a response as she then might have
made would have been the one he would have welcomed
most, but she did not think so. " I would not for the
world have him know how my head is turned," she had
laughingly assured hersv^lf, not dreaming that such an
admission would disturb Lis equilibrium to a far greater
degree.

" After a day," she thought, " out of doors with Mrs.
Mayburn's genial common sense and Mr. Graham's cool,
half-cynical philosophy to steady me, I shall be sane
enough to answer."

They were soon bowling away in a strong, three-seated
rockaway, well suited to country roads, Graham driving,
with the object of his thoughts and hopes beside him.
Mrs. May burn and the major occupied the back seat,
while Jinny, with a capacious hamper, was in the middle
seat, and in the estimation of the diplomatis aunt made a
good screen and division.

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

All seemed to piomise well for her schemes for fh«

gether. Ihere was a constant succession of iest and r^

eyes tnat inormng there was coming an expression of
which he may not have been fully aware, oTwhch at
last he would permit to be seen. Indeed, he was yielding
rapidly to the spell of her beauty and th; chlm^of he?
mind and manner. He was conscious of a strange ex-
quisite exhilaration. Every nerve in his body Yemed
alive to her presence, while the reHned and deSe

Ce'in thT.'^n*- '"'^t'"'' «r ^ P>ea«-e whiclf no
s.atue in the galleries of Kurope had ever imparted

He wondered at all this, for to him it wks indeed a
seemed to have floated away to tm indefinite distance

existence" Z" Z"^"'u\'° * new life.-a new phase Tf
existence. In the exaltation of the hour he felt that
whatever might be the result, he had received a levelp
tion of capabilities in his nature of which he hid not
dreamed, and which at the time promised to compensate
for any consequent reaction. He*^ exulted i^ hT human
organism as a master in music might rejoice ove? the dk
covery of an instrument fitted to Lpond perflctlv to his
gemus Indeed the thought crossed his S more ?han
once that day that the marvel of marvels w^ Zt me °
clay could be so highly organized. It was not his tS
mg nerves alone which Suggested this thnnD-hl „77i
pure mobile face of the younf Sri so fir reZvt:^ f
any supstion of earthlLss^b^t ; ^eXl ng de,^:"

.JtL "^'^f^ *eir deitination in safety. The June

brow^of th"" '^ )r ^^^ "^"y V^'"^ attractive! but the
brow of the swelling hill with its wide out-look its back

be desiied. The horses, wer. soon contentedly munching

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

tneir oats, and yet their stamping feet and switching
tails indicated that even for the brute creation there is evei
some alloy. Graham, ho^vever, thought that fortune had
at last given him one perfect day. There was no per-
ceptible cloud. The present was so eminently satisfactory
that it banished the past, or, if remembered, it served as
a foil. The future promised a chance for happiness that
seemed immeasurable, although the horizon of his brief
existence was so near ; for he felt that with her as his
own, human life with all its limitations was a richer gift
than he had ever imagined possible. And yet, like a
slight and scarcely heard discord, the thought would
come occasionally, " Since so much is possible, more ought
to be possible. With such immense capability for life as
I am conscious of to-day, how is it that this life is but a
passing and perishing manifestation ? "

Such impressions took no definite form, however, but
merely passed through the dim background of his con-
sciousness, while he gave his whole soul to the effort to
make the day one that from its unalloyed pleasure could
not fail to recall him to the memory of Miss St. John.
He believed himself to be successful, for he felt as if in-
spired. He was ready with a quick reply to all her
mirthful sallies, and he had the tact to veil his delicate
flattery under a manner and mode of speech that suggest-
ed rather than revealed his admiration. She was honestly
delighted with him and his regard, as she understood it,
and she congratulated herself ^again and again that Hill-
and's friend was a man that she also would find unusually
agreeable. His .[indness to her father had warmed her
heart toward him, and now his kindness and interest
were genuine, although at first somewhat hollow and as-
sumed.

Graham had become a decided favourite with the old
gentleman, for he had proved the most efficient ally that
Grace had ever gained in quickening the pace of heavy-
footed Time. Even the veteran's chilled blood seemed to

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

mI M '"''"™<='^» "f tf-e day. and his gallantry toward,
Mrs. Mayburn wa.s more pronounced than n.sual "We
too, will be .voung people once more," he remarked " for'
the opportunity umy not come to us again." '

1 hey discussed their lunch with zest, they smiled into

aTflutifedf^flP '°^u*' *\' ^'P'^y' that occasion-
ally fluti'red the leaves above their heads; but deen in

iot th:rfo™reT""-\*''^f °' *°"«'''' •'"p-"- "

joj s, that torm the tragic background of all human life
i he old major gave some reminiscences of his youthfui
campaigning. In his cheerful mood his presenEn of
them was in harmony with the sunny afte" The
bright sides of his experiences were toward Ms audito^

on th^e tth* ''^frr'f'^^'^- ''S''"^ and death t"e
on the farther side ! And of these he could never be

quite unconscious, even while awakening laughter at the
comic episodes of war. * "uguiei ai; ii.e

, Mra. Mayburn seemed her plain-spoken cheerv self
intent only on making the most of this genkf h^ur In'

hone'thT"/ )V'^'-- r-^ y^' ^•'^ ^''^ wftching over a
hope that she felt might make her last days her best

days She wa« almost praying that the fah^girl whom

tl and 'fiuThe \-ur ""f ^'">"" *>>« sleeof he"
age, and fall m her childless heart, a place that had ever

been an aching void. Miss St. John was too preoccuried
thouiniir^'"-,^"* '"''■ n''^ -as ever pres^ent! though

friend 1 - T^T ^I^'y- ^"' *^ ^'^ *" Graham his
triend, ana nad -.Iready accepted him also as her mo^t
agreeable friend liking him k the better for hlrapZ
ent dispo.sition to appeal only to her fancy and Sn
instead ot her heart. She saw well enough that helTkS
her peeedmgly, but HiUand's impetuous wooing and im-
passioned words had made her feel that there wts an Tn-
fimte difference between liking and lovis- and X.
pictured to herself the pleasure°they would^both eniov
when finding that their^seemin^ly ^haZ aeJulS^

HIS S0M13RK IlIVALS.

Tf AS but preparation tor the closer ties which their seT-
eral relations to Hilland could not fail to occasion.

The object of this kindly but most temperate regard
smiled into her eyes, chatted easily on any topic suggest'
ed, and appeared entirely satisfied ; but was all the while
conscious of a growing need which, denied, would impov-
erish his life, making it, brief even as he deemed it to be,
an intolerable burden. But on this summer afternoon
hope was in the ascendant, and he saw no reason why
the craving of all that was best and noblest in his nature
should not be met. When a supreme affection first mas-
ters the heart it often carries with it a certain assurance
that there must be a response, that when so much is given
by a subtile, irresistible, unexpected impulse, the one re-
ceiving should, sooner or later, by some law of correspon-
dence, be inclined to return a similar regard. All living
things in nature, when not interfered with, at the right
time and in the right way, sought and found what was
essential to the completion of their life, and he was a
part of nature. According to the law of his own indivi-
duality he had yielded to Miss St. John's power. His
reason had kept pace with his heart. He had advanced
to his present attitude toward her like a man, and had
not been driven to it by the passion of ana\iimal. There-
fore he was hopeful, self-complacent, and resolute. He
not only proposed to win the girl he loved, cost what it
might in time and effort, but in the exalted mood of the
hour felt that he could and must win her.

She, all unconscious, smiled genially, and indeed seemed
the very embodiment of mirth. Her talk was bi-illiant,
yet interspersed with strange lapses that began to puzzle
him.^ Meanwhile she scarcely saw him, gave him but the
passing attention with which one looks upon an absorb-
ing story, and all the time the letter against which her
heart pressed seemed alive and endowed with the power
to make each throb more glad and full of deep content.

How isolated and inscrutable is the mystery of each
human life! Here were four people stronwly interest?d

f)4

HtS SOMBRE RIVALS.

stracteir ''f^ ''^<'''"<"' ''"-^y *» grew more .silent anrl ab-
gro1.\nreMnv"th?'''."t'"''- 1"<l™'™«ly that he was

th j';^ror?Lr4V£c::;ar ^L-'o.f s-„ t-t'^

mour of the morning did notreTurn tL P""''"'^ ^""
aged invalid again! Mrs Mav?ml a n'^f '^"'^ *''«
nemlpvpH f^^ P™ t, j "l^ybum and Graham were
thm all 4„ had seemingly become remote from

iiicm ail. fehe was as kind as evpr- I'nri^^^j i.

with it her pirlhnnci NnL -^ ^ ^ passed, and

was appro:chfng the hour^of "heT beSlrT"' t
would write words that would Wnd W t ' '"1''° "''^
give direction to all he destiny Her form T^fn'"^
ham's side ; the woman was not there miZ ^?"

lirhTei-^ ''^ "^^'^ -d^S^toIru'strcL^;

HIS SOMimE RIVALS.

She met Ins without confusion or rise in colour. Her
feelings had become so deep and earnest, so truly those of
a woman standing on the assured ground of fealty to an-
other, that nhe was beyond her former _,nrlish sensitive-
ness and its quick, involuntary manifestations. She said
gently, " Pardon me, Mr. Graham, for my unsocial abstrao
tion. You deserve better treatment for all your efforts
for our enjoyment to-day."

" Please do not come back on compulsion," he said. " I
do not think I am a natural Paul Pry, but I would like
to know where you have been."

" I will tell you some day," she said, with a smile that
was so friendly that his heart sprang up in renewed hope.
Then, as if remembering what was due to him and the
others, she buried her thoughts deep in her heart until
she could be alone with them and their object. And yet
her secret joy, like a hidden fire, tinged all her words with
a kindly warmth. Graham and his aunt were not only
pleased but perplexed, for both were conscious of some-
thing in Grace's manner which they could not under-
stand. Mrs. Mayburn was sanguine that her June-day
strategy was bringing forth the much desired results ;
her nephew only hoped. They all parted with cordial
words, which gave slight hint of that which was supreme
in each mind.

CHAPTER IX.

THE RBV.ELATION.

Gi RAHAM found letters which required his absence
r for a day or two, and it seemed to him eminently
fitting that he should g6 orer in the evening and say
good- by to Miss St. John. Indeed he was disposed to

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

«ay more, if the opportunity offered. His hopes sank a.,
he .saw that the first floor was darkened,.and in answer
to his summons Jinny informed him that the major and
Miss Grace were <'po'ful tired" and had withdrawn to
their rooms.

He trembled to find how deep was his disappointment,
and understood as never before that his old self had
ceased to exist A month since n* one was essential to
him ; now hjs being had become complex. Then he could
have crossed the ocean with a few easily spoken farewells;
now he could not go away for a few hours without feel-
mg that he must see ono who was then a stranger The
meaning of this was all too plain, and as hi walked
away in the June starlight he admitted it fully. Another
lite had become essential to his own. And still he clung
to his old philosophy, muttering, "If this be true, why
\vill not my life become as needful to her ? " His theory
like many another, was a product of wishes rather than
an induction from facts.

When he returned after a long ramble, the light still
burning in Miss St John's window did not hal-monize
with the story of the young girl's fatigue. The faint
ays, however, could reveal nothing, although they had
Illumined page after page traced full of words of such
vital import to him.

Mrs. Maybum shared his early breakfast, and before he
took his leave he tried to say in an easy natural manner :
Wease make mv adieus to Miss St. John, and sav I
called to present them in person, but it seemed she
had retired with the birds. The coloured divinitv in-
fomed me that she was ' po'ful tired,' and I hope you
will express my regret that the day proved so exceedino-ly
wearisome. *= -^

Mrs. ^ Mayburn lifted her keen g-ay eyes to her
nephews face, and a slow rising flush appeared under
her scrutiny Then she said gently, "That's a long
speech, Alfred, but I don't think it expresses your mean^

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

mgr.

If I give your cordial good-bye to Grace and
tell her that you hope soon to see her again, shall I not
better carry out your wishes ? "

" Yes/' was the grave and candid reply.

" I believe you are in earnest now."

" I am, indeed," he replied, almost solemnly, and with
these vague yet significant words they came to an under-
standing.

Three days elapsed, and still Graham's business was
not completed. In his impatience he left it unfinished
and returned. How his heart bounded as he saw the
familiar cottage ! With hasty steps he passed up the
path from the street. It was just such another even-
ing as that which had smiled upon his first coming to
his aunt's residence, only now there was summer warmth
in the air, and the richer, fuller promise of tli, year.
The fragrance that filled the air, if less delicate, was
more penetrating, and came from flowers that had ab-
sorbed the sun's strengthening rays. If there was
less of spring's ecstasy in the song of the birds, there was
now in their notes that which was in truer accord with
Graham' mood.

At a t'lT-n of the path he stopped short, for on the
rustic seat benc;ath the apple-tree he saw Miss St.
John reading a letter; then he went forward to greet
her, almost impetuously, with a glow in his face and
a light in his eyes which no one had ever seen before.
She rose to meet him, and there was an answering
gladness in her face which made her seem divine to him.

" You are welcome," she said cordially. " We have all
misused you more than we dare tell you ; " and she gave
his hand a warm, strong pressure.

The cool, even-pulsed man, who as a boy had learned
to^ hide his feelings, was for a moment unable to speak.
His own intense emotion, his all-absorbing hope, blind-
ed him to the character of her greeting, and led him
to give it a meaning it did not posse.^s. She, equally

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

r^reoccupied with her one thought, looked at him for a

{TaTwritten ?''''^"'^' ^""^ ^^^"^ ''"^'^' "^^ ^^^ ^""^^ ^^"~

face^^ " ^^^ ^ " ^""^^^"^ exclaimed with a blanching

"Why Warren HiUand, your friend. I told you I

altered ^''''' '^ ''''"^^ ""^^ ^^^''''^ ^ ^^^"^ ^^^' «^«

.H^l•''''^f/'''^''^^^" '^^P ^^ *^^ *" *^^e tree, and lean-
ed agamst it for support.

The young girl dropped the letter and clasped her hands

rLf k' »'T- / I*^.^« «^ the drive-our return, 7011
remember she began incoherently. " You asked v^hei-e
my thoughts were, and I said I would tell you soon. Oli '
we have both been blind. I am so-so sorry "

takable revelation, and the frank, generous girl waited for
no conventional acknowledgment before uttering what
was uppermost in her heart u^renng wnat

rr.n^{r/n "V"^^'"^ evidently taxed every atom of his
manhood, Graham gained self-control, and sai.l quietly

.n, tA^ i"; ^ ^^'""^ ^'^^^" ^f "^y^^^ ^«r having loved
tA f-^hf^^oyn- But you are not to blame It is

f\l .1. I- ^f" ^^'"^; ^T y^" ^^^^ ^^ever «h«^^'n other
ihtfl^ S f ^"5?^^^. "^l"^^ ^'^" "^^'^t natural, knowing

or T 1 ?.' ?'"'?'^ ' ^^r^- ^ ^^^^ '^^t b^^^ fra^k either^
or I would have learned the truth long ago. I disused
the growing interest I felt in you from'the first, fearZ I
would lose my chance if you understood me too early. I
am Hilland s friend No one living now knows him bet-
ter than I do, and from the depths of my heart I con-
gMe you. He is the best and truest man that ever

"Will you not be my friend, also ? " she faltered,
lif^^ earnestlv as he replied, « Yes, for

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

"You will feel differently soon," said the young girl,
trying to smile reassuringly/ " You will see that it has
all been a mistake, a misunderstanding ; and when your
friend returns we will have the merriest, happiest times
together."

" Could you soon feel differently ? " he asked.

" Oh ! why did you say that ? " she moaned, burying
her face in her hands. " If you will suffer even in a small
degree as I should! "

Her distress was so evident and deep that he stood
erect and stepped toward her. " Why are you so moved.
Miss St. John ? " he asked. " I have merely paid you the
highest compliment within my power."

Her hands dropped from her face, and she turned away,
but not so quickly as to hide the tears that dimmed her
lustrous eyes. His lip quivered for a moment at the sight
of them, but she did not see this.

" You have merely paid mo a compliment," she repeated
in a low tone.

The lines of his mouth were firm now, his face grave
and composed, and in his gray eyes only a close observer
might have seen that an indomitable will was resuming
sway. ** Certainly," he continued, " and such compliments
you have received before and would often again were you
free to receive them. I cannot help remembering that
there is nothing unique in this episode."

She turned and looked at him doubtingly, as she said
with hesitation, " You then regard your — your — "

" My vacation experience," he supplied.

Her eyes widened in what resembled indignant sur-
prise, and her tones grew a little cold and constrained as
she again repeated his words.

" You then regard your experience as a vacation epi-
sode."

" Do not for a moment think I have been insincere," he
said, with strong emphasis, "or that I would not have es-
teemed it the chief honour of my life had I been success-
ful — "

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

" As to that," she interrupted, " there are so inanv other
honours that a man can win."

"Assuredly. Pardon me, Miss St. John, but I am sure
you have had to inflict simikr disappointments before
Did not the men survive ? "

The girl broke out into a laugh in wliich there was a
trace ot bitterness. "Survive! "she cried. "Indeed they
did. One is already married, and another I happen to
know IS engaged. I'm sure I'm glad, however. Youi
Icgic IS plain and forcible, Mr. Graham, and you relieve
my mmd greatly. Men must be different from women "

" Undoubtedly."

" What did you mean by asking me, ' Could you soon
reel differently ? *^

He hesitated a moment and flushed slightly, then quer-
ied with a smile, " What did you mean by sayioff that I
should soon learn to feel differently, and that when Hil-
land returned we should have the merriest times to-
gether ?

It was her turn to be confused now, and she saw that
her words were hollow, though spoken from a kindlv
impulse. "^

He relieved her by continuing : " You probably spoke
trom an instinctive estimate of me. You remember what
a cool and wary suitor I had been. Your father would
say that I had adopted an-army-of-observatiou tactics
and 1 might have remembered that such armies rarely ac-
complish much. I waited for you to show some si<m of
weakness, and now you see that I am deservedly '^pun-
ishea. It is ever best to face the facts as they are."

"You appear frank, Mr. Graham, and you certainly
have not studied philosophy in vain."

" Why should I not take a philosophical view of the
Pair ? In my policy, which I thought so safe and astute.

affair

1 blundered. It from the tirst I had manifested the feel-
^^T,~i^ young girl smiled slightly at the word— -
• which you inspired, you would soon have taught me the

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

wisdom of repressing its growth. Thus you see that you
have not the slightest reason for self-censure ; and I can
go on my way, at least a wiser man."

She bowed gracefully, as she said with a laugh, " I am
now beginning to understand that Mr. Graham can
scarcely regret anything which adds to his stores of wis-
dom, and certainly not so slight an ' aftair ' as a ' vacation
episode.' Now that we have talked over this little mis-
understanding so frankly and rationally, will you not join
us at whist to-night ? "

" Certainly. My aunt and I will come over as usual."
Her brow contracted in perplexity as she looked search-
ingly at him for a moment ; but his face was simj)ly calm,
grave, and kindly in its expression, and yet there was
something about the man which impressed* her and even
awed her — something unseen, but felt by her woman's
intuition. It must be admitted that it was felt but
vaguely at the time ; for Grace after all was a woman,
and Graham's apparent philosophy was not altogether
satisfactory. It had seemed to her as the interview pro-
gressed, that she had been surprised into showing a dis-
tress and sympathy for which there was no occasion —
that she had interpreted a cool-self-poised man by her
own passionate heart and boundless love. In brief, she
feared she had been sentimental over an occasion which
Graham, as he had suggested, was able to view philoso-
phically. She had put a highe. estimate on his disap-
pointment than he, apparently ; and she had too much of
her father's spirit, and too much womanly pride not to
resent this, even though she was partially disarmed by
this very disappointment, and still more so by his self-
accusation and his tribute to Hilland. But that which
impressed her most was something of which she saw no
trace in the calm, self -controlled man before her. As a
rule, the soul's life is hidden, except as it chooses to re-
veal itself ; but there are times when the excess of joy or
sufiering cannot be wholly concealed, even though every

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

muscle IS rigid and die face marble. Therefore, althoucrh
there were no outward signals of distress, Giaham's
agony was not without its influence on the woman before
him, and it led her to say, gently and hesitatingly, " But
you prouiised to be my fiiend, Mr. Graham."

His iron will almost failed him, for he saw how far
removed she was from those women who see and know
nothing save that which strikes their senses. He had
meant to pique her pride as far as he could without
offence, even though he sank low in her estimation ; but
such was the delicacy of her perceptions that she' half
divined the trouble he sedulously strove to hide. He felt
as if he could sit down and cry like a child over his im-
measurable loss, and for a second feared he would give
way. There was in his eyeii. ;?, flash of anger at his weak-
ness, but it passed so quickly that she could scarcely note,
much less interpret it.

Then he stepped forward in a friendly, hearty way,
and took her hand as he said, " Yes, Miss St. John, and I
will keep my promise. I will be your friend for life. If
you knew my relations to Hilland, you could not think
otherwise. 1 shall tell him when we meet of my first
and characteristic siege of a woman's heart, of the ex-
treme and prudent caution with which I opened my dis-
tant parallels, and how, at last, when I came within tele-
scopic sight of my prize, I found that he had already cap-
tured it. My course has been so perfectly absurd that I
must laugh in spite of myself ; " and he did laugh so na-
turally and genially that Grace was constrained to join
him, although the trouble and perplexity did not wholly
vanish from her eyes.

" And now," he concluded, " that I have experienced my
first natural surprise, I will do more than sensibly accept
the situation. I congi-atulate you upon it as no one else
can. Had I a sister I would rather that she married Hill-
and than any other man in the world. We thus start on
the right basis for friendship, and there need be uo awk-

HIS SOMBRE RIVAL}^.

ward restraint on either side. I must now pay my re-
spects to my aunt, or I sVa'l lose not only her good graces
but my supper also ; " and with a smiling bow he turned
and walked rapidly up the path, and disappeared within
Mrs. Mayburn's open door.

Grace looked after him, and the perplexed contraction
of her brow deepened. She picked up Hilland's letter,
and slowly and flftisingly folded it. Suddenly she pressed
a fervent kiss upon it, and murmured, " Thank God, the
writer of this has blood in his veins ; and yet — and yet —
he looked at first as if he had received a mortal wound,
and — and — all the time I felt that he suffered. But very
possibly I am crediting him with that which would be in-
evitable were my case his."

With bowed head she returned slowly and thought-
fully through the twilight to her home.

CHAPTER X.

THE KINSHIP OF SUFFERING.

WHEN Graham felt that he had reached the refuge
of his aunt's cottage, his self-control failed him,
and he almost staggered into the dusky parlour and sank
into a chair. Burying his face in his hands, he muttered,
"fool, fool,fool ! " and a long, shuddering sigh swept through
his frame.

How long he remained in this attitude he did not
know, so overwhelmed was he by his scl e of loss. At
last he felt a hand laid upon his shoulder ; he looked up
and saw that the lamp was lighted and that his aunt was
standing beside him. His face was so altered and hag-
gard that she uttered an exclamation of distress*

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

Graham hastily arose and turned down the light. " I
cannot bear that you should look upon my weakness " he
said, hoarsely. '

" I should not be ashamed of having loved Grace St.
John," said the old lady, quietly.

" Nor am I. As I told her, 1 think far better of my-
self fox- having done so, A man who has seen her as 1
have would be less than a man had he not loved her. But
oh, the future, the future ! How am I to support th^
truth that my love is useless, hopeless ? "

" Alford, I scarcely need tell you that my disappoint-
ment is bitter also. I had set my heart on this thinly "
" You know all, then ? " *^'

"Yes, I know she is engaged to your friend, Warren
Hilland. She came over in the dusk of last evening, and,
sitting just where you are, told me all. I kent up. It
was not for me to reveal your secret. I let the happy girl
talk on, kissed her, and wisiied her all the happiness she
deserves. Grace is unlike other girls, or I should have
known about it long ago. I don't think she even told
her father until she had first written to him her full ac-
knowledgment. Your friend, however, had gained her
father's consent to his addresses long since. She told
me that."
" Oh, my awful future !

"Alford," Mrs. Mayb':;rn said, gently but firmly, "think
of her future. Grace is so good and kind that she would
be very unhappy if she saw and heard you now. I hope
you did not give way thus in her presence."

He sprang to his feet and paced the room rapidly at
first, then more and more slowly. Soon he turned up
the light, and Mrs. May burn was surprised au the change
m his appearance.

•* You are a strong, sensible woman," he began.
" Well, I will admit the premises for the sake of learn-
ing what is to follow."

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

" Miss St. John must never know of my sense of loss—
my present despair," he said, in low, Nrajml speech.
" Some zest in life may come back to me in time ; but, be
that as it may, I shall meet my trouble like a man.^ To
make her suffer now — to cloud her well-merited happiness
and that of my friend, would be to add a bitterness be-
yond that of death. Aunt, you first thought me cold and
incapable of strong attachments, and a few weeks since I
could not have said that your estimate was far astray,
although I'm sure my friendship for Hilland was as
strong'as the love of most men. Until I met you and
Grace it was the only evidence I possessed that I had a
heart. Can you wonder ? He was the first one that
ever showed me any real kindness. I was orphaned
in bitter truth, and from childhood my nature was
chilled and benumbed by neglect and isolation.
Growth and change are not so mnch questions of
time as of conditions. From the first moment that
I saw Grace St. John, she interested me deeply : and, self-
complacent, self-confident fool that I was, 1 thought I
could deal with the supreme question of life as 1 had
dealt with those which half the world never think about
at all. I remember your warning, aunt ; and yet, as I
said to myself at the time, there was more of incentive
than warning in your words. How self -confidently 1
smiled over them. How perfectly sure I was that I
could enjoy this rare girl's society as I would look at a
painting or listen to a symphony. Almost before I was
aware, I found a craving m my heart which I now know
all the world cannot satisfy. That June day which you ar-
ranged so kindly in my behalf made all as clear as the cloud-
less sun that shone upon us. That day I was revealed fully
unto myself ; but my hope was strong, for I felt that by
the very law and correspondence of nature I could not
have such an immeasurable need without having that
need supplied. In ray impatience I left my business
unfinished and returned this evening, for I could not en-

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

dure another hour of delay. She seemed to answer my
glad looks when we met ; she gave her hand in cordial
welcome. I, blinded by feeling, and thinking that its very
intensity must awaken a like return stood speechless, al-
most overwhelmed by my transcendpiu l..p»\ She interpre-
ted my manner naturally by what vvaM -ippermost in her
mind and exclaimed, ' He has told yuu— lie has written.' In
a moment I knew the truth, and I scarcely think that a
knife piercing my heart could inflict a deeper pang. I
could not rally for a moment or two. When shall f for-
get the sympathy — the tears that dimmed hn- d-^i vyes !
I have a religion at last, and I worship the divine nature
of that complete woman. The thought that I made her
suffer aroused my manhood ; and from that moment I
strove to make light of the affair, — to give the impression
that she was taking it more seriously than I did. I even
tried to pique her pride, — I could not wound her vanity,
for she has none,— and Tipartially succeeded , My task, ho w-
ever, was and will be a difficult one, for her organisation
is so delicate and fin ^. that she feels what she cannot see.
But I made her laugh in spite of herself at my prudent,
wary wooing. I removed, I think, all constraint, and we
can meet as if nothing had happened. Not that we can
meet often, — that would tax me bej^ond my strength, — •
but often enough to banish solicitude from her mind and
from Hilland's. Now, you know the facts sufficiently to
become a shrewd and etiGicient ally. By all your regard
for me — what is far more, by all your love for her — I en-
treat you let me bring no cloud across her bright
sky. We are going over to whist as usual to-night. Let
all be as usual."

" Heaven bless you, Alf ord ! " faltered his aunt, with
tearful eyes.

" Heaven ! what a mockery ! Even the lichen, the in-
sect lives a complete life, while we, with all our reason, so
often blunder, fail, and miss that which is essential to ex-
istence."

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

Mrs. Mayburn shook her head slowly and thoughtfully,
and then said, "This very fact would teach us that our
philosophy of life is false. We are both materialists, —
I from the habit of living for this Ws /Id only ; you, I
suppose, from mistaken reasoning ; but in hours like these
the mist is swept aside, and I feel, I know, that this life
cannot, must not, bo all in all."

" Oh, hush ! " cried Graham, desperately. " To cease to
exist and therefore to suffer, may become the best one
ctin hope for. Were it not cowardly, I would soon end
it all."

" You may well use the word * cowardly,' " said his
aunt in strong emphasis ; " and brave Grace St. John
w ould revolt at and despise such cowardice by every law
of her nature."

" Do not fear. I hope never to do anything to forfeit
her respect, except it is for the sake of her own happi-
ness, as when to-day I tried to make her think my veins
were filled witli ice- water instead of blood. Come, I have
kept you far too !< rig. Let us go through the formality
of supper ; and then I will prove to you that if I have
been weak here I can be strong for her sake. 1 do not
remember my mother ; but nature is strong, and I sup-
pose there comes a time in every one's life when he must
speak to some one as he won Id to a mother. You have
been very kind, dear aunt, aiid I shall never forget that
you have wished and schemed for my happiness."

Th. old lady came and put her arm around the young
man's neck, and hjoked into his face with a strange ^ ist-
fulness as she said, slowly, "There is no blood relat on-
ship between us, Alford, but we are nearer akin than
such ties could make us. You do not remember your
mother ; I never had a cl Id. But, as you say, nature ia
strong; and although I have tr'ed to satisfy myself with
a hundred things the mother in ray heart has never been
content. I hoped, I prayed that you and Grace might
become my children, Alford, I have been learnir ^ of

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

late that I am a lonely, unliappy old woman. Will you
not bo my boy ? I wouM rather share your sorrow than
be alone in the world again."

Graham was deeply touched. Ho bowed his head up-
on her :;h()ulder as if he were her son, and a few hot
tears fell from his eyes. ** Yes, aunt," ho said, in a low
tone, " you have won the right to ask anything that I can
give. Fate, in denying us hoth what our hearts most
craved, luis indeed made us near akin ; and there can be
an unspoken sympathy between us that may have a sus-
taining power that we cannot now know. You have
already taken the bitterness, the despair out of my sor-
row ; and should I go to the ends of the earth I shall b€
the better for having you to think of and care for."

" And you feel that you cannot remain here, Alford ? "

" No, aunt, that is now impossible ; that is for the pre-
sent."

" Yes, I suppose it is," she admitted, sadly.

" Come, aunty dear, I protniscd Miss St. John that we
would go over as usual to-night, and I would not for the
world break my word."

" Then we shall go at once. We shall have a nice little
Bupper on our return. Neither of us is in the mood for it

now.

After a hasty toilet Graham joined his aunt,
looked at him, and had no fears.

She

CHAPTER XI.

THE ORDEAL.

GRACE met them at the door. " It's very kind of
you," she said, " to come over this evening after a
fatiguing j'onrnt^y,"

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

" Very," he ropliod, lauorhin;?ly ; " a rido of Ef ty milos
ia tho cars should entitle one to a week's rest.

" I hope you are going to take it "

" O no • my business man m New York has at last
aroused me to heroic action. With only the respite of a
few hours' sleep 1 shall venture upon the cars again and
pluiure into all perils and excitements of a real estate
Hp.!Culation. My property is going up, and ^ ' there s a
tide' you know, ' which taken at its tlood— ^ ^

" Leads away from your friends. I see that it is useless
for us to protest, for when did a man ever give up a
chance for sf)eculation ? "

"Then it is not the fault of man; we merely obey a

general law." , . . „ i • i 'n.

" That is the way with you scientists, she said with a
i)iquant nod and smile. " You do just as you please, but
you are always obeying some profound law that we poor
mortals know nothing about. We don't fall back upon
the arrangements of the universe for our motives, do we,

Mrs. V>ftyburn ? "

"Indeed we don't," was the brusque response.
" ' When she will, she will, and when she won't, she won't,

answers for us." , • i? xi.

" Grace ! Mrs. Mayburn ! " called the major from the
parlour ; " if you don't come soon I'll order out the guard
andhave you brought in. Mr. Graham," he continued,
as the young man hastened to greet him, " you are as
welcome as a leave of absence. We have had no whist
since you left us, and we are nearly an hour behind time
to-night Mrs. Mayburn, your humble servant. Excuse
me for not rising. Why the deuce my gout should
trouble me again just now I can't see. I've not seen you
since thatjuvenile picnic which seemed to break up all
our regular habits. I never thought that you would
desert me. I suppose Mr. Graham carries a roving com-
mission and can't be disciplined. I propose, however,
that we set to at once and put the hour we've lost at the
other end of the evening;'

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS,

V '

'. !l

It was evident that the major was in high spirits i„
spite of his catalogue of ills; and in fact his dau^^hier's
engagement had been extremely satisfactory to° him

fd tC rr^L'nT«^«' ^""^ '"'"'™'*y' ^^ ^^^ delight-
ed that Grace had chosen one so abundantly able toteke
care of her and of him also. For the last few days he

Sealt k1ndTvTvT"''''l?°f f<"- ,•>« f^" that fortun'Thad
dealt kmdly by him. His love for his only child waa
the supreme affection of his heart, and she by her ch^^

fof/nd "fo '%H'"'f '""'";i «r ^"'"- -- P^-'"e"
tor and saie. Then from the force of long habit he

thought next of himself. If his tastes were no^t luxurious

he had at least a strong liking for certain luxuries and to

f.flT: S ^^ * connoisseur in wines and the pleasures
of the table.-not that he had any tendencies toward ex!
cess, buthe delighted to sip the great wines of the world
to expatiate on their age, character and origin. SometS
he would laughingly say, " Never dilate on the treasures
bequeathed to us by the old poets, sages, and art sTs b„t
for inspiration and consolation give me a bottle of old

w^ bimF'^"'^ ^'■°'° ^''P'" *''*' "P""^<^ ^^^"^'^ I

He was too upright a man, however, to gratify these

st m^n?r°t "^'^ "'"^"'i ' ''",' ^'^ ^^' ^"^ indulge^nt and

ter to her fathers pleasure in a way that surprised even

wo';,?it"'^^T"''' *I'%*fayburn'^ In expCtionlhe
would anghmgly say "I regard housekeeping as a fine
art The more limited your materials the greater the
genius required for producing certain results. Now 1^
a genius M^s. Mayburn. You wouldn't dream it, would

Im Li, T TT^"^f. ''•■« "^ fai'^t consciousness of the
fact when he finds on bistable wines and dishes of which
he knows the usual ccst. ■ My dear.' he will say severelv

manage it ? Then I .st,md upon my dignity, and reply

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

with offended majesty, 'Papa, 1 am housekeeper. You
are too good a soldier to question the acts of your superior
officer' Then he makes me a most profound bow and
apology, and rewards me amply by his almost childlike
enioyment of what after all has only cost me a little un-
detected economy and skill in cookery."

But the uajor was not so bhnd as he appeared to .)e.
He knew more of her " undetected " economies, which
usually came out of her allowance, than she supp(^ed,
and his conscience often reproached him for permitting
them ; but since they appeared to give her as much plea-
sure as they afforded him, he had let them pass. It is
hard for a petted and weary invalid to grow in self-denial.
While the old gentleman would have starved rather than
ano-le for Hilland or plead his cause by a word— he had
crimen his consent to the young man's addresses with the
mien of a maior-general— he nevertheless foresaw that
wealth as the ally of his daughter's affection would make
him one of the most discriminating and fastidious gour-
mands m ih^ \&xi^. 1 -, 1 T

In spite of his age and infirmity the old soldier was ex-
ceedingly fond of travel and of hotel life He missed the
varied associations of the army. Pain he had to endure
much of the time, and from it there was no escape. Change
of place, scene, and companionship diverted his mind, and
he partially forgot his sufferings. As we have shown he
was a devourer of newspapers, but he enjoyed the world s
gossip far more when he could talk it over with others,
and maintain on the questions of the day half a dozen
good-natured controversies. When at the seashore tlie
mevious summer he had fought scores of battles for his
favourite measures with other ancient devotees ot the
newspaper. Grace had made Graham laugh many a time
by her inimitable descriptions of the quaint tilts and
chaffings of these graybeards, as each urged the views ot
his favourite journals; and *hen she would say. You
ought to see them sit down to whist. Such prolonge..!

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

■

l:'= S:s-si7x"&E''- "•"""

wish

and said. " I

1 proved

could have remained
so much and was so happy "

As we have seen, Grace had given her heart fn Hi] l«r.^

Hilland as the flower tSo the sun ll^'^ *T'^ *"
than the difference th«f X ? ' ^'^^ scarcely more

turning WhI o! i * l^ ^^^ conscious that she was

eventually have the mean<. nf ^^il^J^ ^^® ^^"^^

whim of her fathpv .^^ 7;. S^^^^fy^^^g every taste and

gold, and lookedlike a ^edd^nVrin^Vu^f T't "^

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

ments of the game. The old major loved this complete
and scientific absorption, and Grace loved to humour him.
Moreover, she smiled more than once at Graham's intent-
ness. Never had he played so well, and her father had
to put forth all his veteran skill and experience to hold
his own. " To think that I shed tears over his disappoint-
ment, when a game of whist can console him ! " she
thought. " How different he is from his friend ! I sup-
pose "that is the reason that they are such friends,— they
are so unlike. The idea of Warren playing with that
quiet, steady hand and composed face under hke circum-
stances ! And yet, why is he so pale ? "

Mrs. Mayburn understood this pallor too well, and she
felt that the ordeal had lasted long enough. She, too,
had acted her part admirably, but now she pleaded fa-
tigue, saying that she had not been very well for the last
day or two. She was inscrutable to Grace, and caused
no miso-ivin^s. It is easier for a woman than for a man
to hide'emotions from a woman, and Mrs. Mayburn's grey
eyes and strong features rarely revealed anything that
she meant to conceal. The major acquiesced good-natur-
edly, saying, "You are quite right to stop, Mrs. Mayburn.
and i surely have no cause to complain. We have h -l
more play in two hours than most people have in two
weeks. 1 congratulate you, Mr. Graham ^^ you are becom-
ing a foeman worthy of any man's steel."

Graham rose with the relief which a man would feel
on leaving the rack, and said, smilingly, "Your enthusi-
asm is contagious. Any man would soon be on his met-
tle who played often with you."

" Is enthusiasm one of your traits ? " Grace asked, with
an arch smile over her shoulder, as she went to ring the

bell

" What 1 Have you not remarked it ? "

" Grace has been too preoccupied to remark anything —
sly puss !'' said the major, laughing heartily. " My dear
Mrs. Mayburn, I shall ask for your congratulations to-

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

night. I know we shall have yours Mr rr«l.« f
Grace has informed me fhaf uJu a • '^^aham, for
nearest friend Tl.i^ Khi! i ^"^""^ f ^'^"^ ^^«*' '-^nd
blind-man'^^nff w h h r o^^^ t^' l^ ^T ^^^^'"^

j-d the handkerchief ttu ovet m^^ves \'^ '^'^

keep one corner raised T ;+ n ^i^ii^f ' ^^^ ^ always
dashinc, friend of yours who fV Y'l' ^'' ^^^^^^' '^^'
world by storL. afked mT Lf ' '^^ '^''^ ^" *^«

sierre to Grace T f U rf ^^' ^^"^"^^"^ ^* ^« ^ould lay

da4 and se i^shne tLTh"^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^'^ ^^^ au^
from me t'' '^^'^^'^"''''- ^^^ ^^ea or any one taking Grace

I assure you," said Graham, lauo-hina "+Ti«f T «
deeply mtprp<«fprl • or.^ t • ^d-ugning, tnat I am

ever receive from you, because he has left me in the dirk

oni'o^'hif Toviif s'^;nf^'^-"^j°^- ^'^ -- -

teasing his daughter "You mfv '"ll^'i^^y ^^^yed
Mrs IMovhnrn l' • ™*y ^''^" I"de beh nd me

de'pS s waTu?:'",! ivr? ' ^'"^V''^^ °f fi'-'

r uimu was not in the least successful Tli,*c, < t
came I saw. I conquered ' friend of yTurs Mr Graham

Ss^iTaStrdti^r^F^^^^^^^

dared sat down to a,"gular"e|."" '"" " "^'^^^ «^ '^^
Miss St, John U :vfa;:'o7 thi sfe^^o^^rZr ''■ ^'■^'

MIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

" Indeed she was. Your friend raised his flag at once,
and nailed it to the staff. And this little minx thought
that she could deceivfc an old soldier like myself by play-
ing the rSle of disinterested friend to a lonely young man
condemned to the miseries of a mining town. I was
often tempted +,o ask her why she did not extend her
sympathy to scores of young fellows in the service who
are in danger of being scalped every day. But the joke
)i it was that I knew she was undermined and must sur-
render long before Hilland did."

" Now, papa, it's too bad of you to expose me in this
style. I appeal to Mrs. Mayburn if I did not keep my
flag flying so defiantly to the last that even she did not
suspect me." ,,

" Yes," said the old lady, dryly ; " I can testify to that.^
"Which is only another proof of my penetration,"
chuckled the major, " Well, well, it is so seldom I can
get ahead of Grace in anything that I like the most of my
rare good fortune ; and it seems, Mr. Graham, as if you
and your aunt had already become a part of our present
and prospective home circle. I have seen a letter in
which Warren speaks of you in a way that reminds me
of a friend who was shot almost at my side in a fight
with the Indians. That was nearly half a century ago,
and yet no one has taken his place. With me-,, friend-
ships mean something, and last."

" Come, 3ome," cried Mrs. Mayburn, bristling up, " nei-
ther Grace nor I will permit such an implied slur upon
our sex."

" My friendship for Eilland will last," said Graham,
with quiet emphasis. " Most young men are drawn to-
gether by a mutual liking — by something congenial in
their natures. I owe him a debt of gratiiude that can
never be repaid. He found me a lonely, neglected boy,
who had scarcely ever known kindness, much less affec-
tion, and his ardent, genero> :j nature became ar: artidote
to my gloomy tendencies. Fix. a the first he has beena

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

constant and faithful friend. He ha.s not one unworthy
trait. Jrlut there is notliing negative about him, for he
aboands m the best and most manly qualities, and 1
thnik he concluded, speaking slowly and deliberately
as It he were making an inward vow, "that I shall prove
worthy of his trust and rogard."

Grace looked at him earnestly and gratefully, and the
thought again asserted itself that she had not yet gauged
his character or his feeling toward herself. To h?r slir-
prise she also noted that Mrs. Mayburn's eyes were filled
with tears, but the old lady was equal to th'e occasion, and
misled her by saying, " I feel condemned, Alford, that
you should have been so lonely and neglected in early
lile, but I know it was so." ^

" 0, well, aunt, you know I was not an interesting boy
and had I been imposed upon you in my hobbledehoy
period, our present leJations might never have existed I
must ask your congratulaiions also," he continued, turn-
ing toward the majorandhis di^-ghter. "My aunt and I
have in a sense adopted each other. I came hither to

fr!L(r''' ^ ^^^^' '^^^ ^^^® ^"^^^ another very dear

" Have you made only one friend since you became
our neighbour ? asked Grace, with an acccent of reproach
in her voice. ^

"I would very gladly claim you and your father ^
such, he replied, smilingly.

The old major arose with an alacrity quite surprising
in view of his lameness, and pouring out two glasses of
the wine that Jinny had brought in answer to Grace's
touch ot the bell, he gave one of the glasses to Graham
and with the other in his left hand, he said, " And here
1 pledge ycu the word gf a soldier that I acknowledge
the claiin in full, not only for Hilland's sake, but yoSr
own. You have generously sought to beguile the tedium
ot a crotchety and imtable old man | but such as he is he
gives you his hand as a true, stanch fiiend; and Grace
knows this means a great deal with me."

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

m, for he
es, and J
iberately,
mil prove

', and the
3t gauged
her sur-
'ere filled
sion, and
brd, that
I in early

ting boy,
bledehoy
listed. I
3d, tum-
nt and I
lither to
ery dear

became
reproach

ither

rprising
asses of
Grace's
yraham,
nd here
)wledge
it your
tedium
le is he
Grace

•' Yes, indeed," she cried. " I declare, papa, you almost
make me jealous. You treated Warren as if you were the
Great Mogul, and he but a presuming subject. Mr. Gra-
ham, if so many new friends are not an embarrassment ot
riches, will you give me a little niche among them ?

" I cannot crive you that which is yours already," he re-
Dl'ed • " nor have 1 a little niche for you. You have be-
come identified with Hilland, you know, and therefore re-
quire a large space." i . x

"Now see here, my good friends, you are making too
free with my own peculiar property. You are already
rich in each other, not counting Mr. Hilland, who, accord-
incr to Alford, seems to embody all human excellence i
ha%e only this philosophical nephew, and even with him
shall find a nval in every book he can lay hands upon.
I shall therefore carry him off at once, especially as he is
to be absent several days."

The major protested against his absence, and was cor-
diality itself in his parting words. ^

Grace followed them out on the moonlit piazza. Mr.
Graham," she said,^ hesitatingly, " you will not be absent

very long, I trust."

"0 no " he replied, lightly ; " only two or three weeks.
In addition to my affairs in the city, I have some business
in Vermont, and while there shall follow down some well-
remembered trout-streams."

She turned slightly away, and buried her face m a spray
of roses from the bush that festooned the porch. He saw
that a tinge of colour was in her cheeks, as she aaid in alow
tone, " You should not be absent long ; I think your friend
will soon visit us, and you should be here to welcome
him," and she glanced hastily toward him. Was it the
moonlight that made him look so very pale ? His eyes
held hers. Mrs. May burn had walked slowly on, and
semingly he had forgotten her. The young girl's eyes
soon fell before his fixed gaze, and her face grew troul led.
He started, and said, lightly, " I beg your pardon, Mis

I! '

I t

U <

ata SOMBBE KIVALS.

Htrthrl^rV^r" ''^ idea what a picture you mak.
is nsliing, then, one of your ruUno- m««inn«?'' +1.

^^^p^:^!jTS:zr^i^z zii ret:

™^he sr.?"lV"^ '"T"^ "^ half dozen" Good'r.""'

«™i;/rwS;iJ^p^-^,^^^^ - ^« -^ 2'-'3^ ana

pointment, for we Luld nTlike to ^inff?^' ''rP"
piness had brought hi.n WchednesB." "^

CHAPTER XII.

PLIGHT TO NATUBE !

wtViero ^'^r*fV^"^ hSrittl^idT

wara to meet Grace St. John. Affes seemerl fn lin..o

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

The old lady joined him without a word, and they
i.iissed on silently to the house. As they entered, she
said, trying to infuse into the common-place words somo-
i.hin'g of her sympathy and affection, " Now we will have
.i cozy little supper,"

Graham placed his hand upon her arm, and detained
lier, as he replied, " No, aunt ; please get nothing for me.
1 must hide myself for a few hours from even your kind
eyes. Do not think me weak or unmanly. I shall soon
fret the reins w^ell in hand, and shall then be quiet

enough.
"1 think your self-control has been admn-able this

evenmg

"It was the self-control of sheer, desperate force, and
only partial at that. I know I must have been almost
ohastly in my pallor. I have felt pale— as if I were bleed-
Hig to death. I did not mean to take her hand in part-
ing, for I could not tru3t myself : but she held it out so
kindly that I had to give mine, which, in spite of my
whole will-power, trembled. I troubled and per[)lexed
her. I have infused an element of sorrow and bitterness
into her happv love ; for in the degree in which it gives
her joy she will fear that it brings the heartache to me
and she is t a good and kind not to care. I must go away
and not return until my face is bronzed nnd my nerves
are steel. aunt ! you cannot understand me ; 1 scarcely
understand myself. It .seems as if all the love that 1
might have given to many in the past, had my life been
like that of others, had be^n accumulatingfor this hope-
less, useless waste— this worse than waste, since it only
wounds and pains its object."

" And do I count for so little, Alford ? "

" You count for more now than all others save one ;
and if you knew how contrary this utter unreserve is to
my nature and habit, you would understand how perfect
is my confidence in you and how deep is my affection.
B'Jt I am learning, with a sort of dull, dreary i^stonish

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

nient, that there arc heights and depths of experience of
which I once had not the faintest conception. This is a
kind of hattle that one must %ht out alone. I must sjo
away and accustom myself to a new condition of life.
But do not worry about me. I shall come back a verte-
brate ; " and he tried to assume a reassuring smile, as he
kissed her in parting.

That night Graham faced his trouble, and decided up-
on his future course.

After an early breakfast, the next morning, the young
man bade his aunt good-by. With moist eyes, she said,
" Alford I am losing you, j ust as I find how much you
are and can be to me."

" No, aunty dear ; my course will prove best f< r us
both," he replied gently. " You would not be happy if
you saw me growing more sad, and despairing every day,
through inaction, and — and— well, I could never become
strong and calm with that cottage there just beyond the
trees. You have not lost me, for I shall try to prove a
good correspondent."

Graham kept his word. His " real estate speculation "
did not detain him long in the city, for his business agent
was better able to manage such interests than the inex-
perienced student; and soon a letter, dated among the
mountains and the trout streams of Vermont, assured
Mrs. Mayburn that he had carried out his intentions.
Not long after, a box with a score of superb fish followed
the letter, and Major St. John's name was pinned on some
of the largest and finest. During the next fortnight these
trophies of his sport continued to arrive at brief intervals,
and they were accompanied by letters giving, in almost
journal form, graphic descriptions of the streams he had
fished, their surrounding scenery, and the amusing pecu-
liarities of the natives. There wa3 not a word that sug-
gested the cause that had driven him so suddenly into
the wilderness, but on every page were evidences of tire-
less activity.

HIS SOM RE BI ALS.

ience of
?lus is a
must afo
of life,
a verte-
le, as he

ded up-

3 young
he said,
ich you

< r us

, f
appy if
!ry day,
become
ond the
prove a

lation "
is agent
e inex-
)ng the
assured
sntions.
Dllowed
>n some
it these
tervals,
almost
he had
g pecu-
lat sug-
ly into
of tire-

The major was deliofhted with iho trout, and enjoyid
a hitrh feast almost <- y day. Mrs. Mayburn, imagining
tharshe ha.l divimM iraliam's wish, read horn his letters
glowing extract which apparently revealed an enthusias-
tic sportsman.

After his depn 'ure Grace had resumed her frequent
visits to her -ongenial old friend, ' lenco having

now been <n en in respect to her au. ul .uver\ the young
gill spoke'' ul liiin out of the abundance of her heart.
Mrs. Mayburn tried to be '^' interest and sympathy, but
Grace was puzzled by som i-hing in her manner — some-
thino- not absent when she was reading Graham's letters.
One "afternoon she said : " Tell your father that he may
soon expect something extraordinarily fine, for Alford 1ms
written me of a twenty-mile tramp ^ ^Trough the moun-
tains to a stream almost unknown ai . laccessible." _

" Won't you read the description to us this evening ?
You have no idea how much pleasure papa takes in Air.
Graham's letters. He says they increase the gamy fla-
vour of the fish he enjoys so much ; and I half believe
Mr. Graham in this indirect and delicate way is still seek-
ing to amuse my father, and so compensate him for his
absence. Warren will soon be here, however, and then
we can resume our whist parties. Do you know that I
am almost jealous ? Papa talks more of Vermont woods
than of Western mines. You ought to hear him expa-
tiate upon the trout. He seems to follow Mr. Graham
up and down every stream ; and he explains to me with
the utmost minuteness just how the flies are cast and
just where they were probably thrown to snare the
speckled beauties. By the way, Mr. Graham puzzles me.
He seems to be the most indefatigable sportsman I ever
heard of. But I should never have suspected it from the
quiet weeks he spi nt with us. He seemed above all
things a student of the most quiet and intellectual tastes,
one who could find more pleasure in a library and labora-
tory than in all the rest of the world together. Suddenly

IMAGE EVALUATION
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Sciences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 87^-4503

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

he develops into the most ardent disciple of Izaak Walton
Indeed he is too ardent, too full of restless activity to be
a true follower of the gentle, placid Izaak. At his pre-
Bent rate he will soon overrun all Vermont; ' and she
looked searchingly at her friend.

A faint colour stole into the old lady's cheeks, but she
replied, quietly " I have learned to know Alford well
enough to love him dearly ; and yet you must remember
that but a few weeks ago he was a comparative stranger
to me. He certainly is giving us ample proof of his
sportsmanship, and now that I recall it, I remember hear-
ing of his loudness for solitary rambles in the woods when
a boy.

, 'iv^^ descriptions certainly prove that he is familiar
with them^ was the young girl's answer to Mrs. May burn's
words. Her inward comment on the slight flush that ac-
companied them was, " She knows. He has told her • or
she, less blind than I, has seen." But she felt that the ad-
mission of his love into which Graham had been surprised
was not a topic for her to introduce, although she Wed
to be a^ssured that she had not seriously disturbed the
peace of her lover's friend. A day or two later Hilland
airived,and her happiness was too deep, too complete
to peimit many thoughts of the sportsman in the Vermont
forests Nor did Hilland's brief but hearty expressions
of regret at Graham s temporary absence impose upon her.
bhe saw that the former was indeed more than conteat
with her welcome; that while his friendship was a fixed
star of the first magnitude, it paled and almost disap-
peared before the brightness and fulness of her presence.
Nature indeed, became "radiant " to both " with pur-
ple light, the morning and the night, varied enchant-
ments.

Grace waited for Graham to give his own confidence to
his triend if he chose to do so, for she feared that if sho
spoke of it ostraAgement might ensue. The unsuspecting
major was enthusiastic in his praises of the successful

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

fisherman, and Hilland endorsed with emphasis all he
said Graham's absence and Grace's reception had ban-
ished even the thought that he might possibly find a
rival in his friend, and his happiness was unalloyed.

One sultry summer evening in early July ^^ahara re-
turned to his aunt's residence, and was informed that she
was. as usual, at her neighbour's. He went immediately
to his room to remove the dust and stairs of travel. Un
his table still lay the marked copy of Emerson that Grace
had lent him, and he smiled bitterly as he recalled his
complacent, careless surmises over the underscored pa^-
sao-e; now so well understood and explained. Having
fimshed his toilet, he gazed steadily at his reflection m tho
mirror as a soldier might have done to see if his equip-
ment was complete. It was evident he had not gone in
vain to nature for help. His face was bronzed, and no
telltale flush or pallor could now be easily recognised.
His expression was calm and resolute, indicating nerves
braced and firm. Then he turned away with the look ot
a man going into battle, and without a moments hesi-
tancy he sought the r-rdeal. The windows and doors of
Major St. John's cottage were open, and as ne mounted
the piazza the group around the whist table was in lull
view— the major contracting his bushy eyebrows over
his hand as if not altogether satisfied, Mrs. Mayburn look-
ing at hers with an interest so faint as to suggest that her
thoughts were wandering, and Hilland with his laugning
blue eyes glancing often from his cards to the fair face ot
his partner, as if he saw there a story that would deepen
in its enthralling interest through life. There was no
shadow, no doubt on his wide, white brow. It was the
genial, frank, merry face o.' the boy who had thawed the
reserve and banished the gathering gloom of a solitary
youth at college, only now it was marked by the stronger
lines of early manhood. His fine, short upper lip was
clean shaven, and ita tremulous curves indicated a nature
quick, sensitive, and ready to respond to every passing
influence, while a full tawny beard and broad shoulders

HIS SOMBKE BIVALS.

lii

b«,whati„truth"i,ewL an^T"'T, .^« Reared to
tune, now supremehr h?;J^ .unspoiled favourite of for-

"IflcouldbutTave k?/^ "^u^^" ''"'' «">' '''test ^ ft
Graham, « I wo\ard„ofL"r''" *™*'^ «* «"'." 4hed
soul was ensCeS forhri: fc'n "T ""^l' "^ ^-T
w.n and hold a woman's heart " '"'°^* ^" "'^-^'^ <^

That he held the heart ^fiL r- • .
revealed by every Xee and r T ^"^ ''PP"'"" h™ was
a pain har5 to e/dg :"2 he w^tehe7 ? '^'"^' "^'^^^ "'^i^
exquisite outlines of her ^^^1.^°'' f '"'""^'>' 'h*
•ts halo of light breezy hair ihatr'''' '"^ ^™^ ^"h
contrast with the dark lust ro..«. ^ "" """^ ™a'')ced
silken lashes as she looked down- "^ "T ^''^'^'^ "^^ '''ng
now beaming with the very snrnTnf '" ?u* °° ^'^^ &»">«
as she looked at her onnlp?/, a "'"^ *"<^ "ischief
obedience to the controSf"'"' fi"* ^'"° softening in
half shyly from tim» t! *-^ f '"^'"^'f^ >« she glanced
the othi^sidHf the taWe"*' " ""' ^'■'*' bearded lln't

inj ^C^ate^V-r i:itrt ,'^^ - *« -cape see-
was content with my life «.nd f ''^* "'onths since I .
thousands of miles to meet^unh ' f^^ '"''^ ^ «ome
should have to face povertV «n^ -^^^-^ ^ ^^^''ed I
Now they are my lot for fe^ Pnvation for a time,
wealth would only enhance f '"'PO'^erishment that
not remain a day^WeT th J ■'"'"°'" "^^ ''"«' ^ ''"'
impression I wish o feave "a'r^'fi''^^ *<> ""^k^ the
crossed the piaz:,a, rapped heht'vfn T^ " ^"^ «*«P ^e
presence and enteVed^^itho^t cer mr"™''""'"' "^^"^
M» 'Ssf Zn '^^JT^^^ '^- and gave
spirit. :'Why.GraSrCe47w!K^'"\'''^'^--d«"
and re sting a hand on"is shouTderkm * '™?/°& g~P.
ccme u nexpectedly like all tTl kf*?." ^"o t'me, "you
We looked for a letter ttattn,'M*'l"'S' '» the world
eelebwt e your arriva as that o7?h ^"! "^ " ^^^ance to
ihe age." ^ ^''-'t ot the greatest iishemian of

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

eared to
'■ of lor-
test gift.

' sighed
ay veiy
thers to

lim was

ed with
ent the
w with
marked
37 long
3 game,
lischief
ling in

glanced
nan at

De see-
iuce I .

come
tred I
b time.
b that
I will
:e the
ep he
of hia

gave
rdent
rrasp,
"you
^orld.
ce to
m of

Having tak(

trout, it was quite in

30 many unwary
keeping to take us unawares," said Grace, pressmg for-
ward with outstretched hand, for she had determined to
show in the moat emphatic way that Hilland's friend was

also hers.

Graham took the proffered hand and held it, while,
with a humoro IS glance at his friend, he said, *' See here,
Hilland, I hold an indisputable proof that it's time you
appeared on the confines of civilization and gave an ac-
count of yourself."

" I own up, old fellow. You have me on the hip. I
have kept one secret from you. If we had been together
the thing would have come out, but somehow I couldn't
write, even to you, until T knew my fate."

" Mr. Graham," broke in the major, " if we were in the
service, I should place you in charge of the^ commissary
department, and give you a roving commission. I have
lived like a lord for the past two weeks ; " and he shook
Graham's hand so cordially as to (.rove his heart had
sympathized with an adjacent organ that had bee highly
gratified.

"I have missed you, Alford," was his aunt's quiet greet-
ing, and she kissed him as if he were her son, causing a
sudden pang as he remembered how soon he would bid
her farewell again.

" Why, Graham, how you have improved ! You have
gained a splendid colour in the woods. The only trouble
is that you are as attenuated as some of the theories we
used to discuss."

" And you, giddy boy, begin to look quite like a man.
Miss Grace, you will never know how greatly you are in-
debted to me for my restraining influence. There never
was a fellow who needed to be sat down upon so often as
Hilland. I have curbed and pruned him ; indeed, I have
almost brought him up."

"He does you credit," was her reply, spoken with
mirthful impressiveness; and with a very contented
glance at the laughing subject of discussion.

! ii

!;l

HIS SOMBHE RIVALS.

"Yes, Graham," he remarked, " you were a trifle ho»v„

brin.. ton nn i • '"'T^" °i "y J«"y ««"'! nature to

major say you have become the be^of ■company tekW

Keep the scientists by the ears "

into ?ht wo^r n^ ^^^' ^'P^^° "^y '^'^^ ^'^d come out
into the world. One soon discovers that there are other

questions, and some of them conundrums, that the scen-

ti8ts may as well give up at the start. I say HnTand

how young we were over there in Gei-manrwhen we

thought ourselves growing hourly into savanl"

were voun7' Wonl/"^ t f-^^^^"^^^^ complacent as we
were young, ^ould you believe it, Mrs. Mayburn vour
nephew and I at one time thought we were on th^Imil
of the most elusive secrets of the univerTe Ld IhJZ
should soon drag them from cover T hit!! t. ,- ^''
^^£:^' Jrl could teac^: mirenra^Tt^i^!

Graham shot a swift glance at his aunt which Graoe
thought she detected; but he turned to thriatlr and
said, genially, « I congratulate you on excelling afl th.
German doctors. I know he's rio-htTndWir^ ?®
flia ir.*..N ^v.4..,- J ^"'^w iies rignt, and he il remember

aoroaa. it will do him more good, too."

said Grace '"^ '^'"'""'"^ " ^''J^'^' °^ '""y *° yo» -^oth,"

Mra^iilvCj'?"'' '^'=?'"i"gt"<'.deep for us, are they not

by hook It s hke the fib'h you killed, rare to find If we
were in the service, and I had the power, I'd have M
brevetted at once, and get som.e fellow knocled on tte

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

head to make a vacancy. You have been contributing
royally to our mess, and now you must take a soldier's
luck with us to night. Grace, couldn't you improvise a
nice little supper ? "

" Please do not let me cause any such trouble this hot
evening," Graham began ; " I dined late in town, and—"

" No' insubordination," interrupted Grace, rising with
rtlacrity. " Certainly I can, papa," and as she paused near
Graham, she murmured, " Don't object ; it will please

papa."

She showed what a provident housekeeper she was, tor
they all sat down to an inviting repast, of which fruit
was the staple article, with cake so light and delicate
that it would never disturb a man's conscience after he
retired. Then with genial words and smiles that masked
all heartache, Graham and his aunt said good-night and
departed, Hilland accompanying his friend, that he might
pour out the long-delayed confidence. Graham shivered
as he thought of ':he ordeal, as a man might tremble who
was on his way to the torture chamber, but outwardly
he was quietly cordial.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE FRIENDS.

AFTER accompanying Mrs. Mayburn to her cottage
door, the friends strolled away together, the sultry
evening rendering them reluctant to enter the house.
When they reached the rustic seat under the apple-tree,
Hilland remarked, " Here's a good place ior our — "

"iNot here," inteiTupted Graham, ux a tone that was
almost sharp in its tension.

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

^^my not ? ■• a^ked hia frfend, in the accent of 3u.-
pose we walk sJowIy » ^ *^® grounds. Sup-

.^.^: « rat Aif ^or:tf ,r" °^

himself down on tiZ"^k. sTa^ " w*^"' = '"'^ ^' ">^««'
tors that we need 8lJ.«l .J • .^* ^''^ "»' conspira-
should I not brrestlet iftT ^h'" "?' '^^^'^"«««- Why

day, and with thThabroftramn;"^;^ l''* '""' «''■•' "1^
" What evil sDirit drnvl '^^'^'''S ^^sh upon me ? "

•nade you the chTmln Kof T '''' 7'W™e^. and
me you must have some CLt. w """I^F ' ^* =««™s '<>

"NoevUspiritjru^^ou-ttm U 'T1 ^'"■;
done me good ; indeed I nC"^^ • ^ "^^ *^^™P has

an outing^in the woods irmy h^^^

that when we were hZ.aJ^V' ^^^ ^^^^ remember

walks than l/llm'St fe^° !"r ^t-^longer

walks than I. I'am'^f^XTT^" ■^° *^"°^ *o»k longer

. The fort is fit T? *° *'"' imP^l^es of
>re woulrblVr"l^^^-ii?Mly.and of

my youth

couwe there would bL a re^-M.^ • '°^ '°^° '<^'^' ""^ °-
ment and habits The\?telTr.'" °|;? "^ f"y t^mpera-
eumulating unde^ mv aunf', ^; k f 1^'"^ ^"^ ^^^ ac-
ation resufting fro7the soei. I ?'* "^ """^ *« '"^P'^-
people as MajSr C mL q f ^ 1""^ '""'' charming
in some way. S^ehow I vt f ."' H'' ^ "* «^Pendel
in books an^d lab'S Tv^ brnlhfnl?^ °'" ''''*
deal about it, and seeing you a Jnl,,? '°^ ^ «''"*'
impulse to a i .rming p„l^°e f^t »^ *^''*° * '""""ff
atien when yon irave nn V^.!' ii ^l' *S">«ere commiser-
fool to do so^ liave sUjJ'^' 1 " '*'"^^''*- ^ was a
evening, and cantlthat tu IZ tZr^"'^'^'' '''^
hood out in those Westenf mint ^^^^^'^P^d more man-
men and things and tt™ rT^t^-^.""''."'""^''' ^''h
world, than you could bL» "^^'fal interests of the

«vnd years a^mongtstj tomes'""'^ '^ ^^'""^ '^ ^l'"""

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

"That little girl over tliere has done more for me than
Western uiines and material interests."

