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DO YOU THIKK I WOULD ATTEHPT TO BUT A WIFE ?"

\vaxti:!:d''

MRS. C U. ALDI'N Crrt//^j)

'» »!•« •^'■'. I'm I ^v, « ' * ttik Ass Ktf \rt-- 'Nli-M'Kt/*
•• I w I N \ \l iv ii I IS I. '•> K ■• " I'm I.MI I.K < ' \Kl>,'*

iU.lSTKATKB

TOROXTOt
Mont: eal, c. \:. ( cj/; i:i.. i ua.^, ..^. c^. p.. laKSTISL

* «k

. •. . ♦ . . ,1 /o*^

Entered, according to Act «f ,»,c P.,rlb„ , ,.. Ta- n.f.-.. in rh* year one

thousand eight Im-uir-d ami mneiv i. u., bv WiLr.lAM Bricgs.
Torgnto, at the Depattnin.i u. Agiuu'.turr. Ottawa.

I
I

!!♦»•♦•!

* * I ' »

CONTENTS.

/•' T * ■'

CHAP.

♦.-

11.-

III.-

\\.-

V,-

VI.-
VII.-
Vill.-
* IV _

X.-
X .-

XII.-.
Xlll.-
XIV.—

XV.—
XVI._

xvrr,—

XVI II _

t
■

- ToK v H V A u r s v\< r .vos
-OlTi- iM iM..; World

- }U;si\r.s>; C'h.angks

- U.VPKIv' ()|<I)K)..S ,

- DKWII.DKkMI-Nr ,
-LoOKlVd 15 4 CK WARD

-Was live Svmpaihv
-Pi><)R Rkhkcca <
-ViiAr, QuEsiroNS ^

- RKiiKLI.ION
• UXRKST .

Trus.ki, . , . ,

Si;SPEN.SE AND BEWILDERMENT

Revelations and Decisions
The Truth .

• • » •

Wahixg

• • .

Life and Death .

RESp«)NsiBILirY

FACR

51
63
76
88
101

«'3

13H

162

174
186
19S
210

ff'Vfi Ni's.

XIX — Op.!.!r:\Ti<\^' « • • •

XX. — l'(l.^>|lilLI 111 s , « « ,

XXI. — A CiLIiAM OF CiOF.IT c ,

XXil. — A ('han(;k (»t 15am2 « •

XXIII. — Piv()(;iKssit)N' , • • .

XXIV. — !\i:a|)|\(; Mi ivvien ihv I.inmsi

XXV. — InvhaIiuns ♦ • o .

XXVI. — Li'nicAf, <"oNCT,rsi()NS « «

JCXVU, — Wanild 41: iluMt • •

J2t

I'hO

3"«

-i ^

t •(«•••■•* • / ;

"WANTED."

CHAPTKR t

TORN IIEAKT-STKINGS*

* I "HE room was dreary ; very dreary. Outside

it was November, and a drizzly rain was

falling, which the wind occasionally took hold of
and swept in angry gusts straight into people's
f ices. Tne streets were dark, for in this portion
of the town street-lamps were few and far between.
But the street was brightness and cheer, and the
season springtime, compared with the gloom of
that fourth-story back room.

To begin with the carpet — and by the way, it
is the carpet with which one has always to begin,
of evenings ; in the daytime one notices the win-
dows and the possibility of sunshine — the carpet
could be described by that one word "stuffy."
No, it isn't a nice word ; but then it is expressive.
The carpet was dark and large-figured, and showed

" wwr-n."

the mark of every fooiiall ; and much of the dust
iA years ;;'».ic by scciucd to have settled in its
warp and pu.hed away the filling. Oh ! the car-
pet was ugly ; so was the furniture. There was
a folding-bed, for the room was so small that had
the beil not folded, it woukl have asserted itself
so completely as to leave no space for its occu-
pant. But there are folding-beds and folding-beiis.
This one was of the sort which made itself into a
nontlescript thing — a cross between wardrobe ami
mantelpiece ; anii looking drearily unlike either.
Besides, the curtain which hung limp and dis-
couraged before it was an ugly imitation of ta|)es-
try, and was cotton. y\s fc.'r the springs, ami •
mattress, and blankets hiding behind this curtain,
perhaps entire silence i.> the best which can be
done for them.

There were toilet appointments which matched
the bed. There was a small, neat, cozy-looking
sewing-chair, the only pleasant touch in the room,
unless one excepts something which was in the
room, but not of it ; a framed photograph of a
sweet face, and tender mother-eyes that looked
down upon the occupant of the sewing-chair.
Did they have in them a wistful, yea.ning gaze.?
Rebecca Meredith often looked up at them and
asked herself the question. This stuffy room
on the fourth floor of a fourth-ratj down-town
boarding-house, was Rebecca Meredith's home.
•'All the home I have," she so.netimcs toiJ ]ier-

TORN HEART-STRINGS.

self bitterly, and looked up at the pictured face
and felt the sharp contrast between it and the
home she used to know.

That was away off in a large town which com-
bined many of the advantages of a city, with most
of the comforts of the country. It was a large
house, as old-tashioned country houses go, and
her room had been a second-story front, with an
eastern and southern exposure, and with four
large windows. In the summer there was India
matting on the floor, and in winter a soft, creamy-
brown carpet that caught the sunlight, and had
checkerberries sprinkled over it. There were
muslin curtains at the windows both winter and
summer, for Rebecca "hated stiff things." Ah,
the old home! she had not known half how sweet
and cleaii and dear it was until after she spent
winter and summer in this fourth-floor room. No,
the old house had not burned, or been sold, or
mortgaged, or anything of the kind. " Father '*
still lived there, and went in and out as he had
for thirty years or more. And Mrs. Meredith
lived there also ; but Rebecca Meredith did not,
any more. Yes, there is a sense in which it is
the old story of which we hear so much — at
least in books. A happy home, a bright child-
hood, then sickness, then death ; then desolation ;
then a new wife, and the children scattered. His-
tory, even in fiction, is constantly repeating itself ;
always harping on the old strings, because those,

•' WANTED.

somehow, arc the heart-strings, and it is hard to
break from them.

But Rebecca Meredith's story was not like that
of the average weekly newspaper or dime novel.
There had been no disgraceful scenes in her old
home. Her step-mother had neither starved nor
beaten her, nor lashed her with her tongue. She
had been always a lady, and had meant to be
always kind to Rebecca, as well as just to her.

Then was the fault Rebecca's ? Why, I hardly
know. Rebecca is my friend ; I admire her ; in
fact I love her. How am I to lay bare her faults
before you ? Yet, unless I do, how are you to
know her? For we of flesh and blood are so
largely made up of faults, that unless they are
mentioned it is of no use to fancy we are ac-
quainted with one another. Rebecca meant to do
right. She had a fixed — I had almo.st said stern
— sense of right, and she intended to live up to
it. She began wrong, as most people do who get
at odds with life ; and she began by calling wrong,
right. Perhaps most people at some time in their
lives have done that, also. She had a feeling that
her experiences were peculiar, which was natural,
certainly. We have the word of inspiration for it
that the human heart is prone to cry out, "There
is no sorrow like unto my sorrow." Perhaps,
though, she had been more to her mother than
many girls are. The father was a busy physician,
who had hardly time to make the acquaintance of

TOKN IlEAKT-STRINGS.

hfs own family, yet conirived to lavish s-j many
kindnesses on them that they thouj;ht they knew
him, and lovetl and honored him. There were two
boys, who inherited their father's studious tastes
and lived much amonj; books. One was oUier than
Rebecca, and had gone early from home to col-
k\i;e, to seminary, and then to India as a mia-
sidnary physician. One was two years younger,
but had kept pace with his brother until they
uvre ready for the seminary, and then had far
outstripped him, ami gone To I leaven to live. Hy
reasofi of all these thiniijs Rcl)ecea and her mother
were much alone torijetiier, and grew to know each
other with that peculiar knowleilge which is given
to but few. They read each other's books, and
thought each other's thoughts. The busy physi-
cian's purse was not a full one. He lived in a
factory town, and there were many poor, and
there was much sickness among the poor, and Dr.
Meredith was a benevolent man, and the boys'
e( ucations were expensive. Rebecca quietly gave
ui) the idea of going away from home to complete
iter education. She was a fair, not a brilliant
sJiolar; she would have liked to go on, but the
cry for an advanced education was not imperative
in her heart, and she had ambitions for the boys,
and she did not think father could bear the added
expense, and she did not see how mother could
get along without her,*so she staid at home.
The year after Ilervey Meredith went to India

WANIEP.

) '1

there came into the home a treasure — the sweet-
est, fairest flower of a bal)y f;irl that ever stepped
foot this side of Heaven ; so, at least, Rebecca
thought, and indeed the Meredith household not
only, but the neighborhood, agreed with her.
Such lustrous eyes as Ailee had ! such a sweet
rosebud mouth, such winning ways which showed
themselves at an :mheard-of age. Perhaps it was
because they were so busy worshiping her that
thev did not notice the mother's fading. At least
Rebecca did not ; she who had been part of her
mother's life for so many years upbraided herself
afterwards with the thought that she had been
busy over the child, and Lt the mother slij)
away. Ailee was not quite eight months old
when Rebecca bent over 1 er and niurmurcd
through blmding tears, *' I must be mother as
well as sister to you nous sh.e said so." It had
been a very solemn parting, of course, and yet a
very tender one. Rebecca, with her heart torn as
it was with grief, all but crushed at times with
the thought of her loss, yet felt soothed ^\\<\
strengthened as often as she looked at Ailee.
Her mother had trusted her so utterly. " You
are just the age that I was, daughter," she had
said, " when I first held your brother Hervey in
my arms. It was my birthday, I remember, and
I was twenty-two. I am so glad you are not
younger, now that you are called to be motntr r.s
well us sister to Ail<.e. It is (it c!'.") ChW to vou,

TORN HEART-STRINGS.

dearest, and I feel so safe leaving her in your
arms." And feeling the touch of the little arms
about her neck, Rebecca could not but be com-
forted after the mother had gone away ; could not
but feel that she had a wonderful life work before
her. She must bring up Ailee as her mother
would have done.

She had other work which all but bewildered
her. Sometimes she looked on in dismay, and
felt that she had not known her father. He had
always been so grave, and so busy ; preoccupied,
indeed ; she had not realized that he would mourn
so for her mother. There were days when he
was like one insane with sorrow, and she began to
know what her mother meant w^en she said, " I
look to you, daughter, to give your father the help
he will sorely need when I am away." She had
asked no questions then — she could not, for the
tears which choked her ; but in her heart had
been a strange feeling of surprise that any one
could suppose her father needed help. It was his
life to help others. It almost startled her to dis-
cover how human he was. After a little it helped
her to feel that he actually leaned on her.

"You certainly have a full life marked out
before you," her brother wrote from India ;
"there will be no need for you ever to sit do\vn
ind fold your hands and mourn that you are not
wanted. Mac has just been reading to me a
letter from his sister. He wanted my advice

wAXxm.

nrnfessionally as to tlic possibility of hrwin:^ lier
come out to him htre. He doi s not Kn<i\v i.ow
plainly I can read hclwcen the lines of the letter.
The girl is one of llu>sj helpless, hopeless, dis-
contented creatures, who imagines that she is not
wanted here, or there, or anywhere. Indeed, from
the tone of her letter it may be tri'.t!', and not
imagination ; some people contrive to be so full
of themselves and their wronus and aches, that it
is hard to want them. What if ov.r little Ailee
and our precious falht r had to look to such as she
for care and comfort ! I an) so glad, Rebecca,
that you are what you are. I know you will bo
to father all that you ci.n be, and I know that is
saying a great deal. I am not surprised that he
his broken down, as \in\ s.iy he has; characters
like his, nearly always, I think, have some one
person on whom they lean ; and our mother was
a strong-hearted woman ; it was good to lean
upon her. I am sure he needs your help, even
more than you realize."

This letter helped Rebecca to be brave for her
father as well as for Ailee, and thoughtful for
him, and to try in all possible ways to comfort
him. Perhaps it was this which made the next
blow fal! so keenly. She thought she had suc-
ceeded. He learned to come to her for all his
small n(?eds such as a wonvn's hand can supply ;
he leimed to speak to h(V of his perplexities.
He even ti)\l her, ocCiisiun.illv, as she discovered

TORN HEART-STRINGS. '^

he had been in the habit of telling her mother,
about grave cases which caused him professional
anxiety; she strove earnestly to be interested
and sympathetic, and believed that she succeeded.
After a little he ceased to talk with her in this way,
and she told herself that he was getting used to
the changed life, and was busier than ever, for a
sickly season came upon them. Her thoughts,
she remembered, were largely of Ailee that win-
ter, and her father had less of her attention.

It was at the close of the winter, when Ailee
had just passed her second birthday, that the
blow fell which for a time seemed to stun her.
Her father was going to be married ! Going to
bring a stranger home to take her mother's place.
Sit at the head of the table where mother sat all
those years, where she had sat since, bravely try-
ing to do her work. A stranger to be a mother
to Ailee — her Ailee. It was too terrible! She
could not bear it ! She lived through the storm
of grief and injured pride and rebellion, in the
secrecy of her own room. She made no scenes
outside; she did not even let her father know
that she disapproved — at least she thought she did
not, though his lip had quivered for a moment
when he said, '^I am afraid it is a disappointment
to you, Rebecca, and I wanted it to be a comfort."
She made no answer to that appeal ; she felt that
she could not. A comfort to her to put a stranger
in her mother's place. How could het Oh ! how

111

** WANTED.

could he. Had she forgotten that dear face and
form, even for an hour ? How was it possible for
her father to put another face there instead of it ?

But all this, as I said, was in secret. Outsiders
said to one another, " How well Rebecca Mere-
dith takes the news. I suppose it is really a
relief to her to think of having some one to share
her care and responsibility." And one replied,
" I presume it is ; Rebecca is a very self-poised
young woman, anyway. I don't think she feels
things as deeply as some. I could not help notic-
ing how quietly she took her mother's death."
Thus much they knew about the almost breaking
heart of the quiet girl.

The new Mrs. Meredith came. A dignified,
lady-like woman, as unlike Rebecca's mother as
two women who were refined and cultured could
well be — one who knew what was due tc her, and
meant , to maintain her dignitv. At least that
was what Rebecca saw in her. There was, I
have said, no outward disturbance of any kind.

Rebecca was present at the home-coming of
her father with his new wife. She received them
with all the quiet grace that was natural to her,
and administered te their comfort in all thought-
ful ways. She did more than that; she stepped
promptly out of the place of manager of the
home which she had held so long and so well ;
there was found to be no need of hints or re-
minders. She ate her breakfast quietly, and made

TORN lir.AIM— ^TUINNIS,

no siqn on the morniiipf wlicn Mrs. Meredith first
U)i)k her mother's seat at the ta'olo. She an-
swered cheerfully and lullyall neeessarv questions
in regard to household matters, and volunteered
much information that was valuable. In sliort,
no one could have found any fault with Rebecca's
words or mannei' (hni?ii;' those trying days, and
all the while her heait ftdt like lead.

C)idv one place she kept to herself; she did not
by so much as a glance intimate that she supposevi
the ntw-comer had any right or title in Ailee.
Her careful, painstakin/^ nnd remarkably judicious
man;igement of the child, all things considered,
went on steadilv ; ajul as Ailee was a frail, pecu-
liarly sensitive and with d very timid little child,
no one disturbed their relations.

At first the new mother tried to win her, but
Ailee clung with as siletkt and positive persistence
to Rebecca, as Rebecca did to her ; and as slie
needed special care, and her sister evidently knew
liow to give it, and wanted nothing so much as
the opportunity, the wise new mother let them
alone ; and more and more, as the davs passed,
these two, child and woman, drew away from both
father and mother, and drew closer to each other.
They ate and slept in their father's house, and
received all that was needed for their comfort at
his careful hands ; beyond that they saw almost
nothing of him. He, on his part, was as busy
as ever, perhaps busier than ever, for the ovei'«

.^i

*• WANTED.

crowded tenemerts of the factory hands did not
grow more sanitary as the days went on, and sick-
ness increased. He was rarely at home during
Ailee's waking hours, and when she was slcepinsj
quietly Rebecca remembfed that if her father
was in the house Mrs. Meredith was with him, so
she shaded the light from Ailee's eyes and wrote
long letters to Hervey in India.

" I hope you want me," she wrote to him one
night; "if you do not, I have nowhere to go, for
Ailee is asleep, and father and Mrs. Meredith are
sufficient to themselves ; there is no room for me."
Then she thought of "Mac's sister," the 'hope-
less, discontented creature who imagined that she
was not wanted here, or there, or anywhere," and
took a fresh sheet, leaving all that out. Hervey
should not class her in any such list ; she would
bear her loneliness alone.

Life settled down into a routine with Rebecca.
She saw less and less of father and step-mother ;
indeed, she saw little of anybody. She deliberately
gave herself up to Ailee. As the years went by,
and the little girl was nearing her fifth birthday,
Rebecca found herself wondering, with a sharp
pang at her heart, what she should do when the
time came that Ailee must go to school. How
would she get through the days without her.'
Then she held her close, and mentally resolved that
schooldays should not begin for her very early.
What better teacher did she need than her sister ?

TORN HEART-STRINGS.

But Rebecca did not understand ; a better
teacher was needed, and provision was being
made. Suddenly the child sickened ; a sharp ill-
ness from the very first. Rebecca knew this by
the sudden paling of her father's face, when he
came in answer to her summons. A few terrible
days followed, during which the father hung over
his little daughter in an agony of effort to save
her, and the wife hovered about, anxious to do
something and not knowing what to do, for Ailee
clung with all the passion of delirium to her sis-
ter ; would not, indeed, suffer her out of her sight.
Then, like a great pall bearing down upon poor
Rebecca, and shutting out light and hope together,
the end came. Ailee lay quiet, at last, with her
clinging arms dropped lifeless, and a rarely sweet
look of mingled wonderment and rapture on her
face, as if in that supreme moment, when she ex-
changed earth for Heaven, her eyes might have
caught a glimpse of mother.

wmrr

CHAPTER II.

OUT IN THE WORLD.

WHAT life was to Rebecca during the weeks
and months which followed, I shrink from
trying to tell you. At first she seemed stunned.
People said of her again, " How very quietly she
takes everything. It must be comfortable to be
so self-poised that nothing overcomes her ; but I
had no idea when she was a girl that she was so
cold-hearted." Yes, she had passed her twenty-
seventh birthday, and people were already saying
of her, " She did thus and so when she was a girl."
It was true enough that nobody understood her.
Mrs. Meredith wanted to be very kind and helpful.
"Come into the library, my dear," she said to her
one evening when Rebecca was slipping away to
her room ; " your father will be at home this even-
ing, and we can have a comfortable time together."
Poor girl ! that very word " comfortable " well-
nigh cost her her self-control. No doubt they
could be, with Ailee gone, for they had seen

■4

OUT IN THE WORLD.

very little of her in life ; but how could she, with
empty arms and heart, sit in the library and be
comfortable?

This thought passed swiftly through her mind —
a bitter thought ; for Rebecca, without knowing
it, was growing bitte- She made no answer in
words beyond a cold " Thank you ; I would rather
not," and hurried away.

Mrs. Meredith sighed. " I cannot reach her, I
am afraid, in any way," she said to her husband ;
" she seems to shrink from me more and more as
the months pass, instead of becoming used to it."

" I cannot understand her," the father said, and
he spoke impatiently ; " Rebecca used to be a rea-
sonable girl, and was never given to brooding, so
far as I could see."

" She has had a crushing sorrow," said the step-
mother, and her tone was kind, with 'an excusing
element in it.

" Of course," the father said. ** I feel for her ;
but haven't we, too, been bereaved ? People ought
not to be selfish in their grief."

He said "we" because the new Mrs. Meredith
was really a part of himself; and he felt that she
suffered in his suffering. And he missed his little
daughter in a way that Rebecca did not imagine.
If she had half understood it would have made her
own burden less hard.

Rebecca did try to be good. In the solitude of
her own room that night she took herself to task

rr^

WANTED.

il!

for being unreasonable. Ot course Ailce was
almost nothing to the step-mother; of course she
could be comfortable without her. Why need the
quiet truth stab her so ? Not even to her father
was Ailee in any sense what she was to her.
Another time she would not be so foolish.

Acting upon this decision, she went, on the
next evening when she knew her father to be at
home, to the library, resolved to make one of the
family party. Mrs. Meredith was in the midst of
a sentence when she turned the knob of the door
and quietly glided in. The sentence stopped mid-
way and was never finished ; and the droplight,
shaded though it was, revealed on the step-mother's
face a sudden look of — perhaps consternation, or
at least dismay. She had interrupted a confi-
dence. She had surprised them both ; and though
her father made a place for her at the table, and
pushed an easy-chair forward for her use, she could
not get away from the feeling that she was not
wanted ; that they were " comfortable " without
her, and the step-mother, at least, uncomfortable
in her presence. She made her stay quite short,
and it was weeks before she could bring herself to
try the experiment again.

After a time it became apparent to Rebecca
Meredith herself that she could not live on in* this
way. Her days were purposdess, and her nights
full of heart-breaking dreams, from which she awoke
to miss her darling and cry herself to sleep. She

OUT IN THE WORLD.

was growing morbid. Some change she must
have, and that speedily, or she felt that her very
reason might be imperiled. If she could only go
away for a time. But there seemed no avenue
open to her. She was singularly alone in the
world. Her mother had been an only child, and
her father's one brother was an officer in the
navy, and made his headquarters abroad ; she
was not even acquainted with his family. She
thought of India, and smiled bitterly to herself
over the thought that here was another " creat-
ure" like " Mac's sister." No, of course she could
not go to India. But the unrest, once admitted,
grew upon her ; strengthened until she felt sure
that the limit of her endurance had been reached.

She tried to talk it over with her father, and
found it the hardest thing .she had ever done. He
was utterly unsympathetic.

"I cannot understand," he said, and his voice
was a cold as ice, "why a young woman in a
comfortable home should feel such an intense de-
sire to get away from it. What is it you need
that you cannot have here ? "

" It is not that, father," she said eagerly ; " I
have everything I need, of course. It is not a
question of comfort at all, but of — why, of life,
almost." She had not made it any plainer.

" Indeed ! " he said ; " I am as far from under-
standing the situation as ever. If you were seven-
teen, or given to heroics, I would know how to

WANTED.

»»

treat you, but as it is — I really don't know what
to think. This is not a wonderfully interesting
part of the town, I am aware, but your mother and
I contrive to get along in it, and have a reasonably
comfortable time; I do not know why you cannot
do the same."

Her face flamed at the word "mother." She
had never used it save to the mother in Heaven.
To outsiders she said "Mrs. Meredith"; in the
home she had most of the time* contrived to avoid
any direct address. Also she hated the word
"comfortable." What constant use was made of
it in these days when it did not fit. But she tried
to make her meaning plain. She thought she
needed a change ; if she could go away for a few
months, or even weeks, she was sure it would help
her. If he only understood what it was to her to
be without Ailee. But he drew a long sigh and
said, "We have to do without her." If he had
said " I " instead of " we " it would have helped
her more, or hurt her less ; as it was, she winced.

"Well," he said, after another pause, and he
spoke in a slow, sad tone, " I do not in the least
know what to do for you. It is only too apparent
that you are unhappy at home, but I do not know
where to send you. If we had family friends it
would be different ; but you know how alone we
are in the world, and I am by no means able to
send you away to a place of resort. I am a poor
man, Rebecca" — another sigh, and the lines on

OUT IN THE WORLD.

his face seemed to deepen — "a much poorer man
than you probably suppose. Your brother's edu-
cation and fitting out were expensive, and sick-
ness is always, of course, a heavy drain on the
purse, even in a physician's family."

He did not say death was expensive, but Rebecca
knew it was, and it seemed to her there had been
so many deaths in their family ! He went on to
say that there had also been losses of which she
knew nothing ; he had not thought it worth while
to trouble her with them — not heavy losses, of
course, because he had not a great deal to lose.
He had never been able to save much in his pro-
fession ; some men did, he hardly knew how, there
were so many ways to spend money, and so many
sick people were also poor people.

Rebecca sat before this idea appalled for a
moment. It was actually new to her. Of course
they were not what people called wealthy — she
had always known that ; but there had been here-
tofore enough with which to do what they would.
She had hardly given a thought to the money
part of the question. She looked again at her
father, and he seemed older than she had thought
him ; perhaps he was wearing himself out to sup-
port his new wife and her. It crossed her mind
that marriage, too, was expensive, as well as death ;
there had to be so many new things in the home
before the stranger came ; but she would not for
the world have given utterance to the thought.

WANTED.

Instead, she said, "Never mind, father; if you
cannot afford me a few months of change, I can
get along without it ; I had not realized that it
would take more money than it would to have me
at home ; in fact, I did not think anything about
money."

Then she went away, telling herself that she
had given it all up. But before that day was
done she knew she had not. In fact, she assured
herself that she could not breathe in that house
any more.

Her plans, however, took a different form. Why
should she not earn her own living ? Since her
father was comparatively a poor man, it seemed
eminently proper that she should. This idea
finally took possession of her and was urged per-
sistently. Her father utterly disapproved, but
his very manner of showing this strengthened her
determination. " What in the world could you
do ? " he asked, and he did not mean that a hint
of almost a sneer should accompany the question ;
but that was the way it sounded to Rebecca.
She flushed under it, yet admitted to herself that
the question was but natural. She had not a
finished education, although a very fair one. She
had not been trained to teach, and the modern
methods of imparting instruction were unfamiliar
to her. This she fully realized, and she had, after
careful consideration, abandoned the idea of teach-
ing. But she did not like to have her father

OUT IN THE WORLD.

speak as though this very natural way of earning
a living were closed to her.

"There must be some work in the world which
I am capable of doing," she said, and she knew
that she spoke coldly.

" Oh ! I do not doubt it ; there is work in your
own home which you are entirely capable of doing,
without going out in the world at all. I have
often thought that your mother was overtaxed
with the cares of housekeeping, and the family
mending, and so forth. It seems to me there is
quite enough, especially in the family of a physi-
cian, to keep two women as busily employed as is
good for them."

Rebecca had absolutely no reply to make to
this. Her father took two or three turns up and
down the room, then stopped before her and
spoke more gently.

" Rebecca, if what I said to you not long ago
about my circumstances, has led you to think
you ought to take such a step as this, I hope you
will reconsider. I am by no means a rich man,
as I said, and to send you away from home for
any length of time to a place where you would
like to stay would embarrass me somewhat, but I
am entirely able to support my family at home,
and I am glad to assure you that any scheme for
earning your own living is quite unnecessary. Can
you not be content to stay with us, daughter ? "

If he had only said " stay with me." Yet cer-

111!

WANTED

i ii^!|!

tainly she did not want him to ignore his wife,
now that he had a wife. She felt the tears gath-
ering in her eyes ; she felt her heart beating
rapidly. She felt, oh ! so sorely tempted to say to
him, " You were not content to stay with me ;
you sought out some one else and left me out-
side." But she held herself from saying it. She
did not want to hurt her father. The only words
she gave to him were :

"I am not — needed at home, father." She
made a marked pause before the word '* needed" ;
she had almost said "wanted." Then her father
turned from her again, impatiently this time.

" Well, Rebecca, you are your own mistress, of
course. I have no legal control over you ; and I
certainly should not force you to stay if I could.
You must do what you think is right." '

It was sore work ; it had been harder to plan
for herself than she had supposed ; but she per-
sisted. By dint of persevering effort she secured
a position as trimmer in a fashionable dressmak-
ing establishment in a distant city. The wages
offered barely paid her board, but she had had
difficulty enough in obtaining even this opening
to help her to realize how crowded the world was.
But it might be a stepping-stone to something
better. "At least I can sew," she had told her
father half-proudly. " I've made my own dresses
since I was fifteen, and I know people in this town
who would like to employ me to make theirs."

OUT m THE WORLD.

is wife,
-s gath-
beating

say to
th me ;
me out-
t. She
y words

" She
ieded";
r father
le.

tress, of
; and I

1 could.

o plan
he per-
secured
gssmak-

wages
ad had
)pening
Id was.
lething
old her
dresses
is town

Her father was hurt and indignant. He could
not help saying some things which hurt his
daughter. It was the step-mother who at last
• made the way smoother for her.

" I really think. Doctor, it would be wiser in
you to yield to Rebecca's wishes in this matter.
I can see that her heart is quite set upon it, and
it will be so much better for her to feel that she
goes from home with your approval. After all,
it is quite natural that she should want to see
a little of the world. She has been sheltered
longer than girls generally are, you know. Be-
sides, it will not last long ; she will find the world
a very different place from what she imagines,
and will be glad enough to get home again."

Dr. Meredith had moved himself impatiently in
his chair, and even given the household cat a
slight kick with his slippered foot to show his
intense irritation, as he replied :

"If she were going about any work fitted to
her position or tastes, it would be less unreason-
able ; but I must say I do not relish the thought
of my daughter becoming a dressmaker."

" I know, but there is really nothing disgraceful
in the attempt ; there is not the slightest danger
that she will succeed. A few months of steady
labor in a city workroom will be sure to cure
the disease. Meantime, she will be gaining skill
which will help her in her own dressmaking, and
that is not a bad idea. I used to say that if I

I'h;

liliil

till

WANTED.

ever had a daughter she should go to one of the
best dressmakers to be found and learn to sew.
It gives one such a sense of independence to be
able to do for one's self in such matters."

So the doctor was silenced, if not convinced,
and the daughter went out from her home with-
out further words of disapproval, but with the
knowledge in her heart that her father strongly
disapproved. She knew also that Mrs. Meredith
believed she would soon grov/ weary of her " fit
of independence " and return ; and had said so
with a superior smile to some of her friends.
This made the girl resolve to endure tortures
rather than do so. ♦

But it was hard work — much harder than she
had supposed. " Madame," the dressmaker, with
a French name and a shrewd New England origin,
was so intensely and persistently selfish and keen
and cold that Rebecca shrank daily from contact
with her. '

Her companions in the large workrooms were
by no means from the class of girls to which she
had been accustomed. They talked and laughed
about things whose mere mention made her blush.
Constantly they were coarse, often shockingly
irreverent, and sometimes positively low. Nor
were they any better pleased with her company
than she was with theirs. There were times when
they seemed to exert themselves to say and do
what they knew would shock her, for the mere

OUT IN THE WORLD.

ns were

pleasure of making her wince. At other times
they whispered over their work with evident de-
termination to shut her out from possible fellow-
ship. They called her "the old girl," and meant
it. To them she seemed very old, for they, poor
things, were quite young, and ought to have been
under the sheltering care of home and mother.
Rebecca overheard the name, one morning, as
they meant she should. She gave no sign at the
time, but she studied her twenty-inch mirror very
carefully that evening, and wondered if she really
were old ; with all her brooding she had not
thought of that before.

Well, the winter passed, and Rebecca lived
through it, and the spring which follov/ed, and
staid in town during the brief vacation, partly be-
cause she could not afford the expense of going
home, and partly because she shrank from going.
She had endured the miseries of that stuffy room
during all the stifling summer nights, and shivered
in it through the dreary autumn ones, being glad
that it held her only during the nights, for the
workroom was at least pleasanter than it. But
now for two weeks it had held her by daylight as
well — at least when she was not plodding wearily
through the streets in search of work.

For Rebecca Meredith had been discharged.
She said that word over to herself the first day
and laughed ; it seemed so strange to apply it to
her. She thought it was because she had quietly

!!i

WANTED.

»»

but firmly persisted in correcting the " Madame '*
when she made a mistake in a bill. That may
have been the immediate occasion, for Madame
did not like to be corrected, especially in her bills ;
but the actual fact was that one of her old hands
had returned, after long illness, recovered, and
ready for service. One who was more accommo-
dating than Rebecca ; who was willing to sew later
on occasion, never being afraid to go home after
dark, which Rebecca was, and when they were
hard pressed she could even sew for an hour or
two early on Sunday morning, without looking
appalled over the mere idea of it. More than
that, the girls liked her ; and as there was place
in the sewing-room for but one of them, she was
chosen as the one. On this dreary November
evening, therefore, Rebecca sat alone in her
dreary room, face to face with the grim facts that
she had paid out her last money for last week's
board ; that there was a hole in her walking-shoes,
and that she had no work in prospect.

:«ll!|ij

ill

I !i

CHAPTER III.

BUSINESS CHANGES.

Mj^i

NOW what was to be done ? Should she go
home andadrrit herself vanquished and face
Mrs. Meredith's superior smile ? The thought
was not to be borne ; for other reasons, however,
than this weak one. Her father had perhaps not
grown reconciled to the idea of her earning her
own living, but he chafed less under it than he
used. In his last letter to her — he wrote but
rarely, being a very busy man not given to letter-
writing ; but in response to one of her fortnightly
epistles which she regularly sent he had written :
"In these precarious times, when each morn-
ing's paper chronicles a fresh bank failure — and
this morning it is one which has a few hundreds
of my hard-earned money — I find I chafe less at
the thought of your learning a business which
might perhaps support you if worse should come
to worst with us. At the same time I have not
grown accustomed to your absence, and still be-

I'ls'fT?"

" WANTED."

"li

>ili !

lieve that your best place is at home." This was
all the father said to her about losses.

But in a letter from India, received very soon
thereafter, Hervey wrote: "Rebecca, I begin to
realize how truly noble you have been in your
flight into independence. I am afraid father is
greatly burdened ; he wrote me of quite a heavy
loss, for him, early in the spring ; and now this
later one, and a fear of others following, I can
see is a weight upon him. Poor father ! he has
worked hard enough for this ungrateful world to
be better paid than he is. I have been troubled
over the thought of your absence from the home
nest — I can never think of you as old enough
and wise enough to care for yourself ; you seem
always my little sister — but I begin to under-
stand how the matter looked to you : you wanted
to relieve our father of the thought that he might
leave you without resources of your own for earn-
ing a living. And though I trust that your brother
could do for you all that was needful, at the same
time I realize what you meant to do for father by
the step you took, and I honor you. Not every
girl would have done it. Considering herself un-
fitted for a teacher, the average girl would have
folded her hands and sighed, and wished she
could do something in keeping with her position
in society. I honor you, dear, let me say it
again, for being above such petty ideas."

This praise bad been very sweet to Rebecca,

1»B

BUSINESS CKANGES.

This was

ery soon
begin to
in your
father is
2 a heavy
now this
\g, I can
! he has
world to
I troubled
the home
d enough
you seem
to under-
)u wanted
he might
for earn-
ir brother
the same
'ather by
^ot every
erself un-
3uld have
shed she
r position
le say it

Rebecca,

albeit she knew that she only half-deserved it. It
made her feel quite sure that she would not go
home and own herself defeated ; not at least
until she had made vigorous effort to secure work.
But, at the end of two weeks of effort she sat in
weariness and discouragement, admitting to her-
self that perhaps she would have to give up. It
was surprising, with so many dressmaking estab-
lishments in the great city, and such a rush of
work as nearly all of them complained of, that
there should be found no opening for her.

She seemed to have come upon the scene just
after every "Want" in this department had been
supplied. The morning paper lay in her lap with
a list of "Wants" carefully marked. This she
had done the evening before, and all day had
patiently trudged from number to number only to
find herself either too late or unable to do the
particular sort of work which was needed. Her
stay at " Madame' s" had not been exceedingly
helpful to her in the way of independent dress-
making. She had been held closely to one branch
of the work, and that an unimportant one so far
as acquiring general skill was concerned.

As she sat drearily considering what was to be
done next, her eyes rested on an advertisement :

Wanted — A young woman who has had experience with
children, to take the entire care of a child three years of age.
Call between the hours of four and six, at No. 1200 Carroll
Avenue."

WANTED.

What if she should apply ? The blood rolled in
waves over her face at the mere thought. Dr.
Meredith's daughter a nurse-girl ! Well, why
not ? There were times when she so sorely
missed the clinging arms of Ailee that she felt
she would hail it as a relief to have a child to
care for and caress. Why should such work be
considered lower in the social scale than dress-
making, for instance ?

She knew there was a recognized difference.
There was Miss Simmons, the dressmaker who
" sewed around ; " she had been for weeks to-
gether at her father's table, served as one of
them ; and Mrs. Meredith introduced her to those
who chanced to come in contact with her as
"Miss Simmons." While Katie, Mrs. Porter's
nurse-girl, never thought of sitting at the table
with the family when Mrs. Porter was spending
the day, or of being addressed as " Miss Carter."
Then she remembered that customs differed in
large cities.

The girls at "Madame's" had no such standing
anywhere as had her old friend Miss Simmons.
And had not Madame once addressed her as
"Meredith," without any prefix.? To be sure she
had done it but once. Rebecca felt certain that
her face must have expressed something of the
effect which it had upon her ; but it revealed the
condition of things socially.

In truth, Rebecca had suffered a keener revela-

BUSINESS CHANGES.

tion than that. The Dorrance girls had been in
the workroom one morning, giving some special
directions about their ruffles, and the older one
had turned and stared at her in a most offensive
way, without a sign of recognition. This experi-
ence had made the sewing-girl's face burn all
the morning. How well she remembered the last
time she had seen the Dorrance girls. She had
been introduced to them when she called at Dr.
Perry's, and had met them the next afternoon
hurrying breathlessly along the slippery pave-
ments, their delicate dresses and new spring hats
caught in an April shower, and she had turned
the heads of her father's horses which she was
driving from the station for him, and taken them
in and set them down at Dr. Perry's door, they
profuse in their thanks. Now, because she was a
sewing-girl in the Madame's employ, they would
not even recognize her by a passing bow.

Rebecca was mistaken. If the Dorrance girls
had remembered her they would have gone for-
ward with smiles and bows, and asked after her
health, and where she was staying in town. They
belonged to that type of girls. What Miss Dor-
rance said as soon as she was out of the room was,
"Where have I seen that girl.? Didn't you notice
her, Nannie.!* We have certainly met her some-
where." And Nannie had answered carelessly,
" I did not notice her ; perhaps she has brought
work home for us."

- "'n

;lll.

( l(

1
1

1
i

"WANTED.**

It may be that this little episode, not under-
stood by Rebecca, helped her to a decision. Since
she had lost her place in the world, what did it
matter whether she was seamstress or nurse-girl ?
She read the notice again, her eyes filling with
tears as she did so. "That means," she told her-
self, " that the mother is dead, and there is proba-
bly a step-mother. No child would be left to the
* sole care ' of a nurse except under those circum-
stances." You will observe by this that she had
large knowledge of the world ! Her own concep-
tion of the case so worked upon her, together with
a line which she received by the morning's mail
from Mrs. Meredith, that precisely at four o'clock
she rang the bell at 1200 Carroll Avenue.

Mrs. Meredith had written, ** Your father wishes
me to answer your note, giving you the inclosed
recipe, and sending his love. He is so harassed
during these trying days that you must not expect
many letters. Dorn & Halsey have failed ; their
doors were closed yesterday. Your father had
but a counle of hundred dollars against them, but
he felt sure of them, and every little helps, you
know."

After that Rebecca was sure she would not go
home. But she wondered bitterly whether Mrs.
Meredith kept a careful outlook for all failures,
and caused a herald of some sort to be sent to her.
It was quite time for Rebecca Meredith to have
another change ; she was growing very bitter.

BUSINESS ClIANGKS.

It was nearly five o'clock when Mr. Dcanc
McKcnzie applied his latch-key, and let himself
into the handsome house at 1200 Carroll Avenue.
Roj^crs, who was never far away when Mr.
McKcnzie was in the house, came forward with
noiseless step to meet him

"Well, Rogers," he said, as that individual re-
ceived at his hands the overcoat which the surly
November day made necessary, " has all gone as
usual to-day ? "

"About as usual, sir. There is a person wait-
ing to see you on business ; I had her wait in the
dining-room, because I was not sure whether you
would wish to see her to-night."

"Not an applicant, Rogers.?"

" Yes, sir ; she had only yesterday's paper, and
did not know the change of hours ; but she had
come some distance — from quite down town —
and seemed anxious, and I thought perhaps " —
and here Rogers paused, as though uncertain
whether it would be well to tell all he thought.

"Very well," said his master, "I may as veil
see her, I suppose, though she does not appear to
be very business-like, coming at the wrong hour.
You may show her into the library, Rogers, as
soon as I have glanced over my mail."

"There are several telegrams, sir."

"Are there.? Then I must attend to them
first." And the great man strode on into his ele-
gant library, and sank wearily among the leather

" WANTED."

cushions of his easy-chair. He dropped his face
into both hands for an instant and yawned, like
one who is exhausted, then sat upright and drew
the yellow-enveloped messengers before him, tear-
ing them open, one after another, not with the air
of one who was nervous as to the news they might
bring, but rather as a man used to dispatching
business of all kinds with great rapidity. While
he read the third one he touched his bell. Rogers
was at his side almost before its tinkle had
sounded. " Send Dick to me, Rogers ; tell him
to be ready to take a message to the office. And
have the carriage ready for me directly after din-
ner ; I find I must go back down town. You may
as well let the young woman come in now ; I shall
have no other time to see her. The letters, I
think, can wait." He glanced at their superscrip-
tions as he spoke ; then, seizing a dispatch blank,
he wrote rapidly, tore open one of the letters, took
in its contents at a single glance, and was writing
on another blank when Rogers returned, followed
by Rebecca Meredith.

**One moment," he said to Rogers, without
looking up. ** Here is another message for Dick,
and it must go to the down-town office. Tell him
to make all speed. And cook may hurry the din-
ner a little ; I have less time than I thought. Now
my good — I beg your pardon," and Mr. McKenzie
rose to his feet with a surprised and courteous
bow. His orders had been issued to Rogers while

BUSINESS CHANGES.

his face
ned, like
nd drew
lim, tear-
h the air
ey might
patching
, While
Rogers
ikle had

tell him
:e. And
after din-
You may

; I shall
letters, I
iperscrip-
ch blank,

ers, took
s writing

followed

without
for Dick,
Tell him
r the din-
It. Now
IcKenzie
:ourteous
ers while

he wrote, and he had wheeled about in his chair
with a "Now, my good" — girl, he had meant to
say, before he glanced in Rebecca's direction. She
was dressed in the plainest of street costumes, but
there was something about it and herself which
was so utterly unlike what the business man had
expected to meet, that he acknowledged it as I
have said.

" I beg your pardon ; there is some mistake. I
thought there was a person waiting for me who
had answered my advertisement for help."

"I am that person," said Rebecca, and Mrs.
Meredith would have seen that she had lost no
whit of her dignity. " I am Rtbecca Meredith,
and T come in response to your advertisement for
a child's nurse. I would be glad to secure the
place, if I could."

Mr. McKenzie was a business man. It took him
but a moment to discover that this was business,
however unlike it in exterior it might appear ; he
resumed his seat with a courteous " Very well, be
seated ; have you had experience with children } "

Rebecca, with rigid self-control, held her lips
from quivering while she explained what her ex-
perience had been. He did not spare her in the
least. He was courteous — as much so as he
could have been to any person — but he was busi-
ness-like. He asked numberless questions, about
her health, her habits of life, her theories with
regard to children.

U\[

WtHMMWHU

amam

I H

lij.ii

I h:|! V '

" WANTED."

"I may seem over-particular," he said at last,
with a faint smile, " but I have to be. It is a
position of grave responsibility. I must have a
nurse who can in all respects be trusted. My
Lilian is peculiarly situated ; her mother is — an
invalid."

He made so long and marked a pause before he
completed this simple statement that Rebecca was
fairly startled. Surely children had had invalid
mothers before ; such a state of things was not so
unusual, yet his manner was certainly peculiar.
He did not seem to be noting th»" effect of his
words upon her, but rather considering what he
should say next ; or, as it seemed to Rebecca,
how much he should leave unsaid.

" I had to send away her other nurse," he re-
marked, fixing his keen eyes on his caller, "be-
cause I could not trust her, and it was a great
grief to Lilian ; she was attached to her. She is
a hard child to manage; she has inherited — dis-
eased nerves. I am a very busy man, compelled
by the necessities of my business to be s way from
home most of the time. I cannot, in tb; nature
of things, do for my child as I would, and t ere-
fore the responsibility involved in securing a
nurse. There have been, I should think, fifty
applicants since I advertised ; but there was not
one of whom I thought for a moment. If you
had had more experience I should be tempted to
—-but a home experience is sometimes better than

BUSINESS CHANGES.

any other, and sometimes not. I beg your par-
don for speaking so plainly," with another grave
attempt at a smile, " or rather for thinking aloud
before you ; but I must do my best for my child."

"I do not think" — began Rebecca, and she
arose as she did so. Her sentence was to have
been, "I do not think I could suit you. I have
had no experience save with my one little sister,
and I should not like to assume so great a respon-
sibility as you suggest." Bu she did not finish
the sentence. The door was pushed open very
softly, r r.a a vision of loveliness peeped in. A fair
little girl all in soft, fleecy white, with a face like
an angel's, and framed in gold — for the short curls
which clustered about her head were the color of
the sunlight on an Indian summer day.

"Papa," said the sweetest of baby voices, and
his reply was prompt :

"Ah, my darling! come here." She sprang
forward into his arms, and then were exchanged
some of the most extravagantly loving kisses
Rebecca had seen in months. She couM scarcely
see now for tne tears which would come. How
often had Ailee, after ever so brief an absence,
bounded into her arms, and clung as this child
was clinging now. She felt an almost irresistible
longing to snatch her from the father's arms and
cry, "Give me some of them, or my heart will
break." She held herself silent and motionless
until the father, still with his child in his arms,

-I

' I

WANTED.

turned toward her. "I must beg your pardon
again ; this is very unbusiness-like. It has all
been a somewhat unbusiness-like interview. You
do not seem to me like the usual professional ap-
plicants ; and, excuse me, I hardly feel that you
are suited to the position. I mean, you look and
act above it ; but you should know best."

*' I will do my best to prove my fitness for the
place if you care to try me," was Rebecca's hum-
ble answer. In that little moment of time she
had decided that she could not live longer without
this child's love.

"Lilian," said her father, bending over the little
girl, whose great beautiful eyes were fixed upon
Rebecca, " should you like to have this — woman
come here and take care of you .■* " He evidently
hesitated for a word, but finally chose "woman."

Lilian looked and looked, all her soul in her
eyes. Suddenly she gave a bound forward and
landed in Rebecca's outstretched arms.

" I love 'oo," she said, and the sweet lips were
pressed close to the woman's trembling ones.

"That settles it," the father said, and there was
a decided smile on his face.

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"I LOVB 'OO," SHE SAID.