« That goes without saying; and yet she could have
done little for you, had you been a dawdler Indeed, m
that case she would have had nothing to do with you.
She reco-niised that you were like the c^oldyou are min-
ing, -worth taking and fashioning ; and I tell you she is
not a girl to be imposed upon."
'• Flatterer."
« No ; friend."

" You admire Grace very much."

« I do indeed, and I respect her still more. You know
I never was a lady's man ; indeed, the society of most
young women was a weariness to me. Don t imagine i
am asserting any superiority. You enjoyed their conver-
sation, and you are as clever as I am."

"I understand," said Hilland, laughing ;" you had
nothing in common. You talked to a girl as if she were
a mile off, and often broached topics that were cycles
away. Now, a girl likes a fellow to cwme reasonably
close— metaphorically, if not actually— when he chats
with her. Moreover, many that you met, if they had
brains, had never cultivated them. They were as shallow
as a duck-pond, and with their small deceits, subterfuges,
and affectations, were about as transparent. Some might
imagine them deep. They puzzled and nonplussed you,
and'you slunk away. Now I, w^hile rating them at their
worth, was able from previous associations to talk a little
congenial nonsense, and pass on. They amused me, too.
You know I have a sort of laughing philosophy, and
everything and everybody amuses me. The fellows
would call these creatures angels, and they would flap
their little butterfly wings as if they thought they were
" How happened it you were so soon en rapport with

Grace ? "

"Ah, wily wretch!" Graham laughed gayly, while
the night hid his lowering brows ; " praise of your mis-

100

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

Bi 'i

from her Southr„ mother ' ""'"'^ ''"'"« "'''' l'"'""^*'
all .iboiit H?pm ? ' ^"U ^* "y a""' has told me

than any girl I had ever met. In tl^ first 1^ T'"
wa^ an mdescribable accent that I never hetdn^^
—slight, indeed, but verynleasincr mT«I . *'"™P^'
detect traces of'it in Sst John's spleh Tr^M •'
lady had a frankness and sinceritv of ^^=ni!r T^T ""''
you at your ease at once and vlfw^rTn'^r''"'' P"'
fine reserve Tn,7 „^ ' .? ^ ', ^''" '' »" "^ere was a

She gave the n pression that "heT'f K^ "^''" °""'""^ ^"=^-
a chivalric deference frl; ..*"' """f " ^■''customed to

attentio;";trorutirus]r rrut^",--^^^^^^^^^

age in h>a very accent when speaking to 1,er Now 1

rraufntSwla^ntitt T^^^^^^
weakness for analyzing ev"rythnTv;„ ^°" K"°'<' "y

old, crippled, often racked with paTn and IfflVf^^v?^
temper which arbitrary comm3 ^^^o f • ^^^^ "^'^^ ^

HIS BOM DUE iUVALS. 101

eiit effort. You see no machinery at work. Now, this
wan all a new and very interesting study of life to me.
and I studied it. There, too. is my aunt, who is quite as
interesting in her way. Such women make geijeral or
wholesale cynicism impossible, or else hypocritical ; am
he was about to launch out into an extended analysis ot
the old lady's peculiarities, when Hilland interrupted him
with a slap on the shoulder and a ringing laugh.

« Graham, you haven't changed a mite. You discourse
lust as of old, when in our den at the university we be-
focrged ourselves in tobacco-smoke and the denser obscur-
itCel of German metaphysics, only your theme is infinitely
more interesting. Now when I met my paragon, Grace
whom vou have limned with the feeling of an artist
rather than of an analyst, although with a blending ot
both, I fell in love with her." , ,, . , .

"Yes Hilland. it's just like you to fall in love, my tear
has ever been that you would fall in love with a face
Home day, but no^, with a woman. And now 1 congratu-
late you from the depth of my soul."

" How comes it that you did not fall in love with one
whom you admire so much ? You were not aware of my

" I suppose it is not according to my nature to * fall in
love ' as you term it. The very phrase is repugnant to
me. When a man is falling in any sense of the word his
reason is rather apt to be muddled and confused, and he
cannot be very sure where he will land. If you had not
appeared on the scene ray reason would have approved
of ray marriage with Miss St. John,— that is, if I had
seen the slightest chance of acceptance, which of course,
I never have. I should be an egregious fool were it other-

wise.

" How about vour heart ? "
" The heart often leads to the sheerest folly,'
shaip rejoinder.

was

the

102

HIS SOMBRK RIVALS.

friend'^ .epl v "J,: „ ."^ ^^^ ^Z^i^^T'""'^ -".V- Hi,

"•ought that th. heart shoulH I "' "T*"''"'» «■>■ tl>«
■easoi, de,„,„red. " Well 7v„l ™ i,""''^'' "' -".V wi.en
earnestly, " if I did nnt i-'n ' ''« ™'<1. ki"<llv and

youwe|;he™ostcohl-tlooZl^f,";:'iiK"1'',/ "'""'' ->
ence. You certainly are «n „ni ""^l'''^'' f^'^ow 'n exi.sf

question. I must^nJt thar Z'^h T "° "'" '^""""•
from the first; but when at l„T '''"'' "'*"" headlong
had time to get her breath aid ir^T. '''"«''' "P> ""^
said it wa, all right '-ferboHL?? '^^ ^"^^ °^<"-. »''o
To one of my temperament hntl V^" '""* ^''Peeted.

that reason sLuld'^h^d the way Ci 'v ''""1 T^ ''■•""
come limping after." ^ ^ '"^®' ""*! "le heart

" Many a one has ial j-l
would be glad to reason l,i!" amatory tumble who

need not'diseuss th s matr-"P.e"^ "''^'^- ^'"' *«
have too much tiiat i,, m,, In!".*''* *''^*''»<='' ''°'- «'«
You are safe; you^ wont Jd ,t' .'° ^J' '» "^^^ other,
you better thin ever AH tf ^T""* "^"^ ««"«d
could not havo enabled you ti f.n'-'^T "*' ^°''"»°"
iciously. Indeed, when 1 col ".■'"? """^ J"''-
wisdom of Solomon ^cordi„?ro t *"""'' "^ '*• *he
at fault in these mktters fv I ^"u^'^' "'^ ™">er

about "(for he kne7r:torvm.sr:om:r. -o^f ""T
line the tale to-night IVe lipn «^o i 5^ ' ""'^ °"'-

ing^^o long that it^s late ran "thSorhfa'"'' '''"''-"^-
J.thegrounds,may bring^omeof^nS'i:-^^^^^^^^^

rnu^hlXfanrhL'Stntra^lr"^' ''-^*' ^-"<1
sultry night his hirr! • ''"'''' ''hivenng in the

saw ihe 11^: o/tcfeS^Sg^rfr -^ t

never enter Af locf u-n j , ^''"""^5 i^nat he could
8flv a,oT ^ HiUand closed with the words " T

say, Graham, are you asleep ? " woras, I

"2-^^" in a husky voice.

1 ou are taking cold."
"Ibelievelam.^'

HIS4 SOMIUIK RIVALS.

103

r. Ki.s
at the

y wiien
lly and
Liid s;iy
1 exist-
voman-
Jadlong
ip, and
'er, 8hG
pected.
7 droll
heart

3 who

iut WO

"or we
other,
served
lomon

jud-

t, the

rather

came

out-
ia]yz-
^oices
lance

'ound
1 the
IS he
Jould
. "I

to k(

ip in this Htyle. As I livo

"I'm a brute ,

I believe there is the tiu^.^ of dawn in tno eas.

" May every dawn bring a happy day to yo^.J^^ .
von'' was said so gently and earnestly that Hilland
rested his arm on his fricn.l's shoulder as he replied
"Wve a queer heart, Alford. but such as it is Iwoukl
not exchange it for that of anv man hving Then ab-
ruptly, "Do you hold to our old views that this hfe ends

"^A thrill of something like exultation shot through Qra-
ham's frame as he replied, " Certainly.

Si land sprang up and paced the walk a moment then
<«.id " Well I don't kuow. A woman like Grace St.
7L shakes my faith in our old belief. It seems pro-
fanation to assert that she is mere clay.

The lurid gleam of light which the thought of ceasing
to exist and to sufler had brought to Graham faded. It
d"d seem like profanation. At any rate, at that moment
it was a hMeous truth that such a creature m>ghi by the
chance of any accident resolve into mere dust. And yet
U seemed a truth which must anply to her as well as to
the grossest of her sisterhood, fae could only falter, "She
is very hit'hly organized." ,

They both felt it was a lame and impotent conclusion.
But the spring of happiness was in Hilland's heart. The
present was too rich for him to permit s^^h .^^^f^.^Pf n
ulations, and he remarked cordially and laughingly, Well
Graham, we have made amends for our long separation
and silence. We have talked all the summer night. lam
rich indeed in such a friend and such a sweetheart ; and
the latter must truly approach perfection when my dear
old philosopher of the stoic school could think it safe and
wise to marry her, were all the conditions favourable.
You don't wish that I was at the bottom of one of my
mines, do you, Alford ? '* . , ^ t,

Graham felt that the intervie-v must end at once, so he
r(nsc and said, " No, I do not. My reason approves of your

r >

104

HIS aOMBRE RIVALS.

vem, Misb St. John may be watcliing and waitinS f-.r
your return and even imagining that'l, with my nurelV
intellectual benk. may regard y.fu as a di'stnrbi.ZleS

a L!)"'gl'rrlrnt ■?''' "^^ '"°'™"^' ™"'«'- ^^S'-

excuse'^''N",!''ni*'""'"''°"' «¥". y°"' "'*''>«"* I'^"' your

ntn^t * ' "! y"!" '?^*'>' ^"""«- I "-i'* to walk a

ittle to get up a circulation. W-th your divine flame

burning so bnghtly, 1 suppose jou could sit thr u"],!

7^hU^ ' ^' ^r ™"'' '■'=™«"'"'^^ that such a modfcum
of ph^osophy • 3 I possess will not keep me warm. The "

TbetteH^tl, : r ^'"V^' '^''P ofthe just. and what
mt ne tlv,t r"^ '""'""y '""^■^' "^ "'^ '^"PPy- Don't

m r. ^T. ^V ^''y °<='=^'''" *o """-ry about me "
Hillaad went to his room in a complacent mood and
more m love than ever. Had not his keen-oyed anal vti
cal friend after weeks of careful observationf totmed t
the exceeding worth of the girl of his heart? He had
been i„ ov^, and he had ever heard that love is bHnd It
seemed o him that his friend could never love as he l.-
derstood he word ; and yet the peerless maiden haoTo
satisfied the exactions of Graham's teste and reason and

wou d be wise and advantageous to marry her.

Its a queer way of looking at these things " he con-
cluded y,nh a shrug, "but then it's Graham'.'way "

hoon 1 e was smiling in his repose, for the great joy
:LtitroW;^™ '''"''- '^ ''S^' i-dowfintoi^^

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

105

Grab am turned slowly away, and walked with down-
,-ast face to the rustic scat. He stood by it a moment,
.,nd then sank into it like a man who has reached the
iinal limit of human endurance. He uttered no sound,
but at brief intervals a shiver ran through his frame. His
head sank into his hands, and he looked and felt like one
utterly crushed by a fate from which there was no escape.
His ever-recurring thought was, '* I have but one life, and
it's lost, worse than lost. Why should I stagger on be-
neath the burden of an intolerable existence, which will
only grow heavier as the forces of life fail ? "

At last in his agony he uttered the words aloud. A
hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a husky, broken
voice said, " Here is one reason."

He started up, and saw that his aunt stood beside him.
The dawn was gray, but the face of the aged woman
was graver and more pallid. She did not entreat,— her
feeling seemed too deep for words,— but ^ with clasped
hauds^she lifted her tear-dimmed eyes to his. Her with-
ered bosom rose and fell in short, convulsive sobs, and it
was evident that she could scarcely stand.

H^s eyes sank, and a sudden sense of guilt and shame
at his forgetfulness of her overcame him. Then yielding
to an impulse, all the stronger because mastering one who
had few impulses, he took her in his arms, kissed
her repeatedly, and supported her tenderly to the cottage.
When at last they reached the quaint little parlour he
placed her tenderly in her chair, and, taking her hand, he
kissed it, and said solemnly, " No, aunty, I will not die.
I will live out my days for your sake, and do my best."

" Thank God ! =' she murmured,—" thank God ! " and for
a moment she leaned her head upon his breast as he knelt
beside her. Suddenly she lifted herself, with a return of
her old energy ; and he rose and ouood beside her. She
looked at him intently as if she would read his thoughts,
and then shook her linger impressively as she said, "Mark
my words, Alford, mark my words : good will come of
tha^t T^romise/' ^

106

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

olut™ """rr"' '" '"? ™°'"' ''*'™^d by an inflexible res-

CO to twoTTn "?!' ''^'"S that he had decided to
nLwtVrffn >.° J'"^ *° ^"""^ •'"'iness which had been
n^kcted m h.., absence, and was soon on hia way to the

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

107

CHAPTER XIV.

NOBLE DECEPTION.

TN the ©ourse of the forenoon HiUand called on his
1 friend, and was informed that Graham had gone to
the city on business, but would return in the evemng.
He also learned that Mrs. Mayburn was indisposed and
had not yet risen. At these tidings Grace ran over to see
her old friend, hoping to do something for her comtort^
and the young girl was almost shocked when she saw
Mrs. Mayburn's pinched and pallid face upon her pillow.
She seemed to have aged in a night.

"You are seriously ill!" she exclaimed, and you
did not let me know. Mr. Graham should not have left

^""^ He did not know," said the old lady, sharply, for the
slightest imputation against Graham touched her keenly.
« He is kindness itself to me. He only heard this morning
that I was sleeping, and he left word that I should not
be disturbed. He also wrote a note explaining the busi-
ness which had been neglected in his absence. U, i assure
you no one could be more considerate."

"bear, loyal Mrs. Mayburn, you won't hear a word
against those you love. I think Mr. Graham wonderfully
considerate for a man. You know we should not expect
n>nch of men. I have to manage two, and it keeps me
busy, but never so busy that I cannot do all m my power
for my dear old friend. I'll get your breakfast myselt
and bring it to you with my own hands and torce it
upon you with the inexorable firmness of Sairy Gamp ;
and she vanished to the kitchen.

The old lady turned her face to the wall and moaned,
« Oh, if it could only have been I Why U it that we so

108

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

ifc!!^.-/""""^ cannot stay Vm, ml "7 P?" *"'' Joneiy
it-nsi l,er cap Grace; andToI ZT; "°"''^ ?"' «P«c'
end. I m puuished, punislipr A ^ ' ^^ °" ^lone to the.
'.-ake some one love C tut I w ^?/' "«" ^ did „oI
J Pf'-fg'-f was deepened then &f"'""^^'«"' *''«"•''
dainty breakfast, and waited « u"^ returned witii &

nei.elt at her funny speeches nn!l v. •?• '® ™ ^Pite of
joyment of the present n,omS,:"t^^'"''"S ''er "'to en-
could resist. *'"'* witchery that none

daypi&Wf;!'^;;™ sighed, "It-s a fearfully hot

gablernlt^^^^^^^^ the most indefati-

out there under the apple-tree »nT "''', '"« "'''* Aey sat
Wl dawn. Talk ab^uTscK XT i*?^' *«'^ ''^^-"t^
M^ comment on Warren's fX ^» "'^^blmg all night.
Its astonishing how the-; ^ ^' * ^ose of quinine
g^nte. need taSngcIe of 4eTr' *4f « 'ntelectuai
will never cease as lon^as th!"^", ^""nan's mission
world They will s t i? a d a,iS,r ^.^^^ ™° « he
^cnre Jaw concerning the moonsff T °^* '^'"''''' «<"»« ob!

ford'^'ny quinin~out:- ''"'''"'''' "^ didn't give Al
" How could you wh»n vn """'" P^^-'^ent than I "
" Ah, true I " w«, T^ ^T '^''''e asleep ? "

«houIdhav:beenTwat. ffild h"^'^ "^"* *- I

The r*r"5^ '° ^hen I did ast nilht'"'"""'^"-^'' '^'^^
•Lne faint colour fKo^ 0+ i • "^g'lt.

so pale gave some surnriset Ih^ '''^ ''"=« '"^^^ had been
her ai„d was directed to a °nbE?T^ ^^^- '^''«" ""c^
exceedingly keen. ''•'^'='' ''«'• 'ntuitions were

His SOMBRE RIVALS.

109

From the time the secret of his regard for lierhad been
surprised from hiri), Graham had been a puzzle to her.
Was he the cool, philosophical lover that he would have
her think ? Hilland was so frank in nature and so wholly
under her influence that it was next to impossible for him
net to share with her his every thought. She had, there-
fore, learned substantially the particulars of last night's
interview, and she could not fully accept his belief that
Graham's intellect alone had been captivated. She re-
membered how he had leaned against the tree for sup-
port ; how pale lie had been during the evening that fol-
lowed; and how his hand had trembled in parting. She
remembered his sudden flight to the mountains, his tire-
less energy there, as if driven on by an aching wound
that permitted no rest. True, he had borne himself strong-
ly and well in her presence the evening before ; and he
had given the friend who knew him so well the impres-
sion that it was merely an instance of the quiet weighino-
of the pros and cons, in which, after much deliberation*
the pros had won. There had been much in his course'
too, to give colour to this view of the case; but her wo-
man's instinct suggested that there was something more,
something she did not know about ; and she would have
been less or more than woman had she not wished to learn
the whole truth in a matter of this nature. She hoped
that her lover was right, and that Graham's heart, in ac-
cordance with his development theory, was so inchoate as
to be incapable of much suffering. She was not sure,
however. There was something she surmised rather than
detected. She felt it now in Mrs. Mayburn's presence
and caught a glimpse of it in the flush that was fading
trom her cheeks. Had the nephew given his aunt hil
confidence ? or had she with her ripe experience and keen
msight discovered the ultimate truth ?

It was evident that while Mrs. Maybum still loved her
denrly, and probably was much disappointed that things
had turned out as they ha J, .he had given her loyalty to

110

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

geated to Grace that thHunt W ^\'W «"«!> sug-

retum in the early dawn and tW.r^}.'*f "^' °^P''«'^«
together before semrlLtv f ,*''y '''''' ^P"''*" freely
tht world to attemn??n r^' •"* *''^ '^^^ *•>« 'a^t one in

Still she wisheTto kn^^ri* 'I™* <"^™» ""other,
guilty overTer retitn^^ ^ "'",'^' ^"'^ '^^ f^H a little
Hilland. She peitanTL^ ""P:^ '° ''^^ '=>''«0"« with
of keepingX;SeTun ^^ir**', "1!"'"='' °^ '^e luxuiy
of herSif?, anrG'ah?^^ rKeftlf' ''■' *« ^™
that had not been fair to him Wi^l *° 'g°orance

tion of his character now tW u I ^* growing percep-

the subject, shet; thatiftVa/ itrnf ^'f ,*'^°"V' ^
all, It must be in accordance Iff >,i, •x'* *" ^""^ ^^'^ »*
iberately, even anally He wa^lr','^?"^*'^' ^'-
fall tumultuouslv in love R.-f i. "\ ^'^^ ^*''* "^^ *«
his own way, cou^id'she be sur^'ittt^ a 'coof ^7" '' '"
aged preference that he nii "ht if m! 1 " °'' ^'''^ "*°-
another who satisfied his?ea^n„ ^ JT ."'"''^ '"^^f^'- *«
than herself? If this wJr!? '"'i'^'^^ «ven more fully

rest; and she could ifkeffll^nd?' }■' T^'^ ^°"^<' ^e at
of the most agreeable human oil v""?*! ^^^"^^y- ^ one

tune to meet^he had " rio--*^ '• '• ■- ''""' ^" *''"■
Mrs. Maybura's sudden ;n?Ii ""g'^^g". however, which

suffering^uponleTltdlSttt^^ banist ""^'^^ "'

sZitll ttuXntf '^' "Jf- ^V"' '■^<'' *^ had
Hilland. He had Vendered if "" '° *"'' ^^'^'^''^^ ^th
eeal her I^owirdge'or^l'',:^;;--^ '"' !5«l*° -"■
secrets, so far as ho was concerned T^ "'1'^ ^^^^ ""
was as to the nature of his rS Tf T^ -""'^ "l"^'"""
sought to give her lnv»,. ,. .„ ^ \ "^^^ impression he
caul for S solitil^de TfT'"'' "tf ^'^ °* *''«■" had
hiding a deeper wound it wis «nl? f'""" P'^'" ""^ ^a«
tatedV a nSble, «nSi h mt"." Tf thff h"' ™'' '"^-
t.on should prove true, she ml^'J^^;^^^^

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

Ill

it without any direct effort. But she also felt that her
lovor should be left, if possible, uuder the impression his
friend had sought to make, and that Graham should have
the solace of thinking he had concealed his feelings from
them both.

As the long evening shadows stretched eastward across
the sloping lawn in front of the St. John cottage, the
family gathered on the piazza to enjoy the welcome re-
spite from the scorching heat of the day.

The old major looked weary and overcome. A July
sun was the only fire before which he had ever flinched.
Hilland still appeared a little heavy from his long hot af-
ternoon nap, his amends for the vigils of the previous
night. Grace was enchanting in her light clinging dra-
peries, which made her lovely form tenfold more beauti-
ful, because clothed in perfect taste. The heat had deep-
ened the flush upon her cheeks, and brought a soft languor
into ,her eyes, and as she stood under an arch of the
American woodbine, that mantled the supports of the
piazza roof, she might easily have fulfilled an artist's
dream of summer. Hilland's eyes kindled as he looked
upon her, as she stood with averted face, conscious mean-
while of his admiration, and exulting in it. What sweeter
incense is ever offered to a woman ?

" Grace," he whispered, *' you would create a pulse in
a marble statue to-night. You never looked more
lovely."

" There is a glamour on your eyes, Warren," she re-
plied; and yet the quick flash of joy that came into her
face proved the power of his words, which still had all the
exquisite charms of novelty.

" It's a glamour that will last while I do," he responded
earnestly. " Are not this scene and hour perfect ? and
you are the gem of it all. I don't see how a man could
ask or wish for more than I have to-night, except that it
might last forever." A shadow passed over his face, and
\\t added presently, " To think that after a few weeks J

!***""*• ilMli^n

112

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

^yossible ; and were it ^'tZ "'"'t? ^^'^'^ ^« «Peedily'
Id never go „ear them a„ain 7 ?'^''S'"«''°^ to'other.C
twee over, and am a (bo) "^^.i;, J^JT ""-"fy ^"^''gh

You wi)l be all the h.,nJi ,?r "°'"' «'ith you."
your interests in the WesfcTn r;„^rT' '^ y" <='ose up
I always wish to be as prouSofr"'^' ^«Wess-Iike wa?
•»o.-e. 1 don't believe i?. idt ^^ ^^ ^ ™ "ow. What^'
they are. I sfcouiU be worried To' "°. ""tter how rich
to cIo but sit around and m'ke fil °"' '^/O" had nothing
weary of the su-rar-nlmn • " «P<^eehes. You'd soof
have read soraewfere tW t^'f "''' ^"'^ «» shouk) I ?
"'^T give hinT;,X*o';^ork ^'' "^ ^^^^ ^ -n a'
'•^0 a^;\;i„7;ou^,f*fortr'
:I think I wilfeCe and Z " " ''?' 'Peculation."
, . " you do," she replied wfe' ^''^"''^ g^-'dener."
will have to rake and hoe Zr '^^T'"' "ttle nod, " you
you can have any dinnel^"'°'"'"'y '•""^ a day beC

i5iit you fair Eve wmiU \ •
«^t with me in the sh;de°' "^ "^""^ ^"""^ ^^cy work and

-eedspwTn;L''ef:;^S..^'*«"g '" *« «We, witl.
,_ But you would, m/Eve.'^

'-"ad by ih^'e >-pimttro? v^*"' T" ^-^^ ««™ed your
ma,den lady, a nei^ir of i ' ^°^' '« a verv^°ce
"That shall be my callinf » ' ^'""^^^ Ph^-a^es it "

~ a^e^ottlS ^^^■''-' -
commands this pot, and SlrTyt a?e'Ur"-

adder ^S':''n°o"\e*S;°;,:Y'""r-'^ -." «hc
"-'er arrest and mount'Jr,?, ot^yoX^]' ^S*.-"^""

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

113

" What numberless breaches of discipline there will
be!"

Lovers' converse consists largely in tone and glance,
and these cannot be written ; and were this possible, it
could have but the slenderest interest to the reader.

After a transient pause Hilland remarked, " Think of
poor Graham in the fiery furnace of New York to day.
I can imagine what a wilted and dilapidated-looking
specimen he will be if he escapes alive — By Jove, there
he is ! " and the subject of his speech came as briskly
up the walk as if the thermometer had been in the
seventies instead of the nineties. His dress was quiet
and elegant, and his form erect and elastic.

As he approached the piazza and doffed his hat, Hilland
(3ried, " Graham, you are the coolest fellow I ever saw. I
was just commiserating you, and expecting you to look
like a cabbage — no, rose — leaf that had been out in the
sun ; and you appear just as if you had stepped from a
i-efrigerator."

" All a matter of temperament and will, my dear fellow.
I decided I would not be hot to-day ; and I've been very
comfortable."

" Why did you not decide to be cool last night ? "

" I was so occupied with your interminable yams that
I forget to think about it. Miss Grace, for your
sake and on this evening, I might wish that there was a
coolness between us, but from your kind greeting I see
there is not. Good-evening, major,. I have brought
with me a slight proof that I do not forget my friends ; "
and he handed him a large package of newspapers, several
of them being finely illustrated foreign prints.

" I promote you on the spot, " cried the delighted vet-
eran. " I felt that fate owed me some amends for this
long horrid day. My paper did not come this morning,
and I had too much regard for the lives of my household
to send any one up the hot streets after one."

" papa ! " cried Grace, " forgive me that I did not dis-
cover the fact. I'm sure I saw you reading a paper,"

114

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

ou.,the whole ga^isin at WeC M.^'^il^X'^
to whom t'^sto^tVSoriesTf ctfidh '' !"''"''' ^"''

,_ No .he rephed, turning hastily toward her
She 18 not very well ; I've been to see her tw!p«»

that /have dXed a ZmTnt buUh , ^^ ' ^ *''' ^"'^
viting I ■• and he hastened awav ^"'"^ '"'^ '° '""

so;o^;r"';h'grd'^^^^^^^^^^^ '^^ ^ -et

him appear so well before " ^'^''^'^^'^^^y- I never saw
al.?Sat'ttXra^'d s^^^^^^^^^ '•^ ^- '^» >;-
nical eyes ofthe' student ^.^'^■^^'""y and slightly ey-

S^i:et e-i S^Er " " -^- --^i
s^ro-r-hTi?HB-v^^^^^^^^^^^

w^ distinct oleasL Llis'glrantT ^' '"'''• ""^^^ "'-^
steel if I ca« aee'hor ifJa" «r UmTo'^I.^ ^i^rC"

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

11.-.

In the evening Hilland walked over to call on his friend
and make inquiries. Through the parlour windows he
saw Graham reading to his aunt, who reclined on a lounge ;
and he stole away again without disturbing them.

The next few days passed uneventfully away, and Gra-
ham's armour was almost proof against even the penetra-
tion of Grace. He did not assume any mask of gayety.
He seemed to be merely his old self, with a subtle differ-
ence, and a V'^ry unobtrusive air of decision in all his
movements. He was with his friend a great deal ; and
she heard them talking over their old life with much ap
parent zest. He was as good company for the major as
ever, and when at whist played so good a game as to
show that he was giving it careful attention. There was
a gentleness towaid his aunt that rather belied his cha-
racter of stoic philosopher. Indeed, he seemed to have
dropped this phase also, and was simply a well-bred man
of the world, avoiding reference to himself, and his past
or present views, as far as possible.

To a question of Hilland's one day he replied " No ;
I shall not go back to my studies at present. As I told
you the other night, my excursion into the w orld has
shown me the advantage of studying it more fully. While
I shall never be a Crcesus like yourself, I am modestly
independent ; and I mean to see the world w^e live in, and
then shall know better what I am studying about."

When Hilland told Grace of this purpose, she felt it was
in keeping with all the rest. It might mean what was on
tlie surface ; it might mean more. It might be a part of
the possible impulse that had driven him into the Ver-
mont woods, or the natural and rational step he would
have taken had he never seen her. At any rate, she felt
that he was daily growing more remote, and that by a
nice gradation of effort he was consciously withdrawing
himself. And yet she could scarcely dwell on a single
word or act, and say, " This proves it." His manner to-
ward her was most cordial. When they conversed he

I' '

HIS HOMMUE UIVALS.

't was uniiatiiral If I, , , " V' V"" ''''""lil b« so, liiit
le.s» pastime f,„. 1,;, f i * '^ , . «;'>"l' I'" '^ .safo'an.l l,a,„ !

a<lstnu;k its n.ct ,|oe|, tliun t ^ " 1"^'"'"" <l"it

that «tea,ly withdrawal V„n I """^ »""'' '•<*'«>n for

*««<! so naturally iC . , ' T'"'""-'' "''''«'' ''« ■"«»-

whenever she was h. (.?' 1 ""posted none ; l,„t

Ma.vlH,™, ,,,th,„„;^, ;,, ' ,„™- "f .«-;al.H,n or'M^

""-c.,uo..u, sho twt the;r;.z ;!:i,;::;LL;«r uL:- [^^^

i ;

CHAPTER XV.

*I WISH HE UXD KNOWN."

T"lI::fof7rortr.Uio„" ST'^" *?'»' «- ™-J»Save

to his old haunfb;' he :rshore'' '"h'''"''r'' '" '^'^''^■''"
cottage was of omvo \^ ■'''® seclusion of their

-^elf u^nder UiecZ stances T^'p' "^ ^'"»'"' ^^^ ^^^
when her father wa coneern;d sf ™.T ''T^' ^^'^'^''^
ion was reached HiUand m ! I- l'?''"^ '''"^'' "»« '"as-
urged tliat he 'and M^ "l,'',!f,.i™"^' -^ P^-'Tt-y

urged that he 'ani"Z MaytrnTh'' tf P™'"'^''^
them. • ^ay-'uin should accouijjaxiy

lo's?"""'''"™ "• I*' »*, ■■«.,..„, .M„

— ■'

JIIH SOMBRE JUVALS.

117

mnjoi vvltli iimcl) pjnllanfry iirpod linr coniplianrf^. She
(li<l not likt! tlic Hoa-slior*!. It did not agrou with Iior ;
;ni(i, what was wofho, h1i« detostc-d h()t(3ls. Sho was bettor
ill iicr own (iui(!t nook, etc. Ali'ord might go if ho chose.

iiut (Jrahaui whon appealed to Raid it was both his
duty and Ids i>IeaHuro to remain witli his aunt, especially
as lie was going abroad as soon as he could arrange his
atliiirs. " l)on't put on that injured air," ho added, laugh-
ingly to Uilland. "Ah if you needed mo at present! You
tv ,) are suflicient for yourselves ; and why should I tramp
alter you like the multitude 1 sliould be ? "

*' What do you know about our iHutigsufricient for our-
yelves ? I'd like to ask," was the buntering response.

" 1 liave the best authority for saying what I do, —
writt(!n authority, and that of a sag(j, too. Hero it is,
lieavily underscored by a hand that 1 imagine is as heavy
as your own. Ah ! Miss Grace's conscious looks prove
that 1 am right," he added, as he laid the open volume of
Emerson, which he had returned, before her. " I remem-
ber reading that paragraph the first evening 1 came to
my aunt's house ; and I thought it a yery curious state-
ment. It made me feel as if I were a sort of polyp or
iiiollusk instead of a man."

" Let me see the book," cried Hilland. " O, yes," he
continued, laughing ; " I remember it all well, — the hopes,
th(} misgivings with which I sent the volume eastward
on its mission, — the hopes and fears that rose when the
book was acknowledged with no chidings or coldness, and
alno with no allusions to the marked passage, — the end-
less surmises as to what this gentle reader would think
of the sentiments within the.se black lines. Ha ! ha !
Graham. No doubt but this is Sanscrit ; and all the pro-
fessors of all the universities could not interpret it to

you.';

" That's what I said in substance on the evening refer-
red to — that Emerson never learned this at a university.
I confess that it's an experience that is, and ever will be

118

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

bcyon,! mc But it's surely good authority for remain-
i^n^hcro witl, my aunt, who needs me inore than you

" llcnv is it tlien, Mr. Graham, that you can Jeave vour
aunt for uumths of travel ? " CJrace asked. ^

Why, Grace," spoke Miu Mayburn, quickly "voi.
cannot expect Alford to transforn. him^el into 'an^oW

deiCi^irr/it;;;;! li'^t^n^rnT^^ '"'^*"™«''^' '"^■'^■^

thin/-^-?-'^''''" <=™*'!"'':d "'>= ol'l '''•ly. after a moment, "I

^o !: oMeT '""''r"^"" '" ■•'"™'" "i"^ ™« i-'t'-'aJ of
of y^rs." "'■ '"' """^ P''^'''*"'-'^' ™'l 'he marring

" No,v, tliat's putting it much too strong," criec; Hilland
(j-niliam never marred our pleasure " "'"*na.

snont"'' T*"?.'" ''" ""™'' '""'" '™^ '*"« '««'. «a™«st re-
sponse. J Grace s ear it sounded more like a vow or the

fHilnt^Tenirr"""^ P""- ^'^^ "''^ "^ "-
The next day the St. John cottage was alive with the
bus eof preparation for departure. Grahammade nooffiet
ous otters of assistauee, which, of course, would be futile
but ,,u,etly devoted hin..self to the ma or. Wheneve;
Grace appeared fron. the upper regionl she Found h^
father anmsed or interested, and .she smiled her gratitude
In he evening she found a chance to say in a Tow as"de
Ml. Uraliam, ycu are keeping your word to be my friend
If the sea-breezes prove as beneficial to papa as your
soci,.ty to-day, I sliall be glad indeed. You dCn'fknow
howuiuch you have aided me by entertaining him sT

Both her tone and glance •xe'-i very gentle as she snoke
these words, and for a moment his silence Tnd mSier
perplexed her. Then he replied lightly. " You areTi^-
^ken, Mi«. Grace. Your father hi Ln eM^^g

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

119

They v^ere interrupted at this point, and Graham
seomcd to grow more remote than ever.

Hillarid was parting from his friend with evident and
Binccre regret. He had made himself very useful in pack-
wr, stia])ping trunks, and in a general eagerness to save
his betrothed from all fatigue; but whenever occasion
ottered he would sally forth upon Graham, who, with the
major, followed the shade on the piazza. Some joculai-
speech usually accompanied his appearance, and he always
received the same in kind with such liberal interest that
he remarked to Grace more than once, " You are the only
being in th. world for whom I'd leave Graham during
his brief stay in this land/'

" O, return to him by all means," she had said archly
upon one occasion. "We did very well alone last year
before we were aware of your existence."

" Voii may not care," was the merry response, " but it
is written in one of the oldest books of the world, ' It is
not good for man to be alone.' O Grace, what an infinite
ditleience there is between love for a woman like you
and the strongest friendship between man and man !
Graham just suits me as a friend. After a separation of
years 1 tind him just the same even-pulsed, half-cynical,
yet genial good fellow he always was. It's hard to get
within his shell; but when you do, you find the kernel
sweet and sound to the core, even if it is rather dry.
I'rom the time we struck hands as boys there has never
been an unpleasant jar in our relations. We supplement
each other marvellously ; buthowinfinitely more and be-
yond all this is your love ! How it absorbs and swallows
up every other consideration, so that one hour with you
is more to me than an age with all the men of wit and
wisdom that ever lived^! No; I'm not a false friend
when I say that I am more than content to go and re-
main with you ; and if Graham had a hundredth part as
much heart as brains he would understand me. Indeed,
his very intellect serves in place of a heart after a fashion ;

120

HIS SOMBRE RIVI^S.

for ho took Emerson on trust so intellic/entlv as to com
l>rehend that 1 should not bo inconsolable.^ ^ '

Mr. Graham puzzles me," Grace had remarked as sho

'/neve^;"T''" '\^'^'''^^^ ^^ one of her father'^ ve t"
1 never met just such a man before."

1 ." f "^ probably never will again. He has been iso
ated and peculiar from childhood. I know him weH and
.he has changed but little in essentials since iTeft hin
over two years ago.'

hZ ^ '^'f^ ^ ^'''*? ^?"'* complacent belief about him," was

and again I feel as if some one in almost mortal pait is
?i7 J"®' ^""^ ^^^^ ^ -^ *o ^lame in part " ^

Whist wa,s dispensed with the last night they were to-
gether, for the evening was close and'all we^re weary
Grace thought Graham looked positively haggard ; but
whether by design or chance, he kept in the shadows o

he was the lite of the party. Mrs. Mayburn was appar-

sS'I'TrT^^^ '^? ^'^' ^^ '' ^e comparatFv^el .
silent , and Hiiland openly admitted that the July dav
and his exertions had used him up. Therefore the last
gathering at the St. John cottage came to a speedy end

for i: 1 '" T' 'S^l'"?^ good-knight, but alsoVod-bye;
for as he explained, business called him to town early the
following morning. He parted fraternally with Hiiland
giving a promise to spend a day with him before he sailed
for Europe Then he broke away, giving Grace as a

hastened after his aunt, who walked on slowly before
Ihe major, after many friendly expressions, had retired
quite early m the evening.

Grace saw the dark outline of Graham's form disap-
pear like a shadow, and every day thereafter he grew
more shadowy to her To a degree she did not imagine
possible he had baffled her scrutiny and left her in doubt
il^ither he had quietly and philosophically accepted the

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

121

situation, or he wished her to think so. In either ca»>.
there was nothing to be done. Once away with her father
and lover she had her world with her; and life grew
licher and more full of content every day.

Lassitude and almost desperate weariness were in Gra-
ham's step as he came up the path the following evening,
for there was no further reason to keep up the part he
was acting. When he greeted his aunt he tried to ap-
pear cheerful, but she said gently, " Put on no mask be-
fore me, Aiford, make no further effort. You have baffled
even Grace, and thoroughly satisfied your friend that all
is well. Let the strain cease now, and let my home be a
refuge while you remain. Your wound is one that time
only can heal. You have made an heroic struggle not to
mar their happiness, and I am proud of you for it. But
don't try to deceive me, or put the spur any longer to
your jaded spirit. Reaction into new hopes and a new
life will come all the sooner if you give way for the pre-
sent to your mood."

The wise old woman would have been right in dealing
with most natures. But Graham would not give way to his
bitter disappointment, and for him there would come no
reaction. He quietly read to her the evening papers, and
after she had retired stole out and gazed for hours on the
St. John cottage, the casket that had contained for him the
jewel of the world. Then, compressing his lips, he re-
turned to his room with the final decision, " I will be her
friend for life ; but it must be an absent friend. I think
my will is strong ; but half the width of the world must
be between us."

For the next two weeks he sought to prepare his aunt
for a long separation. He did not hide his feeling ; in-
deed, he spoke of it with a calmness which, while it
surprised, also convinced her that it would dominate
his life. She was made to see clearly the necessity of
his departure, if he would keep his promise to live
and do his best. He promised to be a faithfuJ and

122

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

voluminous correspondent, and she knew she would
live upon his letters. After the lapse of three weeks
he had arranged his affairs so as to permit a lone
absence, and then parted with his aunt as if he had been
her son.

" Alford," she said, " all that T have is yours, as you will
find in my will."

" Dear aunty," was his reply, " in giving me your love '
you have given me all that I crave. I have more than
enough for my wants. Forgive me that I cannot stay ;
but I cannot. I have learned the limit of my power of
endurance. I know that I cannot escape myself or my
memories, but new scenes divert my thoughts. Here I
believe, I should go mad, or else do something wild and
desperate. Forgive me, and do not judge me harshly
because I leave you. Perhaps some day this fever of
unrest will pass. away. When it does, rest assured you
shall see rae again."

He then went to the sea-side resort where Hilland
with the major and his daughter was sojourning, and
never had they seen a man who appeared so far removed
from the lackadaisical, disconsolate jover. His dress was
elegant, although very quiet, his step firm and prompt,
and his manner that of a man who is thoroughly master
of the situation. The major was ill from an indiscretion
at the table during the preceding day, and Grace could
not leave h:m very long. He sent to his favourite com^
panion and antagonist at whist many feeling messacres
and sincere good wishes, and they lost nothing in hearty
warmth as they came from Grace's lips ; and for some
reason, which she could scarcely explain to herself, tears
came into her eyes as she gave him her hand in parting.

He had been laughing and jesting vivaciously a mo-
ment before; but as he looked into her face, so full of
kmdly feeling which she could not wholly repress, his
own seemed to grow rigid, and the hand she held was so
cold and tense as to remind her of a steel gauntlet. In

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

123

the supreme effort of liis spiritual nature he belied his
creed His physical being was powerless in the gr^p ot
the dominant soul. No martyr at the stake ever suffered
more than he at that moment, but he merely said with
quiet emphasis, " Good-bye, Grace St. John. I shall not
forget my promise, nor can there come a day on which J
shall not wish you all the happiness you deserve.

He then 1 .ed gravely and turned away, bhe hastily
sought her room, and then burst into ^n irrepressible pas-
sion of tears. ''It's all in vain ' she sobbed I felt t.
I know it. He suffers as I should suffer, and his iron will
cannot disguise the truth."

The friends strolled away up the beach for their hnal
talk, and at length Hilland came back in a somewhat
pensive but very complacent mood. Grace looked at him
anxiously, but his first sentences reassured her

" Well," he exclaimed, " if Graham is odd, he s certainly
the b<!*t and most sensible fellow that ever lived, and the
most steadfast of friends. Here we've been separaocd tor
years, and yet, for any change in his attitude toward me,
we might have parted overnight at the university. He
was as badly smitten by the girl I love as a man of his
temperament could be ; but on learnmg the facts he re-
cognises the stuation with a quiet good ta^te which
leaves nothing to be desired. He made it perfectly clear
to me that travel for the present was only a broader and
more effective way of continuing his career as a student,
and that when tired of wandering he can go back to books
with a larger knowledge of how to use them. One thing
he has made clearer still,-if we do not seeeach other tor
ten vears, he will come back the same staunch triend.
" i think you are rigl :, Warren. He certainly has won

my entire respect." „

" I'm glad he didn't win anything more, sweetheart.
" That ceased to be possible before he came, but I— 1
wish he had known it," was her hesitating response, as
she pushed Hilland's hair back from his heated brow.

124

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

"Nonsense, you romantic little woman i Vo„ i
he has o-one awav wifK . „ i woman ! you unagina
Iieart. 6raham^7thr ..f g^«.«t fping wound in'his
of thing, andTo one wou d ^^7 ""-^ '"';;'<' ^"' ^''t ^^"^
did he know of yZ S s^lllr-^ '^'^^ ''''' ''«•
fatheTsir "''°' " "<""«■''' -^ *en stole away to her

aijgra^t^^rtatr^^^^^^

n>ofe' TarwVrLCte Z t'/t'^'t"' -""'<'
interview. Wle-tree at their well-remembered

CHAPTER XVI.

THE CLOUD IN THE SOUTH

h™,self as manlylnd deCXl;ve?i\": had"" h^™'"*
ardent and evenfnnJlxr ^^4.- *. ^^^"'^ ^ ^e had been an

overflowing srat^XaSss i" Gra J'l ''".^S'^^'
ened nto a wide enrronf ff ■ . ^'^^'^ ^ ^>«art deep-
toward a future thSi;,'?^ ""f T *'"'"" '^''y *« day
her wo,nan's hearr C was of^'^^ '^''y ''"'g'"g «f
that Hilland was constrZJS J"^^' •^""■*' ••«g'-«t
the West in order to tt/lp J^?""^ '^^<'™1 """ths in
due regard to thrrfehte of „?>,f'''"f '"^'"'^ "'"> "
have it otherwise She wa,h! '•'''''^•^^f '^^ «">"" "<"
ed devotion . sh? wtidT^^Xen it t^ hMs"

His SOMBEF RIVALS.

125

devotion kept him ki her side when his man's part in the
world required his presence elsewhere- Therefore she
bade him farewell with a heart that was not so ^'ery
heavy, even though tears gemmed her eyes.

The autumn and early winter months lapsed quietly
and uneventfully, and the inmates of the two cottages
ever remembered that period of their lives as the era
of letters — Graham's from over the sea abounding in
vivid descriptions of scenes that to Mrs. May burn's in-
terested eyes were like glimpses of another world, and
Hilland's, even more voluminous and infinitely more in-
teresting to one fair reader, to whom they were sacred
except as she doled out occasional paragraphs which re-
lated sufficiently to the general order of things to be read
aloud.

Graham's letters, however, had a deep interest to Grace,
who sought to trace in them the working of his mind in
regard to herself. She found it difficult, for his letters
were exceedingly impersonal while the men and things
he saw often stood out upon his page with vivid realism.
It seemed to her that he grew more shadowy, and that he
was wandering rather than travelling, drifting whither-
soever his fancy or circumstances pointed the way. It
was certain he avoided the beaten paths, and freely in-
dulged his taste for regions remote and comparatively
unknown. His excuse was that life was far more pic-
turesque and unhackneyed, with a chance for an occasional
adventure, in lands where one was not jostled by people
with guide-books — that he saw men and women as the
influence of the ages had been fashioning them, and not
conventionalized by the mode of the hour. " Chief of all,"
he concluded jestingly, " I can send to my dear aunt de-
scriptions of people and scenery that she will not find
better set forth in half a dozen books within her reach."

After a month in Norway, he crossed the mountains
into Sweden, and as winter approached drifted rapidly to
the south and east. One of his letters was dated at the

126

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

entrance of the Himalayas in In.lia, and expressed his
purpose to explore one of the grandest mountain systems
m tlie world. "^

Mrs. Ma^'burn gloated over the letters, and Grace
laughingly told her she had learned more about ffeocrraphv
since her nephew had gone abroad than in all her life
before. The major, also, was deeply interested in them
especially as Graham took pains in his behalf to mve
some account of the military organizations with which he
came in contact They had little of the nature of a scien-
t he report The soldier, his life and weapons were
sketched with a free hand merely, and so became eveTto
the ladies a picturesque figure rather than a military ab-
M?l ' ^^romtime to time a letter appeared in Mrs.
Mayburn s favourite journal signed by the initials of the
traveller ; and these epistles she cut out and pasted most

''F^u'y mi^^'^ "'^''' ""''''' J-^-gl/ealled her
But as time passed, Graham occupied less and less
space in the thoughts of all except his aunt. The maior's
newspaper became more absorbing than ever for the
clouds gathering in the political skies threatened evils
that seemed to him without remedy. Strongly Southern
and Conservative in feeling, he was deeply iLensed at
what he termed "Northern fanaticism." Only less hate-
tul to him was a class in the South, known in the par-
lance of the times as "fire-eaters." ^
^ All through the winter and spring of 1860 he had his
daily growl, a^ Gra^e termed it ; and she assured him
It was growing steadily deeper and louder. Yet it was
evidently a source of so much comfort to him that she
always smiled m secret over his invective,-noting, also,
that while he deplored much that was said and done by
the leaders of the day, the prelude of the great drama
interested him so deeply that he half forgot his infirmi-
ties. In tact she had more trouble with Hilland who
had returned, and was urgingr an early date for 'their

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

127

ressed hh
I systems

id Grace
eography
I her life
in them,
f to give
which he
i"a scien-
fis, were
5 even to
itary ab-
l in Mrs.
Is of the
:ed most
lied her

md less
major's
for the
3d evils
outhern
Qsed at
ss hate-
he par-
had his
Bd him
it was
lat she
g, also,
one by
drama
nfirmi-
d, who
• their

marriage. Her lover was an ardent Republican, and
hated Savery with New England enthusiasm. The arro-
gance and blindness of the South had their counterpart
at the North, and Hilland had not escaped the infection.
He was much inclined to belittle the resources of the for-
mer section, to scoff at its threats, and to demand that the
North should peremptorily and imperiously check all fur-
ther aggressions of slavery. At first it required not a
little tact on the part of Grace to preserve political har-
mony between father and lover ; but the latter speedily
recognised that the major's age and infirmities, together
with his early associations, gave him almost unlimited
privilege to think and say what he pleased. Hilland soon
came to hear with good-natured nonchalance his Northern
allies berated, and considered himself well repaid by one
mirthful, grateful glance from Grace.

After all, what was any political squabble compared
with the fact that Grace had promised to marry him in
June? The settlement of the difference between the
North and South was only a question of time, and that,
too, in his belief, not far remote.

" Why should I worry about it ? " he said to Grace.
" When the North gets angry enough to put its foot down,
all this bluster about State-rights, and these efforts to
foist slavery on a people who are disgusted with it, will
cease."

•' Take care," she replied archly. " I'm a Southern girl.
Think wha* might happen if I put my foot do A^n."

"0, when it comes to you," was his quick response, "I'm
the Democratic party. I will get down on my knees at
any time ; I'll yield anything and stand everything."

" I hope you will be in just ijuch a frame of mind ten
years hence."

It was well that the future was hidden from her.
Hilland wrote to his friend, asking, indeed almost
insisting, that he should return in time for the wed-
ding. Graham did not come, and intimated that he was

128

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

gathering materials which miffht resiilf in n i i, xi

Cirace was at first inoJinprJ *,^ <oi,^ i\
{nir fi.o* ^ "y "'wi- Jiiuinea to take the same view f«Al

not written 'out of hi^ hL^A> ' t>ut that letter was
children." ''^*^' ^ ^« "«ed to say when

affectfai: inl'eTinXrn'^ "T^^^'^ ^^ ^"^ ^-^ ^f

HIS SOMimE RIVALS.

120

>ok, H(!
and full
d said it
'ncluded,
we shall

3w, feel-
preaent
lined so
3ntually
ler mis-
3 letter,
:h tears,
herself
3tly, " J
ter was
Y when

lack of
len the
no

at "

3 wed-
ne and
ce and
it him
in any
to his
to the
lid be
r, and
under

it tlj6
jly to

It was a summer of unalloyed haj)pine8s to Hilland and
his wife, «ind the major promised to renew his youth in
the warm sunlij^lit of his prosperity. The exciting presi-
dential canvass afforded abundant theme for the daily
discussions in his favourite corner of the piazza, where,
surrounded by some veteran cronies whom he had known
in former years, he joined them in ])redictions and omin-
ous head -shakings over the monstrous evils that would
follow the election of Mr. Lincoln. Hilland, sitting in
the background with Grace, would listen, stroke his
tawny beard as he ghinced humorously at his wife, who
knew that he was working, quietly out of deference
to his father-in-law, but most etfectively, in the Re|)ubli-
can campaign. Although Southern born she had the
sense to grant to men full liberty of personal opinion, — a
quality that it would be well for many of her sisterhood
to imitate. Indeed, she would have despised a man who
had not sufhcient force to think for himself; and she
loved her husband all the more because in some of his
views he differed radically with her father and herself.

Meantime the cloud gathering in the South grew
darker find more poitentous ; and after the election of
President Lincoln the lightning of hate and passion be-
gan to strike from it directly at the nation's life. The
old major was both wrong and right in regard to the
most prominent leaders of the day. Many whom he
deemed the worst fanatics in the land were merely ex-
ponents of a public opinion that was rising like an irre-
sistible tide from causes beyond human control, — from
the God-created conscience illumined by His own truth.
In regard to the instigators of the Rebellion, he was right.
Instead of representing their people, they deceived and
misled them; and, with an astute understanding of the
chivalrous, hasty Southern tsmper, they so wrought upon
their pride of section by the false presentation of fancied
and prospective wrongs, that loyalty to the old flag,
which at heart they loved, was swept away by the mad-

130

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

.^s whicli piecedeH destruction. Above all and direct
IK all was the God of nations; and he had decreed that
lavery, the gangrene in the body politic, must be cut
4it, even though it should be with the sword. The sur-
,ery was heroic, indeed ; but as its result the slave, and
specially the master and his posterity, will grow into a
irge healthful, and prosperous life; and tlie evidences of
iich life are increasing daily.

.nt nnf !l^'°''' "^ which I am Writing, however, the future
/as not dreamed of by the sagacious Lincoln even, or his
cabinet, much less was it foreseen by the humbler charac
tors of my story Hilaud after reading his daily journal
^vould sit silent for a long time with "contracted brow.
A .^7,^\^^f of anger was slowly kindling in his heart
tnd in that of the loyal North ; and the cloud in the
.^outh began to throw its shadow over the hearth of the
li\,ppy wife.

Although ffilland hated slavery, it incensed him beyond
measure that the South could be made to believe that the

tTiln«n"f 'f ^^"^^ ^' ^^^^^°^^ "PO^ *1^« consti-
tutional safeguards thrown around the institution At

the same time he knew, and it seemed to him every in-
telligent man should understand, that if a sufficient ma-
jority should decide to forbid the extension of the slave
system to new territory, that should end the question, or
else the constitution was not worth the paper on which
It was written. « Law and order," was his niotto; and
All changes and reforms under the sanction of law, and
at the command of the majority," his political creed.

The major held the Southern view. " Slaves are pro-
perty, he said ;; and the government is bound to permit
a man to take his property where he pleases, and protect
him in all his rights" The point where the veteran
drew the line was m disloyalty to the flag which he had
sworn to defend, and for which he had become a cripple
for life. As the Secession spirit became more rampant
and open in South Carolina, the weight of his invective

HIS SOMBRK RIVALS.

181

lell more heavily upon the leaders there than upon tho
hitherto more detested abolitionists. „ c,. .

When he read the address of Alexander H. Stephens,
delivered to the same people on the following evenmg,
wherein that remarkable man said, " My object is not to
stir up strife, but to allay it ; not to appeal to your pas-
sions, but to your reason. Shall the people of the bouth
secede from the Union in consequence of the election of
Mr Lincoln ? My countrymen, I tell you frankly, candid-
ly and earnestly, that I do not think they ought. In my
iull.riuent the election of no man, constitutionally chosen,
is slifficient cause for any State to separate trom the
Union It ou"-ht to stand by and aid still in maintaining
the constitution of the country. We are pledged to main-
tain the constitution. Many of us are sworn to support
it''_when the veteran came to these words, he sprang to
his feet without a thought of his crutch, and cried in a
tone with which he would order a charge, " There is the
man who ought to be President. Read that speech.

Hilland did read it aloud, and then said thoughttuUy,
" Yes • if the leaders on both sides were of the stamp of
Mr Stephens and would stand firm, all questions at issue
could be settled amicably under the constitution. 13ut 1
fear the passion of the South, fired by the unscrupulous
misrepresentations of a few ambitious men, will carry the
Cotton States into such violent disloyalty that the J^orth
in its indignation will give them a lesson never to be lor-

gotten." . , - .,

" Well !" shouted the major, " if they ever fire on the
old flag, I'll shoulder my crutch and march against them
myself— I would, by Heaven, though my own brother

fired the gun." - , i i

Grace's merry laugh rang out— for she never lost a
chance to throw oil on the troubled waters— and she cried,
" Warren, if this thing goes on, you and papa will stand
shoulder to siiould«r **

132

His SOMfeRE RiVALSJ.

I* I

But the t.me for that had not yet come. Indeed thero
would ever remain wide differences of opinion between
the two men The major beJieved that if Gor"'ress con
ceded promptly all that the slave power demanded "tZ

ttn^lhife Hm^ ^;"* T"''A ^« wiSt occupa!
tion , while HUland maintained the whole thin<r oriein-

that JL"l"'*""*° ^"^^^^ *'^' ^"^l" into submission and
mk*h ,ofef T '^^^ ^^' "nceasinginflammatoVtelk
"efdaHv i ;r f a" "f ''' *^' ^^'y ^""•'J believe the

evilnTthat'tt ^if" ^f f "" '"''^"^- «"'' " became
evmentthat the other States would follow the maior

often said with bitter emphasis that the NoHh wouM

tZV'diitP '"" '^ ^^»''--* i" ™ga'd tot
S' . ■ ?^ ' '^^^ ^*™"S exultation became a grow-
ing element in his anger, for he believed that slaverf wl
destined to receive heavier blows from the mad zll of
ln\™l^;^" ''°'-'''^™ ''^°''«--t^ -"'d have

" If the South casts aside her constitutional protection "
he reasoned "she must take the consequePeesAfter ,.
certain point is passed, the North will make sharo aul-k

SeriS""^''"^ *'^' '"'^""^'^^ "'* her pSce'anI
" The work will be sharp enough, youn^ man " renlied

uir^Tf the't' ;;'"* '""\ '« ^-^ «bout "'tsTJ^^g

Sri 1 ■ n ^ ^?* once gets to fighting, I know her
people well enough to assure you tSat tfe Republi^n
party can reach .t« ends only through seas of blood^f
tney are ever attained." <» "i oiooa, it

Hilland made no reply— he never contradicted the old
^entleman-but he wrote Graham a rather strong letter ■
intimating that it wa,s time for Americans to com! Ume

Graham would not have come, however, had not Gmce
who had just returned from Mrs. Maybum's coS!'
caused a pc^cript to be added, giving L ™ formawS

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

133

that his aunt was seriously ill, and that her physician
thought it mioht be a long time before she recovered,
even if life was spared.

This decided him at once ; and as he thought he might
never see his kind old friend again, he bitterly regretted
that he had remained away so long. And yet he felt he
could scarcely have done otherwise ; for in bitter disap-
pointment he found that his passion, so far from being
conquered, had, by some uncontrollable law of his nature,
simply grown with time and become interwoven with
every fibre of his nature. Hitherto he had acted on the
principle that he must and would conquer it ; but now
that duty called him to the presence of the one whose
love and kindness formed an indisputable claim upon
him, he began to reason that further absence was futile,
that he might as well go back, and, as he promised his
aunt — " do the best he could."

It must be admitted that Hilland's broad hint, that in
the coming emergency Americans should be at home,
had little weight with him. From natural bent he had
ever been adverse to politics. In accordance with his
theory of evolution, he believed the negro was better off
in his present condition than he could be in any other.
He was the last man to cherish an enthusiasm for an in-
ferior race. Indeed, he would have much preferred it
should die out altogether and make room for better ma-
terial. The truth was that his prolonged residence
abroad had made the questions of American politics ex-
ceedingly vague and inconsequential. He believed them
to be ephemeral to the last degree — in the main, mere
struggles of parties and partisans for power and spoils ;
and for their hopes, schemes, and stratagems to gain tem-
porary success, he cared nothing.

He had not been an idler in his prolonged absence. In
the first place, he had striven with the whole force of a
powerful will to subdue a useless passion, and had striven
in vain. He had not, however, yielded for a day to

134

HIS SOMBKE KIVALS.

dreamy melancholy, but, in accordance with his pi-omise
' ^?' .? '"^^f t'" ^ad been tireless in mental and physical
activity. The tendency to wander somewhat aimlessly
had ceased, and he had adopted the plan of studying
modern life at the old centres of civilization and power. "^

Hilland s letter found him in Egypt, and only a few
weeks had elapsed after its reception when, with deep
anxiety, he rang the bell at his aunt's cottage door He
had not stopped to cable an inquiry at London, for he had
learned that by pushing right on he could catch a fast
out-gomg steamer, and save some days.

The servant who admitted him uttered a cry of ioy •
and a moment later his aunt rose feebly from the louno-e
m her sitting-room, and greeted him as her son. ^

CHAPTER XVII.

PREPARATION.

GRAHAM learned with deep satisfaction that the
dangerous symptoms of his aunt's illness had passed
away, and that she was now well advanced in conval-
escence. They gave to each other an hour or two of un-
reserved confidence ; and the old lady's eyes filled with
tears more than once as she saw how vain had been her
nephew's struggle. It was equally clear, however, that
he had gained strength and a nobler manhood in the
effort ; and so she told him.

" If supper is ready," he replied, " I'll prove to you that
I am in very fair condition,"

An hour later he left her, cheerful and comparatively
happy, for the St. John cottage. From the piazza he saw
through the lighted windows a home-scene that he had

HIS SOMBUE HIVALS.

135

once dreamed might bless his life. Hilland, evidently,
was reading the evening paper aloud, and his back waa
toward liis Mend. The major was nervously drumming
on the table with his fingers, and contracting his frosty
eyebrows, as if perturbed by the news. But it was on
the young wife that Graham's eyes dwelt longest. She
sat with some sewing on the farther side of the open fire,
and her face was toward him. Had she changed ? Yes ;
but for the better. The slight matronly air and fuller
form that come with wifehood became her better than
even her girlish grace. As she glanced up to her husband
from time to time, Graham saw serene loving trust and
content.

" It is all well with them," he thought ; " and so may
it ever be."

A servant who was passing out opened the door, and
thus he was admitted without being announced, for he
cautioned the maid to say nothing. Then pushing open
the parlour door which was ajar, he entered, and said
quietly, " I've come over for a game of whist."

But the quietness of his greeting was not reciprocated.
All rose hastily, even to the major, and stared at him.
Then Hilland half crushed the proffered hand, and the
major grasped the other, and there came a fire of excla-
mations and questions that for a moment or two left no
space for answer.

Grace cried, " Come, Warren, give Mr. Graham a chance
to get his breath and shake hands with me. I propose
to count for something in this welcome."

" Give him a kiss, sweetheart," said her delighted hus-
band.

Grace hesitated, and a slight flush suffused her face.
Graham quickly bent over her hand, which he now heU,
and kissed it, saying, " I've been among the Orientals so
long that I've learned some of their customs by paying
homage. I know that you are queen here as of old, and
that Hilland is by this time the meekest of men."

136

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

ill

chairs. ' ^""*' ^' ^''"'^- '"'0 one of the easyl

wa7o?yrr°own''how:verwv''r *° ™'«- ^»" have a
imitate i advln^e^" '""'* other rulers might

of Sr sHx^rl. '1 *''',? y"" S'^« '^" ''•'-unt
our quiet firesWe before "0n.n''''\°"J'''' ^"^ '""^^ ''t
Only remember we have ..£ r^;: "'"'^S'^' °*' *o°ders.
Baron Munchausin " ™ '''«''* acquaintance with

th» Usrvelionr Beyond Thf/;- f"« -°<'«^»1

the shortest possible ro^ le^receiv'^Hfll '°d™^ ^
ter, I have little to say " receiving Hilland's let-

;;l thought my letter would stir you up"

aid,ho~"^' ' ■""^' ^^y" '^^'^-ot. \he pastscript

hoZ.t:.ta\:^i?^Vd"G:±

from a call on M^s M»vh„!!, j r , J"'' returned
the letter and addThe pTstcript Ar''' ^"'"^ "?«"
exceedingly anxious abCt he7for Peeks'"" ^"" "^ ''^'•^

thatihe oTs W Ufe moTe't? "^ J^ ^''"°^* -"""-l
Drugs go but a m le Zv y?",*'>«° '« her physician.

but fhe'^delitcl^ a^d nJurTsKw' t'.* '^"' *™^ ^^ ''''•
provided with so re^ular^v in' ! l^ y°" ^^'^ «•=« "'as
was your postscrinUhat L f "* ^-^^ ''"'""g"'' ^es ; it
not Hillan^c^s pZc^J-^bW-'" "^ """'^•'"*'« ••^'"»' «■"»

herer-^' ^'''''""" ^°"'*' y°» '«^>i==o whafs going on

" Not very seriously."
;; You may have to fight, old fellow."
^^ J, ve no objections after I have decided which side to

[his sombre rivals.

137

" Good heavens, Graham ! you will be mobbed if you
talk that way here in New England. This comes of a
man's living abroad so much that he loses all love for his
native land."

" Squabbling politicians are not one's native land. 1
am not a hater of slavery as you are ; and if it produces
types of men and women like that Southern lady of
whom I told you, it must be an excellent institution."

" Oh, yes," cried Hilland, laughing. " By the way,
Grace, my cool, cynical friend was once madly in love —
love at first sight, too — and with a lady old enough to be
his mother. I never heard a woman's character sketched
more tendei'ly ; and his climax was that your mother
must have closely resembled her."

" Mr. Graham is right," said the major impressively.
" The South produces the finest women in the world ; and
when the North comes to meet its men, as I fear it must,
it will find they are their mothers' sons."

" Poor Warren ! " cried Grace ; " here are all three of us
against you — all pro-slavery and Southern in our sympa-
thies."

" I admit at once that the South has produced the finest
woman in the world," said Hilland, taking his wife's
hand. " But I must add that many of her present pro-
ductions are not all to my taste ; nor will be to yours,
Graham, after you have been here long enough to under-
stand what is going on, — that is, if anything at home can
enlist your interest."

" I assure you I am deeply interested. It's exhilarat-
ing to breathe American air now, especially so after just
coming from regions where everything has been dead for
centuries — for the people, living there now, are scarcely
alive. Of course 1 obtained from the papers in Egypt
very vague ideas of what was going on ; and after receiv-
ing your letter my mind was too preoccupied with my
aunt's illness to dwell on much besides. If the fiag which
gave me protection abroad, and under which I was born,

138

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

is cossailed I shall certainly fight for it, even though 1
may not be in sympathy with the causes which led to
the quarrel. What I said about being undecided as to
which side I would take was a half-jocular way of admit-
ting that I need a great deal of information ; and between
you and the major I am in a fair way to hear both sides.
I cannot believe, however, that a civil war will break out
in this land of all others. The very idea seems prepos-
terous, and, I am not beyond the , that the whole
thing is political excitement. I havv „ined this much,
that the old teachings of Calhoun have born their legiti-
mate fruit and that the Cotton States by some hocus-poc-
us legislation declare themselves out of the Union. But
then the rational and, to my mind, inevitable course will
be, that the representative men of both sides will realize
at last to what straits their partisanship is bringing them,
and so come together and adjust their real, or fancied,'
grievances. Meanwhile, the excitement will die out ; and
a good many will have a dim consciousness that they
have made fools of themselves, and go quietly about their
own business the rest of their days."

"Graham, you don't know anything about the true
state of affairs," said Hilland ; and before the evening
was over he proved his words true to his friend, who list-
ened attentively to the history of his native land for the
past few months. In conclusion, Hilland said, " At one
time— not very long ago either— I held your opinion that
it was the old game of bluster and threatening on the part
of Southern politicians. But they are going too far ; they
have already gone too far. In seizing the United States
forts and other property, they have practically waged
war against the government. My opinions have changed
from week to week, under the stern logic of events, and
1 now believe that the leading spirits in the South mean
actual and final sepamtion. I've no doubt that they
hope to effect their purpose peaceably, and that the whole
tiling will soon be a matter of diplomacy between two

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

139

distinct governments. Bat they are preparing for war,
and they will have it, too, to their hearts' content. Presi-
dent Buchanan is a muff. He sits and wrings his hands
like an old woman, and declares he can do nothing. But
the new administration will soon be in power, and it will
voice the demand of the North that this nonsense be stop-
ped ; and if no heed is given, it will .stop it briefly, de-
cisively."

"My son Warren," said the major, "you told your
friend some time since that he knew nothing about this
affair. You must permit me to say the same to you. I
fear that both sides have gone too far, much too far ; and
what the end will be, and when it will come, God only
knows."

Before many weeks passed Graham shared the same
view.

Events crowded upon each other ; pages of history
were made daily and often hourly. In every home, as
well as in the cottages wherein dwelt the people of my
story, the daily journals were snatched and read at the
earliest possible moment. Many were stern and exul-
tant like Hilland ; more were dazed and perplexed, feel-
ing that something ought to be done to stem the torrent,
and at the same time" were astonished and troubled to
find that perhaps a next-door neighbour sympathized
with the rebellion and predicted its entire success. The
atmosphere was thick with doubt, heavy with despond-
ency, and often lurid with anger.

Graham became a curious study to both Grace and his
aunt ; and sometimes his friend and the major were in-
clined to get out of patience with him. He grew reticent
on the subj(;ct concerning which all wei-e talking, but he
read with avidity, not only the history of the day, but
of the past as it related to the question at issue.

One of his earliest acts had been the purchase of a
horse noted in town as being so powerful, spirited, and
even vicious, that few dared to drive or ride him. He

:?ii!

I •

140^ HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

had finally brought his ill-repute to a climax by running
away, wrecking the carriage, and breaking his owner's
nbs He had since stood fuming in idleness ; and when
Graham wished him brought to the unuse.J stable behind
ms aunts cottage, no one would risk the danger. Then
the young man went after the horse himself.

1 ve only one man in my employ who dares clean and
take care of him, remarked the proprietor of the liverv-
stable where he was kept; "and he declares that he
won t risk his life much longer unless the brute is used
and tamed down somewhat. There's your property, and

urn? ^'^'^ ^"^ ^^""^ '^ removed as soon as possible."
1 n remove him at once," said Graham, quietly ; and.
paying no heed to the crowd that began tocrather, when it
was bruited that " Firebrand "-for such was the horse's
name—was to be brought out, he took the bridle and
went into the stall, first speaking gently, then stroking
the animal with an assured touch. The horse permitted
himsel to be bridled and led out ; but there was an evil
Hre in his eye and he gave more than one ominous snort
ot dehance. Ihe proprietor, smitten by a sudden com-
punction, rushed forward and cried, "Look here sir •
you are taking your life in your hand." ' '

" I say, Graham," cried Hilland's voice, " what scrape
are you in, that you have drawn such a crowd ? "

" No scrape at all," said Graham, looking around and
recognising his friend and Grace mounted and passing
homewards from their ride. " I've had the presumption
to think that you would permit me to join you occasion-
beaut^^?" ^^ ^^^^ bought a good horse. Isn't he a

'^' What, Firebrand ? "

" That's his present name. 1 shall re-christen him."

• O, come, Graham ! if you don't value your neck,
others do. You've been imposed upon."

"I've warned him—" began the keeper of the livery
stable ; but here the horse reared and tried to break from
Uraham s grasp.

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

141

" Clear fcl a way," the young man cried ; and as the
Iji'ute came down he seized his mane and vaulted upon
his bare back. The action was so sudden and evidently
80 unexpected that the horse stood still and quivered for
a moment, then gave a few prodigious bounds; but the
rider kept his seat so perfectly that he seemed a part of
the horse. The beast next began to rear, and at one time
it seemed as if ho would fall over backward, and his mas-
ter sprang lightly to the ground. But the horse was
scarcely on all fours before Graham was on his back again.
The brute had the bit in his teeth, and paid no attention
to it. Graham now drew a flexible rawhide from his pock-
et, and gave his steed a seve-re cut across the flanks.
The result was another bound into the air, such as ex-
perts present declared was never seen before ; and then
the enraged animal sped away at a tremendous pace.
There was a shout of applause ; and Hilland and Grace
galloped after, but soon lost sight of Graham. Two hours
later he trotted quietly up to the door, his coal-black
horse white with foam, quivering in every muscle, but
perfectly subdued.

" I merely wished to assure you that my neck was safe,
and that I have a horse fit to go to the wai' that you pre-
dict so confidently," he said to Hilland, who with Grace
rushed out on the piazza.

" I say, Graham, where did you learn to ride ? " asked
his friend.

'* 0, the horses were nobler animals than the men in
some of the lands where I have been, and I studied them.
This creature will be a faithful friend in a short time.
You have no idea how much intelligence such a horse as
this has if he is treated intelligently. I don't believe he
has ever known genuine kindness. I'll guarantee that I can
fire a pistol between his two ears within two weeks, and
that he won't flinch. Good-bye. I shall be my own hos-
tler for a short time, and must work an hour over him
after the run he's had,"

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

" Well," exclaimed Hilland, as he passed into the house
with hia wife, " I admit that Graham has changed. He
was always great on tramps, but I never knew hiro to
care f'oi- a horse before."

Grace felt that he ha . changed since ho had leaned for
support against the apple-tree by which he was now
passing down the frozen walk, but she only said, " I never
saw such superb horsemanship."

She had not thought Graham exactly fine-looking in
former days; but in his absence his slight figure had
filled out, and his every movement was instinct with re-
served force. The experience through which he had
passed removed him, as she was conscious, beyond the
sphere of ordinary men. Even his marked reticence
about himself and his views was stimulating to the ima-
gination. Whether he had conquered his old regard for
her she could not tell. He certainly no longer avoided
her and he treated her with the frank courtesy he would
naturally extend to his friend's wife. But he spent far
more time with his aunt than with them ; and it became
daily more and more evident that he accepted the major's
view, and was preparing for what he believed would be a
long and doubtful conflict. Since it must come, he wel-
comed the inevitable, for in his condition of mind it was
essential that he should be intensely occupied. Although
his aunt had to admit that he was a little peculiar, hia
manner was simple and quiet ; and when he joined his
friends on their drives or at their fireside, he was usually
as genial as they could desire, and his tenderness for his
aunt increased the respect which he had already won
from Grace.

i ' ■

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

143

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE CALL TO ARMS.

ON the 4th of March, 1801, was inaiic^uratod as Presi-
dent the best friend the South ever had. He
would never have deceived or misled her. In all the
bloody strugj^le that followed, although hated, scoffed at,
and maligned as the vilest monster of earth, he never by
word (jr act manifested a vindictive spirit toward her.
Finn and sagacious, Lincoln would have protected the
South in her constitutional rights, though every man at
tlie North had become an abolitionist SlovQry, however,
liad long been doomed, like other relies of barbarism, by
the spirit of the age ; and his wisdom and that of men
like him, with the logic of events and the irresistible force
of the world's opinion, would have found some peaceful,
gradual remedy for an evil which wrought even more in-
jury to the master than to the bondman. In his inaugu-
ral address he repeated that he had " no purpose, directly
or indirectly, to interfere with slavery in the States
where it existed."

An unanswerable argument against disunion and an
earnest appeal to reason and lawful remedy, he followed
by a most impressive declaration of per.^c and good will :
" In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow-countrymen, and
not mine, is the momentous issue of civil war. The gov-
ernment will not assail you. You can have no conflict
without being yourselves the aggressors. You have no
oath registered in heaven to destroy the government ;
while I shall have the most solemn one to preserve, pro-
tect and defend it."

These were noble words, and to all minds not confused
by the turmoil, passion, and prejudices of the hour, they

141

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

i '

i •>

! ij

presented the iHsue squarely. If the leaders of the South
desired peaceful ne^.otiation, the way was opened the
opportunity offered ; if they were resolved o^n the de!
stTuction of the Union. Lincoln's oath meant countless
men and countless treasure to defend it

Men almost held their breath in suspense. The air
became thick with rumours of compromise and peace"

v^r ?^'/^ ^^'h ^'- ^^^^^^' the President's chierad-'
visei believed and argued that the revolution through-
out the South had spent its force and was on the
wane; and that the evacuation of Sumter and themani-
^r.^'^'l^ . kindness and confidence to the Rebel and
.ZtllJ^ "^""^^^ undermine the conspiracy, strength-
en the Union sentiment and Union majorities, and re-
stoi-e allegiance and healthy political action without re-
sort to civil war.

hZl ^'^^^"I' T^^' i? common with millions in their
homes was studying the problem, this course seemed so
rational and so advantageous to all concerned, that he
accepted it as the outline of the future. The old majo?
shook his head and growled, " You don'tknow the South
it s too late ; their blood is up." '

Hilland added exultantly, " Neither do you know the
North, Graham. There will come a tidal wave soon
that wi 1 carry Mr. Seward and the hesitating President
to the boundaries of Mexico." "" -"^i^biaent

The President was not hesitating, in the weak sense of

and Mr%^"^>''r^-''!.^'°^ ^'' Buchanan's timidity
and Mr. Seward s optimistic confidence, he was feeling
his way, gathering the reins into his hands, and seekinf
to comprehend an issue then too obscure and vast fof

plain then ^'^"^' ^* '" ^'^^^^ *^-^">^ ^^« ^«*

It speedily became evident, however, that all talk of
compromise on the part of the Southern leaders was de-
ceptive-that they were relentlessly pursuing the course
marked out from the first, hoping. undoubtedVthaUhe

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

145

gove'-nment would be paralyzed by their allies at the
2^orth, and that their purposes would be efiected by ne-
gotiation and foreign intervention.

And so the skicH grew darker and the political and
Hoeial atmosphere so thick with doubt and discordant
couasels that the horizon narrowed about even those on
the mountain-top of power. All breathed heavily and
felt the oppression that precedes some convulsion of nature.

At length, on the morning of the 12th of April, as the
darkness which foreruns the dawn was lifting from Charles-
ton Harbour, and Sumter lay like a shadow on the
waves, a gun was fired whose echoes repeated themselves
around the world. They were heard in every home North
and South, and their meaning was unmistakable. The
flash of that mortar gun and of the others that followed
was as the lightning burning its way across the vault of
heaven, revealing everything with intense vividness, and
rending and consuming all noxious vapours. The clouds
rolled speedily away, and from the north came the sound
of " a rushing, mighty wind."

The crisis and the leader came together. The news
reached Washington on Saturday. On Sunday Mr. Lin-
coln drafted his memorable call to arms, and on Monday
it was telegraphed throughout the land. The response to
that call forms one of the sublimest chapters of history.

In the St. John cottage, as in nearly all other homes,
differences of opinion on minor questions melted into
nothingness.

Graham read the electric words aloud, and his friend's
only excited comment was :

" Graham, you will go."

" Not yet," was the quiet response ; " and I sincerely
hope you will not."

" How can a man do otherwise ? "

" Because he is a man, and not an Infuriated animal.
I've been very chary in giving my opinion on this sub
iect, as you know. You also know that I have read and

146

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

thought aooiit it almost constantly since mv return T
^ofto Sti^cfh^" '' John's vfe^3 thaU^hifalir i
DHned Northi ^ \T^ '""'^ southward of undisci-
plined Northern men. I have traced tlie historvof South
ern regiments and office-.s in the Revolution Ld in our
later wars, and I assure you that we are on the eve of a

irernmerf- 1 '" *'^' ""'^'^^ *^^'^ ^ ^^lieve h^

fenderT.V f ' ^^' ^' '^^T^^ ^^"' ^^^^^^ «<^ek to
lender it effective service. The government does not
need a mob; it needs soldiers, and'such are neither you

^vstem nfZ" T'^ "^Pf ««"^^^hat on the militia
system of the country, and there are plenty of organised

STtV^ "''jr^'^' disciplined men who can |, a an

would nnf'' // ^'" ""f* ^"^' you-a millionaire-
would not count for as much as an Irishman who had spent
a few months in a drill-room. The time may come when
you can equip a regiment if you choose. Moreover you
have a controlling voice in large business interests Ld

fin^illl^'^ " ^''"'' '"'"^ *^^ '''''' '^ ^-' «-«tained

" Mr. Graham is right," said Grace, emphatically. "Even
my woman s reason makes so much clear to me "

fbln f^-'^''"'^".^ ""^^'^^ '^^"^'^ "^"^^ «^ost men better
than their own." was his smiling reply. Then as he

looked into her lovely face, pale af the'bire thought ha

onB^^^f Tfr^ !f'" ^"^^^^' h« Pl^^^d his hand
on^Hilland s shoulder and continued, " Warren, there are

other sacred claims besides those of patriotism. The cause

'^^ M^?;"^ desperate indeed before you leave that wife."

Mr. Graham, Grace began, with an indignant flush

Tul?^ ^^" !t%^t' ^''^^ \''''' '^^ P^^^' " I ^^^ soldier's
daughter ; and if Warren believed it to be his duty-"

monnet''< O p'^',^-1' '^"^!\^^*« ^ V^^'^on of tears, asshe
moaned, God ! it's--it's true. The bullet that struck
him would mflict a deadlier wound on me ;" and she hid
her face on Hilland's breast and sobbed piteouslv

It IS also true," said Graham, in tones that were as
rave and solemn as they were gentle. " that your father'.*,

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

147

spirit — nay, your own — would control you. Under its
influence you might not only permit but urge your hus-
band's departure, though your heart broke a thousand
times. Therefore, Hilland, I appeal to your manhood.
You would be unworthy of yourself and of this true wo-
man were you guided by passion or excitement. As a
loyal man you are bound to render your country you-
best service. To rush to the fray now would be the poor-
est aid you could give."

" Graham talks sense," said the major, speakmg with
the authority of a veteran. " If I had to meet the enemy
at once, I'd rather have a regiment of canaille, and cow-
ards at that, who could obey orders like a machine, than
one of hot-headed millionaires who might not understand
the command ' halt !' Mr, Graham is right again when
he says that Grace will not prevent a man from doing hia
duty any more than her mother did."

" What do you propose to do ? " asked Hilland, breath-
ing heavily. It was evident that a tremendous struggle
was going on in his breast, for it had been his daily and
nightly dream to join the grand onset that should sweep
slavery and rebeliion out of existence.

" Simply what I advise — watch, wait, and act when I
can be of the most service."

" I yield," said Hilland, slowly, " for I suppose you are
right. You all know well, and you best of all sweet-
heart,"— taking his wife's face in his hands and looking
down into her tearful eyes—" that here is the treasure of
my life. But you also know that in all the past there
have come times when a man must give up everything at
the need of his country."

" And when that time comes," sobbed the wife, " I—
I— will not, — " But she could not finish the sentence.

Graham stole away, awed, and yet with a peace in his
heart that he had not known for years. He had saved
his friend from the first wild m^lSe of the war— the war
that promised rest and nothingness to him, even while ho
kept his promise to " live and do his best."

148

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE BLOOD-RED SKY

DAY S and weeks of intense excitement followed the
terrific Union losses which at one time threatened
the loss of the national capital ; and the North began to
put forth the power of which it was only half-conscious
like a giant taken unawares; for to all, except men of
Hiilands hopeful confidence, it soon became evident that
the opponent was a giant also. It is not my purpose to
dwell upon this, however, except as it influenced the
actors of my story.

Hilland, having given up his plans, was contentedly
jurying out the line of action suggested by his friend
13y all the means within his power he was furthering- the
Union cause, and learned from experience how much more
he could accomplish as a business man than by shoulder-
ing a musket, or misleading a regiment in his ignorance
He made fre(iuent trips to New York, and occasionally
went to Washington. Graham often accompanied him
and also came and went on affairs of his own. Ostensibly
he was acting as correspondent for the journal to which
he had written when abroad. In reality he was studying
the great drama with an interest that was not wholly
patriotic or scientific. He had found an antidote The
war, dreaded so unspeakably by many, was a boon to
him ; and the fierce excitement of the hour a counter-ir-
ritant to the pain at lieart which he believed had become
his life-long heritage.

He had feared the sorrowful reproaches of his aunt as
he gave himself almost wholly up to its influences, and
became an actor in the great struggle. In this he was
agreeably mistaken, for the spirited old lady, while averse

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

149

to politics as such,had became scarcely less belligerent than
the major since the fall of Sumter. She cheerfully let
him come and go at his will ; and in his loving gratitude
it must be admitted that his letters to her were more fre-
quent and interesting than those to the journal whose
badge was his passport to all parts of our lines. He spent
every hour he could with her, also ; and she saw with
pleasure that his activity did him good. Grace thought
he found few opportunities to pass an evening with them.
She was exceedingly grateful — first, that he had inter-
preted her so nobly, but chiefly because it was his influ-
ence and reasoning that had led her husband into his
present large, useful, happy action ; and she could not help
showing it.

His position of correspondent gave him far better op-
portunities for observation than he could have had in any
arm of the service. Of late he was following the com-
mand of General Patterson, believing from his sanguinary
vapouring that he would see in his army the first real
work of the war.* He soon became convinced, however,
that the veteran of the Mexican war, like the renowned
King of France, would march his " twenty thousand men "
up the hill only to march them down again. Hearing that
McDowell proposed to move against the enemy at
Manassas, he hastily repaired to Washington, hoping to
find a general that dared to come within cannon-range of
the foe.

A sultry day late in the month of July was drawiug
to a close! Hilland and his wife, with Mrs. Mayburn,
were seated under the apple- tree, at which point the
walks intersected with the main one-leading to the street.
The young man, with a heavy frown, was reading from
an "extra" a lurid outline of General McDowell's over-
whelming defeat and the mad panic that ensued. Grace
was listening with deep sc)licitude, her work lying idle on

* Patterson wrote to the Secretary of War : "You have the means ; plac»
thorn at my disposal, and shoot me if I do not use them to advantage."

150

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

her lap It had been a long hard day for her. Of late
her father had been deeply excited, and now was sleepino
from sheer reaction Mrs. Mayburn, looking as grim at
fate, sat bolt upright and knitted furiously. One felt
instinctively that in no emergency of life could she mve
way to a panic. ^

. " Well." cried Hilland, springing to his feet and dash-
ing the paper to the ground with something like an oath
one battle has been fought in America at which I thank
the immortal gods I was not present. Why did not
McDowell drive a flock of sheep against the enemy, and
lurmsh Ills division commanders with shepherds' crooks ?
O, the burning indelible disgrace of it all ! And yet-^
and the possibility of it makes me feel that I would des-
troy myself had it happened-I might have run like the
blackest sheep of them all. I once read up a little on
the subject of panics; ami there's a mysterious, awful
contagion about them impossible to comprehend. These
'^l''J'f''^J^^f^^<^^ns ; they had been fighting bravely ;
what the devil got into them to destroy themselves and
everything m an insane rush for life ? "

r ^. ^^^';^?' '^e« *he sky ! " cried his wife, the deep
solicitude of her expression giving place to a look of awe

itiey all turned west, and saw a sunset, that from the
excitable condition of their minds, seem to reflect the
scenes recently enacted, and to portend those in prospect
now for years to come. Lines of light and broken
columns of cloud had arranged themselves across the
sky, and almost from the horizon to the zenith they were
Dlood-red bo deep, uniform, and ensanguined was the
crimson, that the sense of beauty was subordinated to
the thought of the national tragedy reflected in the
heavens. HiUand's face grew as stern as he looked,
and Grace hid hers on his breast.

After a moment, he said lightly, " What superstitious
doud.^^ ^^® ' I' - all an accidental effect of light and

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

151

A cry from Mrs. Mayburn caused them to turn hastily
uiid they saw her rushing down the path to the street
entrance. Two men were helping some one from a car-
riage. As their obstructing forms stood aside, Graham
was seen balancing himself on crutches.

Hilland placed his wife hastily, but tenderly, on a seat,
and was at the gateway in almost a single bound.

" You had better let us carry you," Grace heard one of
the man say in gruff kindness.

" Nonsense ! " was the hearty reply. " I have not re-
treated thus far so masterfully only to give my aunt the
hysterics at last." .

" Alford," said his aunt sternly, " if its wise for you to
be carried, be carried. Any man here is as liable to hy-
sterics as I am." . 1 1 . U • 1 •

" Graham, what does this mean ? cried his fnend, in
deep excitement. "You look as if half cut to pieces/'

" It's chieflv my clothes ; I am a fitter subject for a
tailor than for a surgeon, Come, good people, there is
no occasion for melodrama. With aunty's care I shall
soon be as sound as ever. Very well carry me, then.
Perhaps I ought not to use my arm yet;" for Hilland,
taking in his friend's disabled condition more fully, was
about to lift him in his arms without permission or apol-
ogy. It ended in his making what is termed a " chair
with one of the men, and Graham was borne speedily up

the path. , .

Grace stood at the intersection with hanas clasped in
the deepest anxiety ; but Graham smiled reassuringly, as
he said, " Isn't this an heroic style of returning from the
wars ? Not quite like Walter Scott's knights ; but we ve
fallen on prosaic times. Don't look so worried. I assure
you I'm not seriously hurt."

" Mrs. Mayburn," said Hilland, excitedly, " let us take
him to our cottage. We can all take better care of him
there."

152

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

•' Oh do, please do ! " echoed Grace " You are alone •
and Warren and I could do so much—" '

mL^''{'.?''^ *^® old lady quietly and decisively; for the
moment the proposition was broached, Graham's eyes had
sought hers in imperative warning. « You both can help
me as far as it is needful." ^

Hmrfv.^"^"'^'^ ^l"^ ^^^'^'" ^^^ ^«*^d *h« result, but
Hilland began impetuously " O come, dear Mrs. Mayburn,
1 insist upon it. Graham is making light of it : bit I'm
'",?^.^/l ^eed more care than you teafize-"

Hil and, I know the friendship that prompts vour
TVa ^'^^r^P-^'^ ^^•^^^^«' "^^* W aunt is^lht^ I

anvtMn?: '" "v"^ '^ '''''^- ^ "«^^ ^^^ --'than
anything else. You and your wife can do all you wish

for me. Indeed, I shall visit you to-morrow and^Khe

battle over again with the major. Please take me to my

room at once," he added in a low tone. "I'm awfully

"Come, Mr. Hilland," said Mrs. Mayburn in a tone al
most authoritative ; and she led the wly ^ds'vely

Hilland yielded, and m a few moments Graham was in
JlaineT '"'""'' ' '" '^^'''^ ^ ^^^^^ stimulant, ex-

"My horse was shot and fell on me. I am more
bruised, scratched, and used up than hurt; "and so it
proved, though his escape had evidently been almost mir-
aculous. One leg and foot had been badly crushed There

S'.rh-'^'fX""^^^ '"^ ""'' ^^«^' ^-^ several 'buUets
Had .ut his c othing, m some places drawing blood All

oyer his clothes from head to foot, were traces of Vir-

f^ir^l ' ^""u ^'^^^'^ ^^^ appearance of a man who had
passed through a desperate meUee.

" I tried to repair damages in Washington," he said, "but
niHlT. rr^" ""^^ so dire I had to choose between a hos-
pit.ll and home ; and as I had some symptoms of fever
kst night, I determined to push on till under the win Jof
tny rrood old aunty and yo«r fraternal care. Indeed, I

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

153

think I was half delirious when I took the train last
evening ; but it was only from fatigue, lack of sleep, and
perhaps loss of blood. Now, please leave me to aunty's
care to-night, and I will tell you all about it to-morrow."
Hilland was accordingly constrained to yield to his
friend's wishes. He brought the best surgeon in town,
however, and gave directions that, after he had dressed
Graham's wounds, he should spend the night in Mrs. May-
burn's parlour, and report to him if there was any change
for the worse. Fortunately there was no occasion for his
solicitude. Graham slept with scarcely a break till late
the next morning ; and his pulse became so quiet that
when he waked with a good appetite, the physician pro-
nounced all danger passed.

In the evening he was bent on visiting the major. He
knew they were all eager for his story, and, calculating
upon the veteran's influence in restraining Hilland from
hasty action, he resolved that his old and invalid friend
should hear it w ith the first. From the character of Hil-
land he knew the danger to be apprehended was that he
would throw himself into the struggle in some way that
would paralyze, or at least curtail, his efficiency. Both
his aunt anu the physician, who underrated the recuper-
ative power of Graham's fine physical condition, urged
quiet until the following day, but he assured them he
would sufter more from restlessness than from a moderate
degree of effort. He also explained to his aunt that he
wished to talk with Hilland, and, if possible, in the pres-
ence of his wife and the major.

" Then they must come here," said the old lady, reso-
lutely.

With this compromise he had to be content; and Hil-
land, who had been coming and going, readily agreed to
fetch the major.

! If

154

HIS SOMBRE ElVALS.

iO:

l!li<

CHAPTER XX.

TWO BATTLES.

IN less than an hour Graham was in the parlour, look-
ing, it is true, somewhat battered, but cheerful and
resolute. His friends found him installed in a j^eat aim-
chair, with his bruised foot on a cushion, his arm in a
sling, and a few pieces of court-plaster distributed rather
promiscuously over his face and head. He greeted Hil-
land and his wife so heartily, and assured the major so
genially that he should now divide with him his honours
OS a veteran, that they were re-assured, and the rather
tragic mood in which they had started on the visit was
dispelled.

" I must admit, though," he added to his old friend,
who was also made comfortable in his chair, which Hil-
land had brought over, " that in my fall on the field of
glory I made a sorry figure. I was held down by my
horse and trampled on as if I had been a part of the
' sacred soil ' "

" Field of glory, indeed ! " exclaimed Hilland, contempt-
uously.

" I did not know that you bad become a soldier," said
Grace, with surprise.

" I was about as much of a soldier as the majority, from
the generals down," was the laughing reply.

" I don't see how you could have been a worse one, if
you had tried," was his friend's rejoinder. " I may do no
better, but I should be less than man if I did not make
an efiort to wipe out the disgrace as soon as possible. No
reflection on you, Graham. Your wounds exonerate you ;
and I know you did not get them in running awav."

\
\
c

•c

(

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

156

" Yes, I did,— two of tbem, at least,— these in my arm
As to ' wiping out this disgrace as soon as possible,' 1
think that is - very secondary matter."

" Well ! I don't understand it at all, was HiUand s

almost

ravage

iUM.wov >:.*.«rt^ answer. "But I can tell you from the
start you need not enter on your old prudent counsels
that I should servo the government as a stay-at-home
quartermaster and general supply agent. In my opinion,
what the government needs is men,— men who at least
won't run away. I now have Grace's permission to go,-
dear, brave girl !~and go I shall. To stay at home because
I am rich seems to me the very snobbishness of wealth ;
and the kin(i of work I have been doing graybeards can
do just as well, and better."

Graham turned a grave look of inquiry upon the wife.
She answered it by saying with a pallid face, " 1 had better
perish a thousand times than destroy Warren's self-re-

" Wliat right have you to preach caution," continued
Hilland, " when you went far enough to be struck by half

a dozen bullets ? " j ^-i

" The right of a retreat which scarcely slackened until
I was under my aunt's roof." ^^

" Come Graham, you are tantalizing us, said HiUand,
impatiently. " There, forgive me, old fellow. I fear you
are still a little out of your head," he added, with a slight
return of his old good humour. " Do give us, then, if
you can, some account of your impetuous advance on
W;^shington, instead of Richmond."

' Yes, Mr. Graham," added the major, " if you are aole
to give me some reason for not blushing that I am a
Northern man, I shall be glad to hear it." ^

"Mrs. Hilland," said Graham, with a smiling glanee
at the young wife's troubled face. " You have the advan-
tage of us all. You can proudly say, ' I'm a Southerner;'^
Hilland and I are nothing but 'low-down Yankees.
Come, good friends, I have seen enough tragedy of late ;

156

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

1 1

and if I have to describe a little to-nidit let us lork «t

bo be .t then. The hard knocks from your kU, hava
matenally added to my small stock of sense^; and I tWnk

m::ytl::t "w '^ "'f '^ "«" ''^ ^ddet before
many uayt, pass. We have been taught that takino- Rl^K

mondand marching through the S°outh w 1 Ue Su."
''fy P«=;!'"^- »ia,or at. John has been rird.t from the
start We must encounter brave, detern.ined men and
whatever may be true of the leaders, he peopl'e a"e

r l!"^'" f'^ .'-^^Plied, with a faint smile.
Ihen torgivo me if I say that until four o'clock last
Simdav afternoon, and in a fair, stand-up %ht betwep>^

But I thought the men of the North prided themselves
on their ' stayinrr po- er.' " «'"euibejves

rcgimenis an'^d?ii''^^'°S' ''"^''''' ' ^'^<'" *'"^y t'»»"<J ^esh
T^!^ .u . ^*"«"«-^ pom-ing m on their flank and rear
I believe that retreat wa.s then the proper thin^ Th«
^vald panic that ensued was almost Kgica Tesull of
he condition of the men and officer., and ewia Iv M
the presence of a lot of nondescript p^op e ftit c^me to
.see the thing as a, spectacle, a sort of ^ivIaSiatoaal combat
upon which they could look at a s^fe distance Two
most excellent results have been attained T don't be-
lieve we ,.hall ever send out another mob of scldiei?- and
I am sure that a mob of men and v inien from wlshiuJ-
tou will never follow it to .see the fun " "''<«l>»'g-

HIS SOMBRE lllVALS.

167

" I wish BoMuregard had coralled tliein all — the mol;
of sight-scois, 1 moan," growled the major. " I must say,
Mr. Graham, that the hard knocks yon and others have
received mayresult in infinite good. I think I take your
meaning, and, that we shall agree very nearly be-
fore you are through. You know that I was ever bit-
terly opposed to the' mad ' On to Richmond ' cry ; and
now the cursed insanity of the thing is clearly proved."
" I agree with you t.li.it it was all wrong, — that it in-
volved risks that never should have been taken at this
stage of the war ; and J am told that General Scott and
other veteran officers disapproved of the measure. Never-
theless, it came wonderfully near being successful. We
should have gained the battle if the attack had been
made earlier, or if that old muff, Patterson, had done his
duty."

" If you are not too tired, give us the whole movement,
just as^oi^i «aw it," said Hilland, liis eyes glowing with
excitement.

"0, r feel well enough for another retreat to-night.
My trouble was chiefly fatigue and lack of sleep."

" Because you make light of wounds, we do not," said
Gi'ace.

" Hilland knows that the loss of a little blood as pale
and watery as mine, would be of small account," was Gra-
ham's laughing response.

" Well, to begin at the beginning, I followed ?attei-S(m
till convinced that his chief impulse was to get away
from the enemy. I then hastened to Washington only
to learn that McDowell had already had a heavy skirmish
which was not particularly to our advantage. This was
Saturday morning, and the impression was that a general
engagement would be fought almost immediately. The
fact that our army had met with little opposition thus
far created a false confidence. I did not care to risk my
pet horse, May burn. You must know, aunty. I've re-
christened Firebrand in your honour," said Graham. " I

(

i j

: i

■

i 1
i

168

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

^Zt 1 T '^^"y '"'*•'' »"'i oonveyanco in the citv
Beemed already c-nj-ed for the coming spectacle Thl
majonty of tl.esu civilians did not Icave'ti feady „„ S„n

way to tenterville ; for as a correspondent I had faiilv
accurate information of what was taking place and hn,
heard that there would be no battle that^diy ' ^ ^""^
I reached Centerville in the evening and soon learned
that the forward movement would take place fn the ni "h
Havmgpnt my horse in thorough condftion for &,

rof'"om::'t:ff or™T^ ^4^^ '•"■"-^'^ "- ^-p"- -

to sWn n ^7-°*-'=?':'*' I sought a quiet knoll on which
to sleep m soldier fashion under the sky, but found the

"" on tCtil"' ."-""^"'Z- «-•> prosaic obtit
1 was on the highest ground I could find, and beneath
and on either side of me were the camp-fires of aiiT.mv
Around the nearest of these could beCen the form^of

d^b?i^sh,?ffl^J^^t *"■ 7'^" '"PP"™' o*!'^'^ executing
double-shuffles like war-dances, more discussing earnestly
and exc. edly the prospects of tlie coming day and not a
few looking pensively into the flames as°if tiev saw nic

"the ma^: "T" ''"' '"?"'^' ^^^^ ""g'"^ neveTse::g^ ^:
in the main, however, animation and jollity prevafled
and from far and near came the sound of song LTlault
ter and chafling Far down the long slopf'toward fhe
dark, wooded valley of Bull Run, thf 1 Tt of^he fires
shaded ofl'into .such obscurity as the full Voon permTt
ted, while beyond the stream in the far distance a iX

oiZtet;. "' """""""^ ^-^ '"^^■^^'^ '^^ encampmtS
•• As the night advanced the army grew quiet • near inrl
distant sounds died away; the mnvas tent 'were like
mounds of snow ; and by the flickering, dying flames were
multitudes of quiet forms. At mid,.i|htiwVcen^ cou d

HIS SOMBRE RIVAT.S.

160

be more beautiful, so tenderly did the light of the moon
soften and etherialize everything. Even the parked ar-
tillery lost much of its grim i-spect, and all nature seemed

to breathe peace and rest. , . , , ^ i ^

" It was rumoured that McDowell wished to make part
of the march in-the evening, and it would have been well
if he had done so. A little past midnight a general stir
and bustle ran through the sleeping army. Figures were
seen moving hurriedly, men forming into lines, and there
was a general movement. But there was no promptness
of action. The soldiers stood around, sat down, and^ at
last lay down on their arms and slept again. Mounting
my horse, with saddle-bags well stuffed with such rations
as I could obtain, I sought the centres of information. It
appeared that the division under General Tyler was slow
in starting, and blocked the march of the Second and
Third Division. As I picked my way around, only a
horse's sagacity kept me from crushing some sleeping fel-
low's leg or arm, for a horse won't step on a man unleas

" Well Tyler's men got out of the way at last in a hap-
hazard fashion, and the Second and Third Divisions were
also steadily moving, but hours behind time. Such march-
ing ! It reminded one of countrymen streaming along a
road to a Fourth of July celebration.

" My main policy was to keep near the commander-ln
chief, for thus I hoped to obtain from the staff some idea
of the plan of battle and where its brunt would fall. I
confess that I was disgusted at first, for the general was
said to be ill, and he followed his columns in a carriage.
It seemed an odd way of leading an army. But he came
out all right; and he did his duty as a soldier and a gen-
eral, although everyone is cursing him to-day. He was
the first man on the real battlefield, and by no means the

first to leave it. i i- o i,

« Of course I came and went along the line ot march, or
of straggling, rather, as I pleased, but I kept my eye on

*■»

160

HIS SOMBRE RITALS.

t£S^- 7^ 5" ''*^- I ^»°" "t'served that he decfded
to make his headquarters at the point vhere a road ll„^
mg from the great Warrenton Turnpike passed to AI"
north through what is known as the^'Kg'^oods' Tv

whf t Tlf''"'^ '""l""^^ '^^'^''^'^ ''°^» fhe turapike to

became clear that the first fighting would be there »n^

mLtT,n''Tf' P'^" 'o ^«"d h?s main for funder
Hunter and He.ntzelraan farther north through the woods
to cross at some pomt above. I therefore followed tX'^
column, as that must soon become engaged ^

Xhe movements had all been so mortally slow that
any chance for surprise was lost. As we approachrd the

wisn to see I had ridden ahead with the scoufo
Thrushes, robms, and other birds were siLinir in rt
trees. Startled rabbits, and a mothlr bird wlt^fa brood
of quails, scurried across the road, and all selmed a, ^Hll

the's^nf " t"wl7b'T^' ''''' '>^'' evTrlfw^'d'o"
ine scene. It was hard to persuade one's self that ;„

front and rear were the forces of deadly war '"

«,!> )^,«.«°o,"™«<=lied an eminence f.om which we saw
what dispelled at once the illusion of sylvln sllitudZ

b^^us'td tL^''""/r ''r "^ *-ofartii:trdg:-

abitis ^nH ntl \ r'^.^y"'"^ "^ ^«™ defended §y
abatis and other obstructions. On the farther bank .
ine of infantry was in full view with ba terieT in posi
tion prepared to receive us. I confess it sent T tiZ]
through eveiy nerve when I first saw the ranks o
the foe we must encounter in no mere pageant oTwar
In a few moments our forces came up, and at fir<,t

Tth:Zt: '7lTf r '^ '^V"<' anoth^ert" the nS
01 tne pike. At last I w.tneiised a scene that had the

Slf T- A great thirty-pound Parrott gun u„!

S ml,?ff 1 "'"*" "^ .*^ P"^^- '^'l looked Uke a
auriy mastifl'. In a moment an officer who understood

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

161

his business, sighted it. There was a flash, bright even
h the July sunlight, a grand report awakening the first
Jchoes of a battle whose thunder was heard even m
Washington ; and a second later we saw the shell ex-
ItdLctly over the line of Confederate infantry.
Their ranks broke and melted away as if by magic.

«' Good shot, well aimed. heavens ! what would 1
not give to be thirty years younger. Go on, Graham
go on ; " for the young man had stopped to take a sip of

""'" Yes Graham," cried Hilland, springing to his feet ;

" what next ? " , « ri^^^^

" I fear we are doing Mr. Graham much wrong, Grace

interrupted, "He must be going far beyond hm

' The vounff man had addressed his word, almost solely
to the majorTnot only out of courtesy, but also for a reason

thatGraci pkrtially surmised, ^e ^^^^ ^rf,^ ^^ toTfind
into her flushed, troubled face, and said, « I fear you find
these details of war dull and wearisome.

" On the contrary, you are so vivid a raconteui' that
I fear Warren will start for the front before you are

" ''^When I am through you will think diff'erently."
" But vou are going beyond your strength.
" I assire you I am not ; though I thank you for your
thoughtfulness. I never felt better in my life ; and it
gives me a kind of pleasure to make you all reahze things

as I saw them." . ,. . » • j tt;i

« And it gives us great pleasure to listen, cried Hil-
land. "Even Mrs. May burn there is knitting a,s it hei
needles were bayonets, and Grace has the flush ot a sol-
dier's daughter on her cheeks." , ^ , „ .,
" Oh, stop your chatter, and let Graham go o^^^ sa^ .^
the major,-" that is, if it's prudent for l^^^. ^f .f fj;^'
from a severe sense of duty. " What followed that blessed

shell?'

162

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

demonstration Tyler did notE' n ^*^'"",'' *"' ^^"^^^
a determined dJh L ILi-T^' ^' f^®""''' *" ■"« 'fia*

m:Sng my 3 to tirLrT'^ 'P°''^? ^^°°- ^ --
earriag! J Th? interferon of Th" "'f'^ McDowell'a
empty Learning th^Mlt ?^- ""J^'^'- *°'^ '^""^ it

takL\or.e ajfa loned olTr^' '" Ws impatience, had
his tardy eommaftffotrrt f^ e^ '^"°"^ "*■

through rh: woo'd "Tut Matr^"^'^ "''- *>>- "^ '-e
likeabirdcaTriedmptL { •'J™,'^'^ •'I"*' '» '*■ and

rdrysrey^rnTdlrS^T^"^''^""^ ''-^^^'y^"

ward.'" ^^'^'^ formation, and shambled for-

;;The cursed mob!" muttered the major.

« .f we should never get out of theXZt ifWeTml

HIS SOMBKE RIVALS.

163

had lost itself in an interminable forest. Wild ^^^^^f
game fled before us; and I heard one soldier call ouUo
another that it was ' a regular Virginia coon-h""'' j»f J
reXd the head of the column the timber grew thmner,
™d I was told that McDowell was reconnoitring m ad-
vance Galloping out into the open fields I saw him far
beyond me, already the target of rebel bullets His start
STcompany of cavalry were with him ; and as I ap-
lachedhTse^emed rapidly taking in the topographical
features of the field. Having apparently satished himself,
he galloped to the rear, and at the same time Hunter a
troons came pouring out of the woods. j , ^ ,

"'There y>l now a prospect of warm work and plenty
of it For fte life of me. I can't tell you how the battle be-
In Our men came forward in an irregular manner
fusliing onward impetuously, halting "•>«;77''y'.7jf,
Z master mind directing. It seemed «' 5;^* ^^^f *^
mere momentum of the march carried us under the enemy s
fire ^nd then there was foolish delay. By the aid of my
nnw'erM irlass I was convinced that we might have
'walked light over the first thin rebel line on the ridge

"'"Tte^artiUery exchanged shots awhile. Regiments
under the command of General Burn.side deployed in the
fields to the left of the road down which we had come
skirmishers were thrown out rapidly, and began their ir-
rSar firRig at an absurd distance from the enemy.
TheTwas he° itancy, delay, and the awkwardness of troops
inlccustomed to act together in large bodies was enhan^^^^
by the excitement inseparable from their fiist expeuence

°* 'in spite of all this, the battle-field began to present
Br,and and inspiring efiects. The troops were debouching
Sy from the w°oods, their bayonets gleaming here and
there through the dust raised by their hurrying feet, and
burning in serried lines when they were ranged under he
cloudless sun. In every movement made by every soldier,

l!tl

iff

164

II^HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

to the rear, and the cruns -if f h. !I °' ''^ '''*.''' ""^^^"^

for the fray ■ '"' '""' "<"•« of resolution and de.i.l

the missile was thirty feet in ths .;,. t ' ,.^°

was some awfully wild firiL on hntT ■} «»PP"«e there

"No, Papa." "^

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

165

" That's my brave wife's child. She often said. ' Tell
me all' I wish to know just what you have passed

through." p ,-1 . • -i.

A brief glance assured Graham that her father s spirit
was then supreme, and that she looked with woman's ad-
miration on a scene replete with the manhood woman
most admires. ,

"I cannot describe to you the battle as such, con-
tinued Graham, " I can only outline faintly the picture I
saw dimly through dust and smoke from my own stand-
point. Being under no one's orders T could go where I
pleased, and I tried to find the vital points. Of course,
there was much heavy fighting that 1 saw nothing of,
movements unknown to me or caught but imperfectly.
During the preliminary conflict I remained on the
right of Burnside's command near the Sudley Road by
which our army had reached the field. _

" When at last his troops began to press forward, their
advance was decided and courageous; but the enemy
lield their own stubbornly. The fighting was severe and
deadly, for we were now within easy musket range. At
one time I trembled for Burnside's lines, and I saw one of
his aids gallop furiously to the rear for help. ^ It came
almost iinmediatelv in the form of a fine body of regulars
under Majoj- Sykes ; and our wavering lines were ren-
dered firm and more ag,^'ressive than ever. At the same .
time it was evident that our forces were going into action
ofi* to the right of the Sudley Road, and that another bat-
tery had opei^ed on the enemy. I afterwards learned that
they were Rickett's guns. Under this increasing and re-
lentless pressure the enemy's lines were seen to waver
Wild cheers went up from our ranks ; and such is the
power of the human voice— the echo direct from the
lieart— that these shouts rose above the roar of the cannon,
the crash of musketry, and thrilled every nerve and fibre.
Onward pressed our men ; the Rebel lines yielded, broke,
and our foes retreated down the hill, but at a dogged,

l66

HIS SOMBKE EIVALS.

Stubborn pace, fighting as they went. Seeing the direc-
tion tliey were taking, J dashed into the sS<lley Road
near which I had kept as the centre of operations. At
the intersection of this road with the Warrenton Turn-
pike was a stone house, and behind this the enemy rallied
as If determined to retreat no farther. I had scarcely ob-
served this fact when I saw a body of men forming in
the road just above me. In a few moments thev weie in
motion. On they came, a resistless human torrent with
a roar of hoarse shouts and cries. 1 was carried alone,
with them; but before we reached the stone house the
enemy broke and fled, and the whole Rebel line was
swept back half a mile or more.

" Thus you see that in the first severe conflict of the
day, and when pitted against numbers comparatively
equal, we won a decided victory."

Both the major and Hilland drew a long breath of re-
lief ? and the forrner said, " I have been hasty and uniusfc
in my censure, If that raw militia could be made to
ftght at all, it can in time be made to fight well Mr

•t^u' I'''' ^.^^^ ^^^P^y gratified an old soldier to-
night by describing scenes that carry me back to the
grand era of my life. I believe I was born to be a sol-
dier ; and my old campaigns stand out in memory like
sun- ighted mountain.tops. Forgive such high-flown talk,
--I know Its not like me,-but I've had to-night some
ot my old battle excitement. I never thought to feel it
again. Well hear the rest of your story to-morrow. 1
outrank you all, by age at least ; and I now order

Graham was not sorry, for in strong reaction a sud-
den sense of almost mortal weakness overcame him
hven the presence of Grace, for whose sake, after all, he
had unconsciously told his story, could not sustain him
any longer, and he sank back looking very white

''Yon have overexerted yourself," she said 'gently,
coming to his side. "You should have stopped Vi.en I

HTS SOMBRE RIVALS.

167

cautioned you; or rather, wo should have been more
thoughtful. . ,

•' Perhaps I have overrated my strength, — it s a fault
of mine," was his smiling reply. " I shall be perfectly
well after a night's rest."

He had looked at her as he spoke ; and in that mo-
ment of weakness there was a wistful, hungry look in his
eyes that smote her heart.

A shallow, silly woman, or an intensely selfish one,
would have exulted. Here was a man, cool, strong, and
masterful among other men,— a man who had gone to
the other side of the globe to escape her power,—
one who within the last few days had witnessed a battle
with the quiet poise that enabled him to study it as an
artist or a tactician ; and yet he could not keep his eyes
from betraying the truth that there was something within
his heart stronger than himself.

Did Grace Hilland lay this flattering unction to her
soul? No. She went aw£ty inexpressibly sad. She felt
that two battle scenes had been presented to her mind ;
and the conflict that had been waged silently, patiently,
and unceasingly in a strong man's soul had to her the
higher elements of heroism. It was another of those
wretched problems offered by this imperfect world for
which there seems no remedy.

When Hilland hastened over to see his friend, and add
a few hearty words to those he had already spoken, he
was told that he was sleeping.

168

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

ti I

•m'

CHAPTER XXI.

THE LOGIC OF EVENTS.
G^S^.:Z^t^]F^f^^ that another.

at home, and listC to the .-eZin!):? ^f r""^'"""^^ «^-^'
habit of life ia so acHv» •■ i'""''™^' »* the story. " My

will do me g"od ■• J^'d ,^"ir'^ ""^^' a littk chai>gl

on Hilla„d;°sho«Mer he ^a^ablT r-'i ^{ '^'^"'"g
tance between the cottalZ „„],,. "P, *''® *''>o'"t -'-«

-de eve.,- arra^^em^At co^.^rt'on'^^H^™" '^''''
where the major wejcompr] >..'!« u^! . ^° *^^ Piazza,

'less of a child for whom i r T-*^ ^^^^^^ the eager^
dnued. '^^^'^ ^^ absorbing story is to be con-

GracX^n' '' HetVnrJp?^^^^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^.^"^ C
and a« for Warren he co„ W ^^'^ i ^ ?'"'^ gratified ;
Where did you iea?; to tdllLiet • ''"^ '"' ^=^<="«'"-'

peeiar;^:J,1'*:„rfntrstlet^°7'^-'' W. es-
pectinthis garishlightanysuTeffecfs Vr '^'V^'

stKd-^htUiirr.:^^^^

like the'^typiS ZC;.^ vn,?V° ""^'^^ ^" "'^ "b^-^nes

sportsman,\orBe-tam"? eX"r ortW "° *"''^f'^%-b]e
the earth, and laat, and SuZsf '^" '^"""^^ P^'ts of

pondent who doesi. ^TZT't^eT^fT^T^;,

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

wiitii about battles Is several miles in
will you do next ? "

" My future will bo redeemed from the faintest trace of
eccentricity. I shall do what a million other Americans
will do eventually— go into the army." ^ tun

" Ah ! now you talk sense, and I am with you, 1 shall
be ready to go as soon as you are vrell enough."

" I doubt it."

" I don't."

" Grace, what do you say to all this ? " tui-mng a
troubled look upon the wife.

" I foresee that, like my mother I am to become the
wife of a soldier," she replied with a smile, while tears
stood in her eyes. " I did not marry Warren to destroy
his sense of manhood,"

" You see, Graham, how it is. You also perceive what
a knight I must be to be worthy of the lady I leave in

bower." .

" Yes ; I see it all too v^ell But I must misquote
Shakespeare to vou, and ' charge you to stand on the
order of your going ; ' and I think the rest of my^ story
will prove that I have good reasons for the charge."

" I should have been sorry," said the major, " to have
had Grace marry a man who ^\'Ould consult only ease and
safety in times like these. It will be awfully hard to
have him go. But the time n.ay soon come ^yhen it
would be harder for Grace to havo him stay ; that Is if she
is like her mother. But whit's the use of looking at the
gloomy side ? I've been through a dozen battles ; and
here I am to plague the world yet. But now for the
story. You left off, Mr. Graham, at the rout of the first
rebel line of battle."

"And this had not been attained," resumed Graham,
*• without serious loss to our side. Colonel Hunter, who
commanded the Second Division, you remember, was so
severely wounded by a shell that he had to leave the field
early in the action. Colonel Slocum, of one of the Rhode

170

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

I.slan.l regiments, was mortally wounded; and his majoi
had his eg crushed by a cannon ball which at the same
time killed Ins horse. Many others were wounded an,)
must hnvr- had a hard ti« > . f it, poor fellows, that hot
day As for the deaci U.ut :-uewed the irround— theii
troubles were over."

" But not the troubles of those that loved them." said
urace, bitterly.

Graham turned hastily away. When, a moment late'
he resumed his narrative, she noticed .iiut his eyes were
moist and his tones husky.

"Our heaviest loss was in the demoralization of some
of the regiments engaged. They appeared to have so
little cohesion that one feared all the time that the\'
might crumble away into mere human atoms.

" The aliair continually took on a larger aspect, as more
troops became engaged. We had driven the Confederate^
(Jown a gentle slope, across a small stream called Young's
branch, ar <i up a hill beyond and to the south. This posi-
tion was higher and stronger than any they had yet occu-
lted. On the crest of the hill were two houses ; and the
enemy could be seen forming a line extending from one
to the other. They were evidently receiving reinforce-
ments rapidly. I could see gray columns hasteninir for-
ward and deploying ; and I've no doubt that many ?f the
tugitives wcT-e rallied beyond this line. Meanwhile, I was
informed that Tyler's division, left in the morning at
btone Bridge had crossed the Run, in obedience to
McDowell s orders, and were on the field at the left of our
line, feuch. as far as 1 could judge, was the position of
attairs between twelve and one, although I can give vou
only my impressions. It appeared to me that our i^en
were fighting well, gradually and steadily advancin-r, and
closing m upon the enemy. Still, I cannot heli feeling
that It we had followed up our success by the determined
charge of one brigade that would hold t )gether, the hiH
might have been swept, and victory made certain.

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

171

' 1 had taken my position nt^ar Rickctt's and Griffin'a
natteries on the right of our line, and (leci<l')d to follow
tiiem np, not only because they were doing splendid work,
but also for the reason that th<\y would naturally be given
commanding positions at vital points. By about two
o'clock we had occupi.'d the Wan. ^nton Turnpike; and
we justly i' It that much had been gained. The Confed-
erate lines between the two houses on the hill had given
way ; and from the sounds we heard, they must have
been driven back also by a charge on our extreme left.
Iii.leed, there was scarcely anything to bo seen of the foe
that thus far had been not only seen but felt.

" From a height near the batteries where I stood, the
problem appeared som< what clear to me. We had driven
the enemy up and over a hill of considerable altitude, and
across an uneven plateau, and they were undoubtedly in
the woods beyond, a splendid position which commanded
the entire open space over which we must advance to
reach them. They were in cover; we should be in full
view in all efforts to dislodgjc them. Their very reverses
ha 1 secured for them a position worth half a dozen regi-
ments ; and I trembled as I thought of our raw militia
advancing under conditions that would try the courage of
veterans. You remember that if Washington, in the
Revolution, could , et his new recruits behind a rail-fence,
they thought they were safe.

" Well, there was no help for it. The hill and plateau
must hv crossed under a point-blank fire, i ; order to reach
the enemy, and that, too, by men who .ad been under
arms since midnight, and the majority wearied by a long
inarch under a blazing sun.

" About half past two, when the assault began, a strange
and onunous . aiet rested on the field. As I have said,
the enemy had disappeaied. The men scarcely knew
what to think of it; and in some a false confidence,
speedily dispelled, was begotten. Kickett/s battery was
moved down across the valley to the top of a hill just be-

^^•t •

172

HIS SOMBRE niVALS.

i !

'■Hi'

[U'l

vond the rosK enco owned and occupied by a Mrs. Honrv
I followed and entered the house, already shattered by
Bhot and shell, cunous to know whether it was occupiecl
and by whom. Pitiful to relate, I found that Mrs. HLry
was a widow and a helpless invalid. The poor woman
was in mortal terror ; and it was my hope to return and
carry her to some place of safety, but the swift and deadly
tide ot war gave me no chance.*

" Rickett's battery liad scarcely unlimbered before death
was busy among his cannoneers and even his horses.
Ihe enemy had not only the cover of the woods, but a
second grow thol pines, which fringed them and com-
pletely concealed tne Kebel sharpshooters. When a man
teii nothmg could be seen but a puff of smoke. These
little jets and wreaths of smoke half encircled us, and
made but a phantom-like target for our people ; and I
tknk It speaks well for officers and men that they not
only did their duty, but that Griffin's battery also came
up, and that both batteries held their own against a
terrific point-blank fire from the Rebel cannon^ which
certainly exceeded ours in number. The range was ex-
ceedingly short, and a more terrific artillery duel it would
be hard to imagine. At the same time the more deadly
little pufis of smoke continued ; and men in every atti-
f^lf ^4 "^'^^^.^Id suddenly throw up their hands and
tall. Ihe batteries had no business to be so exposed, and
their supports were of no real service.

" I can give you an idea of what occurred at this point
only ; but, from the sounds I heard, there was very heavy
fighting elsewhere, which I fear, however, was too spas-
modic and ill-directed to accomplish the required ends.
^.Jl^^^^yiV^'-^'^tent, concentrated attack, a swift push '
with the bayonet through the low pines and woods, would
have saved the day Perhaps our troops were not equal to
It; and yet, poor fellows, they did braver things that
were utterly useless. 8 ^ ^^

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

173

" 1 still believe, however, all might have gone wtil, liaQ
it not been for a horrible mistake. I was not very far
from Caj)tain Grifiin, and was watching his cool effective
su|)criMten(lence of his guns, when suddenly I noticed a
ri'ufiinent in full view on our right a Ivancing towards U3.
Oritfin caught sight of it at the same moment, and seemed
amazed. Were they Confederates or National ? was the
question to be decided instantly. They might be his own
support. Doubtful and yet exceedingly apprehensive, he
ordered his guns to be loaded with canister and trained
upon this dubious force that had come into view like an
apparition ; but he still hesitated, restrained, doubtless,
by the fearful thought of annihilating a Union regiment.

"'Captain,' ffdid Major Barry, chief of the artilleiy,
' they are your battery support.'

" ' They are Confederates,' Griffin replied, intensely ex-
cited. * As certain as the world, they are Confedeiates.'

" ' No,' was the answer, ' I know they are your battery
support.'

" I had ridden up within ear-shot, and levelled my glass
at them. * Dont' fire,* cried Griffin, and he spurred for-
ward to satisfy himself.

" At the same moment the regiment, now within short
range, by a sudden instantaneous act levelled their muskets
at us. I saw we were doomed, and yet by some instinct
tightened my rein while I dug my spurs into my horse.
He reared instantly. I saw a line of fire, and then poor
Mayburn fell npon me, quivered, and was dead. The
body of a man broke my fall in such a way that I was
not hurt. Indeed, at that moment I was chiefly conscious
of intense anger and disgust. If Griffin had followed his
instinct and destroyed that regiment, as he could have
done at one discharge, the result of the whole battle
might have been different. As it was, both his and Ilic-
kett's batteries were practically annihilated,"*

* Since the above was written Colonel Hasbrouck has given ina An aocouiB
of this criHis in the battle. He was sutticiently near to hear the con vers*,
tioii found in the text, and to enable me to BUppletuent it by farther dettdlt.

174

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

PI'

The major uttered an imprecation.

"I was pinned to the ground by the weight of my horse,
but not so closely but that I could look around. The car-
nage had been frightful. But few were on their feet, and
they in rapid motion to the rear. The horses, left alive
rushed down the hill with the caissons, spreading dismay'
confusion, and disorder through the ascending line of
battle Our supporting regiment in the rear, "that had
been lying on their arms, sprang to their feet and stood
hke men paralyzed with horror ; meanwhile, the Rebel
regiment, reinforced, was advancing rapidly on the dis-
abled guns,— their defenders lay beneath and around

C!aptajn Griffin emphatically declared that no Union re-iment could po^l^
come ti-om that quarter, adding, " They are dressed in grey " ^

Major Barry with equal emphasis asserted that they were National troops
and unfortunately we had regiments in grey uniforms. Seeing that CaptSn
Lrriffin was not convinced, he said peremptorily, " I command you not to
tire on that regiment.

.»«^L*'*frf '*^'^ "^"'^^^^ T'?!'' ended the controversy, and Captain Griffin di-
rected that nis guns be shifted again toward the main body of the enemy,
while he rode forward a little space to reconnoitre

During all this fatal delay the Confederate regiment was approachin-
marchmg by the flank and s,, passed, at one time, within point-bJank, an.?e
of the guns that would scarcely have left a man upon his feet. The natme
of their advance was ioolhardy in the extreme, and at the time that Capta n
Grithn wished to hre tliey were practicallyheipless. A Virginia worm-fence
was "1 their path, and so frightened, nervous, and excited were they that
instead of tearing it down, they began clamberii,g over it until by wei-ht
and numbers it was trampled under foot. j <= o^y

They approached so near that the order to " fire low " was distinctly heard
by our men as the Confederates went into battle-line formation

Ihe scene, following their volley, almost defies description. The horse,
attached to caissons not only tore down and through the ascending National
battle-line but Colonel-then Lieutenent-Hasbrouck saw several teams
dash over the knoll toward the Confederate regiment, that opened ranks^o
let thejn pass. So novel were the scenes of war at that time that the Con-
federates were as nauch astonished as the members of the batteries left alive
and at first did not advance, although it was evident that there were at the
moment none to oppose them The storm of Rebel bullets had ranged no
low that Lieutenant Hasbrouck and Captain Griflin owed their safety to the
fact that they were mounted. The horses of both officers were wounded On
the way down the northern slope of the hill, with the few Union survivors.
Captain Griffin met Major Barry and in his intense anger dnd grief reproach-
ed him pitterly. The latter gloomily admitted that he had been mistaken.

Captain Kicketts was wounded, and the battle subsequently surged back
^nd forth over his prostrate form, but eventually he was t-ent i a captive tfl

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

175

them, — firing as they came. Our support gave them one
ineffectual volley, then turned and fled."
Again the major relieved his mind in his characteristic

way.

" But you, Alford ? " cried Grace, leaning forward with
, lasped hands, while his aunt came and buried her face
v.pon his shoulder. " Are you keeping your promise tc
live ? " she w^hispered.
" Am I not here, safe and sound ? " he replied, cheerily
" Nothing much happened to me, Grace. When 1 saw
the enemy was near, 1 merely doubled myself up under
my horse, and was nothing to them but a dead Yankee,
1 was only somewhat trodden upon, as I told you, when
the Confederates tried to turn the guns against our forces.
" I fear I am doing a wrong to the ladies by going into
these sanguinary details."

" No," said the major emphatically ; " Mrs. Mayburn
would have been a general had she been a man ; and
Grace here has heard about battles all her life. It's a
irreat deal better to understand from the start what this
war means.

" 1 especially wished Hilland to hear the details of this
battle as far as I saw them, for I think they contain les-
sons that may be of great service to him. That he would
engage in the war was a foregone conclusion from the
first; and with his means and ability he may take a very
imp ortant part in it. But of this later.

" As I told you, I made the rather close acquaintance
of your kin, Grace, and can testify that the ' fa ' of their
feet ' was not ' fairy-like.' Before they could accomplish
their purpose of turning the guns on our lines, I heard the
rushing tramp of a multitude, with defiant shouts and
yells. Rebels fell around me. The living left the guns,
sought to form a line, but suddenly gave way in dire
confusion, and tied to the cover from which they came.
A moment later a body of our men surged like an ad-
vancing wave over the spot they had occupied.

176

HIS SOMBBE RIVALS.

iili

liM

''• What the di vil du' ye want f he cried.and in his mad ex-
eir,ement waa about to thrust me through for a Confederate

Walt ! I thundered. The familiar word of com
mand restrained him long enough for me to secure M.
attention. 'Would you kill a Union man ? '

out a unifSmT- ^' ''' ' ^'''' ^' ^'''^' ^«™' *•"'"• ^i<l-
plained'wefly''" '"^' '^'^^ "' correspondent and ex-

ioli?&^'P»-'"^^.'-r *° /""■ '^^ ""^'^'d ^ lo-^d,
Jolly laugh. Faix, an it's a writer ye are. Ye'll be ant

to git some memmyrandums the day that yeUl ca^r'l

k1 Si, .^, '°°S ™''"S'^ *° gi^e yez a lift, or ver

hoss, rather ; and he seized poor Iklayburn by the head
His excitement seemed to give him the streno-th of a
giant for in a moment I was released and stood Srect
Give me a musket 'I cried, 'and I'll stand by you."