(See page 38.)

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CHAPTER IV.

UNDER ORDERS.

IT was New Year's evening, bitterly cold and
with a fierce northeast storm raging outside.
Within the luxurious room where Rebecca Mere-
dith sat, one would not have imagined that there
could be discomfort of any sort. A very treasure
of a room was this — the private apartment of the
lady of the house, Mrs. McKenzie. Somebody,
certainly, had not only luxurious, but exquisite
tastes, and had given full play to their indulgence,
f aper, and carpet, and upholstery, and hangings,
blended charmingly, and were all of that inde-
scribable mingling of colors which suggests sum-
mer and sunshine, however wintry or dark the day.
The central figure in the room matched the
surrounding? wonderfully well. Mrs. McKenzie,
lying back among the cushions of a great billowy
arm-chair, her daintily slippered feet resting on a
hassock which set off their daintiness ; her slight,
almost girlish form arrayed in a pale-blue tea-

,^;i

^mm

" WANTED."

gown trimmed with soft white fur ; her hair,
which was nearly the color of her little daughter's,
clustering in curls about her temples, looked this
evening almost younger than Rebecca Meredith,
who occupied the reading-chair near at hand. Yet
there were a dozen years between them.

A very busy and in some respects unique life
had Rebecca Meredith led since that November
evening some weeks ago, in which she engaged to
enter Mr. McKenzie's family as nurse. So far as
comfort in outward surroundings was concerned
she had been greatly the gainer. Mr. McKen-
zie had named a sum, to be paid her monthly,
which would have made " Madame " stare ; and
as for her room, the stuffy little fourth-floor back
would have been appalled by her present sur-
roundings. She shared the large, bright, elegantly
appointed room here with Lilian — but there wls
ample space for two — and a sweeter, brighter
room-mate one could not have desired. As to
board, the girl had endured tortures in the afore-
said boarding-house — not altogether on account
of the quality and quantity of food, but also be-
cause of the manner of serving it. She had been
dainty in her tastes in these directions from a
child, and her father's well-appointed table had
fostered such tastes.

In Mr. McKenzie's house the most expensive
luxuries of the season were freely served, and all
the appointments of the dining-room were on a

It iL':

UNDER ORDERS.

luxurious scale. Silver and china and napery,
such as the good doctor's house had never known,
were now her daily portion. It is true that she
and the housekeeper, and Mrs. McKenzie's nurse
took their meals together, after the master of the
house had been served, but they were served as
freely and with as much care as he was himself.

In short, Rebecca had learned what American
girls seem so slow in learning, that the comforts
of home and fair-living wages can be had in a
private house, with work to give in return, less
wearing to brain and body than that which is
often paid for in the starvation wages which must
yet furnish attic rooms and fourth-rate board,
hut then, while I write the sentence, I feel that
it is useless to wage war upon these ideas. The
difficulty was voiced by a keen-brained girl to
whom I talked of this thing not long ago.

" My dear madam," she said, " don't you know
that the average girl will continue to stand behind
a counter ten or even twelve hours in a day, and
endure rudeness from customer and cash-boy, and
sleep in an attic, and eat sour bread and stale vege-
tables year in and year out rather than live in
comparative luxury and eat at that second table ?
They belong to the first table in their boarding-
house, if it is fourth-rate, and that means a great
deal." I suppose it does ; but I am glad that
there are a few girls like Rebecca Meredith who
are superior even to this.

> ii

<,p IIIWMI*

liiiji

WANTED.

As for the Meredith family, she had spared
their feelings by being meager in her details.
She had changed her boarding-house — that was
sufficient surely, for them to know. Her father
was not acquainted with the city, and remained in
ignorance of what a change it was from No. y^
Eighth Street to No. i2CX) Carroll Avenue. There
was no need to say anything about her occupation
— it was respectable and she was better paid, and
was saving .money ; a thing which could never
have happened at Madame's. Nobody knew her,
so the Meredith pride need not feel itself hurt.

But there were unpleasantnesses connected with
her present life. In the first place, the chamber-
maid seemed to resent the idea of Rebecca sitting
at the housekeeper's table, and lost no opportu-
nity to toss her head and curl her lip at the
offender ; she even muttered occasionally some-
thing about " stuck-ups who thought themselves
better than common people." To be sure, this
was a very small matter indeed to Rebecca ; she
gave the girl almost as little thought as she would
have given to an offending fly — but even a fly can
annoy. There was a graver unpleasantness than
this, and one which grew upon her. She had
conceived a decided, almost an intense dislike for
the master of this great, handsome house, and
there was something about Rebecca which made
her shrink from receiving her daily bread at the
hands of one whom she disliked.

ill!!

1 1

,11

UNDER ORDERS.

It is true she rarely saw him ; an occasional
passing of each other on the stairs, at which time
he recognized her existence by the gravest of
bows ; an occasional gli' pse of him seated in his
library chair when she went to open the door for
Lilian to make her daily visit — this was almost
the extent of their intercourse ; for the rest he
contented himself generally with brief notes in
which he gave explicit and evidently carefully
planned directions concerning Lilian, and not a
word else. Yet, as I said, her dislike for him was
deepening. Perhaps it had its start on the day of
that first interview with him, after it had been
decided that she should try the situation. He
had toyed for a single instant with his paper-
knife, as a nervous man might have done ; he had
said to Rogers who reminded him that dinner was
served, " Yes ; I will be out in a moment," then
he had dropped the knife and wheeled around
again to Rebecca.

" Did I understand that you could come in the
morning ? My mornings are very much crowded
with business ; I must, therefore, take a few mo-
ments of your time at once, to make some state-
ments. As a rule, I try to give this hour of the
day to my daughter ; I shall wish you to have
her ready to join me here about five o'clock.
I desire you to come with her to the door, then
you may retire until I ring for the child to be
taken away. If for any reason I am detained, or

'■1

WANTED.

I'i'lilliii

must be otherwise engaged, I shall wish you to
keep the child with you ; and at all other hours of
the day I shall expect you to have her in your
immediate presence. When she goes in to spend
a little time with her mother it is my desire that
you should go also."

Up to this point Rebecca had listened in silence.
The directions were absurdly explicit, she thought:,
and presupposed that she knew nothing about the
work which she had engaged to do ; but perhaps
men did not know any better than to talk in that
way to women. Why did he not let his wife give
:he necessary orders > This train of thought,
which she carried on as she li' ned, was suddenly
broken in upon by that last prising direction.
So the mother was not to be permitted to see her
child except in the presence of ,i third person !

She interrupted the rapid utte-ances.

" Excuse me. What if the nr.other desires me
to retire and leave her child with her ? "

"In that case you are to state that you have
orders from the child's father not to have her out
of your sight."

Rebecca listened, dumfounded. This was re-
sponsibility indeed. A sudden explanation flashed
over her mind. It must be that the mother was
insane, and that he feared to leave the little one
alone with her. But if such were the case why
did he not say so } How absurd, a^ well as cruel,
to try to keep her in ignorance of such a condition

UNDER ORDERS.

.. ;!

esires me

lof things, when of course she must find it out for
herself as soon as she came in contact with the
mother. For a moment she felt that she must
ask to be released from the engagement she had
made; she shrank unutterably from having any-
thing to do with an insane person. But the
thought of Lilian and the kisses she had bestowed
made her hesitate, and gave Mr. McKenzie time
to continue.

" We need not borrow trouble, Miss — by the
way, what is your name } "

Rebecca had nearly said " Miss Meredith," but
remembered the customs of her present position
in time, and with an added flush on her face
answered :

"Rebecca Meredith."

"Thank you. I was about to say, Rebecca,
that we need not borrow trouble; we shall find
enough of it, unsought, along the way. Probably
the child's mother will not ask you to leave your
i charge; she understands my wishes in the matter
i quite well. But if she does I shall expect you to
obey my ord'irs. I told you I was obliged to dis-
charge youi predecessor because I could not trust
[her. I expect to be able to trust you."

This might have been intended as a compli-
Iment, but Rebecca felt almost as though she had
been insulted. She began then to dislike the
grave, self-sustained man who could talk about his
wife as though she were merely another person in

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^ilillnl

WANJl I).

hif. employ. She assured herself ihat lie would
have shown more heart, as vvel! as more coniiDon
sense, by confidiiig to her a great sorrow, if the
woman were really not in her right mind, and
trusting her to do the best she could to help them
bear such a burden. His next sentence added to
her indignation and dismay.

** Moreover, Rebecca, I shall have to ask you to
be kind enough not to execute any commissions
which any members of my family may wish to
intrust to you. Mrs. McKenzie, for instance, has
a woman whose sole duty it is to attend her, and
who understands all her needs ; but she is some-
times — thoughtless in regard to the duties of
others, and may ask a service of you which you
ought not to have to perform."

Can you not excuse Rebecca for feeling indig-
nant ? Here was certainly a very strange condi-
tion of things. If Mr. McKenzie felt it necessary
to confide in a stranger to this extent, why did
not courtesy and common sense suggest to him
that he ought to go further ?

He gave her no opportunity to frame a reply,
and evidently expected none. He had risen while
speaking the last sentence.

" I find myself very much cramped for time,
and expect to be even unusually hurried to-morrow,
therefore I felt it necessary to give these directions
to-night. As to your duties, the housekeeper is
entirely reliable, and will give you all the in forma-

iiiiji

Mil I

I il

jjy.i^r'i oRni'RS.

tinn vnu need for tho pi-escnt. Now I shall have
to bi I VDii i^^ooiIh vviiiiiLj."

Ivcbcccn, too, hiiLl risen, and he had himself
b )vve.l lier to the door, even while she was trying
to frame a sentence which siiould tell him that
she coul I not enter so mysterious a household,
and tike such disa'^rccable duties upon her. How
rtteilv unnccessaiv, too, were his precautions.
What harm coull it do to humor the fancies of a
poor, diseasetl biain, and let any one she happened
to choose execute, or seem to execute, her com-
missions for her ?

The newly-en'j;aged nurse went back to her
boarding-house in a fume, and spent half the night
wondering, planning and regretting. But the next
morning she bade good-by to the fourth-story back,
and went to 1200 Carroll Avenue.

She had lunched in state with the housekeeper
and a dignified-looking middle-aged woman who
was addressed as "nurse," and was trying to find
her way through the intricacies of Lilian's ward-
robe, which had been promptly intrusted to her,
when there came a summons which made her
heart beat faster.

" Mrs. McKenzie would like to see you, ma'am,
and you are to bring Miss Lilian with you, if you
please."

It was Did', the errand-boy, who brought this
word, and he waited for no reply, else Rebecca
would have beo-ged him to show her the way lo

!'*. :

f :•

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';1

■ ■■ -^

WAN'TF.n.

Mrs. AIcKcnzic's room. 1 lutli to ic'l, slic was in
a nervous tremor, ;;n(l was almost tempted to call
after the lioy and ask his protee; ion. Ilowcver,
she scolded herself roundly for allowinL;" her fool-
ish fears to «;et control of her common sense. Of
course there '.vas no danger, else thev would not
allow her, an utter stran|L;er, to take the child and
go unattenrled into its j)vescncc. Lilian was :.!<-
sorbed at tli it moment with a fresh dollie whi>. h
had been found l)y her side when she awakened
in the mornini::^, :ind which the housekeeper said
had been left for her with "Papa's dear love";
but she came at once in response to Rebecca's
call, and expresses great dclii;ht over the thought
of a visit to mamma. A clear, sweet voice had
responded to Rebecca's knock, inviting them to
enter, and no sooner was the door opened than
the child sprang to the arms of her mother with
quite as extravagant expressions of delight as she
had shown to her father the evening before. As
for the mother, she almost devoured the baby with
kisses, then turned to Rebecca with a bright face.
" How do you do, my dear } Lilian has almost
made me forget to welcome you ; but, indeed, I
am glad to see you, and interested in you above
measure. The one who cares especially for my
little girl has always a warm place in my heart,
and Mr. McKenzie prepared me to like you. He
is pleased with your appearance, my dear. I hope
he will remain so, for he is very fastidious, and

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'^^!^|

s, and

UNDER ORDERS.

especially hard to please where Lilian is con-
cerned ; and people who do not please him do not
stay very long."

She shrugged her shapely shoulders as she
spoke, and laughed a sweet, silvery laugh, then
invited Rebecca to be seated, and while she fon-
dled Lilian, asked questions in a much more intel-
ligent manner, Rebecca thought, than her husband
had done, and withal was considerate and kind
even to tenderness.

" Poor child ! " she said, " so you are mother-
less. It is very hard to lose a mother ; one never
grows accustomed to it. I lost mine twenty years
ago, and I miss her yet — too bitterly sometimes.
There is nobody quite like a mother, especially to
an invalid. I suppose they have told you I am
that } I don't look it, do I ? But I am a great
sufferer sometimes, and never to be depended
upon, because the attacks may seize me at any
moment. That is why I have to intrust my little
darling here so constantly to the care of others.
But you will be good to her, I know you will ; my
heart warms to you, dear."

As for Rebecca, her heart was utterly lost.
This sweet-faced, sweet-voiced, beautiful woman
who smiled upon her so graciously was the most
winsome creature she had ever seen. There was
not a trace of insanity, or even of nervousness, in
face or manner. Her eyes were full of a kindly
light, and every movement was graceful and re-

WANTED.

poseful. What could Mr. McKenzie have meant }
The indignation which Rebecca had felt the even-
ing before returned in full force. How insulting
in a man to speak to an entire stranger in the
way he did of his wife ! What possible objection
could there be to leaving Lilian to her caresses
for as long a time as she desired ? But worse
than that had been the injunction not to perform
any service for this lovely lady.

" I suppose," said Rebecca to herself, ** it was
his way of showing, or professing to show, con-
sideration for his hired help, or else he is consid-
ering himself. Perhaps his wife, shut into her
room a great deal by suffering, sometimes in
thoughtlessness asks services \vhich inconvenience
His Majesty, so he proposes to guard himself at
the very commencement from any annoyances of
that kind coming through me. That must be the
exjilanation. How horribly selfish and intoler-
able ! I hope she does not know how he speaks
of her. I despi.se that man ! "

i-i .

.J* ^-H-

CHAPTER V.

bewild?:rment.

AS t have said, this feeling deepened rather
than lessened with Rebecca as the weeks
went bv, and she came more and more under the
influence of Mrs. McKenzie. That lady was so
uniformly sweet and thoughtful and motherly, and
Lilian was so unquestionably fond of her, that
Rebecca, studying the problem, sometimes decided
that it was very plain what the answer was. Mr.
McKenzie was a majestic bundle of selfishness,
who had but one love in all this great world, and
that was his little daughter. For the rest, his
heart was Vvcdded to his everlasting business. If
he had ever loved his wife, that time was evidently
long past. Probably he had grown impatient of
her frequent periods of invalidism, when she could
neither attend to household duties nor devote her-
self to his comfort, and had steadily drawn awAy
from lier.

" He looks and acts like a man who would have

,; i
'. '■

1 •

• r

: 1-

J \

" AyANTED."

no sympathy with suffering of any sort," said
Rebecca to herself, half fiercely. Yet that very
evening, when she felt in honor bound to report
Lilian as slightly hoarse, he left two men waiting
for him in the library and came himself to the
nursery, bending over Lilian \yith all the solicitude
and tenderness of a mother, even waiting to see
the cold compress applied to her throat, and
arranging the flannel covering. He came again
Mrhen the doctor, for whom he had promptly tele-
phoned, responded, and administered with his own
hand the medicine ordered. Even after th(; doctor
had made light of fears and gone his way, the
father sat with his finger on Lilian's small wrist,
and counted the beats skillfully and anxiously.
Oh ! he had evidently heart enough where Lilian
was concerned, and infinite sympathy for any touch
of suffering which affected her. " It is a case of
idol worship," Rebecca told . herself, ** but how
strange and sad that he has bestowed it all on the
baby, and has none left for the lovely mother! "

Mr. McKenzie had not been mistaken in his
estimate of Rebecca. He could trust her ; how-
ever she might disapprove of his orders, she
obeyed them. Feeling ashamed of herself for do-
ing so, feeling the blood sometimes mount to her
forehead as she presented herself always at the
door of Mrs. McKenzie's room when Lilian was
sent for, she yet never thought of doing otherwise.
The lady referred to it one day, playfully.

Ihili

BEWILDERMENT.

"My dear, you are faithful, are you not ? " It
was just after she had said with apparent care-
lessness, '• You can leave Lilian with me, if you
cliDose, while you go down to supervise the making
of her toast," and Rebecca had answered, flush-
in-, "Thank you, it will not be necessary. I
h.ivc only to lell cook how I want it done and she
will attend to it." Then Mrs. McKenzie had
lui,ii.'i an I niide thu jilayful response, "My
(Ivi;-. \on are fait'itiil, are you not .^ " Seeing
lv.l).-..e I's cvi lent embarrassment, she bad made
h i-,i\; to a id, " O.'. I y )U need not feel badly about
i ; I am '^l.vA t'nat you are. I like you very much,
an 1 faliv' recognize tlie importance of your pleas-
i ig Mr. Mci\! nzie. There have been .several
before you who failed in this respect. My poor
little Lilian has ha^l a number of faithful nurses
whom she loved, who yet could not seem to remem-
ber certain very peculiar directions. I have been
sorry for her; she and I do not like changes when
they separate us from those we love. You see,
I understand my husband's little peculiarities,
Keliecca. Do not let them prejudice you against
him ; he is a good man, despite his whims. All
nun have them of one sort or another, I fancy.
IL.' is doubtless half-right. I have been ill so
vy\ ' , ;;n 1 am so absurdly fond of Lilian that I
(1 ;.• J .s ;y I should sjioil her utterly if she were left
t» la.Cvi' I am v ry nri h afraid th it if she
wa.il.d l..e LaaiiLjoui iiiirror aud hammer, which

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liliiii

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!ij|{|l|iH^i

WANTED.

they always refer to with over-indulp^ed children,
I should want to <;ct it for her, rather tlviii see
tears in her beautiful eyes. I am really not to be
trusted, you sec."

Nothinj^' more tenderly pathetic can be ima_:j;inerl
than the half-huui()rv)us w.iy in which the sweet-
voiced woman s|)oke these v/ords, all the while
with a suspicious tremor of the almost childlike
mouth which told volumes to the sympathetic
listener. How truly noble she was to try to
make light of her husband's selfishness and to
shield him from censure. He *'u-ooil," indeed I
Rebecca relocated the word in indignation, and
believed that she tiid wt:ll not to actually hate
him.

There had been another time when she was
overwhelmed with embarrassment. Mrs. McKen-
zie had sent for her just as she and Lilian were
dressed for the afternoon drive, which was one of
the commands for the day. The mother had a
new and expensive wrap which was to enfold
Lilian, and which bore all about it the mark of
the lady's exquisite taste. As she bent to kiss
the child, for good-by, she said to Rebecca :

" By the way, dear, are you going anywhere in
particular?"

"No, ma'am," said Rebecca heedlessly. **We
are going wherever Thomas chooses to take us ;
just for a drive."

" Then suppose you suggest to him to drive

nEWir.DERMENT.

I down Park Avenue, and you be kind enough to
i leave a note for me at No. 976 ? "

Then the girl's cheeks, not only, but her very
[forehead flushed, and she stood shamedfaced and
silent. Mrs. McKenzie regarded her for a moment
With apparent curiosity, then laughed lightly.

"Never mind, dear child," she said, and her
tone was that of one who wished to soothe. " I
see how it is ; you are under orders. Do not be
distressed ; it is only one of the idiosyncrasies
of a good man. Remember always that he is
that, however strange his ways may seem to you.
I understand him as few do. He is morbid over
our little girl here. We have buried three, and
his whole soul is centered upon her ; he is so
afraid of her being left for a single moment with-
out oversight that he is even nervous about an
errand being done w^hen she is present, for fear,
in some unaccountable way, she will be exposed
to danger. I ought not to have suggested the
errand. Thomas can do it as well at another
time, but I thought perhaps it had not been
considered necessary to put you in leading-strings,
since you are so much older than our former
nurses."

Rebecca had gone away in a whirl of bewilder-
ment and pain, stiongly intermingled with indig-
nation. If Mr. McKenzie did not trust her any
more than that, lu- would better discharge her and
assume the care of the child himself. What a

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shame it was that she must rudely decline to do a
simple errand for the lady of the house — Lilian's
mother! The bewilderment was — why did the
wife and mother permit herself to be treated in
this way — almost like a naughty child who could
not be allowed a mind of her own ?

The theory that she was not in her right mind
had been put aside after the first day or two as
quite untenable. Was she not at all times a sweet,
self-controlled woman, with entirely sensible iJeas
as regarded Lilian, And entirely patient and chati-
table words for her husband ? Moreover, it was
plain to be seen what the family friends th(Ui';ht of
her. There were a few ladies who had the (W'/n'e
of the nursery, and who kissed and caressed Liliiin
while they talked condescendingly to her nurse.
" Lsn't Mrs. McKenzie a lovely woman ? Do you
not find her charming ? So patient, pooi- (iciu,
though she is a great sufferer at times ; and so
patient with some other things in her life which
call for unusual forbearance ! Oh ! we think she
is just wonderful." These last sentences were
apt to be accentuated by impressive shakes of the
head and impressive intonations. Mr McKenzie's
name was never mentioned, but Rebecca grew to
understanding, she hardly knew how, that the
"forbearance" mentioned referred to him.

All things considered, her new life, though it
had its embarrassments and drawbacks, was fasci-
nating. The very element of mystery which she

in-.wii.nr.kMKNT.

to cio a

Lilian's
(lid the
:atetl in

ht mind
• two as
a sweet,
.)lc iJcas
ui chaii"
r, it was
()U;;lit of
lie c:!tn'c
,'(1 Lilian
r nurse.
Do yon
)()i" dear,
and so
fe which
hink she
:es were
t?, of the
Kenzie's
o-rew to
that the

-lough it
^as fasci-
hich she

Icoulfl not help feeling surrounded it, added to the
linterest. As a physician's daughter, she had heart!
IfaniiK histories, before now, which had to do with

sotnetimcs with the tragic. It

Itlie tnvstenous

o could ^■^vas what had made her mind spring so promptly

Ito insanity as an explanation ; and because this

(iil not fit, she was often at work over the problem :

IWhv WIS Mr. McKenzie so peculiar i i the treat-

Imciit of his wife.^ The interest which surrounded

this question helped her to forget, or at least to

nore, some oi the annoyances ot her position.
It was certainly a new experience for Dr.
VlL-redith's daughter to remember always to say

Y'es'ni," and " No, ma'am," and very little more
mlcss directly questioned ; to respond to bells
md calls at all hours of the day, whether it was
[or her convenience or otherwise; yet she was
lot a little interested to see how readily she could
iccommodate herself to the new order of things,
ilbeit she realized how different it would have
)een if she had come in contact with any who
mew that she was Miss Meredith, the only daugh-
\tx of the leading physician in a flourishing town
lot two hundred miles distant.

Occasionally she wondered how she should act
['supposing" Mrs. Bryce, or Miss Evans and her
pister Miss Edna, who were her father's patrons
knd her friends, should " happen " to be friends of

[rs. McKenzie, and should be brought in to see

.iiian. Sometimes she wondered if the chamber-

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spil

III

maid, who was pretty, and who could, on occasion,
look and dress like a society {;irl, had her social
position also, and felt herself dropped below it,
and was niasqucra(lin<; in a sort of disguise, as
she could not help feeling that she was herself,
(!i .spite the fact that she had given her own full
1 ine and answered truthfully all questions which
Ii;i«l been put to her. The ease with which she
ni .intained her present relations grew in part out
(I the fact that nobody was enough interested in
her to ask many questions.

As a rule, however, she put herself into the
background, and gave her mind to the study of
the lives spread out before her. •

So far as Lilian was concerned this was an ex-
cellent thing to do. Never did child have more
faithful nurse ; never was child loved more ten-
derly, or watched over more conscientiously. Mr.
McKen .'e, looking on with a much keener and
more intelligent eye than Rebecca gave him credit
for, daily blessed his good fortune in securing
such a treasure. As to whether her constant
study of the other members of the family would
be productive of good was a thing that remained
to be decided.

This New Year's evening, on which she sat in
luxury in Mrs. McKenzie's room, marked a pro-
gression in her career. She had been invited by
the lady of the house to spend the evening with
her. " When I am well enough to realize it, I am

I 1

a!i:Jiji|;i

II' wii I)!::m! vt.

often lonely," she said. ''Mr. McKcii/it ins .>
manv duties to society th:it hr is (.-ompcllcd to i^o

absent a s

rcat deal. It is a trial to a man, voii

know,

dear, to have an invaiiil wit\' , but lie h.is to

ke the best of it. It is vcars sinee I have bei-

able to LTo out uitb bim much.

e IS more ac-

customed to it now. I r.iink, than I am, tbou'^Ii at
lirst it was a thinj; which he thought he couid not
endure; but men urow used to such discipline
sooner than women, I think ; do not you }"

There was a pathetic little smile on her face as
she spoke, which provoked Rebecca to indij;nant
pity. This matter of invalidism was one of the
things which slie did not understand. There was
no mistaking the fact that Mrs. McKenzie had
days and nights of sufferings- when her room was
closed to all but the physician, and the patient
nurse who stood guard over her. Mr. McKenzie
at these times made brief visits at rare intervals,
and the others staid away altogether. After such
experiences, which came often enough, Rebecca
thought, to have alarmed a less self-centered man
than Mr. McKenzie, the sufferer would emerge
with deep rings under her eyes and a general state
of exhaustion, which told volumes ; but she would
resume her place at the head of the elegant table,
where her husband and she dined in state, and
receive her friends as usual, without other refer-
jence to her severe attack than to speak of it
occasionally, as something which was a matter

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of course. Why vip:orous measures were not re-
sorted to to save her from such periods of ]);iiii,
Rchvcca eould not iin;iLj;ine. Wliy did thev not
have a council of physicians, eminent as speciali.' t >,
if the disease were obscure? Wliy flid not hi r
husband take her abroad in search of skill, if Ik;
liad exhausted the resources of this (f)nir'\ ?
Turn which way she would, she felt beuiliAui
and incensed. The utmost that the ]ui'-li.;ii<l
seemed to consider necessary was to r^uaid tin-
movements of his wife almost as if she had bi en
an imbecile. l'2ven when she went to pay the f v \v
v'sits which her invalidism allowed itself, she w;is
always in the close carnai^c, and that inevitable
nurse was forever on guard. True, she sat in the
carrias:e and waited for her mistress, and was dcf-
erence itself; but she had alighted and accoi: -
panied her to the very door, and was at the door
again to receive her.

" Mr. McKenzie has a horror of my being seized
with one of my attacks, I suppose," the lady had
explained to Rebecca's questioning eyes. " He
does not like to have me out of nurse's sight. It
is hard on her, poor thing. I am quite sorry for
her at times." And Rebecca felt sure that the
invalid was sorry for herself, and chafed under
such constant care. " If he would bestow a little
of it in person," she muttered to herself, "instead
of delegating it all to the nurse, one could have
more faith in him."

BEWILDERMENT.

This thought came to her in full force on the
evening in question. She had never been in Mrs.
McKcnzie's room before when the master of the
house was present, and she stopped irresolutely in
the doorway when she caught sight of him, al-
though she was coming in response to a summons.
Mrs. McKenzie turned her head in the direction
of the door and smiled a welcome. "Come in,
ray dear; Mr. McKenzie is just starting, I think
a gentleiv.aii who has h^ien paying ceremonious
calls ill! d.iy ouLiht to he released on New Year's
cveninj.^, aiul allowed to spen^l the time with his
f;iiniiy. Do not 3'ou,'' "

Ik'lore Rei)ccca could imagine what reply to

make, Mr. MiKcdzic had turned to his wife, his

f.iee grave, his voice cold. " It is not a ceremoni-

loits c ill which I am to make this evening, you will

renienilK'i, Mrs. McKenzie."

"(), no! a vveckling reception, and in honor of
isn oUl friend of mine. She used to be in our em-
hiloy, K( hccca, and Mr. McKenzie feels the need
lit showiii'; !)cr all kindness on that account. O,
]-)cane ! do not imagine I am finding fault with
you ; oniy it is a little lonely on New Year's Day,
[\nu know."

" Ivcbccca w 111 Ix ar you company," he said,
I";;!! i Mrs I'aync is, of Cf>ursc, within call. Good-
It v. liii;." Ills Ixnv jtecmvd to be as much for
[]' : ccc:! a.s lor iiis wife. Whatever sens^itions the
lUuc lii.'.y 1.:^'. e li^ii!, ihc. ^ i] : aw \nm depart with

''Hill

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WANTED.

feelings near akin to scorn. A wedding reception
indeed ! What right had a man who left an inva-
lid wife at home, to mingle in receptions, or social
gatherings of any sort, when she pleaded loneli-
ness, and all but entreated him to stay with her?
— for the sweet face and tlic pathetic voice were
entreaties. And he could remind her that her
child's nurse and Mrs. Payne, her ever-present
^uard, were at hand to take his place!

■illllliiillfl:

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. .^ 1 ■ ^ "' V

CHAPTER VI.

" ■:!

LOOKING BACKWARD.

IT was very quiet in the pretty room for the
first few minutes after Mr. McKenzie's depart-
ure, Rebecca, who supposed she had been sum-
moned to read aloud, waited, book in hand, for
directions. It had recently been discovered that
this was one of her accomplishments, and Mrs.
McKenzie had seized upon it eagerly. She grew
" so tired of readini:^ to herself ; she liked some-
ody to share the thought with. Mrs. Payne
read wen's very well," she said, with a marked
emphasis orx words " ; " but as for ideas !" — and
then she shrugged her shoulder? expressively.

It was fiction of a kind which was comparatively
new to the reader, that her listener's tastes de-
manded. Not an especially objectionable kind,
perhaps, but of a sort which to Rebecca seemed
too improbable to be '•easonable or interesting.
She waited in vaiim, on cnis particular evening, to
be directed to commence Mrs. McKenzie's nurse

!i ■■

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rt'i'-

i-.-l(

^|:' ']■

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WANTED.

had betaken herself to her own room, adjoining
this, and dropped the heavy curtains which sepa-
rated them. They were, therefore, to all intents
and purposes alone ; especially as the good, tired
woman, seeming to feel herself free for the time,
promptly dropped asleep, as her gentle snoring
indicated. But Mrs. McKenzie sat with her -yes
bent on the glowing coals in the grate, and evidently
thinking.

** Men are strange beings," she volunteered at
length. " All men are, 1 presume. If people
could know beforehand what sort of a life is
mapped out for them, what a difference it would
make in biography. Don't you think so ? Does
it never seem to you that it might have been a
wise way to have shown us visions, shadow-pict-
ures perhaps, of the years, and to have said to us,
'That is you at thirty-five;' or 'Those are your
surrcnndings as they will be at forty, provided
you do th'i'^' and so ? ' "

"And it one did not do 'thus and so.?*" an-
swered Rebecca, amused and a trifle startled by
the suggestion, " what then ? *'

" Why, then, more shadow-pictures, with possi-
bilities, and a chance to choose. Wouldn't it
make a difference with lives .-* "

" I do not know," said Rebecca, with great
gravity. "I think I should be afraid to make
the choice. I would rather have infinite Wisdom
choose for me."

LOOKING BACKWARD.

"Ah ! but we do choose, in the dark. We
elect in our youth and folly what we sliall be, in
a ^cn.sc ; not knowing what we shall become,
hccaiisc of our choice. Don't you see what I
mean r

"Don't you think we are guided in our choice,
held from making mistakes, if we will be, and led
i.i the best paths, on the whole?"

Mrs. McKcnzic shook her head, and drew a
1 tn:;, weary sigh. " I can never feel it. Do

\oll .'* '

Rebecca opened her mouth to answer, then
closed it sudiienly, the ready color flushing her
cheeks. .Such was her theory, her profession ;
but did she really feel it } Was it her belief, for
instance, that mother and Ailee being in Heaven
was the best thing lo-night, not only for them,
but for her } Nay. Was her father's second mar-
riage, on the whole, for her best good }

Mrs. McKenzie had turned from the firelight,
and was regarding her closely. She smiled signifi-
cantly as Rebecca's eyes met hers. " You need
not answer, dear," she said. " I know the differ-
ence between theory and feeling." Then, sud-
denly, she turned the girl's thoughts into a new
channel. "I am hungry sometimes for Carroll."

" For Carroll ! " Rebecca repeated, startled.
Who could this be for whom the wife frankly
avowed hunger.?

''V-'.-; haven't vou hc:;rd cf bin.' ?>Iv boy

r'ili

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WAXTKD.

ijiii

Ir/'] '

<m-

"■"'lii^^^

Slillli illliti i

III

>i! ! Pi ilii
P III I

Carn)]l. I have not seen him now in nearly a
year. I th()uj;ht his father would surely have him
home for the lioiidays, but he was inexorable."

*' Mrs. McKenzie, of course you do not mean
your own son ? "

'•Indeed I do; my own, beautiful boy, Carroll.
He is in his eighteenth year, and as beautiful as a
dream. I do not believe a more lovely face nni
form were ever given to mortal. Liliati looks like
him, except that he is large and robust. If yru
Will reach that lotter-caso at your left, I will show
you his pholograph. He sent it to me only la^t
week, and I think it tlie best one yet ; I have one
representing each year of his life."

Rebecca gazed with keen interest at the hand-
some, boyish face held out to her. It was a rare
face ; the striking features of both father and
mother were plainly marked and combined ; they
made a somewhat remarkable whole.

" Do you wonder that my heart aches often**
with the longing to see him, and feel his kisses
and caresses .-* He is very fond of his mother."

" Is he so far away that he cannot come home
for the holidays } "

Mrs. McKenzie shook her head, and her soft
eyes filled with tears. ** O, no ! he is only a few
hours' ride away. His father rushes there in a
night and takes breakfast with him whenever the
desire to see him overmasters him ; but I cannot
do thot. I \vi!-]i I cndd. I 1m vc often '.vondercd

LOOKING BACKWARD.

what would happen if I should run away. What
would poor Mrs. Payne do then, do you suppose?"

There was the most curious mixture of child
and woman about this fair, frail creature. Often
a sentence begun in pathos would end like the
naughty fancy of a willful child. But Rebecca
was not thinking of her. Here was a new factor
in the problem she was trying to solve. A beau-
tiful young son for whom his invalid mother's
heart hungered, so near that the father could go
to him of a night, and he not at home even for
the holidays. She did not know how many ques-
tions she was expected to ask, so remained silent,
except for her eyes.

Mrs. McKenzie answered their look. " You
wonder why he is not beside me this New Year's
Day. My dear, that is another of his father's
peculiarities. I was injudicious with the dear boy.
I gave my consent to a hundred fancies which his
father did not approve. I can really feel that it
is for Carroll's best good he was sent away to
school ; but to keep him away even at this holiday
season is hard."

" I should think so ! " burst forth Rebecca. She
was ashamed of herself on the instant. What
right had she to be criticising to a wife the actions
of her husband } Yet she could not hold back her
words. " I beg your pardon, Mrs. McKenzie, but
has not a mother some rights as well as a father^ "

" Now, my child, don't be naughty. I will not

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have you imagining that Mr. McKenzie is other
than kind and wise. He is doing it for our best
good, don't you see .^ — Carroll's and mine. He
says I indulge the boy unwisely, which is true;
and he says the boy indulges me, which is also
true. Neither of us can seem to help it. Oh ! he
will come home before long — in the summer, I
believe — but there are times when it seems long
to wait. He writes to me every week — beautiful
letters — and he is a grand, noble boy. I did not
spoil him by my indulgence ; I only tried to, and
I might have succeeded in time.

** He has been much away from us. School-life
began with him earlier than it does with most.
His father was held at home until after he was
twenty ; perhaps that is why he thinks Carroll
should begin to be a man so early. Hasn't he a
lovely name ? You think perhaps he was named
for the street we live on ; but the entire square
was named for Carroll's great-grandfather. Judge
Carroll, who was a power in this city even before
it was a city. We were brought up to think that
it was a great thing to be born into this world as
Carrolls. What a curious thing pride of family is,
is it not.^ My poor mother had a great deal of it;
I do not think I ever quite satisfied my family but
once in my life, and that was when I became a
McKenzie. By the way, dear, I wonder that you
bi'."^ r.pvrr mnrvipfl.**

■:■^

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I.OOKIJ^n HACKWARD.

in a way which fairly l)C'viUicrecl her listener.
Silt' was aiulacious, too ; surely slic h:i'.l 110 right
to " wonder " in ihat tjiu-'stiijnini; wny about the
private history of one w\m) were almost n .straiij;"cr
to her, even thou^jh she was in her employ. But
there was nothing disagreeable in her manner,
alter all, and Rebecca \vas> persuaded that oidy
kiiuily interest was meant.

The question, or hint of a question, did not
qiiicken her jnilses in llie least. She only smiled
-ia\elv, and said in the r.-!ost indil^ercnt tone,
"Do you?" Vet her tliou^hts had been turnetl
backward, and wl de Mrs. ,McKen;:ie rc^^ponded
pron ])tly that she diii, arid weiU on to say that
tlespite all the mistakc5, and misunderstandings,
and disappointments that there undoubtedly were
in the married life, on the whole, she believed it to
be the true sphere of woman — iier supposed lis-
tener did not listen at all, but took a journey into
her own past.

Mrs, McKenzie's question, or rather wonder-
ment, had never before been spoken in her pres-
ence, but she realized that it had probably often
l.een felt. Suppose there were somebody who had
a right to question, and to whom she would feel in
honor bound to tell the whole truth, what would
she tell ? The q'lery brought the friend of her
girlhood vividly before her. When she was eigh-
teen — and she thought, with a start of surprise,
of h.',\v nnnv ver.rs a'.io ti:at wa'^ -- Fre'i Pic'-son

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III

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l.ad been her almost constant companion. They
IkkI been friends much further b.ick than that ;
\vh\', siic was onlv filtecn when the IMerson famHv
moved to the adjoining town, and Fred entered
hi,L;h school and speedily became, first her rival,
and then so intimate a friend that she quite liked
to have him show himself the better scholar, ia
some things ; it was such a delight to look uj) ti)
and be i)roud of him. .Moreover, he was very
generous in his treatment of her ; never did ho
conquer a problem in algebra over which she had
struggled in vain, but he saivl, " Wait until it
comes to 'rammar, Rebecca, and T sit with mv
chin in niy hand looking an.xiously for a prompt-
ing word from vou;" or "Just think how I shall
get tripped up in history to-morrow, to pay for
this!"

It was true she was his superior in both these
studies ; perhaps that made his superiority in
other things more pleasant ; but he was never
vain of his scholarship, at least before her. Why,
he was everything that was good and noble in
those days ; she had been sure of it. In later
years, when both had left school, and PVed was
studying law in Judge Bartlett's office in their
own town, the intimacy continued. It grew to be
a matter of course to see the two in company
upon all possible occasions.

"Are you and Fred going to the sociable .^ "
her mother would ask. Or her father would sav,

ill

'[4

r.OOKTNG BACKWARD.

"I am sorry we cannot attend the reception at
the Websters*, but I suppose Rebecca and Fred
will be th' re to represent us."

This habit of taking things as a matter of
course had also been adopted by the young peo-
ple themselves. Looking buck critically, as she
had done long ago, Rebecca could find no hour in
which Fred Pierson had said to her, " Will you
be my wife?" But oh ! the numberless times in
which he had said words like these : *' You and I
will have a different state of things from this
when we get to living ; won't we ? " This, in
criticism of a young married couple who were
their intimate acquaintances. Or, " O, Rebecca !
the weeks sometimes seem very slow in passing,
when one is getting ready for life. I long for the
time when I shall be established in business,
and we can afford to indulge some of our tastes
together." Or, after a brief absence, *' Rebecca,
I don't believe you missed mc as I did you. I
am always looking foiward to the time when I
shall not have to miss you any more."

She could have filled pages with such expres-
sions as these. What more did a young, innocent
girl need ? She never felt a need — not even when
she was asked direct questions.

"Are you and Mr. Pierson engaged.'" Carrie
Stuart had asked her in plain English. Carrie was
a summer acquaintance who was spending a few
weeks at Judge Bartlett's, where Mr. Pierson

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*' WANTCD."

l»Mrirclccl. She had p;ro\vn siiddonly iiitinn!c wifh
Ki'hccca, after the fashion of some j;iils.

Kchccca rcmeml^ered vividlv that she MiisiKd,
find laughed, and answered slowly, '• V\'h) — \i,s,
I suppose \vc are."

'• And when are von to be married ?" The •liil
bclon^jed to the class who can ask such questions,
even of their passing friends. Her response hiui
been prompt :

" Oh ! not for years and years yet. We have
never even thought of setting a day. Fred is .stiii
a student, you know."

"Yes; hut he expects to be admitted in the
spring. I should think you would be planning (or
the wedding "

•'There is time enough for that," Rebecca hai;
answered serenely. And so it had proved.

The younj; man had been admitted the followin;'
spring, and was promptly offered a flattering posi-
tion in Mr. Stuart's law office, in a neighboring
city.

"It is a very unusual opening for a fellow as
young as I," Fred had said to Rebecca, "and 1
know who I have to thank for it. Judge Bartlctt
says tliat Mr. Stuart's daughter has great influence
with him, even in business matters, and it does
not take a prophet to tell who influenced her in
mv favor."

His rone was significant ; and Rebecca, althou,c;h
six* (ii.-cl:iiiiieil any attempt r.t influence, l.kcf! tol

fii

LOOKING BACKWARD.

think that her friend, Carrie Stuart, had helped to
)pen this flattering business prospect, because she
ras fond of her. She told herself that she should
ilways remember this of Carrie.

" It will seem strange to be living in another
Itown," Fred had said, the evening before he
[depart cd to his honors. " Do you suppose you
Iwill know how to write to me.^ I shall be very
[exacting in my demands — nothing less than a
[letter each week will anything like satisfy me.
[in fact, I don't expect to be satisfied ; even your
[letters will be poor substitutes for you ; but I sup-
pose I couldn't in conscience expect such a busy
little woman as you to write oftener, ' he added
[playfully.

Rebecca had gaily assured her friend chat she

[would " try to think of something to say as often

as once a week," and had been true to her word.

Letters had passed between the two with the

regularity of sunrise. The young man wrote ex-

Icellent letters.

"My dear Rebecca," they began, or perhaps
I "My best friend," but they were not fulsome in
tone, nor lavish in adjectives. He gave very
interesting descriptions of the city; of the trips
which he occasionally took in the interests of
the firm ; of the various objects of interest which
he saw; of the lectures he was privileged to
attend; of the legal cases which specially excited
I or amused him. Each letter was sure to have

' ' ' n

III

WANTED.

i Al

some reference to Christmas. "Remember, Re-
becca, I shall be at home for the holidays. I
shall tolerate no engagements then which do not
include me. You can guess, possibly, some things
which I shall have to say to you about Christmas
time. I have been a very patient fellow not to
say them before."

These, and kindred sentences, Rebecca smiled
over, and rejoiced to think how thoroughly they
understood each other.

Suddenly the young man's letters ceased. Two,
three weeks passed, and not a word came from
him. Rebecca was greatly alarmed, but her
mother tried to comfort her.

" He may have had to go away on business,
dear, to some little town where the mails are
irregular ; where there is even not a mail every
day — there are such places. Or he may be com-
ing a few days earlier, and is waiting to surprise
you ; men are thoughtless about such things. A
few days of tardiness about a letter never means
as much to them as it does to us. I wouldn't
worry, dear, nothing very serious can have hap-
pened, or he would have telegraphed."

He did not telegraph, but two days before
Christmas came the longed-for letter. Not the
usual style of envelope; it had a curious, almost
an official look, but the superscription v/as Fred's
own.

Rebecca tore the thing open in nervous haste,

'il!;-

LOOK IN' (J UACKWAkD.

and thereby spoiled one of the cards — a reception

card :

''MR. AND MRS. ALV/N K. STL' ART

reqtiest the pleasttrt' of your pt esence

at the /luirriiis^e i f their di^u^hter

CAROLINE

1,1

Mr. IRI-PKRICK jAV riF.RSON,

mil I liiti ui.;\\J.iim<.\ry the fi'-iU'^

■r ,' >

.....-^*^*^ "•■■--- •"■''

— ■« . «J t

(^•'

CHAPTER VIT.

WASTI-NG SYMPATHY.

RERIXXA MI<:RK1)1TII, sittinrr in her easy-
ciiair in Mrs. McKcnzic's luxurious roorr;,
apparently listenin*; to that lady's voice, and rcallv
JVoini!; over her past, remembered just how she s;it
and stared at that sheet of pnjier, and just how
strange those four lines looked :

itii

*^ At thr marriai^ie ol tlit'iy diUrShter

CAROl.IXF.

MR FREDERICK JAY riERsON."

Remembered that she thought, how strancre a
coincidence it was that Carrie — her friend Carrie
Stuart — was to marry a man with exactly the
same name as ^""red.

A orave smile was on her face this nii^ht, ns
she saw how vivid everv minute detail connected
with that evenini^ still wis. Slie knew that the
clock had just struck seven, and her father had

WAST1N(; SYMPATHY.

remarked that Jim was very slow about getting
up the horses ; and that her mother had said here
was a letter from their old acquaintance, Mrs.
Barnes, and that she was going to Florida for the
remainder of the winter ; and then she had re-
minded the doctor that the coal was nearly out,
and perhaps he ought to write a card ordering
some more before he went out for the evening.

Rebecca had never been able to think of that
evening since, through all these years, without re-
membering about Jim being late with the horses,
and Mrs. Barnes going to Florida, and their being
nearly out of coal. Yet it seemed to her that
it must have been hours before she took in the
astounding fact that she held Fred's — her Fred's
— wedding cards in her hand. She had occa-
sionally imagined, as girls will, how they would
read :

DR. AND MRS. JOHN ELLIS MEREDITH

request the pleasure of your presence

at the marriage of their daughter

REBECCA

MR. FREDERICK J A Y PlERSON.

> i:

That was the way the card should read, of
course. Everybody who knew those two ex-
pected it — except, perhaps, her friend Carrie
Stuart. The woman of twenty-seven could smile

I I* ' ^ i"

7«

\v AM i;;).

over the vagaries of the <^irl ct twenty, but the
memory of them was very distii)ct.

Since that evening so long ago, she had heart!
absolutely nothing from Frederick Pierson. She
had heard of him, that the marriage took place
in due season, and that the young people went
abroad, the son-in-law f)n business for the great
firm of Stuart, Stuart & Pierson. That in due
time they returned, and were set up at house-
keeping in a grand establishment, as became the
house of Stuart ; but so far as her former ac-
quaintance was concerned, it was as though PVed
Pierson had died and been buried. His last letter
to her, written in December, had begun, " My
dear Rebecca," and had closed with a reminder
that the holidays were close at hand ; and had
been signed, " As ever, Fred."

Her next con^ nication from him, in Decem-
ber of the same year, had been those wedding
cards ! Whether he had, all through the months,
been living a double life — writing his weekly let-
ters to her, and paying his hourly court to the
daughter of the senior member of the firm ; or
whether it had been a sudden, reckless decision,
carried out with headlong speed, for some object
which she did not understand, Rebecca had never
known.

Of course there was much talk, and questions
to answer, which were more or less trying. But
Rebecca, as a girl, had few intimates ; it was hard

\V \> !1\ ; S\-MP ATi'V.

I.I

r 5f

•cspcctiiiL; people to question her

vcn

lur

hither she s.iivl, "Whv, father, Fred antl I

ueie never enL;a,L;e(l, vou know,

e were se

liool'

111 itrs, anil friends of long standing;." Hut she
had winced under the sentence, and thouj;ht of
the reply she made when Carrie Stuart asked,
••Are you and Mr. I'ierson cn,^aj;cd ?" Which
time had she spoUen aiisolute truth? It was only
her mother who knew all that there was to tell.

I'ollowiniL;' hard upon this e.\])erience had come
another, calculated, if anything;- could, to sink it
into the backj^round. The little sister Ailee had
hcen given to them, and she wound the sweetest
of clingiuL;" tendrils about thi? bruised heart ; then
the mother had gone awav on that solemn journey
which is taken but once, and Rebecca had been
left to be mother to the child, and companion and
comforter to the father. Then Mrs. Meredith had
come into their home ; then Ailee followed her
mother. In these strange ways the years had
come and gone, until now Rebecca, sitting by
Mrs. McKenzie's fireside reviewing her past,
f'lnnd that while there were many hard lines in
her life, and while there might still be bitterness
in her thought of Fred Pierson, his name had lost
the power to make her heart beat one throb the
faster.

Shp PPHHI f^ven almost smile oxer it all. and

f'Hlulbi' wliy siie had ever cared so much, "S ill,
fliU hot really care for him, but for the person I

i i

WANiri).

thou-ht he was." slu- to] 1 htrself, "niid when one
ceases to respect a r.i.ii\ \vh\", then «»f c()iir.-.e" —

I'lien Mrs. Mclvv. nzic's soft voice, whiMi had
been moving on steadiU-, broke in upon her mus-
ings. *' And so, my dear, I am very glad tluit you
are not of that stanij), because it would really be a
trial to lose you, though vou have been with us so
short a time."

Rebecca heard, with a start of dismav. What
had the ladv been talking about.'' "Of what
stamp, madam.''" she asked, her face flushing as
she realized what the question revealed. Mrs.
McKenzie regarded her with an interested smile.
"My dear," she said, ''I bc-lieve 3'ou have not
heaid a word of what I have been saying, and
here I have been telling you about the perfecLions
of one of your jiredecessors — an interesting story,
I assure you. Where have you been .'' "

" I was looking backward," Rebecca answered,
smiling. " I beg your pardon ; something you
said a moment ago sent me into the past. Would
you mind repeating your last sentence or two.-*"

"Oh ! perhaps they are hardly worth it. Some-
thing in your manner, or perhaps it was your
dress, reminded me of Helen Harvey. She was
Lilian's nurse for four months. Lili.m and I were
fond of her ; but she grew too sympathetic, and
Mr. McKenzie had to dismiss her. I was rejoic-
ing over the fact that you did not seem to be like
her in that respect."

WASTING SYMPATHY.

"Isn't that rather a doubtful compliment?'*
Rebecca asked, in a somewhat constrained tone.
"Surely people ought to try to be sympathetic."

"So I think. I told Mr. McKenzie he was un-
necessarily sensitive. She lavished it all upon
him, you understand. It is hard for him always
to have an invalid wife, and to be obliged to go
out to social gatherings alone, as well as to enter-
tain his friends as best he can, often without help.
I do not wonder that she was sorry for him, and
told him so, and tried to make up to him for his
affliction in every way that she could. I think
Mr. McKenzie would have been sensible if people
had let him alone ; but servants will talk, you
know, and poor Helen, with the best intentions,
made it unpleasant after awhile both for herself
and him, so she had to go."

Rebecca's cheeks were ablaze. " I do not think
I shall err in that direction," she said coldly.
"May I read now.? "

But the lady was not in the mood for reading.
She waved the book from her gracefully. " Not
yet, please. I feel like talking. It is not often I
am in the mood ; or, if I am, there is no one to
talk to. Poor Mrs. Payne is too stupid to tempt
me. I will tell you about my Carroll. Mothers
have to talk about their sons once in awhile, you
know, or their hearts would get too full."

She talked so well, with such a sweet under-
tone of yearning in it all, that Rebecca who had

!^ i

" WANTED."

dliijj..

been jarred, she could not have told why, by
those words about Helen Harvey, forget them
and felt all her heart throb with earnest sympa-
thy for this poor, lonely, ill-treated mother.

"She is ill-treated!" she told herself boldly.
" The idea of supposing that her starved heart
will be fed, if she is surrounded by luxuries, and
provided with a nurse, while her boy, for whom
she pines, is kept away from her; and her hus-
band seeks his society elsewhere. Talk about
wasting sympathy on him; the idea!" and her
lip curled ominously. " I am sure I shall be very
unlike Helen Harvey, if she was tempted in that
direction. I?ut there is certainly sore need for
sympathy. Well, Rebecca Meredith, you have
found your mission at last. A place where you
are wanted, and needed — which are not always the
same things, I suppose ; but if ever a poor woman
needed a judicious frientl, it is this frail wife and
mother kept in a gilded cage ; so surrounded by
luxury and selfishness that she is dying by inches.
She looks weaker and frailer than she did when I
came. If I knew the boy, Carroll, I would write
to him to assert his manhood and insist upon
coming home to his mother. What a dreadful
tiling it would be if she should slip away from lif^j
antl not see him again ! I wonder if I cannot, in
a jierfectly decorous and business-like way, outwit
that man, incarnation of self that he is ! "

This was Rebecca's soliloquy after t.ie jfivalid,

WASTING SYMPATHY.

having talked herself tired, and gotten into a
passion of weeping for her absent son, all but
fainted away in her weakness. Rebecca sum-
moned the nurse, and, after waiting until she was
assured there was nothing for her to do, went to
iier own room to be indignant.

" At last I can surely feci that I am wanted,"
she repeated. " The poor, hungry heart turns,
toward me ; I can see it in every word she says,
and in the tenderness with which she looks at me.
I mean to love her, and do for her in every way
that I can. But I must be can^ful not to arouse
the suspicions of His Majesty, or he will imagine
that I must in some way be neglecting Lilian,
because I occasionally think of somebody else. I
wonder if people, men and women whom he meets
in his world, have the least idea what sort of man
he is?"

By degrees, the feeling that she had been called
to do a special work in this strangely organized
home, even to become the special champion of
its mistress, colored all this young woman's life.
She grew so darkly suspicious of Mr. McKenzie
that there were days when she would hardly have
been surprised to have detected him in the act of
poisoning his wife. She was even suspicious of
Mrs. Payne, who, the housekeeper declared, was
a model of patience and excellence.
■ Occasional! v there were circumstances which
sccined to justif}- her in tjjjs suspicion. Foi in-

** WANTED.

iip^if ^

I 11!

Stance, she was one evening left for a few min-
utes alone with Mrs. McKcnzic just after dinner.
Mrs. Payne went downstairs begging her to remain
until she returned.

"Is she really gone.^" Mrs. McKenzie asked,
with a laugh of mingled amusement and annoy-
ance. "Then close the door, do, my dear, and
push up a window, and let us breathe fresh air.
I do get so tired of the poor, stupid soul ! It is
really very tiresome always to have her about me,
watching every movement. Sometimes, when my
nerves are especially unstrung, I can almost fancy
her a great, green-eyed cat, and myself a poor
little mouse on whom she is ready to pounce at
the slightest provocation."

Rebecca listened, distressed at this revelation
of overstrained nerves, and asked, " My dear
madam, why do you not discharge her and secure
somebody who is more congenial to you.^"

" Discharge Mrs. Payne ! " repeated Mrs. Mc-
Kenzie, with a pretty little affectation of dismay.
" Don't, I beg of you, ever let Mr. McKenzie
know that you were guilty of such a dangerous
idea. Why, he would almost rather discharge
me, and keep Mrs. Payne, if it came to a ques-
tion of which." Then, arrested apparently by the
look on Rebecca's face, she laughed lightly, and
added, " I am talking nonsense, of course ; but I
assure you you do not know what you are saying.
Why, poor Mrs. Payne has been in the house for

WASTING SVMrATHV

•f

seventeen years; she came here .vlicn my Carroll
was a wee baby. Tliink how stupid it nuist be
for her lo live on and on in tiic old way year after
yc iT ! I assure you I am otten sorry for her, and
ufLener sorry for myself; wc arc both s(» dull and
s.ii|)i^!. Oil! she is ^ood : h-it it is a real relief
to L:«.t rid of her occasion. Iv. Where has she
:;>i;k? i*''ii- hci cti,) of tea? I hope she will have
: ) wa c t.-r 11. Lo, inv dear, wait on mc a little

j i.^t I

ir t,i.

])!e.i^ure of seeing somebo(!_^

else

;.t;..UL i;ie. dive i:ie that glass of wal>.r, please,
;.iM Ki ine pre ,jarc my own drops; it is time for
t:iv 111 r.us IS one (<f the luxuries which Mrs.
I'ayiie will never allow nie; she thinks my hand
is not sLeady enough, I suppose; but it is. See
h' \v nicely I can droj) this. Mr. McKenzie used
to do it for me when I was first taken ill ; but
that was befi)rc he grew so busy, and so used to
my invalidism. My dear, whatever you do, don't
marry a man of affairs ; who will be courted and
fawned upon by the public ; besought to meet
this committee, and speak before that one, and
let the other one give him a dinner, or a recep-
tion, or something of the sort. If you do, mark
111/ words, he will have no time for you."

Avi t!ie nurse had come in at that very mo-
n:j .;, wh'.le Rel)ecca held the dainty cut glass,
a 1 ! 11- (I'o;^-; were bv inir carefullv measured into
ir, ,.n ; 1, ; 1 .- .V()')i)ed dovvn v\yv.\ iheni with a look
al iv.ijw\.w.L .>,iie.i ublo..i..he .. Ji\.\\ o.feiule-1 her,

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WANTED.

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and had said with nervous haste, " O, Mrs.
McKenzie! you must not; I will attend to that.
It was not time for any medicine!" — this last
with another look at Rebecca, and reproach in her
voice. Then she hai! unceremoniously snatched
the glass from the girl's fingers, and emptied its
contents into the glowing grate.

Rebecca immediately left the room, and sought
her own in a burning rage. What right had that
insufferable nurse to snatch the glass from her
hands .^ What was she doing but just as she had
been directed.^ "They cannot be very dangerous
drops," she continued; "if they were an invalid
would not be carrying them around in her pocket.
It is just an attack of jealousy on the part of that
nurse. She cannot endure the idea of there be-
ing any other per.son capable of waiting on Mrs,
McKenzie ; it detracts somewhat from her self-
importance. Or else — I wonder if it can be pos-
sible that she has allowed the poor lady to have
some medicine of which the doctor does not ap-
prove, and is afraid she will be discovered. Some-
thing to make her drowsy, perhaps, when she is
tired of her, and wants to get a nap. Really, it
looks as though something of the kind might be
the case. She certainly seemed alarmed when she
saw her taking it. If that self-absorbed man
should discover, some day, that his wife had been
poisoned, by mistake, I wonder if he would care }
O, dear ! I am growing wicked, too. This is a

WASTING SYMPATHY.

dangerous house. But I will not desert her ; no,
not even though they gossip about me, and couple
my name with my master's, as they did that poor
Helen Harvey's."

Her lip curled in derisive scorn over this
thouL'^ht, but in a moment she was grave again,
and anxious. The suspicion once roused that the
poor, neglected wife n.ight be unkindly dealt with
by the nurse on whom the husband placed such
perfect trust, gained strength as she thought about
it. She resolved to be as alert and watchful as
possible, and to give Mrs. McKenzie as much of
her time as she could.

■A-- UiJU i.«.

idtZ

'"TIB

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fli I

CHAPTER VIII.

POOR REBECCA.

i ll :•

Hi 11 'i

: |!f ™ ' '.

jjijijl* ^ ,'

!| !|i|| ,i|

Ili||i

** "pEBECCA," said Mr. McKenzie, stoppinjr
-iv that youn<^ woman on the stairs one
Sunday morning, '* it has not occurred to me here-
tofore that you mi^ht wish to attend church. I
suppose I have been remiss." Something very
like a sigh escaped him, hut Rebecca made no
response to it, or to him, She thought he had
been very remiss, arid she had no sympathy with
his sighs. Such being the case, there was nothin;;
for lier but silence.

•' I own a pew in Dr. Carter's church, on the
ne.Nt square," continued the gentleman, in his
most business-like tone. " I suppose you could
frequently go in the evening, if you chose, and
you are welcome to a seat in my pew. I am rarely
there in the evening. I should have mentioned it
before. But the thing which suggests it to me
now is the fact that I have a fancy for testing my
Lilian's powers of self-control by taking her to

POOR ,'<r.I5KCCA.

church with me this morning. My gootl mother
use J to think, I rcmt-mbcr, that a chila's eclucatii)n
ill this direction should commence very early, and
1 certainly want my child to fail of no help in life
which I can plan for her. liut I should wish to
have you in attendance, for it may be that the
little one will be timid in a strange place, sur-
rounded by so many peojjle. Can you arrange to
<;et her ready for morning service, and accompany
her?"

" Of course, if you so direct," Rebecca answered,
with such utter colunrss ihit if he had ineant to
he knid to her he might Ijave been discouraged.
"Hut, Mr. McKenzi^, Miss Lilian is very happy
with her mother on Sabbath mornings, and I think
she will miss the litlle one."

Did she fancy it, or ditl his face grow colder,
and his tone haughtier.'

" Liii:in can spend a portion of the afternoon
with her mother, which will be enough for both of
them. I desire to have her with me in church
this morning. And moreover, Rebecca, I think I
have arranged matters so that hereafter I can
lunch at home on Tuesdays, in which case I wish
the child at table with me ; and yourself, of course,
to attend her. I have been for some time sorry
thr.t my hour for dining on Sundays made it in-
convenient for the child to be with me. I want
her to learn early to conduct herself properly at
table. Ypu may plan, if you please, to serve her

;! ,■ t

*• WANTED."

liiil

" !|

i i!i

i ii !iii

J !

hW:

lunch with mine on Tuesdays hereafter. If I am
detained later than one o'clock you and she may
lunch without waiting for me ; but I shall try to
be present. That is all."

He stepped aside courteously enough, to let
her pass, but Rebecca went upstairs disliking
liiin more than ever, and with a feeling of utter
rcl'cllion at her lot.

"To be dismissed like a common Irish ser-
v;iiit ! " she exclaimed in a fume, and then laughed
at her own folly. She was not Irish, it is true,
hut had she not deliberately chosen the place of
a servant ? Why should she complain at being
treated like one }

" I don't," she said indignantly, answering her
own thought. " I do not want him to treat me
in any other way ; but — well, I detest him, and
that is all there is about it. So I must needs
attend the great man even to the church, and
once a week at table. I wonder if I am to stand
behind Lilian's chair while she plays with her
luncheon } He did not condescend to say whether
I might eat a bite at the same time, or not. A
* portion of the afternoon * will be enough for the
mother to hava her child. Will it, indeed ? I
wonder who is the better judge of that, you or
the mother.' Oh ! that man."

All things considered, Rebecca Meredith cer-
tainly needed the help of the church service or
of something else. Perhaps it is time for a little

r:)()R v.vi'.r.iiw.

explanation as to what the church wns to h'.r.
When she was a schoolgirl of Hftccn, liiere wis a
time of special interest in the church to which
her parents belonged, and Rebecca, in common
with nearly a score of others of about her own
age, was received into it a member.

Looking back upon the experience, Rebecca
remembered that she had considered it the right
and proper thing to do. " Of course I am a
Christian," she had assured herself- " Father
and mother are, and they brought me up to be.
I read in the Bible every day, and I say my
prayers, nearly always. As for trying to please
Jesus, every decent person does that. I am sure
I did right in answering yes to that question.
Father is an officer in the church ; it would seem
strange not to have his daughter join, when so
many others are doing so. Besides, why should
I not } There is nothing to be done because of
it that I am afraid of. And I certainly would
not like to have Fred Pierson a member of the
church, and me outside." So she had joined.

Up to the time of her leaving home, she had
lived what it is fair to call an exemplary Christian
life. Religion was lived in her father's house,
but not much spoken about. Her father, you will
remember, was a very busy man. His life was,
so far as he knew how to order it. Christlike. He
certainly went about doing all the good he could.
No sick person, however poor, sent for him in

'I ( »

" WAN'TF.n."

¥'

m Hi!

■111!

vain. Indeccl, he went to many who were afraid
to send for him, and cared for them as sl<illfully
as though he had believed they could ever j)ay
him in money. No family in need of food or
clothing, was ever brought to his notice, that he
diti not freely and cheerfully do his share to i\-
lieve. All these things were a matter of course.
He rarely had time at home, even for family wor-
ship. This service had been frequently attempted,
but so constantly was "father" called for in the
midst of it, that at last the attemr)t was aban-
doned ; and the blessing asked at table when the
busy physician could spend time to eat his meals
regularly, was the only way in which religion
showed itself in words. Oh ! sentences like these
were often on his lips : " We will do thus and so
because it is right," or "That would be wrong,
my boy, so we will not even think of it."-

Hut these things were, Rebecca believed, a mat-
ter of course to any upright man. As for her
mother, she was a sweet, timid woman ; strong to
do for others, and steadily doing ; strong to suffer
for others if there had been need, but brought up
to hide her tender thoughts of Jesus Christ and
her loyal love for him, deep in her heart as a
thing too sacred to be spoken of. When Rebecca
united with the church she had kissed her witli
very peculiar tenderness, and said, " Dear dauuh-
tcv, no act of yours coulil have c'ven me greater
joy ; I knew you would come." But ufier that,

POOK RUBECCA.

intimate as tbcy were, associated as they were in
many kindly offices for the sick and the poor, one
as they wore in thought on all im[X)rtant subjects,
tiicy hud not been in the habit of speaking plainly
to each other of their love for Christ, and their
joy in his service.

The boys had been different — more outspoken.
"Rebic," her brother in India, had said to her
once, "does your religion make you happy all the
time? Make 30U want to do, and be, and go, for
Christ's sake? " She had looked at him wondcr-
ingly, and queried within herself whether all boys
were so impulsive and outspoken. No, they were
not ; for Fred Piei 'on never said anything of that
kind to her. Afterwards she decided, or rather,
without thinking about it carefully enough to
dignify the process with the use of the word
"decision," she had glided into the belief that it
was because Hervey was going to be a missionary
that he was different from others — from her, for
instance. Then, when the younger brother de-
velo{)ed, less of the impulsive, perhaps, but even
more of the strong, outspoken power of Christian-
ity, it was ail so fully explained by the fact that
he went to Heaven so soon. Of course those who
were being gotten ready for that country were —
well — <1 iff e rent.

After Ailee came, and the mother went away,
Rebecca naturally <ir<)pjieJ out of church vvoik
of cvLvy sort. Up to ihut timj she had been a

9mm

W ANTI.l).

ivii 1

II!' 17.

II 1' ir

.' 1

teacher in the Sabbath-school, but never a very
happy one. Her sciiolars were of the class who
would not study their lessons, would not be regu*
lar in attendance, and one by one were always
droppiii}^ out, too lar;;e lo come any more. She
was *;lad to have an excuse lor ;^i\ ing up the effort.
*' I was not intended foi^ a teacher," she wrote
to Ilervev in India. iUit be had clothed Ids far-
away sister in the trail) of all that was sweet and
lovely, and believetl that ^ho had L,ivrn up her
work in the church only because she was called to
service in the home, Allir AiUe graduated into
that higher department, and Rebecca's heart and
hands were idle, siie nii<^lit have gone back into
Sabbath -school ; but she shrank from that, and
from every form of Christian work. Since her
ct)ming to the city she had wandered about from
church to church, known of nobody, spoken to by
none ; never appearing for two successive Sab-
baths in the same place, so that by chance some-
body could get interested in her ; and at last, since
her coming to Mr. McKenzie's, she had even given
up so much Christian habit as that way of living
indicates. She had scarcely been to church at all.
She attributed this to Mr. McKenzie's "remiss-
ness," but she knew very well that she had had
abundant opportunity to ask him if there was any
objection to her going to evening service, and that
the housekeeper had said repeatedly, "Why, in
the name of sense, don't you go to church of an

I'oou la.uiccA.

evening? The other nurses always did. There
is nothing in life to hinder after Miss Lilian is
asleep." Rebecca had made various answers ; but
she knew deep in her heart that she had lost all
desire to go to church. Not that she did not still
call herself a Christian ; she would have been
shocked to have believed otherwise. She still
quite often read verses in her Bible, and — when
not too much hurried, or too weary — dropped on
her knees for a moment before lying down for the
night; but as for having the sort of religion which
makes "people happy all the time," as Hervey
had expressed it, she knew nothing about it, and
believed that only missionaries, and those who
went early to Heaven, and a few — a very few —
ministers had any such sort.

All things considered, it was with very mixed
feelings that she made ready, on the Sunday morn-
ing in question, to obey Mr. McKenzie's orders.
Perhaps indignation at the idea of being obliged
to submit to orders was predominant.

She jerked her gloves on angrily as she thought
of it, and even spoke sharply to Lilian, who, in
a charming costume of white wool and fur, was
fluttering about, happy in the thought of going
anywhere.

Rebecca's dress was entirely appropriate and
becoming. She had gone out from her father's
house very well supplied with clothes, and her
ability to re-make them herself had stood her in

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good stead, so that now her dress of fine blacV
cloth, made severely plain, but with minute atten-
tion to details, became her well. So did the black
felt bonnet, with its three stylish plumes, which
she had herself dressed over. She was all in
black, as was her custom — not that she had worn
mourning for her mother or for Ailee ; her father
had not approved of that fashion ; but she had
chosen, ever since, to have her dresses always
black. The color suited her, was the only expla-
nation she gave, and so, indeed, it did.

There were embarrassments connected with this
church-going.

"Well, of all things!" the housekeeper said,
when she heard the news. "This is a new depart-
ure. Lilian going to church } My ! I pity you.
Why, the little mouse won't sit still two minutes
at home. But then, to be sure, she minds her
father — most people do. Well, I'm glad you are
going to church ; it's decent, anyhow, and it won't
hurt Lilian to begin. But it is kind of uncom-
fortable to go and sit all alone in the pew with
him, isn't it } I might have left my church for
one Sunday, and gone along, if he had asked me."

It was evident that the housekeeper felt slightly
injured. So did Rebecca ; she had answered coldly
that she presumed the pew was large enough to
hold both Mr. McKenzie and herself. Then she
had been vexed to think that she had allowed her-
self to say even so much, and had gone out into

POOR KF.nFCCA.

tbo hall with heightened color, only to meet the
cli..nil)i. riiKiiil, wiio swept her from head to foot
w.lli a siaie, a.il said, " O, my ! ain't we scrump-
tii.n.-i? We'll hold our head six inches higher to
pav l<»r this, and it ain't necessary at all ; it is
always too hi;^h for comfort. Good luck to you ;
I woiiKhi't be in your shoes for a ten-dollar gold
])im\ I'm not so fond of his lordship that I'd
Ic wiliiiii; to j;o to church with him. It is bad
( i()ii:,h to meet him in tlie hall and be frowned at
f(ir sonicthin • or other that vou never did."

r>ut the most trying exi)erience had been in
Mrs. McKenzic's room.

'•And you are really going to church with Mr.
McKenzic } My dcai, you are a favorite, depend
up;)n it ; he never (\'x\ so much as that even for
poor Helen. 1 ilo hope it will List; but our
mournful experience has been that jieople who
i;et into his favor in this way suddenly get out,
after a very little time, and leave us. Don't they,
Lilian.^"

For answer, the child, who did not understand
the question, laid her lovely golden-crowned head
against Rebecca's hand and said sweetly, *' My
Rehic ; Lilian loves her." Of her own sweet will
the child had adopted the pet name which her
brother Hervey had on rare occasions called her.
It touched Rebecca; she was not used to pet
names.

" Yes," said Mrs. McKenzie, "your Rebie ; love

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WANITD

licT hard, Lilian, while you can. I hope you may
be able to keep lioid of her."

And Rebecca had gone away with her cheeks
buriiinj^", and a feeling that this was a hateful
vvoild; and the most disagreeable person in it
was Mr. Dean McKenzie.

Whether Lilian was awed into quiet by ihe
unwonted sights and sounds, or whether she u; s
always quiet when with her father, Rebecca diil
not know. Certain it was that the child sat qui;.'
still, with her father's arm around her, and lur
head resting against him, until, when the servicj
was half over, the lids drooped over her sweet, blue
eyes, and she dropped her head .«till lower, and
was tenderly gatheied to his aims, where she slept
quietly until the roll of t'lie org:in awakened her.

"She is a capital little church-goer," said Dr.
Carter, coming down trom tiie pidpit to greet the
leading man in his church. " I am afraid my
Nannie would have climbed over the back of the
pew several times, before this ; Nannie is a sad
little tomboy. How do you manage, Mr. McKen-
zie, to have such a bit of ladvhood at this age.'"
Then, without waiting for reply, "I hope Mrs.
McKenzie is as well as usual to-day } And tliis
is.^" — he was holding out his hand to Rebecc; ,
and looking inquiringly at Mr. ]\IcKer.z;e.

"The child's nurse," sai I limt ,L'fiuK man, r','1
before he coulil add anvthin-- fx • n v. ir '■(• ji .d .so
designed, Rebecca spa, eJ hi..i .i.

I 1 VIV.< L> . <.i

POOR REBECCA.

" I am Rebecca Meredith," she said gravely.

" Ah ! thank you. I am glad to see you in
church. We hope you and the little lady will
become good church people. There is nothing
like beginning early, Mr. McKenzie ; I wish your
good example might be followed by others of my
flock."

Then Rebecca got out of the seat, and hurried
down the aisle, and felt that she hated it all ; and
would never come to church again. She would
leave Mr. McKenzie's service at once if this were
made a part of her regular duties. He had no
right to force her to go to his hateful church, and
be stared at, and patronized by the minister, and
ignored by the people. For nobody else spoke to
Rebecca. As for the sermon, she had not heard
it. The text had been enough for her. "Redeem-
ing the time, because the days are evil."

Had she, then, gotten her message straight
from the word of God } Nay, she had let it float
her on the current of memory back into her past.
She was a girl again, and Fred Pierson and she
were in church together. He had been gone for
weeks, and was only home on a short vacation.
The minister had announced his text, •' Redeming
the time," and Fred had presently secured her
hymn-book and written on the fly-leaf, " Will you
go with me this afternoon for a long tramp ? We
must ' redeem the time,' you know ; I have but a
day or two." Then, in memory, she had taken that

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tramp over again ; her last one, as it proved, with
Fred Pierson. The day had been lovely, and Fred
had been — But what was the use in going over
it ? Was it possible that she still mourned for
him ? She scorned the thought ! What she
mourned was her lost girlhood, and her lost faith
in human nature, and her mother, and her home.
Poor Rebecca !

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CHAPTER IX.

VITAL QUESTIONS.

THE weeks which followed were filled with
embarrassments and annoyances for Re-
becca. To begin with, she hated those Tuesday
lunches. It might have been difficult to have
explained why, only she felt out of place and un-
comfortable. Mr. McKenzie always acknowledged
her presence by the gravest of bows, but he ad-
dressed no word to her other than was necessary.

"Be seated," he had said on that first Tuesday,
Rebecca, after considering the matter, had resolved
to stand behind Lilian's chair, and give her exclu-
sive attention ; " I thought I made it plain that
you and Lilian were to lunch together. That is
your habit, is it not ? Very well, do not alter it."

So Rebecca, with burning cheeks, had seated
herself beside Lilian, and John had waited on her
with a supercilious air, and a hateful smile lurking
on his face whenever he was out ot the range of
Mr. McKenzie's eyes.

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Hut Lilian and her father had a thorou<;hly good
tinivj. She was bubbling- over with dehjj^ht, and
her little toni;ne ))rattled continually. She gave
fully as much attention to Rebecca as she did to her
father; whether he liked it or not he gave no out-
ward sign. He indulged her continually; yet cl*.-
ferred to Rebecca as to hovv she should be served ;
and when the child begged, despite Rebecca's
protest, for a certain dainty, he said firmly, " Lilian
is to obey exactly what her nurse says;" which
ended the matter.

" Lilian always obeys her father," the house-
keeper had said ; and by inference she had implied
that she obeyed no one else very well ; which was
true enough until Rebecca's coming. She, from
the very first, had exacted implicit obedience. So
when the father uttered his admonition, the chilil
replied, gravely, " Lilian always does ; Rebie makes
her."

*' Of course," said the father ; it was his nearest
approach to conversation with Rebecca.

That young woman chafed much over the pr(>s-
pective Sundays. It still did not seeni possible to
her to sit in one end of that pew, with Lilian and
her father at the other, and be commented on, and
pointed out as "the child's nurse."

*' I wouldn't do it," said the housekeeper, sym-
pathetically. " He doesn't own you, body and
soul, because you are his little idol's nurse ; and it
must be awfjal disagreeable to sit perked up there;

VITAL QUESTIONS.

103

you don't look as though you had been used to it.
How come you to go out to service, anyway.'"
Finding that she was not answered, she continued :
"Folks will talk about the silliest things; they
talked just awful about Helen Harvey, and she
never went to church with him in the world.
Young women has got to take care of their char-
acter. I'd be willing to go to his church, I s'pose,
if there was any need. He ought to think how
things look."

"What utter nonsense!" exclaimed Rebecca
impatiently, goaded to speak, though she had re-
solved against it. " What in the world could peo-
ple find to talk about, in the fact that a man takes
his ov.n child to church with him and directs her
nurse to be at hand in case the child wearies him.?
If your friends can make capital out of such a
commonplace as that, they are welcome to do so."

"Oh! well, now," said Mrs. Barnett, drawing
herself up in all the dignity of her eleven years of
housekeeping for the McKenzies, "there is no
need to go off like a lucifer match. You don't
look like no child's nurse, now that's a fact, and I
siipi)ose you know it. Whether you believe it or
not, folks will talk ; they can make stories out of
smaller things than this ; and they ain't no friends
of mine, either, that do it. My friends are as re-
spectable as any of yours, and I don't see any call
on your part to fling out at a respectable woman
in this way, just because she thought it best to

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WANTr.D.

p^ive you n friendly ^var!^^!1^.^ If yon like the tn!k,
why, go ahead ; there'll bo nobmiy hanr.cd hut
voii'self."

Then Rebecea went awny humiliated. Why
could she not have received the hcMiest woman'.
Well-intentioned word, and had her for a friend,
instead of makin2: her into an cnemv? What nas
the matter with her in these days? She had not
been wont to be so sensitive and disagreeable,
Hut she went to chureii no in<Te. Whether the
housekeeper went to headquarters with her
••friendly hint," and w ts better reeei\'ed, or what-
ever was the reason, i\Ir. MelCcnzie said to her
the next Sabbath moriiini;-, when he waited in the
hall for that purpose, *" Hy the way, Rebecca, you
need not accompany Lilian to church unless y ui
choose. I shall want Iter ready to _i;r> with me ;it
the p.roper time; but I fmd th.it she is entirely
satisfied with my comjjany, and makes no trouble.
So if you prefer some other church, or prefer not
to 00 out, you are at liberty to make your choice."

To this Rebecca hnd bowed, and passed on.
She was relieved and anq;ry. What ri^ht had he
to dismiss her in this way from the church service.^

" That, at least, is not his property," she said to
herself, in bitter indi<;nation. •• IJut perhaps it is.
He has money enough, I suppose, to control the
church, and the pastor, ami everythin.2j. He need
not think I 'choore' to sit even in the same
church with him, to s ly notbin;.; of the same pew.

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VITAL QUESTIONS.

105

I hope I shall never darken its doors again. I
think ! will go nowhere. Perhaps I do not half
believe in church any more. Mrs. McKenzie will
be thankful for my company, if only to relieve her
from the surveillance of Mrs. Payne for awhile.
I am wanted there, at least."

So she stayed at home and nursed her wounded
pride, and Lilian went gleefully away with her
father, albeit she looked back regretfully to say,
"Lilian wants her Rebie, too." She was very
sweet. Rebecca could not persuade herself to
seek work elsewhere and leave the loving little
creature. Moreover, Mrs. McKenzie wanted her.
In proportion as her dislike for the husband in-
creased, she gave loving ministry to the one whom
she now unhesitatingly in lier thoughts called the
neglected wife.

Meantime, Dr. Carter did not entirely forget
his new acquaintance. Rebecca waited one after-
noor in the library, for the coming of its owner ;
her instructions being to bring Lilian every day
at this hour for a visit with her father, but on
no account to leave her until he arrived. These
were Rebecca's pleasantest moments in the day ;
for her employer was often late, and while Lilian
frisked about the room she could get snatches at
rare and beautiful books. She was not therefore
prepared to be pleased with any sort of interrup-
tion, and looked her annoyance more than she
was aware when Dr. Carter was admitted.

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" I was to wait here for Mr. McKenzie," he
explained, then, recognizing her, " Ah ! this is "
— and he hesitated.

" Rebecca Meredith," she explained, once more.

"Yes, I remember ; I am glad to see you again.
I have missed you from the church."

Rebecca only half believed this, and did not
consider a reply necessary. But he continued :

" I do not think you have been there since that
first Sabbath I saw you ? Perhaps you were only
a visitor and worship regularly elsewhere ? "

Most earnestly did Rebecca wish she could say
that such was the case ; but he waited for an an-
swer and the disagreeiible truth must be spoken.

"I have not been to church since that morning."

" Indeed ; do your duties here hold you on the
Sabbath day .? "

What was it to him whether they did or not }
Her reply was a brief, dignified " No."

** Then, my friend, may we not hope to see you
at our church } We shall be very glad to wel-
come you, and make you feel at home."

Rebecca doubted it, but had the grace to say
" Thank you," albeit she did not accept the invi-
tation. Dr. Carter apparently noticed this ; evi-
dently he was not through with her. She glanced
nervously toward the door, and for the first ^me
in her life wished for the coming of Mr. McKenzie.
She did not understand why she should shrink
from being catechised by this man. He was cer>

VITAI.. orr.STIONS.

107

tainly kind, but either she imaj^ined it, or there
was in his manner an air of patnina.s;e such as lie
would not have used to a won^.an whom he con-
sidered as on the same social level witli himself.
He was rej^jardin.ijf her earnestly, and presently
s;ii(I. " I ho|)e you are a Christian ?"

She felt her face ;j:row red under his ;:;aze ; the
qiicstion was very disaL;ree:d-)le to iier. She felt
:hi' most unaccountahle aversion to answering;' it.
lie wailed, and there was an emharrassmi; silence.
At list she said, with increasin;^ coldness, if that
were possihle :

" I am a meirdier of the church,"

"Then, may I a^k \ou, is religion a vital thin;;;^
with vol) .^ Does it make your life happy?"

Now, indeed, she knew that her cheeks fairly
Mazed. The very question which her brother
Hervey had once asked, and its memory hatl been
.St vivid that she had often in the intervening years
found herself repeatini:? the words, sometimes wi.>t-
tiilly. But what right had this stranger to ask
her such a thinii: .'

As if he saw her thought, he added, after a mo-
ment, " I beg your pardon for the question, if it
.seems abrupt to you ; but I had a reason for ask-
ing it. A religion which fills the soul and radiates
in the life is sadly needed in this home, and I
wondered if you were not wanted of God to do a
work here which no one else seems able to do.
The head of this house needs to be helped to

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WANTED.

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understand what a source of strength there is in
Jesus Christ."

Always "the head of the house." If he had
not added those words Rebecca mi<;ht have been
touched. She had thought instantly of the poor
wife upstairs, and had felt her heart warm wiili
the thought that possibly God wanted her here to
comfort her. But Mr. McKenzie was another
matter. She decided not to understand the re-
mark. "I should be certainly ii^lad to be a help
and comfort to poor Mrs. McKenzie," she said,
letting a little touch of feeling into her voice.

"Ah! that indeed. She needs help; but I
confess I was thinking of the husband."

Now, despite her having been brought up a
lady, Rebecca's lip unmistakably curled. " I cnn
almost imagine his fine scorn at the idea of his
needing anything which poor human nature could
give," she said ; "it is even difificult to conceive of
him as willing to receive from the Lord himself."

Directly the words were out of her mouth slv
realized their exceeding impropriety, especial) v
when one remembered the relation she sustained
toward the man of whom she was speaking. Wliiit
had happened to her that she seemed to be losini;
her power of self-control ? What would this min-
ister think of her.' If he would only take up a
book, and let her alone. But he was regardinsj
her steadily, somewhat sorrowfully, perhaps as
one disappointed.

VITAL QUESTIONS.

109

■HI

"And yet," he said, with exceeding gravity,
"there is no one in all the list of my acquaintances
who I think needs the Divine upholding arm more
than Mr. McKenzie. He has heavy burdens to
bear. If he could come into daily contact with
one whose life would help him, simply by its daily
exhibition of the power of the indwelling Spirit, I
should be glad beyond measure."

" He is a good man," said Rebecca to herself,
and thinking of Dr. Carter — "a good, weak man.
He realizes how far from Christian living this rich
sheep of his flock is, and he would like to have
somebody drive him inside the fold. He would
not like to do it, lest the sheep should take offense,
and his own pasturage suffer thereby, but a little
shepherd cur like myself might be made useful,
perhaps, if he only knew how to set me at work.
I don't believe it. I should have to respect a man
more than I do His Honor before I could be helpful
to him, if I were ever so good nyself."

Aloud she said, with sudden resolution to speak
plainly, in the hope that this good, dull man's eyes
might be opened in another. direction, "It is im-
possible to avoid thinking that Mrs. McKenzie's
influence might be very helpful to her husband if
he would give her opportunity to exercise it. Is
she not a member of your church. Dr. Carter.'"

He shook his head. " No ; she never brought
a letter to my church. I do not know her very
well. I called upon her once, but she has not

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cared to see me a<;ain ; and as I :iin not her pas-
tor, I cannot intrude." He sighed as lie spoke,
and walked toward a window, looking sad and
disappointed.

And Rebecca went to rescue a book from Lilian's
hand, feeling vexed at both Dr. Carter and herself.
What had she accomplished. And what had he.'
" We are both bunglers!" she told herself impa-
tiently. " He wants me to influence Mr. McKen-
zie, by my angelic life, to become a different man;
and I want him to influence Mr. McKenzie to
treat his wife decently, ami we can neither of us
do the work we are called upon to do. I wish I
had held my tongue. He dt)es not understand
what I meant. I am not surprised that Mrs.
McKenzie did not care to receive his calls. He
is good, and stupid."

Then Mr. McKenzie caine, and she was free to
leave her charge ; for he took the child in his
arms and went forward with her to meet his pas-
tor. His greeting was very cordial ; they were
evidently on most friendly terms.

But though Rebecca was released from his pres-
ence, she could not so easily dismiss Dr. Carter's
questions from her thoughts. It was vain for her
to say that it was no concern of his whether or
not her religion made her happy. There was no
getting away from the thought that it ought to
concern herself. The minister had asked the
question, not because of any interest he had in

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hrr. 1 lit bocnusc hr wanted to set her at work for

luTs. Well, ()"i;lit she not to be at work? She
hid always (lospi.^cil drones in any line. What
WIS her relii;i(»n worth to her, or anybody else?
Su" had assured herselt that she was needed in
this house for M 'S. MeKen.de's sake. Could she
lul|) her in this higher departnien': of her beinjjj?
Was the i)ale, frail lady ready to take the awful
j )i!rney whieh she would surely have to, ere long.'

"She has failed since I have been here," thouj;ht
the suddenly conscience-stricken ojirl. " I do not
think it possible that she can be here very lon<]f,
and I have never said a word to her about the
other world, nor her pl.ms in view of it Yet she
likes to have me with her, and talks to me more
freely, apparently, than to anybody else. If I only
knew how, I mi.nht help her in this direction —
that is, if she needs help. Perhaps she is quite
at rest, but some way I do not think so. I wonder
if anybody is.' Why, yes, I know they arc. I
can never forget my own dear mother, nor my
hcautiful young brother. How happy they were
to oo ! It does not seem to me as though Mrs.
McKenzie could die as either of them did. O, me!

1 wish I were out of this house. I cannot help
her if she needs help in this ; and there is no one
to do it. I wonder why she never took he- Itttrr
to Dr. Carter's church } And her huslvm'. it
seems, docs not even pretend to be a Ciiristian ;
at least I am fflad of that."

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At this point, T paiis<* over mv work, nrd won-
der what vou hv this lime think of Rehccea. In
order to be strie; ly truriifnl eoneeininjjj her, I
am aware that I ii;;ve I'l.iee-l her before yon in
anythiniLj but a Hatterinij; li,j;lit. She is evidently
proud-spirited, censorious, suspicious and uniiapj^y.
The victim of an accusin;;' conscience, yet one
who is blindly shutting her eyes to the steps
which she might take to set herself at peace witli
her conscience. lUit, despite it all, I admire and
love Rebecca Meredith. I insist that there are
admirable an<l lovabh qualities in her make-up ;
and that also slie is a tyjiical young woman, repre-
senting the unrest which gnaws at many hearts,
and yet with more independence of character than
many young women possess. What she shall be-
come under the moulding process of life, remains
to be seen.

• Ill • Jw.*

CHAPTER X.

REBELLION.

^T^HE holiday season passed, and the wild
A March days were upon them, without any
material changes having come to the house at
1200 Carroll Place. Mrs. McKenzie still contin-
ued to live her life of steadily increasing invalid-
ism ; albeit she had days when she neither looked
nor acted like an invalid. On these occasions she
presided at the head of her table, received guests
and paid visits. Then suddenly would come upon
her one of her "poor turns," and for days together
she would see no one save the ever-present Mrs.
Payne.

A circumstance which steadily deepened Re-
becca Meredith's indignation was the fact that at
these times Mr. McKenzie saw extremely little of
his wife. Rebecca had been accustomed to seeing
her fat!,er, over-burdened physician though he
was, forget his own comfort entirely, in cases of
illness, and devote every leisure moment to his

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WANTED.

suffering wife or children. But Mr. McKenzie
apparently ate and slept, and went and came, quite
as usual ; sometimes contenting himself with an
inquiry as to his wife's state, without seeing her
at all. Rebecca could note that after each of
these attacks the poor lady was paler, weaker and
less interested in life than before, but she doubted
if the husband saw anything of the kind.

The Tuesday lunches continued to be eaten in
Mr. McKenzie's presence with more or less regu-
larity. He was frequently obliged to be absent ;
he was often late, but he evidently made an earn-
est effort to be home at the appointed time —
made more effort to accomplish this, which to
Rebecca was a most trivial thing, than he did to
spend an hour with his wife. Neither did the
girl's respect for Mrs. Payne increase as the days
passed. That good woman did not hesitate to
issue her orders with a peremptoriness which
amounted at times to sharpness.

"Don't go in there!" she said, with decided
emphasis to Rebecca, who stood one evening
knocking at her mistress's door. She was coniin;;
upstairs with a cup in her hand, and she quick-
ened her steps as if afraid that her order would
not be heeded.

Rebecca turned toward her with indignant as-
tonishment. "Of course not," she said iiaughtily,
•• unless I am invited to do so. I knocked, Mrs.
Payne, and have no intention of forcing an en-

;:s; i

REBELLION.

ti5

trance. Nancy told me this morning that Mrs.
McKenzie would like to see me when I could
make it convenient."

" Nancy doesn't know anything about it ; she
cannot attend to her own business, much less
to other people's. Mrs. McKenzie is much too
badly off to-night to see you or anybody else."
Whereupon she gently but firmly pushed past
Rebecca and let herself in, closing the door after
her as quickly as possible. Of course, the one
thus unceremoniously shut out was an<:jry. If
she had respected the husband, she would have
gone to him with the suspicion that he was de-
ceived in his wife's nurse, and the belief that the
wife was suffering at her hands. As it was, she
felt impotent, and chafed under it, and nursed her
indignation from hour to hour.

Into the comparative monotony of her life came,
one day, a startling break. It was Tuesday, and
lunchtime. Mr. McKenzie had not yet arrived,
and as his orders were peremptory that Lilian
should not be kept waiting for him, John was in
the act of serving her and her nurse when his
voice was heard in the hall. Presently he entered
the dining-room, accompanied by a gentleman.
Rebecca, as she raised her eyes for a moment
and dropped them as suddenly, felt every nerve
in her body quiver ; for although she had not
seen him in years, she recognized on the instant
her old .icquaintancL', Fred Picrson. And the

i'" *•

ii6

((

WANTED.

last time she saw him she had supposed herself
to be his intended wife ! In that moment there
had been an exchange of glances, and by the curi-
ous intuition which belongs to times of great ex-
citement, Rebecca knew that the man recognized
her.

" Be seated, Mr. Pierson," said his host. " John,
another cover here.> I try to lunch with my little
daughter on this day of the week, Mr. Pierson ; it
is the only day in which I can reach home for
luncheon ; truth to tell, I am often enough de-
prived of the privilege of even that, but I make it
when I can. This is my only little girl. How
is my darling to-day.^ Speak to the gentleman,
dear." For the "darling," regardless of the
stranger, or of her waiting lunch, had sprung for
her father's arms, and was being folded in them,
while he talked.

" You have children of your own, have you not,
Pierson ? '* his host continued. " No," the gentle-
man explained. He had had but one, and she
died within a few weeks of her mother ; yes, they
had both died abroad, and he had not been home
since, until a few weeks ago. After he was left
alone he had traveled — partly on business, and
partly for rest and recreation — and felt almost
like a stranger in his native land.

So her friend, Carrie Stuart, was dead ; and
she had had a little girl who had followed her
soon. Her old friend Carrie ! Rebecca listened

REBKLl.[ON.