'Th»?' >' ^'P.?T''^' ^^ ^«P"^<1 pushing forwarf
There s plenty of fellers lyin' aroun' that has So uslfor

Z\, T'^^.^^f '°^' ■" "'^ '=«»f"''«d advance"
..■I, -1 I "'' P''"'® ™ '^^*' *™'^ than it takes to des-
f,'t,f '/"' r°'' ^* "»s juncture were almost as swift
as bullets. Lame as I was, I hobbled around brisk Iv

As with the re.st, my blood was up,-don\ smile Hillarid-

Ltd tTh!:"^ "t ;■""' *«™--d^-- -'isehaSlt
t-itte-eX ""' '""" "' '^' ^'"'' --"«. firing

" Excited as I was, I saw that our position was des

lowtVuI'^'r, 'T""' ^■"f^''--*'^ was sCrmi^
toward us I looked around and .saw that part of on?
men were trymg to drag off the guns. This seeVned Z
more important work ; and discretion also whfspt^d tW
with my bruised foot I should be captured in fiv'e uinutes

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

177

unless I was further to tiie rear. So I took a puU at a
mm • but we had made little progress before there wa^
another great surging wave from the other direction, and
our forces were swept down the hill again, I along with
the rest. The confusion was fearful ; the regiments with
which I had been acting went all to pieces, and had no
more organization than if they had been mixed up by a

whirlwind. ,,

"I was becoming too lame to walk, and found myseil

in a serious dilemma." .

« Ha ! ha ! ha ! " laughed Hilland. " It was just becom^

ing serious, eh ? " i ^

" Well I didn't realize my lameness before ; and as re-
treat was soon to be the order of the day, there was lit-
tle prospect of my doing my share. As I was trying to
extricate myself from the shattered regiments, I saw a
riderless horse plunging toward me. To seize his bridle
and climb into the saddle was the work of a moment ;
and I felt that, unlike McDowell, I was still master ot the
situation. Working my way out of the press p to our
rio-ht I saw that another charge for the gr...i« .y tresh
troops was in progress. It seemed successfr' i irst. ihe
o-uns were retaken, but soon the same old sluiy was re-
peated, and a corresponding rush from the opposite side

swept our men back.

"Would you believe it, this capture and recapture oc-
curred several times. A single regiment even would dash
forward, and actually drive the Rebels back, only i o lose
a few moments later what they had gained. Never was
there braver fighting, never worse tactics. Ihe repeated
successes of small bodies of troops proved that a compact
battle line could have swept the ridge, and not only re-
taken the guns, but made them effective in the conflict.
As it was, the two sides worried and tore each other like
great dogs, governed merely by the impulse and instinct
of fight. The bati.eries were the bone between them.

_ijt
■(111

178

HIS SOMBRE KIVALS.

favour of the material of wfi^ V ."'^"''^^ volumes in
heartened We W] mi • ]^. '°""ph, I became dis-

all tliat should be rennl-P^ If!^ j ""^'y '"'^^ '^»n«

out. MultiSes Sh office -, aml'^fiv": "'''''' 'l^?^^'

"'Where is it?'
^- Hanged if I know. Saw a lot of the boys awhile

"Said an officer in answer to my inquiiies 'Nn- 1
don t know where the colonel is an.f T wf * J ^

nff^;"^''*^*"" ™f?"<'«'« "'ere characteristic of the state of
affairs u. certain parts of the field that I visited ptovi
or conscientious fellows would ioin tV,»t „„ i •'^.""y
%ht without^ring wharSmint theTacr/wUli'" W

X^T^^rT" ''''' ''■-Vnized m^Lss did rhlVtht'
pleased, attei the manner of a country fair crowding iTli
instances around places where wat^er could be oLTn^d

vibiou^, as too Jieavv to carr^ in fL^. i.^ i. " ^

ments in action. Officers and men t ' "''■ '^^ ""P"*^'-

mLscuously, hobnobbin.^ anT hTft" • '"■"'"^ "P P™'

and talking over ttt cipelnts "^i/'Jh'' '^"S'"'' ^^Y
o *^" "---s^i^tJiitnci^s, as It they wereneioh-

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

179

hours at home. The most wonderfnl part ot it all wa8
that they had no sense of their danger and ot the
destruction they were inviting by their unsoldierly

course. , , ,

" T tried to impress these dangers on one or two, but
^he reply was, ' O, hang it. The Rebs are as badly used
up as we are. Don't you see things are growing more
quiet? Give us a rest ! '

" By this time I had worked my way well co my right,
and was on a little eminence watching our line advance,
wondering at the spirit with which the tight was still main-
tained. Indeed, I grew hopeful once more as 1 saw the
crood work that the regiments still intact were doing.
There was much truth in the remark that the Rebels
were used up also, unless they had reserves of which we
knew nothing. At that time we had no idea that we
had been fighting, not only Beauregard, bat also Johnson
from the Shenandoah,

" My hope was exceedingly intensified by the appear-
ance of a long line of troops emerging from the w oods on
our Hank and rear, for I never dreamed that they could
be other than our own reinforcements. Suddenly 1
cauoht sight of a flag which I had learned to know too
well The line halted a moment, r^'Vikets were levelled,
and I found mvself in a perfect storm of bullets. I as-
sure you I made a rapid change oi base, for when our
line turned I should be between two fires. As it was, i
was cut twice in this arm while galloping away. In a
few moments a battery also opened upon our fiank; and
it becarxie as certain as day that a large Confederate force
from some quarter had been hurled upon the fiank and
rear of our exhausted forces. The belief that Johnsons
army had arrived spread like wild-fire. How absurd and
crude it all seems now 1 We had been fighting Johnson

from the first. ,

" All aggressiv • r>.;ion on our part now ceased; and

as if governed by ^ne common impulse, the army began
its retreat.

180

HIS SOMBRE IIIVALS.

■* >',

ed. TJ

Try to realize it.

retirement was
) whom no ordf

n>b order-

ly I

thousand*
given unless with a voice like a thunder neil "Tn.T .^7
one may say, the order was ^iven bv th. Hn f '
of that battery on our flank, it wa^heard^h ou.h 7^^

fnenti'.^^-^^'ir^^^^^'^^^^ individuals or ifdlh
ments, decided to leave. To show how utterly bereft of

panic as it would have been from improper foTd an
other causes for sr,me other epidemic. The^Greeks who
always had a reason for everythino- aspr h^H ff. '

p«« fli*aQ,^ j.1,^ „ 11 ^*^*j"^"i"i^, ascriDea the name-

less dread, the sudden and unaccountable fear whi<-l> Z
reaves men of manhood and reason, to the nre^Tnce of a

.t the ebse of lUillX^'l til 7ouT:„kl/Zri
felt something of it myselff and at aTm too,Chen
mew I was not in the least immediate dan.4r tTcoL
terac it I turned and rode deliberately toward the enemv
rf :^'''-',Ti'°.° P'^^^'^'^- I '>aif believe, however thaTif
Lck^f^'STeitr-V^e'ToTo^tt"^^^^

^o^riteli ^/tT;''*°- wt/h'erjdZ Ti. ?

astti^nVa„\l-e;.%^„r.^^^^^^^^^^^

« i

pi 1

5' !

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

181

Niagara above the falls as that human tide. He sent or-
ders'^in all diiections for a general concentration at Cen-
terville, and then with certain of his staff galloped away.
I tried to follow, but was prevented by the interposing

crowd.

" I then joined a detachment of regulars and marines
who marched quietly in prompt obedience of orders; and
we made our way through the disorder like a steamer
through the surging waves. All the treatises on disci-
pline that were ever written would not have been so con-
vincing as that little oasis of organization. They marched
very slowly and often halted to cover the retreat.

" I had now seen enough on the farther bank of Bull
Run, and resolved to push ahead as fast as my horse
would walk to the eastern side. Moreover, my leg and
wounds were becoming painful, and I was exceedingly
weary. I naturally followed the route taken by Tyler's
command in coming upon and returning from the field,
and crossed Bull Run some distance above the Stone
Bridge. The way was so impeded by fugitives that my
progress was slow but when I at last reached the Warren-
ton Turnpike and proceeded toward a wretched little
stream called Cub Run, I witnessed a scene that beggars
description.

" Throughout the entire day, and especially in the after-
noon, vehicles of every description— supply waggons, am-
bulances, and the carriages of the civilians— had been
congregating in the Pike in the vicinity of Stone Bridge.
When the news of the defeat reached this point, and the
roar of cannon and musketry began to approach instead of
recede, a general movement toward Centerville began.
This soon degenerated into the wildest panic, and the road
was speedily choked by storming, cursing, terror-stricken
men, who, in their furious haste, defeated their own efforts
to escape. It was pitiful, it was shameful, to see ambu-
lances full of the wounded shoved to one side and left by
the cowardly thieves who had galloped away on the hor-

Wl'

mii

1 i

182

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

ses. It was one long scene of wreck and n.in tl,roi.,,K

Sort ^^ijl f'"«»""'°f' '^^r''"- e"-ing th7o,L
noises with their traces cut, and carrying two and even
three men, wore urged on and over everybody tS con W

woufdMVdl"" "^^- ^^r-y*'°=" -- abrndonedTi
would impede progress, and arms and property of all

elite's ""tH "' "' " [i^* l'-™-^' for the pL^ing^Confed
eiates. Their cavalry hovering near, like hawks ea^ei

iflered. ''"'^' "" '"''"''"'' ^""' ""'^ "'"■'^' "« 0PP"'tumty

my clitfi"[hITnn*'r°"!!' *'"^^"'"'^ rather than take
ly cnances in the road, and so my pro-'iess was ^low

lo make matters tenfold worse. I fou'J.d wh^n TTeacW

he road leading to the north through the 'Bi., Woods'

that the head of the column that had come alT the w,v

around by Sudley's Ford, the route of the „rrnfnU maTI

was mingling with the masses already throngingthe p[k e

The contusion, the selfish, remorseless scramble to aet

IdUio'nTflr- '"t"*^ ''^ '' T''^'^^; but imagines
condition of affairs when on reaching the vicinity of Cub

Run we found that a Rebel battery had opened upon the
bridge, our only visible means of crossing A few
moments later, from a little eminence,! saw2 shottaki
effect on a team of horses : and a heavy caisson wa^ over-
turned directly in the centre of the bridge, bar^irill ad
vance, while the mass of soldiers, civilian, knd r "ntlescrbt
SI WW?' *^"Vt'""!'*' under fire/became peSv

thelhlthir'tw'''^"''"'""'^' ^''r'^<i' andweao^of
tne whole thing that my one impulse was to reach Cen-

erville, where I supposed we should make a stand As

I was on the north side of the Pike I skirtrd ?■„ ttf

stream with a number of others. We foindaplace wher

we could scramble across, and soon after we paied wUh n a

to fwk° h""" 'Tlf '^'' ^'"^ ^l'™-" acr«s tl road
to check the probable pursuit of the enemy.

i<s«bt' \-

HIS SOMBRE KIVALS.

183

" On reacliing Centerville, we found everything in the
direst confusion. Oolonel Miles, who commanded the re-
serves at tliat point, was unfit for the position, and had
^ivea orders that had imperilled the entire army. It was
said that the troops which had conu; around by Sud-
ley's Ford had lost all their guns at Cub Run ; and the
fugitives arriving were demoralised to the last degree.
Indeed, a large part of the army,, without waiting for
orders or paying heed to any one, continued their tlight
toward Washington . Holding the bridle of my horse I
lay down near headquarters to rest and to learn what
would be done. A council of war was held, and as
the result we were soon on the retreat again. The re-
treat, or panic-stricken flight rather, had, in fact,
never ceased on the part of most of those who had
been in the main battle. That they could keep up this
desperate tramp was the remarkable example of human
endurance when sustained by excitement, fear, or any
strong emotion. The men who marched or fled on Sun-
day night had already been on their feet twenty-four
hours, and the greater part of them had experienced the
terrific strain of actual battle.

" My story has already been much too long. From
the daily journals you have learned pretty accurately
what occurred after we reached Centerville. Richard-
son's and Blenker's brigades made a quiet and orderly re-
treat when all danger to the main body was over. The
sick and wounded were left behind with spoils enough to
equip a good-sized Confederate army. I followed the
headquaiters escort, and eventually made my way into
Washington in the drenching rain of Monday, and found
the city crowded with fugitives to whom the loyal people
were extending unbounded hospitality. I felt ill and
feverish, and yielded to the impulse to reach home : and
I never acted more wisely.

" Now you have the history of my first battle , and
may I never see one like it again. And yet I believe the

1N4

IIIH SOMimK UIVALH.

i...^

iMiUir ...J hull IJuu will iM-coin,. ono of th, ,M.,,st udvvvA

\m^Uu{wHo{ AuH'vu'im \uMovy and (.Immct.u-. Uii .m-
Hulo It vvuH not ,!i,vcte(l l.y -,.,„.nil,s, acconlin- to tlio ruj,' .
of WMP. It wns lu„.I,t l>v NortlMTM n.on nrt.r tlu-ir own
ta,shion nn.l n(r..nlii.i; to tl.oir nutivn ^...nin.s : an.l 1 .shall
•wor ma.ntaiu that it vva.s r.M.^rht fur hottor than co.ihl

lavolHvn ONiuH'tod of militia who k.uuv Icsm of the i.rac-
tio.il NcMonco ot war than of ihv philosophy of Plato.
^ i he moral of my story, Hilland. scamdy needs point-
inLr; and .t ...pph.s to ns both. When wo ^o. let us .oas
sold.ors Thoornnd Northorn onset of which you have
•IrcMinod .soKm.lt h;i- Wvu ma.lc. Y,)u have seen the
result. \ou have ihe n.o.uis an<l ability to e(p,ip and
^'ouunanda renunent. Infuse in(o it vou, own spiril •
nnd at the same time make it a maehine that wjIi hold'
toge( Iku- as l,>nir as you liave, a, man left."

_' Graham," said liilhuhl, slowly and .leliherately

there is no resistnig the loo-ic of faets. You have con-
viuced meol my error, and Ishall follow yur adyico."
And, C, race, conelu.W Uraham, " believe me by

MVs," she said, looking at him o-ratefully throuoh
teaiMlnnmed eyes. " You have convinced mo ot tJiat

"Instead of rusliinnr off to some out-of-the-way place
or camp, lie must sp^iui mouths in recruiting and drilJin.;
ins men ; and you can be with him." °

"O Alford!" she exclaime.l, "is that the heavenly
logic of your long terrible story V

"^^\\^)%^'^^'^^^nii\ logic; y[m could not expect any
other kind from me. "^

" ^\r^l' <-^''i^^»am," ejaculated the major, with a lonosi<rh
of relief, «* I wouldn't have missed your account 5 the
battle tor a year s pay. And mark my words, vounc^
men, yon may not live to see it, or I either, but tlie North
will win in this fight. That's the fact that Im con-
vinced of m s[)ite of the panic."

lis S( MHUE RIVALS.

185

Thn fact that I'm roi.vinml of." Hriid Mrs. Maylmrn
l,,„H.m<'ly, •■ i>pin^' I'^^royoH mmnwhilo, "is that Alfurd

,„,mIs n«Ht. . in K'>>nf? ^'> <^*^^« ^'"" ^'"'"" ^*' ''"^*'' • "*^

tl„. voui.-r man soitondcMl h«r in Hpito of all protostations.

" 'Dear \i-ilant old aunty," ^aid Orahan., when thoy

won^ alouo, "you know wIkh. I hrv<5 readied the limit ot

cud' ranro." , „

" , 1, ! Alfoni, Alford." moaned the poor wonuin, 1 teur
you aff HiM^kin^r death in this war."

' II,. looked at h( .-nderly for a moment, and then s»i< ,
" |I,..<^aft(5r I will uy to take no greater riHks than a sol
(Hcu'h duties riMjuire."

CHAPTER XXII.

S KL F-S KNTENC K D.

DAYS w(;ekK, and months with their changes came
and went. Hilland, with characteristic prompt-
lu'SH, carried out his friend's suggestion ; and through his
own means and personal efforts, in great measure, re-
cruited and ecpupped a regiment of cavalry. He was
eat^crthut his friend should take a command m it; but
(hiiluuii tirndy refused. ,. . v „i -i

" Our relations are too intimate for discipline, he said.
" We might be placed in situations wherein our friendship
would embarrass us."

Grace surmised that he had another reason -tor as
time passed, she saw less and less of him. tie had
promptly obtained a lieutenancy in a regiment that was
being recruited at Washington ; and by the time her hus-
band's regiment had reached that city, the more discip-
lined organization to which Graham was attached was

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4^^^

V^^

186

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

i il

EdS °"' "^ *'" ^^^"'^ P'"''** ''"« Woud Arlington
Hilland with charaeteristie modesty, would not tak«
the colonelcy of the regiment that he chiefly had raiS
Dut secured for the place a fine oiBcer of the regular arm v

to S ^rs :^d::Se'':fntVnd^T=

Graham's predictions in regard to Grace were fulfilled
For long months she saw he? husband almosfdaily and
had It not been for the cloud that hun^ oWr the ft;tnrP

ShT^w nT ""r ^"^ ^^ *^^ happiest p^e^ds of h^^^^^^^^^^
She saw Hilland engaged in tasks that brought hi a!'

Die campaigns. Mihtary men were comins and ifoina
and with tl-iese young officers the veteran was an oraclf
He gave Hilland much shrewd advice ; and even when
Jt was not good, it was listened to with deferenL Jh !^
the result was just as agreeable to the ml^o. ' ^'^ '°
Whatsweeterjoy IS there for the aged than to sit in
the seat of judgment and coiuisel, and feel that the word
would go awry were it not for ihe guidance and aid if

STe'S^Tr ' u'''J '"' '""^ P^"^ ''" "al.nTnd'those
liKe Jiim ! The world does not grow old m thev do Tt

only changes and becomes more^ vast andf compH^ted

What was wisest and best in their day becomes ofZ«,

ax.^iqiujted a« the c^lverin that once dSd :Lte5late"

M li

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

187

Arlington

1 not take
lad raised ;
"ular army,
ficiency of
" I would
command

epugnance
numerous
)sitions by

9 fulfilled,
laily, and,
be future,
)f her life.
:ht him u
her in his
Iness and
with sub-
innume-
nd going,
m oracle,
^en when
!e, and so

to sit in
he world
id aid of
nd those
7 do. It
plicated.

often as
stellated

Happily the major had as yet no suspicion of this ; and
when he and Grace accompanied Hilland and his regi-
ment to Washington, the measure of his content was full.
There he could daily meet other veterans of the regular
service ; and in listening to their talk, one might imagine
that McClellan had only to attend their sittings to learn
how to subdue the rebellion within a few months. These
veterans were not bitter partisans. General Robert E.
Lee was " Bob Lee " to them ; and the other chiefs of the
Confederacy were .spoken of by some familiar sobriquet,
acquired in many instances whei boys at West Point.
They would have fought these old friends and acquaint-
ances to the bitter end, according to the tactics of the old
school ; but after the battle, those that survived would
have hobnobbed together over a bottle of wine as
sociably as if they had been companions in arms.

Mrs. May burn accompanied the major's party to Wash-
ino'ton, for, as she said, she was " hungry for a sight of
her boy." As often as his duties permitted. Graham rode
in from the front to see her. But it began to be noticed
that after these visits he ever sought some perilous duty
on the picket line, or engaged in some dash at the enemy
or guerillas in the vicinity. He could not visit his aunt
without seeing Grace, whose tones were now so gentle
when she spoke to him, and so full of her heart's deep
grat tude, that a renewal of his old fierce fever of unrest
was the result. He was already gaining a reputation for
extreme daring, combined with unusual coolness and
vigilance : and before the campaign of '62 opened he had
been promoted to a first lieutenancy.

Time passed ; the angry torrent of the war broadened
and deepened. Men and m .asures that had stood out
Uke landmarks were ingulfed and forgotten.

It goes without saying that the friends did their duty
in camp and field. There were no more panics. The
great organizer, McClellan, had made soldiers of the vast
army ; and had he been retainetl in tha service as the

188

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

iil!

Wete:nrih/b;e''*" '"^" *" '^^'^' ''^ l'"^o™ would
quently met It wrf)?^ .l'°"^'''<''' "■"^ they fre-

verses suffered by IhrUn on ,,5 l'"'''*'"'!'"? the re-

fidenee was "nab^ated a^r^hStsuT "1.7°"^ T.-
passed through several severe confHctsTnd h^ "'^ ['^^
been mentioned by reason of M^^.!? '/ ^'^ '^'"^^ ^^
gan to feel that fate nS p"antry, and Grace be-

her very lift in hts' ir'lhe'^w ^h:* Tl tl*" '^^^'^"^
more over her husband'., .Z\a- ^ ,. ""^"^ ^*ther exulted

wealth ; and aKgh tVe V spet T''"'' *'''!! '" ''" '"'^
ual at the seaside with Mrs M»vh.^ ".?"f *"*** ^ "^-
three were following *, ^aybum, the hearts of all

and field of VWnfa Zl(7T""V^'""'^^ *»>« ^^''^'^
searched for item^ concSn nt tbT "^^^T^^^ ^^^e daily
mails wa^ the event of the dfy"' """^ *' """"^^ "^ "'«

heJrt:rGrae?wiriim*'' ''''i^"'"" -'^'<='^ «'«<« the
deepsadneL ZVaXm wf .n ^""^ ^''y- ^'^
and would not be coSteTwM e' hfZt '^' "^"'^
and blessed God by turns "''J"'" ^^o^e

and they felt the enemv «fvL ? u i ^ '^^<^on7ioissance,

at.a.tthjy were:orpXtt^l i;:tet'T' t''^''
pened that Hilland pnmm=„^ j ■? P ^*®v- " so hap-

advance he ever led on Tr^tt ff ^^^r-guard. I„ in
well to the rear Tn !),„ f^* ''^ w»« aP* to keep

been prom'p^'^nd dete^iKd'TudT't'!? ?« P"-"'* h«1
to make more than oTrepelHnf ^ ^^ ''""" compelled
retiring column fmm? iXSfed tofh^d'^'l??"' ^'"'^
mand had thus lost beavfl/ and at iLt nv ^^V-""
numbers drove them back at k ^aMop overwhelming

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

189

Graham, in the rear of the main column which had
iust crossed a bridge over a wide ditch or litUe run
through the fields, saw the headlong retreat of HiUand a
men, and he instantly deployed his company that he might
check the close pursuit by a volley. As the Union troop-
ers neared the bridge it was evidently a race for life and
liberty, for they were outnumbered ten to one. In a few
moments they began to pour over, but Hilland did not
lead. They were nearly all across, but their commander
was not among them ; and Graham was wild with anxiety
as he saf on his horse at the right of Is line waiting to
give the order to fire. Suddenly, in the failing hght^ of
the evening, he saw Hilland with his right arm han^ng
helpless, spurring a horse badly blown ; while gainmg fa^t
apon him were four savage-looking Confederates, their
sabres emitting a steely, deadly sheen, and uplifted to
strike the moment they could reach him.

\Y:";h the rapidity of light, Graham's eye measured the
distance between s friend and the bridge, and his in-
stantaneous conviction was that Hilland was doomed, tor
he could not order a volley without killing him almost to
a certainty. At that supreme crisis, the suggestion passed
through his mind like a lurid flash, " In a few moments
Hilland will be de»d, and Grace may yet be mine."

Then, like an avenging demon, the thought confronted
him. He saw it in its true aspect, and in an outburst of
self-accusing fury he passed the death sentence on him-
self Snatching out the long straight sword he carried
he struck with the spurs the noble horse he bestrode, gave
him the rein, and made straight for the deep, wide ditch.
There was no time to go around by the bridge, which
was still impeded by the last of the fugitives.

His men held their breath as they saw his purpose
The feat seemed impossible ; but as his steed cleared th<
chasm by a magnificent bound, a loud cheer rang dowB
the line. The next moment Hilland, who had mentally
said farewell to his wife, saw Graham passing him like a

190

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

The next shared the same fat^ • fn/ n T • , J^^*
darned his death stj^.^:. ufaht t^ra^Tt'.etl';

The wamdn^ Rebrfri' ^^'"^ T"""" '^ ''°^'^" «'>ots from
HiUand had insLXeTtril' tttTS s ho^'r^t:?

f:; ^^r^ = a-stt jat

rapidly that the pursuit soon slackened and ceased

the friend who had saved hU lifp u;. u i "^

hatiold" ••"•":' ^f "-"'"a^^'the-g^^^^^^^^^
had to administer strong opiates to quiet him ^

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

191

When late the next day he awoke it all cajne back to
him with a dull ache at heart. Nothing could be done.
H^ mind now restored to its balance, recognised the fact.
?ie b i>^^^^ under orders to move to another point,
and he was disabled c.nd compelled to take a leave of ab-
ananewasuia r ^ ^^^ mechanism of

ruwii mtes -; Jttut the slightest regard for
rhfSviduaT and Graham's act was only one of the
man} heroic de;d8 of war. some seen and more unnoted.

CHAPTER XXra,

AN EABLT DREAM FULFIILBD.

A FEW days later Grace welcomed her husband with
along, close embrace, but with streammg eyes;
while he towed his head upon her shoulder and groaned

'^*txf n'i^yoTGrace," he said, "this is the

heavieS blow I Zh revive ; and to think tMt he gave

hk life for me I How can I f ace Mrs Maybum 1

''' Bui hisN^fe comforted him as only she knew how to

soothe and bless ; and Mrs. Maybum saw that he w^s

ror.ere a mourker as herself. Moreover they would not

respabofGmham.foralthoughhehadbeensoentoJalUe

miffht only have been wounded and made a P™oner.
Thus the bitterness of their grief was mitigated by hopa

This hope was fulfiUed in a most unexpected way by
a ^e rfZtter from Graham himself; and t^e^^^'l^^-*-"
of this fact requires that the story should return to him

He thought that the sentence of 4^5*^ which he had
nassed upon himself had been earned into effect. He
DfeltTmself falling, and then there had been sudden

i|i

m i ii w

I 1

192

BIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

was, he did not know h„f». °'^^'■■ '''^''' ""^ ^ow

ham, bad not ceased to extt -^rf'^'.Ti t^^"'^ «"■»-
duU, wondering awe IM^m . ^T*^ ^"'''' l"'™ with a

last impress in\a7th;^rZ ^'r'y. '•«"ved, and ite
and yet'^hew^Tt dead " ^"^ '" "^'^ '""^ ^'^'^ died.

selt'h^t^ ^fcdteblvf'V/" ''^' "^-^^ ^l'-
Suddenly a stranee horrid ij 7^ to comprehend it all.
and froie his blfod wilh T ."^ T"'" "P"" '''^ ^^n^^s
death, for only rsmirdanf'r. /',""'* ^« "^^ •'ft'"'
He could not move aJTZ '" 'f.? """^ ^^'^'e^o^-
could not be aTuman sS IL""''."J """'^' ^h'-'f'
involuntary, and d"spera[reffi,rrT^^1 = ""^"^ ^y '"^'f"
around. Thesceneat W I! I " ^'^'^"^ "P and looked
His eye could not !tJ^'°^r'''S"=°°'^"^^d and awful.

stretched out his hands ^i^th' "f .^^ instinctively
aH that had hannen Jd '-.. i "■?"«'' ,*''« ^^"^e of touch
He first fe^t of hEf Z^^ ^^'K^' ^''^ "onfused brain,
his body, h L imbTl'l'^rerff,- V ^^""^ ?^^^ ^^' forehead,
that to his awakenW intir ^^ "^^^ " ^^^ ""^h. and

accorded y^htl'ZFefZtmZr^T Tf' ''""^^ "
separable. Then he f^If 7^ aI- ■ *•¥ "^ody were in-

his hands touched\h 'grsy'fieM""'?t''r'"^"v''"^
him speedily A, in tL i]''^ ?, , ™'^ '^^ righted

earth i Zstrtg" He n tt^notedt'? .''•'' t™''!'^^ *>>«
on a smooth rock that rntri t ri^ *?*' '"^ '>ead rested

that he must W fal en unonit H ^°? '^' P''^'"''"^-d
around; and as the SinT i ,He sat up and looked
after it, terribTe shock the fi^'^^^'l^^'-es^'ned its action
The awful sounds that he L/i,T ^^I^^ intelligible.

0, u.. .v„,^^'JsU"Sr5,.iz :c.'!lt;

HIS SOMBRE B IVALS.

193

about him were the bodies of the dead. Yes, there befort

men

their presence

a St

killed;
sense of repugnance and horror
tliat\e sprang to his°feet and recoiled away.

He looked around. There was not a living obiect in
sicTht except the dying horse. The night wind moaned
about him, and soughed and sighed as if it were a living
creature mourning over the scene.

It became clear to him that he had been left as dead.
Yes, and he had been robbed, too ; for he shivered, and
found that his coat and vest were gone, also his hat, his
money, his watch, and his boots. He walked unsteadily
to the little bridge, and where he had left his line of faith-
ful men, all was dark and silent. With a great throb of
joy he remembered that Hilland must have sped across
that bridge to safety, while he had expiated his evil

thought.

He then returned and circled around the place. Me
was evidently alone ; but the surmise occurred to him
that the Confederates would return in the morning to
bury their dead, and if he would escape he must act
promptly. And yet he could not travel in his present
condition. He must at least have hat, coat and boots.
His only resource was to take them from the dead ; but
the thought of do'ng so was horrible to him. Reason
about it as he might,' he drew near their silent forms with
an uncontrollable repugnance. He almost gave up his
purpose, and took a few hasty steps away, but a thorn
pierced his foot and taught him his folly. Then his impe-
rious will asserted itself, and with an imprecation on his
weakness he returned to the nearest silent form, and took
from it a limp felt hat, a coat, pnd a pair of boots, all
much the worse for wear ; and having arrayed himself
in these, started on the trail of the Union force.

He had not gone over a mile when, on surmounting an
eminence, he saw by dying fires in a grove beneath him
that he was near the bivouac of a body of soldiers. He

-r^

191

II i

HI3 SOMBRE RIVALS.

Iiaully hoped t!,oy couU be a detachment of Union men

T ^t ."">,"'.';"«'" tl'^' it *a3 possible led l,im t o an-
proach stealthily within ear-shot. At last he heard cm
patrol speak to another in unmistakable Southern icenL
and he ouud that the enemy was in his path ^

bilently as a ghost he stole away, and sought to make
a wide detour to the left, but soon lost himseFf ho,«"^l

Zld tr i°- '"'," *'"" '''^"'^'^ *•"« obscurest place he
couldfind, and lay down and slept.

The sun was above the horizon when he awoke stiff
sore, and hungry, b,.t refreshed, rested. A red sa^irrel
was barking at him derisively faW a both neT b«
no other evidences of life were to be seen. Sitting up he
ried to collect his thoughts and decide upon Ms^course
It at once occurred to him than he would be missed and
that pursuit might be made with hounds. At once he
sprang to his feet and made his way owtrd a val!

ream Th. V^'^ ^°"'? ^'^ -^^'^^^ V <^ ™nnX
stream, rhe welcome sound of water soon guided him

and pushing through the underbrush he drank long ami'

tI'd^^tl*rt "»"'^ "^^'^^ "" "^^ '^^' -" *-'

saw th™fn.b"^n f "'• ""* '"'"■ ''^^ ^ »"'' Wore he
saw through an opening a negro gazing wonderingly at

him Come here, my good fellow," he cried. ^ ^

Ihe man approached slowly, cautiously.
I wont hurt you," Graham resumed ; "indeed von
can see that I'm in your power. Won't you heCme V

Dunno, Mas'r," was the non-committal reply
erat^''>^°" '" '°" of Lincoln's men or thfconfed-

"Dunno Mas'r. It 'pends."
" It depends upon what ? "

" W^lf^f '^"" r">' ?,^=°'^'"» "an or 'Federate."
Well then here's the truth. The Lincoln men are
your best friends, if you've sense enough to knowTt and

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

195

Tin om r.f thorn. 1 was in the fight off there yesterday,
luid 1 am trying to escape." .

"0 golly! I'se sense enough;" and the genial g earn
of tlie man's ivory was an omen of good to Graham.
" But," said the negro, " how you wear Federate coat

and hat ? " , . i i t

" Because I was left for dead, and mme were stolen. 1

had to wear something. The Confederates dont wear

blue trousers like these." j i i t

" Dat's so ; an I know yer by yer talk and look. 1
knows a 'Federate well as I does a coon. But dese yeres
nii.rhty ticklish times ; an' a nigger hab no^^ show ot
he'l foun' meddlin. What's yer gwi^ne ter do ?

"Perhaps you can advise me. I m afraid they 11 put

hounds on my trail." ^^

"Datdey will, if dey misses yer. . ^ ^ ^ .

"Well that's the reason I'm here in the stream. ±5ut
I can't keep this up long. I'm tired and hungry I ve
heard that you people befriend Lincoln s men. We are
goincr to win, and now's the time for you to make friends
witlf those who will soon own this country.

" Ob corse, you'se a gwine ter win. Linkum is de
Moses we're all a looking ter. At all our meetins we se a
pvayin' for him and to him. He's de Lords right han
to lead we alls out ob bondage." ^^

" Well I swear to you I'm one of his men.
" I knows you is, and I'se a gwine to help you houn s
or no houn's. Keep up de run a right smart ways, and
you'se '11 come ter a big flat stun'. Stan dar m de water,
an' I'll be dar wid help." And the man disappeared in a

long swinging run. -, ,. n t. j „

Graham did as he was directed, and finally reached a
flat rock, from which through the thick bordering growth
something like a path led away. He halted until his
patience was well nigh exhausted, and then heard tar
back on his trail the faint bay of hound. He was about to
push his way on up the stream, when there was a sound of

196

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

right s,na,'A d'ul^tS Te7r-- i:^''1.''-r
^"-I. «t Zl, We '^!^^^" ""— tree. So,,,..

accustomed, and he ?aw"' rude seat tdT T^ ^'"^
tioned. But extending his feet sliXt.? ^^o^ "len-

to hil ravenou^a^lVetl^ t^ZXt^TL ^tl

MbiMB.

HIS SOMUUE RIVALS.

197

jther stal- §,

got

' you

Now
mts hnn ;
t^ay they

iham, for
Tiountain
'hey met
3thes.
ish away
m tin I led,
^, an (le
G^hfc that
fiiai Well

r hea

V\'

e negi'o

Soiiit.'
througli
id him-

Jaid hit)
: an' a
nesome
ryer;"
Jraham

of sun-
Q grew
i men-
fh the
e seat
brosial
oy the

ftdvonture. His place of concealment was so unexpecto*)
and ingenious that it gave him a Hence of security. He
liad ever had a great love for trees, and now it seemed as
if one had opened its very heart to hide him.

Then his hosts and defenders interested him exceed-
in<rly. By reason of residence in New England and his
lite abroad, he was not familiar with the negro, evspecially
his Southern type. Their innocent guile and preposter-
ous religious belief amused him. He both smiled and
wondered at their faitli in "Linkum," whom at that time
he regarded as a long-headed, uncouth Western politician,
who had done not a little mischief by interfering with
the army.

" It is ever so with all kinds of superstition and senti-
mental belief," he soliloquized. " Some conception of the
mind is embodied, or some object i,; idealized and magni-
fied until the original is lost sight of, and men come to
worship a mere fancy of their own. Then some mind,
stronger and more imaginative than the average, gives
shape and form to this confused image; and so there
j^TOws in time a belief, a theology, or rather a mythology.
To think that this Lincoln, whom I've seen in attitudes
anything but divine, and telling broad, coarse stories — to
tliink that he should be a demigod, antitype of the vene-
rated Hebrew! In truth it leads one to suspect, accord-
ing to analogy, that Moses was a money-making Jew, and
his effort to lead his people to Palestine an extensive land
speculation."

Graham lived to see the day when he acknowledged
that the poor negroes of the most remote plantations had
a truer conception of the grand proportions of Lincoln's
character at that time than the majority of his most cul-
tivated countryman.

His abstract speculations wore speedily brought to a
close by the nearer baying of hounds as they surmounted
an emmence over which lay his trail. On came the hunt,
with its echoes rising and falling with the wind or the in-

^'1 f

108

IfIS SOMMIIK niVALS.

Ti..n there ^t'::;:; 1 ':;;:'i: J ;!;;;[*; !'- rt,.oa,„.

■"CMS voice.,, whici, «raau,Ui; »;;,';;, '"/il'iT ""''"''
iipiuiac, oausod iiii,lniil,f„.ii;, ,1''""'''^"' '''' *''"-'i<' «™

ward hi,,,. I ^sor.",:; ^r/' "'"""« '"'■«'"■'>• <"-
"t/HS hidi„,;-,,l,„,o, he co„iJ ■ ,t t ii, ,v ;'i, '"l ""

1'stono.l to the «„.,k1.s, Oyin' v\v •^;'th;.; T' ^''^''^ ''«

>>i.s. ; .ud 1;;^ w>rK;r:;:; "^""' ^''-^'^ -"^ >-

^l-ang down on hi. kr.™ ani p^ ^ l'^,, 'ri,/;-'"'"f '''^

I'tule sort of Dlattor nr !,.„. 1 1 X ^^''^- ,'"&' «^nd tound a
■uui i„ this al;X 'j ' 'Z,,Kn,'l"''' ,"' T" ''"^'^'•

whiel. on,, the co/ JX J^eit. rSolh':^^^/

•■-^p-^iM.".

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

199

ut'iod and
'>o streuiii.
).i,^.s'an(l()t'
thei'o wa:s
^itli AiiiiL
I not Just
tlueaten-
rect.ly (o-
It tliat lio

10 lUltui'i)
tlle (i()(rs^

Jieai(;r,
tood tliat
Lin, from
is (liveri,^-
lietly lie
joine.

1 down-
loom and

a voice

emovod,
' a gob-

uls

you

ver you
'sitv h:
) to soo

lio had
luiur of

to tlio
bund a

husks,

deiici-
tion of
apable.

" Well ! " ejaculated Grahann. " From this day I'm
an al)olitionist, a Republican of the blackest dye. Any
race that can ])roduce a woman capable of sucli cookery
!is this has a future before it."

Indeed, the whole affair was taking such an agreeable
turn that he was inclined to be jocular.

After another long sleep in the afternoon, he was
nuicli rofieshe<!, and eager to rejoin his command. But
Issacliar or Iss, as his associates called him, the negro
wSio had befriended him in the first instance, came iind
explained that the whole country was full of Confed-
erates ; and that it might be several days before it would
bo safe to seek the Union lines.

" We'se all lookin' out for yer, Mas'r," he continued ;
" you won't want for nothin'. An' we won't kep yer in
dis woodchuck hole arter nine ob de ev'nin'. Don't try
tor come out. I'm lookin' t'oder way while I'se a talkin'.
Mciin niggers an' 'Federates may be spy in' aroun'. But
1 re(;kon not ; I'se laid in the woods all day, a watchin'.

" Now I tell yer what 'tis, Mas'r, I'se made up my
mine to put out ob heah. I'se gwine to jine de Linkum
men fust chance I gits. An' if yer'll wait an' trus me,
I'll take yer slick and clean ; for I know dis yer country
and ebery hole whar ter hide well as a fox. If I gits safe
ter tie Linkum folks, yer'll say a good word fer Iss, I
reckon."

•' Indeed I will. If you wish, I'll take you into my own
service, and pay you good wages."

" Done, by golly ; and when dey cotch us, dey'll cotch
a weasel asleep "

" But haven't you a wife and children ? "

" 0, yah. I'se got a wife, an' I'se got a lot ob chillen
some-./har in de 'Fed'racy ; but I'll come wid you uns
bime by, an' gedder up all I can tine. I'se '11 come 'long
in de shank ob de ev'nin', Mas'r, and guv yer a shakedown
in my cabin, an' I'll watch while yer sleeps. Den I'll
brino' vm' hnvk heah before lic^ht in the raawnin '."

; t

200

Imln If
■ il 'III

fl-i'

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

'ill iiii

The presence of Confederate forces required these p,o-
cmtions for severaUays. and Iss won Graham's whole
heart by his unwearied patience and vigilance. BuTthe
voung man soon prevailed on the faithful fellow to sleep

thf h1"' " ' ''" ^f"^'^ • ^°' ^^^' *•>« >»"g inaction
the day he was almost wild for exercise. Cautious Iss
would have been nearly craved with anxiety had he
known of the r^connoiesances in which his charge indul..ed
while he slept. Graham succeeded in making himlelf
tully master of the disposition of the Rebel forc'esin the
vacmty and eventually learned that the greater part of

thrinMI- ''" ^f '•™^"- When he hadl^ommuSed
this intelligence to Iss, they prepared to start for the

fZmy °" ' ' ^°"°^"« night, which proved dark and

Iss prudent man, kept the secret of his flight from even
his wite, and satisfied his marital compunctions by "hack"
mg her under the chin and calling her "honey ' We or
twice while she got supper for him. At eZhtTn the
evening he summoned Graham from his hiding-place and

Xh?h. TT ^ f ^"' ''"' "«rth-east, the direction in
which he Union forces were said to be at that time It

JZ^l T^' /''°^**' *''""P' ^""l the dawn found them
SlTin ^''^H. ^"\'h' glorious sun rose warm and
brigJit, and m a hidden glade of the forest they dried
heir clothes, rested and refreshed themselves. After a
ong sleep in a dense thicket they were ready to resume
their journey at nightfall. W proved an^invaluaSe
guide, tor, concealing Graham, he would .steal awly com!
municate with the negroes, and bring fresh provisions

On the second mght he learned that there was a Union
force not very far distant to the north of their line of
march. Graham had good cau,se to wonder at the sort of
treemasonry that existed among the ne..roes and the
fachty with which they obtained and traSsmUted secret

i."^M«!.S.Sffi!^-'^¥;?*.-f^.-f^"-

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

201

intelligence. Still more had he reason to bless their al-
most universal tidelity to the Union cause.

Another negro joined them as guide, and in the grey of
the morning they approached the Union pickets. Gra-
ham deemed it wise to wait till they could advance
enly and boldly ; and by nine o'clock he was received
w th acclamation by his own regiment, as one risen from
the dead.

After congratulation? and brief explanations were over,
his first task was to despatch the two brief letters men-
tioned, to his aunt and Hilland, in time to catch the daily
mail that left their advanced position. Then he saw his
brigade commander, and made it clear to him that with a
force of about two regiments he could strike a heavy
blow against the Confederates whom he had been recon-
noitring ; and he offered to act as guide. His proposi-
tion was accepted, and the attacking force started that
very night. By forced marches they succeeded in sur-
prising the Confederate encampment and in capturing a
large number of prisoners. Iss also surprised his wife and
Aunt Sheba even more profoundly, and before their ex-
clamations ceased he had bundled them and their meagre
belongings into a mule cart, with such of the " chillen "
as had been left to them, and was following trium-
phantly in the wake of the victorious Union column;
and not a few of their sable companions kept them com-
pany.

The whole affair was regarded as one of the most bril-
liant episodes of the campaign; and Graham received much
credit, not only in the official reports, but in the press.
Indeed, the latter although with no aid from the chief
actor, obtained an outline of the whole story, fi-om the
rescue of his friend to his guidance of the successful expe-
dition, and it was repeated with many variations and ex-
aggerations. He cared little for these brief echoes of
fame ; but the letters of his aunt, Hilland^ and even tht

nf^'^

m ',;',:!

..; in

: 1

li'i

ri^

5 '

M
■ i

202

ttlS SOMBRE RIVALS.

old mnjor, were valued indeed, while the note from the
gmtoful wife becanio his troaHure of treasurea.
^ They had returned some time before to the St. John
Oottii^'e, and she had at last written him a letter " straight
from lior heart," on the (juaint secretary, in the library, as
he had dreamed possible on the first evening of their ac-
(luaintance.

CHAPTER XXIV.

UNCIIHONICLED CONFLICTS.

GKAHAM'S friends were eager that he should obtain
leave of absence, but he said, " No, not until some
time in the winter."

His aunt understood him sufficiently well not to urge
the matter, and it may be added that Grace did also.

Hilland's arm healed rapidly, and happy as he was in
Jus home life at tlie cottage he soon began to chafe
under inaction. Before very long it became evident that
the major had not wholly outlived his influence in Wash-
ington, for there came an order assigning Major Hilland
to duty in that eity ; and thither accompanied by Grace
and her father, he soon rei)aired. The arrangement
proved very agreeable to Hilland during the period when
his regiment could engage in little service beyond that of
dreary pieket duty. He could make his labours far more
useful to the government in the city, and could also enjoy
domestic life with his idolized wife.* Mrs. May burn prom -
ised to join them after the holidays, and the reason for her
delay was soon made evident.

One chilly, stormy evening, when nature was in a most
■" "" "' " ' ' ' * of

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

203

tar more

tlo diniiors wln'ch only Grace knew Low to order. If il*
land glanced afc the card, and gave such a bhout that the
waiter nearly fell over backward.

" Where is the gentleman ? Take me to him on the
double-quick. It's Graham. Hurrah I I'll order another
(lirmer ! " and he vanished, chasing the man down-stairs
and into the waiting-room, as if he were a detachment of
(Confederate cavalry. The decorous people in the hotel
parlour were astounded as Hilland nearly ran over the
!)reathless waiter at the door. Dashed in like a whirl-
wind, and carried off his friend, laughing, chaffing, and
embracing him all the way up the stairs. It was the old,
wild exuberancy of his college days, only intensified by
the deepest and most grateful emotion.

Grace stood within her door blushing, smiling, and with
tears of feeling in her lovely eyes.

" Here he is," cried Hilland — " the very god of war.
Give him his reward, Grace — a kiss that he will feel to
the soles of his boots."

J3ut she needed no prompting, for instead of taking
Graham's proferred hand, she put her hand on his shoul-
ders, and kissed him again and again, exclaiming, " You
Baved Warren's life ; you virtually gave yours for his ;
and in saving him you saved me. May God bless you
every hour you live 1 "

"Grace," he said gravely and gently, looking down into
her swimming eyes and retaining her hands in a strong,
warm clasp, " I am repaid a thousandfold. I think this
is the happiest moment of my life ; " and then he turned
to the major, who was scarcely less demonstrative in his
way than Hilland had been.

" By Jove ! " cried the veteran, " the war is going to be
the making of you young fellows. Why, Graham, you no
more look like the young man that played whist with me
years since than I do. i ou have grown broad-sbouldered
and distingu^, and you have the true military air in
apit© of that Quiet civilian's dreas/'

204

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

"O, I shall always be comparatively insignificant," re
plied Graham, laughing. " Wait till Hilland wears the
stars as he surely will, and then you'll soe a soldier."

" We see far more than a soldier in you, Alford," said
Grace earnestly. " Your men told Warren of your almost
miraculous leap across the ditch ; and Warren has again
and again described your appearance as you rushed by
him on his pursuers. O, I've seen the whole thing in my
dreams so often ! "

" Yes, Graham ; you looked like one possessed. You
reminded me of the few occasions when, in old college
days, you got into a fury."

A frown as black as night lowered on Graham's brow,
for they were recalling the most hateful memory of his
life — a thought for which he felt he ought to die ; but it
passed almost instantly, and in the most prosaic tones
he said, "Good friends, I'm hungry. I've splashed
through Virginia mud twelve mortal hours to-day. Grace,
be prepared fo- such havoc as only a cavalry-man can
make. We don't get snch fare as this at the front."

She, with the pretty housewifely bustle which he had
admired years ago, rang the bell and made preparations
for a feast.

" Every fatted calf in Washington should be killed for
you," she cried,— " prodigal that you are, but only in
brave deeds. Where's Iss ? I want to see and feast him
also."

" I left him well provided for in the lower regions, and
astounding the 'cullud bredren' with stories wMch
only the African can swallow. He shall come up by And
by, for I have my final orders
horse back to the regiment in
care of him in my absence. I
with aunt."

" And bow much time with us ? '" asked Hilland,
eagerly.

" This evening,"

" Now, Graham I protest — "

to give. He leads my
the morning, and takes
hope to spend a month

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

205

" Now, Hilland, I'm ravenous and here's a dinner fit
for the Great Mogul."

" 0, 1 know you of old. When you employ a certain
tone you intend to have your own way; but it isn't
fair."

" Don't take it to heart. I'll make another raid on
you when I return, and then we shall soon be at the front
together again. Aunty's lonely, you know,"

" Grace and I don't count, I suppose," said the major.
"I had a thousand questions to ask you ;" and he looked
so aggrieved that Graham compromised and promised to
spend the next day with him.

Then he gave an almost hilarious turn to the rest
of the evening, and one would have thought that he
was in high spirits natural to any young officer with a
month's leave of absence. He desofibed the " wood-
chuck hole " which had been his hiding-place, sketched
humorously the portraits of Iss, Aunt Sheba, who was
now his aunt's cook, and gave funny episodes of his mid-
night prowlings while waiting for a chance to reach the
Union lines. Grace noted how skilfully he kept his own
personality in the background unless he appeared in some
absurd or comical light; and she also noted that his eyes
rested upon her less and less often, until at last after Iss
had had his most flattering reception, he said good-night
rather abruptly.

The next day he entertained the major in a way that
was exceedingly gratifying and flattering to the veteran.
He brought some excellent maps, pointed out the various
lines of march, the positions of the opposing armies, and
shewed clearly wh-at had been done and what might have
been. He next became the most patient and absorbed
listener, as the old gentleman, by the aid of the same
maps, planned a campaign which during the coming yeat
would have annihilated the Confederacy. Grace, sitting
near the window, might have imagined herself almost
ignored. But she interpreted him differently. She now

206

HIS SOMBBE RxVALS.

had the key which explained his conduct, and more than
once tears came to her eyes.

Hilland returned early, having hastened throucrh his
duties and was m superb spirits. They spent an'after-
noon together that stood out in memory like a broad
gleam of sunshme in after years; and then Graham took
his leave, with messages from all to Mrs. Mayburn who
was to return with him.

As they were parting. Grace hesitated a moment, and
then, stepping forward, impulsively she took Graham's
band in both of hers, and said impetuously, « You have
seen how very, very happy we all are. Do you think
that 1 forget for a moment that I owe it to you ? "
^^ Graham's iron nerves gave way. His hand trembled.
Don t speak to me m that way," he murmured. <' Come.
Hilland, or I shall miss the train ; " and, in a moment he

was gone.

Mrs Mayburn never forgot the weeks he spent with'
her. Sometimes she would look at him wonderingly, and
once she said, "A ford it is hard for me to believe that
you have passed through all that you have. Day after
day passes, and you seem perfectly content with my quiet,
monotonous life. You read to me my old favourite au-
thors. You chaff me and Aunt Sheba about our little
domestic economies. Beyond a hasty run through the
morning paper you scarcely look at the daily journals,
^ou are content with one vigorous walk each day In-
deed you seem to have settled down and adapted yourself
to my old woman s life for the rest of timef I thought
you would be restless, urging my earlief return to Wash-
ington, or seeking to abridge your leave, so that you
might return to the excitement of the camp "

"No aunty dear, I am not restless. I have outlived
and outgrown that phase of my hfe. You will find that
my pulse is as even as yours. Indeed, I have a deep en-
joyment of this profound quiet of our house. I haveiullv
accepted my lot, and nov^ e^cpect onlv those changes that

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

207

come from without and not from within. To be perfectly
sincere with you, the feeling is ^'rowing that this pro-
found quietude that has fallen upon me may be the pre-
lude to final rest. It's right that I should accustom your
mind to the possibilities of every day in our coming cam-
paign, which I well foresee will be terribly severe. At
first our generals did not know how to use cavalry, and
beyond escort and picket duty little was asked of it. Now
all this m changed. Cavalry has its part in every pitched
battle, and in the intervals it has many severe conflicts of
its own. Daring, ambitious leaders are coming to the
front, and the year will be one of great and hazardous ac-
tivity. My chief regret is that Hilland's wound did not
disable him wholly from further service in the field. Still
he will come out all right. He always has and ever will.
There are hidden laws that control and shape our lives.
It seems to me that you were predestined to be just what
you are. Your life is rounded out and symmetrical ac-
cording to its own law. The same is true of Hilland and
of myself thus far. The rudiments of what we are to-day
we»e clearly apparent when we were boys. He is the
same ardent, jolly, whole-souled fellow that clapped me
the back after leaving the class room. Everybody

liked him then, everything favoured him. Often when
he had not looked at a lesson he would make a superb
recitation. I was moody and introspective ; so I am to-
day. Even the unforeseen events of life league together
to develop one's characteristics. The conditions of his
life to-day are in harmony with all that has been ; the
same is true of mine, with the strange exception that I
have found a home and a dear staunch friend in one whom
I supposed would ever be a stranger. See how true my
theory is of Grace and her father. Her blithesome girl-
hood has developed into the happiest wifehood. Her
brow is as smooth as ever, and her eyes as bright. They
have only gained in depth and tenderness as the woman
has taken the place of the girl. Her form has only de-

208

igi

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

fall, what reiLr wmihl fh [ "^I. ^"''''^'^ >^"" «^«»''I

himself aa recklessly as yourself f tl .''"i' •'"''P"''^

.sted under theserenea^e^nitiespfher^^^^^^^^^^^
Graham songht to give a lighter tone to their talk and

^ oS rhteVetr ^^kri^aTtf tdi

There >s no help for that. v,„ have doneTo ;;cUeally

ni8 SOMBRE RIVALS.

209

With your .strong good Honso vou could not do otherwise.

'l'h(! trouble is that you are haunUjd by old-time New

Kngland b(!liofH that, from vour uncestry, have beeomo

infuHed into your very blood. You can't help them any

more than any other inherited inHrmitie.s which may

have afHicted your grandfather. Let uh speak of some-

thiiig else. Ah, here is a welcome diversion,— the daily

paper,— and I'll read it through to you, and we'll gain

another hint a.s to the drift of this great tide of events."

The old lady shook her head sadly; and the fact that

Khe watched the young man with hungry, wistful eyes

often blinded with tears, proved that neither utate nor

military policy was uppermost in her mind.

CHAPTER XXV.

A PRESENTIMENT.

ON Christmas morning Graham found his breakfast-
plate pushed back, and in its place lay a superb
sword and belt, '"ashioned much like the one he had lost
in the rescue of his friend. With it was a genial letter
from Hilland, and a little note from Grace, which only
said :

" You will find my name engraved upon the sword
with Warren's. We have added nothing else, for the good
reason that our names mean everything, — more than
could be expressed, were the whole blade covered with
symbols, each meaning a volume. You have taught us
how you will use the weapon, my truest and best of friends.

"Grace Hilland."

210

it I

his SOMBRE KIVALS.

His eyes lingered on the name so lonir that h's auiu

a.sked," Why don't you look at your ffiftr' ""

He slowly drew the long, keen, shiuinp- blade and

saw again the name " Grace Hilland." and for a time he

aw nothing e se. Suddenly he turned the sword and on

h^^rd'saSly'^ ^" " ^^"^^ ^^^^-^'" -^ ^« «'-ok
tienttf ''^' what ia the matter/" his aunt asked impa-

^othfrY" ,^^^"'\ *^«J ^^« their nam.s engraved to-
gether ? he muttered slowly. " It's a bad omen. See a

Tier '" oT" l^ t frr • \ "^^h '^^y ^'-d been to-
gether. O, I wish HiUand could io kept out of the

" ^^f ^ j*^ 'f' i^^^^'^'" began his aunt, irritably • « you
men who don't belieye anything are always the ;ictTm8
of superstition. Bad omen, indeed ! " ^

" Well, I suppose I am a fool : but a strancre chill at
heart struck me for which I can't account f'' and he
sprang np and paced the floor uneasily. « Wei " he con-
tmued " I would bury it in my own^hear^ rather than

be^to:et^e^' ThCnh^ri'^' ' "^^^ *^^^^ — b^d
tnl 1 if ^; u ^® ^""^^i^ "P ^gai^ a'^d said, "Beauti-

ful a^ It IS, It may haye to do some stern work Grace-
work tar remote from your nature. All I ask' is that it

rL^lrrr.e''"'^"'/^' ^^^^.^^^^ again/ rwl^^hthad
not that strange, cursed presentiment "

Sru^^!''''^ ' ^ ''^''^'" '^"^ ^^^ i^*«"ch a mood, and
on Christmas morning, too !

h«l'n?.^*^'J''?*^ what I don't like about it-it's not my
habit to indulge su^ fancies, to say the least. Come
what may, however, ( . -V te the .vord to her service

7n^ l' •. T''^'''^ ''"^ "^'^^ ' " ^""^ be kissed her name
and laid the weapon reverently aside

" You are morbid this morning. Go to the door and

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

211

Graham felt that it was weak to entertain such impres-
sions as liad mastered him, and hastened out There,
pawing the frozen ground, was a horse that satisfied even
liis fastidious eye. There was not a white hair in the
coal-black coat. In his enthusiasm he forgot his hat,
and led the beautiful creature up and down, observing
with exultation his perfect action, clean-cut limbs, and
deep, broad chest.

" Brinir mo a bridle," he said to the man in attendance
"and my hat."
A moment later he had mounted.
" Breakfast is getting cold," cried his aunt from the win-
dow, delighted, nevertheless, at the appreciation of her gift.
" This horse is breakfast and dinner both," he shouted
as he galloped down the path.

Then to the old lady's horror, he dashed through the
trees and shrubbery, took a picket fence in a flying leap,
and circled round the house till Mrs. Mayburn's head was
dizzy. Then she saw him coming toward the door as if
he would ride through the house : but the horse stopped
almost instantly, and Graham was on his feet, handing
the bridle to the gaping groom.

" Take good care of him," he said to the man, " for he
is a jewel*

"Alford," exclaimed his aunt, "could you make no
better return for my gift than to frighten me out of my
wits ? "

" Dear aunty, you are too well supplied ever to lose
them, for so slight a cause. I wanted to show the per-
fection of your gift, and how well it may serve me. You
don't imagine that our cavalry evolutions are all per-
formed on straight turnpike roads, do you ? Now you
know that you have given me an animal that can carry
me wherever horse can go, and so have added much to
my chance of safety. I can skim out of a milee like a bird
with Mayburn — for that shall be his name-— where a
blundering, stupid horse would break my neck, if I wasn't

r '

212

HIS SOMBRE EIVALS.

Shot. 1 saw at once from his action what he could rlo
^^w" n" '"!l\^u''' -7?" set such a creature V' ''"

your chances of safety »" '^ *°

"Certainiy. That's what I waa trying to show vou
Did you not see how he would wind in «nd ™,T ^
the trees and shrubbery-how hewouHl^^ T°°'
lightly without any floiindei™!'/ TK • • . '' ^^'^'"'
dftferfnce among hL^Zii Jn.^'sor, rrsiTpl
awkward heavy, and stupid; others are vkious more

ZZt attT "-f ™d.-r'^--y cireumsrne;. bu
tai you at a pmch. This horse is thorough-bred and
wdl,^ broken. You must have paid a small fortune for

•' il7^' '"^"^l^ '°°°''y *''^' ^^"^fi^'l "e better."
, ,/.' V- ^ yo" t« say so. Well, take the full comfort
of thinking how much you have added to mv comfort

done LT woi^d J^"-^«'"=^ That gallop hfs Teldy
aone me a world of good, and given me an appetite I'll
have another turn across the colintry after brSast and
throw all evil presentiments to the winds" '

Why now you talk sense. When you are in anv

more such moods as this morning I shall prescr be W^

Before New Year's day Graham had installed his aunt

thTnke^^f" TT ^^'j™""« "'-^ HillandsUnd had
thanked his friends for their gift in a way that proved U

to be app-eciated. Mrs. Mayburn had been cautioned
never to speak of what he noV regarded Ta foohsh ami
u-;accountable presentiment, arising, perhaps f^m a cer
GrTce Ts wr°''^l!"^^ 1 iiiind^in^U tLt reTated to

Sde out with Hil'?fn^"'*/p ^"''^ groom, and Graham
rode out with HiUand and Grace several times before his

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS,

213

leave expired. Even at that day, when the city was fulJ
of gallant men and fair women, many turned to look as
the three passed down the avenue.

Never had Grace looked so radiantly beautiful as when
in the brilliant sunshine of a Washington winter and in
the frosty air she galloped over the smooth, hard roads.
Hilland was proud of the almost wondering looks of ad-
miration that everywhere greeted her, and too much in
love to note that the ladies thej^ met looked at him in
much the same way. The best that was said of Graham
was that he looked a soldier, every inch of him, and that
he rode the finest horse in the city, as if he had been
brought up in a saddle. He was regarded by society as
reserved, unsocial, and proud ; and at two or three re-
ceptions, to which he went because of the solicitation of
his friends, he piqued the vanity of more than one hand-
some woman by his courteous indifference.

" What is the matter with your husband's friend ? " a
reigning belle asked Grace. " One might as well try to
make an impression on a paving-stone."

" I think your illustration unhappy," was her quiet re-
ply. " I cannot imagine Mr. Graham at any one's feet."

" Not even your own ? " was the malicious retort.

" Not even my own," and a flash of anger from her
dark eyes accompanied her answer.

Still, wherever he went, he awakened interest in all na-
tures not dull or sodden. He was felt to be a presence.
There was a consciousness of power in his very attitudes;
and one felt instinctively that he was far removed from
the commonplace, — that he had had a history which made
him diflerent from other men.

But before this slight curiosity was kindled to any
extent, much less satisfied, his leave of absence expired ;
and, with a sense of deep relief, he prepared to say fare-
well. His friends expected to see him often in the city ;
he knew they would see him but seldom, if at all. He
bad made his visit with his aunt, and she understood him-

214

I !- I : i^^

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

ii 111

V .

■ ■

I
I

lond to make an appeal that was solemn .^d almo t ms

'No, Graham," was Hilland's emphatic reDlv " I'n^f «.

^ir.l ;. ^'','^ ^ ^'^ ^^ "^ore here." ^

With Grace he took a short ride in the mornincr whilo

Jr.Ti I • ? »'y?- -^^ almost seemed as if Grace nndpr

hel "an/l1^"^J^;^^ ^^^^ ^^-^ mantTed L h -
cneeks and she abounded m smiles and repartee a look
of deep sadness rarely left her eyes ^^P^^^ee^ a look

Once she ^aid abruptly, " Alford von will «^ j

us often bpforA fi.o « \. *^ • ^""'^^' 3'ou will come and see

wiii\4Torme^rti^%s--^-t radfef ^--t;^^

short, abrupt laugh. "I wish I could br^ak ^^it^k^t "
In answer to a look of surprise he continued "Could rS.
y.om. father procure an ord'er that would keep him n th
" I . ^% '^<'"''' ''ave to obey orders." ^

of tel's toVertef "' J^,";/"' *"%T " '^^'^ "^^"^
evervthincr Z,tw ■ I ^ "? "'*• ^ ^^ve thought of

Sfn'fc s^rin^"""' """''' " ^^* <"• ^^"'"g ^^i^egi"
th^'onThT .fubje'ct' ■" ^^''^ ^" "'^' ^ -=-" -3^ ^^ ^ bro-

ord;aroTtS:wt\tt?nfTto'^^ *"h^\'° ™'^« *"«
have succeeded ^ T^!:^ hTe'ttTr'g^o'd S„rUT
ren, :n h.s impetuous, chivalrous feelinrwouH have S*"

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

215

into it unadvisedly, hastily ; and before this /"ig^^^-
1 can't even think of it," she said with a shudder. ^ But
years have passed since your influence guided him into a
wiser and more useful course, and think how much ot the
time I have been able to be with him ! And it has all
been due to you, Alford. But the war seems no nearer
its end. It rather assumes a larger and more threatening
aspect. Why do not men think «f us poor women before

they 2:0 to war ? " ,

"You think, then, that even your influence cannot keep

him from the field ? " . • • 4. t

" No, it could not. Indeed, beyond a certain point i
dare not exert it. I should be dumb before questions
already asked, 'Why should I shrink when other hus-
bands do not ? What would be said of me here ? What
by my comrades in the regiment ? What would your
brave father think, though he might acquiesce? Nay,
more, what would my wife think in her secret heart ?
Alas ! I find I am not made of such stern stuff as are some
women. Pride and military fame could not sustain me it

—if— "

«' Do not look on the gloomy side, Grace. Hilland will

come out of it all a major-general."'