1 17

like one in a dream ; anti, In truth, Iut scii.-%ibili-
iKs sociiicil to be (Ircaniiii^-. Mow siiatv^^o it
uui't Ijc lu l)c (icati I And, l)i.in.4 «kMd, tii i slie
I III; V ih ,t Ik r Inisliniul sat at tlii.-. tabic «)i)|)()jiie to
UJ)>.ti>i M^ re iiLn, .iMd looked at licr with keen,
tjih .Sii'Miui^ lyos, as Rcbrrca, without aj^ain rais-
11.:; Ih.i oam, k'lt ihjt he (hi? Carrie Stuart,
v/ho liau as<vu her that qiKslion: *'y\ieyouand
1\i\ I'lcsxii tn ;a^cd ? " and received the answer,
"1 siiupo.^c \\c arc." 'I'hcJi she had gone away
c.iid 1)1 cii ii.a.Mci >o him within the year. And
t ic tau hi. I n*.vcr txcnan^eil word or note since
tluit day. \\ h .t idvl >lic think about it now? All
t:iis ini c K^b^cca was out warily interested only
ia lah... , k'^'".4 I'*-'' -"^ pa jci i care as usual, and
Lih.ai'.-. numy wliinis rcqaired nnich care.

\\ ! y a j)civ .;sc sjdrii shoidd ha\e gotten hold
(it I'lic ihiid on thi> particular day will not be
kiuiwii ; wliellier she unconscious! v resented the
))icsci'ce <tt her father's guest, and was jealous of
the attention bestowed upon him, or whatever was
t!ie cause, the usually well-behaved little girl in-
teirii|tted conversation, and not only asked, but
iLiuioied, for the very things which she was not
t. li.vi'. I.I vain her father, to whom she ad-
(.r^^^.(| ad hcr |.clitior.s, gently refused, and
t : >eici t,i.n' r ; slie l;vcanie more emphatic in her
(ii 1.. , ( s, i.i.-.se 1 ii I' liulc ii tin s, and even iiickcd
h.'i Ut I II, ;i • a' u'licii WIS aivlhiMg but anL;elic.

ll \<..o tioi. k,..i>,<i ^Vv.>yv_^v.a 1. i .. V I .JvJr>cd With a iuW-

Wf.

lift

Ii8

" WANTED."

toned but very distinct "Lilian !" that the child
paused, as though astonished at herself, and
returned for a few minutes to ordinary behavior.

She fancied that the father's face flushed, but
whether with annoyance at the child, or at her,
for daring to show her superior authority, Rebecca
could not be sure. Indeed, she was surprised that
her appeal to Lilian had had any weight ; for
never before had the little girl presumed to act
contrary to her father's slightest hint, so that
rebellion was all that could nave been expected of
her. But the habit of obeying Rebecca had be-
come so strong that it asserted itself, and order
was restored — not, however, to last. Just as they
were toying over their fruits, and Rebecca was
meditating whether she should ask if she mi<rht
retire with her charge, it suited Lilian to reach for-
ward a naughty hand and demand another orange.

"No," said Mr. McKenzie gently, "Lilian must
not have another orange to-day ; she has eaten
fruit enough."

"Yes," said Lilian perversely; "Lilian must;
Lilir-i will."

"My child," said Mr. McKenzie, in genuine as-
tonishment, "take your hand away from the fruit
dish at once, and tell papa you are sorry for
speaking such a naughty word."

But the "child" instead burst into a loud, angry
scream, and kicked her feet against the table with
such force as to endanger her own chair.

i!li:,i

REBELLION.

119

" Rebecca," said Mr. McKenzie, his face grow-
ing pale, but losing not one whit of his perfect
self-control, " be so good as to take L'lian to her
room ; I will see her before I go out again."

So Rebecca bore the disgraced baby away, she
resisting with all her might, and letting her pierc-
ing shrieks resound through the hall to such pur-
pose that the door of Mrs. McKenzie's room
opened, and Mrs. Payne's distressed face appeared.

" What on earth is the matter ? " she asked.
"Her mother thinks the child is being killed.
She had just dropped asleep after an awfu) hour."

•' I am sorry," said Rebecca, nearly breathless ;
"I cannot think what is the matter with Lilian.
Her father had to send her from the table."

" Her father ! " screamed Mrs. McKenzie. " Did
she disobey him ? Oh ! my poor, poor baby ; he
will kill her! Bring her to me — bring her this
instant, I say ! I will have her ! "

Mrs. Payne, with a look of alarm, suddenly re-
treated, closing the door after her, leaving Rebecca
so much startled over this new development as to
forget for the moment her own embarrassment.
Had Mr. McKenzie, then, despite his apparent
self-control, an ungovernable temper, which he
wreaked on any person who dared to disobey him ?
What else could such an outburst from the sick
mother mem } No other explanation could be
given to a cry so hitter, evi k'ntly vvrun^^ from her
heart. " Oh ! he will kill her." Perhaps she knew

l::

120

i«

WANTED.

■■!;■■

!' ;■■
' ( ■

'i '■,

i "■
/ -V:

i ;

! ■
1 .,

ill

too well, through her boy Carroll's experience,
how hard he could be where his imperious will
was thwarted. As she struggled up to the next
landing with her rebellious charge, Rebecca re-
solved to protect Lilian even at the risk of offend-
ing her employer. If she could but get the child
out of the house for her afternoon walk before he
came upstairs ! Acting upon this thought, she
moved about the rooms in breathless haste, while
Lilian, her momentary passion having spent itself,
locked on interestedly. The little one was evi-
dently so completely a baby still that she did
not apprehend dire consequences to follow her
naughtiness.

" Lilian going to wide } " she asked, in her usual
animated voice.

" No; Lilian is going to walk with Rebie. Come
here and let me put on a fresh dress, then we will
go right away for a long walk."

'•papa, too.'" asked Lilian serenely, as she
came at once and submitted with lamblike meek-
ness to the process of robing, which she hated.

" No, indeed ! " Rebecca answered, with energy,
" papa is not going — we are going to run away
alone, you and I."

*' Lilian wants papa, too," said the child, with
grieved lip. She was accustomed to a half-hour
with him immediately after those lunches which
she enjoyed, and lier nurse despised.

" I'oor baby ! " said Rebecca, her heart swell-

RF.nKLI.lON'.

121

inj^, "you wouldn't want him if — " She left
her sentence unfinished, even in her unreasoning
fear rcmoniberinj;- that she was s])c:ikiiii; of the
child's father and must guard her words with
care. There was no time for more words. Mr.
McKenzie's voice was heard in the hall giving a
direction to Nancy, then he knocked at the nur-
sery door. A wild impulse to seize Lilian and
escape came to Rebecca, but her judgment as-
sured her of the folly of this, so she contented
herself with seating the little girl in the great
easy-chair and bidding her somewhat sharply to
sit quite still until she told her to come.

Then she went forward and opened the door.

" Let me have Lilian, if you please," Mr.
McKenzie said, in his usual tone. "I will take
her with me to the library for a few moments, and
ring when I am through with her. Come, Lilian."

The child sat perfectly still, and Rebecca spoke
with nervous eagerness : " I have her nearly ready
to walk. She is too warmly dressed for the house,
and I promised I would take her out at once."

"She can gp in a very few moments. I will
not detain you long. Did you not understand me
to say that I would see her before I went out ?
Come, Lilian/'

"Rebie said 'not stir,'" explained the child,
who evidently meant to be very good, perhaps to
atone for her recent unusual exhibition ; but she
added, with marked emphasis, " Lilian wants to."

I 22

•* WANTKIJ."

t li

Mr. McKenzic went forward with a quick step,
and lifted the little one in his arms ; then, turn-
ing to Rebecca, he said, with all his ordinary
courtesy, but with great firmness, " I desire my
daughter to obey you in all things, and have so
counseled her. But I shall have to ask you to
hrcp steadily before her the fact that her father's
w\\ is always first." Then, apparently for the
fiist time, noticing the peculiar mingling of in-
di.;nation and alarm on the nurse's face, he added,
in a tone of surprise, " What is the matter ? "

•' She is only a baby," said Rebecca, in intense
excitement, which she tried in vain not to show;
••so entirely a baby that she has already forgotten
that she was naughty. I will see that such an
annoyance does not occur again, if you will leave
her to me."

His only reply was the grave question, "Is it
possible, Rebecca, that you are afraid to trust the
baby with her father } " Then he went away
with the child in his arms.

Left to herself, Rebecca tramped up and down
the room, like a caged lioness robbed of her young.
The girl's fevered imagination had by this time
planned a series of horrible experiences for her
darling. It was not that she actually feared what
he would call cruelty at the father's hand ; but
wh:>t (HI a strong, cold man know about corject-
iMg a littk' chiKI ,!* Had not the mother's outcry
sh'jvvn Lut tco plainly what she thought of his

■m

uri'ii.i i(>\.

1^3

wisdom in this direction ? Why diJ he not attend
to his business, and leave Lilian to her, who knew
how to deal with her, and who never had any
troiihle ?

"If he had let her alone at table," the nnGjry
nurse told herself, "I could have controlled
her in a moment. Hnt his important self must
be considered before all other interests. lie is
so afraid that somebody or something will come
before his great, awfid ' will,' that I am even
ordered to 'keep it always first.' I shall do as I
please,"

Having reached this point, it occurred to her
that it would be well for her to go within hearing
of the library bell. The back parlor was the
place where she often waited for her charge, and
thither she betook herself ; the immediate excite-
ment of the hour having made her forget, for the
time being, that there was probably a guest in
the house.

The instant she set foot in the parlor she
regretted her heedlessness ; for there, standing
near the piano, in the precise attitude in which
he had waited for her a hundred times in her
father's house, was Fred Pierson. He was look-
ing toward the door in a listening attitude, quite
as though he had heard and recognized her foot-
steps; and this, too, was natural. She stepped
toward the hall the moment she saw him, but it
was too late. He advanced swiftly, and, if she

i i
J

124

'• WANTED."

Ill !|l

did not wish to let the chambermaid, who seemed
always vvitiiin hearing;, be a witness to what he
had 10 sav, she must step back nj;ain. Noi in
liino, however, for the chamberniaiii heard liis
first word :

"Rebecca! for Heaven's sake, what does this
mean ? "

CHAPTER XL

UNREST.

WHAT rij^ht had Fred Pierson to address her
in that manner? Had he not forfeited
the right to address her at all ? She chose to mis-
understand him. She would answer him in the
capacity of nurse for Mr. McKenzie's child.

" It was a mere freak of babyhood, sir," she
said. *' Nothing which need cause you or her
father a moment's anxiety. All children have
their perverse moments ; she has fewer of them
than most. I am waiting for her now, but I will
not interrupt you." And she turned to leave the
room.

He made a gesture of impatience, one which
had always belonged to him, and came nearer.

" Rebecca, what on earth do I care for the cry-
ing of a child? You know I do" not mean that.
You must know that I have entirely different
subjects to talk with you about. I came here in
search of you, for the sole purjiose of talking to

125

126

WANT LI).

:i ^:i!

:i ::^'!i

you about matters vital to us both ? I came
directly from your father's house, and was directed
here. I found that McKenzie was an old business
acquaintance, and when he invited me to lunch, I
thought to take you unawares, and judge for myscif
what changes the years had brought ; but I did
Jtot, anti do not understand. Vour father said you
were l^oarding here ; I thoiiglit they were friends,
and you were studyiiig niu.^iic, or art, or some-
tldng. I asked no qui'stioiis, preferring to liear
of tlie past from you ; but " —

Even in her anxiety auvl annoyance, Rebecca
could not help smiling.

" You had not expected the past to bring such
changes ? I understand. Hut you see it has ; I
am here in the capacity of child's nurse; doiii!;
honest work, and getting honest wages. I be-
lieved it to be far better than to burden my father
with the care of me. That is all of my story
which could interest you, Mr. Pierson ; and as you
are Mr. McKenzie's guest, and I his hired servant,
uidess there is something I can do for your com-
fort, you will, of course, excuse me."

But he held out a detaining hand. " Rebecca,
you will drive me wild ! Am I to blame for not
understanding what necessities may have been
upon you .-* I found your father's home just as
usual, and T confess 'o lu-ing astonished and be-
wildered. But do you nor believe me when I say
that I came in search ot you } I have been away

VNKKST.

127

from the country for years ; I have known nothing
about my friends, but I have not forgotten. Is it
possible that you can have forgotten the past ?
We were friends once."

"Yes," she said, ahnost mechanically; his voice
sounded so natural, his very impetuosity was as it
usjd to be ; she seemed carried back years and
years. ** Yes ; we were friends once, that is true;
but the years have brought changes."

"Some friendships never change — -mine do not.
0, Rebecca ! what do you think it is to me to be
met in this way ! I have missed you so sorely ; I
have longed for you so. I have looked forward
hungrily to this hour." There was actual reproach
in his voice.

She roused herself to cold dignity. " Mr. Pier-
son, you quite forget. The changes which years
have brought cannot be bridged over by a single
sentence. I am Rebecca Meredith, nurse-girl —
not in uny society, and not meaning to be, and
nothing whatever to you. I shall have to ask you
to let me go to my work."

He sprang forward. " I will not," he said
angrily ; " you shall listen to me. Have I waited
all these terrible months for this } Rebecca, I tell
you I must see you. You are angry with me be-
cause of what has passed. I expected that ; but
there are things you do not know ; I can explain."

She interrupted his eager words, speaking with
cold dignity.

128

WANTED.

Ilt'ii

■I'll

■/■'i ■■'■■

r i'l' •■ ' '

■

' ,'' '

II f'

" You are mistaken ; there is nothing for you to
explain, and I do not care to go over any past —
there is no need. Mr. Pierson, I have duties to
attend to; you must allow me to pass."

" Rebecca, this is too absurd. * Mr. Pierson '
to me! Were we not promised to each other for
years } What do you mean by allowing me no
chance to explain ? Are you so cold and cruel as
that ? I tell you you know nothing about it. I
became involved in money difficulties ; I was not
to blame, but I was terribly unfortunate, and there
was — well, I suppose it was carelessness upon my
part, which would have made it hard for me to
have succeeded in a business way had it become
known. Mr. Stuart found out all about it, and he
was a hard man, and would have been hard with
me but for one thing — his daughter interceded;
smoothed everything over, and got me offered a
partnership in the business ; but it was offered on
the mistaken supposition that I was interested in
her. Do you not understand, and do you not see
how shut up I was to one line of action ? What
it was to me to act it out, I will not try to tell
you."

" I would not," said Rebecca, indignation get-
ting the better of her dignity. " So you married
your wife to save yourself from a business embar-
rassment, or from being blamed, and you consider
this an explanation to offer me .? Verily the years
have changed you, or else I was always deceived."

u to
it —
s to

son
r for
2 no
;1 as
:. I
; not
here
1 my
le to
:onie
id he
with
ided ;
•ed a
;d on
ed in
t see
^hat
) tell

'ill

1 get-
irried
mbar-
isider
years
ved."

"%*^*«iSIN\ »j'l^|S^\^t*«««33'^ ^B

I CALL IT INSULT," SHE SAID, HER EYES BLAZING.

UNREST.

129

firP

1, II

V <,

I ' . L .1)1.

He vvas regarding her earnestly, and now he
si)(»Ke with u sudden change of tone — the old
tciivicr tone which she remembered. "Rebecca,
1 am a wealthy man, and a lonely one. The years
have kft me desolate indeed. For the past few
months I have livc<i for the thought of seeing you
n;;ain. I have everything to offer you now, with

)f bi

be-

iiess compncations commg
twccn us. I will never ask any questions about
your peculiar position here, but will take you from
it the moment you give me leave, and place you
where you belong — at the head of society. I had
not meant to tell vou this under such circum-
stances, but 1 cannot seem to make you understand.
You ujiiy call it weakness, or what you will, but
my heart has always been true to you ; and " —

She interrupted hiiii again. ** I call it insult,"
she said, her eyes blazing. '* It is you who do not
understand. My posuion here is one which you
may report to all the world, if it pleases you to do
so; I am the hired servant of Mr. McKenzie, and
my business here is to care for his child. You
seem to desire me to understand that you bought
one wife for business reasons ; you may be able to
buy another, I do not know ; but certainly I can
assure you that I am not for sale — not even for
the sake of being placed at the 'head of society,'
could I for a moment think of professing to re-
spect you, even. And now, Mr. Pierson, I shall
i.iaist upon going to my work."

>(.«n1lj

130

" \vanti:d."

Ml s

Tiierc was no time to reply. The library bell
had not ru.ig-, but at that moment Mr. McKcnzic
appeared at the door, leading his little daughur
by the hand. He looked from his child's nurse to
his guest with the slightest possible uplift of eye-
brows, but spoke in his usual tone.

" Lilian is ready for her walk now, Rebecca.
You will not take her far, as the air is too cold ;
periiaps a drive afterward will atone for the shoit-
ness of the walk. I did not ring because I recog-
nized your voice, and decided to bring Lilian to
you."

As she escaped upstairs with her charge, Mr.
Pierson, having not vet recovered his ordinary
manner, said eagerly, "Miss Meredith is an oKI
friend of mine; it was an utter astonishment to
me to meet her here in this vv.iv."

" Indeed ! " said M.. McKenzie ; " I ditl not ob-
serve that you recognized her in the dining-room."

"I did not; I was utterly dumfounded, and
knew not how to act. Do you know who she is.' "

"Only that she is my daughter's nurse, and a
very faithful and reliable one."

" Nurse ! Why, man alive ! I tell you she is in
a false position. She is a lady; educated, refined,
everything that — "

" Excuse me," said his host, in the coldest tone.
" Let me explain to you that I did not seek the
young woman ; she sought the position, and fills
it well. Slie is not required in my house lo (io

UNREST.

131

anything disreputable in any way. Now, shall we
look over those papers before we go out ? "

As for Rebecca, she felt as though the blood
was almost forcing itself through her cheeks.
She felt insulted, humiliated, disgraced. How
did that man dare to stand before her and try to
buy her back to " society ?" and offer to say noth-
ing about the " position " in which he had found
her.^ As though the position were in itself de-
grading ! How did he dare talk about having
been true to her all these years, when he had
been the husband of another woman ! For the
first time in her life a feeling of pity for Carrie
Stuart, the dead wife to whom he had been always,
it seems, untrue, stole into her heart.

"And he insults mc by thinking that what he
has to say is an excuse for the way in which he
treated me. What an unutterable fool he must
think me. It is the first time in my life that I
have been insulted ! "

There was another thing which caused the angry
girl to bite her lips in pain and shame. What
must Mr. McKenzie have thought to have recog-
nized the voice of his nurse in conversation with
his guest, and to have found them standing as
they were, in evident excitement } It was of no
use for her to tell herself that she did not care
what he thought ; she knew it was not true. Her
good name had always been dear to her, and
had been shielded, as a matter of course, from

•

132

((

WANTED.

any suspicion of gossip. Now, how would it be ?
Leaving the master of the house out of the ques-
tion, how much had that ever-present chamber-
maid heard, and what could she make of the
words ? Altogether, Rebecca Meredith felt as
though the cruelties of life had shut down hard
about her.

"Lilian is good," said that small maiden very
gravely. There was not a trace of tears upon her
baby face ; there had certainly been no outcry
from the library ; preoccupied as she was, Rebecca
felt sure that she would have heard the baby voice.
There had been nothing which had ruffled her
childlike calm, but there was a curious little acces-
sion of dignity about the baby which enveloped
her sweetly, and made her face look almost an-
gelic as she repeated, apparently in an effort to
soothe her nurse, " Lilian is good."

" Are you, indeed ? " said Rebecca, nearly
smothering her with kisses. "I am glad; I am
glad that there is a single good person in this
great, hateful world ! "

" Papa is good, too," said Lilian.

" Oh ! is he ? *' There was a touch of vindic-
tiveness in this answer.

"Yes," said the child, with that quiet air of
assurance which some children have, that effectu-
ally cuts off all debate, and marks a foregone con-
clusion ; "and Lilian is never going to squeal any
more at luncheon, because it hurts papa."

UNKI'.ST.

133

In addition to all these outward irritations,
Rebecca was, during these tlays, haviiii; an in-
wuril cxpcrieuce which Hiie neither umlerstood
nor relished. Certain wt)i\Ls whicii Dr. Carter
had spoken to her during thiit conversation in the
library, together with certain sentences in her
brother Hervey's letters, hatl stirred within her
a sense of unrest and dissatisfaction. She had
always prided herself upon her sincerity ; yet, as
she thought of herself as a church member, she
confessed to her heart that her lip would curl in
scorn over any otner church member who lived
the inconsistent life which she did. She knew
she did nothing in the worli to prove her avowed
belief that Chiist and his cause were of first
importance ; she did not even attend church.

"You do not even real the l^ible, nor pray!"
said her a.vukened conscience to her distinctly, one
evening, when she was revolving these thoughts ;
and when she indignantly denied the charge, the
fairly well-educated conscience pressed it.

••No, you don't ; it is folly for you to call that
(lash through a chapter which you occasionally
give 'reading the Bible' ; and that form of words
which you hurry over when you are half asleep, or
thinking of something else, it is a disgrace to call
prayer. Honestly, now, when did you look into
the Bible with a view of finding even so much as
a verse there for you to order your life by } Or
when did you rise from your knees with a feeling

1:4

WAN'Tr.D.

VMd you had been communing with the Lord
Jesus Christ, and were thereby stronger for the
service whicii you meant to render him ? You
c.dl Fred Tierson a hypocrite, and a deceiver, and
scorn iiim in your heart ; do y»»u treat tlie Lord
himself any better, on the whole, than Fred Pier-
son has treated you ? "

Plain words these, to the honest woman who
had, without distinctly realizing it, gloried in her
thorough honesty of purpose and action. She
winced before their truth, and was miserable,
Gradually there grew up wiihin her heart a h.ilf-
defined purpose to have a new order of things.
Religion was certainly a great deal more to some
people than it was to her, and curtiiinly she needed
its help, if help could be gi\en.

She was isolated enough from society — or, for
that matter, from the world in any shape — to
claim all that religion could do for her. Not Her-
vey in India had given up more than she had.
You will note that she entirely ignoreil the tre-
mendous fact that Hervey had given up honvj and
all its privileges for Christ's sake, and she li ul
done so in order to get away from that which was
disagreeable to her. True, she told herself that
she was helping her father by earning her own
living ; but every one of his few letters empha-
sized the fact that he missed her, and would like
to have her at home.

otill, she quieted her questionings in this direc-

■r •

UNREST.

135

tion by dwelling on the thought that "Mrs. Mere-
dith " was all the home he needed, else why had
he sought her and brought her there ? Bu*' for
herself, she had nothing, and every day she felt
the need of something more than her life held.
So she sought for it diligently. She read many
chapters of the Bible each day; she spent a much
longer time on her knees than she had done in
years. She went occasionally to church — not to
Dr. Carter's ; even the hope of finding rest for
her tired soul would not have taken her there
again. She chose one equally grand — not on
account of its grandeur, but because it was on the
same well-lighted square, and she was not afraid
to go to it alone. But the service was as cold as
the marble of which the church was built, so
Rebecca's cold heart found no fire there.

Neither did she discover that the Bible reading
helped her in the least. Three chapters, five
chapters, even, one day, ten chapters — some of
them long — produced no result. As for the pray-
ing, she found it simply impossible to keep her
thoughts for ten consecutive seconds on the words
she was saying. When she awakened to the fact
that all her efforts were doing her no good, but
that she rather grew worse, something very like
indignation took possession of her mind. What
did people mean by saying that the " consolations
of religion " were sufficient to all human needs ?
She had heard the phrase hundreds of times.

1 iM I

13^

" U WTL.J.'*

I pi

''' I'l

ii! :

Wh.1t consolation h.ul she ever found in religion?
When one came sipiiirclv dnwii lo ihc qnu^th" ,
»vhat hat! she found in ii \vlii-.-h she coul I hiMR-^tlv
.s:iy to poor Mis. McKinzic w.irt snfTuiciit to Irl
her starved heart, and make up lor the absent son
ami indifferent huslxmd, and <;ive iier liope and
rest, in view of the coffin and the ^rave, which
were cominj; nearer to iier witli every pas.sini; day ?

Rei)ecca was honest with herself ; she knew
that while a v.igue desire to be helpful to Mt.s.
McKenzie had been the chief motive power which
had led her in quest of adilfcrent rdis^ious experi-
ence, she shrank more than ever from tryini; to
turn that lady's thon^'.its in ;niy such direction,
because she had nothing t > off r. More than one
letter she commenci'l to llervev, in ihe hope of
winninjjj from him some explanation tli it she coiiKl
understand ; but she tore tnem all up before they
reached completion ; wlien she laid bare her inmost
thought concerninij this matter it sounded so ut-
terly uidike the lanj^uajre which peo|)le were wont
to use in such connection, that she felt it would
simply shock her brother.

Occasionally she had moods in. which she would
resolve to give up every semblance of a reli.2:i<nis
life ; to cut herself hose from church and Bd)le,
and all pertainin.; to it. and center her heart on
Lilian, who <;rew h( U'lv ilearcr to her; but there
were obstacles in the wav of this deci.sion. In
tnc lir-t place, it was not ui) easy thiny; for a gid

UNREST.

137

religiously educated as she had been, with a
brother in India and a mother and brother in
Heaven, to say nothing of the little Ailee who
had gone there to wait for her — to cut loose from
all her moorings and drift ; she shivered when she
quietly thought of such a thing, and discovered
that she wanted to hold on to even the painted
badge labeled " Religion," which was all she had.
Moreover, her face darkened when she looked at
Lilian and thought of the fading mother, and
thought of the second mother who would with-
out doubt be set up in the home, and then Lilian
would be wrested from her.

Turn which way she would, life was a dreariness.
All this, you are to understand, was kept to her
most secret self. Outwardly Rebecca Meredith
was a quiet, self-sustained woman, who would not
impress anybody as having a hungry heart. I
wonder how many of the women and men we
meet in society, wearing a composed, even a satis-
fied, surface, are really slowly standing ?

i I

i k

♦i

^ J

CHAPTER XII.

TRUSTED.

MARCH had spent itself, and it was on one
of those balmy April days which are the
forerunners of real spring, that the next experience
of a startling character came to Rebecca. During
the weeks which had intervened since her en-
counter with Mr. Pierson, she had held herself
carefully from any place where she would be
likely to meet him. Twice she had sent down
word by Rogers, who had brought her a special
message, that she was not to be seen. She had
returned a ^ong, closely-written letter, in which
Mr. Pierson had repeated in detail the story which
he had told her in those few excited sentences in
the parlor, 'vith these words written on the margin :

" I '^tave read this. If it hurts you to have me say what is
Bimple truth, I am sorry, but it must be said. Your statement
only intensifies the fact that I have lost a friend, and can never
find him. Of course lam sorry, for I had not many friends, but
whec one loses respect for a person, all is lost.

"Rebecca Meredith."
138

TRUj^rrrD.

139

As for Mr. McKenzie, lie neither by word nor
sii;n indicated that he remembered to have sur-
prised his guest and servant talkinij together in
the parlor. There had been a little episode about
which she knew nothing. Mrs. Barnett, the liouse-
kceper, had come lo him with an important and
(iistressed face and these words on her hps : "[
(lon'i know whether it's my business, sir, but I
tnink maybe \ou (•ni;ht to know that there huve
been some queer goings-on with Rebecca."

Mr. McKenzie had wheeled abruj^tiy from the
pile of papt-rs be was ovei turning, and addressed
her anxiously: "What is it, Mrs Bamett? Has
;invthing ha|)|)ened to IJIian.''"

" O, no! " said the housekeeper, a trifle flurried.
'"Miss IJlian is all right, sir; but Rebecca —
Nai)cy saw her in the jiarlor talking with that
>t!ange gentleman you brought to lunch, and
being excited-like, and some queer words ))asse '
between them, when one considers who she is."

"Oh! is that all.'" Mr. McKenzie had said,
and turned back to his papers. Then, seeing that
she waited, expectant, he had added, " It is of no
consequence, Mrs. Rirnett ; if my guest was a
.i,^entleman, it is to be ho|)ed that he knew how to
treat a woman, no mUter where he found her ;
atid if Rebecca had anything to say to him. she
would naturally go to the parlor t'* say it. You
a'i(l I have nothinii whatever to do with the mirtcr.
As for Nancv, advise her not to stand about tiie

■H)

(fit

140

W \NTED.

»i

halls listening to conversations not intended for
her ears." Then he had absorbed himself entirely
with those papers, and Mrs. Barnett had under-
stood that she was dismissed, and had trotted away
muttering that Rebecca might meet the President
of the United States in the parlor, and run away
with him, after this, for all she would interfere.

Perhaps the day had something to do with the
unusually nervous and perverse spirit which had
Rebecca in possession. Those first spring davs
were full of vague memories connected with girl-
hood, and free-heartedness, and mother, and Her
vey. She and Hervey used to be fond of taking
long walks in search of the very first spring
flowers, or of any green and pretty thing which
would hint of the coming summer. She could
seem to smell the verv breath of the woods as
they were in those young days, and feel the breath
of the soft spring wind. She was very happy in
those days — never lonely at all. The thought of
them made her restless ; helped her to feel thp.t
she was at odds with life. In short, she was all
ready to be rasped, and she found something, early
in the morning, to rasp her.

She, too, overheard a conversation. Not that
she was, like Nancy, standing about in the halls
waiting for it. She had gone to Mrs. McKen-
zie's room in response to a summons from that
lady, and a moment afterwards Mr. McKenzic had
knocked.

TRUSTED.

141

"There is Deane," said his wife hastily, "and I
am not ready for company. Never mind, Rebecca,
step into my dressing-room. Mr. McKenzie will
not be here but a moment ; he never is."

Rebecca had obeyed orders, and was out of
sight before the lady invited her husband to enter.
Then, apparently, the girl in the dressing-room
had been forgotten. At first their conversation
was carried on in lov/ tones, and Rebecca, absorbed
in her own thoughts, gave no heed. But suddenly
Mrs. McKenzie's voice rose in earnest pleading.
" 0, Deane ! I beg of you let me do it ; I have not
asked you in a long time ; now I entreat you. If
I were able, I would go on my knees to you and
implore it."

Then her husband's voice, cold and stern.
"Cornelia, this is nonsense ! I shall have to avoid
coming in here at all if I am to be besieged in this
way; you know only too well that I cannot do
anything of the kind ; you must not ask me again."

Then came a low wail, almost like that of a
wounded animal.

" 0, Deane, Deane ! to think that you, who are
so kind to others, can be so cruel to me ; and I
am your wife, the mother of your children. And
I have tried so hard to please you. Deane, you
used to love me once ; let me beg you by the love
you once bore me — "

He interrupted her. " Cornelia, this is unbear-
able. I will not stay to listen to you. When you

14^

WAN III)

lir

are in a more rational mood I will speak to you
about what I came in to attend to."

A moment afterwards the door was closed with
decision, and, by the low sobbing which she heard,
Rebecca knew that the lady was alone. She felt
almost distracted by conflicting emotions. How
could a man so insult his wife? What was it the
poor lady wanted which his insufferable pride, or
indomitable will, could not grant ? On the other
hand, why had Mrs. McKenzie humiliated herself
and him by allowing a third person to be a listener
to such words ? She must have known that every
word could be distinctly heard ; the door was ajar,
and Rebecca had not felt at liberty to close it.
Perhaps Mrs. McKenzie, in the intensity of her
desire, had forgotten her presence. Such must
be the case. Now, what could she do.-* There
was no means of escape from the dressing-room
save by passing through the large room, and, judg-
ing Mrs. McKenzie by herself, the girl thought
that to appear at that moment would be but an
added humiliation. She stood still, her whole be-
ing athrob with indignant pity. But she had not
long to wait. A few moments, and Mrs. McKen-
zie called to her in a natural tone of voice, " Come
out, my dear ; Mr. McKenzie's calls are always
brief."

Rebecca came in haste, admiring the lady's re-
markable self-control, and relieved to find that she
looked much as usual, though perhaps there was a

Tiuj'-.Trn.

143

littV more color in lier tnco ; l)ut so far was she
f I, 111 tears that lur eyes looked almost unnaturally
b!i-l>t.
"Drop the window a little more," she said;

tb.

room seems unreasonably w

arm. These

forerunners of summer always oppress me. Isn't
it wonderful to think that it is April a<;ain ? I
(iiii not think I should be hero for another April."
llcr eyes remained bri:;ht, but those of her lis-
tener suddenly dimmed with tears. Nothing any
sadder than this poor lady's decline, which was
nppaiently unobserved by any but herself and her
child's nurse, had ever touchetl Rebecca's life.
The sympathy in her eyes seemed to unseal still
further the invalid's lips. "Do you know, Rebecca,
that I am dying, and nobody knows it .-• "

"Dear madam, why do you not speak plainly
to somebody — to your husband ? Is he not
dcceivavJ .^ "

"O, dejceived! Of course he is. I think he has
decided not to let himself know that I am failing;
ami he has such a resolute will that what he de-
cides to do, he does. There is no use in my try-
ing to explain anything to him. Did you not hear
some of the things he said this morning.'* lie
has made himself believe that T am tor) thoroii<j-hly
an invalid to know my own mind, or to be trussed
as to what would help me, and therifi-r^' it is his
duty to thwart me as he would a rel-ellidus chiid
who did not know what was for Ijer best good. I

144

•• WANTI I)."

will Icll you wh It vvouM lu'lp nio more than any*
thinj; — it I could li;ive ytui with me somelinies
insteati of tiiat v\eai viiii;" ?»irs. Pa\ne. Perhr.ps
you could compass il yoursiU". if you and Mrs.
Payne would exchange woik. Lilian is fond of
her, and it would be such a rest to me to have
your care. What if you should yourself speak lo
Mr. McKenzie about it?"

Rebecca winced visibly. "Dear madam," she
said earnestly, "nothinjx would give me greater
pleasure than to serve \ou in this, or aiiy other
way in my power, but aside from the fact that it
would setm to Mr. McKenzie a very improjicr
thing for me to dictate what my work should be,
I think — I beg your pardon for saying so — hut
it seems to me it would be almost an insult to you
for me to do so. I cannot understand why, if you
wish my services, you do not so direct, without
reference to anybody."

Mrs. McKenzie laughed lightly. "You are not
a married woman," she said significantly. " If you
were, vou would understand that a woman's dircc-
tions are those which her husband chooses to
have her give. Never mind, we will compass it
somehow."

Over which reply Rebecca grew only more ex-
asperated ; not with the fair invalid, but with the
man who had led her to suppose that all husbands
were tvrants. Did not she ktiow how courteouslv
her father had deferred to his v/ife's opinions, so

TRUSTED.

that her very wishes were a recognized law in the
household ?

All this prepared the girl for the afternoon's
experience.

Lilian had gone with her father for a drive, 3'id
Rebecca was at leisure. It was Mrs. Payne who
came to her with a troubled face. " Could you sit
with Mrs. McKenzie and let me lie down a bit ?
I was up the most of the night — she had a horrid
night — and I feel one of mv worst sick headaches
coming on. I don't have them often, I am thank-
ful to say, but I am afraid this will use me up
unless I get some rest."

Rebecca was entirely willing, and felt that the
woman's evident reluctance to leave her charge
was almost an insult ; so were the numerous
directipns which she received.

" Remember, now, that it won't be time for her
drops for hours yet ; I shall be up long before that.
Sometimes she gets a notion that she doesn't feel
so well, and ought to have them oftener, or some-
thing; if she docs, and fusses about it, you just
call me. You will remember not to give her the
medicine, won't you }**

"Of course," said Rebecca, in very short tones.
"If she desires a drink of water, I suppose I may
get it for her } " The question was intended to
be sarcastic in the extreme, but the sarcasm was
lost on the g09d woman.

" Why — I suppose so," she said slowly, her fore-

146

WANTED.

head wrinkled with apparently anxious thouj^ht ;
" she doesn't often ask for water, but that couldn't
do any harm. Goodness knows I wish I didn't
h ive to leave her, but I'm afraid I can't take care
of her to-night unless I do."

" I do not see any reason for your not leavin;;
her as long as you please," said Rebecca, who
thought the whole scene was intended to impress
her with the excellent care which was taken of
the invalid, and the immense importance of Mrs.
Payne's services. " I have cared for invalitls
before ; I have no fears but that I shall be able
to make her comfortable."

Mrs. McKenzie was almost gleeful. ** Isn't it
delightful that she is threatened with sick head-
ache ? poor old thing ! That sounds wicked,
doesn't it ? but I do get so tired of her. I knew
this morning that she was dreading an attack, but
I was careful not to hint anything of it to Mr.
McKenzie, he would have worried so ; he thinks
my life depends on having her hover over me. It
is unreasonable, isn't it, to get up such an aver-
sion toward a good, faithful woman ? It isn't very
deep, you know ; I simply want a change. Your
young, pleasant face rests me.',*

She was very talkative, and her eyes were
bright — unnaturally so Rebecca could not help
feeling. "There is a real hectic flush on her
cheeks," she told herself anxiously. '* I am sure
she has fever. If father were her physician, he

TRUSTED.

147

would think he must see her every day, at least,
and the doctor has not been here for three days.
Her husband will injure himself with anxiety for
her, I am afraid." The sarcasm and ill-humor
were all hidden, and Rebecca exerted herself to
the utmost to give her charge a pleasant hour.
At first she succeeded ; but presently it was evi-
dent that the lady was growing uncontrollably
nervous. She resisted all urgings to lie <lown
and rest. '*No, no!" she said, almost irritably;
" I am tired of the sight of that couch ; don't
coax me to it. No, indeed, I don't want you to
call Mrs. Payne ; I hope she will sleep until mid-
night at least. I'll tell you what I want, dear ;
my head aches. I do not often have headaches,
but this spring air has been too much for me. In
the secret compartment of my writing-desk is a
phial of soothing drops which I take sometimes
when these spring headaches begin. I lost the
key to my desk, and only found it this morning.
Give it to me, please, and let me have a glass of
water, and I will take a little ; they have a very
prompt effect, and I shall escape severe headache
thereby." •

Rebecca arose irresolutely. This was not her
regular medicine ; it was some soothing drops
wliich she took only occasionally for headache.
There certainly could be no harm in aiding her to
it, ('ospite what the nurse had said. The nurse
w.is treating her like a baby, which was the worst

148

" WANTED.

••

' i't' ak

possible thing for an invalid ; she had heard her
father say so.

" You are sure you ought co take it ? " she said
doubtfully, as she came with the glass of water,
having pushed the writing-desk within reach before
she rang for it.

Mrs. McKenzie laughed reassuringly. " Of
course, ray dear ; don't you begin to fidget ; I
am nearly worn out now with people who fidget.
Mrs. Payne thinks I am seven years old, and Mr.
McKenzie is almost as bad. I have taken these
drops for as many years as you are old, and know
all about them. It is a prescription made for me
by a dear old physician who knew what he was
doing."

Nevertheless, Rebecca was far from pleased
with its effect. Very soon after it, Mrs. McKen-
zie signified her willingness to lie down, and was
presently in so deep a sleep that it might have
been called a stupor. Her attendant hovered over
her, growing more and more disturbed at her
appearance, and more anxious as to the service
which she had performed. What if the poor lady
had chosen the wrong bottle, or forgotten the
amount ? Or what if, after long lying unused,
some chemical change had taken place in the
mixture which made it dangerous.^ She knew
there were such possibilities.

At last, finding her nervous fears deepening,
instead of being reasoned away, she could endure

, TRUSTKD.

149

it no longer, but wont in scrdi of Mis. I'as no.

'[..it ij )o." woman, aithoii-h her iicu.i was Itoiuul
ai) 'ii:: ^vich a na])k'.ii. a lu slie It'okcil ill eiioii,;!! lo
ii.v'j a niir.-»'j t>)i nersclf, was i.>\] l.ic tilci t \n d
1.1 > a • '!

' vV' I it i; it?" she askc i anxiously. "Isany-
tiii, aivHi.;? 1 hi I a tociin ; that tiicre wouKl
li;; ^ • a Ml ).>'. I lu V T leave her tiiat somcthin"^
II > -a'. Ill )i'c I lUiL 1 don't soc what could.
\V' I .[ .s tnj III ,ttv.:r.-* "

" 1 i » n>»L kiUfw iiiat nnylbinLC is," said Rebecca,
w 1 •. M mv inai .s'lic hvul L;()tlen away from her
(.111; J, tcit .soiry that siie havl yielded to what
u'.s i»'())il)ly nervousness; hut she is sleeping,
ciii iiu sLc|) i> s) heavy tiiat it worries me;
t 1 Tj u soiii thin; unnatuial ub(jUt her, but I do
IK : ka ) v how lo desci'ibj it " .

\V'iKMMi[»on Mrs. Payne altered an exclamation
w i.ja was uMintelliL;ible, und hastened away, fol-
l) v'cl hy R jliecca.

{''or a sMi^le instant she bent over the sleeping
w iin la, the next she turned almost fiercely upon
R.b..\ca.

" ViHi have disobeyed your directions," she said,
"aivl -iven her something. Mr. McKenzie is
misKikiMi in you ; you are no more to be trusted
than Liij rcot of taem."

Ii.;ii

f •, ■-'' f T -r^ '".■■! • ■»••• t

r M ' »

■ >

♦«•

ilif

CHAPTER XIII.

SUSPENSE AND nEWILDHRMENT.

EVEN should she live to be a very old woman,
I do not think that Rcbeccu will forget the
night which followed. She had been too much
frightened by Mrs. Payne's manner to resent her
words or to ask questicMis. And the next moment
she had heard Lilian's voice in the hall calling
her, and had been obliged to go to her charge. But
she knew by many indications for the next few
hours that there was unusual anxiety in the house-
hold. The bell which communicated with Mrs.
McKenzie's room rang sharply again and again,
and servants ran hither and thither, executing
Mrs. Payne's orders. Rebecca knew that the
physician had been sent for in haste, and that
Lilian had been interviewed by Rogers to learn,
if possible, where her papa had driven when he
set her down at home. Something: verv serious
was undoubtedly the matter. Even Nancy was
subdued, and volunteered the information that it

150

SL'SPENSK AND BEWILDERMENT.

151

was believed downstairs that "Mrs. Payne thought
mistress was going to die, she was that scared and
flurried, and had told them to bring Dr. Caruthers,
or some other doctor, that very minute ; and no-
body knew where Mr. McKenzie was, for all he
had said to Miss Lilian was that she was to go
directly to her nurse, as he should have to hasten
to make up for the time he had spent with her ;
and wouldn't it be dreadful if she should die
before they found him }"

Rebecca, in her misery, answered Nancy so
sharply that the girl repented her friendliness ;
then she went back to Lilian, and held herself
rigidly in check while .she attended to her wants as
usual, and tried to respond i* her prattle about
papa and her drive, and how he had promised to
take mamma next time if she was well enough.
Meantime, she listened, with ears strained to un-
natural quickness, for the sound of the husband's
voice, for the outgoing of the doctor whom she
knew had arrived, and wondered how she should
live through the next hour unless she could her-
self ask him if the woman was going to die, and
if she had helped to kill her ? Apparently Mrs.
Payne had kept her own counsel, no word of the
"soothing-drops " having reached even Nancy's
ears — and Nancy was a person who heard all
that was said. Rebecca did not know whether to
be glad or sorry fitr this.

"I shall tell them," she said to her troubled

152

" WANTED."

,- IS:

S>i

heart, "I shall tell everybody; I have nothing
to hide. I may have done wron^, and it is dread-
ful to have helped such a thing, but I surely
thought it was right to do. They are all to blame
as much as I. There should .not have been medi-
cine left in the charge of a suffering woman who
did not know just how to use it, and I should
have been warned of such" a possibility. Well, I
was warned, or rather ordered, not to give her
any medicine, but nothing was explained to me.
Still — oh! I suppose I was to blame. What
shall I do if she dies.^ What shall I do? How
can 1 tell that dreadf al man that I helped to kill
her f If he Vv'ould care, it would be less horrible
than to almoit know that he will be glad to have
her gone."

Convinced by such wild thoughts that she was
not capable of thinking intelligently, and that if
she was to take proper care of Lilian she must
cease to think, as much as possible, she struggled
through the time as best she could.

For the last hour she had heard nothing, save
that which the opening and closing of doors and
the hurrying of feet through the halls had told
her. Whether the doctor was still in the hoi::e;
whether Mr McKenzie had been found ; whether
there was hope, or whether all was over, she could
not determine. She had nerved herself to believe
that the soothing potion was a poison, and that
enough had perhaps been taken to cause death.

SUSPKNSK AM) IJEVVILUiKMENT.

153

She had even in imagination been all thr't)ugh the
scenes which she knew must follow. The investi-
i^ution, the examining of herself as a wimcss, her
lather's bewilderment and dismay when he should
be sunmioned to her aid and hear the story.

Meantime, Lilian, with a premonition of some-
thin.;; im usual in the air, asl<ed painfully search-
ing questions. " Had she staid with mamma that
afternoon.'* Was mamma * pitty well' to-night?
Why did not she send for her to kiss her good-
night .<* Why did not papa come for his kisses.'*
Would mamma want her early in the morning?
Would mamma be * all well ' some day, and take
care of her like Claire Benedict's mamma did ?"

Would the child never fall asleep and leave her
miserable nurse to indul-e her misery ? At last
she was at liberty to steal out into the hall in
search of news. No one was visible in the now
quiet house save Dr. Carter, who sat in one of the
hall chairs below as if himself waiting for news.
Yet he must have heard something since she had,
and Rebecca went down and »tood before him,
white-faced and trembling, trying to make her lips
form a question. They quivered ^} she ^ould
hardly control them to whisper, "Did she — is
she dead ?"

"0. no!" he said quickly; "the immediate
danger is now over, but it was a very narrow es-
cape. Poor woman, she cnnjiot hope to come so
close to death another time and not go beyon<J

l*t

I !i

154

((

WANTED.

human aid. Did you think she was gone? It
must have been a shock to you. You have been
with the poor little one, I suppose ? I almost said
the motherless little one. My heart aches for her.
I can only hope, "with trembling, that she will grow
iij) to be a comfort to her father. I was waiting
ill the hope of seeing him, but I do not know that
1 ' light to attempt it to-night. He is still in his
wn'j's room. I ought to go. Perhaps I may leave
:\ I lessage with you to the effect that if there is
;. My thing I can do for him — if he needs me in any
way, or would like to see me — he is not to hesi-
tate to .send for me at any hour of the night,"

Rebecca, in the sudden revulsion of feeling
which had come to her with the blessed news,
could scarcely repress an exclamation of contempt
for the man who could at such a time think only
of the husband, and think in that strain. Con-
gratulations, of course, were supposed to be in
order, but surely he could wait until morning for
them. Dr. Carter had spoken almost as though
he thought the husband might be disappointed in
the result, and in need of sympathy. However,
she promised to see that his message reached the
housekeeper, and waited to see him from the door
before she went slowly back toward the stairs, so
spent with her hours of intense excitement as to
feel dizzy, and almost as if she were going to faint.
Also she felt half-angry. Why ce»uld not somc-
bov ^• have come to tell her that the danger was

suspiNsi: WD 'j: v.ir.ni-MMr.NT.