" I don't know, I don't know. T do kftow that he
will be often in desperate danger ; what a dread certainty
that is for me ! 0, I wish you could be always near him ;
and yet 'tis a selfish wish, for you would not count the

cost to yourself."

" No, Grace ; I've sworn that on the sword you gave

"I mio-ht have known as much." Then she added
earnestly? " Believe me, if you should fall it would also
embitter my life."

" Yes, you would grieve sincerely ; but there would be
an infinite difterence, an infinite diff'erence. One ques-
tion however, is settled beyond recall. If my life can
serve you or Hilland, no power shall prevent my giving

216

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

" Yes, Alford, one thing more. Once I misjudcred yon
forgive me ; and she caused her horse to sprino- into a
gallop resolving that no commonplace words should fol-
r^If ^'^ ^^ "P?^ a conversation that had touched the
most sacred feelings and impulses of each heart

^ or some reason there was a shadow over their i.atin-
early i" the evening, for Graham was to ride towLd the
front wi h the dawn. Even Hilland's genial spirits could
not wholly dissipate it. Graham made heroic efforts bu
he was oppressed with a despondency which was well-
mgh overwhelming. He felt that he was becoming un-
manned, and in bitter self-censure resolved to remain
I u k' f^°^^^^<^ ??<^ij the end came, as he believed
would be the case with him before the year closed.

Altord, remember your promise. We all may need
you yet, were his aunt's last words in the gray of the
morning. & j "* ^-^c

CHAPTER XXVI.

AN IMPROVISED PICTURE GALLERY.

-JY/rUCH to Graham's satisfaction, his regiment, soon
i:Iir iT ^V-""^^ '*' ^^' ^^d^red into the Shenan-
?h«f fiimf^' ^"^^^^^ «Tf rough, dangerous picket duty
that fully accorded with his mocd. Even Hilland could

^^fF'A\^:Z' ^:T ^'"^ '^^^^ ^'^dhe explained to
his friend that the o her officers were taking their leaves

A.f 'Tif' ^'^\^^' ^^ *^'^' ^^"«<^ perform their duties.
And so the winter passed uneventfully away in a cheer-
ful m erchange of letters. Graham found that the front
agreed with him better than Washington, and that his

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

217

pulse resumed its former even beat. A dash at a Con
federate picket post on a stormy night was far more tran-
duillizing than an evening in Hilland's luxurious rooms
With the opening of the spring campaign Hilland
joined his regiment, and was eager to remove by his cour-
acre and activity the slightest impression, if any existed,
that he was disposed to shun dangerous service. There
was no such impression, however; and he was most cor-
dially welcomed, for he was a great favourite witn both

officers and men.

During the weeks that followed, the cavalry was called
upon to do heavy w ork and severe fighting ; and the two
friends became more conspicuous than ever for their gal-
lantry. They seemed, however to bear charmed lives, for,
while many fell and were wounded, they escaped un-
harmed. , . . e n LL

At last the terrific and decisive campaign ot Crettys-
bur^ opened; and from the war-wasted and guerilla-in-
fested regions of Virginia the Northern troops found
themselves marching through the friendly and populous
North. As the cavalry brigade entered a thriving village
in Pennsylvania the people turned out en masse and gave
them more than an ovation. The troopers were tired,
hungry, and thirstv , and, since from every doorway was
offered a boundless hospitality, the column came to a halt.
The scene soon developed into a picturesque military pic-
nic Young maids and venerable matrons, grey-bearded
fathers, shy, blushing girls, and eager-eyed children all
vied with each other in pressing upon their de nders
every delicacy and substantial viand that their town
could furnish at the moment. A pretty miss of sixteen,
with a peach-like bloom in her cheeks, might be seen flit-
ting here and there among the bearded troopers with a
tray bearing goblets of milk. When they were emptied
she would fly back and lift up white arms to her mother
for more, and the almost equally blooming matron, smil-
incr from the window, would fill the glasses again to the

hi I

218

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

brim. The map;nates of the village with their wives wer*
foremost in the work, and were passing to and fro with
great baskets of sandwiches, while stalwart men and boys
were bringing from neighbouring wells and pumps cool,
delicious water for the horses. How immensely th(i
troopers enjoyed it all ! No scowling faces and cold looks
here. All up and down the street, holding bridle-reins
over their arms or leaning against the flanks of their
horses, they feasted as they had not done since their last
Thanksgiving day at home. Such generous cups of coffee,
enriched with cream almost too thick to flow from the
capacious pitchers, and sweetened not only with snow-
white sugar, but also with the smiles of some graci(jus
woman, perhaps motherly in appearance, perhaps so fair
and young that hearts beat faster under the weather-
stained cavalry jackets.

" How pretty it all is ! " said a familiar voice to Gra-
ham, as he was dividing a hugh piece of cake with his
pet May burn ; and Hilland laid his hand on his friend's
shoulder.

" Ah, Hilland, seeing you is the best part of this ban-
quet a la militaire. Yes, it is a heavenly change after
the dreary land we've been marching and flghting in. It
makes me feel that 1 have a country, and that it is
worth all it may cost."

" Look, Graham, — look at that little fairy creature in
white muslin, talking to that great bearded pard of a ser-
geant. Isn't that a picture ? O, I wish Grace, with her
eye for picturesque efl'ects, could look upon this scene."

" Nonsense, Hilland ! as if she would look at anybody
but you ! See that white-haired old woman leading that
exquisite little girl to yonder group of soldiers. See how
they all doff their hats to her. There's another picture
for you."

Hilland's magnificent appearance soon attracted half a
dozen village belles about him, each offering some dainty;
and one — a black eyed witch a little bolder than the

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

219

others— offered to fasten a rose from her hair in his but-
ton-hole. ,

He entered into the spirit of the occasion with all the
7,est of his old student days, professed to he delighted
with the favour as she stood on tiptoe to reach the lapi)et
of his coat ; and then he stooped down and pressed his
lips to the fraj,n-ant petals, assuring the blushing little co-
([uette, meanwhile, that it was the next best thing to her

own red lips.

How vividly in after years Graham would recall him,
as he stood there, his handsome head thrown back, look-
ing the ideal of an old Norse viking, laughing and chat-
ting with the merry, innocent girls around him, his deep
blue eyes emitting mirthful gleams on every side 1 Ac-
cording to his nature, Graham drew off to one side and
watched the scene with a smile, as he had viewed similar
ones far back in the years, and far away in Germany.
He saw the ripples of laughter that his friend's words
provoked, recognised the old, easy grace, the light,
French wit that was wholly free from the French
double entendre, and he thought, " Would that Grace
could see him now, and she would fall in love with him
anew,for her nature is too large for petty jealousy at a
scene like that. O Hilland, you and the group around
you make the finest picture of this long improvised gal-
lery of pictures."

Suddenly there was a loud report of a cannon from a
hill above the village, and a shell shrieked over their
heads. Hilland's laughing aspect changed instantly. He
seemed almost to gather the young girls in his arms as he
hurried them into the nearest doorway, and then wdth a
bound reached Graham, who held his horse, vaulted into
the saddle, and dashed up the street to his men who were
standing in line.

Graham sprang lightly on his horse, for in the scenes
resulting from the kaleidoscopic change that had taken
place he would be more at home.

WWWWWP WIILI. I XIM

220

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

Mount he shouted ; and the order, repeated up ana
down the street changed the jolly, feasting troopers of a
moment since into veterans who would sit like eque.^r ian
statues, if so commanded, though a hundred guns thun-
dered against them.

From the farther end of the village came the wild veil
characteristic of the cavalry charges of the Confederates
while shell after shell shrieked and exploded where had
just been unaftected gayety and hospitality "

The first shot had cleared the street of all except the
Union soldiers; and those whodared to peep from window
or door saw, with dismay, that the defenders whom thev
had so honoured and welcomed were retreating at a wal-
lop from the Rebel charge. ^

They were soon undeceived, however, for at a galloD
the national cavalry dashed into an open field n4r bv
formed with the precision of machinery, and by the time
the Rebel charge had well-nigh spent itself in the sabring
or capture of a few tardy troopers, Hilland with platoon
after platoon was emerging upon the street again at a
sharp trot, which soon developed into a furious gallop as
he dashed against his assailants; and the pretty little co-
quette, bold not only in love but in war, saw tvom a win-
dow herideal knight with her red rose upon his breast
leading a charge whose thunder caused the very earth to
tremble ; and she clapped her hands and cheered so loudlv
as he approached that he looked up, saw her and for an
instant a sunny smile passed over the visage that had be-
come so stern. Then came the shock of battle

Graham's company was held in reserve, but for some
reason his horse seemed to grow unmanagable ; and sabres
had scarcely clashed before he, with the blade on which
was engraved " Grace Hilland," was at her husband's side
striking blows which none could resist. The enemy could
not stand the furious onset, and gave way slowlv sul-
lenly, and at last precipately. The tide of battle swept
beyond and away from the village ; and its street became
quiet again, except for the groans of the wounded

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

' 221

Mangled horses, mangled men, some dead, some dying,
and others almost rejoicing in wounds that would secure
for them such gentle nurses, strewed the street that had
been the scene of merry festivity.

The pretty little belle never saw her tawny, bearded
knight again. She undoubtedly married and tormented
some well-to-do dry-goods clerk ; but a vision of a man of
heroic mould, with a red rose upon his breast, smiling up
to her just as he was about to face what might be death,
will thrill her feminine soul until she is old and gray.

That night Graham and Hilland talked and laughed
over the whole affair as they sat by a camp-fire.

" It has all turned out as usual," said Graham, ruefully.
' You won a victory and no end of glory ; I a reprimand
from my colonel."

" If you have received nothing worse than a reprimand
you are fortunate," was Hilland's response. "The idea
of any horse becoming unmanageable in your hands !
The colonel understands the case as well as I do, and
knows that it was your own ravenous appetite for a fight
that became unmanageable. But I told him of the good
service you rendered, and gave him the wink to wink al-
so. You were fearfully rash to-day, Graham. You were
not content to fight at my side, but more than once were
between me and the enemy. What the devil makes you
so headlong in a fight, — ^you that are usually so cool and
self-controlled ? "

Graham's hand rested on a fair woman's name engraved
upon his sword, but he replied lightly, " When you teach
me caution in a fight I'll learn."

" Well, excuse me, old fellow, I'm going to write to
G'ace. May not have a chance very soon again. I say,
Graham, we'll have the battle of the war in a day or two."

" I know it," was the quiet response.

" And we must win it, too," Hilland continued, " or the
Johnnies will help themselves to Washington, Baltimore,
Philadelphia, and perhaps even New York. Every man

222

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

. H

i I

.>iK)uld ncrvo liimself to do the work of two. As I was
saying, I shall wiite to Grace that your horse ran aw;iv
with you and became uncontrollable until you were di-
rectly in front of nie, when you seemed to manage him
admirably, and struck blows worthy of the okl Frendi
duellist who killed a man every morning before breakfast.
1 tinnk she'll understand your sudden and amazin<dy
poor hoi,' nanship as well as I do." °

She did, and far better.

Hilland's prediction proved true. The decisive battle
ot Gettysburg was fought, and its bloody field marked
the highest point reached by the crimson tide of the Re-
bel ion. From Cemetery Ridge it ebbed slowly and sul-
lenly away to the south.

The brigade, in which were the friends, passed through
another fearful baptism of fire in the main conflict and
the pursuit which followed, and were in Virginia again
but with ranks almost decimated. Graham and Hilland
still seemed to bear charmed lives, and, in the brief pause
in operations that followed, wrote cheerful letters to those
so diear, now again at their sea-side resort. Grace, who
for days had been so pale, and in whose dark eyes lurked
an ever-present dread of which she could not speak, smiled
again. Her husband wrote in exuberant spirits over the
victory, and signed himself " Lieutenant-Colonel." Gra-
ham, m his letter, said jestingly to his aunt that he had
at last attained his " majority," and that she might there-
fore look for a little more discretion on his part.

" How the boys are coming on ! " exulted the old ma-
jor. " They will both wear the stars yet. But confound
it all, why did Meade let Lee escape ? He might have
finished the whole thing up."

Alas ! the immeasurable price of liberty was not vet
paid. "^

One morning Hilland's and Graham's regiments were
ordered out on what was deemed but a minor reconnais-
sance : and the friends, r trong, started in hlcxh

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

223

Bplrits with their sadly shrunken forces But they knew
that the remaining handfuls were worth more than tull
ranks of untrained, unseasoned men. All grew callous,
if not indifferent, to the vicissitudes of war ; and while
they missed regretfully many familiar faces, the thought
that they had rendered the enemy's lines more meagre

was consoling. , „ , , ^ l lu

Graham and HiUand rode much of the long day togeth-
er They went over all the past, and dwelt upon the
fact that their lives had been so different from what they

^^" By "the 'way, Graham," said Hilland, abruptly. " it
seems strange to mo that you are so indifferent to women.

Don't you expect ever to marry V* ,. , „ t xi i.*.

Graham burst into a laugh as he repUed, I thought
we had that subject out years ago, under the apple tree,
—that night, you remember, when you talked like a
school-girl till morning— " , ,.„ n n

" And you analyzed and philosophized till long after

"^^" Well you knew then that Grace had spoiled me for
every one else ; and she's been improving ever since.
When I find her equal I'll marry her, if I can.

"Poor, forlorn old bachelor, and ever will be ! cried
Hilland " You'll never find the equal of Grace Hilland

" I think I shall survive, Hilland. My appetite is good.
As I live there are some Confederates in yonder clump
of trees;'' and he puts spurs to his horse on a little private
reconnoissance. The horsemen vanished, in the thick
woods beyond, the moment they saw that they were per-
ceived ; and they were regarded as prowhng guerillas

"^ That night they bivouacked in a grove where two roads
intersected, threw out pickets and patrols, and kindled
their fires, for they did not expect to strike the enemy in
force till some time on the following dav.

HIS SOMBRE R17/LS.

CHAPTER XXVII

A DREAM.

/^RAHAM and his friend had hidden each other an
\J early and cordial good-night, for tlie entire force
under the command of Hilland's colonel was to resume
Its march with the dawn. Although no immediate dan-
ger was apprehended, caution had been taught by lonL'
experience The detachment was compariUvely small
and It was far removed from any support ; and while n(i
hints ot the pres;ence of the enemy in formidable numbers
had been obtained during the day, what was beyond
them could not be known with any certainty. Therefore
the horses had been carefully rubbed down, and the
saddles replaced. In many instances the bridles also had
been put on again, with the bit merely slipped from the
inouth. In all cases they Iny. or hung within reach of the
tired troopers who one alter another, were dropping off
mto the cat-hke slumber of a cavalry outpost

As the fires died down, the shadows in the grove grew
deeper and more obscure, and all was quiet, except when
the hours came round for the relief of pickets and the
men who were patrolling the roads. Graham remembered
the evanescent group of Confederates toward whom he
had spurred during the day. He knew that they were
in a hostile region, and that their movements must be
already well known to the enemy, if strong in their
vicinity. J herefore all his instincts as a soldier were on
the alert. It so happened that he was second in com-
mand of his regiment on this occasion, and he felt the
responsibility. He had been his own groom on their
arrival at the grove, and his faithful charger Maybwrn

HIS SOMRRE P IVALS.

225

now stood sa<Ml(Hl and bridled by Ids side, as he reclined
lialf dozing, again thinking deeply, by the low flickering,
blaze of his fire. He had almost wholly lost tlie gloomy
presentiments that had oppressed him at the beginning of
tlie year. Both he an<l nilland had passed tliiough so
many tlungers that a sense of security was begotten.
Still more potent had been the influence of his active
out-of-door life. His nerves were braced, while his sol-
dier's routine and the strong excitement of the campaign
had become a preoccu})ying habit.

Only those who brood in idleness over the misfortunes
and disappointments of life are destroyed by them.

He had not seen Grace for over half a year ; and
while she was and ever would be his fair ideal, he could
now think of her with the quietude akin to that of the de-
vout Catholic who worships a saint removed from him at a
heavenly distance. The wisdom of this remoteness be-
came more and more clear to him ; for despite every
power that he could put forth as a man, there was a
deeper, stronger manhood within him which acknowledged
this woman as sovereign. He foresaw that his lot would
be one of comparative exile, and he accepted it with a
calm and inflexible resolution.

Hearing a step he started up hastily, and saw Hilland
approaching from the opposite side of his fire.

''Ah, Graham, glad you are not asleep," said his friend,
throwing himself down on the leaves, with his head rest-
ing on his hands. " Put a little wood on the fire, please ;
I'm chilly in the night air, and the dews are so confound-
edly heavy."

" Why, Hilland, what's the matter ? " Graham asked,
as he complied. " You are an ideal cavalry-man at a nap,
and can sleep soundly with one eye open. It has seemed
to me that you never lost a wink when there was a
chance for it, even under fire."

" Why are you not sleeping ? "
Oh, I have been, after my fashion, dozing and think-

T nl^t«Trt-tra Ttroa r%yr\

- CVJL TT C* Y 13 TT LtO Sfcli

r\ lirl

\J TT Jt,

,AM

i3-;:..„„.-

226

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

lii

over, I think it behooves us to be on the alert. We are-
a good way from support if hard pressed ; and the enemy
must be in force somewhere to the west of us."

" I've thought as much myselt. My horse is ready as
yours is, and I left an orderly holding him. I su[)pose
you will laugh at me, but I've had a cursed dream ;
and it has shaken me in spite of my reason. After all,
how often our reason fails us at a pinch ! I wish it was
morning and we were on the road. I've half a mind to

fo out with the patrols and get my blood in circulation,
would were it not that I feel that I should be with my
men."

" Where's your colonel ? "

** The old war-dog is sleeping like a top. Nothing over
disturbs him, much less a dream. I say, Graham, I made
a good selection in him, didn't I ? "

" Yes, but he'll be promoted soon, and you will be in
command What's more, I expect to see a star on your
shoulder in less than six months."

" As I feel to-night, I don't care a picayune for stars or
anything else relating to the cursed war. I'd give ray
fortune to be able to kiss Grace and tell her I'm well.

" You are morbid, Hilland. You will feel different to-
morrow, especially if there's a chance for a charge."

" No doubt, no doubt. The shadow of this confo jnded
grove seems as black as death, and it oppresses me. Why
should I without ai)parent cause have had such a dream?"

"*Your supper and fatigue may have been the cause.
If you don't mind, tell me this grisly vision."

" While you laugh at me as an old woman, — you, in
whom reason ever sits serene and dispassionate on her
throne, except when you get into a fight."

" My reason's throne is often as rickety as a two-legged
stool. No, I won't laugh at you. There's not a braver
man in the service than you. If you feel as you say,
there's some cause for it ; and yet so complex is our or-
ganism that both cause and effect may not be worthy of
very giave consideration, as I have hinted."

fir;

HIS SOMKllE RIVALS.

227

" Think what you please, this was my dream. T had
made my dispositions for the night, and went to sleep as
a matter of course, I had not slept an hour by my watch
—I looked at it afterward — when I seemed to hear some
one moaning and crying, and I thought I started up wide
awake, and I saw the old library at home — the room you
know so well. Every article of furniture was before me
more distinctly than I can see any object now, and on the
rug before the open fire Grace was crouching, while she
moaned and wrung her hands and cried as if her heart was
breaking. She was dressed in black — 0, how white her
hands and neck appeared against that mournful black !-—
and, strangest of all, her hair fell around her snowy white
face, like a silver veil. I started forward to clasp her in my
arms, and then truly awoke, for there was nothing befr-e
me but my drooping horse, a few red coals of my expiri*^^
fire, and over all the black, black shadow of the accursed
O for sunlight ! for a gale of wind, that I

grove

might breathe freely again ! " and the powerful man
sprang to his feet and threw open his coat at his breast.
As he ceased speaking, the silence and darkness of the
grove did seem ominous and oppressive, and Graham's old
wretched presentiment of Christmas morning returned, but
he strove with all the ingenuity in his power to reason
his friend out of his morbid mood, as he termed it. He
kindled his fire into a cheerful blaze, and Hilland cowered
and shivered over it ; then looking up abruptly, he said,
" Graham, you and I accepted the belief long ago that
man was only highly organized matter. I must ad-
mit to you that ray mind has often revolted at this be-
lief ; and the thought that Grace was merely of the earth
has always seemed to me sacrilegious. She never was
what you would call a religious girl ; but she once had a
quiet, simple faith in a God and a hereafter, and she ex-
pected to see her mother again. I fear that our view3
have troubled her exceedingly ; although with that rare re-
serve in a womanj she never interfered with one's strong

228

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

i«|i|

mil

personal convictions. The shallow woman tries to sec
everybody right, with the weighty reason. ' O, because
It 18 so ; all good people say it is so.' I fear our views
have unsettled hers also. 1 wish they had not ; indeed I
wish I could believe somewhat as she did.

" Once, only once, she spoke to me with a strange bit-
terness, but it revealed the workings of her mind. I, per-
haps, was showing a little too much eagerness in my
spirit and preparation for active service, and she broke out
abruptly, ' O, yes, you and Alford can rush into scenes of
carnage very complacently. You believe that if the bul-
let IS only sure enough, your troubles are over forever
as Alford once said. I suppose you are right, for you
learned men have studied into things as we poor women
never can. If it's true, those who love as we do should
die together.' It has often seemed that her very love-
nay, that mine- -was an argument against our belief
That a feeling so pure, vivid and unselfish, so devoid of
mere earthiness— a feeling that apparently contains with-
in itself the very essence of immortality,— can be in-
stantly blotted out as a flame is extinguished, has become
a terrible thought. Grace Hilland is worthy of an im-
mortal life, and she has all the capacity for it. It's not
her lovely form and face that I love so much as the lovely
something- call it soul, spirit, or what v^ou choose— that
will maintain her charm through all tte changes from
youth to feeble and withered age. How can I be sure
that the same gentle, womanly spirit may not exist
after the final change we call death, and that to those
worthy of immortal life the boon is not given ? Reason
is a grand thing, and I know we once thought we settled
this question ; but reason fails me to-night, or else love
and the intense longings of the heart teach a truer and
leeper philosophy —

" You are silent, Graham. You think me morbid,—
that wishes are fathers of my thoughts. Well, I'm not
[ honestly don't ' low what the truth is. I only wish

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

229

to-night that I had the simple belief in a re-union with
Grace which she has had with regard to her mother. I
fear we have unsettled her faith ; not that we ever urged
our views, — indeed we have scarcely ever spoken of them,
— but there has been before her the ever-present and si-
lent force of example. It was natural for her to believe
that those were right in whom she most believed ; and
I'm not sure we are right, — I'm not sure. I've not been
sure for a long time."

" My dear Warren you are not well. Exposure to all
sorts of weather in this malarial country is telling on
you and I fear your feelings to-night are the prelude of a
fever. You shall stay and sleep by my fire, and if I hear
the slightest suspicious sound I will waken you. You need
not hesitate, for I intend to watch till morning, whether
you stay or not."

" Well, Graham, I will. T wish to get through this hor-
rible night in the quickest way possible. But I'll first go
and bring my horse here, so the poor orderly can have
a nap."

He soon returned and lay down close to the genial fire,
and Graham threw over him his own blankets.

" What a good, honest friend you are, Graham ! — too
honest to say some hollow words favouring my doubts of
my doubt and unbelief. If it hadn't been for you, I
should have been dead long ago. In my blind confidence,
I should have rushed into the war, and probably should
have been knocked on the head at Bull Run. How many
happy months I've passed with Grace since then ! — how
many since you virtually gave your life for me last au-
tumn ! You made sure that I took a man's, not a fool's,
part in the war. O, Grace snd I know it all and appre-
ciate it ; and — and — Alford, if I should fall, I commend
Grace to your care."

" Hilland, stop, or you will unman me. This accursed
^^rove is haunted I half believe ; and were I in command
1 would order ' Boots and Saddles' to be sounded at once.

' - JH ' ' J i ' lMJ

230

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

Ill f

t '

There, sleep, Warren, and in the morning you will he,
your own grand self. Why speak of anytiiing I could do
for you and Grace ? How could I serve myself in any
surer way ? As school-girls say, ' I won't speak to you
again.' I'm going to prowl around a little, and see that
all is right," ar.d he disappeared among the shadowy b(*lca
of the trees."

When he returned from his rounds his friend was sleep-
ing, but uneasily, with sudden fits and starts.

He is surely going to have a fever," Graham muttered.
" I'd give a year's |)ay if we were safe back in camp." Ho
stood before the tire with folded arms, watching his bry-
hood's friend, his gigantic shadow stretching away 'i^\o
the obscurity as unwavering as those of the tree-trunks
around him. His lips wei • compressed, He sou;>at to
make his will as inflexible as his form. He would not think
of Grace, of danger to her or Hilland ; and yet, by some
horrible necromancy of the hour and place, the scene in
Hilland's dream would arise before him with a vividness
that was overawing, In the sighing of the wind through
the foliage, he seemed to hear the poor wife's moans.

"0," he muttered, " would that I could die a thousand
deaths to preven a scene like that ! '

When would the interminable inght pass ? At last '
looked at his watch and saw that the dawn could not j
far distant. How still everything had become ! The
men were in their deepest siumber. Even the wind had
died out, and the silence was to his overwrought mind
like the hush of expectancy.

This silence was at last broken by a shot on the road
leading to the west. Other shots followed .n quick suc-
cession.

Hilland was on his feet instantly, " We're attacked,"
he shouted, and was about to spring upon his horse
when Graham grasped his hand in both of his as he said,
** In the name of Grace Hilland, be prudent."

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

231

Then both the men were in the saddle, Hilland dash-
ing toward his own command, and each shouting,
"Awake! Mount!"

At the same instant the bugle from headquarters rang
through the grove, giving the well-known order of "Boots
and Saddles."

In place of the profound stillness of a moment before,
there were a thousand discordant sounds, — the trampling
of feet, jingling of sabres, the champling of bits by
aroused, restive horses, that understood the bugle call as
well as the men, hoarse, rapid orders of officers, above all
which in the distance could be heard Hilland's clarion
voice.

Again and again from headquarters the brief, musical
strains of the bugle echoed through the gloom, each one
giving to the veterans a definite command. Within four
minutes there was a line of battle on the western edge of
the grove, and a charging column was in the road leading
to the west, down which the patrols were galloping at a
headlong pace. Pickets were rushing in, firing as they
came. To the uninitiated it might have seemed a scene
of dire confusion. In fact, it was one of perfect order
and discipline. Even in the darkness each man knew
just what to do and where to go, as he heard the bugle
calls, and the stern, brief, supplementary orders of the
officers.

Graham found himself on the line of battle at the right
of the road, and the sound that followed close upon the
sharp gallop of the patrol was ominous indeed. It was
the rushing thunderous sound of a heavy body of cavalry,
— too heavy, his ears soon foretold him to promise equal
battle.

The experienced colonel recognised the fact at the same
moment, and would not leave his men in the road to
meet the furious onset. Again, sharp, quick, and deci-
sive as the vocal order had been, the bugle rang out the
command for a change of position. Its strains had not

•■■MM

232

flIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

(f u

ceased when the officers were repeating the order all
down the column that had been formed in the road for a
charge, and scarcely a moment elapsed before the western
pike was clear, and faced by a line of battle a little back
among the trees. The Union force would now ask noth-
ing better than that the enemy should charge down that
road within point-blank range.

If the Nationils were veterans they were also dealing
witi 7 • U' ans who were masters of the situation in their
overv . .iiing force and their knowledge of the compara-
tive insignificance of their opponents, whose numbers had
been quite accurately estimated the day before.

The patrols were already within the Union lines and at
their proper places when the Confederate column emerged
into the narrow open space before the grove. Its advance
had subsided into a sharp trot ; but, instead of charging
by column or platoon, the enemy deployed to right and
left with incredible swiftness. Men dismownted and
were in line almost instantly, their grey forms looking
phantom-like in the grey dawn that tinged the east.

The vigilant colonel was as prompt as they, and at the
first evidence of their tactics the bugle resounded, and the
line of battle facing the road which led westward wheeled
at a .gallop through the open trees and formed at right
angles with the road behind the first line of battle.
Again there was a bugle call. The men in both lines dis-
mounted instantly, and as their horses were being led to the
rear by those designated for the duty, a Union volley was
poured into the Confederate line that had scarcely formed,
causing many a gap. Then the first Union line retired
behind the second, loading as they went, and, with the
ready instinct of old fighters, putting trees between them-
selves and the swiftly advancing foe while forming a third
line of battle. From the second Union lines a deadly vol-
ley blazed in the dim obsc .lity of the woods. It had no
perceptible efiect in checking the impetuous onset of the
enemy, who merely returned the fire as they advanced

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

233

R'ilS

The veteran colonel, with cool alertness, saw that he
far outnumbered, and that his assailants' tactics
wore to drive him through tiie grove into the open fields,
where his command would be si)eedily dispersed and cap-
tured. His only chance was to run for it and get the
start. Indeed the object of his reconnoissance seemed
ulready accomplished, for the enemy was found to be in
force in that direction. Therefore, as he galloped to the
rear his bugler sounded " Retreat " long and shrilly.

The dim Union lines under the trees melted away as by
magic, and a moment later there was a rush of horses
through the underbrush that fringed the eastern side of
the grove. But some were shot, some sabred, and others
captured before they could mount and extricate them-
selves. The majority, however, of the Union forces
were galloping swiftly away, scattering at first rather
than keeping together, in order to distract the pursuit
which for a time was sharp and deadly. Not a few suc-
cumbed ; others would turn on their nearest pursuer in
mortal combat, which was soon decided in one way or
the other. Graham more than once wheeled and con-
fronted an isolate foe, and the sword bearing the name
of the gentle Grace Hilland was bloody indeed.

All the while his eye was ranging the field for Hilland,
and with his fleet steed, that could soon have carrijed him
beyond all danger, he diverged to the right and left, as
far as their headlong retreat permitted, in his vain search
for his friend.

Suddenly the bugle from the Confederate side sounded

the recall. The enemy halted, fired parting shots, and

retired Briskly over the field, gatheriii| up the wounded

and the prisoners. The Union forces drew together on

a distant eminence, from which the bugle of the colonel

in command was blowing a lively call to rendezvous.

" V/here's Hilland ? " cried Graham, dashing up.

The colonel removed a cigar from his mouth and said,

Haven't seen hira since I ordered the retreat. Don't

C'^

234

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

worry. He 11 be here soon. HiUand is sure to come out
all right Its a way he has. 'Twas rather a rapid
change of base, Major Graham. That the enemy should
have ceased their pursuit so abruptly puzzles n.e Ah
here comes your colonel, and when Hillandputs in an ap-
pearance we must hold a brief council, although I suppose
there is nothing left for us but to make our way back to
camp and report as speedily as possible. I'd like to come
back with a division, and turn the tables on those fellows
1 believe we fought a divis — "

" Hilland ! " shouted Graham, in a voice that drowned
tlie colonel s words, and echoed far and wide.

There was no answer,and the fugitives were nearlyall in

Graham galloped out beyond the last lagging trooper
and with a cry that smote the hearts of those that heard
it he shouted, " Hilland ! " and strained his eyes in every
direction. There was no response,— -no form in view
that resembled his friend.

At wild speed he returned and rode among Hilland's
command. His manner was sc desperate that he drew
all eyes upon him, none seemed able or willing to answer
At last a man said, "I heard his voice just as we were
breaking from that cursed grove, and I've seen or heard
notliing ot him since. I supposed he was on ahead with
the colonel ; " and that was all the information that could
be obtained.

The men looked very downcast, for Hilland was al-
most idolized by them. Graham saw that there was an
eager quest for information among themselves, and he
waited with feverish impatience for further lio-ht • but
nothing could be elicited from officers or privates beyond
the tact that Hilland had been bravely doing his duty up
to the moment when, as one of the captains said " It
was a scramble, each man for himself, and the devil take
the hindmost."

As long as there had been a gleam of hope that Hilland
". , v>=v«,pca vriin luQ leav, x^Laaum aaa been almost be-
Bido himself m his feverish impatience.

-^- <«Wilte«k"

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

235

)me out
9. rapid
should
e. Ah,
1 an ap-
suppose
back to
to come
fellows.

rowned

lyallin.
trooper,
t heard
n every
a view

illand's
e drew
a-nswer.
e were
' heard
id with
t could

ras al-
vas an
md he
it; but
beyond
uty up
d, "It
il take

lilland
ost be-

lle now rode to where the two colonels were standing,
And the senior began rapidly, " Major Graham, we sym-
pathize with you deeply. We all, and indeed the army,
have sustained a severe loss in even the temporary ab-
sence of Lieutenant-Colonel Hilland ; for I will not be-
lieve that worse has happened than a wound and brief
captivity. The enemy has acted peculiarly. I have fears
that they may be flanking us and trying to intercept us
on some parallel road. Therefore I shall order that we
return to camp in the quickest possible time. Good God,
Graham ! don't take it so to heart. You've no proof that
Hilland is dead. You look desperate, man. Come, re-
member that you are a soldier and that Hilland was one
too. We've had to discount such experiences from the
start."

" Gentlemen," said Graham, in a low, concentrated
voice, and touching his hat to the two colonels, " I am
under the command of you both, — one as my superior
officer, the other as leader of the expedition. I ask per ■
mission to return in search of my friend."

" I forbid it," they both cried simultaneously, while
the senior officer continued, "Graham, you are beside
yourself. It would be almost suicide to go back. It
would certainly result in your capture, while there is not
one chance in a thousand that you could do Hilland any
good."

Graham made no immediate reply, but was studying
the ill-omened grove with his glass. After a moment he
said, " I do not think there will be any further pursuit.
The enemy are retiring from the grove. My explanation
of their conduct is this: There is some large decisive
movement in progress, and we were merely brushed out
of the way that we might learn nothing of it. My ad-
vice is that we retain this commanding position, throw
out scouts on every side, and I doubt whether we find
anything beyond a small rear-guard m ten miles of us

.-•i.?_:_ _ i? T >i

230

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

" Your anxiety for your friend warps your judgment,
and it is contrary to my instructions, which was simply
to learn if there was any considerable force of the enemy
in this region. Your explanation of the enemy's conduct
is plausible, and lias already occurred to me as a possi-
bility. If it be the true explanation, all the more reason
that we should return promptly and report what we know
and what we surmise. I shall therefore order ' Retreat '
to be sounded at once."

" And I, Major Graham," said his own colonel, " must
add, that while you have my sympathy, I nevertheless
order you to your place in the march. Rather than per-
mit you to carry out your mad project, I would place you
under arrest."

^ " Gentlemen, I cannot complain of your course, or criti-
cise your military action. You are in a better condition
of mind to judge what is right than I ; and under ordin-
ary circumstances I would submit without a word. But
the circumstances are extraordinary. Hilland has been
my friend since boyhood. I will not remain in suspense
as to his fate ; much less will I leave his wife and friends
in suspense. I know that disobedience of orders in the
face of the enemy is one of the gravest offences, but I must
disobey them, be the consequences what they may."

As he wheeled his horse, liis colonel cried, " Stop him.
He's under arrest ! " But Mayburn, feeling the touch of
the spur, sprang into his fleet gallop, and they might as
well have pursued a bird.

They saw this at once, and the colonel in command

only growled, " this reconnousance. Here we've

lost two of the finest officers in the brigade, as well as
some of our best men. Sound ' Retreat.' "

There was a hesitancy, and a wild impulse among Hil-
land's men to follow Graham to the rescue, but it was
sternly repressed by their ofiicers, and the whole command
Was within a few moments on a sharp trot towards camp.

HTS SOMBRE RIVALS.

237

CHAPTER XXVIII.

ITS FULFILMENT.

aKAHAM soon slackened his pace when he found that
he was not pursued, and as his friends disappeared
he returned warily to the brow of the eminence and
watched their rapid march away from the ill-fated locality.
He rode over the brow of the hill as if he was following
for he had little doubt that the movements of the Union
force were watched. Having tied his horse where he
could not be seen from the grove, he crept back behind a
sheltering bush, and with his glass scanned the scene of
conflict. In the road leading through the grove there
were ambulances removing the wounded. At last these
disappeared, and there wa*i not a living object in sight.
He watched a little longer, and buzzards began to wheel
over and settle upon the battle-ground — sure evidence
that for the time it was deserted.

He hesitated no longer. Mounting his horse he con-
tinued down the hill so as to be screened from any possi-
ble observers, then struck off to his left to a belt of woods
that extended well up to the vicinity of the grove. Mak-
ing his way through this bit of forest, he soon came to
an old wood-road partially grown up with bushes, and
pushed his way rapidly back towards the pomt he wished
to attain. Having approached the limits of the belt of
woods, he tied his horse in a thicket, listened, then stole
to the edge nearest the grove. It appeared deserted.
Crouching along a rail fence with revolver in hand, he at
last reached its fatal shade, and pushing through its fringe
of lower growth, peered cautiously around. Here and
there he saw a lifeless body or a struggling, wounded

238

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

il ,

i i

!!ip
III

horse over which the buzzards hovered, or on which thov
had ah-oa<ly sottled. Dis.u.stin^ as w'as their pre ena^

tUlTr^'l '^'"' ^^.'? ^^^' ^"^^"^ ^"'^ ^''^ ^it'^ ^n awful
dread at heart began his search, scaniiin;- witli rapid eyo
each prostrate form along the entire blick edge of the
grove through which the Union forces had burst in their
switt retreat.

He soon passed beyond all traces of conflict, and then
retraced nis steps uttering half-unconsciously and in a

whatl^T''*' ^/' ^^'^'"^'^ '^"^"^- ^« he approached
what had been the extreme right of the Union lino
in their retreat and their left in the advance, he beheld
a dead horse hat looked familiar. He sprang forwa d
and saw that it was Hilland's

foiSS' "^""^ ^" '' *''"'''' ""' "^*^ ^"'"^

From a dense thicket near he heard a feeble groan.
Rushing into it he stumbled against the immense mossy
ti unk ot a prostrate, decaying tree. Concealed beyond it
lay his friend, apparently dyincr ^

" O Warren ! "he cried, "my friend, my brother, don't
you know me ? 0, live, live ! I can rescue you "

Ihere was no response from the slowly gasping man.

Graham snatched a flask from his pocket and wet the
^w !l ^'P^;y/^h brandy, and then caused Hilland to
swallow a little. The stimulant kindled for a few mo-
ments the flame of life, and the dying man slowly became
conscious. ^

" Graham," he murmured feebly,—" Graham is that
you i

Prll'i ^•'' ^""^ ^l^'^^^ ^^^ y^*- ^> '^ the name of
trrace, I adjure you to live.

I ^^'^.for Grace ! My dream— will come true."
O Hilland, no no ! that I could die in your place !

Mvt.?h"'^ ■'% i" ^""^'^' ^^^^3^' Warren, rally.
7 T^^^^horse is tied near, or if you are too badly wound-
ed I will stay and nurse you. I'll fire a pistol shot

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

239

through my arm, and then we can be sent to t^o ^^o«P}?«;J
together. Here, take nioro brandy. Thats right. With
your physique you should not thhik of death. Let me
ht't you up and staunch your wound." , ^ , ^, . . .

"Don't move me, Graham, or I'll bleed to death instant-
Iv and— and— I want to look in your face once more,
and send my-true love to Grace. More brandy, p ease
It's getting light again. Before it was dark,-0, so dark 1
How is it you are here ? "

" I eame back for you. Could I ride away and you not
with me ? Warren I must save your life, i must, i

^ "Leave me, Graham ; leave me at once. I .'U *vill be
captured if not killed," and Hilland spoke .;i.«a energy

« I will never leave you. There, your voice proves that
your strength is coming back. Warren, Warren, can t
vou live for Grace's sake ? " , . „

"Graham," said HiUand, solemnly, " even my moments
are numbered. One more gush of blood fro«i my siao
and I'm gone. 0, shall I become nothing 1 Sha 1 I be no
more than the decaying tree behind which I crawled when
struck down 1 Shall I never see my peerless bride again ?
She would always have been a bride to me. I cant be-
lieve it There must be amends somewhere for the agony
of mind, not body, that I've endured as I lay here, and
for the anguish that Grace will suffer O Graham, my
philosophy fails me in this strait, my whole nature revolts
at it. Mere corruption, chemical change, ought not to oe

the end of a man." t- ^ ^^a \r^

" Do not waste your strength in words. Live and in

a few short weeks Grace may be your nurse. Take more

brandy, and then I'll go for assistance. ,

"No Graham, no. Don't leave me Life is ebbing

again. Ah, ah! farewell-true friend. ^^ Un-bounded

love— Grace. Commit— her— your care !
There was a convulsive shudder and the nobld form wa»

still.

240

HTS SOMBRE RIVALS.

Graham knelt over him fr^^^e
hoiTor. Then he tore nr>l^ H-n 7 """n^nts in alent
hand over h'^heart T?w» .^ ■' '"''' *'"' P'^'^^d h«

Tni^l^Hpfn ,r^B^^ > St:n]^

factSf f ari'ZTnd r'l'-r/ ' ^"^^* «-!-■>
interpretation of IhTscene w£, j^i T"'"'' T" ''™- ^he
gushed from the yo^nT^Cyes"* *°° ^"■'<^°'' ^"<^ *--

saw a ™^ £vf riCthlt" 'o ""* «™"^ «»• I "--
here." ^ ""*'- ^ P*P»' Papa, come, come

lailt'^ten^rtetS'l'' "^^ 'r""''' -^ G-'-m
but with hea^nrbreast^Hr"'^'^ '*°°'^ erect, quiet,
gray-haired ma/stdtsiSTe X^^r'^'' ^°' '

namirhuC:itfrarkVot';oTe^ ^f '"-'■ "^"*-«>^

" Mtt ^^ -^ . y^" *^ ^^t i«e bury mv dp^rl "

n,orf Ltd £?r^/rdtVr °' ^--S -d .

am a clereyman and Tm 1, -f? ^°" '" ""^ P°wer. ]

bouringvTge charged wTh^^f * 1"*^ fr^-n a neigh-
dead with apfr^priS riteT I W °*''! "-^ '""■^'"5 «'«
prisoner, buf wil? be X fn „„^,''7« "« desire to take you

the authoritierwill pfrmit Wl[ v'" ^■''" "^^ ""^ 8"^^' '^
explanation of thi"scenT wh;i„ 1 ^'"' ^"^ T '°'"« '"'ief
dead ? ■• ^^'^^ "'^y »r« gathering up the

Grahamdidsoinafewsadwordq Tl,,. ^„„ i,i
wg on the mossy log meanwMe aJtL Vf^**"*'."^
his eyes again aid fgSa ' ^ °" ""*" '^'P^'^

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

241

Was there ever a nobler-looking man ? " sobbed the
criii • " and to think of his poor wife ! Papa, he must not
be buried here. He must be taken to our little cemetery
by the church, and I will often put flowers on his grave.
"If you wiU carry out this plan, sweet child, said
Graham, "one broken-hearted woman will bless you

while she lives." ., .^ . -, -n -.

" Think, papa," resumed the girl,—" think if it was

our Henry what we would wish."

" I am glad you feel as you do, my child. It proves
that this horrible war is not hardening your heart or mak-
ing you less gentle and compassionate. I will carry out
vour wishes and yours, sir, and will use my whole influ-
ence to prevent your noble fidelity to your frieiid from
becoming the cause of your captivity. I will now sum-
mon assistance to carry your friend to the road, where a
waggon can take him to the village."

In a few moments two negro slaves, part of the force
sent to bury the dead,with their tattered hats dofi^ed out
of respect, slowly bore the body of HiUand to the roadside
Graham, with his bare head bowed under a weight ot
grief that seemed well-nigh crushing, followed closely, and
then the old clergyman and his daughter. They laid the
princely form down on the grass beside a dark-haired
young Confederate officer, who was also to be taken to

the cemeterv.

The sad rites of burial which the good old man now
performed over both friend and foe of subordinate rank
iiAed not be dwelt upon. While they were taking place
Graham stood beside his friend as motionless as if he nad
become a statue, heedless of the crowd of villagers and
country people that had gathered to the scene. ^

At last a sweet voice said, " Please, sir, it's time to go.
You ride with papa. I am young and strong and can

His only reponse was to take her hand and kiss it fer-
ventlv. Then he turned to her father and told him of his

242

HIS SOMBRE KIVALS.

borne the body of ^Hi.Cd hL^d itrrdh-eetd 'nd
soon returned w th the beautiful horse that awakened tha
admiration of all and the cupidity of a few of the non^^
script characters that had bin drawn to The place
A. rude waggon was drawn to the roadside iLrnn„},

Contdrr'ffi"'"^ '"''y ''°"^'>^' and the Union LTtt
Confederate officer were placed in it side bv sid^ Thf^

the minister climbed into\is old-fa honed gihS dauX
ter sprang lightly in by his side, took the' reinsXl

S m™ i" Wttertrutt ^Th;' '"' "' ""K'^T'-
buriedthedeadwaIkeron*dLsid:fX;"t^^^^^^^^
peoplf an°d Jini"'''"^ f "^^ ^""""«' ™''. and t^e^'^ountry

The bodies were 6rst taken to the parsonage and tim
stains of battle removed by an old coloS'auntv ^
slave of the clergyman. Graham gave into the ^re of
the clergyman's daughter HiUand's sword and some
other articles that he did not wish to carry on Ws return

Is'^of^Ore Tmtl- '^"'T '^=« ^'^ '"• exqufsUe 1 ke
nem ot Urace, sm ling m her happy loveliness.

ask^dTnTcen^of i""* f' ^'^ ^^''^ «y«« *' ^^^
asKea in accents of deepest commiseration " And will

you have to break the news to her ? " ' ^'^^

rdv2erZi?,tr' h,«^^««^yv"Icould not do that.
-VJh 1 *^^"sand guns than that poor wife "

^^ Why do you not keep the likeness ? " ^

r.hdi!'?^'V'?VT^ ""P^^ ^^ a^^ <^liink of the chancre
which this fatal day will bring to those features I shall
leave It with you until she comes for his swori and to

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

243

visit his grave. No one has a better right to it than you.
and in this lovely face you see the promise of your own
womanhood reflected. You have not told me your name.
I wish to know it, for I shall love and cherish it as one
of my most sacred memories."

" Margarita Anderson," was the blushing reply. " Pa-
pa and my friends call me Rita."

" Let me call you what your name signifies, and what
you have proved yourself to be,— Pearl. JWho is Henry ?"
" My only brother. He is a captain in our army."
" You are a true Southern girl ? "
"Yes, in body and soul I'm a Southern girl ;" and her
dark eyes flashed through her tears.

" So was the original of this likeness. She is kin to
you in blood and feeling as well as in her noble qualities ;
but she loved her Northern husband more than the whole
world, and all in it was nothing compared with him.
She will come and see you some day, and words will fail
her in thanks."

" And will you come with her ? "

"I don't know. I may be dead long before that

time."
The young girl turned away, and for some reason her

tears flowed faster than ever before.

"Pearl, my tender-hearted child, don't grieve over
what would be so small a grief to me. This evil day has
clouded your young life with the sadness of others. But
at your age it will soon pass ; " and he returned to his
friend and took from him the little mementos that he
knew would be so dear to Grace.

Soon after the two bodies were borne to the quaint old
church and placed before the altar. Both were dressed in
their full uniforms, and there was a noble calmness on
the face of each as they slumbered side by side in the
place sacred to the God of peace and at peace with each
other for evermore

244

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

'V.

With awed facGH crept out at the other ^ ' ^

it was indeed a memorable day for the yUUcr^r.

what the rapid J.Zt^'':^ "thlif ttpTroi;?" IT

but the deep interest and curiosity which Pvp.-nff i ^'
ot the hkeness of the Iove]\ wif^ ,..v,^ ij -^ ,'

and the presence of a Union officer ^.iffinrv ^^'-W >

forgetful of his danger, of are^cept'thaf hrfrifncfe

in ^rctrdrthe vt'/^,' f ''T ^""^ Wropriate words

rying baskets of flowers. After an impressive burial ser'
vice bad been read, the young girls passed to and 7™ bt

IIIB SOMBRE RIVALS.

245

fcween the graves, throwing flowers in each and singing
as they went a hymn breathing the certainty of the im-
mortality tliat had been the object of poor Hilland's long-
ing aspiration. Giaham's heart thrilled as he heard the
words, for they seemed the answer to his friends' ques-
tions. But, though his feelings might be touched deeply,
he was the last man to be moved by sentiment or emo-
tion from a position to which his inexorable reason had
conducted him.

The sun threw its level rays over a scene that he never
forgot, — the white-haired clergyman standing between
the open graves ; the young maidens, led by the dark-
eyed Rita, weaving in and out, their white hands and
arms glowing like ivory as they strewed the flowers, mean-
while singing with an unconscious grace and pathos that
touched the rudest hearts ; the concourse of people, chiefly
women, old men and children, for the young and strong
were either mouldering on battle-fields or marching to
others ; the awed sable faces of the negroes in the farther
background; the exquisite evening sky; the songs of
unheeding birds, so near to man in their choice of habi-
tation, so remote from his sorrows and anxieties, — all com-
bined to form a picture and a memory which would be
vivid and real to his latest day.

The graves were at last filled and piled up with
flowers. Then Graham, standing uncovered before them
all, spoke slowly and earnestly : —

" People of the South, you see before you a Northern
man, an officer in the Union Army ; but as I live I
clierish no thought of enmity toward one of you. On the
contrary my heart is overwhelmed with gratitude. You
have placed here side by side two brave men. You have
rendered to their dust equal reverence and honour. I
am in accoi'd with you. I believe that the patriotism of
one was as sincere as that of the other, the courage of
one as high as that of the other, that the impulses which
led them to offer up their lives were equally noble= In

246

His SOMBRE RIVALS.

your generous sympathy for a fallen foe you have prove. I
yourselves Americans in the best sense of the word. May
the day come when that name shall suffice for us all.
Believe me, 1 would defend our homes and* my own witli
equal zeal;" and with a bow of profound respect he
turned to the grave of his friend.

With a delicate appreciation of his wish, the people,
casting backward, lingering, sympathetic glances, ebbed
away, and he ♦vas soon left alone.

CHAPTER XXIX.

A SOUTHERN GIRL.

WHEN Graham was left alone he knelt and bowb(^.
his head in the flowers that Rita had placed on
Hilland's grave, and the whole horrible truth seemed to
grow, to broaden and deepen like a gulf that had '^pened
at his feet. Hilland, who had become a part of his own
life and seemed inseparable from all its interests, had dis-
appeared forever. But yesterday he was the centre of
vast mterests and boundless love ; now he had ceased to
be. The love w«ould remain, but O the torture of a
boundless love when its object has passed beyond its
reach !

The thought of Grace brought to the mourner an inde-
scribable acguish. Once his profound love for her had
asserted itself in a way that had stung him to madness,
and the evil thought had never returned. Now she
seemed to belong to the dead husband even more than
when he was living. The thought that tortured him most
was that Grace would not long survive Hilland. The
union between the two had been so r1o.sp nnrl vifal fi^of.

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

247

the separation might mean death. The possibility over-
whelmed him, and he grew faint and sick. Indeed it
would seem that he partially lost consciousness, for at
last he became aware that some one was standing near
and pleading with him. Then he saw it was Rita.

" O sir," she entreated, " do not grieve so. It breaks
my heart to see a man so overcome. It seems terrible.
It makes me feel that there are depths of sorrow that
frighten me. 0, come with me, — do, please. I fear you've
eaten nothing to day, and we have supper all ready for

you."

Graham tottered to his feet and passed his hand acrjss
his brow, as if to brush away an evil dream.

" Indeed, sir, you look sick and faint. Take my arm
and lean on me. I assure you I am very strong."

" Yes, Pearl, you are strong. Many live to old age
and never become as true a w^oman as you are to-day.
This awful event has well-nigh crushed me, and now I
think of it, I have scarcely tasted food since last evening.
Thank you, my child, I will take your arm. In an hour
or two I shall gain self-control."

" My heart aches for you, sir," she said, as they passed
slowly through the twilight.

" May it be long before it aches from any sorrow of
your own, Pearl."

The parsonage adjoined the church. The old clergy-
man abounded in almost paternal kindness, and pressed
upon Graham a glass of home-made wine. After he had
taken this and eaten a little, his strength and pois^, re-
turned, and he gave his entertainers a fuller account of
Hilland and his relations, and in that Southern home
there was a genuine sympathy for the inmates of the
Northern home as if they all had been devoted to the
same cause.

" There are many subjects on which we differ," said
his host. " You perceive that I have slave but they are
iV attached to me that I do not think thev ■TOv_...ild leave me

248

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

P4'

hr.^'^

1 !

if I offered them their freedom. I have been brou"
up to think slavery right. My father and grancUathci'
before me held them and always treated them a\ M. I
truly think they did better by them than the bondsmen
could have done for themselves. To give them liberty
and send them adrift would be almost like throwin-'
little children out into the world. I know that theio
are evils and abuses connected with our system, but I
feel sure that liberty given to a people unfitted for it
would be followed by far greater evils."
^ " It's a subject to which I have given very little atten-
tion," Graham replied. " I have spent much of my life
abroad, and certainly your servants are better off than
the peasantry and very poor in many lands that I have
visited.

With a kind of wonder he thought of the truth that
Hilland, who so hated slavery, had been lifted from the
battle-field by slaves, and that his remains had been
treated with reverent honour by a slave-holder.

The old clergyman's words also proved that* while he
deprecated the war unspeakably, his whole sympathy
was with the South, His only son, of whom neither he
nor Rita could speak without looks of pride and affec-
tion kindling in their faces, was in the Confederate ser-
vice, and the old man prayed as fervently for success to
the cause to which he had devoted the treasure of his life as
any Northern father could petition the God of nations
for his boy and the restoration of the Union. At the same
time his nature was too large, too highb' ennobled by
Christianity, for a narrow, vindictive bitterness. He
could love the enemy that he was willing his son should
oppose in deadly battle.

" We hope to secure our independence," he added, "and
to work out our national development according to the
genius of our own people. I pray and hope for the time
when the North and South may exist side by side as twc
friendly nations. Your noble words this afternoon found

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

249

their echo in my heart. Even though my son should be
slain by a Northern hand, as your friend has been by a
Southern, I wish to cherish no vindictive bitterness and
enmity. The question must now be settled by the stern
arbitrament of battle ; but when the war is over lei it
not be followed by an era of hate."

He then told Graham how he had lost his beloved wife
years before, and how lonely and desolate he had been
until Rita had learned to care for him and provide for
his comfort with almost hourly vigilance.

" Yes," said Graham, " I have seen it ; she is to you
what my friend's wife is to her invalid father, the un-
speakable blessing of his life. How it will be now I
hardly know, for I fear that her grief will destroy her,
and the old major, her father, could not long survive."

A note was now handed to the old gentleman, who,
having read it, appeared greatly distressed. After a
moment's hesitancy he gave it to Graham, who read as
follows:

" I heard the North'ner speak this arternoon, an' I can't
be one to take and rob him of his horse and send him to
prison. But it'll be done to-night if you can't manage
his escape. Every rode is watched, an' your house will
be searched to-night.

" One of the Band.

" You'll burn this an' keep it mum or my neck will be
stretched."

" Who brought the note % " Mr. Anderson asked, going
to the door and questioning a coloured woman.

" Dunno, Mu,s'r. De do' open a little, and de ting flew
in on de flo'."

" Well," said Graham, " 1 must mount and go at once;"
and he was about to resume his arms.

" Wait, wait ; I must think ! " cried his host. " For
you to go alone would be to rush into the very evils we

250

HIS SOMmiE KIVALS.

if I

are warned against. I am pained and humiliated beyond
measure by this coimriunication. Mr. Graham, do not
judge us harslily. There is, I suppose, a vile sediment in
every community, and there is here a class that won't
enlist in open, honourable Wfufare, but prowl around,
chiefly at night, intent on deeds like this."

" Papa," said Rita, who had read the warning, " I know
what to do ; " and lier brave spirit flashed in her eyes

"You my child?"

" Yes. I'll prove to Mr. Graham what a Southern girl
will do for a guest,— for one who has trusted her. The
deep, deep disgiace of his capture and robbery shall not
come on our heads, I will guide him at once through tlio
woods to old Uncle Jehu's cabin. No one will think of
looking for him there ; for there is little more than a
bridle-path leading to it; but I know the way every
inch of it."

"But, Rita, I could send one of the servants with Mr
Graham."

" No, papa ; he would be missed and afterward ques-
tioned, and some av.'ful revenge taken on him. You must
say that I have retired when the villains come. You
must keep all our servants in. Mr. Graham and I will
slip out. He can saddlo his horse, and I, you know well,
can saddle mine. Now we must apparently go to our
rooms and within half an hour slip out unperceived and
start. No one will ever dare touch me, even if it is
found out."

"Pearl, priceless Pearl, I'll fight my way through
all the guerillas in the land rather than subject you to
peril."

" You could not fight your way through them, the
cowardly skulkers. What chance would you have in
darkness ? My plan brings me no peril, for if they met
js they would not dare to touch me, But if it costs me
my life I will go," she concluded passionately. " This
disgrace must not fall on our people."

HID SOMBRE RIVALS.

261

" Rita is ri'rhfc," said the old clergyman, solemnly. " I
couM scarcely survive the disj^race of having a guest
^uken from nfy home, and they would have to walk over
my prostrate form before it could be done ; and to send
vou out alone would be even more shamefu The plan
floes not involve much peril to Rita. Although in a
sense vou are my enemy. I will trust this pearl beyond
pr^e'to your protection: and old Jehu will return with
her until within a short distance of the house. As she
says. I think no one in this region would harni her. 1
will co-operate with you, Rita, and entreat the Heavenly
Father until I clasp you in my arms again. Act, act at

>»
""""Graham was about to protest again, but she silenced
him by a gesture that was almost imperiom Don t you
see that for papa's sake, for my own, as we!l as yours, 1
must go. Now let us say good-night as if we were part-
ial unsuspicious of trouble. When I tap at your door,
M?. Graham, you will follow me ; and you, papa, try to
keep our people in ignorance."

d-aham wrung the clergyman s hand inpi-rbin?, '.
said, "you will always be to me a type of the noblest

development of humanity." , „ j i - „^„

" God bless you, sir," was the reply, and sustain you
through the dangers and trying scenes before you I am
but a simple old man, trying to do right with Oods helj.
And, believe me, sir, the South is full of men as sinceie

as I am.' . ,, , , . p . • i

Within half an hour Graham followed his fair guide
down a back stairway and out into the ^^^rkness Rita s
pony was at pasture in a field adjoimng the stable, but
he came instantly at her soft call.

« I shall not put on my saddle,' she whirpered. It 1
leave it hanging in the stable it will be good evidence
that I am in my room. There will be no need of our
riding fast, and, indeed, I have often ridden without a
saddle for fun. I will guide you to your horse and saddle

Ii<

■i «!i

f ■•

Mil'

I '

252

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

in the dark stable, for we must take him out of aback
door, so that there will be no sound of his feet on the
boards."

Witiiin a few moments they were passing like shadows
down a shaded lane that led from the house to the forest,
and then entered what was a mere bridle-path, the star-
light barely enabling the keen-eyed Rita to make it out
at times. The thick woods on either side prevented all
danger of i\&i\k attacks. Afber riding some little time they
stopped and listened. The absolute silence, broken only by
the cries of the wild creatures of the night, convinced them
that they were not followed. Then Rita said, " Old Jehu
has a bright boy of sixteen or thereabouts, and he'll guidfi
you north through the woods as far as he can, and then
God will protect and guide you until you are safe. I know
He will help you to escape, that you may say words of
comfort to the poor, broken-hearted wife."

" Yes, Pearl, I think I shall escape. I take your guid-
ance as a good omen. If I could only bo sure that no
harm came to you and your noble father ! "

** The worst of harm would have come to us had we
permitted the evil that was threatened."

" You seem very young, Pearl, and yet you are in many
ways very mature and womanly."

'• I am young,— only sixteen,— but mamma's death and
the responsibility it brought me made my childhood brief.
Then Henry is live years older than I, and I always played
with him, and, of course, you know 1 tried to reach up to
those things that he thought about and did. I've never
been to school. Papa is educating me, and 0, he knows
so much, and he makes knowledge so interesting, that I
can't help learning a little. And then Henry's going in-
to the war, and all that is happening, makes me feel so
very, very old and sad at times ; " and so she continued
in low tones to tell about herself and Henry and her
father, of their hopes of final victory, and all that made up
her life. This she did with a guileless frankness, and yet

ilit

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

253

with a refined reserve that wasiiidesciibaLle in its simple
pathos and beauty. In spite of himself Graham was
cliarmed and soothed, while he wondered at the exquisite
blending of girlhood and womanhood in his guide. She
also questioned him about the North and the lands he ha<l
visited, about his aunt and Grace and her father ; and
Graham's tremulous tones as he spoke of Grace led her
to say sorrowfully, "Ah, she is . very, very dear to you

al^^o." , . ,

" Yes," he said, imitating her frankness, "she is dearer
to me than rtiy life. I would gladly have died in Hil-
land's place to have saved her this sorrow. Were it not
for the hope of serving her in some way, death would
have few teiTors to me. There, my child, I have spoken
to you as I have to only one other, my dear old aunty,
who is like a mother. Your noble trust begets trust."

Then he became aware that she was crying bitterly.

" Pearl, Pearl," he said, " don't cry. I have become ac-
customed to a sad heart, and it's an old, old story."

" Mr. Graham, I remember hearing mamma say once
that women learn more through their hearts than their
heads. I have often thought of her words, and think
they must be true. Almost from the first my heart told
me that there was something about you which made you
different from other people. Why is the world so full of
trouble of every kind ? Ah well, papa has taught me
that Heaven will make amends for everything."

They had now reached a little clearing, and Rita said
that they were near Jehu's cabin, and that their final
words had better be said before awakening the old man.
" 1 must bathe my face, too," she added, " for he would
not understand my tears," and went to a clear little
spring but a few paces away.

Graham also dismounted. When she returned he
took her hand and raised it reverently to his lips as he
said, " Pearl, this is not a case for ordinary thanks. I no
doubt owe my life, certainly my liberty, to you. On

4*»';

_iLi

254

niS SOMBEE BIVALS.

' ■Mil

;■

i .

! ':'

i :

that I will not dwell, I owe you and your father far
more, and no docs poor Grace Hillaiid. Vou insured u
burial for my friend tliat will bring n. world of comfort
to those who loved him. The thought of your going to
his grave and placing upon it fresh flowers from time to
time will contain more balm than a thousand words of
well-meant condolence. Pearl, my sweet, pure, noble child,
is there nothing I can do for you V

" Yes," she faltered ; " it may be that you can return
all we have done a hundred-fold. It may be that you
will meet Henry in battle. In the memory of his little
sister you will spare him, will you not ? If he should be
captured I will tell liira to write to you, and I feel sure
that you will remember our lonely ride and the gray
old father who is praying for you now, and will not
leave him to suffer."

Graham drew a seal ring from his finger and said :
'•' Dear Pearl, take this as a pledge that I will serve him
in any way in my power and at any cost to myself.
I hope the day will come when he will honour me with
his friendship, f-nd I would as soon strike the friend I
have lost as your brother."

" Now I am content," she said. " ^ believe every word
you say."

" And Grace Hilland will come some day and claim
you as a sister dearly beloved. And I sweet Pearl, will
honour your memory in my heart of hearts. The man
who wins you as his bride may well be prouder than an
emperor,"

" O, no, Mr. Graham, I'm just a simple Southern girl."
" There are few like yo«i. I fear South or North . You
are a girl to kindle every manly instinct and [)ower, and
I shall be better for having known you. The hope of
serving you and yours in some way and at some time
will give a new zest and value to my life."

" Do not speak so kindly or I shall cry again. I've
been afraid you would think me siily, I crv so easily. I

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

255

-ther far
isurcd u

comfort
going to

time to
,vords of
ble child,

1 return
hat you
lis little
bould be
iel sure
he gray
will not

d said :
rve him
myself.
tne with
friend I

sry word

d claim
arl, will
he man
than an

•n girl."
1. You
rer, and
hope of
le time

Q. I've
isilv. I

do not think we Southern girls are like those at the NortK
They are colder, I imagine or at least more able to con-
trol their feelings. Papa says I am a child of the
South. I can't decide just how much or how httle i
ouaht to feel on all occasions, and ever since I saw you
mmirning over your friend with just such passionate
grief as I should feel, my whole heart has ached for you.
You will come and see us again if you have a chance ?
« I will make chances, Pearl, even though they involve

no little risk." ,

« No, no ; don't do that. You ought to care too much
for us to do that. Nothing would give me pleasure that
brought danger to you. If I could only know thait you
reached your friends in safety ! " ^^

" I'll find a way of letting you know if I can.
" Well, then, good bye. It's strange, but you seem like
an old, old fiiend. 0, 1 know Henry will like you, and
that you will like him. Next to mamma's, your ring
shall be my dearest treasure. I shall look at it every
night and think I have added one more chance of Henry's
safety. 0, 1 could worship the man who saved his life.^^
" And any man might worship you. Good-bye, Pearl ;
and he kissed her hand again and again, then lifted her on
her pony with a tenderness that was almost an embrace,
and she rode slowly to the door of a little log cabin, while
Graham remained concealed in the shadow of the woods
until it was made certain that no one was in the vicinity
except Jehu and his family.

The old man was soon aroused, and his ejaculations
and exclamations were innumerable.

" No, missy, dars no un been roun' heah for right smart
days. It's all safe, an' Jehu an' his ole ooman knows
how ter keep mum when Mas'r Anderson says mum ; an
80 does my peart boy Huey,"— who, named for his father,
was thus distinguished from him. " An' de hossifer is a
Linkum man ? Sho, sho ! who'd a tink it, and his own
son a 'Federate ! Well, well, Mas'r Anderson isn't low-

Pi tf

> &

256

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

down white trash. If he thought a ting was rUM I

1 ^il^"" Rita explained further the old negro replied witli
alacrity: "Ob cose Jehu will took you home^afe an'

pert little gal an does you'se blood an' broughten up ies-
tice. Mighty few would dar' ride five mile'troo de lone-
some woods wid a strange hossifer, if he be a Linkum
man. He mus be sumpen like Linkum hisself. Yes if
you bain t afeared to show him de way, Huey needn't be'- "
and the boy, who was now wide awake, said he'd" like not-
ten better dan showin' a Linkum man troo de woods "
arranted"" ^^^ ^^^^^^^^^d, and in a few minutes all' was

r •S^/i^?/'*^'^ ^^^""^^ '"^^ ^«i^« and said, "You good
faithful old soul, take care of that girl as the appfe of
your eye, for she has only one equal in the world. Here
IS one hundred dollars. That will pay for a good many
chickens and vegetables, won't it ? " "^

" Lor' bless you, Mas'r, dey ain't chickens nuff in Ole
Vir^nny to brought hundred dollars."

" Well, I'll tell you what Pm afraid of. This recrion
may be wasted by war, like so many others. Yormay
not be troubled m this out-of-the-way place. If Mr
Anderson's family ip ver in need, you are now paid tc
supply them with all that you cak furnish!" ^

Deed I is, Mas'r, double paid."

" Be faithful to them and you shall have more Linkum
money, as you call it. Keep it, for your money down
here won't be worth much soon." ^

"Datshoah. De cullud people hain't all prayin' for
Linkum fornotten." px^ym lor

of l^l""!^^^" Q-^"" ^^J ^^y.^""^ y^" «^a" be taken care
ot^some day. Say nothing about this."

"Mum's de word all roun' ter-night,»Mas'r "

Huey, are you ready ? "
** I is, Masr."

HIS SOMBilll B IVALS.

257

« Lead the way, then;" and again approaching RiK -
Graham took off' his hat and bowed low as he said. Uive
mv grateful greeting to your honoured father, and may
7evy hope of his heirt be fulfilled in return for his good
deedl to-day. As for you, Miss Anderson no words can
express my profound respect and unbounded gratitude
We shall melt again in happier times ; "and backing his
horse while he still remained uncovered, he soon turned

''''tr:Lf7^cul.ie^ Jehu. " 'Clar ter you ef dat
ar Linkum hossifer hain't nigh onter bein' as fine a gem-
Ln as Mas'r Henry hisself. Won't you take some fresh-
ment missy ? No ? Den I'se go right ong wid you

Rita enjoined silence, ostensibly for the reason that it
was prudent, but chiefly that she might have a respite
from the old man's garulousness. Her thoughts were
very busy. The first romance of her young life had come,
Ind she still felt on her hands the kisses that had been so
warm and sincere, although she knew they were giyen
by one who cherished a hopeless loye After all, it was
but her yivid Southern imagination that had been kin-
dled by the swift, strange events of the past twenty-tour
hours With the fine sense of the best type of dawning
womanhood, she had been deeply moved ^^^aW^^
strong nature. She had seen in him a love ^^^ J,nother
man that was as tender and passionate as that ot a
woman, and yet it was bestowed upon the husband
of the woman whom he had loved for years. That he
had not hesitated to risk captivity and death m returning
for his friend proved his bravery to be unlimited, ana a
Southern girladores courage. For a time G-h^ w^W
be the ideal of he^' girlish heart. His words of admira
tion and respect #ere dwelt upon, and her cheeks flushed
unseen in the deep shadow of the forest. Again her tears
would fall fast a^ she thought of his peril an^ f ^^^ ^^
sad scenes of the day and the sadder ones still to come.
Grace HiUand, a Southern girl like herself, became a glo-

Itfi

m !

268

HIS SOMBBE RIVALS.

there should not be the slightest chance of his beTnt «*«„

tTd \f f J ^'°'^ ? '?' "-' -^^ r.teX!

days Missv RiH'! ='if'^\^"^^»' garden sass all ly born
uays, iviissyKitas red cheeks never grow nale lonu- a,
Jehu or Huey can tote chickens and sa£." ^ ^

Chapter XXX

GUERILLAS,
(r^t^if^' "'"y""'* ^!''^ '°^- encouraging words

around th^rtnifi ,1 "". IT *° '"''''« «■ ^i^e circuit
Tike the Lnnfti.TT • ^ *^" ?'"«"<'"■'' ^^y> 0''^^ tl'en
could follow n 5 m ^T"" ^"i""'- ^''•"'^ J^e b3lieyed he
done and fit fh^' ^T^ *^°"g'" "'** ^^^^ """Id be
most of f !,» r * ^ """"'i H"?? '° t*"*^ ^J^e'ter "f 'he woods
most of the distance, and this they accomplished, recon-

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

259

„oiu.ing the roads ^f ,z^:x^'r^:^';^'^^z

Huey was an inveterate trapper , and as n i ^^^

ekctt' Tr x;^« ^:-^ et^ path w.

^rall^n^r trtt hefo^^^^^^^^

Union trail, and he 'Je^'ded to spend t^e J^? ^^..ttkd

,,iece of woods not Tf^y.^'^e^t^^ by purloining a few

re!rstaUrri*^ed'«« ana he also
rr^bered that a boy - / ways raver.ous ^^^

,:;S aSdt thf ™ain bSi bu. what are we
Satdd^tst^sTtfon^hv^^^^^^^

s'it:'boT:;ed the f ^^^1^:1:^- riCifd^o^a..

"Was there ever such a ^^ff.^i „„t into nice por-
as he pulled out a A'^^'^ °\r, "hes -Meed, "he best that
tions, bread, butter, a^d'^liJ^^'-X emergency. In
her simple housekeeping affo'^ed m the e g ^
the other bag there wa. also a p^^^^^^^ P^

teutons ^'^\*Xd ^"Jtrparents do when the glories ol
tir w" eilXd upon in ^he coloured prayer-meet-

^hat-s all for y^^^^^^c:i^f:czr;t-:^

cold ham to go with it When coma t^^ ^^^^^^

these things ^^ thoughtfully 1 It mu^^ na ^^^^ ^^^^^

she called me last night Now H^^^^^ .^ ^^ ^^^

anything extra mce m the ^ oods you^ ^^^
■Rita. There is ten dollars co pay you ,

260

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

Lincoln men get possession here I'll look after you and
give you a ^"e chance, if you have been faithful. You
must not tell Miss Rita what I say, but seem to do all o
your own accord. I wish I had more money with me

wUh^you"^' '"" ""^ ^^^'''' ^"""^ ^ ""'^^ "^^^^ ''^ ^" ^'S^^
" It's ail right now, Mas'r. What wouldn't I do for
Missy Rita? When my ole mammy was sick she bro't
med cm, and a right smart lot ob tings, and brunff her
tn)o de weariness Golly ! Wonder Missy Rita^don'
go straight up ter heben like dem rackets dey shoots
when de 'Federates say dey hab a vict'ry ; " and^then the
lo7g W ^'^°'' '"^ ^"" *^'^^ ^' was speechless for a
^ The sense of danger, and the necessity for the utmost
vigilance, had diverted Graham's thought during his lone.
night ride ; and with a soldier's habit he had con^centrated
his taculties on the immediate problem of finding the trail
verifying Huey s local knowledge by observation of the
stars. iNow,inthe cool summer morning, with Rita's delici-
lous repast before him,life did not seem so desperate a thin.

'Z2 fyf fy^i'^'t /^though exceedingly wearied, th?
strength of mind which would enable him to face his sad
tasks ^^^as returning He thought little about the ccnse-
quences of his disobedience to orders, and cared less. If he
lost his rank he would enlist as a private soldier after he
,^^tl^ ^ m his power for Grace, who had been commit-
ted to his care by Hilland's last words. He felt that she had
the most sacred claims upon him, and yet he queried

What can I do for her beyond communicating every de-
tail of her husband's last hours 'and his burial ? What
remedy is there for a sorrow like hers ? "

At the same time he felt that a lifelong and devoted
friendship might bring solace and help at times, and this
hope gave a new value to his life. He also thought it
srery possible that the strange vicissitudes ofwarti^ht
put It in his power to swerve the Andersons, in whom he felt

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

261

gv-'rateful interest as only such scenes as had just occured
could have awakened. It would ever be to him a source ot
unalloyed joy to add anything to Bita Anderson s happi-

'^^His kind old aunt, too, had her full share of his
thoughts as he reclined on the dun-coloured leaves ot the
previous year, and reviewed the past and planned tor the
future. He recalled her words, "that good would come
of it" when he had promised to " live, and do his best.
Although in his own life he had missed happiness there
was stiU a prospect of his adding much to the well-being

of others. . « tx , i„i i i.

But how could he meet Grace again ? He trembled at
the very thought. Her grief would unman him. it was
agony even to imagine it; and she «^?gH ^''.^f i^^'t''";
ance of an officer's duties in battle, think tnat if he had
kept near Hilland the awful event might have been

averted. i • j. i

After aU, he could reach but one conclusion,— to keep
his old promise "to do his best," as circumstances in-

Asking Huey, who had the tij,ined ear of a hunter, to
watch and listen, he took some sleep in preparation for '
the coming night, and then gave the boy a chance to rest.
The day passed quietly, and in the evening he dismiss-
ed Huey with assurances to Bita and her father that a
nio-ht's ride would bring him within the Union lines, and
that he now knew the way well. The boy departed in
high spirits, feeling that he would like "showin Linkum
men troo de woods," even better than trapping.

Then looking well to his arms, and seeing that they
were ready for instant use, Graham started on his peril-
ous ride, walking his horse and stopping to listen, from
time to time. Once, in the earlier part of the ni-ht, he
heard the sound of horses' feet, and, drawing back into
the deep shadow of the woods, he saw three or four men
gallop by. They were undoubtedly guerillas looking tor

'li

262

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

him, or on some prowl with other objects in view. At
last he knew he must be near his friends, and he deter-
mined to push on, even though the dawn was growin^^
bright ; but he had hardly reached this conclusion when
but a short distance in advance a dozen horsemen dashed
out of a grove and started toward him.

They were part of " The Band," who, with the instincts
of their class, conjectured too truly that, since he had
eluded them so for, their best chance to intercept him
would be at his natural approach to the Union lines ; and
now, with the kind of joy peculiar to themselves, they felt
that their prey was in their power, beyond all hope of es-
cape, for Graham was in plain sight upon a road enclosed
on either side by a high rail-fence. There were so many
guerillas that there was not a ghost of a chance in fio-ht-
ing or riding through them, and, for a moment, his posi-
tion seemed desperate.

" It's Mayburn to the rescue now," he muttered, and he
turned and sped away, and every leap of his noble horse
increased the distance between him and his pursuers. His
confidence soon returned, for he felt that unless something
unforseen occured he could ride all around them. His
pursuers fired two shots, which were harmless enough,
but, to his dismay, Graham soon learned that they were
signals, for from a farm-house near other horsemen enter-
ed the road, and he was between two parties.

There was not a moment to lose. Glancing ahead he
saw a place where the fence had lost a rail or two. He
spured towards it, and the gallant horse flew over it lilco
a bird into a wide field fringed on the farther side by a
thick j^iowth of timber. Bullets from the intercepting
party whizzed around him ; but he sped on unharmect
while his pursuers only stopped long enough to throw off'
a few rails, and then both of the guerilla squads rode
straight for the woods, with the plan of keeping the fugi-
tive between them, knowing that in its tangle he must
be caught.

HIS SOMBRE KIVAT.S.

263

Graham resolved to risk another volley m order to ride
around the pursuers nearest the Union Imes, t lus throw-
in- them in the rear, with no better chance than astern
chase would give them. In order to accomplish this
however, he had to circle very near the woods ana in
doing so saw a promising wood road leading into them
The yeUing guerillas were so close as to make his tirst
plan of escape extremely hazardous ; therefore tollow-
in- some happy instinct he plunged into the shade of the
foiest. The road proved narrow, but it was open and
unimpeded by overhanging boughs. Indeed, the trees
were the straight, slender pines in which the region a-
bounded, and he gained on all of his pursuers except two,
who,like himself were superbly mounted. The thud ot their
horses' hoofs kept near, and he feared that he might
soon come to some obstruction which would bring them
to close quarters. Mayburn was giving signs of weari-
ness, for his mettle had been sorely tried of late, and
Graham resolved to ambush his pursuers if possible. An
opportunity occured speedily, for the road made a sharp
turn, and there was a small clearing where the timber
had been cut. The dawn had as yet created but a twi-
light in the woods, and the obscurity aided his purpose,
He drew up by the roadside at the beginning of the clear-
ing and in a position where he could not readily be seen
until the guerillas were nearly abreast, and waited with
his heavy revolver in hand and his drawn sword lying
across the pommel of his saddle. -, . , . r.

On they came at a headlong pace, and passed into the
clearing but a few feet away. There were two ^sharp re-
ports, with the slightest possible interval I he first
man dropped instantly ; the other rode wildly for a few
moments and then fell headlong, while the riderless

horses galloped on for a time. j -xi, ^

Graham however, soon overtook them, and with tar
more compunction than he had felt in shooting their
riders, he struck them such a blow with his sword on

ili

: je.lSEi: i n

; ■

264

flIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

their necks, a little back of their ears, that they reeled
and fell by the roadside. He fean-d tliose horses more
than all " The Band ; " for if mounted again they ini<^ht
tire Mayburn out in a prolonged chase. ^ "^

To his great joy the wood lane soon emerged into an-
other large open Held, and he now felt comparatively safe.

The guerillas, on hearing the shots, spurred on exul-
tantly, feelin^jr sure of their prey, but only to stumble
over their fallen comrades. One was still able to explain
the mode of their discomfiture ; and the dusky road be-
yond at once acquired wholesome terrors for the sur-
vivors, who rode on far more slowly and warily, hoping
now for a little more than -the recapture of the horses,
which were the envy of all the lawless hearts. Your
genuine guerilla will always incur a heavy risk for a fine
horse. They soon discovered the poor brutes, and m w
at a glance that they would be of no more service in irre-
gular prowlings. Infuriated more at the loss of the beasts
than at that of the men, they again rushed forward only
to see Graham galloping easily away in the distance.

Even in their fury they recognised t 'lat further pur-
suit was useless, and with bitter curses on their luck
they took the saddles from the fallen horses, and carried
their associates, one dead and the other dyini^, to the
farm-house in which dwelt a sympathizer, arid whei
they had found refreshments during the night.

A few hours later— for he travelled the rest of the way
very warily — Graham reported tu his colonel, and found
the brigade under orders to move on the following morn-
ing, provided with ten days' rations.

The officer was both delighted and perplexed. ' It's a
hard case," he said. " ^'ou acted from the noblest im-
pulse<=t ; but it was Hat disobedience to orders."

^ " 1 know it. I shall probably be dismissed from the ser-
vice. If so, colonel, I will enlist as a private in your regi-
ment. Then you can shoot me if 1 disobey again,"

" Well, you are the coolest fellow that ever wore the
vlue. Come with me to heado'^firtcrs"

HIS SOMRRE RIVALS.

2G5

T reeled
es more
y might

nto an-
oly safe.
n exul-
stumble
explain
oad be-
he sm--
hoping
horses,
Your
)r a fine
nd saw
in irre-
e beasts
rd only
ce.

er pur-

lir luck

carried

to the

whei

he way
I found
I morn-

'It's a
est im-

;he ser-
ur regi-

)re the

rhe lact of his arrival, aildan imperfect story of whar.
hdd occured, soon got abroad among the men ; and they
were wild in their approval, cheering him with the ut-
most enthusiasm as he passed to the brigadier's tent.
The general was a genuine cavalry man ; and was too
wise in his day and generati( ' to aliehate his whole
brigade by any martinetism. He knew Graham's reputa-
tion well, and he was about startini^' on a dangerous ser-
vice. The cheers of the men crowding to his tout spoke
volumes. Hilland's regiment seemed half beside t hemselves
when they learned that Graham had found their lieuten-
ant-colonel dying on the field, and that he had been
given an honourable burial. The general, therefore, gave
Graham a most cordial welcome ; and said that the ques-
tion was not within his jurisdiction, and that he would
forward full particulars at once through the proper
channels to the Secretary of War ; adding, " We'll be on
the march before orders can reach you. Meanwhile take
your old command."

Then the story had to be repeated in*detail to the chief
officers of the brigade ; and Graham told it in as few
words as possible, and they all saw that his grief was so
profound that the question of his future position in the
army was scarcely thought of. I am not a sentimental
recruit," he said in conclusion. " I know the nature of
ray oftence, and will make no plea beyond that I be-
lieved all danger to our command had passed, and that it
would ride ( lietly into camp, as i did. I also thought
that my sup riors in giving the order were more con-
cerned for my safety than for anything else. What the
consequences are to myself pei;sonally, \ don't care a
straw. There are some misfortunes which drawf all
others." The conference broke up with the most hearty
expressions of sympathy, and the regret for Hilland's
death wa« both deep andgen ine.

" I have f favour to ask my colonel, with your ap-
proval General/' said Graham. " I would like to take

2G6

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

a small detachment and capture the owner of the farm-
house at which was harhoured ()art of tlie gucrilUi band
from which I escaped. I would like to make him confess
the name of Ins associates, and send word to them that if
harm comes to any who showed kindness or respect to
officers of our brigade, severe punishment will be meted
out on every one whenever the region is occupied by
Union forces."

" I order the thing to be done at once," cried the general.
" Colonel, give Major Graham as many men as he needs ;
and, Graham, send word we'll hang every mother's son
of 'era and burn their ranches, if they indulge in any
more of their develish outrages. Bring the farmer into
camp, and I will send him to Washington as a hostage."

On this occasion Graham obeyed orders literally. The
farmer and two of the guerillas were captured ; and when
threatened with a noose rope confessed the names of the
others. A nearly grown son of the farmer was entrusted
with the general's message to their associates ; and Gra-
ham added empliatically that he intended to come himself
some day and see that it was obeyed. " Tell them to go into
the army and become straightforward soldiers if they
wish, but if I ever hear of another outrage I'll never rest till
the general's threat is carried out."

Graham's deadly pistol shots and the reputation he had
gained in the vicinity gave weight to his words; and ' The
Band " subsided into the most humdrum farmers of the
region. Rita had ample information of his safety, for it
soon became known that he had killed two of the most
active and daring of the guerillas and captured three
others; a ad she worshipped the hero of her girlish fancy
all the more, devoutly.

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

2G7

3 farm*
a band
cont'oss
I that if
pect to
metod
>ied by

general,
needs ;
er's son
in any
ler into
ostar^e."
Y. The
id when
s of the
itrusted
nd Gra-
himself
) go into
if they
rest till

I he had
d 'The
5 of the
% for it
le most
d three
h. fancy

CHAPTER XXXl

JirST IN TIME.

GRAHAM returned to camp early in the afternoon,
and was again greeted with acclamations, for the
events that had occured had become better known. The
men soon saw, however, from his sad stern visage that
he was in no mood fer ovations, and that noisy approval
of his course was very distasteful. After reporting, he went
directly to his tent ; its flaps were closed, and Iss was
instructed to permit no one to approach unless bearing
orders. The faithful negro, overjoyed at his master's safe
return, marched to and fro like a belligerent watch-dog.

Graham wrote the w^ole story to his aunt, and be-
sought her to make known to Grace with all the gentle-
ness and tact that she possessed the awful certainty of her
husband's death. A telegram announcing him among
the missing had already been sent. " Say to her, he
said, in conclusion, " that during every waking moment
I am grieving for her and with her. 0, I tremble at the
effects of her grief : I dread its consequences beyond all
words. You know that every power I possess is wholly
at her service. Write me daily and direct me what to
do, — if, alas ! it is within my power to do anything in a
grief that is without remedy."

He then explained that the command was under orders
to move the following day, and that he would write
again when he could.

During the next two weeks he saw some active ser-
vice, taking part in several skirmishes and one severe
engagement. In the last it was his fortune to receive on
the shoulder a sabro-cut which promised to be a painful

■

Iff

i: I

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268

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

though not a dangerous wound, his epaulet having broken
the force of the blow.

On the evening of the battle a telegram was forward-
ed to him containing the words :

" Have written fully. Come hor ;e if you can for a
ghort time, All need you.

"Charlotte Mayburn."

In the rapid movement of his brigade his aunt's letter
had failed to reach him, and now he esteemed his wound
most fortunate since it secured him leave of absence.

His journey home was painful in every sense of the
word. He was oppressed by the saddest of memories.
He both longed and dreaded unspeakably to see Grace ;
and the lack of definite <-^ dings form her left his mind a
prey to the di'eariest forebodings, which were enhanced
by his aunt's telegram. Physical pain from which he was
never free was almost welcome as a diversion from his
distress of mind. He stopped in Washington only long
enough to have his wound redressed, and pushed north-
ward. A fatality of delays irritated him beyond measure ;
and it was late at night when he left the cars and was
driven to his aunt's residence.

A yeanling and uncontrollable interest impelled him
to approach fii'st the cottage which contained the woman
dearer to him than all the world, who had been so
strangely committed to his care. To his surprise there
was a faint light in the library ; and Hilland's ill-omened
dream flashed across his mind. With a prophetic dread
at heart, he stepped lightly up the piazza to a window.
As he turned the blinds he witnessed a scene that so
smote his heart that he had to lean against the house for
support. Before him was the reality of poor Hilland's
vision.

On the rug before the flickering fire the stricken wife
crouched, wringing her hands, w^hich looked ghostly in

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

269

r broken
forward-
in for a

BURN."

fc's letter
is wound
mce.

e of the
aemories.
e Grace ;
; mind a
enhanced
h he was
from his
only long
id north-
measure ;
\ and was

died him
le woman

been so
rise there
U-omened
)tic dread

window.

3 that so

house for

Hilland's

cken wife
jhostly in

their whiteness. A candle burning dimly on a table in-
creasing the light of the fire ; and by their united rays he
saw, with a thrill of horror, that her loosened hair, which
covered her bowed face and shoulders, was, in truth, sil-
ver white ; and its contrast with her black wrapper, made
the whole scene, linked as it was with the dead man's
dream, so ghostly that he shuddered, and was inclined
to believe it to be the creation of his overwrought senses.
In self-distruot he looked around. Other objects were
clear in the faint moonlight. He was perfectly conscious of
the dull ache of his wound. Had the phantom crouch-
ing before the fire vanquished ? No ; but now the silver
hair was thrown back, and Grace Hilland's white, agonis-
ed face was lifted heavenward. 0, how white it was !
She slowly took a dark-coloured vial from her bosom.
Thrilled with unspeakable horror, " Grace ! " he shout-
ed, and by a desperate effort threw the blind upward and
off from its hinges, and it fell with a crash on the ver-
andah. Springing into the apartment, he had not reached
her side before the door opened, and his aunt's fright-
ened face appeared.

" Great God ! What does this mean, Alford ? "
" What does it mean indeed ! " he echoed in agonised
tones, as he knelt beside Grace, who had fallen on the
floor utterly unconscious. " Bring the candle here," he
added hoarsely.

She mechanically obeyed and seemed almost paralyzed.
After a moment's search he snatched up something and
cried, " She's safe, she's safe ! The cork is not removed."
Then he thrust the vial into his pocket, and lifted Grace
oently on the lounge, saying meanwhile, *' She has only
fainted ; surely 'tis no more. 0, as you value my life
and hers, act. You should L low what to do. 1 will send
the caochman for a physician instantly and will come
when you need me."

Rushing to the man's room, he dragged him from his
bed, shook him awake, and gave him instructions and

I f

i:;!-^

270 HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

oliers of reward that stirred the fellow's blood as it had
never been stirred before ; and yet when he reached the
stable he found Graham had broken the lock and had a
horse saddled and ready.

" Now ride," he was commanded, " as if the devil you
believe in was after you."

Then Graham rushed back into the house, for he was
almost beside himself. But when he heard the poor old
major calling piteously, and asking what was the matter,
he was taught his need of self-control Going up to the
veteran's room, he soothed him by saying that he had
returned late in the night in response to his aunt's tele-
gram, and that he had found Grace fainting on the floor,
that Mrs. Mayburn and the servants were with her, and
that a physician had been sent for.

" O, Graham, Graham," moaned the old man, " I fear-
my peerless girl is losing her mind, she has acted so
strangely of late. It's time you came. It's time some-
thing was done, or the worst may happen."^

With an almost overwhelming sense of horror, Gra-
ham remembered how nearly the worst had happened,
but he only said, " Let us hope the worst has passed. I
will bring you word from Mrs. Mayburn from time to

time."

His terrible anxiety was only partially relieved, for
his aunt said that Grace's swoon was obstinate, and
would not yield to the remedies she was using. " Come
in," she cried. " This is no time for ceremony. Take
brandy and chafe her wrists."

What a mortal chill her cold hands gave him ! It was
worse than when Hilland's hands were cold in his.

" O aunt, she will live ? "

" Certainly," was the brusque reply. " A fainting turn
Is nothing. Come, you arc cool in a battle : be cool now.
It won't do for us all to lose our wits, although Heaven
kuows there's cause enough/*

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

271

How white her face and neck are !"— for Mrs May-

that she

throat
Hilland saw

her in

burn had opened her wrapper at the
might breath more easily, — "just as
his dream."

" Have done with your dreams, and omens, and all your
weird nonsense. It's time for a little more common sense.
Rub her wrists gently but strongly ; and if she shows
signs of consciousness, disappear."

At last she said hastily' " Go."

Listening at the door, he heard Grace ask, a few mo-
ments later, in a faint voice, ^ " What has happened ? "

" You only fainted, deary."

« WThy — why — I'm in the library."

" Yes, you got up in your sleep, and I followed you ;
and the doctor will soon be here, although little need we

have of him." i , t

"0, I have had a fearful dream. I thought^^ 1

saw Warren or Alford. I surely heard Alford's voice."
" Yes, dear, I've no doubt you had a bad dream ; and

it maybethttt A^'-rd's voice caused it, for he arrived

late last night p. id >cis been talking with your father.
" That mus^ U xt," she sighed ; " but my head is so

confused. 0, 1 -m so glad he's come ! When can I see

him ? " 1 V

" Not till after the doctor comes and you are much

stron cer.

" I^ish to thank him ; I can't wait to thank him."

" He doesn't want thanks, deary ; he wants you to get
well. You owe it to him and your lather to get well,—
as well as your great and lifelong sorrow permits. ^ Now
deary, take a little more stimulant, and then don't talk.
I've explalntd everything, and shown you^ your duty ;
and 1 know that iny brave Grace will do it."

*' I'll try," she said, with a pathetic weariness in her
voice that brought a rush of tears to Graham s eyes.

Returning to Major St. John, he assured him that
Grace had revived, and that he believed she would bQ
herself hereafter.

J?i;

ill

272

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

"0 this cursed war!" groaned the old man; "and
how I have exulted in it and Warren's cai'cer ! I had a
blind confidence that he would come out of it a veteian
general while yet a little more than a boy. My ambition
has been punished, punished ; and I may lose both the
children of whom I was so proud. O Graham the whol*;
world is turning as black as Grace's mourning robes."

"I have felt that way myself. But, Major, as soldiei.s
we must face this thing like men. The doctor has come ;
and I will bring him here before he goes, to give his
I'eport."

" Well, Graliam, a father's blessing on you for going
back for Warren. If Grace had been left in suspense as
to his fate she would have gone mad in very truth.
God only knows how it will be now; but she has a better
chance in meeting and o^. ercoming the sharp agony of
certainty."

Under the physician's remedios Grace rallied more
rapidly ; and he said if carried to her room she would
soon sleep quietly.

" ^ ^,1^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^^' ^^^^^^ ^i"st," she said, decisively.

To Mrs. May burn's questioning glance, he added,
" Gratify her. I have some quieting remedies at hand."

"He will prove. more quieting than all remedies. Ho
saved my husband's life once, and tried to do so again :
and I wish to tell him I never forget it night or'^day.
He is brave, and strong, and quiet ; and I feel that to
take his hand will quiet the fever in my brain."

"Grace, I am hero," he said pushing open the door
and bending his knee at her .side while taking her hand.
" W^aste no strength in thanks. School your broken
heart into patience ; and remember how dear, beyond all
words, your life is to others. Your father's life depends-
on youis."

I'll try," she again said; " I think I feel better, diffei
ently. An oppression that seemed stifling, crushing me.
is passing away. Alford, wa,s there no chance— nu
chance at all of saving him ? "

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

273

••Alas! no; and yet it is all so much better than it
might have been ! His grave is in a quiet bet. 'iful spot,
which you can visit ; and fresh flowers are ph^ed upon
it every day. Dear Grace compare your lot with that
of so many others whose loved ones are left on the field."

" As he would have been were it not for you, my
true, true friend," and she carried his hand to her Ups in
passionate gratitude. Then tears gushed from her eyes,
and she sobbed like a child.

••Thank the good God!" ejaculated Mrs. Mayburn.
'• These are the first tears she has shed. She will be
better now. Come, deary, you have seen Alford. He is
to stop with us a long time, and will tell^ you every-
thing over and over. You must sleep now."

Graham kissed her hand and left the room, and the
servants carried her to her apartment. Mrs. Mayburn
and the physician soon joined him in the library, which
was haunted by a memory that would shake his soul to

his dying day.

The physician in a cheerful mood said, " I now pre-
dict a decided change for the better. It would almost
seem that she had had some shock which has broken the
evil spell; and this natural flow of tears is better than
all tL.^ medicine in the world; " and then he and Mrs.
Mayburn explained how Grace's manner had been grow-
ing so strange and unnatural that they feared her mind
was giving way.

" I fear you were right," Graham replied sadly ; and
he told them of the scene he had witnessed, and pro-
duced the vial of laudanum.

The physician was much shocked, but Mrs. Mayburn
had already guessed the truth from her nephew's words
and manner when she first discovered him.

"Neither Grace nor her father must ever know of
this," she said, with a shudder.

" Certainly not ; but Dr. Markham should know. As
her physician, he should know the whole truth,"

274

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

111

IIH >

rfflli fi

!»•:

[ft ill

" I think that phase of her trouble has passed," said
the doctor, thoughtfully " but, as you say, I must be on
my ^niard. Pardon me, you do not look well yourself,
Indeed, you look faint ; " for Graham had sunk into s
chair.

" I fear I have been losing considerable blood," saic
Graham, carelessly ; " and now that this strong excite-
ment is passing, it begins to tell. I -^we my leave o:
absence to a wound."

" A wound ! " cried his aunt, coming to his side
" Why did you not speak of it ? "

" Indeed, there has been enough to speak of beyond
this trifle. Take a look at my shoulder, doctor, and dc
what you think best."

" And here is enough to do," was his reply as soon as
Graham's shoulder was bared : " an ugly cut, and all
broken loose by your exertions this evening. You musi
keep very quiet and have good care, or this re-opened
wound will make you serious trouble."

" Well, doctor, we have so much serious trouble on hand
that a little more won't matter much."

His aunt inspected the wound with grim satisfaction,
and then said, sententiously, " I'm glad you have got it
Alford, for it will keep yon home and divert Grace's
thoughts. In these times a wound that leaves the heart
untouched may be useful ; and nothing cures a woman's
trouble better than having to take up the troubles ol
others. I predict a deal of healing for Grace in your
wound."

" All which goes to prove," added the busy physician,
" that woman's nature is different from man's."

When he was gone, having first assured the major over
and over again that all danger was past, Graham said,
" Aunt, G-race's hair is as white as yours."

" Yes ; it turned white a week after she learned the
certainty of her husband's death."

*' Would that I could have died in Hilland's place ! "

i^-^

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

275

" Yes," said the old lady bitterly; " You were always
too ready to die."

He drew her down to him as he lay on the lounge, and
kissed her tenderly, as he said, " But I have kept my pro-
mise ' to live and do my best.' "

" You have kept your promise to live after a fashion.
My words have also proved true, ' Good has come of it,
and more good will come out of it.' "

CHAPTER XXXII.

A WOUNDED SPIRIT.

GRACE'S chief symptom when she awoke on the fol-
lowing morning was an extreme lassitude. She
was almost as weak as a violent fever would have left
her, but her former unnatural and fftful manner was
gone. Mrs. May burn told Graham that she had had long
moods of deep abstraction, during which her eyes would
be lixed on vacancy, with a stare terrible to witness, and
then would follow uncontrollable paroxysms of grief.

" This morning," said her anxious nurse, " she is more
like a broken lily that has not strength to raise its head.
But the weakness will pass ; she'll rally. Not many die
of grief, especially when young.

" Save her life, aunty, and 1 can still do a man's part
in the world."

" Well, Alford, you must help me. She has been com-
mitted to your care ; and it's a sacred trust."

Graham was now installed in his old quarters, and
placed under Aunt Sheba's care. His energetic aunt,
however, promised to look in upon him often, and kept
her word. The doctor predicted a tedious time with hisa

1^. \

i'.

276

HIS SOMBRE IIIVALS.

wound, and insisted on absolute quiet, for a few days.
He was mistaken, however. Time would not be tedious,
with frequent tidings of Grace's convalescence and her
many proofs of deep solicitude about his wound.

Grace did rally faster than had been expected. Her
system had received a terrible shock, but it had not been
enfeebled by disease. With returning strength came an
insatiate craving for action, — an almost desperate effort
to occupy her hands and mind. Before it was prudent
for Graham to go out or exert himself — for his wound
had developed some bad symptoms — she came to see him,
bringing delicacies made with her own hands.

ISeverhadher appearance so appealed to his heart.
Her face had grown thin, but its lovely outlines remained;
and her dark eyes seemed tenfold more lustrous in con-
trast with her white hair. She had now a presence that
the most stolid would turn and look afterwith a wonder-
ing pity and admiration, while those gifted with a 6ne
perception could scarcely see her without tears. Graham
often thought that if she could be turned into marble she
would make the Ideal statue representing the women of
both the contending sections whose hearts the war had
broken.

As she came and went, and as he eventually spent long
hours with her and her jKather, she became to him a study
of absorbing interest, in which his old analytical bent was
not wholty wanting." "What," he asked himself every hour
in the day, " will be the effect of an experience like this on
such a woman ? what the final outcome ? " There was in
this interest no curiosity, in the vulgar sense of the word.
It was rather the almost sleepless suspense of a man who
has everything at stake, and who, in watching the strug-
gle of another mind to cope with misfortune, must learn
at the same time his own fate. It was far more than this,
— it was the vigilance of one who would offer help at all
times and at any cost. Still, so strong are natural or ac-
quired characteristics that he could not do this without

ITTH BOMBRE RIVALS.

277

iiianifcsfcing some of the traits of the Alfoi'd Granam who
years before had studied the mirthful Grace St. John
with the hope of analyzing her power and influence. And
had he ueen wholly indifferent to her, and as philosophi-
cal and cynical as once it was his pride to think he was,
she would still have remained an absorbing study. Her
sudden and awful bereavement had struck her strong and
exceptional spiritual nature with the shattering force of
the ball that crashes through muscle, bone and nerves.
In the latter case the wound may be mortal, or iu may
cause weakness and deformity. The wounded spirit must
survive, although the effects of the wound may be even
more serious and far-reaching — changing, developing, or
warping character to a degree that even the most expe-
rienced cannot predict. Next to God, time is the great
healer; and human love, guided by tact, can often
achieve signal success.

But for Graham there was no God; and it must be said
that this was becoming true of Grace also. As Hilland
had feared, the influence of those she loved and trusted
most had gradually sapped her faith, which in her ca^-e
had been a more cherished tradition, received from her
mother, than a vital experience.

Hilland's longings for a life hereafter, and his words
of regret that she had lost the faith of her girlhood, were
neutralized by the bitter revolt of her spirit against her
unmeasurable misfortune. Her own experience was to
her a type of all the desolating evil and sorrow of the
world ; and in her agony she could not turn to a God
who permitted such evil and suffering. It seemed to her
that there could be no merciful, overruling Providence,
— that her husband's view, when his mind was in its
most vigorous and normal state, was more rational than a
religion which taught that a God who loved good left evil
to make such general havoc.

" It's the same blind contention of force in men as in
nature," she said to herself; "and only the strong or the
fortunate survive."

-m'-

i#H

278

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

One flay sho askerl Oraliam abruptly, " Do you believe
that, the human spirit li\ s on pfter death V

Ho was sorely trouhle( I (,o know how i- answer her,
but after a little hesitation said " I feel, as , our husband'
did, that I should be glad if you had the'^^aith of your
girlhood. I think it would be a comfort to you."

"That's truly a continental view: si mrstition is use-
ful to women. Will you not honestly reat me as you»
equal, and tell me what you, as an educated man
believe ?"

"No," he replied, gravely and sadly, " 1 will only recall
with emphasis your husband's last words."

" You ar« loyal to him, at least; and I respect y( a for
it. But I know what you believe, and what Warren be-
lieved when his faculties wore normal and unbiassed by
the intense longing of his heart. I am only a woman,
Alford, but I must use such little icason as I have ; and
no beiniT except o^Q created by man's ruthless imagina-
tion could permit the suffering which this war daily en-
tails. It's all of the earth, earthly. Alford," she added,
in a low, passionate utterance, " I could believe in a devil
more easily than in a Ood; and yet my unbelief sinks me
into the very depths of a hopeless desolation. What am
I ? A mere little atom among these mighty forces and
passions which rock the world with their violence. 0, I
was so happy ! and now I am crushed by some hap-hazard
bullet shot in the darkness."

He looked at her wonderingly and was silent.

"Alford," she continued, her eyes glowing in the ex-
citement of her strong, passionate spirit, "I will not suc-
cumb to all this monstrous evil. If I am but a transient
emanation of the earth, and must soon return to my kin-
dred dust, still I can do a little to diminish the awful ag-
gregate of suffering. My nature, earth-bom as it is, re-
volts at a selfish indiflference to it all. O, if there is a
God, why does He not rend the heavens in His haste to
* cay the black torrents of evil ? Why does he not send

HIR SOMBRE KIVALS.

279

the aiir'ck of whom my mother told me when a child, and
bid them stand between the armies that are desolating
thousands of hearts like min(> ? Or if Ho chooses to \\ork
by silent, gentle influeiuos like those of spring, why does
He not brinir human hearl > tog<'ther hat are akni and
onbance the" content and happiness vhieh our briel ile
permits? But no. Unhappy i.iistakes are made. Alas
my friend, we both know it lo our sorrow 1 Why should
J fei<^ icrnorance of that which your unbounded and un-
selfish devotion has proved so often. Why should you
not know that before this dea<lly stroke fell my only
iXrief was that you suffered ; and that as long as I coukl
pray I prayed for your happiness? T<ow I can see only
merciless force or blind chance, that in nature snntes with
the t.'rrible tornado the lonely forest oi- the thriving
vilhi'^e, the desolate waves or some ship upon them. Men
within tlu -r boasted reason, are even worse. What could
be more mad and useless than this war ? Alford I alone
have suffered enough to make the thing accursed; and 1
mu St suffer to the end : and 1 am only one of countless
women. What is there for me, what for them, but to
o-row lonelier and sadder every day ? But I won t sub-
?nit to the evil. I won't be a mere bit of helpless drift.
While 1 live there shall be a little less suffering in the
world. Ah, Alford, you see how far removed I am troin
the sportive girl you saw on that May evening years ago.
I am an old, white-haired, broken-hearted woman ; and
yot " with a grand look in her eyes, she. concluded, i
have spirit enough left to take up arms against all the
evil and suffering within my reach. 1 know how puny
my efforts will be ; but I would rather try to push back
an avalanche than cower before it."

Thus she revealed to him the workings of her mind ;
and he worshipped her anew as one of the gentlest and
most loving of women, and yet possessed of a nature so
strong that under the guidance of reason it could throw
off the shackles of superstition and defy even fate. Vn-

irsmmm

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280

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS,

(ler the spell of her words the evil of the world did see n
an avalanche, not of snow, but of black molten lava ; whil.j
she, too brave and noble to cower and cringe, stood' be tore
it, her little hand outstretched to stay its deadly onset.

f 'i

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE WHITE-HAIRED NURSE.

LIFE at the two cottages was extremely secluded.
All who felt entitled to do so made calls, partly
ot condolence and partly from curiosity. The occupants
ot the two unpretending dwellings had the respect of
the community; but from their rather unsocial ways
could not be popular. The old major had ever detested
society in one of its phases,— that is, the claims of mere
vicinage, the duty to call and be called upon by people
who live near, when there is scarcely a thought or taste
m common. With his Southern and army associations
he had drifted to a New England city ; but he ignored the
*^'i*y^xcept as it furnished friends and things that pleas-
ed him. His attitude was not contemptuous or un-
neighbourly, but simply indifferent.

" I don't thrust my life on any one," he once said to
Mrs. Mayburn, "except you and Grace. Why should
other people thrust their lives on me ? "

His limited income had required economy, and his in-
firmities a life free from annoyance. As has been shown,
Grace had practised the one with heart as light as her
purse and had interposed her own sweet self between
the irritable veteran and everything that could vex him.
The callmg wor d had its revenge. The major was pro-
tane they had said ; Qrace was proud, or led a slavish

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

281

did see I)
/a ; whilij
od before
'■ onset.

secluded.
Is, partly
iccupants
jspect of
iai ways
detested
of mere
Y people
or taste
oeiations
Lored the
sit pleas-
; or un-
said to
' should

i his in-
1 shown,
) as her
between
''ex him.
vas pro-
slavish

life The most heinous sin of all was, they were poor.
There were several families, however, whom Grace and
the major had found congenial, with various shades of
difference ; and the young girl had never lacked all the
society she cared for. Books had been her chief plearure ;
the acquaintance of good whist-players had been culti-
vated ; army and Southern friends appeared occasionally,
and when Mrs. Mayburn had become a neighbour, she
had been speedily adopted into the closest intimacy. When
Hilland had risen above their horizon he soon glorified
the world to Grace. To the astonishment of society, she
had married a millionaire, and they had all continued to
live as quietly and unostentatiously as before. There
had been another slight effort to " know the people at
the St. John cottage," but it had speedily died out. The
war had brought chiefly military associations and ab-
sence. Now again there was an influx of callers, largely
from the church that Grace had once attended. Mrs. May-
burn received the majority with a grim politeness, but
discriminated very favourably in cases of those who
>ame solely from honest sympathy. All were made to
feel, however, that, like a mourning veil, sorrow should
shield its victims from uninvited observation.

Hilland's mother had long been dead, and his father
died at the time when he was summoned from his studies
in Germany. While on good terms with his surviving
relatives, there had been no very close relationship^ or
intimacy remaining. Grace had declared that she wish-
ed no other funeral service than the one conducted by
the good old Confederate pastor; and the relatives,
learning that they had no interest in the will, speedily
discovered that they had no farther interest whatever.
Thus the inmates of the two cottages were left to pursue
their own shadowed paths, with little interference from
the outside world. The major treasured a few cordial
eulogies of Hilland cut from the journals at the time ;
and except in the hearts wherein he was enshrined a

282

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

:irjnj

living image, the brave, genial, high-souled man passed
from men's thoughts and memories, like thousands of
others in that long harvest of death.

Graham's wound at last was well-nigh healed, and the
time was drawing near for his return to the army. His
general had given such a very favourable account of the
circumstances attending his offence, and of his career as a
soldier both before and after the affair, that the matter
was quietly ignored. Moreover, Hilland, as a soldier and
by reason of the loyal use of his wealth, stood very high
in the estimation of the war authorites ; and the veteran
major was not without his surviving circle of influential
friends. Graham, therefore not only retained his rank,
but was marked for promotion.

Of all this, however, he thought and cared little. If
he had loved Grace before he idolized her now. And yet
with all her deep affection for him, and her absolute trust,
she seemed more remote than ever. In the new phase of
her grief she was ever seeking to do little things which
she thought woidd please him. But this was also true
of her course towards Mrs. Mayburn, especially so to-
wards her father, and also, to a certain extent, towards
the poor and sick in the vicinity. Her one effort seemed to
be to escape from her thoughts, herself, in a ceaseless minis-
try to others. And the effort sometimes degenerated in-
to restlessness. There was such a lack of repose in her
manner that even those who loved her most were pained
and troubled. There was not enough to keep her busy
all the time, and yet she was ever impelled to do some-
thing.

One day she said to Graham, I wish I could go back
with you to the war ; not that I wish to shed another
drop of blood, but I would like to march, march forever."

Shrewd Mrs. Mayburn, who had been watching Grace
closely for the last week or two, said quietly, " Take her
hack with you, Alford. Let her become a nurse in some
hospital. It will do both her and a lot of poor fellows a
world of good,"

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

283

" Mrs. May burn, you have thought of just the thing."
cried Grace. " In a hospital full of sick and wounded
men I could make my life amount to something ; I should
never need to be idle then."

" Yes, you would. You would be under orders like
Alford, and would have to rest when off duty. But, as
you say. you coul 1 be of great service, instead of wasting
your energy in coddling tw^o old people. You might
save many a poor fellow's life."

"0," she exclaimed, clasping her hands, "The bare
thought of saving one poor woman from such suffering
as mine is almost overwhelming. But how can I leave

papa ?

" I'll tcke care of the major and insure his consent.
If men are so possessed to make wounds, it's time women
did more to cure them. It is all settled : you are to go.
I'll see the major about it now, if he has just begun his
newspaper ; " and the old lady took her knitting and de-
parted with her wonted prompt energy.

At first Graham was almost speechless from su^ :ise,
mingled doubt and pleasure , but the more he thought
of it° the more he was convinced that the plan was an
inspiration.

" Alford, you will take me ? " she said, appealingly.
" Yes," he replied smilingly, " if you will promise to
obey my orders in part, as well as those of your sup-
eriors."

" I'll promise anything if you will only take me. Am
I not under your care ? "

" O Grace, Grace, I can do so little for you ! "
"No one living can do more. In providing this chance
of relieving a little pain, of preventing a little suffering,
you help me, you serve me, as no one else could. And,
Alford, if you are wounded, come to the hospital where
I am ; I will never leave you till you are well. Take me
to some exposed place in the field, where there is danger,
where men are brought in desperately wounded, where
you would be apt to be."

284

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

"I don't know where I shall be, but I would covet the
wound that would bring you to my side as nurse."

She thought for a few moments, and then said reso-
lutely, " I will keep as near to you as I can. I ask n6
pay for my services. On the contrary, I will employ my
useless wealth iu providing for exposed hospitals.
When I attempt to take care of the sick or wounded, I
will act scrupulously under the orders of the surgeon 'in
charge ; but I do not see why, if I pay my own way, I
«.annot come and go as I think I can be most useful."

" Perhaps you could, to a certain extent, if you had a
permit," said Graham, thoughtfully ; "but I think you
would accomplish more by remaining in one hospital an 1
acquiring skill by regular work. It would be a source
of indescribable anxiety to nue to think of your goino-
about alone. If I know just where you are, I can find
you and write to you."

" I will do just what you wish " she said, gently.
" I wish for only what is best for you."
" I know that. It woidd be strange if I did not.'
Mrs. Mayburn was not long in convincing the major
that her plan might be the means of incalculable benefit
to Grace as well as to others. He, as well as herself and
Graham, had seen with deep anxiety that Grace was giv-
ing way to a fever of unrest : and he acquiesed in the
view that it might better run its course in wholesome
activity, amid scenes of sufferings that might tend to re-
concile her to her own sorrow.

Graham, however took the precaution of calling on Dr.
Markham, who, to his relief, heartily approved of the
measure. On one point Graham was firm. He would
not permit her to g© to an hospital in the field, liable to
vicissitudes from sudden movements of the contending
armies, He found one for her, however, in which she
would have ample scope for all her efiforts ; and before he
left he interested those in charge so deeply in the white-
haired nurse that he felt she would always be under
watchful, friendly eye*

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

285

" Grace," he said, as he was taking leave, " I have tried
to be a true friend to you."

•' 0, Alford ! " she exclaimed, and she seized his hand
and held it in both of hers,

His face grew stern, rather than tender as he added,
" You will not be a true friend to me — you will wrong me
deeply — if you are reckless of your health and strength.
Remember that, like myself, you have entered the ser-
vice, and that you are pledged to do your duty, and not
to work with feverish zeal until your strength fails.
You are just as much under obligation to take essential
rest as to ca.re for the most sorely wounded in your ward.
I shall take the advice I give. Believing that I am some-
what essential to your welfare and the happiness of those
whom we have left at home, I shall incur no risks beyond
those which properly fall to my lot. I ask you to be
equally conscientious and considerate of those whose lives
are bound up in you."

" I'll try," she said with that same pathetic look and
utterance which had so moved him on the fearful night
of his return from the army. " But, Alford, do not speak
to me so gravely, I had almost said sternly, just as we
are saying good-by."

He raised her hand to his lips, and smiled into her
pleading face as he replied, " I only meant to impress you
with the truth that you have a patient who is not in your
ward, — one who will often be sleeping under the open
sky, I know not where. Care a little for him, as well as
for the unknown men under your charge. This you can
do only by taking care of yourself. You, of all others,
should know that there are wounds besides those which
bring men to this hospital."

Tears rushed into her eyes as she faltered. " You could
not have made a stronger appeal."
" You will write to me often ? "

" Yes, and you cannot write too often. 0, Alford ! I
cannot wish you had never seen me ; but it would have
been far, far better for you if you had not."

r :» ■

286

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

i J '

tr-1,^^; T^'" ^,'^, ^^'^'^' '" ^*^^' ^^^''^^S emphasis. " Grace
Hilland, I would rather be your friend than have the love
01 any woman tliat ever lived."

" You do yourself great wrong (pardon me for savin- it
but your happiness is so dear to me) you do yourself ^reat
wrong. A girl like Pearl Anderson could make you truly
iiappy ; and you could make her happy."

"Sweet little Pearl will be happy some day ; and I may
be one of the causes, but not in the way you sucTcrest It
IS hard to say good-by and leave you here alone, aSd every
moment I stay only makes it harder."

He raised her hand once more to his lips, then almost
rushed away.

Days lapsed into weeks, and weeks into months The
tireless nurse alleviated sufferings of every kind; and
her silvery hair was like a halo around a saintly head to
manv a poor fellow. She had the deep solace of know-
ing that not a few wives and mothers would have mourn-
ed had It not been for her faithfulness

f.lf ^1* ^T\ '''''' "^T^l "^P"^^ ^^* ^^^^- She sometimes
felt that she was slowly bleeding to death. The deep,
daik tide of suffering, in spite of all she could do, grew
deeper and darker; and she was growing wearV and
discouraged. » & v ^

Graharai saw her at rare intervals ; and although she
brightened greatly at his presence, and made ''heroic
efforts to satisfy him that she was doing well, he grew
anxious and depressed. But there was nothing tangible
nothing definite. She was only a little pale?, a little
thinner ; and vhen he spoke of it she smilingly told him
that he was growing gaunt himself with his hard cam-
paigning.

InnV^-l* ^''"' ^fu?/.^^ complained, "are beginning to
look like a wraith that may vanish some moonlight-niSit "
Mer letters were frequent, sometimes even cheerfufbut
brief He wrote at great length, filling his pages With
descriptions of nature, with ecenes that were often

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

287

hamorous but not trivial, with genuine life, but none oi
its froth. Life for both had become too deep a tragedy
for any nonsense. He passed through many dangers, but
these, as far as possible, he kept in the background ; and
fate pitying his one deep wound, spared him any others.

At last there came the terrible battle of the Wilderness,
and the wards were filled with desperately wounded
men The poor nurse gathered up her failing powers for
one more effort ; and Confederate and Union men looked
after her wonderingly and reverently, even in their mor-
tal weakness. To many she seemed like a minister-
ing spirit rather than a woman of flesh and blood ; and
lips of dying men blessed her again and again. But they
brouo-ht no blessing. She only shuddered and grew
more" taint of heart as the scenes of agony and death in-
creased. Each wound was a type of HiUand s wound,
and in every expiring man she saw her husband die.
Her poor little hands trembled now as she sought to stem
the black, black tide that deepened and broadened and
foamed around her. j i i.

Late one night, after a new influx of the woundecl, she
was greatly startled while passing down her ward by
hearing a voice exclaim ! " Grace,— Grace Brentford !
It was her mother's name.

The call was repeated ; and she tremblingly approach-
ed a cot on which was lying a gray-haired man.

"Great God" he exclaimed, "am I dreaming ? am 1
delirious ? How is it that I see before me the woman i
loved forty-odd years ago ? You cannot be Grace Brent-
ford, for she died long years since."
*• No, but I am her daughter."

"Her daughter !" said the man struggling to rise up-
on his elbow,—" her daughter ! She should not look

older than you." i . r • i?

" Alas sir, my age is not the work of time, but oi griei.
I grew old 'in a day. But if you knew, and loved my
mother, you have sacred claims upon me. I am a nurse
in this ward, and will devote myself to you."

Ir ?iJ

288

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

The man sank back exhausted. " This is strange,
strange indeed," he said. " It is God's own providence.
Yes, my child, I loved your mother, and I love her still.
Harry St. John won her fairly ; but he c )uld not have
loved her better than I. I am now a lonely old man,
dying, I believe, in my enemy's hands, but I thank God
that I've seen Grace Brentford's child, and that she can
soothe my last hours."

" Do not feel so discouraged about yourself," said Grace,
her tears falling fast. " Think rather that you have been
brought here that I might rmrse you back to life. Be-
lieve me, I will do so with tender, loving care."

" How strange it all is ! " the man said again. " You
have her very voice, her manner; but it was by your eyes
that I recognised you. Your eyes are young and beauti-
ful like hers, and full of tears, as hers were when she sent
me away with an ache in my heart that has never ceased.
It will soon be cured now. Your father will remember a
wild young planter down in Georgia by the name of Phil
Harkness."

" Indeed, sir, I've heard both of my parents speak of
you, and it was ever with respect and esteem."

" Give my greeting to your father, and say I never bore
him any ill-will. In the saddest life there is always some
compensation. I have had wealth and honors, I am a
colonel in our army, and have been able to serve the cause
I loved ; but, chief of all, the child of Grace Brentford is
by my side at the end. Is your name Grace also ? "

" Yes. 0, why is the world so full of hopeless trouble ?"

"Not hopeless trouble, my child. I am not hopeless.
For long years I have had peace, if not happiness, — a
deep inward calm which the confusion and roar of the
bloodiest battles could not disturb. I can close my eyes
now in my final sleep as quietly as a child. In a few
hours, my dear, I may see your mother ; and I shall tell
her that I left her child assuaging her own sorrow by
ministering to others."

HIS SOMBRE B IVALS.

289

'• Oh, oh !" sobbed Grace, " pray cease, or I shall not bP
fit for my duties ; your words pierce my very soul Let
,ne nurse you back to health. Let me take you to my
home until you are exchanged, for I must return. 1
must, must. My strength is going fast ; and you t>n»g be-
fore me my dear old father whom I have left too long

« My poor child I God comfort and sustain you. Do
not let me keep you longer from your duties, and from
those who need you more than I Come and say a word
to me when you can. That's all I ask My wound was
dressed before your watch began, and Im doing as well
as I could expect. When you feel like it, you can tell me

more about yourself. , ,

Their conversation had been in a low tone as she sat
beside him, the patients near either sleeping or too pre-
occupied by their own suflerings to give much heed.

Weary and oppressed by bitter despondency, she went
from cot to cot, attending to those iii her charge lo
her the old colonel's sad history seemed a mockery of his
faith, and but another proof of a God-forgotten world^
She envied his belief, with its hope and peace ; but he
had only increased her unbehcf. But all through the
long night she watched over him, coming often to his
side with delicacies and wine, and with gentle words that
were far more grateful. „

Once, as she was smoothing back his gray locks from
his damp forehead, he smiled, and murmured, ^^ C^od
bless you, my child. This is a foretaste of heaven. ^^

In the gray dawn she came to him ^nd said, ftly
watch is over, and I must leave you for a little while !
but as soon as I have rested I will come again.

"Grace," he faltered, hesitatingly, " would you mind
kissing an old, old man ? I never had a child of my

own to kiss me." . ,

She stooped down and kissed him again and again,
and he felt her hot tears upon his face.

I I

la •

n 'h

» :i

i i-

fll

290

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

" You liavo a tender hcarfc, my dear," ho said, g(!ntK
*' Oood-by, (;race,— Grace Brentford's child. Dear Grjui'e,
when v/e meet again perhaps all tears will be wiped from'
your eyes forever."

She stole awjiy exhausted and almost despairing. On
reaching her little room she sank on her couch moanintr
" O Warren, Warren, would that 1 were sleeping your
dreamless sleep beside you ! "

Long before it w^s time for her to go on duty again
she returned to the ward to visit her aged friend. His
cot was empty. In reply to her eager question she was
told that he had died suddenly from internal hemorrhao-e
soon after she had loft him. ^

She looked dazed for a moment, as if she had received
a blow, then fell fainting on the cot from which her
mother's friend had been taken. The limit of her en-
durance wag passed.

Before the day closed, the surgeon in charge of the
hospital told her gently but firmly that she must take
an indehnite leave of absence. She departed at once in
the care of an attendant; but stories of the white-haired
nurse lingered so long in the ward ^,nd hospital that at
ast they begun to grow vague and maj-vellous like the
legencts of a saint.

CHAPTER XXXIV.
rita's brother.

A^L through the campaign of '64 the crimson tide of
war deepened and broadened. Even Graham's cool
and veteran spirit was appalled at the awful slaughter on
either side. The Army of the Potomac— the grandest

HIS SOMBUK RIVALS.

291

army ovor orj^anizcd, and a'vays made more Hublime and
hcroii' by dol'Sit — was led ^,^y a man as reiiiorseloHH as fate,
lie was "fate to thousands of loyal men, whom he placed at
will as cooly as if they had hmm the pieces on a chess-
board. He was fate to the Confederacy, upon wliose
throat he placed his iron grasp, never relaxed until life
was extinct. In May, 1804, he cpuetly crossed the Rap -
idan for the death-grapple. He took the most du-ect
loute for Richmond, ignoring all obstacles and the fate oi'
his predecessors. To think that General Grant wished to
fight the battle of the Wilderness is pure idiocy. One
would almost as soon choose the Dismal Swamp for a
battle-ground. It was, n-idoubtedly, his hope to pass be-
yond that gloomy tangle, over which the shadow of death
had brooded ever since fatal Chancellor.svillc. But Lee,
his brilliant and vigilant opponent, rarely lost an advan-
tage ; and Graham's experienced eye, as with the cavalry
he was in the extreme advance, clearly saw that their
position woidd give their foes enormous advantages.
Lee's movements would be completely masked by the
almost impervious growth. He and his lieutenants could
approach within striking distance, whenever they chose,
without being seen, and had little to fear from the Union
artillery, which the past had given them much cause to
dread. It was a region also to disgust the very soul of a
cavalryman ; for the low scrubby growth lined the nar-
row roads almost as effectually as the most scientifically
prepared abatis. .

Graham's surmise was correct. Lee would not wait till
his antagonist had reached open and favourable ground,
but attacked at once, where, owing to peculiarities of po-
sition, one of his thin regiments had often the strength of

a brigade.

On the morning of the 5th of May began one ot the
most awful, and bloody battles in the annals of warfare.
Indeed it was the beginning of on long and almost con-
tinuous struggle which ended only at Appomattox.

S.'sr!:rii«ii¥ 'v:^^n'ig&:. :(.'*,

292

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

With a hundred thousand more, Graham was swept m-
to the blo()d,y vortex, and through summer heat, autumn
rains, and winter cold, he marched and fought with little
rest. He was ef entually given the colonelcy of his regi-
ment, and, at times, commanded a brigade. He passed
through unnumbered dangers unscathed ; and his invul-
nerability became a proverb among his associates. In-
deed he was a mystery to them, for his face grew sadder
and sterner every day, and his reticence about himself and
all his affairs was often remarked upon. His men and of-
ficers had unbounded respect for him, that was not wholly
unmixed with fear ; for while he was considerate, and ask-
ed for no exposure to danger in which he did not share, his
steady discipline was never relaxed, and he kei)t himself
almost wholly aloof, except as cheir military relations
required contact. He could not, therefore, be populai'
among the hard swearing, rollicking, and convivial
cavalrymen, in a long period of inaction he might hr .o
become very unpopular, but the admirable manner in
which he led them into action, and his sagacious, care of
them and their horses on the march and in camp, led
them to trust him implicitly. Chief of all, he had ac-
quired that which with the stern veterans of that da>
went farther than anything else, — a reputation for daunt-
less courage. What they objected to were his " glum looks
and unsocial ways," as the}'- termed them.
^ They little knew that his cold, stern face hid suffering
that was growing almost desperate in its intensity. They
little Icnew that he was chained to his military duty as
to a rock, while a vulture of anxiety was eating out his
very heart. What was a pale, thin, white-haired woman
to them ? But v/hat to him ? How true it is that often
the heaviest burdens of life are those at which the world
would laugh, and of which the overweighted heart cannot
and will not spe.'^k !

For a long time after his plunge into the dreary depths
of the Wilderness he had received no letters. Then he

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

293

lind learned of Grace's return home ; and at first he wan
glad indeed. His aunt had written nothing more alarm-
mg than that Grace had overtaxed her strength in caring
for the throngs of wounded men sent from the Wilder-
ness, that she needed rest and good tonic treatment.
Then cam.e word that she was " better ; " then the}-
" hoped she was gaining ! " then they were about to go
to " the sea-shore, and Grace had always improved, in
salt-air." It was then intimated that she had found "the
summer heat very enervating, and now that tall winds
were blowing she would grow stronger." At last, at the
beginning of winter, it was admitted that she had not
improved as they had hoped; but they thought she was
holding her own very well — that the continued and ter-
rific character of the war oppressed her, — and that every
day she dreaded to hear that he had been stricken among
other thousands.

Thus little by little, ever softened by some excuse or
some hope, the bitter truth grew plain : Grace was fail-
ing, fading, threatening to vanish. He wrote as often as
he could, and sought to cheer, sustain, and reconcile her
to life At first she wrote to him not infrequently, but
her letters grew farther and farther apart, and at last she
wrote, in the early spring of '65 :

" I wish I could see you, Alford ; but I know it is im-
possible. You are strong, you are doing much to end
this awful war, and it's your duty to remain at your post.
You must not sully your perfect image in my mind, or
add to my unhappiness by leaving the service now for
my sake."^ I have learned the one bitter lesson of the
times. No matter how much personal agony, physical
or mer tal, is involved, the war must go on ; and each one
must keep his place in the ranks till he falls or is disabled.
J have fallen. I am disabled. My w^ound will not close,
and, drop by drop, life and strength are ebbing. I know
1 disappoint you, my true, true friend ; but I cannot help
it. Do not reproach me. Do not blame me too harshly

294

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

IIL IB

Think me weak, as I truly am. Indeed when I am gone
your chances will be far better. It costs me a great eftort
to write this. There is a weight on mv hand and brain
as well as on my heart. Hereafter I w*ill send my mes-
sages through, dear, kind Mrs. Mayburn, who has been a,
mother to me in all my sorrow. Do not fear : I will wait
till you can come with honour ; for I must see you once
more."