155

over? Then she reflected that nobody, unless it
were Mrs. Payne, and possibly Dr. Cariithers,
knew why she should he in direst need of infor-
mation for her own sake. Yes, probably Mr.
McKenzie knew by this time all about it. Sud-
denly there flashed over her the thought that she
had not only done contrary to Mrs. Payne's direc-
tions, but to his. Thc'^ the probability was that
she would be dischar!:;ed. Almost a groan escaped
her at this thought. So completely had Lilian
wound herself about this girl's hungry heart that
the idea of giving iier up to the care of another
was almost like parting with Ailee over again.
Moreover, there was Mrs. McKenzie, who she felt
had wanted her ; though, to be sure, she might
feel differently after this.

"But she would not," said the poor girl; "she
would forgive me. If I helped her to make a
terrible mistake, she would know that it was be-
cause I loved her and wanted to help, not hurt,
her. It is only that cold, heartless man who
would never forgive or overlook.

At this point in her thoughts she became con-
scious that there were voices at the head of the
stairs — or a voice. She recognized it as Mrs.
Payne's ; now, if she were less dizzy and could
quicken her steps, she might hear from heao-
quarters just how the sick one was, but she c-)u]d
not hasicn ; the stairs seemed whirlinii past i^er ;
yet she could hear : " You must tell her voursc'f,

I Mil

f T I

it""

l«

ii]

^■''

V- •

f. !, '

156

** WANTED."

Mr. McKenzie ; I can't and that's the whole of it.
She didn't understand, of course, and that is the
way the blunder came ; and it hasn't been the
way to do, according to my thinking-, and it can't
be that way any more, of course ; but it is \ (nir
plain duty, I thini<, to tell her just what you want
her to know ; and the sooner it is done, the
better."

The listener had made no attempt at reply, but
had turned and walked down the long hall to the
back stairs, as though he meant to avoid meetini;
any person. And as f.ist as she could make her
trembling limbs move, Rebecca climl^ed the rest
of the stairs and sought her own room, where she
threw the window wide and leaned out into the
night air, and tried to luring her will to bear upon
the fairitness and dizziness which possessed her.
Without reasoning about it, she felt as certain as
though she had heard h>jr name, that she was the
person who was to be told that evenmg some-
thing. What could it be but that her services
were no longer needed in that nouse ? The angry
nurse was nft even willing th it she should wait
until morning for her dismissal ; she had probal)ly
instantly deinanded thus mucl^ as the condition of
her own stay.

Rebecca told herself haugluily th.it she cculd
fff) ; there were people who would be <m]\- too
glad to secure her services For »hrit maUcr, she
could go home; onlv she knew in her heart that

'.I M

SUSl'KNSi: AM) IJLNMLDKKMKNT.

»57

this would be a last resort — but the home was
open to her. So were other places ; she even
thought, in that siiange way in which one will
think of absurd things in moments of great ex-
citement, of Fred Pierson's willingness to place
her at *' the head of society." Then she looked
over at the sleeping Lilian, and the tears came
thick ; nd fast. For her sake she would humiliate
herself before the angry husband, and agree to
almost any demand of his, if only he would let
her stay and care for Lilian. Yet she knew that
he wouki not ; she assured herself that he would
be in haste to get her out of the house. It was
not that she had periled the life of his wife; she
had disobeyed his orders.

Then there was a soft tap on her door, and she
dried her eyes hastily to confront Rogers, who
told her that Mr. McKenzie wanted to see her at
once in the library. She went downstairs asking
herself whether he would want her to go that
night or if he would be willing to have her wait
until daylight. She was angry again before she
had knocked at the library door. There was in
response a .sound which she intcj-preied as an invi-
tation to enter, but she must have been mistaken.
Mr. McKenzie was seated before his table, his head
i)o\vc(l ill his hands, and groans such as Rebecca
had never heard before, were issuing from him.
SiK' stood still, appalled before such evident agony.
Could Dr. Carter have been misinfermed? Was

158

WAXTl.D.

■!!■;■ .

Mrs. McKenzie gone, and was this the agony of
remorse ? What ought she to do ? Retire from
a place where she hud nothing to say and evi-
dently was not wanted, or wait until he should
remember that he had summoned her?

She had not long to wait; she took a step back-
ward, meaning to tnkc it vci y quietly, hut sho
jostled against the door and it closed with a slam.
^i:■. McKenzie sat upright and turned toward Ikt
a perfectly tearless face, the pallid misery of which
roused a throb of pity. Then he arose at once.

"I beg your pardon," he sai 1, his vo.ce soum;-
ing hollow and unnatural, " I did not hear you
enter."

" I knocked, and thought you asked me in.
Rogers said you wanted me."

"Yes, I must see you; I have things to say
to you." The sentence ended with one of those
indescribable groans.

Rebecca spoke hurriedly, hardly knowing what
she was saying : " Dr. Carter told me she was
better — was out of danger. Is it not true .^ Is
she gone ^ "

" No, thank God ; she is out ot danger, I think,
for this time. I could not have her die so. 0,
my God ! I could not."

The agony on his face was something awful to
behold. He covered it again with his hands, and
his whole body shook under the violence of his
grief. What Rebecca felt can be better imagined

SUSPENSl'. AXn IMlWri.DKK.MENT.

159

than described. The strongest sensation, perhaps,
was one of utter bewilderment.

Ikit Mr. McKenzie was by education a self-
controlled man. In a very few moments he raised
his head again. " I ought to beg your pardon,"
he said. " I do not often lose control of myself,
but this has been a terrible strain. Sit down,
Rebecca ; there are some things which I ought to
say to you. The time has come when they must
be said ; perhaps I should have said them before,
but it seemed to me that I could not. You have
been very kind to my wife, and have been much
with her of late. Have you no knowledge of the
character of her illness ? *'

Rebecca shook her head, while a thousand be-
wildered thoughts ran riot through her brain.
What could he mean ? How should she have
knowledge of a case which seemed to baffle the
skill of the physicians } Was it possible that
there was truth in her old theory of insanity }
No, she did not believe it ; she had seen some-
thing of insane persons ; there had been nothing
in Mrs. McKenzie's words or manner during the
many hours she had spent with her to make such
a thought reasonable.

Mr. McKenzie waited, as if to give her time to
decide ; then he said, " And yet you are a physi-
cian's daughter } Have you never heard of the
habit induced by the curse called opium } "

Like a revelation it flashed upon her — the key

i6o

WANTED.

to all the mysteries which this house had con-
tained. Its mistress was an opium user. Vos,
she had heard of such, but not often. The knowl-
edge of such a curse had not touched her nearly
enough to have caused a suspicion of its presence
here ; but once suggested everything was clear.
This explained the humiliating surveillance which
had surrounded the poor woman, and which she
had resented for her. That soothing potion which
she helped to administer must have been the drug
in some form. What must they think of her?
What could she say to the waiting husband } She
turned toward him, her cheeks aflame.

"Mr. McKenzie, to say that I bitterly regret
my .share in this evening's terror and pain seems
almost insulting ; but indeed I had not the remot-
est suspicion that the drops she wanted were other
than some harmless nervine which she was in the
habit of taking. Yet I ought not to have done it ;
I cannot expect you to forgive me."

"You did what you thought was right," he said
gravely. "I am myself to blame for guarding my
terrible secret with such jealous care. I can see
now that it would have been better to have con-
fided in you before. But for the child's sake, as
well as for my own, I longed to shield her mother.
She told you the truth about the drops from her
standpoint ; she is a victim of a physician's pre-
scription, given years ago. She made a brave
struggle until her whole system was so diseased

SUSPENSE AND Ul.WILDERMENT.

i6i

that she could not struggle. For years it has
been a living death. There are times when I cry
to a merciful God that I can bear no more."

Again that deaihly pallor overspread his face,
ami he sank once more into the chair from which
he h.id risen, and buried his face in his hands.

Rebecca stood for a moment, regarding him
with a look of unutterable pity, then turned and
went softly and silently nw^y. What had she to
s.iy that would not be mockery before such sorrow
as this?

CHAPTER XIV.

KEVKLATIOXS ANn DECISIONS,

RS PAYNE had more to tell her, "I see
you've found out vvh;i' s ^oing on in this
house," she said, scunniiiL;- Ri i)cc*.a*s face closclv.
•'And hii;h time, too ; I've bc^n that put out it
times seeini;" how entirely * olf ' you were in Vdiir
calculations tliat I found it haril work to hoi 1
my tongue. I don't talk about the poor thin-
where it ain't necessaiy, but I told Mr, McKenzie
months ago that he ought to let you know \vh:it
was what. But he couldn't bear to do it, and voii
can't blame him for that."

Apparently Mrs. Payne was another whom
Rebecca had wronged. She thought of it, l)ut
put it away for a more convenient hour, and asked
the questions which were pressing upon her.

"Were the soothing drops she spoke of" —

She hesitated, and Mrs. Payne finished the
question.

"Laudanum, of course. You might have known,

162

REVELATIONS AND DECISIONS.

163

though I don't know how you should. I'd have
left a wild tiger shut up in the room with her
rather than that, if I had known she had it.
When she slipped it into her secre*:ary and locked
it up without our knowing about it beats me."

"She said it had been there for some time,
but she had lost the key, and only found it this

mornmg.

" O, yes ! " with a wise nod of her head ; '* she
can account for things ; she is good at it. The
only trouble is it isn't true. She had her desk,
key and all, day before yesterday, and there wasn't
any laudanum hidden away in it — you can trust
me for that. It was just one of her get-ups ; I'm
used to them." Then, seeing Rebecca's look of
horror, she hastened to explain. " It is the dis-
ease it gives them, chihl ; don't you know.? They
aren't capable of telling the truth, and are no more
to be believed, nor to be blamed, for that matter,
than a crazy person. I know all about it ; I've
been with worse patients than she is, enough
sight, though I never saw one who suffered more
with it, poor thing. I thought to-night she was
going, sure ; and I was half-glad, as well as awfully
scared and sorry. What is the use of her living
any more ? She is no comfort to herself, and a
daily misery to him."

" Mrs. Payne, how does she get the laudanum,
or — whatever it is } "

"You may well ask that ; but it will take Satan

diii

''■■'SI ;

164

" WANTED."

to answer you. If he doesn't help her I don't
know who does. I've spent the best part of my
life, and so has he" — the last pronoun referred
to Mr. McKenzie — "trying to outwit her, and
every once in a while she has been too cunning
for both of us. He couldn't quite shut her up like
an insane person, because there are days and
weeks at a time when she is as sane as I am, and
it would have made talk, you know. He has sat
up nights, poor man, to contrive ways to keep
folks from talking about her. You see she has
some friends who listen to her plaintive little sto-
ries and believe them, of course, and are sorry for
her, and think he is hard and cold, and all but
cruel to her now. These friends take delight in
doing little errands for her, because she is neg-
lected, you know, and she is cute enough to send
them to some out-of-the-way druggist who will
fill any prescription for money, and no questions
asked. In that way and dozens of others she has
contrived to get what she wanted. When poor
Carroll was at home it was easier managed. He
could not understand why he should not do his
mother's errands, and his father would not tell
him. He said it was better to keep him away,
and let him think he had a mother. But I don't
agree with him there, either. I think the boy
might have been trusted. 1*11 tell you what it is,
Rebecca, the man has his faults, I dare say, but
take him all in all, through the seventeen trying

4.1

KKvn.ATioNs an:i dkcisions.

165

years that I've lived in the same house uith him,
anil worked at ihc same jol), you may say, I never
saw one who come up to my notion of what a man
()ii.i;ht to be any better than lie does. Tlie lliin;^;*
he has borne for her, and the ways he has eon-
trived to help hei", and shield her, and all that,
would make a stone crv sometimes. Mercy ! I
could tell y(m thini;s, if it would do any good —
iii-hts when he hasn't closed his eyes nor sat
ilown ; just spent the time wandering about the
streets in seaich of her, .ind LTftting' her home
quietly, so nobody would be the wiser for her
slipping awa\-."

"Nights!" repeateti Rcijcccn, in wide-eyed
horror.

"Yes, ni,L;;hts ; lots of them. That was years
ago, before he had made up l.is mind that he must
just fix things at night so she could not get out of
those three rooms of which she has the range;
she used to manage to jiet awa'/ from us, and
wander around the streets. I've seen bim dash
out of this house like a crazy man when he found
it out. But he always got her back, and was just
as kind and patient with her as though she had
been out visiting the sick, or something of that
kind. Oh ! he is a man in a thousand. But he
had to come to it, and fix things at night so there
was no getting out, I wouldn't have staid alone
if he hadn't; and to have two nurses for a woman
who was able to make calls and receive company

1 66

WANTTID.

1 (

wouldn't have looked well, you know. He has
Ihotij^iit of every little thing-, and tvied to save her
name in every way. Aud he has succeeded so
well that I believe half the people who come here
think she is an angel of light, and he is a cold-
blooded villain of some sort. Sometimes it makes
my blood boil, though I'm fond of her, poor lady,
and realize that she is no more to blame than a
creature who has lost her senses is.

" You would better go to bed ; you look fit to
drop, and I don't wonder. I was scared mvself,
and I've seen her in those dead sleeps I was going
to sav a thousand times ; but evevv one is more
dangerous than the last, you Know, and she diil
come very near it tills tinie. I could see t'nat in
the doctor's eves, if I hadn't b. en alile fo tell for
myself. If I had been a prayir.g wo.n.an I should
have asked the Lord to spare her to say gooc'-hy
to her childrer., though she hasn't been much of a
mother to them. Not but what she thinks enon;;h
of them, too, after her fashion. It has given me
the heartache many a time to say * no ' to h.r
when she was coaxing for Lilian. There's another
of his trials, poor man ; had to force the mother
away from her baby, you may say. You sec, she
was just possessed to give the child some of her
soothing drops ; she liked them so well herself
that when the baby was fretful or troublesome in
any way she couldn't seem to keep herself from
pouring something of the kind down her throat.

;ji.'i ii

REVELATIONS AND DECISIONS.

167

The last time the father caught her at it he looked
just like death ; it was the next day that he made
a law that the child shouldn't be left alone with
her for a single minute. Oh ! he has had a life of
it, and mercy only knows how it will end."

And then, Pebecca having heard all, and more
than it seemed to her she could endure, made her
escape and sought her own room, every nerve
quivering with pain. What had she not learned
since she left it but a half-hour before.^ Strangely
enough, it seemed to her that the most startling
revelations had been about herself. She had so
prided herself upon her powers of discrimination,
upon her exr^^llent judj^ment, upon her ability to
read character almost at a glance. Now she stood
revealed to herself as a woman who had daily
wron^red in her thouirht of him a man who was
staggering under a weight of trouble so peculiar
and so heavy that she wondered it had not crushed
him. What she had named hardness of heart was,
it appeared, almcst infinite self-control. In the
light of her present knowledge she recalled looks
and words of his which revealed him as one who
could suffer cruel injustice in silence, and continues
his patient care and kindness all the while. Al-
most she felt as though she must go down to him
and beg his pardon for every unworthy thought
she had had concerning him.

Nor did her self-accusing spirit stop here. How
sure she had been that Mrs. Payne was unworthy

i; ■;!

::.4

; ' 4

lill

ikJ

1 68

" u \NTr:i)."

of the trust imjioscd ii;-»o:i licr, Confi l^'-)t in her
own superior juJr^nicnt she knew it li.,(l been (ni'.y
her low opinion of ?.Ir. McK^nzio u hieh h;ai iiciil

hor f

rom iromif

to li

ini witli .'1 stoi'v wh.K'h woul

surely have adclci; nnieh t.) h.s burden. Now it

seemed to her that I\Irs. Pa

ne s !i

fe of

patient

endurance and forbear;. nee with a woman who had
brouL;ht her illnesses upon herself was little short
of sui)lime. The more carcfullv she wrnt over the
story of her life in this house, the more luur.ili-
aiing became hicr estimate cf larse'f. Kven poor
Nancy givini;' her svmnathv or hvv indii;iintioii
indiscriminately to "mastei'" n^l '* misti'ess," ;ic-
cording as passing; ev* !it^ x'eNrd her or touched
her heart, seemed rioic rei-on .hie and en(hn"al)le
than herself. Not .i pcrso.i in the hoise had she
jud,L;ed worthy of her sympathy oi' respect, save
the woman wiio was tiie deliberate cause of all
their soriow. Nor IkuI her sweepinLT condemna-
tions been confined to the dwellers in the house.
Had she not pronounced Dr. Carter a money-
serving hypocrite because he wa.s always trying
to sympatlnze with the husband, and gave little
thought to the wife ? Probably Dr. Carter knew
the whole story. She felt her cheeks burn with
shame when she thouglit of how she had answered
liis appi-als for lielp from h<'r.

Hut she wer)t farther back in her self-accusations.
W IV it 'r)! jn^t Jto'?^iblr» that she had even wronged
redi-l. ?" Shic went over iri memory her

REVELATIONS AND DECISIONS.

169

1 .1..,.. I. .

treatment of that lady, and of her father since he
had brought home his new wife, and this strangely-
awakened conscience of hers would not exonerate
her even here. It persisted in assuring her that
her father certainly had a right to marry again if
he chose, and did not deserve punishment at her
hands for the deed. It reminded her that Mrs.
Meredith had made persistent and kindly attempts
to regard her as one of them, and that she had on
every such occasion held aloof. It even hinted
that she had been jealously afraid of Ailee lest
the stranger should steal a portion of her love,
and had held her away from the new mothei as
much as possible.

Going over the ground carefully, she could not
find any accusation to bring against the woman
who occupied her mother's place that was at all
satisfactory to her now. Yet she had lived for
months in the belief that she was a desolate,
wronged girl, almost of necessity an exile from
her father's house, and with no one to love or care
for her. Had she not even of late yielded to the
feeling that Hervey in India was absorbed with
his work, and indifferent as to whether or not he
heard from her regularly.? As for Fred Pierson
— for even his name came in for a share of this
sweeping self-denunciation — had not time proved
conclusively that she was no judge of character,
even when she had daily opportunity for years of
studying it ? Would one who had within him in

I/O

WANTED.

JJI

those early days the elements of true manhood
have developed as he did ? Would one who de-
served her love have been guilty of the despicable
sin of marrying for position, and of coming back
in after years to insult her with the humiliating
story? Yet what was she that she should spciik
so severely even of him ? Had she not herself
been a hypocrite all these years ? She shrank
from the word ; she trembled under her horror of
it, yet felt its truth. Had she not been for half
her lifetime a member of the church ? Was not
her name at this moment on the church-roll in the
old home ? yet for months and years it had been
only a name.

" It was not enough that I should be deceived
in everybody else," her soul cried out within her,
" but I must even be deceived in myself. I have
no belief in a God who pities \ loves and
directs, else I should have found comfort and joy
in serving him." Not even when Ailee died
were her tears as bitter as they were that night
over the revelation of her unlovely self. The
night drew on, and still this poor self-accusing
spirit sat and gazed at her wasted past. She
used that word '♦ wasted " about it after a while.
She admitted to herself that many, perhaps most
of her sorrows which had in them an element of
bitterness, were the outgrowth of her own proud
and self-sufficient spirit. Gradually there came
to her, like a whisper from some other country, a

kilVllATinN'-, .\M> hie isloS'i.

•iL-

realizrition tb.t she \v;is thinklni; ahoiit the past,
anil 'that iIktc \v,is a ijrcscnt ami a future She
was younfjj yet ; It was mere setitinniit to talk
about a wasted life. A .i;()(>(l deal of it liad l)ecn
wasted. Si^arch wheie she would she could not
find auytldiij;" entirely satisfactory in its stotv.
Her love lor Ailee had l)een fieree and exaeiin;; ;
its spirit; would ffrrainlv h;ive hurt the little !;iil.
l;,i'I slie been Ifit to infuse it into heis. I'",v«:n
lu r love fir Lilian was L;io\vinL;- selfisii. She
knew that she had |L;rudL',ed the latlier those i\\c
o'cloek bonis in whieh he IkhI had llie child all to
liimself. She knew she h;i(! lhou'j,lit ahnosr with
l.ondr of thcit St cond mother wlio would come,
sometime, and ro!) her of JK-r darlitii;'. So there
w;;s really no usi- in trying;- to secure comfoi t out
dl the jiast ; hut the future, eould she not make it
utterly different } Then she did that best thin!^",
perlKtps, for a soul wrought upon as liers had l)een,
tinned away from self entirely, and bej^jan to think
(if others. When she stood downstairs appalled
before that a- 'ful wei<;ht of pain, and powerless to
siy a word of comfort, there had come to her the
leelintT, so strong that she had almost jnit it into
words, that the man needed God ; human hi Ip
w IS vain for anv such sorrow. 1 fe needed such ;i
God us her mother used to worship, and as her
brother Hervey knew and loved. Even more
than he, did the poor wretched wife need God,
She was dying; she had co*ne almost to the verge

' 1!
iJI

Sm r

172

WANTKl).

of life that ni!2;ht ; she would come closer to it
some day, soon. It needed no physician to tell that
the end was near. ** And I must help her," s.iid
Rebecca, speakinpj the words out plainly on the
still night air. " I must tell her what God can le
to a soul ; what I know he can be. Did I not
know my mother?" The thought quieted hei- —
illumined her mind, as it were, with other thoughts.
She would change utterly her way of life ; she
would not think about herself, or her happiness,
or trials any more ; she would live for other peo-
ple. She would serve God vvitii her whole heart ;
she knew him and believed him ; she could point
him out to others, and she would. Because slie
had no happiness in his service, it did not follow
that others would not have ; nor did it f(^llow that
she was released from the obligations of service.
" If I did not love my father," she told herself, " I
would still be bound to honor him."

And then she winced as she remembered how far
short she had come of the honor due. It was not
strange, she assured herself, that she had no love
for the service of God; she had dishonored him,
held aloof from him, acted a lie in his presence,
called herself by his name, and refused him the
ordinary outward service of even respect. How
could he do other than turn coldly away from her
recent efforts to find him ? He was not bound
now to reveal himself to her as a God of love ; hut
fihe would give herself to him all the same j and

REVELATIONS AND DECISIONS.

173

having been well taught she knew he would not
despise the offering.

"I have not been sincere," she told herself.
" I have been looking for comfort, for happiness,
not for service. I do not believe, now that I
come to think of it, that I ever had the right feel-
ing even for a little while. I joined the church
because the others were going to — because Fred
did, and it was the right thing to do — not because
I had given myself to Christ to do as he told me,
whatever happened. Now I will begin again.
There are those in this house who need him, and
they do not know him. I can speak of what he
was to mother, to my brother in Heaven, ev m to
httle Ailee. I can speak of what he would have
been to me, if I had let him. I am going to do
it. I will give myself to him now and from this
timi' forth for service. I am his to obey, whether
he ever gives me any joy in his service or not. I
do not expect joy ; I have wasted that part of
my life." By which you will see how little she
knew about God. But she went on her knees and
spoke aloud and solemnly the word of consecration :

"God in Christ, I ask thee to forgive the past,
and to take me as I am ; a sinner like unto few,
for I have sinned against much light. Yet I dare
to come and give myself to thee, fully and forever^
and I know that thou wilt accept me. Now I arti
a soldier, ready for service. Use me as thou wilt.

Amen."

4 ^

^\^%

» • • *

CHAPTER XV.

THE TRUTH.

DO any who are acquainted with God need to
be told that, following the prayer of entire
surrender there came into this tossed apd wor-
ried heart, a sense of that *' peace which passcth
understandinir ?"

It always seems to me especially well that in-
spiration formed for us the phrase with which to
describe, as much as we may, that sudden posi-
tive change which comes into the heart when the
Holy Spirit takes possession. I do not wonder
that skeptics sneer, and honest doubters look
troubled and doubtful when an attempt is made
to explain this mystery. For we have His word
that " the natural man receiveth not the things of
the Spirit of God ; for they are foolishness unto
him, and he cannot know them, because they
are spiritually judged." Afterwards, it ^truck
Rebecca as a wonderful thing that «hf» "..ho had
been in search of happiness all her life, and had

Tin: TRTTH.

175

h.il it pIucIc licr. j;Bt when she p;ave up the idea
of i\'sr, and ctm-ccratcd licrsclf fullv to service,

sho il I

liavi

such a sense ot peace now in upon

fl(

her as '-he had nevt-r imaj^ined could be felt. At
the time, she did not even recoi;nize it.

" I am actually too tired," she said, when she
aiose from her knees, "to tiiink any more. I
believe I could j;() to sleep ; and when I came
into the room it did not seem to me that I could
ever sleep aL^ain."

In ten minutes thereafter she was asleep. Thus
quietly, wi'Jiout manifestation that himian beings
reco,L;nize, had the niii;ht\' Spirit of God taken full
possession of a soul. Whether Rebecca Meredith
had never bi;fore felt Mis power, whether the ex-

))et

lence o

f h

er milhood hatl been onlv emotiona

I will not undertake to say. One thini;" is certain,
s'ie had never of deliberate choice surrendered
her will utterly into His keepini;' until this ni^dit.
She may have hati heretofore what lias been dc'
scribed as " relii^ion enou,L;h to make one miser*
able," l)ut the joy of service was certainly to be
hers for the first time. And so new was the
sense of peace in her heart that she named it
weariness, and expected to take up the old unrest
with the comini; mornings

After that, nothinj; anywhere was quite as it
had been before. For a time Ivebi-cci tlioujht
that it was everybody else who li::d <hiiu'.',ed,
Nancy, for instance, was much Ics^ tlis i-roeable

lyO

\V.\N IT.!).

thnn iisnril. It. mi- lit Ii;:\\; hc.ru bccniise she
had the f.ice ache :iii 1 a '* iiiis-M-y i i Iut Imhus."
Rebecca noticcil tin; lic;ivv c\cs and flushed
cheeks when she nnt her i'l xhc hall.

" Y'oii have taken cold," .^he .said, after Nanev
had, in an astonished sort (d way, answered her
kindly put (.juesiions. *' Have you tinished all the
rooms but mine .'' Then i^o up to your room and
lie down, and I will attend to my own work. Mi.ss
Lilian is with her father, so I shall have time.
And I will fill the hol-water baj;- for your face-
ache ; you wi,l find it very soothing."

"Bless and save us ! ' ejaculated Nancv, even
before Rebecca was out of he.iring. " What has
come over her .-* She do have a heart and feel-
ings for somebody '. ^"^ides Miss Lilian, I believe."

It is to be feared that the peculiar ejaculation
with which Nancy began, was as near an approach
to prayer as she ever made. Rebecca, overhear-
ing the sentence, thought of this, while she blushed
in remembrance of the impression her life must
have made, when so small an act ol kindness cciild
so overwhelm Nancy. She told herself that the
girl was good-hearted, and well meaning; perhaps
she even did as well as she knew how. What a
wonderful difference it would have made with her
own life, if the same could have been said of iier.

Mrs. Payne noticed the change. *' I thought
you would be all tuckered out this morning." she
said, when they met in the hall; "and here you

THE TRUTH.

177

are as bright as the day. I must say I'm not.
My nerves got such a shaking up last night, that
I won't get over it in a wcclc. You can't fake
care of a body for years, just as if she were a < hild
— worse than a child, for that matter — and not
grow fond of her, even though you feel someti, s
as though you would like to shake her. She was
terribly weak all night, and she is just like a rag
this morning ; and for that matter, so am I. I
never slept a wink — I tlidn't dare ; and I couldn't,
somehow, if I had dared."

What a hard life Mrs. Payne's had been.
Rebecca remembered pitifully that sentence • " If
I had been a praying woman." IL had never
before seemed so important to her that women
should know how to pray. In the course of the
day, Mrs. Barnett confided to Rogers the belief
that Rebecca had had "something come over her;
she was less cranky-like, and acted more as if
there were other folks in tiie world." Although
every word which had passed between the two,
had been when they met for a moment at the foot
of the stairs, Mrs. Barnett with a large basket of
freshly-ironed clothes on her arm. Rebecca had
said, " Let me carry that up for you, Mrs. Barnett.
I am younger than you ; and you look tired."

So small an act that it ought to have made her
blush to think that it should surprise any one to
have her offer it ; yet Mrs. Barnett was surprised,
and showed it — making Rebecca realize again

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178

WANTED.

that she had been selfish at every point. Havinjr
deliberately resolved to live for others, she was
diseovering that there were constant little oppor-
t unities for doing so. There were other quiet
ways in which the difference between Rebecca of
to-day, and the one who was there yesterday was
emphasized. She wrote to Hervey that evenin-,
a long, cheery letter — almost like the ones she
used to write, when he first went to India. She
did better than that ; she began a letter to her
father; "Dear father" — wrote five lines, stopped,
held her pen in uncertainty for several minutes,
then tore the sheet in two, and began again.

" Dear father and mother : " she brushed away
the tears as she wrote that last name, but she said
to her newly awakened heart, " Why not ? Father
will like it, and it harms no one. She fills the
position of mother in my father's house, and I
suppose I should like it myself, if I were in her
place, wliich I never would be. Then she con-
tinued her letter; a pleasant, homelike one, such
as had not reached the old home since she went
away. There were certainly radical changes in
Rebecca Meredith ; though they were all so small
as to be hardly worthy of notice, unless one
were watching one's self at the dangerous points.
Truth to tell, Rebecca was somewhat astonished
over them.

" I nevei knew I was a selfish woman," she saiil
to herself, "but I must have been all my life,

THE TRUTH.

179

else these little commonplaces would not require
thought and actual effort, on my part." Yet she
was not selfish in great things, nor in anything
where those she dearly loved were concerned. It
was only that the people she loved were very few,
and she had not cared to interest herself in any
others. Outwardly, life went on very much as
before. The Tuesday lunches were continued,
Lilian being on good behavior, and her father
appearing in every respect as usual. Looking at
his cold, grave face, Rebecca found herself some-
times wondering if the scene in the library were
not all a dream. But the vivid experiences through
which she herself had passed were certainly no
dream.

Perhaps the most marked evidence of the change
in her life, as regarded others, was found in Mrs.
McKenzie's room. For several days after that
lady's alarming attack, Rebecca .saw nothinjij of
her. Then, one morning she wr s sent for, and
found Mrs. McKenzie dressed in the most becom-
ing of morning robes, seated in her easy-chair by
the window, and looking much as usual ; save that
the dark lines under her eyes were more pro-
nounced, and the eyes themselves were dull.

*' How long it is since I have seen you," she
said, extending her hand. "They think I have
been too ill for company, but a look at you would
have refreshed me. How well you look ; bettef
tvitn than usual. What a comfort it must be to

ti-ii'l

:|i^

i8o

WANTED.

feel strongs and ready for life. I suppose I fright-
ened you by my ill turn ? Mrs. Payne said you
were with me when it came o.i, I was worse
than usual, they say. Poor child I it was hard on
you to have me get sick while nurse was away."

** It was wrong in me to help you to the drops
which made you ill," Rebecca replied, with quiet
firmness. She had carefully considered what she
should say if she had opportunity, and so spoke
without hesitation.

Mrs. McKenzie laughed lightly, although at the
same time she regarded her with a keen, question-
ing gaze.

" Do you lay all the trouble to the poor drops ?"
she said. " I assure you they were innocent
enough ; I did not take them in time to ward off
the headache which is liable to precede one of
these attacks ; but you were not to blame for
that, so do not let any of the blame fall on your
shoulders."

"Mrs. McKenzie," said Rebecca, looking the
frail lady fully in the face, " I know what the drops
were, and I know the effect they had upon you ;
and you and I both know that they ought not to
have been taken."

"Really!" said Mrs. McKenzie, looking at her
attendant with a sort of wonder. *' Can this be
Rebecca ? One might almost suppose you to be
a daughter of Mrs. Payne ; I think you are forget-
ting yourself."

THE TRUTH.

18 1

"No, ma'am ; I mean to be perfectly respectful;
but I moan to speak the truth."

•'Whether you know anything about the subject
or not } What do you in your wisdom suppose
the drops to have been } "

" I know that the bottle contained laudanum ;
and I know that it is opium in some form which
i; killing you. Dear Mrs. McKenzie, forgive me ;
1 iiui not s. lying it to hurt you, but indeed you
v.e e viry iKar to death, and I know that you
c.uM)<>r lonu bear sucii a strain."

"1: IS l.ilsc ! " said the invalid, sitting erect,
uilIi her eves glaring like a maniac's. "I never
t'luch a drop of o|)ium in any form. Who has
lohi \(>u such honid tales .^ If it was Mrs. Payne
she shall go to-day, and you shall follow her."

"It was not Mrs. Payne who told me, madam,
and you are not saying what you mean. It is of
no use to speak in this way to me. I am only too
sure of what I am saying ; and I am speaking from
my very soul to you, not because I want to hurt,
but to help you."

•' Who has told you to get off such an extraordi-
nary statement to me ? If this is some of Deane's
w(.rk I shall never forgive him. You do not dare
to ted me that you are not acting under orders."

"N I,* said Rebecca, "I will not tell you that;
I am ;iclin ; undtT ortlers. I promised the Lord
J SI s Cnij t nM tny knct's, llii.s morning, that I
Woui.. bj Li uo uj liiia a..u U) }Ovi. 1 have not been

l82

" WANTED."

if I

true to him in the past. I have been silent about
him when I knew you sorely needed his help; but
he has forgiven me, and I am pledged to him. 0,
dear Mrs. JMcKcnzic! let him save you."

She was unprepared for the effect of this appeal.
The wild look went out of the sick woman's eyes,
and dropping her face in her hands she burst
into a passion of tears. Kut the words which she
sobbed out with the tears were not such as Rebecca
had hoped to hear. Instead of a cry for help to
the only One who could help her, they were a jxis-
sionate wail to the effect that she had no friend in
the world ; everybody had turned agranst her, and
believed evil things of her. First Deane had been
prejudiced, and had torn her children from her,
then Mrs. Payne had come there to watch her like
a spy, and now Rebecca, on whom she had hoped
to lean, had turned from her and believed what
her enemies said against her. It was all too terri-
ble ; she wished she could die ; she had nothing
to live for, and did not want to live. She wished
the drops had been laudanum, and she had taken
enough of them to kill her.

Through it all Rebecca knelt, pale and quiet, by
the lady's chair, where she had dropped when she
made her earnest appeal ; she was bitterly disap-
pointed. All the morning, since receiving Mrs.
McKenzie's message to come to her as soon as
Lilian was asleep, her thoughts had been one per-
petual prayer for guidance, the longing to save

THE TRUTH.

183

this poor victim from herself having increased as
the hours passed. Yet apparently she had suc-
ceeded only in calling from her false and reckless
words.

She did not realize it, but all the time the sick
woman was watching with much of the cunning
which belongs to insanity, for the effect of her
words. When she went into such a passion of
self-pity as this before Mrs. Payne that poor
woman's heart was wrung, and she hastened to
kiss and cry over her patient, and call her a poor
abused lamb, and assure her that nobody should
trouble her any more. For at such times it was
not possible for Mrs. Payne to believe that her
lady was other than insane, and insane people
ought to be soothed and humored. As for Mr.
McKenzie, when she resorted to like scenes with
him he had of late years cut them short by
abruptly leaving the room, and summoning the
nurse to the rescue. She look'^d to see one of
these effects upon Rebecca. That the girl still
knelt, grave and unmoved, was a disappointment.
But Rebecca had found a stronghold so new and
so safe that she could not come out of it now.
She was taking this utterly bewildering and dis-
heartening woman to God, and asking his special
help just then.

As suddenlv as before, Mrs. McKenzie's mood
changed. She ceasetl weeding and bewailing, and
after a moment spoke in a dry, hard voice. " It

j^^^^

1 84

WAN'TF.n.

is all true, Rebecca. Get up ; you need not pny
about me any more; it will do no good; I am
past praying for; but I will tell the truth. It \v:is
laudanum, and I take it or it equivalent whenever
I get a chance. I have to do it ; I know it is kill-
ing me ; I know I am a terrible woman, an un-
natural mother, and unworthy the name of wife,
but all the same I do it. I know there is no hope
for me in this world or the next, but I go right on.
• Pray ! ' I have prayed for hours, and then have
gotten up from my knees and gone straiirht for
some of the stuff."

At this point Rebecca interrupted her, speakins;
eagerly, "O, dear madam ! I know all about such
prayer. That is not praying ; it is just saying-
over words. I have prayed ihat way myself, and
it is worse than useless. But there is a way ; I
have learned it ; there is helj> for you. If vou
just mean to let Jesus help you he will do it. He
will not force you ; he must have your will on his
side, but he stands ready to do all the part that
you cannot. Dear Mrs. McKenzie, let him free
you from this curse which is killing you and ruin-
ing your home. He is the only one who can do
it ; but be surely can."

" I don't know," said Mrs. McKenzie, looking
at her almost with an air of curiosity — **! don't
know why you are so different from yourself. I
think I was attracted to you becausf vou were so
different from others ; but now you are somebody

Tin: TU'jTii.

185

new. I would like to be somebody new myself.
I have hati dreams of it in the past — of surprising
Deune some moniinij by coming downstairs and
sayin;^ to liini, ' Deane, you needn't tremble for
me any more; I am not going to disgrace yf)U
again ; I am made over.' IJiit I shall never say
it; there isn't enough of me to make over. 'Re-
solve!' I have made resolves enough to fill this
room to tlie ceiling — to fill the world — and they
did no good, any of them. I haven't any will left.
I am weaker than tlie veriest baby, so far as inten-
tion is concerned. The only thin,j I can plan for
'"i the stuff that is killing me. I don't see why
they do not lei me get enough of it sometime, and
have (lone witli it. What a relief it would be to
have me gone."

She was trying to shock her again. Rebecca
felt this instinctively, and would not be shocked.
Her voice was never quieter than v hen she asked
her next brief, clear-cut question : " Would it be
a relief to you, Mrs. McKenzie.' Are you not
afraid to die and meet God } "

Then the poor woman went off into another
outburst of tears and cries This time Rebecca
could not but believe that they voiced the thought
of her heart. " Yes," she said, " I am, I am ! I
have ruined my husband and my home ; I am a
miserable woman, not fit to live, and afraid to die.
0, God ! what will become of me.?"

.Jt.u, ..* .»t' V . . til J • ■ • I < • • ., »

•t»f"n-.

» *

CHAPTER XVI.

WAITING.

J I SI

THAT was the way the interview had to end.
The poor, weak frame, unused to self-con-
trol and unused to excitement, was overcome bv
the violence of her emotion, and Mrs. McKenzie
was presently borne fainting to bed ; Mrs. Payne
bending over her with the solicitude which a
mother feels for a helpless child, and between her
anxious ministrations and soothing words, bestow-
ing sundry suspicious glances on Rebecca, and
broadly hinting that something injudicious must
have been said or done, as the invalid felt unusu-
. ally well when she left her ; she added glumly,
that something always did happen as sure as she
left her for a lew minutes. Goodness knew she
wished she was made of rubber or leather or
something, and didn't ever have to leave her.

"You see she is just like a child," explained
Mrs. P:iyne half-apologetically, later in the day.
•• She hasn't got any strength of body or mind left,

iS6

WAiriv ;.

1S7

and she has to be humored nnd pi'tted. V«»ii
can't say anything; moral to her, and yon nee(l::*t
try" — this last with a severe look. "Goodness
knows I've tried it, until I've pretty near killed
her. He had a notion that her moral nature
onj;ht to be roused, and I did i.iv best ; l)ut I told
him then that slie hadn't any to rouse, and she
hasn't ; she has just used it all up. The thin,<; to
be (lone with her is to take care of her day and
night, just as you would a sick baby, and be
patient with her, and keep her away from folks
that sympathize with her so much, they are will-
ing to help kill her. I dread the summer, I'm
sure. There will be new servants to keep watch
of, and other boarders ; and there is always some
little wretch of a boy who is ready to do any kind
of an errand, for a few pennies ; I'm always worn
entirely out by the time the summer is over. Are
you going into the country with us ? I hope to
goodness that you are. You don't know what a
mercy it is to have somebody to speak to who
understands."

Rebecca could only respond that she did not
know ; there had been no plans made for the
summer. She was heavy-hearted ; she had hoped
so much from her effort, and had seemed to fail
so utterly. Perhaps she would have no other
opportunity to help this woman, whose burden
seemed to have been laid on her own soul. For
among Mrs. Payne's other disheartening sentences

T
f

i,''^

•J :!

1 88

WANTKI).

had been one hintinjj: that lur patient was in the
habit of havinj; stronij aversions for certain poo-
pie who had undertaken to "rouse her iiummI
nature," and refusing; to see them ai;ain. What
if this shouKl be her experience ? And then she
remembered, with a thrill of infinite relief, tmit
she had nothinj; to do with the result of Iut
effort, save to take it to Him who had (liicctcd
her to make it. Such relief did this girl find in
her Refuge that she wondered how it had been
possible for her to have lived all these years, prac-
tically without prayer. Do you wonder at the
chanjjje which had suddenly come to her ? If you
do, you belong to those to whom it is impossible
to explain the phenomena of prayer. It does not
take the Lord a long time to secure full jiosses-
sion of a soul which has been surrendered to liiin ;
but the effect which communion with him will
have upon such a soul can only be understood hv
those who try it for themselves. In a very short
time, it became evident that no such result as
Mrs. Payne had hinted at, was to follow the hon-
est effort to speak the truth. So far from takini;
an aversion to Rebecca, Mrs. McKenzie' asked for
her almost constantly ; would have been t^lad.
indeed, to have kept her with her, and nllowL'd
herself to be guided by her wishes, in a wav tliat
bewildered Mrs. Payne. Not a great dral of time
could he given to her, of course, for Lilinn netdid
her nurse's care, and neither child nor muse were

WAlTlNi;.

IS9

(lisposetl to give up their rights in this respect ;
nor (lid the master of the house approve.

" I am very grateful for your kindness to Mrs.
Mcl^Icnzie," he said, in his gravest, most business-
like tone, "and I am glad that she finds a pleas-
ure in your attendance. Whatever of your leisure
you choo.se to give to her will not be forgotten, I
assure yon ; but of course Lilian is your first care,
and I am glad to feel sure that you will not
nc^^lect her for any other interest."

And now the days were more than full; for
Rebecca could not but be sure at last that she
was wantcil in a peculiar sense by the half-insane
woman uh(» cUing to her. She planned to give
her cverv niomcnt of waking time which was hon-
cstly her own, and strove by every means in her
power to a\v;iken the dormant conscience into life.
It is true siie could not feel that she was making
much headway; the almost daily arguments which
she held with the weak woman were mere repe-
titions of one another ; but one thing had certainly
been gained ; Mrs. McKenzie was beginning to
understand that she must speak the truth with
this new attendant. Mrs. Payne, who was well
acquainted with the peculiar influence on the
moral nature of the drug which her patient took,
had long aL;o ceased to expect the truth, and re-
ceived the most unreasonable and contradictory
statements with a good-luimorod semblance of be-
lief. Mr. McKeniie, on the contrary, had been so

IQO

WAN It I).

1 i

: I -5.

.iriil

repulsed by this phase of the disease that he was
in the habit of cuttings short the calls which he
punctiliously made at stated intervals, and leaving
her abru[-tly as soon as her lapses fron-> fact be-
came apparent. Rebecca tlid neither of thcae
things ; she looked the invalid calmly in the eye,
and saitl quietly — quite as if she were making a
most commonplace statement — "Mrs. ^McKcnzie,
that is not true. Not bin:;- is ';:iincd 1)V tcllinir me
what we both know is false."

Mrs. McKenzie looked at b.cr curiously one
eveninfr when she had said somethimr of ihc kiml,
and after a moment's silence replied, with a slight
laugh, " You are a very queer girl. How is it that
you dare to say such things to me ? Even Deane
doesn't. Still, I rather like it ; you are in earnest.
But are you sure you are right ? What is truth i
Are not statements which are partially false more
near the truth, after all, than that which passes
for truth.-* 1 wonder why I do not speak e.xact
truth .-* I seem to dislike it, sometimes, just be-
cause it is truth. I actually take some pains to
invent falsehood, even when the truth might serve
me better. What do you suppose is the matter
with me .?"

*' Sin," said Rebecca, with quiet voice and steady
eyes.

"'Sin!* What a horrid word. Even Dr. Car-
ter did not use it the last time I let him preach to
me. He said that I was the victim of a diseased

WAITINT,.

IQI

mind. When the mind is diseased how can one
help what one does ? How is it that you dare to
call it ' sin,* as though I were to blame ? Are you
under orders to say such things to me ? "

•' Yes, dear madam, always under orders. You
have a moral disease, called sin ; and the only
physician who can cure you has sent me to tell
you the absolute truth."

Sometimes from these talks she would lapse
into the self-debased state ; calling herself harder
names than any Rebecca would ever have used,
and weeping bitterly, until she exhausted herself,
and Mrs, Payne would have to oe summoned.
Sometimes instead, she would grow ar., ry and
order the girl from her sight ; but in either case
Rebecca would invariably be sent for before many
hours.

In these ways the weeks passed, and the early
summer was upon them. Preparations were rr.rk-
ing for departure to a quiet summer home in the
country, and Mrs. Payne was shaking her head
ominously and dreading the change, whenever she
had opportunity for a quiet word with Rebecca.

" She will be a great deal worse, you see if she
won't. She always manages to get hold of more
of it in the country, than at any other time. I
wish we ;:ould just stay in town ; I don't believe
the heat would kill her. You and Lilian might
go to the country, and Mr. McKenzie could run
down once a week, and leave us here to fight it

192

\\AN"''ED.

out. She won't hear to such a course — that is
the reason it is never tried — and Dr. Caruthers
says she would run down, he is afraid ; and wc
must just redouble our vigilance while she is in
the country. I'd like to know how we are going
to do it, unless we tie her up in her room ^nd let
her see nobody but our two selves. It is my
belief even then that she would get hold of the
stuff somehow ; she does here, you kn.^w, in spite
of us, every once in awhile. The sharpness of
the woman is somethins^ wonderful."

Mrs. Payne was so relieved to have the silence
of years taken from her, that Rebecca was in a
fair way to hear in detail, all the sorrows and
perplexities of these years. It had been decided,
without many words, that Rebecca was to go to
the country with them. Mr. McKenzie had sent
for her one evening, to have a business interview,
but something had evidently moved him from his
usual calm, for all he said was :

"You understand that we are to go to the
country next week } Rebecca, I know you will
not desert my little Lilian and her poor mother.
Am I not right ? " And Rebecca, the tears start-
ing in her eyes from sympathy with the burdened
riian, murmured that she would be glad to stay if
she was wanted, and made haste from the room.

But the bustle of preparation for removal was
interrupted. Lilian, who had retired at seven in
apparent health, awakened at midnight so ill that

WAITING.

193

:hat is

uthers

ind wc

e is in

; going

.nd let
is my
of the

in spite

mess of

5 silence
vas in a
ows and
decided,
to go to
had sent
iterview,
from his

Robecca promptly summoned first the housekeeper
uikI then the 'fat'ner. Before the next day's sun
lu.i f.iirly risen, Nancy had informed every mem-
l)jr t)f thj anxious household tliat she "guessed
Miss Lilian w.iS awUil sick ; that Dr. Caruthers
sai ok his head anti looked scared and anxious
hjn she asked al^out her, and she heartl him.

wit.i iter own ears, teil .Mrs. Barnett that he was
a(',.;id Lilian was going to have the fever, for it
WIS in this neigh'ooi hood ; and he was afraid it
would go hard with her, for the child had no
consitleration."

Reliccca, who ovcrlicaid this statement, was too
hcavv-heurted to lau^h at tiic mistake; for she
k;ic\v that Nancy meant '* constitution," and that
it was loo sadly true. Mow could tlie child of
such a mother be expected to have a constitution
lo resist disease ?

Those sweet June days which followed one an-
other in long-drawn-out beauty ! For years after-
wards Rebecca could not smell the breath of
June roses, and feel the glory of the perfect June
weather, without a little shiver of recollection.
Mercifully, the intense heat which often visited
the city early in June was spared them, and if
anybody had had heart to analyze the weather, it
would have been found simply perfect. But hearts
and hands were full. The fever burned and burned
with such fierceness t'.iat it seemed as though it
must burn away the little life. If there had been

I: I

194

WANTED.

any doubt before, it was now made very apparent
thai Rebecca Meredith was "wanted" in the sciihc
ot Lein;^ needed in this house. Lilian clung to hei
with almost frantic insistence, and in her delirium
turnetl at times even trom her father, to throw her-
self into the arms of her nurse. Day after day
and night after night the strain went on, Rebecca
leaving her charge only for the few moments wliich
necessity required, and being often even then sum-
moned from the cuj) of tea she was heist ily swal-
lowing, with the word that Lilian was seieamiii;'
for her. Night after night the poor father hiiiv;
over his darlinc: in silent agonv, doin'^ what lio
coubl,- and wiicn he couKi, and wnen tiie child d'j-
manded Rebecca, yielding his place to her with a
meekness that went to her woman's heart. None
of those most cioselv concernetl questioned the
doctor. There was no need ; he was a friend as
well as physician, and his face told the story of
his fears. To Nancy, whose anxieties became so
great that she conquered her fear even of tlic
stern doctor, he said briefly, " It is impossible to
tell what the result will be. Certainly she is very
ill ; nothing is ever gained by denying facts; biii:
people have been very ill before, and have recov-
ered. See to it that you do your part, my girl. "
And Nancy understood him well enough to cry
her eyes ana nose very red ; but she tried faith-
iuVy to follow his advice, until Rebecca learned to
call for her when she wanted something w.thin

WAITING.

195

the limit of her capacity done swiftly and well.
She even remembered one day to commend her,
and took a moment's time to wonder over the
sudden light which illumined the girl's face, and
to query whether it could be that she had never
been commended before.

Very little attention did business receive at the
hands of Mr. McKenzie during these weeks of
watching. A half-hour twice a day spent in the
library in conference with his partner was the
utmost that the outside world secured from him.
Then he went regularly twice a day to Mrs.
McKenzie's room ; for the rest, he was either at
Lilian's bedside, or waiting in the next room for
a call thither. A wonderful helper did Rebecca
find him. Sometimes Lilian seemed to know him;
then he was invaluable ; no arms could rest her
like his, and no hand but liis could give medicine
or nourishment. He lived for those intervals of
recognition. But for the most part the burden
of nursing fell heavily upon Rebecca. There was
a trained nurse in attendance, but she was simply
useful in advising, and in watching for changes,
Lilian seeming from the very first to consider
her an interloper, with whom she meant to have
nothing to do. Occasionally somebody said that
Rebecca was overdoing. Once the doctor looked
sharply at her and said, " You must get some rest
to-day and a few minutes in the outside air."

Then Mr. McKenzie had turned anxious eyes

■■(■

■J " if &
il3 l-t

Ml'

k "i

!ii

196

" WANTED."

on her and said, " Yes, do try to get a little rest.
If you should break down what would become of
her?"

But Rebecca had answered quietly, even putting
a brave smile on her face, that she should not
break down ; she rested quite often in her chair ;
they were not to worry about her. In her heart
she meant that she would not break down until
there was no further need for her watchfulness ;
for poor Rebecca had given up all hope of the
little life. Had not Ailee died ? and Ailee was
a stronger child than Lilian, and had inherited a
good constitution.

There came at last a terrible day when the cries
of delirium were hushed, and the cheeks which
had so long been crimson were deathly in their
pallor, and the heavy sleep into which the little
sufferer fell v/as so like death that those who
watched knew, without trying to read the ph'si-
cian's impassive face, that the awful crisis of the
disease was upon them. The day itself was
breathless — the first very warm day of the sea-
son. The sun seemed fierce and pitiless, and it
seemed as though he stood still in the heavens
and let the hours of almost an eternity roll on
without another night. So terrible was it to sit
by that still sleeper and feel that there was iioth-
ing to be done but wait, and to know almost to a
certainty for what they were waiting.

On this day, when Mr. McKenzie was informed

WAITING.

197

that his business partner was waiting to see him,
he shook his heail. ''Tell him to do whatever he
thinks wise aljout everytliing," he said ; ** I cannot
talk with him to-tjay."

So the man went away witli grave, troubled face,
and people outside knew that Mr. McKenzie had
very little hope of his daughter.

Mrs. Payne, whose patient had had an ill-turn
jast before Lilian sickened, and who had seen but
little of the chiltl, stole in durini;* the day, and
stood watching her for a lew minutes, then went
softly out, the tears rolling down her cheeks ; and
they knew that Mrs. Payne f^lt that she had said
good-by to Lilian.

Into the midst of this solemn waiting, which
was so much harder to bear than activity, came a
break. There was a sutlden confusion outside.
Doors opened and closeil less noiselessly than they
had been doing, and once some one called in a
quick, sharp tone. Then a summons came for
Mr. McxCenzie. It was not business this time,
f )r in response to the hurriedly whispered mes-
sage he went at once. The trained nurse looked
her inquiries, but Rebecca shook her head. There
was nothing that she could tell, but in her heart
she knew what had occurred.

CHAPTER XVII.

i," I:

'I!!;

i ji^KJ,

LIFE AND DEATH.

IT was even as she had feared. Mr. McKenzie
vv'as hours away, and the doctor only looked
in hurriedly at intervals to note if there had been
any chancre in Lilian. Prcstutl/ the trained nurse
Who went in search of news, came back with the
whispered word that " that poor mother had been
taken worse, and, from all acct)unts, they thought
she was dying. Poor creature ! she would si-e
her baby very soon, after all, perhaps. Wasn't it
sad.?"

Rebecca could only bow her head for reply ; she
had no words to speak. Then, with her face
buried on her hands, her soul went up in prawr
as it had never been her privilege to pray before.
Not so much for the little life beside her which
she felt was ebbing away ; not even so much for
the dying woman — if she were dying — as for
the stricken husband and father whose burden it
seemed to her must be almost greater than he

'93

LIFE AND DEATH.

199

could bear. No ; the mother did not die. It was
the trained nurse again who brought news at last.
" They say she is better ; it seems she is used
to such awful spells — that Nancy says so ; but
she says they thought she was going sure, this

»>

time.

The doctor's face was as impassive as ever when
at last he came to make a longer stay beside Lilian.
His replies to the nurse were very brief. " She is
better." Was she out of danger ? "I think so."
And to the nurse's ejaculation, "What a mercy it
is that she is spared to that poor man just now ! "
he made no sort of reply. When Mr. McKenzie
came back it seemed as though years had been
added to his life. Rebecca even fancied that his
limbs trembled as he crossed the room. And the
look on his face she could never quite forget.
They were alone for the moment ; the doctor had
just departed, assuring Rebecca that he did not
anticipate any change for several hours, and the
nurse had slipped away for what she called a
" bite," having vainly urged Rebecca to go in her
stead.

The father had gone to the other side of the
bed and dropped upon his knees beside Lilian —
an attitude he often took, the better to observe
her slightest movement.

" Mr. McKenzie, you need God." The words
seemed to be wrung from Rebecca almost against
her will. She had not planned to say them ; she

m\i^

200

" v.AXTrr).

bad thought to he entirely sient. lie di 1 not
seem to bj Furprisel ;,t her wo'is, nor imnoyed.

"Yes," he said, in a slov., tr.p.'.uloiis tone wiy
unlike his own, *' I need — r<^!nerhin,L:. I niust
have help of some S(wc or I shall die. My bur^ien
is heavier than I can heir,"

In an instant Reheeca was on her knees by tlie
bedside, prayin^^ in an audible voice; a thin^ she
hail never done before. PrayiuLV, not for the little
child lying there so quiet, breatliing her life aw.iv,
but for the father: th^it the IiMlrdte Father wouM
come down to him and reveal himself as a burden-
bearer — one able ant! willing to enfold him ; pray-
ing that he might even then ::ni\ [\:crc sec Jesus
Christ as his frieril and iiav our. She did not
know what words j-!ie nsf> ; slie was never able
to recall them — at the time she did not think of
words. She .had so recenilv learned what real
prayer meant, that she could well understand how
little the kneeling man knew about it ; it mat-
tered not what he thought, if oidy she could help
to show him the mighty Christ. The prayer was
very short ; her feeling was too int.-^nse for many
words. In a few minutes she had slipped back to
her seat again. When Dr. Caruthers returned he
founil her as he had left her, and the father kneel-
in<4 where he h.id spent so much of his time of
late ; but now his eyes inst-ea i (»f being fixed on
lidi'i'^ f'lC'^ wrre hi''ii"-i in rhe bedclothes. The
do- lor werii around to l.ini, l:i;d a f iendlv hand

LIFE AND DEATH.

20i

on his shoulder and spoke low : ** Mr. McKenzie,
there will be no change here for some time ; could
you not be persuaded to try to get a little rest?
You have my word for it that you shall be called
the moment there is the slightest indication of
change." Then, for the first time in more than
an hour, the father lifted his head. His face was
still very pale, but the terrible look it had worn
was gone.

" I will try," he said to the doctor, then coming
over to Rebecca's side of the bed, he bent over
Lilian, looking long at the white face and sunken
eyes. As he turned away his eyes rested for a
single moment on Rebecca, and he said in low
grave tones: "I thank you." Did it mean for
her faithful care of Lilian ?

After that Dr. Caruthers tried his skill upon
Rebecca. He represented to her that at present
there was nothing to be done but wait, and the
trained nurse could surely accomplish that ; by
and by there would be a change, and it was barely
possible that it might be such an one as would
demand all her strength ; for if Lilian should
awaken conscious, it was reasonable to suppose
that she would at once want her nurse. Would
not Rebecca show the good sense which had char-
acterized he»" during this ordeal, and rest when
she could } He would make the same promise to
her that he had to Mr. McKenzie.

So Rebecca, feeling sure that she could not

,ii

I ,

'■'I

] i I*

ii!

2oa

*♦ WANTED.'

sleep, nor even rest, yet realized that it was the
part of common sense to try, and went away ; and
in ten minutes from that time was in the soundest
sleep of her life. Overtaxed nature had borne all
that it could. Four hours afterwards .she awak-
ened bewildered, even frightened, at finding her-
self away from her charge, and in a perfectly
quiet house. Very rapidly she made the neces-
sary changes of dress, and hurried into the hall,
afraid to hear any news, and yet feeling that she
must know at once all that there was to know.

She met Dr. Caruthers striding down the hall.
"Ah !" he said, " I was coming for you, according
to promise ; I hope you are rested, for there is
work. She is awake and conscious, and I believe
if her nurse can be trusted to control herself and
do exactly as she is told, she will pull her through."

He must have understood his subject. Weak
from long watching, feeling it even more just now
because of the heavy sleep, Rebecca's brain reeled
with the news, and she clutched at the baluster to
save herself from falling. It was just then that he
said, " If her nurse can be trusted to control her-
self," and the nurse brought all her powers of self-
control into action. One moment the room was
black before her, and she felt herself going up to
the ceiling, the next she had steadied herself and
looked up at Dr. Caruthers with a smile.

"I think I was not prepared for good news,"
she said, " but I am all right now."

I.IFi: AN1> I>1 ATM.

203

''That was well (Ion*.'," Iio an.swcrctl, watch ii>;4"
hiT closely. "Go tlown to ihs,' (lii)iii;.;-r()()ni aiul
(hiiik a cup of the broth )«in will fiml tlv.'re, ami
cat anytliin.Lj you cai) iiidiice yo..rsclf to taki* ;
then y,v to the piazza on the noi tli siile, and walk
up anJ down it ten times; after that \oii ni ly
cotne to Lilian. There is a lonjjj unil iKinuerons
.siieich of roa*l before us, ami we must be ai wise
as svrpcnts. "

!'vel)ecca Uinud without a Wf>nl and went to the
(iini!»';-room. She luul hi lieved tiiat she could not
c;it ; i)r.t the doctoi was to he obeyed. Afterthat,
1' )r three perilous weeks Rebecca was at iier pus',
watchini; cle:ir-e\ v d and tpdet every passing wak-
ii)>jj inovern-M^t of her pal lent, and ministerin.ij to
her as none oth. r could W hen Lilian slept, six ,
.slill under the d»»elor*s orders, slept also ; she aLc
what ar.d when he toll her to, and walked on the
north, or south piazza as he directed, and j,^ave
herself to the business of nursing Lilian, and
UeeitiiiL: herself in strennrtii to do it.

'•That is rather a renmrkable nurse of yours,"
Dr. Caruthers said to the father one morninij. It
was after Lilian was st) far recovered that she was
on the north piazza with her nurse at that moment,
in a hammoci-:, surroundetl by pillows, and jxile as
a lily, but smiling ami content. The doctor had
assisted in cstablishinLT them — Lilian in the ham-
niiK'is and Rebecca in a low rocker at her side.
Then he had gone to the library to <iay a partmg

204

WAXTKI).

/ i

Ji i i

'm '■

word to Mr. McKenzie, and had begun it as I
have indicated. "She has common sense in the
management of her patient, and of herself; and
common sense, paradoxical as it may seem, is the
most uncommon thing there is in this worlci."
Mr. McKenzie smiled. ** Humanly speaking;,"
continued the doctor, "you owe your child's life
to her."

"Yes," said Mr. McKenzie again, and he sal 1
not another word. Dr. Carnthers went away snv-
ing to himself that except where Lilian was con-
cerned, that man was immovable.

It was a very slow getting well ; tlte stifliiii^
days of summer were upon them, but the child
was not yet strong enough for the fatigue of
a journey, and Mrs. McKenzie was so bitterly
opposed to leaving home without the child, that
the doctor advised her waiting. Carroll, who,
Rebecca learned afterwards, had been summoned
home at the time when there was almost no hoj^
for Lilian, but had been too ill to come, was await-
ing them at the seaside, being peremptorily for-
bidden by his physician to brave the city's h'':it,
even for a single day. When she heard this,
Rebecca understood why Mr. McKenzie was will-
ing to heed his wife's appeals that she should wait
for Lilian. There were reasons why it would htt
unsafe for Carroll and his mother to be together,
without the father to stand guard. So they waited,
and Lilian grew daily stronger. The morning

LIFE AND DEATH.

205

that the Tuesday lunch was resumed, or at least
the first time that Lilian came to the dining-room,
her father brought her a mass of wild flowers
which he had discovered that morning fresh from
the country. Their own conservatory was aglow
with flowers, and the child who loved them dearly
had fresh ones every day ; but no choice exotics
had ever pleased her like these hardy treasures of
the woods. In his hand he held a bunch of small
sweet-scented violets, and these he presently laid
on Rebecca's plate, saying simply, " I hopij every
breath will tell you the story of my gratitude."
It was his first and only attempt at thanking her
for her devotion to his child.

It was just when they were beginning to say
that by next week Lilian would be strong enough
for the journey, that a new element of trouble
came, or rather a trouble which was steadily gain-
ing on them, but which they had not seen, came
to the front. It was Dr. Caruthers who opened
their eyes to it.

" Leave Lilian to Nancy for five minutes, Re-
becca, and come to me in the dining-room while
I give you some specific directions that I want
carried out."

Rebecca obeyed unhesitatingly. It was gener-
ally understood now in the household that she was
responsible for the carrying out of every order
pertaining to Lilian. He commenced abruptly:

" Have you seen Mrs. McKenzie of late ? "

206

♦• VVA.N'l Kl).

"O, yes ! for a few minutes every day."

" Do you note a change in her ? "

"For the better — yes, sir," said Rfibecca, with
brightening eyes.

"In some respects, yes ; in all respects, perhaps,
under the circumstances, though it is not common
to say so. What I mean is, do you know that she
is very near the end ?

"Yes," he continued, answering Rebecca's
startled look ; " I am confident now that it can be
but a few days. I had hoped to get her to the
seaside and let the family be together ; but it can-
not be done. I tell you first, that you may under-
stand all the circumstances, and be ready to help
us. The boy is ill ; I do not tell his father how
ill he is, because I think the man has burdens
enough already. The boy will recover, but it is a
low fever such as they have been having in the
institution where he was, and while he is doing
very well, and receiving all possible care, it is not
possible for him, now, to see his mother again.
This will make it hard. She seems to depend on
you more than on any others, and you need to
know these things in order to help her. You are
having a strange experience with this family, are
you not } I do not know what they would do
without you."

A strange experience indeed. It was weeks
since Rebecca had had any question as to whether
she was wanted ; her work was plain enough, and

I.IFi: A\I) DKATII.

207

scemorl to be liourly iLjrowinijf on her hands. Since
Lilian had been well enoUL^h for her to leave in
Niinry's care while she slept, Rebecca had been
in the habit of s])endiri,; an hour each day with
Mrs. McKenzie. She knew that she was watched
for eaj^erly, and she succeeded in making that hour
the pleasantest of any in the day, save the one
which Lilian and her father spent there. More-
over, Rebecca had belii-ved that a great blessing
was coming to th.is ^triingely distorted family, and
coming through her instrumentality. On the first
visit she had made after Lilian's illness, Mrs.
McKenzie, looking frightfully ill herself, had
drawn the girl's face down to her and whispered :

"I have given it up! I have not touched a drop
of it in any form since that night, and I never will
again. I have promised the Lord that I will not.
I told him if he would spare my baby to her father
I would never break my promise again. Deane
doesn't trust me, I think. I have promised so
often it .is not strange that he should not ; but
this is different. Rebecca, the Lord docs help ; I
told you I didn't believe it, but I do. It isn't i)e-
cause 1 have not had opportunities; there have
been chances — for that matter I have some <:f it
in my room this minute, but I will not touch it."

Nor had she. Rebecca had watched each dav,
ard e:ic!i day had commended the chiif^-wnrv n,
and assured her of sympathy, and idd her I (iw
glad Mr. McKenzie wpuld be when he came lb

Ij I

208

" WAXTF.D.

It if

realize it as a fnct, .-iivl uA.l \\cv thr.t now Lilian
need never know am lliinj^' about the ])ast. Aiul
every day she liad S(;ii:.ht lo lead the poor woman
to a closer hold upon the infinite Helper, and had
felt that she was suceeedini::.

It was only the nij^ht before that she had said
to herself cxultinL;ly as she had L^one from Mrs.
McKenzie's side, " Saved, saved ! " Then she ha I
let herself try to ima';ine what it would be fir
husband and wife to come tOL^ether fcelin^^ th it
the awful j<ulf which had separated them was
closed, and that life stretched itself out before
them in sunny lines. So absorbed had she bern
in this part of her work, that she had not noticed
the steady decline in stren_i;th. Since she h;i(l
come to understand the dark secret of the homo,
she had accused the dru;:;- of beini; the cause of ;;;1
the trouble, and with it banished her fears hai
been forccotten. The doctor's news came to her
like a blow. The woman over whom she ha 1 ex-
ulted was saved, but for Heaven, not for earth.

The doctor stood waiting the result of his news.
"I see I have startled you," he said, after a mo-
ment. "I am surprised at tht.t ; I had given you
credit for greater penetration ; but you have been
preoccupied. Well, how are we to manage.^ Is
it your opinion that she ought to be told of her
condition } Or shall we let her slip quietly away
and make no more trouble.^ It will be a very quiet
going, I think. Perhaps that is the better way."

LIFE AND D£ATH.

209

" Oh ! I cannot think so. Dr. Caruthers, would
you not want to know if such a wonderful change
as that were about to come to you ? "

" Perhaps so," he said, after a moment's silence.
"Well, will you undertake it.?"

"I?" said Rebecca, and she drew back as one
who shrank from the task.

" Why, yes ; I had thought that it would better
be you ; she does not seem over fond of Dr. Carter,
and there is no one else. Are you not one of the
praying kind ? It seems reasonable to associate
prayer with dying ; I hardly know why."

"I do," said Rebecca. She spoke quietly, and
had already gained control of her shrinking nerves.
" I will undertake it, doctor."

"Very well," he said, relieved. "I had a feel-
ing that I could depend upon you. And what of
him ? I do not think he has an idea of such a
change ; she has been ill so long, and has had so
many narrow escapes. Could you undertake to " —

But Rebecca interrupted him. She would take
no more commissions ; she was not at all the person
to explain anything to Mr. McKenzie.

" All right," said the doctor, after he had con-
sidered' her emphatic words for a moment, " I will
hand him over to Carter; they seem to get on
well together. Poor man ! one could have the
heartache for him if it would do any good."

Then he went away, with his heart much fuller
of sympathy than some of his words would indicate.

: ■!;:

.aui

■•! ;

:Uil

CHAPTER XVIIL

RESPONSIBILITY.

REBECCA'S task proved not to be a formida-
ble one. She went about it with utmost
caution and tenderness, but with utter truthfulness.
" Do you mean that ? " Mrs. McKenzie asked
in an awed whisper, and she took in the sense of
the softly murmured words of the girl who was
kneeling beside her. Then, after a few minutes
of utter silence she spoke quite steadily : " Well,
perhaps it is better so. It is, of course, if God
has planned it. I thought I would like to sur-
prise Deane, and I thought I could do it, but
perhaps he sees that I couldn't. I am not very
strong even now, although I am different from
what I have been for years. Yesterday I lay
thinking what if I should go back ! I was all in
a tremble over it. I had just strength enough to
get out the little bottle from where I had hidden
it between the springs and the slats, and pour it
out of that open window. I raised up all by myself

2IO

RESPONSIBILITY.

211

to do it, and I'm glad it is gone ; I feel safer so.
Perhaps the grave is the only safe place for me."

Cold shivers like an ague chill shook Rebecca's
frame as she listened. She had never before
come into close contact with a person who was
under the dominion of an awful habit, and the
power of sin seemed more terrible to her than it
ever had.

"You may well shudder," the sick woman said,
but speaking herself in very quiet tones. " I had
barely strength to do it, and the smell of it while
it was gurgling out drove me wild* I tell you I
am safer in the grave than anywhere else."

"O, dear Mrs. McKenzie ! not in the grave,"

"Well, no ; I will not say that. It used to be
all that I could see ; but God has been very mer-
ciful. It seems stran«;e that there should be
Heaven for me ; but I think there is. And you
will take care of my Lilian — such care as I have
not given her. It is better so,"

She said very little more, but lay quiet and
grave ; evidently thinking over what had been
told her. After a little, she raised herself and
asked for Deane to be sent for. What passed
between husband and wife that day only God
knows.

After that she grew steadily weaker, failing so
visibly that no one who saw her needed telling.
O ie evening; just as Lilian was asleep for the
ni;,'ht, a?id Rebecca, who had had a busy day, was

1 ■ <■■]

212

" WANTED.'

seated by the hall window in a flood of moonljfjht,
resting, Nancy came with hurrying feet, and wip-
ing the tears from her face.

" O, Rebecca ! I guess she's going, sure ; and
she wants you."

Without waiting for details, Rebecca sprang up
hastily and hurried away. Mrs. McKenzie had
been no worse than usual during the day, but she
had not heard from her for several hours. Yes,
there had been a change ; she noted it the moment
her eyes rested on the pallid face. Mr. McKenzie
was holding in his, a hand which seemed already
lifeless. Mrs. Payne was sobbing softly under
cover ot her apron, and the doctor stood motion-
less and grave, apparently waiting. He moved
aside as Rebecca entered, and motioned her for-
ward. The movement seemed to arouse the appar-
ent sleeper on the bed ; she opened her eyes and
said softly, " Has she come .<* " Then, as Rebecca
stepped close to her she smiled : " I wanted to ask
you again — you will be sure to take care of my
Lilian .? "

" As long as she needs my care and I can give
it, I will," said Rebecca in steady tones. And
the smile on the sick woman's face deepened.

" I can trust you," she murmured. " Now,
pray."

Rebecca glanced about her, startled. Was Dr.
Carter there ? Was any one who prayed ? No ;
the direction must have been given to her. She

mmm

RESPONSIBILITY.

213

dropped upon her knees ; she was unused to
prayer before others. Save that one time in
her dire extremity when she had prayed for Mr.
McKenzie, liis wife was the only one who had
ever heard her, on her knees. But of course
t'uMo was no thought of refusal, no time for hesi-
i.iiion. As for whiit she said, God knows; as-
MULVilv she docs r.oL ; but she knows it was from
],c\ liv i.rt.

" ;\ iK-n," siii Mrs. McKenzie. Then, after a
moni.;tt, "Kiss Lilian for mamma. O, Deane!
)oii ;iio sure you forgive me ? "

ills reply was murmur'*d in her ear, and a
toiKicr sniiic was on her face the while. Then
Ijer eyes closed, and all was still. A few moments
more, and Dr. Caruthers laid his hand on Mr.
McKeiizie's arm, spoke a few words in low tone,
and led him away. Rebecca slipped back to her
motherless charge, and kreeling beside her bed
prayed for the poor boy who was waiting for the
mother who would never come.

The next few days were almost bewildering in
their responsibility. Every servant in the house
seemed to understand by common consent that
Rvjhecca was the one to be consulted in regard to
aiiv'hini; which had to do with Lilian, or with
pi in; frr the immediate future. Perhaps Mr.
l.icis.< nijf \i:\ 1 so directed.

Iia' i.ii.'ir t') 1 cr ilie niornin:;- jiiter Mrs. McKen-
zie n.ia i>.iL L.ioi.i, his h.sL ni\.aa bciug to bring

i^'

214

" WANTED."

Lilian back to her. The child had been with him
in the library for more than an hour, and a glance
at her little pale face showed Rebecca that she
understood.

"This little girl is going to be very good," he
said, with a faint, grave sniile. " She means to
take her food, and lier medicine, and be brave all
day for papa's sake."

And then Rebecca received the trembling form
in her arms, and the golden head was hidden in
her neck.

"I must leave her entirely in your care to-day,"
the father explained ; *' I must go to Carroll. I
fear the poor boy is more ill than I had supposed,
and I must in any case give him his mother's mes-
sages. I have left 011 my library table a paper
giving directions, so far as I could recall what
should be done ; if other questions arise demanding
immediate attention I beg you will use your judg-
ment. I shall return early to-morrow morning."

Apparently Rebecca was to take charge of the
paper ; so she went for it, and quietly assumed
the charge he had given her. It was well that she
was by nature self-controlled and cl,ear-headed.
She needed all her strength and forethought.
Even Mrs. Barnett leaned upon her.

" Do please give Norah a notion of what to have
for dessert," she said, waylaying Rebecca in the
hall as she was on her way downstairs. " There
will be folks here to dinner, I suppose. He said

RESPONSIBILITY.

215

we must be ready for friends who might come,
and I am that shaken up I don't half-know what I
am about." She held a hand to her head while
she spoke, and looked worn and ill. So Rebecca
went to the kitchen and consulted with Norah.

There was scarcely less responsibility when the
master of the house returned. By that time guests
had arrived. Aunts and cousins belonging to the
class who hold almost no intercourse with their
relatives during their lives, but seem to feel the
importance of gathering about their lifeless clay.
Some of these cousins, near Rebecca's own age,
looked wonderingly and somewhat doubtfully upon
her. She overheard one of them interviewing the
housekeeper.

** Barnett, who is that young woman who seems
to have so much to say about things.^ One meets
her everywhere, and she always has Lilian with
her. Rather officious, is she not ? "

The reply was very distinct. "That young
woman is a dear friend of her that's gone; she
had her sent for that last night, and said some of
her last words to her ; and Miss Lilian loves her
dreadfully, and can't bear to be out of her sight.
No, she ain't officious ; she is that kind and con-
siderate that I don't know what any of us would
do without her."

Rebecca, busy and tnuibled as she was, could
not restrain a smile; evidently Mrs. Barnett did
not like the cousin who was questioning.

;».

2l6

WAX TCI).

It was several clays after the mother bad been
laid in the grave before Rcl.cCv'u knew what w:is
to become of Lilian and heiself. Mr. McKcnzie
returned to bis son directly lifler the funeral, s;iv.
ing nothing to her beyond the statc-ment tliat he
left Lilian absolutely in her care ; but this he said
positively, in the presence of the cousin who had
considered her officious. So, though that cousin
still lingered and did what she could to win Lilian,
Rebecca kept her charge constantly in sight, and
assumed all the responsibilities concerning her.

From Dr. Caruthcrs, who had gone down with
Mr. McKenzie, she learned that t'le boy was slowly
gaining; he had borne the news of his motiier's
death as well as could have been expected, but still
it was a set back, and his father naturally felt very
an.xious. Mr. McKenzie went down to the shore
where his son was, and returned, three times be-
fore he summoned Rebecca to a consultation. It
was not a long one. His plans, he told her, were
now matured so far as he could mature them with-
out her 1 elp. His boy was in a critical condi-
tion. The terrible disappointment in regard to
his motlier had been very hard. The doctor be-
lieved that a sea voyage was a matter of vital im-
portance to him, and a stay of some months in a
totally different climate. He was unable to go
without his father, or at lear.t in his present con-
dition there was no one with whom his father
was willing to trust him, save hmiself. But Dr.

RESl'ONPflMr.IIV.

217

Caruthcrs, who was so sure that the sea was wliat
the boy needed, was equally sure that he did not
wnnt Lilian to go in that direction. He greatly
])rcferred the country for her, and cheerful quiet
instead of the excitement of travel. Plainly the
father must be sej)a»'i'ted from his daughter, if he
wns to do what was best for both children. The
question which remained was, could and would
Rebecca assume the entire charge of Lilian until
such time as he could again give her his personal
care.' "You remember," he said, breaking off to
^qve her a searching loo!;, "what you said to her
motncr.''

" Yes," said Rebecca, her lij) quivering a little,
"I remember; I shall be glad to keep my word."

lie seemed greatly relieved, and thanked her
earnestly ; then went back to business. It re-
mained to decide where he should place the two
during his absence. He had relatives unnum-
bered, he explained, with the shadow of a smile
flitting across his grave face ; but no mother nor
sister nor very near and dear friend. His aunts
and cousins, three of them, had kindly offered,
even urged their homes as the fitting place, but
there were reasons why some other would be
preferable. For one thing the climate was not in
those localities as desirable as it might be, and
besides — What did she think.? Would she
object to having Lilian entirely removed from any
of her family friends ?

%f ^'M

.i iii

2l8

WANTED.

" I should prefer it," said Rebecca quickly ;
" tliat is — I beg your pardon ; I mean if I am to
have the sole responsibility — I think" — And
there she stopped.

" Yes," he said, he perfectly understood and
qiiite agreed with her. Assuredly she was to
have the sole responsibility. Then was there any
J)!. ice with which she was acquainted, and for
Nviich 5he had a preference. If so, he would be
^1.1(1 to have her mention it, and he would take it
i;Uo carcfiii consideration.

Then came to Rebecca a vision of her father's
last letter. 0;ily a few lines, he lived such a busy
life; but the closing lines were: " O, daughter!
when are we to have a sight of your face ? Your
last letters have done us good, in many respects ;
but I own that they have made us hungry to see
you. How much longer must we wait?"

How long would it be, in view of these plans,
before she could see her father ? She had written
several letters since that first one, all beginning,
"Dear father and mother:" and Mrs. Meredith
had replied to them, saying " we," as her father
always did, and giving pleasant home news, and
being cordial in her tone. Before sickness and
death came into their midst Rebecca had thought
of planning a vacation and a visit home ; after that,
she put it from her indefinitely. She thouglit
rnpidly while Mr. McKenzie waited, then spoke
from the impulse which had just come to her.

Ki'.si'()N.-.iij;!.riv

219

"I have not had time to think, of course; but
would you object to my takin<; Miss Lilian to my
own home for a time ? "

He was not one to agree blindly to anything.
He questioned carefully. Where was her home,
and what were its surroundings.-' O, yes! he
knew that region of country ; in point of health it
was all that could be desired. Did her people
live in town ? Ah ! that was encouraging ; half a
mile out in so small a city as that was almost like
the country. When he was told her father's
given name he grew more interested still ; asked
when and where he graduated, and said at last,
"Why, I must have known your father when I
was a boy. Is it possible that he is John Ellis
Meredith ? I had a brother who was a chum of
his ; if I mistake not, I have vi, ited at your
father's old home." He looked steadily at Re-
becca as he said these words, and she knew his
knowledge of her father made him wonder why
the daughter had chosen such work as she had.
The color on her face deepened, but she answered
his look.

" My father is a country physician in very mod-
erate circumstances, and as there was no work at
home needing me, I resolved to try to earn my
living. My mother is dead, but my father's second
wife is a good woman. I think Miss Lilian would
be happy there."

Mr. McKenzie bowed. " Thank you," he said,

I 'hi

HI '

[jp

r '

^:]l:'l

LL:

■5 I I

220

*• WANTLD.**

"for your confidence. And, Rebecca, it is not
necessary for you to sny * Miss Lilian ' ; you aie
too much to lier, and too tiioroughly a tried riiul
trusted friend of the family to make such formality
necessary or desirable."

Matters shaped themselves with astonishin:;-
rapidity after that. Rebecca's letter home \v;:.s
replied to by the first possible mail. They ucro
more than willing to receive her charge.

"Indeed," wrote Mrs. Meredith, "your father is
so hungry for a sight of you that I thiuK he vvouK!
accept any conditions. IJut, aside from that, wc
are sorry for the little motherless one, and will be
glad to help you make her happy. We think h
was very kind in you to l)e willing to assume l.i i-
care. As for the terms mentioned, they arc lil)-
eral in the extreme ; indeed, we hardly feel willim;
to receive so large a sum for the board of a litilc-
child. Your father thinks you would better ex-
plain that we live very simply, and that no su li
amount is necessary."

Rebecca carried the message to Mr. McKenzi^ ,
and he paid quite as much attention to* it as she
had supposed he would.

"I am fully aware that I am receiving that for
which money cannot pay ; but at the same tinu- I
wish to have money do what it can. The tcinis
I mentioned included your own board. Rebicca,
for I wished you to feel quire free to give your
entire time to Lilian if you cho.^e."

itESPoxsiBiLiry.

221

In an incredibly short space of time, consiilering
the amount of work to be done, the great house
was put in order for an indefinite absence, the ser-
v.i'.its scattered to various points, the housekeeper
sent t(» spend the summer, and as much longer as
vas necessary, with her married daughter, and Mr.
McKenzie, attended by his faithful Rogers, was
ready for a sea voyage Only the day before they
were to sail, he took Rebecca and her charge as
far as the junction where they made their last
chani;c of cars. He had planned to go all the
way, but business matters of great importance de-
hiyed him, and Rebecca assured him that all they
would have to do after changing at the junction
would be to sit still until her father came to meet
them at their own station. But there were a hun-
dred and fifty miles to ritle before the junction was
reached, tluring which Rebecca was for the first
time in her life taken care of on a journey. Mr.
McKenzie was a man who seemed to know by
intuition just when windows and blinds and shades
neei'.ed attention, ot just when a glass of water or
an orange would be refreshing. Apparently he
(/evott'd himself to Lilian — a looker-on would have
said that he had eyes and cars for none but her —
yet during that long morning Rebecca never needed
,' f.iM, or traveling bag, or convenience of any sort,
but he seemed to know it, and was at hand.

■I

Si!

r',i

CHAPTER XIX.

oi$lic;atioxf;.

^TOW began for Re])ecca Meredith an effort to
^ find her place in lier old iiome, or to make
a new place for herself. In truth, this last expres-
sion is the one which fitted, for Rebecca was not
the young woman who hail gone away with her
heart sore against ihe new comer. It took but a
few days for Mrs. Meredith to discover the change
in her step-daughter, but she marveled over it.
Wnat could have come into the girl's life to give
her that settled air of peace ? Rebecca was in
some respects fully as reserved as she had always
been. Not even to her father did she consider it
necessary to make elaborate explanations. Mr.
McKenzie, man of means though he evidently
was, had for some reason been induced to receive
boarders, or, at least, a boarder into his family ;
this was all they knew. Husband and wife specu-
lated over it occasionallv.

"Perhaps she was a particular friend of the

OBr.ICATIOXS.

223

dead wife," Mrs. Meredith said ; "she seems very
fond of her. Yesterday, when she was speaking
about her the tears filled her eyes. Then, she is
extravagantly fond of Lilian ; I suppose the dear
little thing reminds her of Ailee."

As the weeks went by it became increa^ngly
apparent to Rebecca that she had made her own
discomforts at home, and made them out of very
sliirht material. Mrs. Meredith, seen through
clear and unprejudiced eyes, proved herself to be
a warm-hearted, well-intentioned woman ; one who
had married her husband for love, and who had
had a vivid sense of her responsibility as a step-
mother, and an earnest determination to do her
duty. The kindly way in which she received
Lilian to her heart, and the unselfish manner in
which she planned for her gave proof of what she
would have done for Ailee, had the older sister
given her a chance. »

"I was unjust to her," Rebecca told herself, as
she went over the past one evening carefully. " I
was to blame ; the position was hard for her, too.
I ought to have thought of that ; I never did, once.
I thought only for myself. She loves my father,
and has been his helper and care-taker during the
time when his daughter deserted him ; and she
has received me back as though I gave her when
I was here before, all the courtesy and attention
which her position demanded. It is humiliating
to have to own it, but I believe I was altogether to

f "fl

rn*:;.

:?(i

224

" WAXTKD."

blame. Shall I tell her so ? Or will it be better
to ignore the past and show her by my daily life
that she has her rightful place now ? Let me
think." The result of the thinking wafe, that she
determined to act as though there had been no
" past " which needed righting. " It is not as
though I could put my hand on any word or act
of mine, and say to her * that was wrong,* " said
Rebecca, to that safe confidante, herself. " In
such a case I should know what ought to be done ;
but it was the atmosphere in which I wrapped
myself that was to blame ; and some way, one
cannot apologize for an atmosphere, at least, until
we are on more intimate terms. There may come
a time when I shall want to say to her, * I think I
was insufferable during those first years of your
Coming to us ; not in any special way, but on
general principles;' but at present, if I were in
her place, I think I should want me to keep still."

So she kept still, so far as any past experiences
were concerned. But what an utterly changed
atmosphere there was.

Dr. Meredith, preoccupied man that he was,
felt, rather than noticed, the change. Much as he
had longed to see his only daughter, there had
been times when he had thought of her coming
with foreboding, remembering how uncomfortable
some of the hours had been before she went away.
But during these days his face beamed continually
with satisfaction. It was one evening, just after

OBLIGATIONS.

22$

Rebecca had intercepted Mrs. Meredith with her
arms full of fresh linen to be laid away in the
china closet, with the words, " Let me do that
for you, mother," that Dr. Meredith spoke hjs
thoughts.

"How did we ever get on without you, daugh-
ter.^ We cannot let her go away again ; can we,
nioiiier ? "

Mrs. Meredith smiled, and resigned her pile of
n ii)kins. " Wc must contrive some plan for im-
prisoning both her and Sunny," she said. "I am
sure I don't know what we would do without
them."

" Sunny " was the pet name which both Dr.
Meredith and his wife had adopted for Lilian, and
it fitteil her well. Mercifully for her, the baby
w.is too young to have the sorrow which had so
early shadowed her life make a present deep im-
pression, and no bird once imprisoned, was ever
more free and glad than she was in being emanci-
pated from her city home, and allowed to roam over
the large garden, or even go out of the gate and
walk down to the corner "all by herself," as she
dictated to her father, "only Rebie stood at the
gate and watched."

Those letters to her father were a daily satis-
faction to the little girl. Rebecca, under promise
to write by every steamer, had planned that the
child should send all the messages, she acting
merely as scribe ; so the afternoon hour which

I '1"

niH

' i

'■ ■ I j

226

"vvAxrr.D.

»7r. ♦»

htui always been given to " papa " was sacrcu to
him still, and not even an invitation to litle to the
stai^le wiiii Dr. Meredith was sufificient to win
. the faithful baby from the "talk wiv papa."

As for the letters which came to her from acro.ss
the ocean, they grew more interesting each week.
They came always addressed to " Miss Lilian
McKcnzie," and an evident effort was made to
suit the language to her capacity ; but the fu t
remained that very much of the detail, tlioiigh lu'-
yond her grasp, was of absorbing interest to the
Meredith household. It grew to be the e.xpcctcil
entertainment over the doctor's evening cup ot
tea to have bits read to him from the European
letters.

'* It is almost as good as going abroad one's
self," Mrs. Meredith saici one evening, after a par-
ticularly graphic account (jt a day's experience had
been given; "but it is really pitiful to sec that
baby try to understand it all. What a wise look
she puts on when they are being read, and she
sits as still as a mouse to the very end. I think
she is a remarkable child."

** They are quite a success as children's letters,"
said the doctor. " It surprises me to see how
much there is that she can understand ; but
McKenzie evidently has in mind the interests of
the older children while he writes ; he was always
thoughtful for others even when a mere boy ; I
remember him very well. He was sure to liave

OBLIGATIONS.

227

something of interest to tell father and mother
after a day's pleasuring. The rest of the scape-
graces never thought of it, but McKenzie would'
say, ' Boys, your father will like to hear about that,
won't he ? * or, * I think your mother would like
some of these wild flowers.' It seems remarkable
that Rebecca, in that great city, should have come
in contact with a friend of my boyhood. Oh ! he
is a dozen years younger than I, but my brother
Bert was very fond of him, and we all liked him.
Was it on the score of old acquaintance that he
took you to board.? I wonder you never men-
tioned the matter in your letters."

"No, sir," said Rebecca, with heightened color;
"I did not know of the old acquaintance until a
short time before I came home; it had nothing to
do with my being in bis family."

Then she somewhat hurriedly turned the con-
versation ; she did not feel ready, yet, to tell her
father that she was in Mr. McKenzie's house, in
the capacity of nurse for Lilian. She was not
ashamed of it, but her father might be annoyed ;
she could not be sure whether he would honor her
for her independence, or feel that she had done a
foolish thing.

There is no denying that Rebecca liked inde-
pendence. Pleasant as it was to be at home —
and it grew daily more so — there was a sense of
deep satisfaction in the fact that the ample price
which Mr. McKenzie paid was entirely sufficient

228

" WANTED.

i;!l

to cover the board of two, and that while she was
enjoying the privileges of a daughter at home she
was at the same time earning her living. Coupled
with this satisfaction, as the days passed, was an
uneasy feeling that such a state of things could
not last. The summer was speeding away ; in the
early autumn Mr. McKenzie would return, and
Lilian would be summoned home ; then what
would become of her.^ If she went back to his
house in the position which she had occupied be-
fore, her father must, of course, fully understand
the situation. Of course she could go, even though
he disapproved, for she remembered, with a shade
of sadness, that her youth was gone, and that most
people would probably commend her for insisting
upon an independent course in life, since it was
evident that however much her father might enjoy
her company, he was in no real need of her. But
did she want to return to the McKenzie household
as a child's nurse ? It was all very well for her
to accept the situation in the first place, and she
should always be glad that she had done so, but
did it not behoove her to spend her time in trying
to fit herself for some, position which she could
wisely fill, when she should be considered too old
for a nurse-girl ? Had she any right to usurp such
a place, and thereby stand in the way of some
faithful girl, when she was entirely able to earn
her living in other ways }

Her thoughts went back to " Madame's " sewing-

ODLir.ATlONS.

229

room, and to the suiffy room on the fourth floor
back in that respectable iio.irding-housc, and she
shivered. Could .she |.;o l)ae' ro such a life? But
that was not necessjiry. It her father and mother
would not object, she mi^ht hCw with ?.Irs. Draper
in their own town, learning from her all the n« ces-
sary points which would make her independent.
SI1C winced a little at the thou'jtht ; her father,
although a poor physician, was a leading man in
the town, and she had been accustomed all her
life to being locked up tf» as a leader. How
would it seem to become a sewing wonian at Mrs.
Draper's, and, ip the course of time, to scrv'c those
ladies wht^ now received wiih pleasure her formal
calls? But what would those s.ime ladies think
if they knew that she was now, and had been for
some time, a nurse girl receiving nionthly wages?
She could not help laughing over the thought of
their horror. " So kinel of you lo give your time
to the motherless little one!" they were in t^he
habit of murmuring to her, while they caressed
Lilian. Finally she dismissed the whole subject,
as much as possible, from her thoughts ; her pres-
ent duty was plain ; she would wait until she
could see the next step.

But when it became probable that each next
letter would set the date for Mr. McKenzie's re-
turn, Mrs, Meredith could not keep her thoughts
nor her words from the subject.

•'What will the little dailing do without you!"

210

"WAN'TKD."