For a long time after receiving this letter a despair fell
on Graham. He was so mechanical in the performance of
his duties that his associates wondered at him, and he
grew more gaunt and haggard than ever. Then in sharp
reaction came a feverish eagerness to see the war ended.

Indeed, all saw that the end was near, and none, pro-
bably, more clearly than the gallant and indomitable Lee
himself. At last the Confederate army was outflaniied,
the lines around Petersburg were broken through, and the
final pursuit began. It was noted that Graham fought
and charged with an ahnost tiger-like fierceness; and for
once his men said, with reason, that he had no mercy on
them. He was almost counting the hours until the time
when he could sheathe his sword, and say, with honour
" I resign." '

One morning they struck a large force of the enemy,
and he led a headlong charge. For a time the fortunes
of the battle wavered, for th» Confederates fought with
the courage of desperation. Graham, on his powerful
horse, soon became a conspicuous object, and all o-ave
way before him as if he were a messenger of death, afthe
same time wondering at his invulnerbility.

The battle surged on and forward until the enemy were
driven into a thick piece of woods. Graham on the right
of his line directed liis bugler to give the order to dis-
mount, and a moment later his lino of battle plun(Ted in-
to the forest. In the desperate melee tliat followed in the
under-brush, he was lost to sight except to a few of his
men. It was here that he found himself confronted by

HIS SOMBRE BIVALS.

295

a Confederate officer, from whose eyes flashed the deter-
mination either to sky or be slain. Graham had crossed
swords with him but a moment when he recognised that
he had no ordinary antagonist ; and, with his instinct ot
fight aroused to its highest pitch, he gave himselt up
wholly to a personal and mortal combat, shouting, mean-
time to those near, " Leave this man to me."

Looking his opponent steadily in the eye, like a true
Bwordsman, he remained first on the defensive ; and such
was his skill that his long, straight blade was a shield as
well as a weapon. Suddenly the dark eyes and features?
of his opponent raised before him the image of Rita An-
derson ; and he was so overcome for a second that the
Confederate touched his breast with his sabre, and drew
blood. That sharp prick and the thought that Rita's
brother might be before him aroused every faculty and
power of his mind and body. His sword was a shield
again, and he shouted, " Is not your name Henry Ander-

son f

" My name is our cause," was the defiant answer ;

« with it I will live or die."

Then came upon Graham one of those rare moments
in his life when no mortal man could stand before him.
Ceasing his wary, rapid fence, his sword played like
lightning ; and in less than a moment the Confederate's
sabre flew from his hand, and he stood helpless.

" Strike," he said, sullenly ; " I won't surrender."

" I'd sooner cut off my right hand," replied Graham,
smiling upon him, " than strike the brother of Rita An-
derson,"

" Is your name Graham ? " asked his opponent, his as-
pect changing mstantly.

" Yes ; and you are Henry. I saw your sisters eyes
in yours. Take up your sword, and go quietly to the
rear as my friend, not prisoner. I adjure you in the name
of your old and honoured father and your noble-hearted
sister to let me keep my promise to them to save your
life, were it ever in my power."

296

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

tii! i

!f)

>i„ ill'
H if:

'I U
h Ip,.

" I yield," said the young man, in deep despondency.
" Our cause is lost, and you are the only man in the
Nlorth to whom I should be willing to surrender. Colonel,
[ will obey your orders."

Sammoning his orderly and another soldier, he said to
them, "Escort this gentleman to the rear. Let him keep
his arms. I have too much confidence in you, Colonel
Anderson, even to ask that you promise not to escape..
Treat him with respect. He will share my quarters to-
night." And then he turned and rushed onward to over-
take the extreme advance of his line, wondering at the
strange scene which had passed with almost the rapidity

of thought. n ' -, X.'

That night by Graham's camp-fire began a friendship
between himself and Henry Anderson which would be
lifelong. The latter asked, " Have you heard from my
father and sister since you parted with them."

" No. My duties have carried me far away from that
region. But it is a source of unspeakable gratification
that we have met, and that you can tell me of their wel-

TO -pp

" it does seem as if destiny, or, as father would say,
Providence, had linked mv fortunes and those of my family
with you. He and Rita would actually have suffered
with hunger but for you. Since you were there the re-
crion has been tramped and fought over by the forces of
both sides, and swept bare. My father mentioned your
name and that of Colonel Hilland ; and a guard was
placed over his house, and he and Rita were saved from
any personal annoyance. But all his slaves, except the old
woman you remember, were either run off or enticed
away, and his means of livelihood practically destroyed.
Old Uncle Jehu and his son Huey have almost support-
ed them. They, simple souls, could not keep your
secret, though they tried to after their clumsy fashion
My pav you know, was almost worthless ; and indeed
there was little left for them to buy. Colonel Graham,

HIS SOMBRL RIVALS.

297

1 am indebted to you for far more than liffe, which han
become well-nigh a burden to me."

" Life has brought far heavier burdens to others than
to you, Colonel Anderson. Those you love are living ;
and to provide for and protect such a father and sister as
you possess might well give zest to any life. Your cause
is lost; and the time may come sooner than you expect
when you will be right glad of it. I know you cannot
think so now, and we will not dwell on this topic. I can
testify from four years' experience that no cause was ever
defended with higher courage or more heroic self-sacrifice.
But your South is not lost ; and it will be the fault of
its own people if it does not work out a grander destiny
within the Union than it could ever achieve alone. But
don't let us discuss politics. You have the same right
to your views that I have to mine. I will tell you how
much I owe to your father and sister, and then you will
see that the burden of obligation rests upon me ; " and he
gave his own version of that memorable day whose con-
sequences threatened to culminate in Grace Hilland's death.
Under the dominion of this thought he could not hide
the anguish of his mind ; and Rita had hinted enough in
her letters to enable Anderson to comprehend his new-
found friend. He took Graham's hand, and as he wrung
it he said, " Yes, life has brought to others heavier bur-
dens than to me." , ^ , um. t t
" You may have thought," resumed Graham, inat x
fought savagely to-day ; but I felt that it is best for all
to end this useless, bloody struggle as soon as possible.
As for myself, I'm just crazed with anxiety to get away
and return home. Of course we cannot be together after
to-night, for with the dawn I must be in the saddle. To-
night you shall share my blankets. You must let nao
treat you as your father and Rita treated me. 1 will
divide my money with vou : don't grieve me by object-
ing Gall it a loan if you will. Your currency is now
worthless. You must go wit}> the other prisoners ; but

29S

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

.11!.

I can soon obtain your release on parole ^ and then, in
the name of all that is sacred, return home to those who
idolize you. Do this, Colonel Anderson, and you will lift
a heavy burden from one who is already overweighted."
" As you put the case I cannot do otherwise," was the
sad reply. " Indeed I have no heart for any more useless
fighting. My duty now is clearly to my father and

sister

That night the two men slumbered side by side, and in
the dawn parted more like brothers than like foes.

As Graham predicted, but a brief time elapsed before
Lee surrendered, and Colonel Anderson's liberty on parok
was soon secured. They parted with the assurance that
they would meet again as soon as circumstances would

permit.

At the earliest hour in which he could depart with
honour, Graham's urgent entreaty secured him a leave of
absence ; and he lost not a moment in his return, send-
ing to his aunt in advance a telegram to v nounce his
coming.

I. '

CHAPTER XXXV.

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

NEVEE had his noble horse Maybura seemed to fail
him until the hour that severed the military chaiu
which had so long bound him to inexorable duty, and yet
the faithful beast was carrying him like the wind. Iss,
his Servant, soon fell so far behind that Graham paused
and told him to come on more leisurely, that Mayburn
would be at the terminus of the military railroad. And
there Iss found him, with drooping head and white with
foam. The steam-engine was driven to City Point with

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

299

tlie reckless speed characteristic of military railroads ; but
to Graham tiie train seemed to crawl. He caught a
steamer bound for Washington, and paced the deck,
while in the moonlight the dark shores of the James
looked stationary. From Washington the lightning ex-
press was, in his view, more dilatory than the most lum-
bering stage of the old regime.

When at last he reached the gate to his aunt's cottage,
and walked swiftly up the path, the hour and the scene
were almost the same as when he had first come, an in-
different stranger, long years before. The fruit trees were
as snowy white with blossoms, the air as fragrant, the
birds singing as jubilantly, as when he had stood at the
window and gazed with critical admiration on a sportive
girl, a child woman, playing with her littl^ Spitz dog.
As he passed the spot where she had stood, beneath his
ambush behind the curtains, his excited mind brought
back her image with life-like realism, — the breeze in her
light hair, her dark eyes brimming with mirth, her bosom
panting-from her swift advance, and the colour of the red
rose in her cheeks.
He groaned as he thought of her now.
His aunt saw him from the window, and, a moment
later, was sobbing on his breast.

" Aunt," he gasped, " I'm not too late ?"
" 0, no," she said wearily ; Grace is alive ; but one can
scarcely say much more. Alford, you must be prepared
for a sad change."

He placed her in her chair, and stood before her with
heaving breast. " Now tell me all," he said, hoarsely.

" 0, Alford, you frighten me. You must be more com-
posed. You cannot see Grace, looking and feeling as you
do. She is weakness itself ; " and she told him how the
idol of his heart was slowly, gradually, but inevitably
sinking into the grave.

" Alford, Alford," she cried entreatingly, " why do yoa
look so stern ? You could not look more terrible in the
iiiuKt deFporato battle.

riMlHM

300

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

li:l|P

In low, deep utterance, he said : " This is my most aes-
perate battle ; and in it are the issues of life and death."

" You terrify me, and can you think that a weak dyiny
woman can look upon you as you now appear ? "

" She shall not die," he continued, in the same low,
stern utterance, " and she must look upon me, and listen,
too. Aunt, you have been faithful to me all these years.
You have been my mother. I must entreat one more ser-
vice. You must second me, sustain me, co-work with me.
You must ally all your experienced womanhood wilji my
manhood, and with my will, which may be broken, but
which shall n©t yield to my cruel fate."

" What do you propose to do ? "

" That will soon be manifest. Go and prepare Grace
for my visit. I wish to see her alone. You will please
be near, however ; " and he abruptly turned and went
to his room to remove his military suit and the dust of
travel.

He had given his directions as if in the field, and she
wonderingly and tremblingly obeyed, feeling that some
crisis was near.

Grace was greatly agitated when she heard of Graham's
arrival ; and two or three hours elapsed before she was
able to be carried down and placed on the sofa in the
library. He, out in the darkness on the piazza, watched
with eyes that glowed like coals, — watched as he had
done in the most desperate emergency of all the bloody
years of battle. He saw her again, and in her wasted,
helpless form, her hollow cheeks, her bloodless face, with
its weary, hopeless look, her mortal weakness, he clearly
recognised his sombre rivals, grief and death ; and with
a look of indomitable resolution he raised his hand and
vowed that he would enter the list against them. If it
were within the scope of human will he would drive them
from their prey.

His aunt met him in the hall and whispered, "Be
gentle."

HISISOMBRE RIVALS.

301

I have also sent

" Remain here," was his low reply,
for Dr. Markham ; " and he entered.

Grace reached out to him both her hands as she said,
" 0, Alford, you are barely in time. It is a comfort be-
yond all words to see you before — ^before—" She could
not finish the sinister sentence.

He gravely and silently took her hands, and sat down

beside her.

"I know I disappoint you," she continued. " I've been
your evil genius, I've saddened your whole life ; and you
have been so true and faithful ! Promise me, Alford, that
after I'm gone you will not let my blighted life cast its
shadow over your future years. How strangely stern

you look ! " 1 . n 1

"So you intend to die, Grace?" were his first, low

words.
« Intend to die ? "
" Yes. Do you think you are doing right by your

father in dying ? "

" Dear, dear papa ! I have long ceased to be a comtorfc
to him. He, too, will be better when I am gone. I am
now a hopeless grief to him. Alford, dear Alford, do not
look at me in that way."

" How else can I look ? Do you not comprehend what
your death means to me, if not to others ?"

« Alford, can I help it ? "

"Certainly you can. It will be sheer, downright sel-
fishness for you to die. It will be your one unwoi'thy
act. You have no disease; you have only to comply with
the conditions of life in order to live."

" You are mistaken," she said, the faintest possible
colour coming into her face. The bullet that caused
Warren's death has been equally fatal to me. Have I
not tried to live ? "

*' I do not ask you to try to live, but to live. Nay, more,
I demand it ; and I have the right. I ask for nothing
more. Although I have loved you, idolized you all these

h 11

■■MMl

302

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

■|

i ( '.

. ( I

years, I ask only that you comply with the conditions of
life and live."

The colour deepened perceptibly under his emphatic
words, and she said, "Can a woman live whose heart, and
hope, and soul, if she has one, are dead and buried ? "

" Yes, as surely as a man whose heart and hope were
l)uried long years before. There was a time when I
weakly purposed to throw off the burden of life ; but I
promised to live and do my best, and I am here to-day.
You must make me the same promise. In the name of
all the past, I demand it. Do you imagine that I ain
going to sit down tamely and shed a few helpless tears if
you do me this immeasurable wrong ? "

" O Alford ! " she gasped, " what do you mean ? "

"I am not here Grace to make threats," he said
gravely ; " but I fear you have made a merely superficial
estimate of my nature. Hilland is not. You know that
I would have died a hundred times in his place. He
committed you to my care with his last breath, and that
trust gave value to my life. What right have you to die
and bring me to the blackness of despair ? I am willing
to bear my burden patiently to the end. You should be
willing to bear yours."

" 1 admit your claim," she cried, wringing her hands.
" You have made death, that I welcome, a terror. How
can I live ? What is there left of me but a shadow ?
What am I but a mere semblance of a woman ? The
snow is not whiter than my hair, or colder than my
heart. Alford, you have grown morbid in ail these
years. You cannot know what is best. Your true
chance is to let me go. I am virtually dead now, and
when my flickering breath ceases, the change will be
slight indeed."

" It will be a fatal change for me," he replied, with
such calm emphasis that she shuddered. " You ask how
you can live. Again I repeat by complying with the
conditions of life. You have been complying with the

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

303

conditions of death; and I will not yield you to hiin,
(Irief has been a far closer and more cherished triend
than I • and you have permitted it, like a shadow to
stand between us. The time has now come when you
must choose between this fatal shad;.w, this useless,
solfish grief, and a loyal friend, who only asks that he
mav see you at times, that ho may know where t3 hnd
the one life that is essential to his life. Can you not
understand from your own experience that a word trmn
you is sweeter to me than all the music of the world ^— tnat
'smiles from you will give me courage to tight the battle
of life to the last ? Had Hilland come back wounded,
would you have listened if he had reasoned, * I am weak
and maimed-not like my old self; you will be better off

without me?'" x,. i i v

" Say no more," she faltered. " If a shadow can live,
T will If a poor, heartless, hopeless creature can
continue to breathe, I will. If I die as I believe I must,
I will die doing just what you ask. If it is possible for
n.e to live, I shall disappoint you more bitterly than ever
Alford, believe me, the woman is dead withm me. It i
live I shall become I know not what— a sort of unnatu-
ral creature, having little more than physical life.

" Grace, our mutual belief forbids such a thought. If
a plant is'deeply shadowed, and moisture is withdrawn,
it begins to die. Bring to it again light and moisture,
the conditions of its life, and it gradually revives and re-
sumes its normal state. This principle applies equally to
vou in your higher order of existence. Will you promise
me that, at the utmost exertion of your will and intelli-
gence, you will try to live ? "

"Yes, Alford; but again I warn you. You will be

' ^ He^kissed both her hands with a manner that evidenced
profound gratitude and respect, but nothing more ; and
then summoned his aunt &ni Dr. Markhara.

Grace lay back on the sofa, white and faint, with closed

eyes.

It...

304

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

V ■

iifi

" O Alford, what have you done ? " exclaimed Mrs
May burn.

" Wliat is ri^ht and rational. Dr. Markham, Mrs. Hil
land ha.s promiHcd to use the utmost exertion of her will
a«d intelligence to live. I ask that you and ray aunt
employ your utmost skill and intelligence in co-operation
with her effort. We here-all four of us-enter upon a
battle : and, like all battles, it should be fought with skill
and mdomitable courage, not sentimental impulse I
know that Mrs. Hilland will honestly make the effort' for

u V ^^® ^^ ^®®P ^®^ ^^^^- ^^ ^ ^^^ ^S^^' Grace?'"
" Yes,' was the faint reply.

. ? ^y; ??w I can go to work with hope," said the ph v-
sician briskly, as he gave his patient a little stimulant.

And I, also,' cried the old lady, tears streaming down
her face. « O darling Grace, you will live to keep all our
hearts from breaking."
"I'll try," she said, in almost mortal weariness
When she had been revived somewhat by his restora-
tives Dr. Markham said, "I now advise that she be car-
ried back to her room, and I promise to be unwearied in
my care.

" No," said Graham to his aunt. " Do not call the ser-
yante ; I shall carry her to her room myself; " and he
lifted her m gently as he would take up a chUd, and bore
her strongly and easily to her room.

"Poor, poor Alford I " she whispered,—" wasting your
rich, full heart on a shadow." ^

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

806

CHAPTER XXXVI.

ALL MATERIALISTS.

WHEN Graham returneu to the library he found that
the major had trotted in, and was awaiting him
with a look of intense anxiety. , . , ,v

" Graham, Graham !" he cried, "do you thmk there is

""^^I do.^sir. I think there is almost a certainty that
vonr daughter will live." . t . .

"Now God be praised! although I have little right to
say it, for IVe put His name to a bad use all my life.

" I don't think any harm has been done," said Graham,

smiling. ^ . j . v

" 0, 1 know, how wise you German students are. i ou
can't find God with a microscope or a telescope, and there-
fore there is none. But I'm the last man to criticise.
Grace has been my divinity since her mother died ; and if
vou can give a reasonable hope that she 11 live to close
my eyes, I'll thank the God that my wife worshipped, m
spite of all your new-fangled philosophies." ^

"And I hope I shall never be so wanting in courtesy,
to say the least, as to show anything but respect for your
convictions. You shall know the whole truth about
Grace ; and I shall look to you also for aid in a combined
efibrt to rally and strengthen her forces of life. You
know, Major, that I have seen some service."

" Yes yes ; boy that you are, you are a hundred-told
more of a veteran than I am. At the beginning of the
war I felt very superior and experienced. But the war
that I saw was mere child's play."

" Well, sir, the war that I've been through was child s
play to me compared with the battle begun to-night. I

r,o(;

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

It. I

It : i:

\\4

never feared deatli. e.veepfc as ifc miolit bring trouble to
others, and for louiT years I coveted it; but 1 fear tlii^
deatli of (Jrace Hiliand beyond anytiiin^- in this 'vrorld or
any other. As }ier faMier you sludl knew the v/hole
truth ;" and lie told his story from the evening of their
first game of whist together.

" Strange, strange !" niuttered the old man. " It's the
story of Philip Harkness over again. But, by the God
who made me, she shall reward you if she lives."

" No, Major St. John, no. She shall devote herself to
you, and live the life that her own feelings dictate. She
understands this, and I luill it. 1 assure you that what-
ever else I lack it's not a will."

" You've proved that, ( baham, if ever a man did. Well,
well, well, your coming has brought a strange and most
welcome state of afi'airs. Sonietiow you've given me a
new lease of life and courage. Of late we've all felt like
hauling down the flag, and letting grim death do his
worst. I couldn't have survived Grace, and didn*t want
to. Only plui./:y Mrs. Mayburn held on to your coming
lis a forlorn hope. You now make mo feel like nailing
the flag to the staff, and opening again with every o-un.
Grace is like her mother, if I do say it. Grace Brentford
never lacked for suitors, and she had the faculty of wak-
ing up wen. Forgive an old man s vanity. Phil Hark-
ness was a little wild as a young fellow, but he had grand
mettle in him. He made more "of a figure in the woild
than I,-— was sent to Congress, owned a big plantation,
and all. that, — but sweet Grace Brentford always looked at
me reproachfully when I rallied her on the mistake she
had made, and was contentment itself in my rough sol-
dier's quarters," and the old man took off his spectaclesto
wipe his tear-dimmed eyes. " Grace is just like her. She,
too, has waked up men. Hiliand -Tas a grand fellow ; and]
Graham, you are a soldier every inch of you, and that's
the highest praise I can bestow. You are in comiftand in
this battle, and God be with you, Your unbelief doesn't
affect Bhn any more than a mole's."

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

307

Graham lanj?liocl-hc co.il.l lanorlim ^^^^P^^^^^/ P^'
fulness-as ho replied. " I a-ree with you fu ly. It there
is a nersoaal Creator of .he uuiverHe, I certainly am a

amall object in it." , , ,. .,,

" That's not what I've been taujrht to behove either;
nor in it according to my reason. An iiifimtc God could
irivo as much attention to you as to the solar system.

" From the present aspect of the worhl, a great deal
would appear neglected;' Graham replied, with a shrug.

"Come, Colonel Graham," said the major a little,
Rharnlv " you and I have both hoard the rank and tile
.rrumble over the tactics of their general. It often turned
out that the general knew more than the men. but its
nice business for mo to be talking religion to you or any
one else;" and the idea struck him as so comical that
he laughed outright. , -i

Mrs Mayburn, who entertd at that moment said,
"That's a welcome sound. I can't remember, Major,
when I've heard you laugh. Alford, you are a magician.

Grace is sleeping quietly." ^ , , ^ i i i ^„x ? •»

" Little wonder I What have I had to laugh about ?
said the major. " But melancholy itself would laugh at
my joke to-night. Would you believe it, I ve been talk-
ing religion to the Colonel, if I haven't. ' ^^
'' I think it's time reUgion was talked to all of us.
« now, Mrs Maybnrn, don't you begin. You haven t
any God any more than Graham has. You have a jum-
ble of old-fashioned theological attributes, that are ot no
more practical use to you than the doctrines of Aristotle^
Please ring for Jinny, and tell her to bring us a bottle ot
wine and some cake. I want to drink to Grace s health
If I could see her smile again I'd fire a jeii de joie,ii i
could find any ordnance larger than a popgun. Don t
laugh at me, friends," he added wiping the tears from
his dim old eyes ; " but the bare thought that Grace^ wi 1
live to bless my last few days almost turns my head.
Where is Dr. Markham ? "

1^ '

308

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

i •

!■>

" He had othci- patients to see, and said he would re-
turn by and by," Mrs, Mayburn, replied.

" It's time we had a little relief, " she continued, "what-
ever the future may be. The slow, steady pressure of
anxiety and fear was becoming unendurable. I could
scarcely have suffered more if Grace had been my own
child ; and I feared for you, Alford, quite as much."

" And with good, reason, " he said quickly.

She gave him a keen look, and then did as the major
had requested.

" Come, friends, " cried he, " let us give up this evening
to hope and cheer. Let what will come on the morrow,
we'll have at least one more gleam of wintry sunshine to-
day. "

Filling the glasses of all with his trembling hand, he
added, when they were alone. " Here's to my darling's
health. May the good God spare her, and spare us all, to
Bee brighter days. Because I'm not good, is no reason
why He isn't."

" Amen ! " cried the old lady, with Methodistic fervor.

"What are you saying amen to ? — that I'm not good ? "

" Oh, I imagine we all average about alike, " was her
grim reply, — " the more shame to us all ! "

" Dear, conscience-stricken old aunty ! " said Graham,
smiling at her, " Will nothing ever lay your theological
ghosts ? "

" No, Alford, " she said, gravely. " Let us change the
subject."

" I've told Major St. John everything from the day I
first came here, " Graham explained; "and now before
we separate let it be understood that he joins us as a
powerful ally. His influence over Grace, after all, is
Tnore potent than that of all the rest of us united. My
words to-night have acted more like a shock than any-
thing else. I have placed before her clearly and sharply
the consequences of yielding passively, and of drifting
farther toward darkness. We must possess ourselves with

HIS SOMBRE BiVALS.

309

an almost infinite patience and vigilance Sho, after all
must bear the brunt of this fight with death ; but we
must be ever on hand to give her support, and it must be
.iven also unobtrusively, with all the tact we possess. We
can let her see that we are more cheerful in our renewed
hope, but we must be profoundly sympathetic and con-

aiderate, " „ i.„;„ i

" Well, Graham, as I said before, you are a captain, i
learned to obey orders long ago,as well as to give them ;
and the major summoned his valet and bade them good-

""' Graham, weary in the reaction from his intense feeling
and excitement, threw himself on the sofa, and his aunt
came and sat beside him.

" Alford," she said, " what an immense change youi

coming has made ! " t i, »

"The beginning of a change, I hope.

« It was time,-iit was time. A drearier household could

scarcely be imagined. 0, how dreary life can become !

Grace was dyin| Every day I expected tidings of your

death. It's a miracle that you are alive after all the.e

bloody years. All zest in living had departed from the

maior: We are all materialists, after our own fashion,

wholly dependent on earthly things, and earthly things

were failing us. In losing Grace, you and the Majoi

would have" lost everything ; so would I ^^ l^^^^g^^^

Alford, you have become a son to me. Would you bieak

a mother's heart ? Can you not still promise to hve and

do your best?" • -u i."

"Dear aunt, we shall all live and do our best.
" Is that the best you can say, Alford ? "
« Aunty there are limitations to the strength of every
man. I have reached the k)undary of mine, /rom the
time I began to struggle in the Vermont woods and all
through my exile, I fought this passion. I hesitated at
no danger, and the wilder and more desolate the region,
the greater were its attractions to me. I sought to occupy

.JU ^

310

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

1^^. -Hni

my mind with all that was new and strange ; but such
was my nature that this love became an inseparable part
of my being. I might just as well have said I would for-
get my sad childhood, the studies that have interested
me, your kindness. I might as well have decreed that I
should not look the same and be the same, — that all my
habits of thought and traits of character should not be my
own. Imagine that a tree in your garden had will and
intelligence. Could it ignore the law of its being, all the
long years which had made it what it is, and decide to be
some other kind of tree, totally different ? A man who
from childhood has had many interests, many affections,
loses, no doubt, a sort of concentration when the one su-
preme love of his life takes possession of him. If Grace
lives, and I can see that she has at last tranquilly and
patiently accepted her lot, you will find that I can be
tranquil and patient. If she dies, I feel that I shall
break utterly. I can't look into the abyss her grave
would open. Do not think that I would consciously and
deliberately become a vulgar suicide, — I hope I long since
passed that point, and love and respect for you forbid the
thought, — but the long strain that I have been under,
and 3ie dominating influence^f my life, would culminate.
I should give way like a man before a cold, deadly ava-
lanche. I have been frank with you, for in my profound
gratitude for your love and kindness I would not have
you misunder^-':and me, or think for a moment that I
proposed deliberately to forget you in my own trouble.
The truth is just ihis, aunt : I have not strength enough
to endure Grace? Hilland's death. It would be such a
lame, dreary, impotent conclusion that I should sink
under it, as truly as a man who found himself in the sea
weighted by a ton of lead. But don't let us dwell on this
thought, i truly believe that Grace will live, if we give
her all the aid she requires. If she honestly makes the
effort to live, — as she will, I feel sure,— she can scarcely
help living when the conditions of life are supplied."

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

311

« I think I understand you, Alford," said the old ladjr,
musinalv ■ " and yet your attitude seems a strange one.
•' i? b Act an unnatural one. I am what I have heen
■Towing to be all these years. I can trace the sequence of
cause and effect until this moment."

-mil, then," said the old lady, grmly" Grace must
live if it be in the power of human will and eftort to save
her would tbt, I had the faith in God I ought to have !
But He is afai off, and He acts in accordance with an in-
finite wisdom that I can't understand. The happiness of
His creatures seems a very secondary attair.

« Now aunty we are on gi'ound where we differ theo-
reticaUv'to say the least ; but I accord to you full right
to thnk what you please, because I know you will
Iploy alUhe natural and rational expedients of a skil-

*"" Yerilford; you and Gi-ace only make me unhappy
when you talk in that way. I know you are wrong,
kist as certainly as the people who believed the sun
i"oted round th^e earth, 'xhe trouble is that I know it
oX wyTthe same cold mental conviction, and therefore
^n\Iof no help to either of you. Pardon me for my
Wuntness : do you expect to many Grace, should she
become strong and well ? ' -. ,

" No I can scarcely say I have any such hope It is a
thought I do not even entertain at present, nor does she.
I am content to be her friend through life, and am con-
vinced that she could not think of marriaae again for
years, if ever. That is a matter of secondary importance.
All that I ask is that she shall live."

.'Well, compared with most men, a very little contents
you " saad my aunt dry'y. " We shall see, we shah see
Bu" vouhave given me such an incenive that, were it
poTsiSe, I'd open my old withered veins and give her

'^!^1a7ai:?;,tw-;»e and staunch your love i.. I
cannot believe it will be disappointed.

■|

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HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

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**! must go back to my post now, nor shall I leave it
very often."

" Here is Dr. Markham. He will see that you leave it
often enough to maintain your own health, and I will
too, I've been a soldier too long to permit my chief of
staff to be disabled. Pardon me, doctor, but it seems to
me that this is more of a case for nursing and nourish-
ment than for drugs."

" You are right, and yet a drug can also become a
useful ally. In my opinion it is more a case for change
than anything else. When strong enough, you must
take her from this atmosphere and these associations. lu
a certain sense she must begin life over again, and take
root elsewhere." ^

" There may be truth in what you say ; " and Graham
was merged in deep thought when he was left alone.
Th?- doctor, in passing out a few moments later, assured
him that all promised well.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE EFFORT TO LIVE.

A S Graham had said, it did seem that infinite
. /\ patience and courage would be required to defeat
the dark adversaries now threatening the life upon which
he felt that his own depended. He had full assurance
that Grace made her promised effort, but it was little
more than an effort of will, dictated by a sense of duty.
She had lost her hold on life, which to her enfeebled mind
and body promised little beyond renewed weariness and
disappointment. How she could live again in any proper
sense of the word was bevond her comnrehension ; and

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

313

what was bare existence ? It would be ^"'•''^".'r* ^
herself and become wearisome to others. The mind act«
through its own natural medium, and al the light that
came to her was coloured by almost despairing memories.
Too little allowance is often made for those in her con-
dition The strong man smiles, half-eontemptuously at
the efforts of one who is feeble to lift a trifling weight
StUl!he is charitable. He knows that f the man has not
the muscle all is explained. So material are the eoncep-
Uons of many that tLy have no patience with those who
have been enfeebled in mind, will, and courage. Such
™ would say, " Of course Mj_%Hilland cannot a^
•end to her household as before ; but she ought to haxe
aith, resignation ; she ought to make up her mmd cheer-
fuUv to submit, and she would soon be well. Great
heavens ' Haven't other women lost their hnsbands ?
Yes, indeed, and they worried along quite comfortably.

Graham took no such superflcia view. Other wo-
men " were not Grace. He was philosophical, and tried
to estimate the effect of her own peculiar experience on
her own nature, and was not guilty of the absurdity of
Snerriizing. It was his problem to save Grace as she
tas and not as some good people said she ought to be
ml his firm belief remained, that she could live, if she
would comply with what he believed to be the conditions
of life ; indeed that she conld scarcely help hving. If the
time could come when her brain would be nourished by
an abundance of healthful blood, he might W« for al-
mn«t anvthini'. She would then be able to view the
past di^ffonately, to recognise that what ««.aj«s
was gone forever, and to see the folly of a grief which
wasted the present and the future. If she never became
Ttrong enough for that-and the prospect was only a
fa nt half acknowledged hope-then he would reverently
worship a patient, gentle, white-haired woman who
rould dioos^e her own secluded path,he bemg content to
make it as smooth and thornless as possible.

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HTS SOMBRE RIVALS.

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Beyond a brief absence at the time his reffment was
mustered out of the service he was always at nome, and
the allies against death — with their several hopes, wishes,
and interests — worked faithfully. At last there was a
more decided response in the patient. Her sleep became
prolonged, as if she were making amends for the weari-
ness of years. Skilful tonic treatment told on the wast-
ed form. New blood was made, and that in Graham's
creed was new life.

His materialistic theory, however, was far removed
from any gross conception of the problem. He did not
propose to feed a woman into a new and healthful exis-
tence, except as he fed what he deemed to be her whole
nature. In his idea, flowers, beauty in as many forma as
he could command and she enjoy at the same time, were
essential. He ransacked nature in his walks for things
to interest her. He brought her out into the sunshine,
and taught her to distinguish the different birds by their
notes. He had Mrs. Mayburn talk to her and consult
with her over the homely and wholesome details of
house-keeping. Much of the news of the day was brought
to her attention as that which should naturally interest
her, especially the reconstruction of the South, as repre-
sented and made definite by the experience of Henry
Anderson and his sister. He told her that he had bought
at a nominal sum a large plantation in the vicinity of the
parsonage, and that Colonel Anderson should be his
agent, with the privilege of buying at no more of an ad-
vance than would satisfy the proud young Southerner's
self-respect.

Thus from every side he sought to bring natural and
healthful influences to bear upon her mind, to interest
her in life at every point where it touched her, and to
reconnect the broken threads which had bound her to
the world.

He was aided earnestly and skilfully on all sides.
Theii* success, however, was discouragingly slow. In her

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

315

weakness Grace made pathetic attempt to respond, 1)1.1
bottom much genuine interest. As ^he g-w ,tronge
her manner toward her father was more hke *at of her
former self than was the rest of her conduct. Almost as
l?flm the force of habit, she resumed her thougthfu
care fOT his comfort ; but beyond that there seemed to
be an apathy, an indifference, a dreary preoccupation

'"'in GraWsVesence she would make visible effort to
do all he wished, but it was painfully vis.b e, and some-
times she would recognize his unobtrusive attentions
w"h a smile that was sadder than any words could be.
Sne dar^he seemed almost wholly free from the deep
apX that was becoming characteristic, "^^^ ^^e said to
him "Alas, my friend ! as I said to you at first the wo-
mTn isdT^ within me. My body grows stronger, ^
ae result of the skill and help you all are b'mg'ng ^
bear on my sad problem, but my heart is dead, and my
bone tekes no hold on life. I cannot overcome the
fedin^that I am a mere shadow and have no right
t^ te here among the living. You are so brave pa-
tient, and faithful that I am ever <:<'lf'Z'^.h^n
of dull remoi-se ; but there is a weight on my brain
and a despairing numbness of heart, making eve^-
thing seem vain and unreal. Please do not Wame me.
Askfng me to feel is like requiring sight of the blind.
rveZ t the faculty. I have suffered so much that I have
become numb, if not dead. The shadows of the past min-
gle .rith the shadows of to-day. Only you ^e«m real in
vourstronc vain effort, and as far as I can suffer any
more it paSs me to see you thus waste yourse f on a hope-
kss thadow of a woman. I told you I should disappoint

^°"'l am not wasting myself, Grace. Remain a shadow
till vou can be more.^ I will bear my part of the burden.
Won't you believe that I am infinitely happier in caring
for you as you are than I should be i! I could not thu.

310

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

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take your hand and express to you my thought, my
sympathy ? Dear Grace, the causes which led to your
depression were strong and terrible. Should we expect
them to be counteracted in a few short weeks?"

" Alas, Alford ! is there any adequate remedy ? For-
give me for saying this to you, and yet you, of all people,
can understand me best. You cling to me who should be
nothing to a man of your power and force. You say
you cannot go on in life without me, ev^ii as a weak,
dependent friend, — that you would lose all zest, incentive,
and interest ; for I cannot think you mean more. If you
feel in this way toward me, who in the eyes of other men
would be a dismal burden, think how Warren dwells in
my memory, what he was to me, how his strong, sunny
nature was the sun of my life. Do you not see you are
asking of me what you say you could not do yourself, al-
though you would, after your own brave, manly fashion ?
But your own belief should teach you the nature of my
task when you a,sk me to go on and take up life again,
from which I was torn more completely than the vine
which falls with the tree to which it clung."

" Dear Grace, do not think for a moment that I am not
always gratefully conscious of the immense self -sacrifice
you are making for me and others. You long for rest and
forgetfulness, and yet you know well that your absence
would leave an abyss of despair. You now add so much
to the comfort of your father ! Mrs. Mayburn clings to
you with all the love of a mother. And I, Grace, — what
else can I do ? Even your frail„sad presence is more to
me than the sun in the sky. Is it pure selfishness on my
part to wish to keep you? Time, the healer, will gradu-
ally bring to you rest from pain, and serenity to us all.
When you are stronger I will take you to Hilland's
grave — "

"No, no, no!" she criod, almost passionately. Why
should I go there ? O, this is the awful part of it ! What
I so loved has become nothing — that from which I shrink

laj

HIS SOMBBE RIVALS.

ai7

as something horrible. 0, Alford, why are we endowed
with Huch natures if corruption is to be the end ? It is
this thoucrht that paralyzes me. It seems as if pure, un-
selfish love is singled out for the most diabolical punish-
ment To think that a form which has become sacred to
YOU may be put away at any moment as a horrible and
unsightly thing ! and that such should be the end ot the
noblest devotion of which man is capable! My whole
being revolts at it, and yet how can I escape from its
truth 1 I am beset by despairing thoughts on every side
when able to think at all, and my best remedy seems a
sort of dreary apathy, in which I do little more than
breathe. I have read that there comes a time when the
tortured cease to feel much pain. There was a time, es-
pecially at the hospital, when I suffered constantly,— when
almost everything but you suggested torturing thoughts.
I suffered with you and for you, but there was always
something sustaining in your presence. There is still, i
should not live a month in your absence, but it seems as
if it were your strong will tlmt holds me, not my own.
You have given me the power, the incentive to make such
poor effort as I am putting forth. Moreover, in intent,
vou gave vour life for Warren over and over again and
as loL asl have any volition left I will try and do all
you wish, since you so wish it. But my hope is dead. I
do not see how any more good can come to me or through

»>
^^ " You are still willing, however, to permit me to think
for you, to guide you ? You will still use your utmost

effort to live ? " , , i i j.

" Yes I can refuse to the man who went back to my
dying husband, nothing within my power to grant. It
is indeed a little. Besides, I am in your care, but I fear
I shall prove a sad, if not a fatil legacy.

" Of that, dear Grace, you must permit me to be the
ludffe All that you have said only adds strength to my
pui'lose, Does not the thought that you are doing so

318

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

V I

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very much for me and for all whf) lovo you not bnng
some solace."

" It should. Bub what have I hrouc^ht you hut pain
and deep anxiety ? O Alford, Alt'onl ! you will waken
some bitter day to the truth that you love but the wraith
of the girl who unconsciously won your heart. You have
idealized her, and the being you now lovo does not exisk..
How can I let you go on thus wronging yourself ? "

" Grace," replied he, gravely and almost sternly, " I
learned in the northern woods, among the fiords of
Norway, under the shadow of the Himalayas, and in my
long, lonely hours in the war, whom I loved and why I
loved her. I made every effort at forgetfulness that 1, at
least, was capable of exerting, and never forgot for an
hour. Am I a sentimental boy, that you should talk to
me in this way ? Let us leave that question as settled
fc all time. Moreover, never entertain the thought that
I am plaiming and hoping for the future. I see in your
affection for me only a pale reflection of your love for
Hilland."

" No, Alford, I love you for your own sake. How
tenderly you have ever spoken of little Rita Anderson,
and yet — "

" And yet, as I have told you more than once, the
thought of loving her never entered my mind. I could
plan for her happiness as I would for a sister, had I
one."

** Therefore you can interpret me.'

" Therefore I have interpreted you, and, from the first,
have asked for nothing more than that you still make one
of our little circle, each member of which would be sadly
missed, you most of all."

" I ought to be able to do so little as that for you. In-
deed, I am trying."

" I know you are, and, as you succeed, you will see that
I am content. Do not feel that when I am present you
must struggle and make unwonted effort. The tide is

HIS 80MBRV RIVALS.

319

'""Shl'^'c^e'^iiim one of her sad ^milea as ahe repUed

have a 5ood effect on o'race, and brought Bomcttung f
the rest which comes from submission to the mevitaDle
She found that Graham's purpose was as .mmovable as
the hills, and at the same t me was ™7 absolute^ con
vincedthathewasnot^ooU^^^^^^^^^^

larCl oSie |uW *{> X'-tlTed^t hfr
before him which she did not feel, ^ho yielded w
listle.ssness and apathy to a degree ^^at alarmed ner

father and M- May W.^^»^ ^l^ed fufferinJ.lotS
Z^^,2TnJ^ip^^^y. ^fieaction from one

nrMa^a^aVt^^W^ V^^^ ^./Tn \1

^^rincrt WondifeZ^^

From Oie first shock of her bereavement MraHUland a

:„ tt eat The very fineness of her organization made
the terrible shock more serious in its injury I do not
say this to discourage you,-far f ""n it^-but ^» ^"^"^
it,, T must call vour attention to the tact that every ue

n2o

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

|«p!!

Fe !

I. I

II:

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speak of this that you may intelligently guard against it.
It due precaution is used, the happy mean between
these rea tions may be reached, and both mind and body
recover a healthful tone. .1 advise that you all seek some
resort by the sea, a new one, without any associations
with the past.

Within a few days they were at a seaside inn, a large
one whose very size offered seclusion. From their wide
and lofty balconies they could watch the world come and
go on the sea and on the land ; and the world was too
iurge and too distant for close scrutiny or petty gossip
Ihey could have their meals in their rooms, or in the im-
mense dmmg hall, as they chose ; and in the latter place
the quiet party would scarcely attract a second glance
trom the young, gay, and sensation-loving. Their tran-
sient gaze would see two old ladies, one an invalid, an old
and crippled man, and one much younger, who evidently
would never take part in a german.

It was thought and hoped that this nearness to the
complex world, with the consciousness that it could not
approach her to annoy and pry, might tend to awaken in
trrace a passing interest in its many phases. She could
see without feeling that she was scanned and surmised
about, as is too often the case in smaller houses wherein
the guests are not content until they have investigated
all newcomers.

But Grace disappointed her friends. She was as in-
ditterent to the world about her as the world was to her
At hrst she was regarded as a quiet invalid, and scarcely
noticed. Ihe sea seemed to interest her more than all
things else, and, if uninterupted, she would sit and gaze
at its varying aspects for hours.

According to Graham's plan, she was permitted, with
little interference, to follow her mood. Mrs. Mayburn
was like a watchful mother, the major much his former
Belt, tor his habits were too fixed for radical chano-es
hmce would quietly do anything he asked, but she g?ew

HIS SOMBRE B IVALS.

321

more forgetful and inattentive, coming out of her deep
abstraction— if such it could be termed— with increasing
effort. With Graham she seemed more content than with
any one else. With him she took lengthening walks on
the beach. He sat quietly beside her while she watched
the billows chasing each other to the shore. Their swift
onset, their defeat, over which they appeared to foam in
wrath, their backward and disheartened retreat, ever
seemed to tell her in some dim way a story of which she
never wearied. Often she would turn and look at him
with a vague trouble in her face, as if faintly remember-
ing something that was a sorrow to them both ; but his
reassuring smile quieted her, and she would take his hand
as a little child might have done, and sit for an hour with-
out removing her eyes from the waves. He waited pati-
ently day after day, week after week,reiterating to himself,
" She v/ill waken, she will remember all, and then will
have strength and calmness to meet it. This is nature's
long repsose."

It was growing strangely long and deep.
Meanwhile Grace, in her outward appearance, was
undergoing a subtle change. Graham was the first to
observe it, and at last it was apparent to all. As her
mind became inert, sleeping on a downy couch of forget-
fulness, closely curtained, the silent forces of physical life,
in her deep tranquility, were doing an artist's work. The
hollow cheeks were gradually rounded and given the
faintest possible bloom. Her form was gaining a contour
that might satisfy a sculptor's dream.

The major had met old friends, and it was whispered
about who they were,— the widow of a millionaire ; Colo-
nel Graham, one of the most dashing cavalry officers in
the war which was still in all minds ; Major St. John, a
veteran soldier of the regular service, who had been
wounded in the conquest of Mexico, ard who was well
and honourably known to the chief dignitaries of the
former generation. Knowing all this, the quidnuncs com-

mmt

:}22

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

¥1

n
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li ,

l)lacently felt at first that they knew all. The next thiuL;
was to know the people. This proved to be difficult indeed.
The major soon found a few veteran cronies at whist,
but by others was more unapproachable than a major-
general of tlie old school. Graham was far worse, and
belles tossed their heads at the idea that he had ever been
a " dashing cavalry officer " or dashing anything else. Be-
fore the summer was over the men began to discover that
Mrs. Hilland was the most beautiful woman in the house,
— strangely, marvellously, supernaturally beautiful.

A.n artist, who had found an opportunity to watch the
poor unconscious woman furtively — not bo furtively
either but that any belle in the hostelry would know all
about it in half a minute — raved about the combination
of charms he had discovered.

" Just imagine," he sa d, " what a picture .she made as
she sat alone on the beach ! She wa* so rem. rkable in
her appearance that one might think she had arisen from
the sea and was not a creature of the earth. Her black,
close-fitting dress suggested the form of Aphrodite as she
rose from tne waves. Her profile was almost faultless in
its exquisite lines. Her complexion, with just a slight,
warm tinge imparted by the breeze, had not the cold
dead white of snow, but the clear transparency which
good aristocratic blood imparts. But her eyes and hair
were her crowning features. How shall I describe the
deep, dreamy languor of her large, dark eyes, made a
hundred-fold more effective by the silvery whiteness of
her hair, which had partly escaped from her comb and
fell upon her neck ! And then her sublime, tranquil indif-
ference ! That I was near, spellbound with admiration,
did not interest her so much as a sail, no larger than a
gull's wing, far out at sea."

" Strange, strange ! " said one of his friends, laughing ;
'' her unconsciousness of your presence was the strangeist
part of it all. Why did you not make a sketch ? "

HIS SOMBl ii RIVALS.

323

" I did but that infernal Colonel Graham, who is said
to l^S shadow-after her million y"" X"l7dv"s tr"-

TpZed that ttt interests of. art.' eU,. He thejj
.notched my sketch a^dtl^w>t -to U^^w^^^^^^

Z^rs^ dr^thS'to a^y'thrW and HI
wring your neck and toss you after your skech Do you

thinf .^e been t>^-tve^tt:wt" f h^co^U H
rrfvT:; i."^0? — ^I was not going to braw,

'''" No^lt^ouldn't have been prudent-I mean gentle-
manlv," remarked his bantering friend.

■"wkl, laugh at me." replied the young ^f^jr^ho
was as honest as light-hearted a>id ja.m I d ^^^^^^^^^

:srr:v!:;j:iMyrVr^^^

perb creature never so much as once turned to ooj^ at us^
^he left me to her attendant as co-p^tdy - ^ he v.e

;XShSrSirBua~have my revenge:

'"St'm/^Ind. right you are; and your -enge
will be terrible. Her supernatural and high-bred non^
dia ancrwUl be lost forever should sUo see her portrait
*dwah mutual chaffing, spieed with good-natured sa-
tire, as good-naturedly received, the little party m
smoking room separated. „ j,

•Rut furtive eves soon rehevcd the aitisl irom i •"

more than her beauty would bo discovsiea.

Ik'.

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HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

He himself also longed inexpressibly to hide his new
phase of trouble from the chattering throng of people
who were curious to know about them. To know ? As
if they could know ! They might better sit down to gos-
sip over the secrets of the differential and the integral
calculus.

But he saw increasing evidences that they were becom-
ing objects of " interest," and the beautiful millionaire
widow *' very interesting," as it was phrased ; and ho
knew that there is no curiosity so penetrating as that of
the fashionable world when once it is aroused and the
gaii:e deemed worthy of pursuit.

People appeared from Washington who had known
Lieutenant-Colonel Hilland and heard something of Gra-
ham, and the past was being ferreted out. " Her hair
had turned white from grief in a night," it was confident-
ly affirmed.

Poor Jones shrugged his shoulders as he thought, " ]
shall never be the cause of my wife's hair turning white,
unless I may, in the future, prevent her from dyeing it."

After all, sympathy was not very deep. It was gener-
ally concluded that Colonel Graham would console her,
and one lady of elegant leisure, proud of her super or re-
search, declared that she had seen the colonel " holding
Mrs. Hilland's hand," as they sat in the secluded angle o1
the rocks.

Up to a certain time it was comparatively easy to
shield Grace; but now, except as she would turn her
large, dreamy eyes and unresponsive lips upon those who
sought her acquaintance, she was as helpless as a child.
The major and Mrs. May burn at once acquiesced in Gra-
ham's wish to depart. Within a day or two the gossips
found that their prey had escaped, and Grace was once
more in her cottage home.

At first she recognized familia.' surroundings with a
Bigh of content. Then a deeply troubled look flitted
across her face and she looked at Graham inquiringly.

" What is it, Grace ? " he asked gently.

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

325

She pressed her hand to her brow, glanced around once
more, shook her head sadly, and went to her room to
throw off her wraps.

They all looked at one another with consternation.
Hitherto they had tried to be dumb and blind, each hiding
the growing and awful conviction that Grace was drift-
ing away from them Jmost as surely as if she had died.

" Something must be done at once," said practical Mrs.

May burn.

" I have telegraphed to Dr. Markham," replied Graham,
gloomily. " Nothing can be done till he returns. He is
away on a distant trip,"

" Oh ! " groaned the old major, " there will be an end
of me before there is to all this trouble."

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

GRAHAMS LAST SACRIFICE.

A TERRIBLE foreboding oppressed Graham. Would
Grace fulfil ^^er prediction and disappoint him after
all ? Would she aide him, escape, die, and yet remain
at his side, beautiful as a dream ? Oh the agony of pos-
sessing this perfect casket, remembering the jewel that
had vanished! He had vowed to defeat his gkiomy
rivals, Grief and Death, and they were mocking him, giv-
ing the semblance of what he craved beyond even ima-
gined perfection, but carrying away into their own inscru-
table darkness the woman herself.

What was Grace ? — what becoming ? As he looked ho
thought of as a sculptor's ideal embodied, a (Iream oi
beauty only, not a woman — as the legend of ICve, who
might, before becoming a living soul, have haj'monized

320

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

:-:ii

U '!'

I'i,

If:

I 1

1 1.

With the loveliness of her garden without seeing or feel-
ing it.

He could not think of her mind as blotted out or per-
verted ; he could not conceive of it otherwise than as cor-
responding with her outward symmetry. To his thought
it slumbered, as her form might repose upon her couch,
in a death-like trance. She went and came among them
like a somnambulist, guided by unconscious instincts,
memories and habits.

She knew their voices, did, within j ~ ions, as they
requested ; but when she waited on hei .u,ther there was
a sad, mechanical repetition of what she had done since
childhood. Mrs. Mayburn found her docile and ea.sily
controlled, and the heart-stricken old lady was vigilance
itself.

Toward Graham, however, ber manner had a marked
characteristic. He was her master, and she a dumb, lovely,
unreasoning creature, that looked into his eyes for guid-
ance, and gathered more from his tones than his words.
Some faint consciousness of the past had grown into an
instinct that to him she must look for care and direction ;
and she never thought of resisting his will. If he read
to her, she turned to him her lov^ely face, across which not
a gleam of interest or intelligence would pass. If he
brought her flowers, she would hold them until they were
taken from her. She would pace the garden walks by
his side, with her hand upon his arm, by the hour if he
wished it, sometimes smiling faintly at his gentle tones,
but giving no proof that she understood the import of his
words. At Hilland's name only she would start and
tremble as if some deep chord was struck, which could
merely vibrate until its sounds were faint and meaning-
'ess.

It w^as deeply touching also to observe in her sad
oclipse how her ingrained refinement asserted itself. In
1,11 her half-conscious action there was never a coarse
look or word. She was a rose without its perfume. She

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

327

was a woman without a woman's mind and heart. These
had been subtracted, with all the differences they made ;
otherwise she was Grace Hilland.

Graham was profoundly perplexed and distres sed. The
problem had become too deep for him. The brain, nour-
ished by good blood, had not brought life. All his skill
and that of those allied with him had failed. The mate-
rialist had matter in the perfection of breathing outhne,
but where was the woman he loved ? How could he reach
her, how make himself understood by her, except as some
timid, docile creature responds to a caress or a tone .? His
very power over her was terrifying. It was built upon
the instinct, the allegiance that cannot reason but is un-
duestioning. Nothing could so have daunted his hope,
courage, and will as the exquisite being Grace had become,
as she looked up to him with her large, mild, trusting
eyes, from which thought, intelligence, and volition had

departed.

At last Doctor Markham came, and for several days
watched his patient closely, she giving little heed to his
presence. They all hung on his perturbed looks with a
painful anxiety. For a time he was very reticent, but
one day he followed Graham to his quarters in Mrs. May-
burn's cottage, where he was now much alone. Grace
seemed to miss him but sfightly, although sh© always
crave some sign of welcome on his return. The mocking
semblance of all that he could desire often so ta^ntalized
him that her presence became unendurable. The doctor
found him pacing the room in a manner betokening his
half-despairJng perplexity. ^

" Colonel Graham," he said, "shall I surprise you when
I say physicians are very fallible ? I know that it is
not the habit of the profession to admit this, but I have
not come here to talk nonsense to you. You have trusted
me in this matter, and admitted me largely into your
confidence, and I shall speak to you in honest, plain Eng--
Ijsh. Mrs. Hilland's symptoms are very serious. What

:^28

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

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" f

I feared has taken place. From lier acute and prolonged
niental distress and depression, of which she would have
died had you not come, she reacted first into mental leth-
argy, and now into almost complete mental inactivity.
I cannot discover that any disturbed physical functions
have beeu an element in her mental aberration, for more
perfect physical life and loveliness I have never seen.
Her white hair, which might have made her look old, is a
foil to a beauty which seems to defy age.

" Pardon me for saying it, but I fear our treatment has
been sui)erficial. We men of the world may believe what
we please, but to many natures, especially to an organiza-
tion like Mrs. Hilland's, hope and faith are essential. She
has practically been without these from the first, and, as
you know, she was sinking under the struggle maintained
by her own brave, womanly spirit. She was contending
with more than actual bereavement. It was the hopeless-
ness of the struggle that crushed hor, for she is not one of
that large class of women who can find consolation in
crape and becoming mourning.

"In response to your appeal, she did make the effort
you required, but it was the effort of a mind still with-
out hope or faith, — one that saw no remedy for the evils
that had already overwhelmed her, — and I must bear
witness that her efforts were as sincere as they were pa-
thetic. We all watched to give every assistance in our
power. I've lain awake nights, Colonel Graham, to think
of remedies that would meet her needs; and good Mrs.
Mayburn and your old black cook. Aunt Sheba, prepared
food fit for the gods. You were more untiring and effec-
tive than any of us, and the majoii's very infirmities were
among her strongest allies. W'i^ll, we have the result, —
a woman who might be a model for a goddess, even to her
tranquil face, in which there is no trace ef varying human
feeling. Explanation of the evil that crushed her, hope,
and faith were n<st given, — who can give them ? — but
they were essential to her from the first. Unbelief, which

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

329

is a ref iT^e to soiiio, was an abyss to lier. In. it she striig-
^decl aiKi\ac,)e(i until her iiiind, appalled and discouraged
and overwhelmed, refused to act at all. In one sense it
is a merciful oblivion, in another a fatal one, from which
bhe must be aioused if possible. But it's a hard, hard

case.

" You make it hard indeed," said Graham, desperately.
" What faith can I instil except the one I have ? I can't
lie, even for Grace Hilland. She knew well once that I
could easily die for her."

" Well, then," said the physician, " permit a plain, direct
question. Will you marry her ?"

" Marry her— as she now is ?" cried Graham, in un-
feigned astonishment.

" You said you could die for her. This may be going
much farther. Indeed I should call it the triumph of
human affection, for in honesty I must tell you that she
may never be better, she may become worse. But I re-
gard it as her only chance. At any rate, she needs a
vigilant care-taker, Old Mrs. Mayburn will not be equal
to the task much longer, and her place will have to be
filled by hired service. I know it is like suggesting an
almost impossible sacrifice to broach even the thought, re-
membering her condition, but — "

" Dr. Markham," said Graham, pacing the floor in great
agitation, " you wholly misunderstand me. I was think-
ing of her, not of myself. What right have I to marry
Grace Hilland without her consent ? She could give no
intelligent assent at present."

"The right of your love; the right her husband gave
when he committed her to your care ; the right of your
desire to prevent her from drifting into hopeless, life-long
imbecility, wherein sh© would be almost at the mercy of
hired attendants, helpless to shield herself from any and
every wrong ; the ri^ht of a man to sacrifice himself abso-
lutely for another if he chooses."

" But she might waken from this mental trance and

330

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

In Is

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feel that I had taken a most dishonorable advantage of her
helplessness."

" Yes, you run that risk ; but here is one man who will
assure her to the coiitrarv and you would be sustained
by the consciousness ol't^.e purest motives. It is that she
may waken that I suggest the step ; mark, I do not advise
it. As I said at first, I am simply treating you with
absolute confidence and sincerity. If matters go on as
they are, I have little or no hope. Mrs. Mayburn is giv-
ing way under the strain, and symptoms of her old dis-
order are returning. She cannot watch Mrs. Hilland much
longer as she has been doing. Wliom will you put in her
place ? Will you send Mrs. Hilland to an asylum, with
its rules and systems and its unknown attendants ? More-
over, her present tranquil condition may not last. She
may become as violent as she now is gentle. She may
gradually regain her intelligence, or it may be restored to
her by some sudden shock. If the mysteries of the phy-
sical nature so baffle us, who can predict the future of a
disordered intellect ? I have presented the darkest side
of the })icture ; I still think it has its bright side. She
has no hereditary mental weakness to contend with. As
it developed somewhat gradually, it may pass in the same
manner. If you should marry her and take her at once
to Europe, change of scene, of life, with your vigilant
presence ever near, might become important f actoi-s in the
problem. The memory that she was committed to your
care has degenerated into a controlling instinct ; but that
is far better than nothing. The only real question in my
mind is, Are you willing to make the sacrifice and take
the risks ? You know the world will say you married
her for her money, and that will be hard on a man like
you."

Graham made a gesture of contempt : " That for the
world," he said. " Have you broached this subject to her
father and my aunt ?"

" Certainly not before speaking to you."

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

331

" You then give me your assurance, a/» a man, you be-
lieve this right, and that it is Grace 'i-'itind's best chance,
— indeed, ahnost her only chance, for recovery?"

"I do most unhesitatingly, and I shall do more. I shall
bring fiom New York an eminent physician who has
made mental disease a study all his life, and he shall either
confirm ray opinion or advise you better.*'

" Do so. Dr. Markham," said Graham, very gravely. " I
have incurred risks before in my lite, but none like this.
If from any cause Mrs. Hilland should recover memory
and full intelligence, and reproach me for having taken
advantage of a condition which, even among savage tribes,
renders the afflicted one sacred, all the fiendish tortures of
the Inquisition would be nothing to what I should suffer.
Still, prove to me, prove to her father, that it is her best
fjhance, and for Grace Hilland I will take eveii this risk.
Please remember there must be no professional general-
ities. I must have your solemn written statement that it
is for Mrs. Hilland's sake I adopt the measure."

" So be it," was the reply. "I shall telegraph to Dr.
Armand immediately to expect me, and shall say that I
wish him to be prepared to come at once."

'* Do so, and consider no question of expense. I am no
longer poor, and if I were, I would mortgage my blood at
this juneture."

"On the following evening Dr. Armand was almost
startled by the vision on the veranda of the St. John cot-
tage. A silvery-haired woman sat looking placidly at the
glowing sunset, with its light and its xuoe-hues reflected

in her face.

"If ever there was a picture of a glorified saint, there is
one," he muttered, as he advanced and bowed.

She gave him no attention, but with dark eyes, made
brilliant with the level rays, she gazed steadily on the
closing day. The physician stole a step or two nearer,
and looked as steadily as her, while his experienced eye
detected in all her illuminated beauty the absence of the

332

HIS SOMUUE niVALS.

. %''

higher, more subtile light of reason. Dr. Markham had
told him next to nothing about the case, and had askec
him to go and see for himself, impressing him only with
the fact that it was a question of vital importance thai
he was to aid in deciding ; that he must give it his whole
professional skill, and all the necessary time, regardless ol
expense. The moment he saw Grace, however, the busi-
ness aspect of the affair passed from his mind. His ruling
passion was aroused, and he was more than physician,— -
a student, — as the great in any calling ever are.

Graham came to the door and recognized instinctively
the intent, eagle-eyed man, who merely nodded and mo-
tioned him to approach his patient. Graham did so, and
Grace turned her eyes to hifti with a timid, questioning
glance. He offered her his arm ; she rose instantly and
took it, and began walking with him.

" Were you looking at the sunset, Grace ? "

She turned upon him the same inquiring eyes, but did
not answer.

" Do you not think it very beautiful ? Does it not re-
mind you of the sunset you saw on the evening when I
returned from my first battle ? "

She shook her head, and only looked perplexed.

" Why, Grace," he continued as if provoked, "you must
remember. I was carried, you know, and you and Mrs.
Mayburn acted as if my scratches were mortal wounds."

She looked frightened at his angry tones, clasped her
hands, and with tears in her eyes looked pleadingly up
to him.

" Dear Grace, don't be worried." He now spoke in the
gentlest tones, and lifted her hand to his lips. A quick
evanescent smile illuminated her face. She fawned
against his shoulder a moment, placed his hand against
her cheek, and then leaned upon his arm as they resumed
their walk, Dr. Armand keeping near them without in
the least attracting her aMention.

" Grace," resumed Graham, " you must remember.

HIS SOMimK lUVALS.

.S3n

She dropped his arm, and looked wildly around, cov<
ered her face with her hands and shuddered convulsively.

After a moment he said, kindly, but firmly, " Grace,
dear Grace,"

She sprang to him, seized his hand, and casting a look
of suspicion at Dr, Armand, drew him away.

A few moments later she was again looking tranquilly
at the west, but the light had departed from the sky and
from her face. It had the look of one who saw not,
thought, and felt not. It was breathing, living death.

Graham looked at her mournfully for a few momepts,
and then, with a gesture that was almost despairing,
turned to the physician, who had not lost a single ex-
pression.

" Thank you," was that gentleman's laconic remark ;
and he dropped into a chair, still with his eyes on the
motionless tigure of Grace."

At last he asked, " How long would she remain in that
position ? "

" I scarcely know," was the sad response, " many hours
certainly."

" Please let her retain it till I request you to interfere.
The moon is rising almost full, the evening is warm, and
she can take no harm."

The major tottered out on his crutches, and was given
his chair, the physician meanwhile being introduced.
Brief and courteous was Dr. Armand's acknowledgment,
but he never took his eyes from nis patient. The same
was true of his greeting to Mrs. Mayburn ; but that good
lady's hospitable instincts soon asserted themselves, and
she announced that dinner was ready.

" Take Mrs. Hilland to dinner," said the physician to
Graham ; " but first introduce me."

The young man approached and said, " Grace." she
arose instantly and took his arm. " This is Dr. Armand,
Grace. He has called to see you." She made him a
courteous inclination, and then turned to Graham to see

334.

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

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what next was expected of her, but he only led her to
the dining-room.

" Gracie, darling, bring me my cushion," said her
father, speaking as he had been used to do when she was
a little girl.

She brought it mechanically and arranged it, then
stood in expectancy. " That will do, dear ; " and she re-
turned to her seat in silence. Throughout the meal she
maintained this silence, although Dr. Armand broached
many topics, avoiding only the nam« of her husband.
Her manner was that of a little, quiet, well-bred child,
who did not understand what was said, and had no
interest in it. The physician's scrutiny did not embarrass
her; she had never remembered,, much less forgotten him.
When the meal was over they all returned to the
piazza. At the physican's request she was placed in her
old seat, and they all sat down to watch. The moon
rose higher and higher, made her hair more silvery,
touched her still face with a strange, ethereal beauty,
and threw the swaying shadow of a spray of woodbine
across her motionless figure, — so motionless that she
seemed a sculptured rather than a breathing woman.