:.±I

slic exclaimed, mtlier than asked, one day just as
the little one iuul whisked away from thcni to
meet l)r. Mereciih at the door. "It tjives nic
tlie iicurtache to lliink of it ; both for her and for
ourselves. What will her father do with her in
a house full of servants .' It does not seem as
thou;;h she outrht lo be left in that way. Wluit
a pity he hasn't a dear auntie, or niece, or some
one of his own flesh and blood. Do you know ut
all, what his plans are.'"

Rel)ecca replied briefly that she did not. She
supposed, of course, he would arrange to hiivc
Lilian with him, for he was devoted to her.
Probably the housekeeper would Ir the gen-
eral charge of her ; for llic rest, .- did not
know.

•' For the rest she will have some worthless
nurse girl," said Mrs. Meredith gloomily. "Isn't
it a pity? Do you never think, Rebecca, thnt
possibly, if you should offer to do so, he wouhl be
glad to have you keep her right here with us ;.ll,
for the winter? If, as you say, he is devoted lo
her, he will study her best interests, and I am
sure he must know that it will not be well for her
to be under the care of hirelings."

Rebecca smiled ; she was herself a " hireling,"
and Mr. McKenzie had entrusted his treasure
to her, and been glad to do so ; but she did not
explain this. She merely said that she had almost
no iiope of the father's doing any such thing.

OBMGATIONS.

231

She did not believe he would feel that he could
get through the winter without Lilian ; it had
been very hard for him to go abroad, on her
account. He gave more care and thought to his
little child than most fathers did ; the mother,
having been an invalid for so long, had made him
try to supply the place of both father and mother.
Further than that, she kept her own counsel ; and
Mrs. Meredith and her husband puzzled over the
future without her.

It was well for Rebecca that she had learned
where to carry her anxieties. She prayed much
about Lilian's future — her own did not seem to
be important enough to trouble her greatly — but
it was of infinite importance that the little one
should fall into the right hands. It was blessed
to remember that the Lord Jesus knew just whose
hands to provide for her. Sometimes this rested
Rebecca utterly ; at other times, she felt as though
no hands but her own could have to do with her
darling.

Late in September, when the foreign mail was
watched for with an interest which amounted to
nervousness, came a letter which overturned all
their attempts at planning.

Mr. McKenzie wrote this time to Rebecca. Not
that the envelope was addressed to her ; it was
"Miss Lilian McKenzie," as usual, and the child
had her portion ; but there was a separate sheet
for Rebecca, in which the writer detailed their

232

" NVANTED."

m i

i '-i,

possible ])lans. His son, thonp:'! stendily r^ninin;;:^,
vas still far froiri stron^_; ; bis mothcr\« dciitli hail
been a terrible shock to his nervous system, ihc
news coniin:j^ to him as it did vvhen he was wcik
from disease, and when he was liourly hopin:;- to
have her beside him. An eminent j3hysician had
been consulted, who j^ave it as his opinion that for
the young man to chop all thought of study for a
year and travel abroad, would be the simplest .ind
surest wpy of putting ids health upon an assured
basis for the future. The father considered him
too young to be left in a strange land alone, and
there were no friends abroad at present with wliom
he cared to stay. Moreover, Mr. MeKenzie's busi-
ness partners were writing him that since he wa.i
over there, it seemed to them it would be well fcr
him to attend to the interests of the firm abroad,
rather than to send some one else to do so, as h:ul
been planned. All things considered, he had de-
termined to lay the case before Rebecca, and let
her decision fix theirs. If she was willing to as-
Bume the care of Lilian for the wititer, and until
such time in the spring or early summer as he
could come for her, he would spend the winter
abroad, and travel with his son, at the same time
giving careful attention to the foreign interests of
the firm. If, ff)r any reason, she was unwilling;'
or unable to assume further responsibility in rc-
gr.vd to Lilian, he would make arrangements for
ixn inuiie(drfle letuni, as he would under no cir-

OBLIGATIONS.

233

cumstances consent to leave her with any other
person. If Rebecca's father and mother could
and would receive his little daughter as a boarder
for the winter, under the management of herself,
he would see his way plain. There followed cer-
tain money arrangements suggested in case she
could fall in with his plans, which were even more
liberal than the present basis.

Rebecca, with her cheeks aglow with pleasure,
carried the letter at once to the family sitting-
room, calling out to Mrs. Meredith, who was leav-
ing the room by another door as she entered, " O,
mother, wait ! here is news which you will like."

She was too preoccupied to note the look of
satisfaction on her father's face, the while. It
was a great comfort to him to hear his daughter
address her step-mother in that tone.

He paced the floor thoughtfully after hearing
the letter, while the two lac.es were expressing
their entire satisfaction — even delight — oven its
consents. Presently he made known the cause of
his disturbance. He did not feel that to receive
such an exorbitant sum for Lilian's board was
either honest or comfortable. There was more
excuse for it, perhaps, as a temporary arrangement
during the summer months, but to accept such
terms for an entire year was not in accordance
with his ideas of propriety. Rebecca would better
write, explaining this carefully, and naming a sum
which would be entirely sufficient to cover all

* f ■

334

♦' WANTED."

expense, which instruction Rebecca obeyed. Mr.
McKenzie's reply was sent to her father — a genial
letter, such as one friend might write to another.

" As regards the money obligation between us,"
he wrote, " I am well aware that I am receiving in
your home that for which money cannot pay ; and
yet I trust you will allow me by it to express, so
far as money can, my sense of obligation. Let
me say just here that what your daughter has been
to my child, and to the child's mother, I can never
express in words, and I do not have the slightest
idea of trying to make payment for the same ; but
I have money, good friend, and it pleases me to
use some of it for this purpose.

*' Perhaps you will allow me to express in this
way my gratitude to the memory of your father
and mother, who opened their home to a mother-
less boy, and made him feel for a few days as one
of them. I have never forgotten their kindness.
May I hope to number their son among my
friends > "

**He knows how to write letters," said Dr.
Meredith, after an interval of silence, "and he
evidently has a high opinion of you, Rebecca,"

Then he gave the letter to her to read.

In her own note of directions concerning Lilian
was a blank check, with instructions to fill it out
for whatever sum the child might need, in addition
to what had been already sent.

<*•._ < >- • • •• ••

J '. —■^ ••_ • # ■ mf*

. ■/

CHAPTER XX.

rossruiiJTirs.

THKRIC folio ved an imtiimn rind wirter upon
which Rcl)ecca altcrwards looketl back as
one of delijjjbtfiil memory. There were very f(;\v
clouds to mar its hriu^htness. Lilian was well, and
as happy as a bird, alid ,i;rew l)e::utiful, as the
weeks passed. 'I'o the doctor and Mrs. Mercdirh,
she was a source of iinf lilmuj delii^ht. Indeeil,
thi doctor, who had been careful sometimes almost
to sternness with his own children, was so nearlv
inclined to spoil this one, that Rebecca had to
be on the watch. As for Mrs. Meredith — now
that she could be seen with unprejudiced tyes —
Rebecca frankly adpiitted to herself that her step-
mother was an unusually wise and judicious woman,
especially as re^ijarded children. Sometimes the
elder si.ster sighed over the; thouj;ht of Aik-e, and
of what her own selfish love had deprived the
child. They had lonj:^ ))leasant talks, she and her
mother, during these divs; they consulted in re-

ri5

236

WANTED.

! M

gard to all matters concerning Lilian, not onlv,
but, as the season waned, grew more and more
intimate, until it became natural to Rebecca to
" see what mother thought " about a thing, before
she decided it. This she found to be good for
her, in more ways than one. She discovered,
though somewhat late in life, that it is possible
for even sensible and well-trained girls to be tio
self-reliant and independent. That it is boih
natural and wise to lean a little on those vvlio are
older, and worth leaning upon. Also, it was i^ood
for her religious life. Some way it was a surprise
to discover that her step-mother was somethin;^
more than a church member — "'as a humble,
consistent, every-day Christian.

It was Mrs. Meredith who sought a confidence
in this direction. " I did not know you as a Chris-
tian, Rebecca," she said one day, when some
subject had come up for discussion, about whicli
the girl had expressed herself warmly. "I think
I did you injustice."

Rebecca's face flushed. " Before I left home,
do you mean ? No ; you could not have done me
injustice. I was one of those that the Bible de-
scribes ; I 'had a name to live and was dead.* I
think myself that I was not a Christian at all,
only a church member. I know religion was not
to me what it is now ; and I think I believed that
all, or, at least, most professing Christians had no
more than I had myself."

POSSIBILITIES.

237

" I made a mistake," said Mrs. Meredith thought-
fully. " I have made a great many such mistakes,
I believe ; I was brought up with a morbid fear
of repelling people by mentioning religious things
to them, and I had a fear of driving you farther
from me, if I attempted to be frank about such
matters. But I am growing into the belief that
harm is oftener done by silence, than by speech.
Why is it not perfectly natural for us to show our
keen and constant interest in that which is of the
utmost importance not only to ourselves, but to
all others.?"

Rebecca had no answer ready ; she was wonder-
ing whether, had Mrs. Meredith tried to win her
confidence in those days, she would have accom-
plished it. What if she had tried to show her
Christ as he was revealed to her now ? What if
she had succeeded ? Would the story of her life
have been utterly different ? Would she, then,
not have gone away from home ? In -that cas^,
she would not have known Mrs. McKenzie, and
would have had no Lilian. Oh ! wa.£ it all mapped
out for her, the way which was really the best for
her feet to take } Had the Father in Heaven
wanted for her just the experience she had had ?
If so, why ? What was she to be and do in the
future, because of this training }

The queries were so bewildering that she turned
from them ; she must let the future alone. If she
were to stay on at home with her father and

, t

238

wantt::).

mother, and do with and for tlicnj what she could,
and if other hands than hers were to train and
care for Lilian, why, she must learn that He was
planning this also ; but, at least, she need not
look forward ; present duty was plain enough.

Meantime, there was very pleasant work con-
nected with Lilian. Those letters which were
daily dictated to the absent father grew to be as
much a part of their life as were any of their regu-
lar occupations. Rebecca realized that it was cer-
tainly her duty to keep alive in the heart of so
young a child vivid memories of her father, and
she strove faithfully to do so, with abundant suc-
cess. The word "papa" was as frequently on the
little girl's lips as though she had parted from him
but that morning. She prattbd continually of the
things which she would do and say when " papa "
came home.

Of her own pretty little will she had elected
to call Dr. and Mrs. Meredith "Grandpa" and
"Grandma." Rebecca had struggled with this,
and tried to teach the child differently ; but Lilian,
who had a mind of her own, and who had heard
the names " Grandpa " and " Grandma " constantly
on the lips of a little next-door neighbor, had per-
sisted in claiming grandparents for herself, greatly
to the amusement of Dr. Meredith, who wrote to
his son Hervey, in India, that a beautiful little
grandchild had at last adopted him. Finally Re-
becca, true to her frank nature, had reported to

ror^sinii.iTiF.s.

^239

tlic father Lilian's freak, and asked for orders
fioni headquarters. He had promptly responded
that it it was not disa,i;Teeable to' Dr. and Mrs.
Meredith he hoped they wouM indulge the child;
siie had no grandparents of her own, and if she
could borrow some for the present no harm could
be done. She would learn all too soon, probably,
thnt death had bereft her of many ties which
lightly belonged to others. So " Grandma" and
"Doctor Grandpa" were names rung through the
house in the sweetest of voices, and the words
were often on her lips when she was dictating her
letters. But here Rebecca drew the line. The
child might use the names if she would, but her
scribe would not write them. She said nothing
of this to Lilian, but resorted to many ingenious
devices to make her sentences sound natural and
child-like without them.

There was ever-increasing pleasure not only,
but profit as well, to be derived from the replies
to these letters, which never failed to come.
Gradually Mr. McKenzie ceased to write all his
items in the name of his little daughter, but after
giving her a generous portion he would commence
a fresh sheet with "Dear friends," which Rebecca
judged meant the household, so the letters were
enjoyed together, and rare letters they were.

All too rapidly, for some of the pi'ties c(^n-
cerned, that winter sped awav Lnokirv-; b-ik
upon it, one experience only stood out disagree-

240

•' W AXlT.n."

ably. Rebecca's old .'uqunintancc, Mr. Fred Pier-
son, took up his iTsiilence for npparently an
indefinite period in tlie town, and niude per.sistent
and painstakinc:^ efforts to establish himself in the
Meredith household on the old footin^L;'.

Dr. Meredith received his advances with due
cordiality. In the old days he had been mildly
surprised to discover that Mr. Pierson did not in
the course of events become his son-in-law. Rut
his daughter seemed not to share that surprise,
and he concluded that l.'j had been mistaken, and
gave it no more thoup^ht. Now, as he noted tlie
man's evident effort :it friendshij^, his mind re-
verted to the old (lavs, and he wontlered if sonic
youthful misunderstanding; had separated the two,
and if the long ago expected was now about to 1 c

The thought was not unpleasaVit to him. Mr.
Pierson vi'ns of good family, and was a man (sf
means. Moreover, he was a very genial man, and
from Dr. Meredith's point of view was the soul ( f
uprightness. If Rebecca was willing to receive
his advances she would meet with no opposition
from her father.

But it very soon became apparent, even to his
preoccupied mind, that Rebecca was not willing
On the contrary, she avoided Mr. Pierson at every
turn, and so skillfully did she manage to be invisi-
ble during his visits, even after studious planning (in
his part to take her unawares, that at last, in sheer
despair, he made a partial confidant of her father.

POSSIBILITIES.

241

One morning Dr. Meredith, instead of rushing
away the moment his office hours were over, came
upstairs to Rebecca's room to ask if she could
leave Lilian with her mother and give him a few
minutes in the office. Then he came directly to
the point. Mr. Pierson had formally asked his
permission to win his daughter, if he could. He
had also confessed to him that years ago there
had happened that which had offended or at least
grieved Rebecca to the degree that now she would
not forgive him sufficiently to allow him oppor-
tunity to explain the past, which he felt sure he
could do if she would but listen. In short, he had
secured Dr. Meredith as an ally, and had plead his
cause with him so successfully that the father was
moved to ask if Rebecca was sure she was doing
right to let a boy-and-girl quarrel stand in the way
of the love of a true man.

Then Rebecca thought the time had come for
plain speaking. She went back into her girlhood,
and let her father have a glimpse of those weary
days which this man who was talking about a
"misunderstanding," had brought upon her. She
told him of the interview held in Mr. McKenzie's
parlor, and of the detailed "expl?' nation " in writ-
ing, with which Mr. Pierson had insulted her ; and
the father's righteous soul was filled with indigna-
tion over it all.

" I wish I had known it before," he said, speak-
ing with a sort of wistful tenderness. " There are

((

WANTED.

•.ii'i.; ■

some things which I would have understood much
better, daughter, if I had known what you had
had to bear ; of course, you cannot respect the
man. I wonder at his lack of sense ! What
strange friendships his must have been. Do not
be troubled about it, Rebecca ; I will see to it
that he does not intrude upon you again. ' If I
had only understood I might have made it quite
plain, instead of wasting sympathy on him."

And Rebecca went away from the interview,
feeling that, added to the long list of her mis-
takes, was this one : that she had not been on
more confidential terms with her good father.

However Dr. Meredith worded his message, it
seemed to be effectual. Very soon thereafter,
Mr. Pierson left town, and Rebecca heard no
more of him. But the memory of his persistent
efforts to renew the old friendship was the one
ugly spot in that bright winter. It sped away,
and the lovely June days were upon them before
the foreign letters began to speak of definite dates
for the homeward journey. Carroll was now quite
restored to health, and eager to get back to his
own land. Business, however, would hold the
father for a few days yet, possibly ^or a few
weeks ; but sometime in July, or certainly early in
August, they hoped to sail for home.

Over this letter more people than Rebecca
looked grave. Of course the father's first thought.
on reaching his native shores, would be for his

POSSIBILITIES.

343

little daughter ; indeed, he had told her as much
in his letter, and it followed that they must very
soon be separated from her. Dr. Meredith drew
a heavy sigh as he followed the child with his
wistful eyes, and tried to think what the house
would be like without her. As they sat and
sewed that afternoon, while Lilian took her
usual rest, mother and daughter discussed the
possibilities.

" He seems strangely silent about future plans,"
said Mrs. Meredith. " He has seemed to depend
so much on your judgment, I wonder he does
not advise with you as to his next step. Is he
naturally a reserved man .-' "

Rebecca considered for a moment before she
replied : *' Yes ; I think he would be called so. He
is one who seems to know what he means to do,
but he doesn't mention it until it is necessary.
He has some plans formed, without doubt."

•* Perhaps he intends soon to marry again ? " \

There was not a moment's hesitation this time
in the response :

" Of course, that is entirely possible."

Both ladies sewed in silence for some minutes
after this ; then Mrs. Meredith spoke with a slight
hesitancy of manner, as though she was even yet
not quite decided whether to speak :

" Rebecca, did you ever think that you might
perhaps save the little ^irl much future pain, if
you were to talk to her frankly about the possi-

244

"WANTED."

' ! i;

bility of her having another mother ? She is such
a precocious little creature and so devoted to you
that she would understand, and you could mould
her to your way of thinking. I have often thought
that if good women would only frankly explain to
children about such things — help them to under-
stand that a second mother does not come to
push out from their hearts the real mother, but
only as a friend who means to try to help them on
the way home to her — a world of misery might
be saved."

" Do you think there are many such second
mothers ?"

" Perhaps not many ; but might there not be
more, if they were met half-way ? There are un-
wise and injudicious and even cruel real fathers
and mothers in the world ; but yet on the whole
we believe ir. parents. Why should we condemn
untried the step-mother, merely because she is a
step-mother } "

Then Rebecca felt that that time which she
had said would perhaps come had arrived.

" It is all wrong," she said frankly ; "and I cer-
tainly ought to realize it. I was old enough to
know better when my second n^other came, but I
had drank in from very babyhood the popular
impression in regard to such relations. I did not
know that I was prejudiced, but I can see now
that I was ; and I know I put away from me for
years, that which might have helped me every

POSSIDILITIES.

245

day of my life ; but all the same, I find I shrink
from having my Lilian under the care of a second
mother, unless " — she made a sudden pause and
liuighcd liLjhtly, her face rosy the while.

"Well," said Mrs. Meredith, in the gentlest and
most sympathetic of tones, "unless what, dear?
J thinlv I can ajipreciate your feeling."

"N<». Nou harcily could. I was about to say a
\' I , ahsi'id thini;, under the circumstances. I
I tiin.t ihinlv t f any woman in the world whom I
v.< 111 I like h) h:ive 'mother' my Lilian save your-
: vli, aiui ihat, matiifestly, is impossible."

hi.c ought to h.ive raised her eyes just then, to
lKi\e sern the light on her step-mother's face. It
was very bright, and very tender. It was not the
sott of confidence vviiich .she had expected, but
evidently it was sweet to her.

" Thank you," she said, in a low, moved tone.
Then, apparently feeling that it would help them
both to treat the subject lightly, Mrs. Meredith
added, ** I confess I should like to have some
sort of claim upon the little . darling, but there
certainly are serious objections to the way you
propose."

Probably both ladies were glad that at the mo-
nmit Lilian's voice was heard in the adjoining
ro >n», at)d confidences were over for the present.

Vai\ Kt lHC(.a did net casi!y get away from the
hi;ii wliicli I'ld IxL-n gviii Ih r. Slie pondered
0Vv.r li.e (.,uv.^(.ioii uhclii<^i hho viaji'.it to trv to talk

1 o «

!'h

■fjl

246

" WANTED."

to Lilian about a future which might come to her.
Could she, for instance, tell her about a clear friend
which her father might bring to care for and love
her .^ But then, if no such thought should be in
the father's mind, would not the child embarrass
and annoy him by asking for such a friend .-* And
would not the father consider it unwarrantable in-
terference on her part ? She found herself shrink-
ing utterly from such a task, l^ut there were
others who were not so sensitive. On the verv
next afternoon when Lilian came to her for "papa's
hour," she shocked her amanuensis by clictating
the following :

"Papa, are you going to give Lilian a new
mamma pretty soon .'* "

The pen dropped from Rebecca's fingers, and
her voice expressed her dismay.

"Why, Lilian, darling, you must not ask papa
such a question."

"Why not.?" asked the baby, with very wide-
open eyes. " Marie said so ; she said maybe he
would ; she guessed he would ; and she said she
might be good, and maybe she would be naughty,
and whip me — new mammas most always did.
And I want you to ask him, and to tell him
that Lilian doesn't want any new mamma at all,
ever ; she just wants her Rebie, and her Doctor
Grandma, and her Doctor Grandpa."

Now " Marie " was a wise young woman of
twelve or thirteen, whose father's grounds joined

POSSIBILITIES.

247

their own, and who had delighted to spend much
time with Lilian.

Writing was given over for that afternoon ; the
little dictator was taken on Rebecca's lap, and if
she did, not learn some very important lessons
during the next hour, it was not the earnest
teacher's fault.

cy- . ,.:

li'i',') i'

'•V

II: '

CHAPTER XXI.

A GLEAM OF COLD.

"TT was drawing toward the sunset of an August
X afternoon. Tlie Meredith homestead was in
after dinner order, and the guest chamber esi)e-
cially, hinted at an unexpected guest. There were
fresh flowers in the vases, and the toilet tahle
gave evi'Jence of having been just looked after in
the smallest detail. Out on tlu^ piazza, flutteiin;;-
resllesslv from hammock to JKissock, or great easv-
chair, was a vision in white and gold. Her fresh
dress fell in spotless wiiiteness about her, and the
curls of gold by in careless grace on her neck.
There was a pretty f^ush of expectancy on the
little face, and her eyes were bright with excite-
ment. Three times in the space of ten minutes
had she asked Rebecca if she was *' truly sure "
that papa would know her the minute he saw her.
With the third asking the sound of wheels coi:.'!
be heard on the carriage drive, and in a moment
more Dr. Meredith appeared on the piaz2a, fol-

A GLEAM OF GOLD.

249

lowed by Mr. McKcnzie. Then an uncontrollable
fit of shyness came over Lilian, anJ instead of
springing to meet her father she hid her curls in
Rebecca's ilress.

Lite abroad had certainly done wonders for Mr.
McKenzie. Rebecca marveled over it in the quiet
of hiT own room that niiiht. She had never seen
iuiii betnre without that look which she used to
call sternness and hauteur, but which she had
learned to know was born of vigilance and rigid
self-control. His face had cleared wonderfully,
and under the exciienient and delight of meeting
Lilian, it had a light in it which made him look
almost boyish. The cliiM had very promptly laid
aside her shyness, a:id liad been nestled in his
arms most of the time until her hour for retir-
ing. Even then she had gone to her room in her
father's arms, and he had returned again when
she vas m her crib, and had sat beside her until
the eyelids drooped.

''I can har ^- make myself come away from
her," he said smilingly to Rebecca, who waited in
the hall to see that her treasure was entirely com-
fortable. But after tfiat, he had returned to the
parlor and they had sat late, listening to his ani-
mated descriptions of life abroad. Certainly no
one could seem less Kke a atrajiger on a business
errand than did Mr. McK-'nzie. Rebecca could
not remember a giic-st whom her father had en-
joyed so much. Two 'entire days passed, and still

250

WANTED.

no word of plans had been spoken. Mr. McKen-
zie had declared that although he had been travel-
ing abroad, he had never given himself more
thoroughly to business than he had for the past
six months, at least ; and if they would permit
him, he was going now to take two or three days
of entire vacation, and make love to his daugh er,
1 ilian approved the plan. She was set free from
all her quaint little duties and lessons, which
Rcl)ecca had instituted, and which were a continued
(ieh^i;ht and amusement to the child, and became
iiisenarablc from her father. Whether in his room
or in the «;arden among the flowers, or lounging
at his ease in the breezy back parlor, the child's
clear voice could be heard in almost continu-
ous prattle, interrupted frequently by bursts of
laughter from the highly amused father. Rebecca,
listening, could not remember that she had ever
before heard him laugh ; nor could she, of all
persons, wonder at this, when she thought of
his strange, sad past. On the morning of the
third day he had a plan to propose, but only for
entertainment.

" Lilian tolls me," he said at the breakfast
table, " about a wonderful grove where mosses
and vines, and I don't know what treasures, can
be found ; ,ind where there is a place to hang a
hammock, and a place to eat a lunch, and — what
else, Lilian ? She has filled me with the desire to
see all these delights ; what do you say to pilot-

A (il.l.AM OF COM).

ing US thither, and smuLjglinj; along .i lunch for
An benefit? Would not that be a kind thing
to do?"

The questio'i was addressed to Rebecca, and
that young woman who remembered always that
she was in this man's employ, gravely signified
her readiness to serve him in any way that she
could. Plans for horses and carriage were then
discussed with Dr. Meredith, while Mrs. Mere-
dith and her daughter decided on what should go
into the luncheon basket ; and precisely at ten
o'clock they were off for the day's pleasuring.

"He seems to take it for granted that Rebecca
will be at his call for any plan which he wants
carried out," said Dr. Meredith, looking after the
retreating carriage with a slight cloud on his face.
His own carriage was waiting for him to make his
daily round of calls, and he had only lingered to
see the picnic party start.

" I wonder," he added, after a moment's silence,
"if he supposes he can keep such a woman as
Rebecca in the position of nursery governess ?
The child is winning enough to steal anybody's
heart, but people have to think for themselves a
little in this world. I certainly cannot consent to
any such arrangement."

Mrs. Meredith opened her lips to reply, then
closed them again. Why should she undertake to
furnish eyes to the blind ? But as her husband
rode away she smiled as she thought how strange

r ■'

31 'i;

'fi

252

WANTED.

»»

it was that even a man like Dr. Meredith could be
so obtuse. ** Nursery governess " indeed !

For this was Rebecca's own suggestion wliich
was rankling in her father's heart this i)crfert
August morning. Revolving in her mind various
schemes connected with Lilian, there hacl occurred
the idea that with Mrs. Harnett for housekcciKT
there could be no sensible reason why she shouil
not go back for awhile to the McKenzie home and
care for Lilian ; at legist until the child became
acquainted with others who could take her place,
" Until he brings home the new mother," she said
to herself. "After that, for Lilian's sake, I would
better go ; then I shoultl have done all I could for
her." But this part she had not said to her father.

There had not been much opportunity to sav
anything to him in detail. He had frowned upon
the entire scheme. Indeed, he did not think it
would be well, even for a short time. McKenzie
would be wild to suppose such an arrangement
possible. It had been all right and proper for her
to bring the child to her own home and care for
her, as a friend of her mother's, but to go as a
paid servant was quite another matter. Tiicy
were all attached to the little one ; it did not seem
to him that he could spare her himself, and here
the doctor's voice had trembled a little, Init he
checked the impulse to weakness, and drew hhri-
self up with dignity as he said, "But for all tint,
people must think of themselves a little. If

A GLLAM OF GOLD.

253

McKonzie wanted to select a nursery governess
aiul send her to them for a few weeks, or even
months, until she could win the child, and Rebecca
could teach her her duties, he had no objection,
but he was sure she would not enter into any
arrangement which would be obnoxious to all his
feelings as a father.

Then he took occasion to say to Rebecca tliat
as for her thinking about going from home for the
sake of relieving him financially, that was entirely
unnecessary. Matters were looking up with him
decidedly ; two heavy old debts vvliich he had sup-
posed were quite lost had been most unexpectedly
paid in full with accrued interest, and bills had
been paid for the past year with astonishing
promptness. In short, the embarrassments under
u'hicli he had labored for some time were quite
passed away, and nothing would please him better
than to have Rebecca remain where she fitted in
so exactly — in her father's house. He would
never be willing to have her leave it again, save
to go to one of her own ; and if she chose the old
home instead of a new one for herself, so much
the better for them. And Rebecca had decided
that that was by no means the time to tell her
father that she had been, during the greater part
of her absence, in the employ of Mr. McKenzie.

That picnic in th-j woods was an experience to
remember. The jtlace which Lilian had <1escribed
was a popular resort for small pleasure parties.

'; t;'!^!^.^

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254

" WANTKD.'

and apparently more than the usual number had
chosen this particular day for their visit to it.
But clicy were all stran<,^crs to Rebecca, and did
not in any way mar the pleasure of the day. Her
satisfaction in it was hardlv less than Lilian's.
She had not been on a real pleasure excursion
before in years, Lilian's acquaintance with the
charmed spot havinj^; been ni;i(lo in a somewhat
hurried drive which Dr. Meredith took Ihem,
wi^en Lilian and licr litile playmate Marie
amused her by leavini;' the carriage while the
horses were drinking, and caring some biscuits
and cookies on the great Hat rock, which Marie
said was a table. For the rest, Marie's glowini;
descriptions had to be ilrawn upon. But this was
a "really truly" picnic such as Marie had de-
scribed, and she was in it. The child was wild
with delight, and Rebecca, who had resolved for
one day to give over all anxious thought or fore-
boding of separation, and make her charge as
happy as she could, met her half-way, and was
apparently as light-hearted as the child.

It was after the luncheon had been eaten and
enjoyed that Lilian, who had fluttered like a bird
from one part of the grounds to another, admitted,
herself a "little tiny speck tired," and submitted
to being put into the hammock for a few minutes'
rest. She need not go to sleep, of course not ;
she was only to lie quiet without speaking for fif-
teen minutes by her father's watch ; if, at the end

A GLf.AM ( F (i(Jl.l).

-55

of that time, she wanted to run some more, he
was to lift her out.

This scheme worked lil<c a charm. Before ten
of the fifteen minutes were gone the lids had
drooped over two bright eyes, and when Mr.
McKenzie turned with a smile, and showed Re-
becca his watch to note that the time was up,
Lilian was sound asleep.

** Precisely what I had hoped for," said her
father. "A half hour's sleep will greatly refresh
her ; moreover, Rebecca, I want an opportunity
to talk quietly with you. Would you just as soon
sit down for awhile with me under that tree, where
we can keep the hammock in sight } I will not
pledge you to stillness for fifteen minutes, but I
do want to say something to you which c^n be
better said if you are not roving about."

So Rebecca, laughing a little over this hint at
the restlessness which had possessed her while
Lilian was quiet, came obediently to the point he
had selected, and seated herself. He waited to
arrange the sun-umbrella at just the right angle
^0 shade Lilian from the glimmerings of sunlight
through the trees, then came and sat beside her.

" I wonder if you can imagine what I want to
say," he began, and something in his tone made
Rebecca's heart beat quickly. He had been very
cordial and friendly with her ; he evidently re-
posed great confidence in her. Did he mean to
take her entirely into his confidence now, and tell

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1 ''■:•,

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i IliLL

256

WANTKD.

her about the new mother he had secured for
Lilian ?

" It seems to me," he continued, after waitiiii;
a moment for her reply, " that you must be able
to guess the nature of what I want to say. I
have made it plain in a way in my letters, I think,
for some time. But I am a straightforward man,
and when the time comes for saying what I have
determined must be said, I know only plain and
simple words in which to say it. Rebecca, I want
to ask you to become my wife, and be a motlier
in name, as you have been in deed, to my little
daughter. A I wrong in thinking that this will
not surprise you greatly ? That your own heart
has told you before now what mine would claim ?"

But there was evidently not going to be a quiet
talk under this tree. Rebecca spoke quickly, her
face aglow and her eyes blazing with excitement :

" Yes ; you are wrong — utterly wrong. I had
not any such thought for a moment. I believed
in you. I was hired for pay, as a nurse girl, but
I can neither be hired nor bought for a wife.
What have I ever done that you should insult me
in this way } "

She had more to say, but her voice was begin-
ning to tremble, and not for the world would she
have let him see any tears ; so she suddenly
stopped to gain self-control. Mr. McKe'^zie re-
garded her in grave wonder.

" I do not understand you in the least," he said.

A f>LKAM OF GOLD.

257

*' How is it pi)ssiblc (ov you to place any such
C()ii.-.tructiwn on tlic simple plain words which I
spoUe ? It ncic couKI be any thou<;ht (»f insult
botweon ns, wouKI it not niMier be I who had
received it ? Do you think I would attempt to
bii v' a wife .'' "

Already Rebecca was ashamed of her outburst;
s!ie wonl I liave ,L;iven much to have been able to
recall her words; they were so different from what
slie had meant to speak.

" I beg your pardon," she said hurriedly, but in
quieter tones ; " 1 had no ri,:;ht to speak as I did.
iiut, Mr. McKeu/iic, we do not understand each
other. What I meant was, that while I recognize
now you are placcil, and the necessity for having
one whom vou cm trust, to caie for Lilian; and
while I know liiat nou honor me in that you trust
her welfare to me, I reco^Li,nize the fact that you
are thinking of her entirely ; and I cannot, even
for the privilege of caring for her, accept the
position you have offered me. I do not believe
that marriage means any such business trans-
action. I know there are those, respectable
people, who think it is justifiable under such
circumstances, but I am not one of them."

She dropped her eyes before his keen ones, and
despite all effort could not keep hers from filling
with tears. But his voice was never quieter than
when he spoke again.

"Your conclusions are unjustifiable, Rebecca;

2:?>

'' WANTKI).'

I',:\

•A ■'■»

' • ''im

.!; i

w :'i '

'"*■'!.! *

i^ '^r

1 think I have tlic right to he offended. No
father can care for a child more, I think, than I
care for Lilian, and for my hoy ; if I Iokjw mv
own hciirt, no interest of mine would lead nic ;.)
pciil their happiness. Hut I am somethini; else,
as well as a father, ajul when I seek a wife I i\m
not in search of a woman to presitle over n-;v
home, nor a mother for my children ; I am m
Sv'arch of a wife. I would ask no one to stand ;it
the marriaiLje altar with me and hear me pIe(i:,o
before God to love, honor and cherish her, unices
from my soul I was prepared to do all that sue!)
words involve. I am amazed that von shoiiM
think so ill of me. I understand myself sown 11
that I thought surely you would know all that I
meant; but I must have blundered. It docs nol
become me to sjieak much of the past, hut,
Rebecca, I may say to you that I have been a
lonely man, even a desolate one for many years.
If it were necessary, I might add that you are the
only woman whom I care to win — the only one
to whom I have given a thought ; but to say that
seems unworthy of me ; of course you are, else
I would not be saying to you what I have.
Rebecca, you have utterly misunderstood me;
have I also utterly misunderstood you .'' Is it
true that you do not and cannot give me what
I ask } "

"Tapa," called Lilian, sitting erect in her ham-
mock, "a great Xni Hutterbv came and sat on r,iv

A GLEAM OF GOLD.

259

hand, and he left a piece of his wing all goldy on
it when he flewed away. Was that because he
loved me ? "

"Possibly," said Mr. McKenzie, with a perfectly
grave face. " Sit still, Lilian, until I come to lift
you out. The ground is damp around the ham-
mock, and I do not wish you to step on it." Then
he lowered his tone. "We have been interrupted,
Rebecca, and perhaps it is better so. I fear I
have been very abrupt. I do not want to force
your reply ; and, believe me, if I have been mis-
taken, and you cannot give me your heart, I have
no wish to secure your hand. My mistake has
been in believing that you knew me letter than I
see you do."

He drew from his pocket a plain ring of heavy
gold, and dropped it lightly in her lap. , " When I
bought that in Florence," he said, " I thought only
of you. I do not want to hurry your thought, or
to embarrass you ; there is much more I might
say to you, but I have evidently chosen an inop-
portune time. I will make your answer to me as
easy as possible. If, on thinking over what I have
said, you care to let me prove to you how entirely
I mean the words I have spoken, and how surely
I would mean the vows which I have asked you to
let me make in God's sight, then wear this ring
when you come down to the parlor this evening,
and I shall understand. If, on the other hand,
you feel that you cannot give me your love and

26o

" WANTED.'

IN <

' s<tk

your life — that it would be only a pain to you to
hear more, put the ring away as a worthless thing,
and I will understand, and will not in any way
trouble or embarrass you."

Then he went over to Lilian, lifted her from the
hammock, and walked with her down the hill to
where the *' flutterbys " were the busiest.

The remainder of that day was devoted by both
of her companions to the child. Whether she
realized how little they had to say to each other,
and how willing they were to be led by every whim
of hers, will not be known. Certainly she was
very happy, and disposed to be grieved when her
father announced that it was time to order the
horses. During thj rapid drive home the child
kept up a continuous chatter, encouraged thereto
by both her companions, and within ten minutes
after they had reached her father's house Rebecca
disappeared. Nor did she come down to the family
tea-table.

•' Lilian is tired, and does not wish to be freshly
dressed for tea," Mrs. Meredith explained, "and
Rebecca is disposed to humor her, so they are
both going to take their tea upstairs ; she begs
that you will excuse Lilian to-night."

Mr. McKenzie bowed, and continued the con-
versation which he was carrying on with the doctor.

At the usual time he went up to Lilian, and
found her in her crib waiting for him, quite alone,
as usual ; but the " flutterby " which had disturbed

A GLEAM or GOLD.

261

her afternoon nap hatl also assisted in making; hef
iiiuisually sleepy. The utnio.-t that she could ^ive
liini were some ciioiee kisses, and a murmured
thank^igiving for the " pei I'eetly sweet day" she
had had, and then she was asleep.

Mr. McKenzie went haek to the parlor, and the
(loetor reflected aftei"wards Uiat he had never heard
him talk better thaii lie (".id tiiat evening; but he
interrupted himself in the midst of a sentence
to spring to his feet ami say, " Mere is a chair,
Rebecca," and there was that in his tone which
made the doctor turn antl look wonderingly at his
(daughter. He saw nothing in any wise different
from nsi:al ; but his guest had detected the uleam
of gold Uj'on a finger ot Rebecca's left hand.

CHAPTER XXII.

A CHANGE OF BASF,.

UT I meant never to marrv."

BUT I meant nev
" Yes ; I dare

sav

"I decided some time aj;o tliat I would devote
rr.vself to takinrr care of inv father and mother
when they grew old."

"That is too difficult a task for one; you need
me to help you in it."

The speaker wa.s Mr. McKenzie, and of course
his companion was Rebecca. He looked the pict-
ure of content, lounging in a great easy hammnck,
while she, who did not like a hammock, occupied
a garden chair, and in her white dress and pinl<
cheeks fitted into the garden very well.

She srniled comfortably over his last sentence,
and continued, " I have always said that I did not
believe in poor girls marrying rich men, and that
I wouldn't do it "

" That was being cruel to me. Unfortunately,
I suppose I am rr.thcra rich man; Init I am heart-

A CHANGE OF BASE.

263

less enough not to regret it under present circum-
stances. Since you have broken your wicked
pledge, there are so many things I can make
money do for you."

She laughed at that, but grew almost instantly
grave.

" Still, there are things to be considered. I
have been nurse-girl in your family for a long time,
and people know it ; they will talk, and it will be
very unpleasant for you."

"That remark is unworthy of you." His calm
contentment was evidently in no wise shaken ;
he even had a superior snale on his face as he
answered her.

The pink on her cheeks deepened a little, and
she answered earnestly, " It is very kind in you to
speak of it in that way ; but, seriously, don't you
know there is truth in it.-* Don't you remember
what hateful things people can and will say .^ "

" You are very fond of the truth," he said, still
smiling ; " I have always been impressed by that
phase of your character. I will answer you with
perfect frankness. I have no doubt that a certain
class of people can and will say disagreeable things ;
what will take off their edge will be that they will
not be true. If I had asked an ignorant, undisci-
plined, uncultured girl to be my wife, and the
mother of my children, I might blush over the
thought of people's tongues That I have asked
one who is by education and true culture in every

264

\V,\XTID.

i'u

way fitted for the j^rjsitio-i is n]Tpar<'fit to rinv c\os
interested eii()Hi:fh to loolc ; th:it sIt; occiipi'.-d ^u\-
a time, for i^ood and sufficient reasons, :i poNJiidii
of trust in niv own house, has noiiiiniL;- to do \\\[h
the question; and re.li\' an I triil\-, I cannot 1)rin;;'
myself to care in the least what the aforcsii'l
tonL:;ues may say. ]\ ihat sufficiently truthful?"

She answered him with a look wliich he seemed
to understand ; but the shadow returned to her
face.

"Still, Mr. McKcnzic" —

" I beg your pardon ; I don't think you are at
present acquainted with any such jierson."

At this she could only 1 iu,;-n and blush. IK-r
ccmpanion waited a monuMit, tiun said, with mock
<;ravity, "The present incti-ibent positively refuses
to acknowled'j;e such title."

-Well, then, D .e."

"That is better; l'Jo on ; I am all attention."

" I?ut I want to talk to you very seriou.sly."

•'Hy all means ; you have impressed me as being
entirely able to do just tliat sort of thing."

She would not be laughed away from her deter-
mination, but went on a trifle hurriedly.

"One thing I have alwivs felt that I would not
under any circumstances allow myself to do ; that
is, to go into a home whc-e there were children,
sml take the place and u:\mc (^f a mother. And
this nc't for mv own sd; •. bn" fi^r tin* sake of chil-
(hcn. Il U:^i:{\ [o seem lo inc a cruel thing to do;

A CHANGE OF BASE.

265

and as such things are generally managed, I think
so ilill."

Mr. McKenzie turned himself slightly in the
hammock, so as to command a full view of her
face, and said, gravely enough, " Rebecca, would
you be willing to have Lilian under the charge of
any woman but yourself.^"

" No," she said frankly ; " with Lilian the cir-
cumstances are peculiar ; I was not thinking of
her, but of Carroll. Mr. McKenzie, I know
whereof I speak ; I have a step-mother like unto
few, I believe ; and I have been brought up by
persons of sound judgment and excellent common
sense. Yet so under the dominion of popular
ideas was I, that I looked upon my step-mother's
coming as a calamity, and that only ; moreover, I
thought of myself, and not for a moment of her.
I felt that my father, instead of thinking and
of planning for me, had forgotten me, or grown
weary of me, and had brought a stranger to fill
his heart and push me out. That I wau a sim-
pleton, the years have proved ; but they have
not altered popular opinion in the least. I hear
people talking to-day just as I thought then ; I
am thankful that I was kept from talking it. But
all this experience makes me anxious for Carroll ;
and I want to talk with you very earnestly about
his — our future."

Mr. McKenzie felt the seriousness of her tone ;
he must gird himself up for earnest talk., instead

266

WANTLU.

of yielding to the wooing influences of the morn-
ing, and the spirit of playfulness that was upon
him. He arose from his lounging attitude, and,
after a moment, deserted the hammock alto-
gether and took a garden chair directly in front
of Rebecca.

The conversation was long, and at times spirited ;
there were certain plans which Mr. McKenzie did
not mean to be argued out of ; but when, two
hours later, Lilian, who had been having a lovely
morning with " Doctor Grandma," came to sum-
mon them to dinner, that gentleman said, in a
half-discontented tone as they walked toward the
house :

" You have overturned all my intentions, and
given me a dreary winter prospect; not to men-
tion Lilian's."

" Lilian will be very happy," said Rebecca
firmly, " and so will you ; because we are both
persuaded that it is the right thing to be done.
I have been long in discovering it, but I believe I
know now that the only way to have any happiness
worthy the name, is to do just right."

But the preliminary talk was all which had been
held that morning. Many details had to be set-
tled, and much had to be explained to Dr. and
Mrs. Meredith. The doctor, whose busy life con-
tinued, so that he had not much time for explana-
tions, hardly understood it, but his wife did, and
heartily approved. Mr. McKenzie had planned

A CHAM' IK I)!-- liASi:.

267

for a speedy marriaj^e antl a return as a family to
the home at Carroll Place, as eaily as Dccemher ;
but Rebecca's plans were of an entirely different
character. The boy, Carroll, whom slic had never
seen, lay heavy on her heart.

" I would not have him live through sucli an
experience as I have h.ifl, for anything;' in the
worUl." she ha 1 told Mr. McKenzie earnestly.

lie had arj^ued that it was very different with
i>o\s; thtv were much awav from home, anv wav,
and (i'M n )t take tiling's lo heart as i;irls did.

" Hut I want to be taken to heart," said Rebecca ;
"and if you will let me try, I believe I can he. I
know a <;oo(l ilvrA nbout Cai roll, althouLjh I have
never seen him ; [ hive read some of his letters.
I know he is dev'oted to you ; that von have been
more to each other than father and son often .ire ;
and I tell you I will not come a stranger into
the lumie and seem to push him aside. I do not
believe that boys are so very different from giils,
ii .some things. I know a great deal about boys;
1 had two brothers."

Hut your sch(

•oiild

lost families

)Ut your scneme would not in most ramiiK
be in the least degree feasible," complained Mr.
McKenzie, who had been convinced and meant to
help carry out the scheme, Init who at times feit
lonelv and disappointed over it, and as if he must
enjoy the luxury of grumbling.

'* That is true," Rebecca arhiiitted ; " but we are
not planning for • most families,' only for ourselves."

T'-

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268

WANTED.

»»

Ilcr plan in brief, was this : Mr. McKcnzic had
up to this time kept his own counsel, and Cnnoll
was ignorant of Rebecca Meredith's very exist-
ence. He knew, of course, where Lilian was, and
that she was with her nurse, a woman whom his
father trusted. He had shown no interest as to
chis woman's name, and had asked as few qiRs-
tjons as college boys are apt to ask about sue ii
matters. Up to a few days before their depart mc
for home, it had been his intention to accomp.iuv
his father when he went for Lilian, but at the last
minute a college friend, who had come out lo
Liverpool for his vacation, had persuaded liiin
that the thing to be done wa,s to go home vvitli
him for a few days and get a glimpse of tiic
mountains. The father '..'ad been quite willing to
press this plan, for he told himself that it would
be time enough to confide his own hopes and plans
to his son when he knew what Rebecca would sav
to them. It was this change of purpose which
had made it possible for Rebecca to push her own
scheme.

She proposed to go herself to the city where
Carroll's university was located, take board in tlie
same house with him, and spend the winter in
cultivating his frienaship. He was not, in tlie
meantime, to know that she had ever heard of his
father, or had any interest in him, save that of a
human being whose lot was cast for a time in tlie
same house. She had arranged in her jwn mind

A CHANGE OF BASE.

269

every little detail, before she had ventured to
suggest the subject to Mr. McKenzie.

In her girlhood she had been, perhaps, an ex-
ceptionally good performer on the piano, and,
could she have been spared from home, her ambi-
tion would have been to take lessons of some cele-
brated teacher. This she had never been able to
do, and of late years she had not touched a piano.
Her winter at home, however, had done much
toward reviving her former tastes, and she had
practiced with sufficient regularity to reproduce
the old desire to take lessons. This, then, was
the very work which could keep her employed
during the winter ; and of all cities for taking
music lessons, the one where Carroll was to be
would have been chosen, had she had her choice.
The one difficulty to be considered was the ex-
pense involved. But Rebecca discovered that with
a small amount of help from her father, and with
rigid economy in the matter of dress, she could
manage a term of lessons. Her work since she
left the " Madame's " had been liberally paid for,
and her expenses had been very few.