After a while the old major rose and groaned as he
tottered away. Mrs. Mayburn, in uncontrollable nerv-
ous restlessness, soon followed, that she might find relief
in household cares. The two men watched on till hours
had passed, and still the lovely image had not stirred.
At last Dr. Armand approached her and said, " Mrs.
Hilland."

She rose, and stood coldly aloof. The name, with her
prefix, did not trouble her. She had long been accustom-
ed to that. "Hilland," as Graham uttered the word,
alone affected her, touching some last deep chord of
memory.

" Mrs. Hilland," the doctor continued, " it is getting
late. Do you not think you had better retire ? "

She looked at him blanklv n.vr\ glanced around as if
pr some one,

HIS SOMBllE RIVALS.

:]3;

" I am here, Grace," said Graham, emerging from the

doorway.

She came to him at once, and he led her to Mrs. May-
burn, kissing her hand, and receiving in return, her
strange, brief fawning caress.

" 1 would like to know the history of Mrs. Hilland s
malady from the beginning," said Dr. Armand, when
Graham returned.

" I cannot go over it again," replied Graham, hoarsely.
" Dr. Markham can tell you about all, and I will answer
any questions. Your room is ready for you here, where
Dr. Markham will join you presently. I must bid you
good-night;" and he strode away.

But as he passed under the apple-tree and recalled
all that had occured there, he was so overcome that once
more he leaned against it for support.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

! ;

MARRIED UNCONSCIOUSLY.

n^HERE was no sleep for Graham that night, for he
I knew that two skilful men were consulting on a
question beyond any that had agitated his heart before.
And he paced the little parlour with restless steps, Aunt
Sheba's ample form filled the doorway, and in her hands
was a tray bearing such cofiee as only she knew how to

brew.

" Thanks, Aunt Sheba," he said, motioning to a table,

without pausing in his distracted walk.

She put down the tray, retreated hesitatingly, and then

began : " Dear Mas'r Graham, my ole heart jes aches for

yer. But don't yer be so cast down, Mas'r ; de good Lord

f I '.

336

HTS SOMBRE RIVALS.

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111

knows it al], and I'se a prayin' for yer and de lubly Miss
Grace night and day."

He was so utterly miserable that he was grateful for
even this homely sympathy, and he took the old woman's
hand in his as he said kindly, " Pray on, then, good old
aunty, if it's any comfort to you. It certainly can do no
harm."

" O MasV Graham, you dunno, you dunno. Wid all
yer wise knowin', yer dunno. You'se all— good Mis'
Mayburn, de ole major, an' all— are in de dark land ob
unbelievin', like poor Missy Grace. She doesn't know
how you'se all tink about her an' lub her ; needer does
you know how de good Lord tinks about you and lubs
you. You guv me my liberty ; you guv what I tinks a
sight more on ; you'se been kind to de poor ole slave dat
los' all her ehillen in de weary days dat's gone. I'se a
'membcrin' yer all de time. You hab no faith, Mas'i
Graham, and poor ole Aunt Shoba mus' hab faith for yer.
An' so I will. I'se a gwine ter wrastle on till I sees yer
an' Missy Grace an' all comin' inter de light ; " and she
threw her apron over her head, and went sobbing away.

He paused for a moment when she left him, touched
deeply by the deep, homel}^ human sympathy and grati-
tude of the kind old soul who fed him — as he never for-
got— when he was a fugitive in a hostile land. That she
had manifested her feeling after what he deemed her own
ignorant, superstitious fashion was nothing. It was the
genuine manifestation of the best human traits that
touched him, — pure gems illuminating a nature otherwise
so clouded and crude.

Late at night footsteps approached, and the two physi-
cians entered. " I first permitted Dr. Armand to form
his own impressions, and since have told him everything,"
said Dr. Markham, " and he strongly inclines to my view.
Realizing the gravity of the case, however, he has con-
sented to remain a day or two longer. We will give you
no hasty opinion, and you shall have time on your part
to exercise the most deliberate judgment."

n
h

y
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i
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HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

:?37

Dr. Armand confirmed Viis associate's words, and added,
« We will leave you now to the rest you must need sorely.
Let me assure you, however, that I do not by any means
consider Mrs. Hilland's case hopeless, and that I am
strongly impressed with ihe belief that her recovery
must come through you. A long train of circumstances
has given you almost unbounded influence over her as
you enabled me to sec this evening. It would be sad to
place such a glorious creature in the care ot strangers, tor
it ndt^ht involve serious risk should she regain her memory
and intelligence with no strong, sympathetic friend, ac-
quainted with her past, near her. I am inclined to think
that what is now little more than an instinct will again
develop into a memory, and that the fact that she was
committed to your care will fully reconcile her to the
marriage,— indeed, render her most grateful for it, it capa-
ble of understanding the reasons which led to it. If tur-
ther observations confirms my present impressions, I and
Dr Markham will plainly state our opinions to her father
and Mrs. Mayburn. As my colleague has said, you must
comprehend the step in all its bearings. It is one that 1.
would not ask any man to take. I now think that the
probabilities are that it would restore Mrs. Hilknd to
health eventually. A year of foreign travel might bring
about a gradual and happy change." .

" Take time to satisfy yourselves, gentlemen, and give
me your decision as requested. Then you have my per-
mission to give your opinions to Major St. John.

Within a week this was done, and the poor old man
bowed his head on Graham's shoulder and wept aloud m
his gratitude. Mrs. Mayburn also, wiping away her tears,
faltered, " You know, Alford, how I schemed for this
marriage years ago ; you remember my poor blind strategy
on that June day, do you not ? How little I thought it
would take place under circumstances like these ! And
yet I've thought of it of late often, very often. I could
not go on much longer, for I am old and feeble, and it

: !f:

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3,38

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

just broke ray Iieart to thiDk of Grace, our Grace, passino
into the hands of some hired and indifferent stranger o?
strangers. I believe she will recover and reward your
sacrilice."

"It is no sacrifice on my part, aunt, except she wakens
only to reproach me."

" Well, devotion, then ; and little sense she'd ever have '
concluded the old lady, after her own brusque fashion'
" if she does not fall on ber knees and bless you You
could now take better care of her than I, for she trusts
and obeys you implicitly. She is docile and gentle with
me, but often strangely inattentive. She would be still
more so with a stranger ; and the idea of some strong un-
teeling hands forcing her into the routine of her life I "

Thus almost completely was removed from his mind
the unspeakable dread lest he was taking an unfair ad-
vantage of helplessness. He fully recognized also that
the ordeal for himself would be a terrible one,~that it
would be the fable of Tantalus repeated for weeks, months
perhaps for years, or for life The unfulfilled promise of
happiness would ever be before him. His dark-visaged
rivals, Grief and Death, would jeer and mock at him from
a face of perfect beauty. In a blind, vindictive way he
felt that his experience was the very irony of fate. He
could cL: p the perfect material form of a woman to his
heart, anid at the same time his heart be breaking for
what could not be seen or touched.

The question, however, was decided irrevocably. He
knew that he could not leave helpless Grace Hilland to
the care of strangers, and that there was no place for
him m the world but at her side , and yet it was with
something of the timidity and hesitation of a lover that
he asked her, as they paced a shady garden walk, " Grace,
dear Grace, will you marry me ? "

His voice was very low and gentle, and yet she turned
upon him a startled, enquiring look. " Marry you ? " she
repeated slowly.

HIS SOMBKE RIVALS.

:i39

'•Yes, let me take care of you always," he replied,
Bmilingly, and yet as pale almost as herself.

The word " care " reassured her, and she gave him her
wonted smile of content, as she replied, very slowly,
" Yes. I want you to take care of me always. Who
else can ? "

" That's what I mean by marrying you—taking care of
you always," he said raising her hand to his lips.

"You are always to take care of me," she replied,
leaning her head on his shoulder for a moment.

"Mrs. May burn is not strong enough to take care of
you any longer. She will take care of your father. Will
you let me take care of you as she does ? "

She smiled contentedly, for the word " care " appeared
to make all natural and right.

It was arranged that they should be married in the
presence of Dr. Markham, Aunt Sheba, and Jinny, in
addition to those so deeply interested. The physician
prepared the clergyman for the ceremony, which was
exceedingly brief and simple, Grace smiling into Graham's
face when he promised to take care of her always, and
she signifying her consent and pleasure in the manner
that was so mute and cad. Then he told her that he
was going to take her away, that she might get perfectly
strong and well ; and she went at his request without
hesitanay, although seeming to wonder slightly at the
strong emotion of her father and Mrs. Mayburn when
parting from her. Jinny, who had been her nurse in
childhood, accompanied her. Dr. Markham also went
with them as far as the steamer, and they sailed away
into a future as vague and unknown to them as the
ocean they were crossing.

The waves seen from the deck of the steamer produced
in Grace the same content with which she had gazed at
them from the shore during the previous summer ; only
now there were faint signs of wonder in her expression,
and sometimes of perplexity. Her eyes also wandered

340

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

a ■ ^

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around the greufc vessel with something of the interest oi:
a child, but she asked no questions. That Graham was
with her and smiled reassuringly seemed sufficient, while
the presence of her old coloured nurse, who in some dim
way was connected with her past, gave also an additional
sense of security.

As time elapsed and they began their wanderings
abroad, it seemed to Graham that his wife was beginning
life over again, as a very little, quiet child would observe
the strange and unaccountable phenomena about it. In-
stead of her fixed vacancy of gaze, her eyes began to turn
from object to object with a dawning yet uncomprehend-
ing interest. He in simplest words sought to explain and
she to listen, though it was evident that their impression
was slight indeed. Still, there was perceptible progress, and
when, in his tireless experimenting, he began to bring be-
fore her those things which would naturally interest a
child, he was encouraged to note that they won a larger
and more pleased attention. A garden full of flowers, a
f Rim-yard with its sbek, quiet cattle, a band of music,' a
broad, funny pantomime, were far more to her than West-
minster Abbey or St. Paul's. Later, the variety, colour,
and movement^of a Paris boulevard quite absorbed her
attention, and she followed one object after another with
much the same expression that might be seen on the face
of a little girl scarcely three years old. This infantile ex-
pression, in contrast with her silver hair and upon her
mature and perfect features, was pathetic to the last de-
gree, and yet Graham rejoiced with exceeding joy. With
every concious glance and inquiring look the dawn of
hope brightened. He was no longer left alone in the awful
solitude of living death. The beautiful form was no longer
like a deserted home, ft now had a tenant, even thou^di
it seemed but the mind of a little child. The rays of in-
telligence sent out were feeble indeed, but how much
better than the blank darkness that had preceded ! Some-
thing like happiness began to soften and brighten the hus^

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

341

band's face, as he took his child-wife here and them, Ho
made the long galleries of the Louvre and of Italy her
picture-books, and while recognizing that she was pleased
with little more than colour, form, and action, — that the
sublime, equally with the vicious and superstitious mean-
ings of the great masters, — were hidden, he was neverthe-
less cheered and made more hopeful by the fact that she
was pleased and observant, — that she began to single out
favourites ; and before these he would let her stand as
long as she chose, and return to them when so inclined.

She had lost the power of reading a line. She did not
know even her letters ; and these he began to teach her
with unflagging zeal and patience. How the mysterious
problem would end he could not tell. It might be that
by kindling a little light the whole past would become
illumined ; it might be that he would have to educate her
over again ; but be the future what it would, the stead-
fast principle of devotion to her became more fixed, and
to care for her the supreme law of his being.

From the time of his first message by cable he had
rarely lost an opportunity to send a letter to the anxious
ones at home, and their replies abounded in solicitous,
grateful wor'^'s. Dr. Markham often called, and rubbed
his hands with increasing self-congratulation over the
success of his bold measure, especially as enconiums on
his sagacity had been passed by the great Dr. Armand.

Nearly a year had passed and Graham and his wife,
after their saunterings over the Continent, were spending
the summer in the Scotch Highlands. They sailed on
the lochs, fished from their banks, and climbed the
mountain passes on little shaggy ponies that were Scotch
in their stubbornness and unflinching endurance. Grace
had become even companionable in her growing intellig-
ence, and in the place of her silent, inquiring glances
there were sometimes eager, childlike questionings.

Of late, however, Graham noted the beginnings of
another change. W/.th growing frequency she passed her

I '5

S42

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

h :

hand over her brow, that was contracted in pei-plexity.
Sometimes she would look at him curiously, at Jinny,
and at the unfamiliar scenes of her environment, then
shake her head as if she could not comprehend it all.
Speedily, however, she would return with the zest of a
quiet little girl to the pleasures and tasks that he un-
weariedly provided. But Graham grew haggard and
sleepless in his vigilance, for he believed that the time of
her awakening was near.

One day, while, sailing on a loch, they were overtaken
by a heavy storm and compelled to run before it, and
thus to land at no little distance from their inn. Grace
showed much alarm at the dashing waves and howling
tempest. Nor was her fright at the storm wholly that
of an unieasoning child. Its fury seemed t5b arouse and
shock her, and while she clung to Graham's hand, she
persisted in sitting upright and looking about, as if
trirg to comprehend it all. After landing they had a
long, fatiguing ride in the darkness, and she was un-
usually silent. On reaching her room she glanced around
as if all was unfamiliar and incomprehensible. Graham
had a presentiment that the hour was near, and he left
her wholly with her old coloured nurse, but almost
immediately, from excessive weariness, she sank into a
deep slumber.

Her lethargy lasted so late in the following day that
he was alarmed, fearing lest her old symptoms were
returning. With anxious, hollow eyes he watched and
waited, and at last she awoke and looked at him with an
expression that he had longed for through many weary
months, and yet now it terrified him.

** Alford — Mr. Graham," she began, in deep surprise.
" Hush, dear Grace. You have been very ill."
" Yes, but where am I ? What has happened ? "
" Very much ; but you are better now. Here is Jinny,
your old nurse, who took care of you as a child."

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

343

The olfl coloured woman came in, and, as instructed,
said, " Yes, honey, I'se tooken care ob you since you was
a baby, and I'se nebber lef ' you."

" Every thii:f> looks very strange. Why, Alford, I had
a long, sad talk with you but a short time since in the
library, and you were so kind and unselfish ! "

" Yes, Grace ; we spoke frankly to each other, but you
have been very ill since then, worse than ever before.
At your father's request and Dr. Markham's urgent
counsel, I took you to Europe. It was said to be your
only chance."

" But where is Mrs. Mayburn ? "

" She is at home taking care of your father. Her old
sickness threatened to return. She could take care of
you no longer, and you needed constant care."

A slow deep flush overspread her face and even her
neck as she faltered, "And — and — has no one else been
with me but Jinny ? "

" No one else except myself. Grace, dear Grace, I am
your husband. I was married to you in the presence of
your father, Mrs. Mayburn, and your family physician."

" How long since ? " she asked in a constrained voice.

" About a year ago."

" Have we been abroad ever since ? "

" Yes, and you have been steadily improving. You
were intrusted to my care, and there came a time when I
must either be faithful to that trust, or place you in the
hands of strangers. You were helpless, dear Grace,"

" Evidently," in the same low constrained tone.
" Could — could you not have fulfilled your trust in some
othe. way ? "

" Your father, your second mother, and your physician
thought not."

" Still — " she began, hesitated, and again came that
deep, deep flush.

" For your sake, Grace, I incurred the risk of this aw
ful moment."

844

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

Ill

IS '

!■

! I

i '

She turned, and saw an expression wliich brought tears
to her eyes. " I cannot misjudge you," she said slowly ;
" the past forbids that. But I cannot understand it, 1
cannot understand it at all."

" Perhaps you never will, dear Grace ; I took that
risk also to save your life and mind."

" My mind ? "

" Yes, your mind. If, in recalling the past, the mem.
ory of which has returned, you can preserve sufficient
confidence in me to wait till all is clear and explained, I
shall be profoundly grateful. I foresaw the possibility
of this hour ; I foresaw it aa the chief danger and trial of my
life ; and I took the risk of its consequences for your
sake because assured by the highest authority that it
was your one chance for eacape, not from death, but
from a fate worse than death, which also would have re-
moved you from my care,— indeed the care of all who
loved you. I have prepared myself for this emergency
as well as I could. Here are letters from your father,
Mrs. May burn, Dr. Markham, and Dr. Armand, one of the
most eminent authorities in the world on brain diseases.
But after all I must be judged by your woman's heart, and
so stand or fall. I now have but one request, or entreaty
rather, to make,— th^t you do not let all the efforts we have
made in your behalf he in vain. Can you not calmly and
gradually receive the whole truth ? There must be no
more relapses, or they will end in black ruin to us all.
Now that you can think for yourself, your slightest
wish shall be my law. Jinny, i^emain with your mis-
tress."

He lifted her passive hand to his lips, passed into the
little parlour and closed the door. Grace turned to her
nurse, and in low, almost passionate utterance, said, "Now
tell me all."

" Lor' bress you, Missy Grace, it ud take a right smart
time to tell yer all. When de big doctors an' all de folks
say you'se got to hab strangers take care ob you or go ter

HIS SOMBRE RTVAT.S.

345

a *svlum, and arter all you'd git wuss, Mas'r Graliam he
guv in, and said he'd take care ob you, and dey all brcss
'im and tank 'im and couldn't say 'nuff. Deu he took
you 'crosa de big ocean— golly ! how big it be— jes as de
doctor said ; an' nebber hab I seed sich lub, sich votion
in a moder as Mas'r Graham hab had fer you. He had to
take care ob you like a little chile, an' he was teachin
you how to read like a little chile when, all on a suddmt
you wakes up an' knows ebryting you'se forgotten. But
de part you doesn't know is de part mos' wuth knowin'.
No woman eber had eich a husban' as Mas'r Graham, an'
no chile sich a moder. Clar ter grashus ef I b'lieve he's
ebber slep' a wink wid his watchin' an' a tinkm' what he
could do fer you."

*' But, Jinny, I'm not ill ; T never felt skonger in my

life."

" Laws, Missy Grace, dar*8 been a mirakle. You'so
strong 'nuff 'cept your mine's been off wisitin somewhar.
Golly ! you jes' git up and let me dress you, an' I'll show
yer de hansomest woman in de worl'. All yer's got ter
do now is jes' be sensible like, an' yer won't have yer
match."

Grace cast an apprehensive look toward the door of
the parlour in which wag her husband, and then said
hurriedly, " Yes, dress me quick. O heavens ! how much
I have to think about, to realize ! "

" Now, honey dear, you jes' keep cool. Don't go an*
fly right off de handle agin, or Mas'r Graham'U blow his
brains out. Good Lor' how dat man do look sometimes ';
An' yet often, when he was pintin' out yer letters ter yer,
or showin' yer pearty tings, like as you was a chile, he
look so happy and gentle like, dat I say he jes' like a
moder."

Grace was touched, and yet deep, deep in her soul she
felt that a wrong had been done her, no matter what had
been the motives. Jinny had no such fine perceptions, but
with a feminine tact which runs down through the low-

''I k

hi i

346

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

Jiest iiaturea, she chose one of Grace's quiotoat, yet mofit
becoming coHtumes, and would not let her go to the glass
till arrayed <o the dusky woman's intense satisfaction.
Then she ed her mistress to the mirror and said, " Look
dar honey I All de picters you'se eber seen can't beat
dat '■ " and Grace gazed long and hxedly at the lovely
cieature that gazed back with troubled and bewildered
eyes.

" Was — was I like that when — when he married me ? "

" Yes, an' no, honey. You only look like a picter of a
woman den — a bery pearty picter, but nothin' but a pic-
ter arter all. Mas'r Graham hab brought yer ter life."

With another lingering, wondering glance at herself,
she turned away and said, " Leave me, now, Jinny ; I
wish to be alone."

The woman hesitated, and was about to speak, but
Grace waved her away imperiously, and sat down to the
letters Graham had given her. She read and re-read
them. They confirmed his words. She was a wife : her
husband awaited her but a few feet away, — her husband,
and she had never dreamed of marrying again. The past
now stood out luminous to her, and Warren Hilland was
its centre, But another husband awaited her, — one
whom she had never consciously promised " to love,
honour, and obey." i^ s a friend she could worship him,
obey him, die for him ; but as her husband, — how could
she sustain that mysterious bond which merges one life
in another? She was drawn toward him by every
impulse of gratitude. She saw that, whether misled or
not, he had been governed by the best of motives, — nay,
more, by the spirit of self-sacrifice in its extreme manifes-
tation, — that he had been made to believe that it was
her only chance for health and life. Still, in her deepest
consciousness he was but Alford Graham, the friend most
loved and trusted, whom she had known in her far dis-
tant home, 3''et not her husband. How could she go to
him, what could she say to him, in their new relations
t.hnt sftftmed so unreal ?

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

347

She tremWcd to loave him longer in the agony of sua-
pense ; but her limbs refused to support her, ancl her wo-
man's heart shrank with a strange and hitherto un-
known fear.

There was a timid knock at the door.

•' Come in, Alford," she said, tremblingly.

He stood before her haggard, pale, and expectant.

" Alford," she said, sadly, " why did you not let me

die?" , ,,

" I could not," he replied desperately, " As I told vou,
there is a limit to every man's strength. I see it all in
your face and manner,— what I feared, what I warned
*Dr. Markham against. Listen to me. I shall take you
home at once. You are well. You will not require my
further care, and you need never see my face again."
" And you, Alford ? " she faltered.
" Do not ask about me. Beyond the hour when I place
you in your father's arms I know nothing, I have reached
my limit. I have made the last sacrifice of which I am
capable. If you go back as you are now, you are saved
from a fate which it seemed to me you would most shrink
from could you know it, — the coarse, unfeeling touch and
care of strangers who could have treated you in your
helplessness as they chose. You might have regained your
reason years hence, only to find that those who loved
you were broken-hearted, lost, gone. They are now well
and waiting for you. Here are their letters, written from
week to week and breathing hope and cheer. Here is
the last one from your father, written in immediate re-
sponse to mine. In it he says, 'My hand trembles, but
it is more from joy than age.' You were gaining steadilv,
although only as a child's intelligence develops. He
writes, * I shall have my little Grace once more, and see
her mind grow up into her beautiful form.' "

She bent her head low to hide the tears that were fall
ing fast as she faltered, "Was it wholly self-sacrifice whei;
you married me?"

S48

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

Yes — in the fear of this hour, the bitterest of my life,
— yes. It has followed me like a spectre through every
waking and sleeping hour. Please make the wide dis-
tinction. My care for you, the giving up of my life for
you, is nothing. That I should have done in any case, as
far as I could. But with my knowledge of your nature
and your past, I could not seem to take advantage of your
helplessness without an unspeakable dread. When shown
by the best human skill that I could thus save you, or at
least insure that you would ever have gentle, sympathetic
care, I resolved to risk the last extremity of evil to my-
self for your sake. Now you have the whole truth."

She rose and came swiftly to him, — for he had scarcely
entered the room in his wish to show her respect, — and
putting her arm around his neck, while she laid her head
upon his breast, said gently and firmly : " The sacrifice
shall not be all on your side. I have never consciously
promised to be your wife, but now as far as my poor
broken spirit will permit, I do promise it. But be patient
with me, Alford. Do not expect what I have not the
power to give. I can only promise that all there is left
of poor Grace Hilland's heart — if aught — shall be yours."

Then for the first time in his life the strong man gave
way. He disengaged her so hastily as to seem almost
rough, and fell forward on the couch unconscious. The
long strain of years had culminated in the hour he so
dreaded, and in the sudden revulsion caused by her words
nature gave way.

Almost frantic with terror, Grace summoned her ser-
vant, and help from the people of the inn. Fortunately
an excellent English physician was stopping at the same
house, and he was speedily at work. Graham recovered,
only to pass into muttering delirium, and the burden of
his one sad refrain was, " If she should never forgive
me r

" Great heavens, madam ! what has he done ? asked the
•natter-of-fact Englishman.

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

349

What a keen probe that question was to the wife as she
sat watching through the long, weary night ! In an agony
of self-reproach she recalled all that he had done for her
and hers in all the years, and now in her turn she en-
treated him to live ; but he was as unconscious a.s she had
been in the blank past. No wooing, no pleading, could
have been so jyotent as his unconscious form, his strength
broken at last in her service.

" O God !" she cried,— forgetting in her anguish that
she had no God,—" have I been more cruel than all the
war? Have I given him the wound that shall prove
fatal,— him who saved Warren's life, my own, my reason,
and everything that a woman holds dear ?"

Graham's powerful and unvitiated nature soon rallied,
however, and under skilful treatment the fever within a
few days gave place to the first de^p happiness he had
ever known. Grace was tender, considerate, her own
former self, and with something sweeter to him than self-
sacrifice in her eyes ; and he gave himself up to an un-
speakable content.

It was she who wrote the home letters that week, and a
wondrous tale they told to the two old people, who sub-
sisted on foreign news even more then on Aunt Sheba's

delicate cookery. , j i x

Graham was soon out again, but he looked ol<fer and
more broken than his wife, who seemingly had passed
by age into a bloom that could not fade. She decided
that*for his sake they would pass the winter in Italy, and
that he should show her again as a woman what he had
tried to interest in her as a child. Her happiness, although
often deeply shadowed, grew in its quiet depths. Gra-
ham had too much tact to be an ardent lover. He waa
rather her staunch friend, her genial but most considerate
companion. His powerful human love at last kindkd
a quiet flame on the hearth of her own heart that had so
long been cold, and her life was warmed and revived by
it. He also proved in picture galleries and cathedrala

350

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

if ■

that he had seen much when he was abroad beyond wild
mountain regions and wilder people, and her mind seem-
ingly strengthened by its long sleep, followed his vigorous
criticism with daily increasing zest.

The soft, sun-lighted air of Italy appeared to have a
healing balm for both, and even to poor Grace there came
a serenity which she had not known since the " cloud in
the South " first cast its shadow over her distant hearth.

To Graham at last there had come a respite from pain
find fear, a deep content. His inner life had been too
impoverished, and his nature too chastened by stern and
bitter experience, for him to crave gaiety and exuberant
sentiment in his wife. Her quiet face, in which now was
the serenity of rest, and not the tranquillity of death in
life, grew daily more lovely to him ; and he was not with-
out his human pride as he saw the beauty-loving Italians
looking wonderingly at her. She in turn was pleased to
observe how he impressed cultivated people with his
quiet power, with a presence that so varied an experience
had been combined to create. Among fine minds, men
and women are more truly felt than seen. We meet peo-
ple of the plainest appearance and most unostentatious
manner, and yet without effort they compel us to recog-
nize their superiority, while those who seek to impress
others with their importance are known at once to be weak
and insignificant.

It was also a source of deep gratification to Grace to
see that now, since her husband had obtained rest of
mind, he turned naturally to healthful business interests.
Her own affairs, of which he had charge in connection
with Hilland's lawyer, were looked after and explained
fully to her ; and his solicitude for Henry Anderson's suc-
cess led to an exchange of letters with increasing fre-
quency. Much business relating to the Virginia planta-
tion was transacted on the shores of the Mediterranean.

Grace sought to quiet her compunctions at leaving hoi
'ather and Mrs. Mayburn so long by frequent letters

HIS SOMBRE laVALS.

351

in her dear old style, by cases of Italian wines, delicate
and rare ; exquisite fabrics of the loom, and articles of
vi7'tu; and between the letters and the gifts the old peo-
ple held high carnival after their quaint fashions all that

winter.

The soft Italian days lapsed one after another, like
brioht smiles on the face of nature ; but at last there came
one' on which Grace leaned her head upon her husband's
shoulder and whispered, " Alf ord, take me home, please.

Had he cared for her before, when she was as helpless
as a little child ? Jinny, in recalling that journey and in
dilating on the wonders of her experience abroad,by which
she invariably struck awe into the souls of Aunt Sheba
and Iss, would roll up her eyes, and turn outward the
palms of her hands, as she exclaimed, "Good Lor,' you
niggers, how I make you 'prehen' Mas'r Graham's gom's
on from de night he sez, sez he ter me, ' Pack up, Jinny ;
we'se a gwine straight home.' Iss'clar€?s dat Mas'r
Graham's a ter'ble soger wid his long, straight sword and
pistol, an' dat he's laid out more 'Federates dan he can
shake a stick at. Well, you'd nebber b'Ueve he'd a done
wussdansay, 'How d'ye' to a 'Federate efyer'd seen
how he 'volved roun' Missy Grace. He wouldn't let d©
sun shine on her, nor de win, blow near her, and ebery-
body had ter git right up an' git ef she eben wanted ter
sneeze. On de ship he had eberybody, from de cap'n to
de cabin-boys, a waitin' on her. Dey all said we hab a
mighty (fuiot v'yage, but Lor bress yer ! it was all 'long
ob Mas'r Graham. He wouldn't let no wabes run ter
pitch his darlin' roun.' Missy Grace, she used ter sit an*
larf and' larf at 'im,— bress her dear heart, how much
good it do me to dear de honey larf like her ole dear self !
Her moder used ter be mighty keerful on her,^but 'twan't
nothin' ' pared ter Mrs'r Graham's goin's on. "

Jinny had never heard of Baron Munchausen, but her
accounts of foreign experiences and scenes were much
after the type of that famous raconteur ; and by each re-

i' ll

352

HIS SOMBllE laVALS.

petition her stories seemer! to make portentous growtli.
There was, liowever, a residum of trutli in all her marvels
Ihe event which she so vaguely foreshadowed by ever-in^
creasing Sbuds of words took place. In June, when the
nests around the cottage were fuU of little birds, there
was abo, in a downy, nestlilce cradlo, a miniature of
sweet Grace Graham, and Jinny thenceforth vva>i tho
oracle of the kitchen.

\i !

i- i.

CHAPTER XL.

IIITA ANDERSON.

rpHE belief of children that babies are brought from
i heaven see-^s often verified by the experiences that
tollow tiieir advent. And truly the baby at the St. John
cottage was a heavenly gift, even to the crotchety old
major, whom it kept awake at night by its unseasonable
complaints ot the evils which it encountered in spite of
Grandma May burn, faithful old Aunt Sheba, who pleaded
to be its nurse, and the gentle mother, who bent over it
"With a tenderness new and strange even to her heart.

She could laugh now, and laugh she would, when Gra-
ham, with a trepidation never felt in battle, took the tiny
morsel of humanity, and paraded up and down the library.
Lying back on the sofa in one of her dainty wrappers she
would cry, « Look at him, papa ; look at that grim cav-
alry man, and think of his leading a charge 1"

" Well, Grade, dear," the old major woutd reply, chuck-
ling at his well-worn joke, " the colonel was only a cav-
aliy man, yon know. He's not up in infantry tactic8."

One morning Grandma Mayburn opened a hiah con-
clave m regard to the baby's name, and sou-lit tl settle

HIS SOMBRE DIVALS.

363

the question in advance by saying, "Of course it should

be Grace." , . n xi « t

'•Indeed, madam,'* differed the major, gallantly, 1

think it should be named after its grandmother."

Grace lifted her eyes inquiringly to her husband, who

stood regarding what to him was the Madonna and

child. ° ° . . ,

*a have already named her," he said, quietly.

" You, you ! " cried his aunt, brusquely. " I'd have you
to know that this is an affair for grave and general delib-
eration."

"Alford shall have his way," said the mother, with
quiet emphasis, looking down at the child, while pride
and tenderness blended sweetly in her face.

" Her name is Hilda, in memory of the noblest man and
dearest friend I have ever known."

Instantly she raised her eyes, brimming with tears, to
his, and faltered, " Thank you, Alford ; and she clapped
the child almost convulsively to her breast, provin^^ that
there was one love which no other could obliterate."

"That's right, dear Grace. Link her name with the
memory of Warren. She will thus make you happier,
aud it's my wish."

The conclave ended at once. The old major took off
his spectacles to wipe his eyys, and Mis. Maybui-n stole
away.

From that hour little Hilda pushed'sorrow from Grace's
heart with her baby hands, as nothing had ever done be-
fore, and the memory of the lost husband ceased to be a
shadow in the background. The innocent young life was
associated with his, and loved the more intensely.

Graham had spoken from the impulse of a generous
nature, too large to feel the miserable jealousies that
infest some minds ; but he had spoken more wisely than
he knew. Thereafter there was a tenderness in Grace's
manner toward him which he had never recognized
before. He tasted a happiness of which he had never

354

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

Jreamed, alloyed only by the thought that his treasurcfi
were mortal and frail. But as the little one thrived, and
his wife bloomed into the most exquisite beauty seen in
this world, that of young and happy motherhood, he gave
himself up to his deep content, believing that fate at last
was appeased. The major grew even hilarious, and had
his morning and evening parades, as he called them,
when the baby, in its laces nnd soft draperies, was
brought for his inspection. Mrs. Mayburn, with all the
acumulated maternal yearnings of her heart satisfied,
would preside at the ceremony. Grace, happy and proud
would nod and smile over her shoulder at her husband,
who made a poor pretence of reading his paper, while the
old veteran deliberately adjusted his spectacles and made
comments that iu their solemn drollery and military
jargon were irresistible to the household that could now
laugh so easily. The young life that had come had
brought a new life to iiiem all, and the dark shadows of
the past shrank farther and farther into the back-
ground.

But they were there— all the sad mysteries of evil
that had crushed the mother's heart. Once they seemed
to rush forward and close around her. Little Hilda was
ill, and Grace in terror. But Dr. Markham speedily
satisfied her that it was a trivial matter, and proved it to
be so by his remedies. The impression of danger
remained, however, and she clung to her little idol mora
closely than ever ; and this was true of all.

Time sped tranquilly on. Hilda grew in endearing
ways, and began to have knowing looks and smiles for
each. Her preference for her grandfather with his great
frosty eyebrows pleased the old gentleman immensely. It
was both droll and touching to observe how one often so
irascible would patiently let her take off his spectacles,
toy with and often pull his gray locks, and rumple his
oldfashioned ruffles, which he peisisted in wearing on
state occasions. It was also silently noted that the

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

355

the

veteran never even verged toward profanity in the pre-
sence of the child.

Each new token of intelligence was hailed with a
delight of which natures coarse or blunted never know.
The Wise Men of old worshipped the Babe in the manger,
and sadly defective or perverted in their organization are
those who do not see something divine in a little innocent
child.

Henry and Rita Anderson, at the urgent solicitation of
Graham and his wife, came on in the autumn to make
a visit, and, by a very strange coincidence, Graham';-
favourite captain, a manly, prosperous fellow, happened
to be visiting him at the time. By a still more remark-
able conjunction of events, he at once shared in his formei
colonel's admiration of the dark-eyed Southern girl. She
was very shy, distant and observant at first, for thi?
fortuitous captain was a Northerner. But the atmo-
sphere of the two cottages was not in the least conducive
to coolness and reserve. The wood fires that crackled or
the hearth, or something else, thawed perceptibly the
spirited girl. Moreover, there were walks, drives, horse-
back excursions, daily ; and Iss shone forth in a glory oi
which he had never dreamed as a plantation hand. There
were light steps passing to and fro, light laughter, cheery
hearty voices — in which the baby's crowing and cooing
were heard as a low, sweet chord — music and whist tc
the major's infinite content. The shadows shrank farthei
into the background than ever before. No one thought
of or heeded them now; but they were ther3, cowering
and waiting.

Only Aunt Sheba was ill at ease. Crooning her quaint
lullabies to the baby, she would often lift her eyes tc
heaven and sigh, " De good ".ord hab marcy on dem '
Dey's all drinkin' at de little shaller pools that may dry
up any minit. It's all ob de earth ; it's all ob tings, no-
thin' but tings which de eyes can see and de ban's can
touch. De good Lord lift dar eyes from de earth widou'

aivin uat mOS viCai ;

35G

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

m 'i

it <»

i s

I ; ■ '■

I; « (■

But no one thought of old Aunt Sheba except as a
faithful creature born to serve them in her humble way.

The Northern captain soon proved that he had not a
little of the Southern dash and ardour, and he had already
discovered that his accidental visit to Graham was quite
providential, as he had been taught to regard events
that promised favourably. He very significantly asked
Colonel Anderson to take a gallop with him one morning,
hut they had not galloped far before he halted and
plumply asked the brother's permission, as the present
representative of her father, to pay his addresses to Rita.
Now Captain Windom had made a good impression on
the colonel, which Graham in a very casual way, had
been at pains to strengthen; and he came back r
diant over one point gained. But he was more afraid of
that little Virginian girl than he had e /er been of all hor
Southern compatriots. He felt that he must forego his
cavalry tactics and open a regular siege ; but she, witli
one flash of her mirthful eyes saw through it all, laughed
over it wi£h Grace, whom from worshipping as a saint
she now loved as a sister. Ami^ the pauses in their mu-
tual worship of the baby, they talked the captain over in
a way that would have made his ears tingle could he
have heard them ; but Grace, underneath all her good-
natured criticism, seconded her husband's ellbrts with a
mature woma^i's tact. Rita should be made happy in
spite of all her little perversities and Southern prejudices,
and yet the hands that guided and helped her should not
be seen.

The captain soon abandoned his siege tactics, in which
he was ill at ease, and resumed his ol'^ habit of impetuous
advances in which Graham had trained him. Time was
growing short. His visit and hers would soon be over.
He became so downright and desperately in earnest that
the little girl began to be frightened. It was no laughing
matter now, and Grace looked grave over the affair.
Then Rita began to be very sorry for him ; and at last,

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

357

through Graham's unwonted awkwardness and inatten-
tion to his guests, the captain and Rita were permitted
to take a different road from the others on an equestrian
party. When they appeared the captain looked as if he
were returning from a successful charge, and Rita was as
shy and blushing as one of the wild roses of her native
hills. She fled to Grace's room, as if it were the only
refuge left in the world, and her first breathless words
were, "I haven't promised anything — that is, nothing
definite. I said he might come and see me in Virginia
and talk to papa about it, and I'd think it over, and—
and — Well, he was so impetuous and earnest ! Good
heavens, I thought the Northern people were cold, but
that captain fairly took away my breath. You never
heard a man talk so."

Grace had put down the baby, and now stood with her
arm around her friend, smiling the sweetest encourage-
ment.

" I'll explain it all to you. Miss Rita," began Graham's
deep voice, as he advanced from a recess.

" O the powers ! are you here ? " and she started back
and looked at him with dismay.

" Yes," said he, " and I merely wished to explain
that my friend Windon was in the cavalry, and from
much fighting with your brave impetuous hard-riders vv^e
gradually fell into their habits,"

" I half believe that you are laughing at me, — that
you are in league with him, and have been all along."

" Yes, Rita, noble little woman, truest friend at the
time of my bitter need, I am in league with any man
worthy of you, — that is, as far as a man can be who seeks
to make you happy ; " and he took her band and held it
warmly,

" Here come my silly tears again," and she dashed
them to righu and left. Then, looking up at him shyly,
she faltered, " I must admit that I'm a little bit happy."

358

HTS SOMBRE RIVALS.

l'!!ll

" I vowed you should be, all through that dark ride on
which you led me away from cruel enemies ; and every
Mower that yo i have placed on the grave of that noble
man that Grace and I both loved has added strength to
tny vow."

" O Rita, Rita darling ! " cried Grace, clasping her in
■lose embrace ; "do you think we ever forget it ? "

" Can you think, Rita, that in memory of that never- to-
le-forgotten day I would give Captain Windom the oppor-
tunities he has enjoyed if I did not think he would
nake you happy ? One cannot li\ o and tight side by side
with a man for years and not know his mettle. He was
lion-like in battle, but he will be ever gentleness itself
toward you. Best of all he will appreciate you, and I
should feel like choking any fellow who didn't."

But indeed, indeed, I haven't promised anything; I
'nly said — "

" No matter what you said, my dear, so long as the
captain knows. We are well assured that your every word
and thougiit and act were true and maidenly. Let Win-
dom visit you and become acquainted with your fathei.
The more you all see of him the more you will respect
him."

" You are wonderfully reassuring," said the young girl,
" and I learned to trust you long ago. Indeed, after your
course toward Henry, I believe I'd marry any one you
told me to. But to tell the truth, I havr felt, for the la^it
few hours, as if caught up by a whirlwind and landed I
don't know where. No one ever need talk to me any
more about cold-blooded Northerners. Well, I must land
at the dinner-table before long, and so must go and dress.
It's proper to eat under the circumstances, isn't it ? "

"I expect to," said Graham, laughing, "and I'm more
in love than you are."

" Little wonder ! " with a glance of ardent adiiiiration
toward Grace, and she whisked out. In a moment she
returned and said, " Now, colonel, I mubt be honest, es-

HIS SOMBRE KIVALS.

359

was

pecially as I think of your vow in the dark woods. I am
very, very happy ; " and then in a meteoric brilliancy of
Biniles, tears, and excitement, she vanished.

On the day following Captain Windom marched trium-
phantly away, and his absence proved to Rita that the
question was settled, no matter what she had said when
having little breath icft to say anything.

She and her brother followed speedily, and Graham
accompanied them, to superintend in person the setting
up of a beautiful marble '■olumn which he and Grace had
designed for Hilland's grave.

It was a time of sad, yet chastened memories to both.
In their consciousness Hilland had ceased to exist. He
was but a memory, cherished indeed with an indescrib-
able honour and love, — still only a memory. There was
an immense difference, however, in the thoughts of each
as they revevtid to this distant grave. Graham felt that
he had there closed a chapter of his life, — a chapter that
he would ever recall with the deep melancholy that often
broods in the hearts of the happiest of men whose na-
tures are large enough to be truly impressed by life's
vicissitudes. Grace knew that her girlhood, her former
self, was buried in that gi-ave, and with her early lover
had vanished forever. Graham had, in a sense, raised her
from the dead. His boundless love and self-sacrifice, his
indomitable wili, had created for her new life, different
from the old, yet full of tranquil joys, new hopes and in-
terests. He had not rent the new from the old, but had
bridged with generous acts the existing chasm. He w^as
doing all within his power, not jealoun / to withdraw
her thoughts from that terrible past, but to veil its more
cruel and repulsive features with flowers, laurel ^vreftths,
and sculptu) d marble ; and in her heart, which had been
dead, but inio which his love had breathed a new life, she
daily blessed him with a deeper affection.

He soon returned to her from Virginia, and by his viviJ
descriptions made real to her the scene he had visited

IIIS SOMHRK lUVAT-S.

If
if ■

lie toM hor liow Riia and licr Lrotlier lind clmns^ofl tlio
plot in which .slept the National and the Confedonito
officer into a little garden of bloasoniing ijrnonery ; liow
he had arranpfed with Colonel Anderson to place a fitting
monument over the younfr Confederate officer whoso
friends had been impoverished by the war ; and he kissed
away the the tears, no lonjror bitter and<3er,pairing, evok-
ed by the memories his words recalled. 'iHien, in lighter
vein, h& described the sudden advent of the impetuous
captain ; the consternation of the little housekeeper, who
was not expecting him so soon ; her efforts to improvise
a feast for the man who would blissfully swallow half-
baked " pones " if served by her ; her shy presentation
of her lover to the venerable clergyman, which he and
Henry had witnessed on the veranda through the half-
closed blinds, and the fond old man's immense surprise
that his little Rita should have a lover at all.

" ' My dear sir,' he said, * this is all very premature.
You must wait for the child to grow up before imbuing
her mind with thoughts beyond her years.*

" ' My dear Dr. Anderson,' had pleaded the adroit Win-
dom, ' I will wait indefinitely, and submit to any condi-
tions that you and Miss Rita^ impose. If already she has
impressed me so deeply, time can only increase my re-
spect, admiration, and affection, if that were possible.
Before making a single effort to win your daughter's re-
gard, I asked permission of her brother, since you were
so far away. I have not sought to bind her, but have
only revealed the deep feeling which she has inspired, and
I now come to ask your sanction also to my addresses.'

"'Your conduct,' replied the old gentleman, unbending
urbanely toward the young man, ' is both honourable and
considerate. Of course you know that my child's happi-
ness is my chief solicitude. If, after several years, when
Rita's mind has grown more mature, her judgment con-
tirmB—

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

361

•' Here Rita iiuitlo a little mone which only her red lipM
^ould form, and Henry and I took refuge in a silent and
precipitate retreat, lest our irreverent mirth should offend
the blind old father, to whom Rita is his little Rita still.
You know well how many years, months rather, Windom

will wait.

« Well, I left the little girl happier than the day was
long, for'l believe her eyes sparkle all through the night
under their long la.shes. As for Windom, he is in the
seventh heaven. ' My latest campaign in Virginia, he
whispered to me as I was about to ride away ; ' good
prospects of the best capture yet won from the Confede-

And so he made the place familiar to her, with its high
lights and deep shadows, and its characters real, even
down to old Jehu and his son Huey.

(

CHAPTER XLI.

A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM.

AUTUMN merged imperceptibly into winter, and
the days sped tranquilly on. With the exception
of brief absences on business, Graham was mostly at
home, for there was no place like his own hearth. Hk
heart,' so long denied happiness, was content only at the
side of his wife and child. The shadows of the past
crouched farther away than ever, but even their own
health and prosperity, their happiness, and the relieved
happiness of others, could not banish them wholly. The
lights which burned so brightly around them, like the
fire on their hearth, had been kindled and were fed by
human hands only, and were ever liable to die out. The

8G2

HIS SOMBRE RTVALS.

b i

fuel that kept them hnvning was the hest that earth
afforded, but the supply had its inherent limitationSo
Each new tranquil day increased the habitual sense of se-
curity. Graham was busy witji the plans of a large agri-
cultural enterprise in Virginia. The more he saw of
Henry Anderson the more he appreciated his sterling in-
tegrity and fine business capabilities, and from being an
agent he had become a partner. Grace's writing-desk, at
which Graham had cast a wistful glance the first time he
had seen it, was often covered with maps of the Virginia
plantation, which he proposed to develop into its best
capabilities. Grace had a cradle by the library fire as
well as in her room. Beside tliis the adopted grand-
mother knitted placidly, and the major rustled his paper
softly lest he should waken the little sleeper. Grace, wao
persisted in making all of her little one's dainty plumage
herself, would lift ner eyes from time to time, full of
genuine interest in his projects and in his plans for a
dwelling on the plantation, which should be built accord-
ing to her taste and constructed for her convenience.

The shadows had never been farther away. Even old
Aunt Sheba was lulled into security. Into her bereaved
heart, as into the hearts of all the others, the baby crept ;
and she grew so bewitching with her winsome ways, so
absorbing in her many little wants and her need of watch-
ing, as with the dawning spirit of curiosity she sought to
explore for herself what was beyond the cradle and the
door, that Aunt She^^a, with the doting mother, thought
of Hilda during all waking hours and dreamt of her
in sleep.

At last the inconstant New England spring passed
away, and J une came with its ever-new heritage of beauty
The baby's birthday was to be the grand fete of the year,
and the little creature seemed to enter into the spirit of the
occasion. She could now call her parents and grand-
parents by name, and talk to them in her pretty though
tenseless jargon, which was to them more precious than
she wisdom of Solomon.

i»

hMt

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

363

It was a day of roses and rose-colours. Roses banked
the mantelpieces, wreathed the cradle, crowned the table
at which Hilda sat in state in her high chair, a fairy form
in gossamer laces, with dark eyes — Grace's eyes — that
danced with the unrestrained delight of a child.

" She looks just like my little Grace of long, long year^
ago," said the major, with wistful eyes ; *' and yet. Colonel
it seems but yesterday that your wife was the image of,
that laughing little witch yonder."

"Well, I can believe," admitted Grandma Mayburn,
" that Grace was as pretty — a tremendous compliment to
you, Grace — but there never was and never will be another
baby as pretty and cunning as our Hilda."

The good old lady never spoke of the child as Grace's
baby. It was always " ours." In Graham, Grace, and
especially Hilda, she had her children about her, and the
mother-need in her heart was satisfied.

" Yes, Hilda, darling," said the colonel with fond eyes,
" you have begun well. You coulu not please me more
than by looking like your mother ; the next thing is to
grow like her.

" Poor blind papa, with the perpetual glamour on I.'s
eyes ! He will never see his old white-haired wife as she

is."

He looked at her almost perfect features with the

bloom of health upo.i them, into her dark eyes with their

depths of motherly pride and joy, at her snowy neck and

ivory atms bare to the summer heat, and longest at the

wavy silver of her hair, that crowned her beauty with an

almost supernatural charm.

" Don't I. see you as you are, Grace ? " he said. "Well,
I am often spellbound by what I do see. If Hilda be-
comes like you, excepting your sorrows, my dearest wish
in her behalf will be fulfilled."

Old Aunt Sheba, standing behind the baby's chair, felt
a chill at heart as she thought, " Dey'se all a worshippin'
de chile and each oder. 1 sees it bo plain datl'se allob a
tremble."

364

HIS SOMBRE RlViLLS.

.u A Xi^ ^^""^ shadows of the past have place nea.
that birthday feast, but they are coming nearer, closin*^ in
remorseless, relentless as ever, and among them are°the
gloomy rivals against whom Graham struggled so loner
He thought he had vanquished them, but they are steat
mg upon him again like vindictive, unforgiving savages
Ihere was a jar of thunder upon the still air, but it
was not heeded. The room began to darken, but they
thought only of a shower that would banish the sultn-
iiess ol the day. Darker shadows than those of thunder-
clouds were faUmg upon them, had they known it

The wme was brought, and the health of the baby
drank. Then Graham, ordering all glasses to be filled
said reverently : " To the memory of Warren Hilland ?
May the child who is named for him ever remind us of
his noble life and heroic death."

They drank in silence, then put down the glasses and
sat for moments with bowed heads, Grace's tears l>illing
sottly Without, nature seemed equally hushed. Not a
breath stirred the sultry air, until at last a heavier and
nearer jar of thunder vibrated in the distance.

The unseen shadows are closing around the little Hilda
whose eyelids are heavy with satiety. Aunt Sheba is'
about to take her from her chair, when a swift gust, cold
and spray-laden, rusher through the house, crashing to the
doors and whirling all light articles into a carnival of
disorder.

The little gossamer-clad girl shivered, and, while others
hastily closed windows, Grace ran for a shawl in which to
wrap her darling.

The showier passed, bringing welcome coolness Hilda
slept quietly through its turmoil and swishing torrents
--slept on into the twilight, until Aunt Sheba seemed a
shadow herself. But there were darker shadows brood-
ing over her.

Suddenly in her sleep, the child gave an ominous bark-
ing cough.

HIS SOMBRE B tVALS.

S66

lonor.

" O de good Lor' !" cried Aunt Sheba, springing to her
feet. Then with a swiftness in which there was no sign
of age, she went to the landing and called, " Mas'r Gra-
ham."

Grace was in the room before him. "What is it ?" she
asked breathlessly.

" Well, Missy Grace, don't be 'larmed, but I thinks
Mas'r Graham 'ud better sen' for de doctor, jes' for cau-
tion like.

Again came the peculiar cough, terror-inspiring to all

mothers.

" Alford, Alford, lose not a moment ! " she cried. " It's
the croup."

The soldier acted as if his camp were attacked at mid-
night. There were swift feet, the trampling of a horse ;
and soon the skill of science, the experience of age, and
motherly tenderness confronted the black shadows, but
they remained immovable.

The child gasped and struggled for life. Grace, half
frantic, followed the doctor's directions with trembling
hands, seeking to do everything for her idol h'- >lf as far
as possible. Mrs. Mayburn, gray, grim, vit' face of
ashen hue, hovered near and assisted. Av: A i' leba, pray-
ing often audibly, proved by her deft hands ohat the ex-
perience of her long-past motherhood was of service now.
The servants gathered at the door, eager and impatient to
do something for "de bressed chile." The poor old major
thumped restlessly back and forth on his crutches in the
hall below, half swear^^^, half praying. Dr. Markham,
pale with anxiety, bi ool and collected as a veteran
general in battle, put ^orth his whole skill to baffle the
destroyer. Graham, standing in the background with
clenched hands, more excited, more desperate than he had
ever been when sitting on his horse waiting for the bugle
to sound the charge, watched his wife and child with
eyes that burned in the intensity of his feeling.

■ w -c mitt l iii'ji . ' UJ i ffB i iK g ;?

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

Mi' ' t :
I j

i -

Time of which no notice was taken, T)ar,sed, although
moments seemed hke hoars. The child still struggled
and gasped but more and more feebly. At last, in the
dawn the httle Hilda lay still, looked up and smiled.
Was It at her mother's face, or something beyond ?

fehe is better," cried Grace, turning her imploring
eyes to Uie physician, who held the little hand.

A]as ! It was growing cold in his. He turned quickly
to Graham and whispered, « Support your wife, lie end
is near.

He came mechanically and put his arm around her.
Grace, dear Grace," he faltered, hoarsely, " can you not

bear this sorrow also for my sake ? " '

^ "Alford!" .she panted with horror in her tones—
AJtord ! why. why, her hand is growing cold ' "
There was a long low sigh from the little one aud then

she was still.

♦'Take your wife away," said Dr. Markham, in a low.
authoritative tone.

Graham sought to obey in the same mechanical manner.
She sprang from him and stood aloof. There was a ter-
rible light in her eyes, before which he quailed.

' lake me away !" she cried, in a voice that was
hoarse, strained and unnatural. "Never' Tell me +ne
belief of your heart. Have I lost my child forever ? "is
that sweet image of my Hilda nothing but clay ? Is
there nothing, further for this idol of my heart but horri-
ble corruption ? If this is true, no more learned iarcror to
me about law and force ! If this is true, I am the" crea-
tion of a fiend who, with all the cruel ingenuity of a tiend
has so made me that he can inflict the utmost degree of
torture. It^ this is true, my motherhood is a lie, and
good IS pumshed, not evil. If this is true, there i- nei-
ther God nor law, bat only a devil. But let me have the
truth : have I lost that child forever ? "

He was dumb, and an awful silence fell upon tlic
ciiamber of deatli. ^

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

367

Is
Is

Grail am*s philosophy failed him at last. His own fa*
ther-heart sould rot accept of corruption as the final end
ot his child. Indeed, it revolted at it with a resistless re-
bound" as somethinsf horrible, monstrous, and, as his
wife had said, devilish. His old laborious reasoning was
scorched away as by lightning in that moment of intense
consciousness when his soul told him that, if this were
true, his nature also was a lie and a c^'f^at. He knew
not what he believed, or what was ti'ue. Hg was stunned
and speechless.

Despair was turning his wife's face into stone, when
old Aunt Sheba, who had been crouching, sobbing, and
praying at the foot of the little couch, rose with streaming
eyes and stretched out her hands to the desperate mother.

" JNo, Missy Grace," she cried, in tones that rang
through the house, " no, no, no. Your cbile am not lost
to you ; your chile am not dead. She on'y sleeps. Did
not de good Lord say, " Suffer de little chillen ter come
unter me ? ' An' Hilda, de dear little lamb, hab gone ter
Him, an' is in de Good Shepherd's arms. Your little chile
am not lost to you, she's safe at home, der dear bressed
home ob heben, whar your moder ifi, Missy Grace. De
hebenly Father say, * Little Hilda, you needn't walk de
long flinty, thorny path and suffer like you'se dear moder.
You kin come home now, and i .^>e'll take keer ob ye till
mode.r comes.' Bress de little iamb, she smile when de
angels come fer her, an' she's safe, safe forebermore. No
tears fer little Hilda, no heartbreak in all her 'ternal life.
Dear Missy Grace, my little baby die too, but I hain't los'
it. No, no. De Good Shepherd is a keepin' it safe fer
me, an' I shall hab my baby again."

It is impossible to describe the effect of this passionate
utterance of faith as it came warm and direct from the
heart of another bereaved mother, whose lowliness only
emphasized the universal human need of something more
than negatic i3 ..ud thoories of l'"/y ''-nd force. The major
heard it in tka hall below, and was awed. Mrs. Mayburn

3(JS

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

1if

ana the servants sobbed audibly. The stony look went
ouu ot Grace s face ; tears welled up in^.o her hot, dry eyes
and she drew near and bent ever her chUd with an indes-
cribable yearning in her face. Aunt Sheba ceased, sank
down on the floor, and throwing her apron over her face
she rocked back and forth and prayed as before.

Suddenly Grace threw herself on the unconscious little
;.°P°' and cned with a voice that pierced every heart:
U God, I turn to Thee, then. Is my child lost to me
forever, or is she in Thy keeping ? Was my mother's
aith true ? Shall I have my baby once more ? Jesus,
trt Thou a Shepherd of the little ones ? Hast Thou
,^uttered my Hilda to come unto Thee ? 0, if Thou art
Ihou canst reveal Thyself unto me and save a broken-
hearted mother from despair. This child was mine. Is
It mine still ? and she clasped her baby convulsivelv to
her bosom. ^

" ' Sutfer de little cidllen ter come unter me, and forbid
lem not, repeated Aunt Bheba in low tones.

Again a deep awed silence fell upon them all. Grace knelt

.0 long with her own face pressed against her child's that

Jiey thought she had fainted. The physician motioned

Graham to lift her up, but he shook his head. He was

cri^hed and despairing, feeling that in one little hour he

had lost the beliet of his manhood, the child that had

brought into his home a heaven that he at least could

understand, and as he heard his wife's bitter cry he felt

that her life and reason'might soon go also. He recognized

^^^'5 1.1 P^ese^ce of his bitter rivals Grief and Death,

and telt that at last they had var ' ed h^m He had

not the courage or the will to ma- , ..^ther effort

" ^^^' Graham, for your husband's sake—" be^an Dr
Markham. *

« Ah! forgive me, Alford," she said, rising weakly
I should no t have forgotten you for a moment."

55he took an uncertain step toward him, and he ca li^ht
her in his arma, ®

HIS SOMBRE UIVALS.

309

Laying her head upon his breast, she said gently,
•* Alford, our baby is not dead."

" O Grace, darling! " he cried in agony, "don't give way,
or we are both lost. I have no strength left. I cannot
save you again. Oh ! if the awful past should come
back ! "

" It now can never come back. Alford, we have not lost
our child. Aunt Sheba has had a better wisdom than
you or I, and from this hour forth my motiier's faith is
mine. Do not think me wild or wandering. In my
very soul has come the answer to my cry. Horrible
corruption is net the end of that lovely life. You can't
believe it, any more than I. Dear little sleeper, you are
still my baby. I shall go to you, and yx)u will never
suffer as I have suffered. God bless you Aunt Sheba !
your heaven-inspired words have saved me from despair.
Alford , dear Alford, do not give way so ; I'll live and be
your true and faithful wife. I'll teach you the faith that
God has taught me."

He drew long deep breaths. rHe was like a great ship
trying to right itself in a storm. At last he said, in
broken tones, " Grace, you are right. It's not law or force.
It's either God, who in some way that I can't understand,
will bring good out of all this evil, or else it's all devilish,
fiendish. If after this night you can be resigned, patient,
hopeful, your faith shall be mine."

Tho shadows affrighted, shrank farther away than
ever before.

" I take you at your word," she replied, as she drew
him gently away. " Come, let us go and comfort papa,"
One after another stole out after them uniAl Mrs. May-
burn was alone with the dead. Long and motionless she
stood, with her eyes fixed on the quiet lovely face.

" Hilda," at last she moaned, " little Hilda, shall poor
old grandma ever see our baby again ? "

At that moment the sun rose high enough to send a
ray through the lattice, and it lighted the baby's face
with what seemed a sioile of unearthly sweetness.

370

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

A few moments later Aunt Sheba found the a^ed
woman with her head upon little Hildas bosom, and
there she received a faith that brought peace

A few evenmgs later there was a grassy mound, cover-

plr^f^rf' r^/'^H^?^'^^-^''^ ^y ^^'^ r««tic seat;
and at the head of the little grave there was placed a
block of marble bearing the simple inscription.
Here sleeps our baby Hilda."

* * * * • •

Years have passed. The little monument is now near
another and a stately one in a Virginia cemetery. Fresh
flowers are on it showing that " Our baby Hilda" is never-
torgotton Fresh flowers are beneath the stately column

;3 '^'^ ?.^'^''' ^'^ ^^ ^^^ y^^'^S Confederate's

gi a ve commemorating a manly and heroic devotion to a
cause that was sacred to him. The cause was lost ; and

rnVjL T N .^r""! ^^^ ^^" ^^ ^^"1^ ^^''^ thanked
?^ ft / /u .?^.^ l^^^^ ^"'''"S *^^ ^^^'^0" for thankfulness
Ls the truth that to men and peoples that which their
hearts craved is often denied.

Not far away is a home as unostentatious as the
JVoithem cottage, but larger, and endowed with every
homelike attribute. Sweet Grace Graham is its mistresi
Her lovely features are somewhat marked by time and
her deep experiences, but they have gained a beaucy and
serenity tha^ will defy time. Sounds of jovous young

J Lif P '^' ^T'' "^^.^^ " ''""^^^ ^^y her sidf
little Grace is sleeping. Grandma Mayburn still

knits slowly by the hearth, but when the days are dry

and warm it is her custom to steal away to the ometery

and remain for hours with <' Our Baby." The major has

grown very feeble, but his irritable prote^ against age

rmbTnr^^/'r ^ri] P^«« to a serene, quiet waiting
till he can rest beside the brave soldiers who have forgot -
ten their laurels. ^

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

371

and

Colonel Anderson, now a prosperous planter, Ims his
own happy home life, and his aged father shares the best
there is in it. He still preaches in the quaint old church,
repaired but not modernized, and his appearance and life
give eloquence to his faltering words. The event of the
quiet year is the annual visit of Rita and Captain Win-
dom with their little brood. Then truly the homes abound
in breezy life ; but sturdy, blue-eyed Warren Giaham is
the natural leader of all the little people's sport. Th^
gallant black horse Mayburn is still Iss's pride, but he
lets no one mount him except his mar^ter. Aunt Shebi
presides at the preparation of state dinners, and siis by
the cradle of baby Grace. She is left, however, most of
the time, to her own devices, and often finds her way
also to the cemetery to " wisit dat dear little lamb, Hilda,"
murmuring as she creeps slowly with her cane, " We'se
all a followin' her now, bress de Lord." Jinny's stories
of what she saw and of her experiences abroad have be-
come so marvellous that they might be true of some other
planet, but not of ours. Dusky faces gather round her
by the kitchen fire, and absolute faith is expressed by
their awed faces. Old Jehu has all the chickens and
" sass " he wants without working foi- them, and his son
Huey has settled down into a steady " hand," who satis-
fies his former ruling passion with an occasional coon-
hunt. Both of the colonels have the tastes of sportsmen,
and do all in their power to preserve the game in their
vicinity. They have become closer friends with the laps-
ing years, and from crossing swords they look forward to
the time when they can cross their family escutcheons by
the marriage of the sturdy Warren with another little
Rita, who now romps with him in a child's happy un-
consciousness.

There are flocks of gray in Graham's hair and beard,
and deep lines on his resolute face, but he maintains his
erect soldierly bearing even when superintending the
homely details of the plantation. Every one respects

372

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS.

Im • J

!.!

him ; the majority are a little afraid ot )iim, for where
his will has sway theru is law and order, but to the poor
and sorrowful he gives increasing reason to bless his
name. His wife's faith has become his. She has proved
it true by the sweet logic of her life. In their beliei" the
baby Hilda is only jat home before them, and the soldier
without fear and without reproach has found the immor-
tality that he longed for in his dying moments. He is
no longer a cherished, honoured memory only; he is
the man they loved, grown more manly, more noble in
the perfect conditions of a higher plane of life. The
dark mysteries of evil are still dark to them, — problems
that cannot be solved by human reas( ti. But in the
Divine Man, toward whose compassionate face the sor-
rowful and sinful of all the centuries have turned, they
have found One who has mastered the evil that threat-
ened their lives. They are content to leave the mystery
of ^^'vil to Him who has become in their deepest concious-
ness Friend and Guide. He stands between them and
the shadows of the Dast and the future.

i- !'

, for where
to the poor
;o bless ins
has proved
ir belidl" the
: the soldier
the immor-
snts. He is
only; lie is
)re noble in
I life. The
, — problems
But in the
ace the sor-
iurned, they
that threat-
bhe mystery
st concious-
1 them and