Dr. Meredith listened, as has been said, in some
bewilderment to this scheme. Hardly had he be-
come accustomed to the thought that his daughter
was actually to be Mrs. McKenzie, and to be, if
that gentleman could bring it to pass, carried away
irom them in a very few months, than she came
with a plan for going alone among strangers to

,->«

270

W A\ II [).

study niuisc. He marveled over the pride wliith
would lead a young woman to desire to turn .stu-
dent for a few months, under such circumstances;
for Rebecca had not been able to bring herself to
explain much about Carroll to either father or
mother. Almost she felt as though the plan nii,i;ht
possibly be luoked upon as a tacit rebuke to theii
very different way of managing. But the few
blundering words of explanation which she essayed
to make to her step-mother were rewarded.

'* I understand, dear," .said Mrs. Meredith, inter-
rupting her; ** I see through the entire scheme;
it is worthy of you, and I know God will bless you
for it. I wish — iio, never mind ; everything has
turned out well ; we will not mourn over a past
that we cannot make better." And thenceforth
Mrs. Meredith was Rebecca's hearty ally, further-
ing all her wishes most skillfully, and taking it
upon herself to explain as much as was needful to
the hurried and sometimes perplexed fathe;.

One phase of the project gave unmixed satisfac-
tion to at least two of those; concerned. Rebecca,
in bringing herself to a sta\'e of willingness to be
separated from Lilian, had discovered that there
was but one woman with whom she was satisfied
to leave her, and that was her step-mother. Ac-
cordingly, it had been arranged that the child
should spend the winter with her dear '* Doctor
Grandma and Grandpa," which was the way she
always spoke of them collectively.

il CM'\\";i- n!* P.ASE.

271

"The f.ict i:,," si.iil Mr. McKonzic to Rebecca,
wlun at last c\i ry ('it::i.l was settled, and lie was
to lea\ e her oil tlie followin,!^ rnornini;^ to make her
prep ii'aticms for a winter anion::; stranj:jers — "The
f .ct i>, everybody's comfort I, as been mole or less
thought of but mine. Your ( 'lerand mother are
t" have my baby. Carroll is to have )oii, and I am
to h.ive nobody." He -poke in a h lU'-whimsical
t.Mie, and lauf^hed a little when he finished the
sentence, but the lanj^h closed with a sij^h that he
made an effoit to siip|)ress.

" Poor papa ! " said Ri'becca. " I am really very
sorry for you ; but nou would not like to have
Lilian entirely in Mrs. Harnett's care, now would
you ^ Hut she iw.tl Nincy will take excellent care
of vou, and the winter will slip away before we
know it."

It was because of all these thinf;s that the first
week in October found Rebecca Meredith settled
in another boardinj^-house in a j^reat city. Not
this time a fourth-floor room, din<.,^y and desolate,
hut in fairly comfortable quarters on the second
floor. The house itself was very unlike that in
which she made her first experience at boardin*:^.
It was situated in a quiet, pleasant part of the city,
not a lons^ walk from the university, nor from
the professor's room where Rebecca took lessfMis
nnil practiced. It was a l<'ir::;e and wcll-fnrni-^'u-d
house with manv boarders, nnmi-'-'-^ "f rhi-tn
students of art, or music, or in the University..

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

{'«' «^

1.0

1.1

11.25

■£|M 122

|iO ■^" III^H

O;^

HiotQgraphic

Sciences

Corporation

33 WtST MAIN STRUT

WltSTER.N.Y. 14SM

(71«)I73-4S03

,.^

272

" \v AN ri:!)."

Si*

sin

A totally diffcrcrt life was this from anv wiiich
Rebecca had ever known before; ;in(l nlrliouirh
she shed some te irs ih it first ni.;ht before ^oin^-
to sleep, because, as she t>l 1 iiersclf, she missed
Lilian so dreafifully, yet, on the whole, she was
interested and excited. She studied the rows of
young faces which appeared in the dinin,i;-roo:ii,
and listened eagerly for names. In another dav
the university woidd o|)en, and the students wero
flocking back. Carroll would certainly be there
soon.

"How are you goini; to manage the matter?"
Mr. McKenzie had asked her. " I might give
you a letter of introduction, if you would ; I coulil
truth full V sav vou were the daughter of a friend
of my boyhood. People fifquently spend months
in a large boarding-house without making one
another's acquaintance, and especially boys do n.)t
get introduced to" —

"To old maids." Rebecca had interrupted him,
smiling, and then had laughed at the expression
on his face, and added: "Don't look so hopelessly
shocked ; that, of course, is what I am to iho
girls and boys. I used to dislike the name, once,
but I do not seem to care in the least about it
now. No, thank you ; I want no letters of intrn-
• duction ; I am not going to be endured by Carroll
simply for his father's sake. I shall make his
acquaintance; I do not know just how; I have
no plans ; they are expected ?o evolve by degrees.

A CHANGE OF BASE.

273

But if I do not succeed in winning him for a
friend, why — I do not deserve to have him for

one.

»i

So she studied the new faces, and selected, on
three different occasions, one which might be
Carroll's. She had studied his photograph — the
same which his mother had showed her — but his
father said he had changed a good deal since then.
Still, she thought she should know him. The day
on which she made her selections was one in
which a letter had come from Mr. McKenzie an-
nouncing that Carroll had started, but he would
stop over one train, and possibly over night, with
a former college friend.

There was also in this letter that which gave
her food for thought. " I do not know," wrote
Mr. McKenzie, " but it would have been wiser to
have talked over with you some matters con-
nected with Carroll ; but our time was so short,
and there was so much to settle. Then, too, I
hardly knew what I wanted to say, and f o not
now. I have attempted several times to put on
paper certain vague fears which I have concern-
ing my boy, and have failed. He has some com-
panions who exercise an unfortunate influence
over him ; in some respects he is easily led, and
in other things he is obstinate. These college
friends I know more about since coming home
than I did before ; two of them have been in town
for a week or more, and they have been much

i.i i

'274

«<

WANTED.

with Carroll. I do not like their influence over
him ; I do not think he fully likes them himself,
but they affect deep interest in him, possibly
flatter him, and he is drawn with them more
because they sort of surround him than because
he cares for their company. They fill me with
vague anxieties ; and yet, that just expresses it —
they are vague. I do not know bat that they are
uncalled for. Possibly you know that Carroll's
father has an intense hatred for tobacco in any
form ; possibly you will think why I should fear
that Carroll might be peculiarly susceptible to
any such influence ; he knows my dislike of the
weed, and, up to this time, has never used it
The two young men of whom i speak are invete-
rate smokers, and I overheard them chaffing him,
as fellows will, about his * womanish ' habits, and
I saw his face flush over it. This, and their fond-
ness for the theater, are the only tangible causes
for my discomfort, if they are tangible. Perhaps
I should not have mentioned it to you ; and yet I
find myself rather glad that I have done so. The
young men in question are named Chester and
Williston."

One of the three whom Rebecca selected us
beino possibly Carroll, she discovered afterwards
was named Williston.

tjA

V izt

CHAPTER XXni.

PROGRESSION.

UT the next evening there came to the din-
ing-room and seated himself opposite her a
young man whose appearance almost took Re-
becca's breath away. This was none other than
Mr. McKenzie as she could readily imagine him to
have been twenty years or so ago, save that this
one had Pvlrs. McKenzie's beautifully shaped fore-
head and wavy hair. There was no question as to
who he was. She did not need the murmur which
went around the table back of her : " There is
McKenzie ! " nor the delighted greeting which
those who came in later accorded to him. Evi-
dently the young man was a favorite. He talked
a good deal, and talked well. Moreover, he was
attentive to his neighbor on the left, supplying
her wants even before she had time to make them
known ; and as she was a middle-aged woman with
r.n uninteresting face and disagreeable manner,
Rebecca decided that it evidenced in him the per-

275

It:.

276

" WANTED.'

fection of courtesy — that which is born of real
kindness of heart.

"How did you leave your father.'** questioned
a gentleman from across the table.

"Very well, sir, but extremely lonely. Other
arrangements have been made since he' saw you,
and my little sister is to remain with friends in
the country during the winter; this leaves my
father quite alone. I am afraid he will have a
dreary time." And the young man had no idea
how sincerely the heart of the woman who was
seated exactly opposite to him ached for the lonely
father.

Two entire days passed before Rebecca dii cov-
ered any pretext for making acquaintance with her
opposite neighbor. Wasted days, she called them,
although she had listened to every word that he
^aid, and made as much of a study of character as
she could out of th'em. He seemed not to have
discovered her existence, and she was beginning
to plan some way of being regularly introduced,
when she came upon him in the hall. She had a
roll of music in her hand, her intention being to
steal a few minutes' practice on the piano before
the boarders began to gather in the parlors, but
through some carelessness on the part of servants
the rooms had not yet been lighted, although the
day was cloudy in the extreme, and the parlor
curtains were drawn close, shutting out even the
dull twilight. Rebecca was about to return to her

PROGRESSION.

27;

room when young McKenzie entered. Quick as
thought her resolution was formed.

"1 beg your pardon," she suid, "but would you
be s(; kind as to turn on the gas in the back parlor
for me ? It is very rude in nie to ask you, I sup-
pose, but I sit opposite you at table, and thought
I mii^jht presume."

It w IS an absurd thing to say, and so Rebecca
tol I herself iiftcrwards; but it seemed to amuse
Mris.^ \^■/^c.

" r lat t)UL;nt certainly to be sufficient introduc-
lio.i t » secure si) simple a service," he said politely,
i.i li.s fatlier's voice, albeit there was a merry twin-
kle in his eye. He drew a match from his pocket,
and i;i a flash tiic parlor was a blaze of light.

" These old houses where the gas has to be
lighted in the old-fashioned way are nuisances,"
he said, while Rebecca was noting with a sinking
heart the place from which the matches came, and
wondering if he had begun to smoke. Then she
wondered what he would think if he Knew that
she cared.

He caught sight of the roll of music in her hand
and asked if she would like to have the piano
oijeni.d, going over to it as he spoke, and remov-
ing; certain books which were in her way ; then he
li hte 1 the burner which would give the best light
f r I le pi i •.<).

I. \. s II ii'"n')leuly a very .'mall beginning, but
it A a.. cL b. i.iiiii. '. Wjuu liivv met at the dinner-

278

WANTED.

table half an hour later the young man recognized
her by a slight bow and a look which said, " If
you choose to consider us introduced, I am quite
willing."

She returned the greeting cordi;^lly, and he
passed her the bread, and summoned for her a
waiter whose services he saw she needed. After
that they exchanged bows when they met at tabli;
or in the halls. On the fifth morning Rebecca
asked where Weston Hall was, and whether the
line of cars which passed the door went anywhere
near it.

McKenzie gave the desired information. No ;
the hnll was five blocks away from the cars ; but
they were short blocks, and on a pleasant street.
Then he added that there was to be a very choice
concert at the hall that evening.

Yes, Rebecca said, she knew it, and had thought
of attending.

At luncheon that same day they two came early,
and were alone at their table. It seemed absurd
not to talk a little about the weather, and kindred
objects of importance. Once he had occasion to
address her directly. " Shall I help you to some
of the salad, Miss " — and he hesitated.

'* Meredith," she said promptly. "It is quite
time, I think, that neighbors knew each other's
names."

" I think so," he answered heartily ; " mine is
McKenzie — Carroll McKenzie, University stu-

P.IOGRESSION.

279

dent, at your service. It is only fair to say that
I enjoyed your music last evening. I set my
door open that I might hear it. You played a
piece of which my father is very fond, and I am
afraid I was guilty of being a trifle homesick
over it."

This was certainly making progress. He must
have felt flattered with his neighbor's evident
interest in his father's tastes ; she questioned,
and cross-questioned, bent on being sure of the
very piece of which he was fond. Very soon
afterwards, McKenzie offered his services to see
Rebecca safely over these five blocks from the
street oar to Weston Hall. He was going to the
concert himself — he always went 'vhere he could
hear good music, if possible — and it would be no
trouble at all to show her the way, if she cared to
allow him.

Rebecca felt afraid afterwards, that her accept-
ance was almost too eager. It was certainly a
highly elated woman who went off an hour later
to take her music lesson. In a letter she wrote
that day occurred the following sentence : " I am
going to a concert this evening ; the finest one
which has been given here this winter, my pro-
fessor says ; and I am going with a young gentle-
man named Carroll McKenzie. Ah, ah ! what do
you think of that } He has offered to see me
safely from the car to the b ill, and back, because
I am a stranger and do not know the way ; and he

28o

** WANTED."

;li-V

I? Vs'''

is a gentleman, every inch of him. I don't need
that letter of introduction, iIkimU you."

In her room that cveninj.-; before the dinner hell
ranj;, Rebecca overheard a l:.it of conversation
which helped her to some conclusions. It had
struck her as a strange circumstance ; was it a
hint of the Guiding Hand helping her in her
efforts to win a soul, that young McKenzic's room
had been discovered to be the one next to her
own ? This might afford, as they became better
acquainted, numberless opportunities for casual
meetings in the h dis, and exchanges of kind-
nesses. On this |)n-ticuhir evening it afforded
her an opportunity of another kind. The cham-
bermaid had been giving her room an extra clean-
ing that day, and in rubbing the glass of the
transom over the door, which was between the
two rooms, had left it ajar; and McKenzie hail
company. Rebecca discovered this while changing
her dress for dinner ; al.so that she could hear con-
versation as well as though she were in the room.

"Oh ! come now," said a voice which she recog-
nized as Williston's, "don't be a mule, McKenzie;
go with us this evening. We had no end of trouble
getting another ticket fo • you in our section ; we
thought you would be delighted."

" I am, over your thoughtfulness, of course ; but
I have another engagement. I'm going down to
Weston Hall to-night. The concert of the season
is to be given there, you know."

pro<;ki-ssi(>n.

381

"Oh! bother Weston Mall; throw that up.
Talk about music, why, man alive, nou ouj;ht to
hear the little fairv wiio is to sinir to-night in the
opera I she beats all creation. You haven't seen
lier ; the fellows are all ravinj; over her. Why,
her dress is well wortii seeinic, even it vou don't
care for Iier voice. Come, Carrol, old boy, .ijive up
your pi.ms to-night and j;o with us ; jj;o for our
sakcs, if you won't for vour own. Our lark will
be spoiled without you."

•'You are very good, Williston, to care so much
for company;" and Rebtxca could feel that the
young man was touched by their friendship. ** I
don't really care for that sort of opera, you know;
you remember last term I told you that it was not
to my taste, and that I did not think 1 should go
again ; but since you ai.il Chester have planned
for it and want me particularly, I would go to-night
just to please you, if I had not made an engage-
ment. I promised to show the lady who site*
opposite me at table, the way to the Hall ; she is
a atranger, and as I was going, it seemed friendly
to look after her ; so I offered."

" What, that old girl } My eyes ! McKenzie,
she isn't fishing for you, is she } Why, she's old
enough to be your mother."

The answer came quickly, and for a moment
Rebecca almost thought that trte father must be
there, so much was the son's voice like his, as she
had heard it often.

28-;

" WAMED.

" Hold up, Williston ; remember you arc speak-
ing about a laiiy. I don't like that sort of talk in
my room."

"Oh! now, McKenzic, don't flare. I mean no
liarm in life. What did I say, anyhow ? Is she
yniir aunt, or something ? "

"She is nothing to me whatever, but a lady and
a stranger. But a young man ought to respect
the memory of his mother sufficiently to be courte-
oi\> to all women, for her sake."

"All right, M.ic. I'll go down on my knees to
her, if you say so. She plays remarkably well for
an e very-day music teacher, as I suppose she is;
I'll say that for her. But I am afraid I shall
owe her a grudge if she keeps you away from us
to-night. I'll tell you what, Mac ; I see a way
out. It was just like your amiability to offer to
take care of her ; but Jimmy is going to the
concert — the bell boy, you know. That oddity
on the first floor who doesn't seem to know what
to do with her money has given him a ticket ; you
ca* get Jimmy to pilot your party safely to the
hall ; he'll do anything for you. Why, he'll just
be tickled to death to do it ; and you can come
with us."

" Thank you," said McKenzie, and again his
voice was like his father's when he found it neces-
sary to reprove Nancy for some blunder ; " you
are very kind, and most fertile in suggestions ;
bu: I am not in the habit of delegating; my duties

l'Kf)'i!<l>>:i()V.

0^7
2"3

to Jimmy the bcli hoy. I sliall keep ijiy pioniise
to the lady in question."

Then Chester, who had kept in the hackuround .
during; the interview, added his word : " Look
here, McKenzie, if yon persist in not carryiiii;; out
a phin which we thou.!;ht you would he deli«;hted
with, you will put us iq a very embarrassing
position. The fact is, we sort of promised you."

" Promised me ! " There was more than aston-
ishment in the tone.

•'Yes; that is — why, you see it's this way:
The Stover girls are going with us, and that
throws their cousin out, don't you know ? So we
thought — well, in fact, I said to Annette that " —

McKenzie interrupted the somewhat stammer-
ing utterance.

"I understand; vou said to Miss Stover that
you would bring me along to look after the cousin.
You were certainly thoughtful ; but you forget
one little circumstance. If you had recalled what
I said last term — that under no conditions that I
could conceive of did I care to be seen in public
with Miss Stover's cousin again — it would have
saved you much trouble. I always try to keep my
own engagements, but fortunately I do not feel
bound to keep those which other people make for
me. I shall go to Weston Hall to-night."

And then Rebecca, who had been dressing with
nervous haste, succeeded in pushing the last pin
into place, and went downstairs, out of hearing of

284

WANTED.

fit*- ^'. ^

,j.i,

the voices, with what speed she could. As she
thought it over, she did not see how she could
very well have avoided beint,": a listener, since thev
persisted in paying no attention to any vvarnin,c
noises which she tried to nake ; and she could m t
help being glad that she had heard the colwer^;l-
tion. She knew Carroll McKenzie better now
than she had before. He might be easily leil, hut
the leading wouKl have to be in the line of honor
and chivalry.

From this point her acquaintance with the youn<;
man progressed rapidly. Circumstances favored
her in what she could not help considering a
remarkable manner. For instance, within three
weeks from the time of her first advance, McKen-
zie had an accident in the college laboratory. He
was mounted on a step-ladder reaching after an
important jar, and made a misstep. The fp''
sprained his ankle, so that he was obliged to rest
quietly for several days ; but this w;js not, to him,
the worst feature of the accident ; the jar had
broken, and some of the inflammable liquid had
spattered into hi? eyes. No serious results were
apprehended, but a few days of bandaged eyes
were a necessity. Over this the young man
groaned. He had no time to spare to banda<j,c(l
eyes. An examination was soon to take place in
a very important study — a review of former work
— and he, who had dropped out for i vear. was by
no means ready for the review. This he expl.iinLd

PROGKLSSION.

285

in detail to Willistoii one morning, when the doors
of both rooms were open, and Rebecca had the
benefit.

"There never was a fellow who had worse luck,"
he growled. " How many times have I mounted
that ste(>-ladder and come down like a cat ? And
this time, just because it was important that I
should be as careful as possible, I must needs
come crashinj^ down like a June bug. I don't
know what I am to do; I really don*t. There's
that detestable review to cram for, and me without
any eyes."

Then Williston, who was in the class below
him, asked some questions, thereby enlightening
Rebecca in regard to the review.

** I tell you what it is," began McKenzie again,
"you fellows with eyes might help me. If I could
have sor.ie of the stuff read over to me it would
refresh niv mcmorv amazinjrlv, and I could think
it out pretty well while I lie here in the dark-
You and Chester always seem to have more time
: n your Ijands than you know what to do with.
Why couldn't you give me an hour or two apiece?"

*' My dear fellow, so far as I am concerned noth-
ing would give me greater pleasure, if I were able
to do it ; but I am simply a horrid reader. My
father will not even allow me to run over the
morning news for him when I am at home, be-
cause I rattle it off so — without regard to punct-
uatioi;, you know, ov sjuie, or anything."

286

WANTED.

1 '
I

Rebecca, iii the shelter of her own room, curled
her lip over the weakness of this sham excuse, and
McKenzie seemed to take it at its true value.

** Oh ! " he said, with mock commiseration,
'• what a pity. I did not know you were so
iifflicted ; of course it wouldn't do at all ; a thinjj;
of this kind requires very rareful reading — needs
an elocutionist, indeed. IIt)vv about Chester.? Do
you suppose he, too, has an impediment in liis
speech ?''

"Chester, dear boy, is worse off than you arc;
he has been conditioned, as it were. That is, it
he doesn't make up some of his failures in reci-
tation, and straighten out some little affairs not
connected with recitations, in a week's time, his
governor is to be made to understand matters;
and Chester thinks he has struck some pretty
hard places. Now, honor bright, McKenzie, all
nonsense aside, I'd help you through if I could;
I'm a poor reader — that part is true enough, and I
hate It, besides ; but I'd go in, just to please you,
if I hadn't got to help Chester out ; that will take
all of my spare time. I haven't much to boast of;
things are looking a little skittish with me, too,
since this old bore of a new professor has gotten
hold of us ; but I've promised to translate some-
thing for Chester, and — but, hold on ; you and he
might change work. It would be nothing but pla)''
for you to translate his Latin jargon — dictate it,
you know — and he could read to you in return."

.PKO<iRF.SSrON'.

2S7

** No, thank you," said McKenzie, speaking very
stiffly, "your memory is poor; I don't translate
for people under such circumstances ; I think I
have mentioned it before. I can't even be bribed
to do it."

Williston was preparing to depart by the time
this sentence was concluded. His only answer
was a laugh and a " Well, by-by, old fellow ; keep
a stiff upper lip ; it will be all right a hundred
years hence, you know. I always find that a com-
fort when I get into scrapes."

Rebecca heard a long-drawn sigh from the occu-
pant of the next room when he was left alone.
Had she known it was evolved by the thought
that he seemed to have a worthless and somewhat
disreputable class of friends to depend upon, it
would have encouraged her. She had her bonnet
on, ready for the street, but after some thoughtful
moments she removed it, and had so far perfected
her next plan of advance that by the time McKen-
zie had been helped by the bell-boy and the ele-
vator-boy to a comfortable position in the boarders*
s'tting-room, which was, fortunately, on the same
floor with his room, she was ready to call on him.

♦ - •» • !•

■n

CHAPTER XXIV.

READING BETWEEN THE LINES.

KPi

H ri

* * r^ OOD-MORNING," she said, in her cheeri-
vJT est tones ; " how are the maimed mem-
bers this morning ? " Then, hardly waiting a
reply, " I have just been seized with what I hope
is a bright idea. There is a chance for some
leisure time being on my hands this morning.
Professor Glyck has been telegraphed away for
the day, so I cannot take my music lesson. Don't
you need to have something read to you } That
used once to be a regular employment of mine."

There was no mistaking the ring of satisfaction
in his reply : " You are an angel of mercy, with-
out doubt. Miss Meredith. I have been groaning
in spirit all the morning, and, in fact, doing some
of the groaning aloud, because I could not use my
eyes. What have you to read to me } "

" That depends," replied this wily schemer, in
her most innocent tones. " What is your preSent
mood? Is i: safe to mention work to you.'

288

READING CETWELN THE LINES.

289

Sonic text book which you arc sighing for? Or
cio \oi need to be amused? My experience with
the species known as college students is that
tliere is no accounting for their tastes; it may be
a treatise on the Pmlosophy of the Will, or the
latest novel, for whicii they arc pining."

Certainly the way could not be more comforta-
bly opencil for that " detestable " review. In ten
n.inutes they were at work. This proved to be
t 'o bc'i^inning of a very interesting two weeks;
the sprained ankle making itself more trouble-
some than was at first expected. But it could not
have bei.n because its owner retarded its cure by
chafing; he was almost content, even with par-
tially bandaged eyes. Rebecca proved a most
dclighiful reader; moreover, she was interested
in the things slio w is reading, text books though
they were, and askeii questions in sujh an intel-
ligent and thoroughly interested nK^nner, that the
college youth vviio was a good scholar, and had
almost no frienxis with whom he could talk over
his studies, enjoyed explaining to her fully as
much as he enjoyed getting on in his work by her
aid. Of course the explanations fixed the facts
more firmly in his mind, and made his knowledge
of them clearer. At first he was conscience-
stricken at taking so much of his reade«*'s time,
and protested earnestly against the sacrifice ; but
RcBecca was so entirely willing to be sacrificed,
and entered with such hearty enjoyment into the

2r)0

" WANTl.D."

,■> <
»

t <

'J'

work, that his protests grew fainter and fainter,
especially as lie saw what benefit he was derivini;.
Professor Glyck was dissatisfied, and grumlilcd,
but he was a secondary consideration with this
young woman, however much he might suppose
himself first; the work for which she had actually
come to this city was making great progress, and
music could afford to wait. Occasionally theie
were other duties besides those of wetting the
compresses for the eyes, rearranging the cushions
for the ankle, and readmg chapters on Chemistry,
Rhetoric, Mental Science, and the like.

" Look here," was McKenzie's greeting one
evening, "would you mind writing a line for nie
to my father? I never allow a week to pass with-
out his hearing innw me ; and the rul: is to write
every two or three days. I am afraid he will be
distressed if he doesn't get a letter to-morrow.
If you wouldn't mind explaining that I have had
a little tip up, or down, but am getting on
famously, I'll be ever so much obliged. My
father will know who you are ; I have mentioneil
your name to him in my letters, and told him I
enjoyed your music."

Rebecca was glad the speaker's eyes were ban-
daged ; she knew her cheeks must fairly glow.
Undoubtedly his father would know who she was ;
moreover, he knew in detail all about the accident,
and just what the doctor said ; but of course that
was net to be even hinted at. Her writing mate-

READING BETWEEN THE LINES.

291

rials were brought, and she meekly announced
that she was ready for dictation. It would be a
great deal better for hina to tell her just what to
say ; but he demurred. He never could dictate ;
say what she pleased, only tell him not to be
frightened. The ankle was doing famously, and
the eyes were only being bandaged now to please
the doctor ; and, thanks to her, he was having a
real jolly time. In a very few minutes the letter
was ready to read aloud.

Mr. Deane McKenzie — Dear Sir:

At the request of your son I write to inform you that he has
had a slight accident. A misstep from a step-ladder in the labo-
ratory where he was on duty caused him to sprain his ankle
slightly ; also, a jar of liquid was broken, and some of its con-
tents spattered in his eyes. On this account he is at present
unable to write, though the physician assures him that the eyes
will be entirely well by next week ; his ankle, also, is improving
rapidly, and he bids me say that you are not to be in the least
troubled about him. The person who is writing this can add her
testimony to the above, she having heard the doctor say but this
morning that eyes and ankle were doing well.

Yours respectfully,

R. L. Meredith.

The postscript she did not read to her patient ;
it was as follows :

" p. S. — You may have heard of * R. L. Meredith ' before ;
she is a maiden lady who is taking music lessons, and doing a
little hospital nursing at the same time. She has the highest
respect for step-ladders and chemical liquids, and is at this writ-
ing supremely happy. She may write another letter to-day, and
may not hav? time, as a chapter in psychology awaits her."

292

WANTED.

What would her patient have thought of the
postscript ?

Of course, after so many favors given and re-
ceived, these two could not go back to formalities
when McKenzie was out again. Evidently he had
no wish to do so ; he frankly met all Rebecca's
advances half-way. lie enjoyed her music, and
told her so ; he mentioned favorites of his own,
and was gratified with the fact that she promptly
added them to her repertoire. It seemed to give
him no uneasiness that there were some in the
house who made a matter of amusement of the
growing intimacy between himself and a woman
so much his senior. He met good-natured hints
in regard to it with the most good-natured indif-
ference, and ruder thrusts he was not slow to repel
with the haughtiness which they deserved.

"Are you going to take your old girl out to-
night ? " questioned one of the boarders who had
a great desire to be on familiar terms with him.

" I beg your pardon," said McKenzie, drawing
himself up to .his full height, " did you speak
to me >"

" I only asked if you were going to take anybody
with you to the lecture to-night."

" Oh ! I am going to ask Miss Meredith to go
over with me, but I have not yet learned whether
she will care to do so. Is there any reason why
you particularly desire to know } "

The tone, rather than the words, conveyed to

READlNr, Cr.TWnEN THE LINES.

293

the young man that l)e bad bocn guilty of a lude-
nebS, but he wus too coarsc-L;raincd by nature to
understand just wherein it lay.

However, the ,tact was that Rebecca, with a
view to possible annoyances in thi.s direction for
l^er chosen young friend, made a special effort to
be on cordial terms with other yot.);^ people of
tne house, and succeeded to a degree that sur-
|)rised herself. She found them, as a class, not
liiilicult to win. A woman of intelligence and cul-
ture, older than themselves liy a number of years,
yet genially interested in all their pui suits, and
wdling to lend a helping hind on occasion — giv-
ing ujisclfishly of her tin^e and skill, whether in
the line of music or mending — was apparently a
revelation to them. They grew to having a very
hearty liking for her, an-i ir.ore than one univer-
sity student said to McKenzie, " I tell you what
it is, that Miss Mereilith is first-class, isn't she?
Mow well she made those games go the other
night. And she never seems bored, no matter
what a fellow wants."

By degrees Rebecca discovered that she was
actually popular. It was an astonishing discovery.
In her early girlhood she had been too much ab-
sorbed in her own pursuits and pleasures to note
whether any beside the select few cared for her
or not; later, she had conceived the idea that
nobody cared for her ; now she was learning that
unselfish interest in others wins its wav anvwhere.

294

WANTr.l).

She wrote tt) Mr. McKciizic that it almost liumiU-
aitd, and thoroui^lily trij;hlc'iiccl her, to think how
K.r^e her infliienee was in the house.

It is true there were some young men who
seemed to be always repelled by her. Of this
class was Chester ; he was not a boarder, hut he
affected McKenzie's society so much as to be
often in the house. Rebecca gave some anxious
hours to this fact, until she discovered that
Chester, in the course of time, outwitted himself.
Evidently he feared the "old maid's" influence
over his friend, and exerted himself to counteract
it to such an extent that he offended McKcnzie
by his rude allusions to her. I'his Rel)ecca sur-
mised, rather than knew, by the fact that Chester
came much less frequenily llian before, and that
McKenzie was sharp in his denunciation of him,
but refused to enter into particulars. Williston,
however, continued to be on very intimate terms,
and although Rebecca disliked him less than the
other, she regretted the friendship. He was the
only one who was guilty of bringing a cigar with
him to McKenzie's room ; and Rebecca wonderetl
much why it was allowed, and could not help
fearing that it would end in his joining him as
a smoker. One evening she boldly spoke her views.

" It seems a pity that you who dislike the smell
of tobacco, must be victimized with it in your
room. Why are you so patient with that young
man's unpleasant habits.'*"

READING BETWEEN THE LINES.

295

He was standing beside her at the piano, turn-
ing the music for her. His face clouded instantly
as he asked, " Do you get the odor of Williston's
cigars in your room ? 1 did not think of that. If
they trouble you they shall not be endured."

"O, no! I was not thinking of myself. I am
rarely in my room when he makes his call ; it was
the odor of tobacco about you, which reminded
me of his habits. I thought it must be offensive
to you."

"Why do you think so ? "

" Because you do not use tobacco in any form ;
such people generally dislike its odor, do they
not ? "

"Apparently not," he said dryly ; "if such were
the case, would you ladies protest that so far from
disliking it you really quite enjoy the odor of a
good cigar ? and even invite men to smoke in your
presence } " .

" Do many ladies of your acquaintance advance
such views ?"

" Not many, perhaps ; but enough to prove my
point. I know some ladies who are quite amused
because some of their gentlemen acquaintances
do not smoke. They make such the objects of
their sharpest sallies ; so that often a fellow is
tempted to go to smoking, just to avoid the
appearance of being singular."

Rebecca thought of the " Stover girls " and
their cousin, and wondered whether they were

2<)6

♦* WANTin."

the ones to whom he rcf jrrc:I ; shj coiuludcd to
risk a qucHtioii.

'* Mr. McKcnzit.', do m:niv l.i lies whom vou re-
spect and honor coniiiicc thcins 1»\:» in lliis umv?"

'• Look here ; I ihou'-ht vmi ui-rc to call r.ic
Ciiiroll, for the sake of Ljnod fcllovvsliip ? "

"Very well; then, Carroll, wdl you answer my
qnrstion ? "

•' Why, as to that, I supnose I respect them.
Tl'.ey are well enou';h in their way; they stand
hiy,h enou<;h in social circles, if lli.t is what you
mean — only I know ynii nevei' meaii that, I am
not an ardent admirer of tlum, hut I will confess
that I am a jjjood deal bored w ih tiym:^ to keep
up a set of habits that are out of i!ic usual line.
Ci,i;'ar smoke isn't p irticnl n ly offensive to me,
now that's a fact. I don't 'h;»:ii;er' after it, but
I don't have tlic horror of it ihat my father has,
for instance, and that I fancy you l^rt ve ; and I can
iniaj^ine mvself i^ettinj^ fond of the stuff; which

wou

iie a great convenience to me as

situated

Then I am ulad that vou are the sort of

person you are

>•

What sort of fellow am I .? "

Tho sort of ' fellow ' who thinks more of his
fat he. 's tastes and desires than of his own con-
venienc** ; and one w!io nd j^hr he made sport of
Jo-eVf'r withoot hrinr iDrneJ fro.n the road which

)e meant lo travel.

READING BETWEEN THE LINES.

297

The boy's face flushed with pleasure. " Thank
you," he said ; " you rate me high — much higher
in one respect than I deserve. I tell you frankly,
I have been on the very verge of learning to
smoke, just to get rid of the banter. I wouldn't
smoke in my father's presence, of course, nor
anywhere indeed where it could annoy him ; but
if I had not sprained my ankle and fallen into
your hands, fij;uratively speaking, I think I should
have been comfortably puffing a cigar by this
time, just for the sake of good fellowship."

" I'm so thankful for the sprained ankle ! I
shall have a deeper respect than ever for that
step-ladder ; but let me ask you, do you think it
is your father's personal dislike to the odor of
tobacco which makes him so anxious that you
shall avoid the habit, or has he a deeper convic-
tion in regard to it .? "

" Oh ! his convictions are deep enough. If I
were to live in the middle of the Atlantic, and he
on land, he would still want me not to 'touch,
taste, nor handle.' He is extreme in his antipa-
thy ; but I can't say that I know why ; and a
fellow can't order his whole life to suit his father's
notions, can he ?"

" There are some things he might do, perhaps,
for a good father, but I should hardly think he
could be expected to give up so healthful, and
agreeable, and refined a habit as puffing smoke
into other people's faces, or into the curtains and

2^8

" WANTED.'

cushions of his own apartments; that would be
too much to expect." ii-i va ...'i.-r

^vi-Carroll laughed good-humoredly. "Now don't
be sarcastic with me," he said; "save that for
Williston. You cut him up dreadfully to-night.
Did you see him blush } But I tell you the ladies
are largely to blame for the prevalence of the
tobacco habit. I know fellows who would be will-
ing enough to give it up, if certain girls whom
they admire had strong convictions on the subject."

"That would be worth something, certainly;
and I admit that the girls who have hot have
much to an iwer for. But why not let the fellows
have strong convictions for themselves } Let us
study up on the subject, Carroll, and see what we
think, and why we think it. I know some books
and papers which make very strong statements ;
if they are facts reasonable people need no other
proofs on which to base convictions, and you and
I ought to have brains enough to find out whether
they are facts or not."

"All right," said Carroll heartily ; " I'll go into
it, and if I prove that the said 'facts ' are a pack
of sensation make-ups --" as I dare say I can-^
why, I'll go to smoking pell-mell next week. You
are not afraid to have me undertake it ? "

"Notabit."

But Mr. McKenzie senior, left alone in his deso-
late home, seemed to have time for all sorts of
forebodings. He wrote some -anxious letters to

READTNG IlET\Vi:i;\ TWE I.I.N'I.S,

^99

Rebecca durin<j; these weeks. lie lieard miicli of
her, he assurer! her ; Carroll never wrote a letter
nowadays without tellin*>; ot some kinthiess of liers,
and that he was grateful with a gratitude that
words c<Hi!d not express, he knew she would un-
derstand ; at the same lime, his heart nclied oxer
his boy. He knew so well his ea.sy-gning tem-
perament in some res|)ects. His verv friends
amoni^ the students were chosen, not because he
felt drawn tow;ii(l them, but because thev souuiit
him out and wo'd-l hanc^ on to him, and lie did not
like to shake tiirm off. His scholarship was ex-
cellent — in t;ict he had stood always anjonj; the
lirst, yet his constant companions were scholars
only in name. C irroll did not understand, the
father saitl, that li>ey followed him about because
he had money and was careless in the use of it,
but thouuht tliat they were actually attached to
him, and by the very kindness of his heart ht
could be ruined. He was thitikinj!^ of this more
an.\ir)usly now, because reports very seriously
against young Chester were constantly coming
home, and it was a pain to him to have his son's
name coupled with that young man's.

*'In short," wrote the father, "if I could hear
that my boy's feet were anchored on the Rock,
then I should feel safe ; for what he undertakes
when roused and in earnest he accomplishes, and
it would be no half-wav work with him I trv to
write to him about these things ; but what can a

il'

300

((

WANTKD.

f:ither say who, until his son was a man grown,
gave no personal heed to the call of Christ ? lint
for you, Rebecca, and your cry to him for me on
that awful night, I should be an outsider still.
Will you not ask the same mighty Christ to put
his arms about my boy? I need not tell you how
I pray for this. I know my boy would love Jcsiis
Christ if he could be led to make his acquaintance.
Last night I read the words, 'And Jesus, heholl.
ing him, loved him.' I could not help thinking ho
would say the same of my Carroll. O, Rebecca !
I hope so much because of your influence in this
direction."

Over this letter Rebecca shed some tears. It
was so evident that the father put [dmost un-
bounded trust in her influence, and yet that he
felt she was not pushing the claims of Jesus Christ
as rapidly as she might. There were so many
ways of influencing the boy which the father did
not understand, and which she could not explain
on paper. She knew that she was working for
Christ ; but she must be as wise as a serpent in
fishing for this soul.

..Ai

CHAPTER XXV.

INVITATIONS.

PERHAPS, after all, this winter which for cer-
tain reasons was expected to seem long,
passed quite as rapidly as any which had preceded
it. For one reason, most of the persons con-
cerned were very busy. Certainly Rebecca Mere-
dith found that hands and heart were almost more
than full. What with her music, and her friend-
ships, and her church work, and her semi-weekly
correspondence, to say nothing of her many let-
ters to Lilian, every hour had its duties. To
undertake to be friend and confidante, and, in
a degree, caretaker for a house full of young
people, was found to require no small amount of
planning, as well as the quiet giving up of some
plans which had been dear to her own heart.
Moreover, as has been hinted, the church claimed
this belated worker for a fair share of its responsi-
bilities. It is possible that she may have been
even more eager to do her share because she

30*

303

WAN TKD.

!^, (t

realized so forcibly, at times, I he wasted years.
Certain it is that the young men in her Bible
class, and the young women in her Tuesday even-
ing class, found in her a faithful and persistent
friend and helper. One bit of work dear to her
heart grew out of her having met accidentally on
the street, one day, none other than Nancy, the
former chambermaid at Carroll Place.

"Bless us and save us!" exclaimed that young
woman, in a voice much too loud for the street,
*' if here ain't Rebecca herself, as large as life.
Ain't it queer now, that I should meet you in this
great big city ? Be you living here ? Where ?
Bless us and save us ! If I didn't think you'd
stick by Miss Lilian ; and I wish to goodness I
had. He was awful stuck up, and particular, and
grand ; but he was enough sight better to work
for than any I have found since. Say, do you
know where Miss Lilian is .^ "

Rebecca made what explanation was necessary,
and Nancy commented.

" My ! in the country this time of year ? " Nancy
evidently looked upon the country as a howling
wilderness ol ice and snow, without one redeem-
ing feature, but the voice was very tender in
which she said : " Poor little dear ! I'd give all my
month's wages to see her for an hour. I tell you,
Rebecca, I've got an awful place. Sometimes I
think I won't stand it anotlier hour ; and then
again I think, what's the use ? Maybe I shouldn't

IN'VITV'rioxs.

303

better myself if I sImuM chansfe; but I couldn't
Wo much worse. Theic ain't no hope of my being
wanted where Miss Lilian is, I s'pose ? Land,
yes ! I'd ^o to the country quick enough for the
sake of sceino^ her."

It was Rebecca's turn to question. Yes,
Nancy's ** place " was hard enough. It did not
setm strange, when one heard a description of the
dark basement corner which was called her room,
that she was tempted to spend her evenings on
the streets, or at the lowest variety theaters —
anywhere where there was light and warmth, and
some sort of companionship. Up to tl is point,
Rebecca had felt only dismay at the thought of
possible embarrassments connected with Nancy ;
now she forgot herself, and began to consider
how !"■ was possible to save Nancy from the almost
certain ruin which waited at street corners for
such as she.

It was not much that she could do, she told
herself ; but the interview made her ready, even
eager, to help push an enterprise which was started
but a few days afterwards in the church which
she at*:ended. This was the opening of branch
Young Woman's Christian Association Rooms in
that verv portion of the citv where Nancy at
present made her home ; and Nancy, being really
attached to Rebecca, was induced to an tiu-re for
several evenings in succession ; to gr<^ •nflcici. until
she became so interested in learning how to mak^

1^ r

304

WANTKP

a dress fo*' hersrif, iis to ncc<l no otlicr induce
ment. The truth is. N:ni<.y was honestly fond
of rcspcxtabiHty. Nor did the embarrassments
which Rebecca h id fe.nei because of lier ever
come in as a disturl>ins; element.

"What be vou doiuL!?" she had asked, in the
early days of this retieweii acquaintance. And
on being informed she had opened her eyes verv
wide, asked several other questions, and ' final! v,
after a minute's silence, burst forth with, " You
ain't like one of us ; J .always said so: I told Mrs.
Barnett once, that \ou wasn't any more a nurse-
girl than I was the queen ; l.iit whatever you was
humbugging around for, I'll always say you did it
well. Miss Lilian was took care of as she never
was before."

•'There was no mystery about it, Nancy,"
Rebecca answered quietly. "My father lost somi^
money, and I wanted to help him. I went to the
city expecting to do other work, but it failed me,
and I became nurse girl, for the time, because I
knew I could be faithful, and earn a respectable
living ; no.v the need for it has passed by."

" My eyes ! " was Nancy's comment, " there's
lots of folks that wouldn't 'a' done it."

After that she kept her own counsel, and
further demonstrated her superiority over many
by addressing Rebecca, after a few v/eeks of e.\-
perience in the newly opened rooms, as "Miss
Meredith." Oh ! there were lessons which might

INVITATIONS.

305

have been learned even of Nancy. It interested
Rebecca to note how many of those she essayed
to help became in process of time her teachers.
There, for instance, wais Carroll McKenzie.

"You asked me once what made me tolerate
Williston and his cigar in my room," he said to
her, " and I did not answer. What would you say
if I told you there was a reason which was not
born of indolence or indifference.' The fact is,
Miss Meredith, when Williston is smoking in my
room he isn't smoking anywhere else ; don't you
see } And there are worse places than that to be
found, without much hunting. Look here, don't
you think you are rather hard on Williston ? I
tell you the fellow is worth a kind word now and
then ; he has none too many of them. His mother
is a fashionable woman who would rather caress a
lap-dog than write to her son, any day ; and his
father is a step-father, who married his mother
because he liked her bank account. Poor Willis-
ton hasn't the least idea what a real father can be.
He is not popular in college ; the only one who
is uniformly good-natured to him is Chester, and
perhaps you can surmise that Chester's influence
isn't as angelic as it might be. If I were you, and
knew how to be good to as many people as you
do, I'd save a little bit of it for poor fellows like
Williston."

Rebecca listened, conscience-stricken as well as
amused. There were touches of the divine, it

3o6

" WANTED."

seemed, about Carroll which his father did not
huspect. After that she set herself to win the
friendship of Williston.

In all these ways the winter hastened. There
was one delightful break in its routine. Rebecca
went home during the holidays for a flying visit,
and Mr. McKenzie chose the same time to make
his visit to Lilian.

At first these two puzzled much as to how they
would plan for Carroll's Christmas ; but suddenly
one of the professors, a young man who knew
neither of them, came to the rescue. Carroll was
invited to accompany him to his father's house
for the holidays, with the promise of being able
to examine certain rare books in a very choice
library. This was an opportunity by no means to
be slighted, and both Rebecca's and Mr. McKen-
zie's advice that the invitation be accepted with
thanks was hearty in the extreme.

Mr. McKenzie was back at his own home for
New Year's, and Carroll spent that day and the
three following with him ; but early in the new
year the two boarders were back in their rooms
at work.

Rebecca had by no means forgotten the father's
appeal that she would try to help the feet of his
son to rest upon the Rock. As a matter of fact,
it was for this that she prayed and watched un-
ceasingly ; but as yet " there had been no very
encouraging indications. Carroll, who was frank

INVITATIONS.

3P7

and genial on every other subject, was reserved
almost to coldness whenever she ventured to men-
tion religious themes. He attended church quite
regularly on Sabbath mornings, and occasionally
went with her in the evenings; but he assured her
that he did it only to please her, and felt that he
would be more profitably employed in his room,
getting ready for the next day's recitations. He
also admitted that his regular attendance in the
morning was out of respect to his father's wishes
and example. For the rest, he evaded all her
efforts to understand him more fully. Yet he
made no attempt to pose as a skeptic.

"Of course I have an intellectual belief in all
these things," he said once, in answer to some
question of hers; "no history is better authenti-
cated liicLn the so-called religious history. It re-
quires a greater stretch of credulity to account for
things in general on some other basis than it does
to accept your and my father's theories."

'* But, Carroll," she said, " isn't it a strange posi-
tion for an intelligent young man to take, to accept
theories which drive you to certain conclusions,
and then live as though you discarded them ?'*

"Ah! now don't let us go to arguing about
that," was his careless rejoinder ; " I assure you
it will do no good, T don't pretend to be consis-
tent — very few people are ---all I am sure of is,
th'it I don't want to hear anything about it.
I'lcasc let us speak of something else."

3o8

" WANTED.'

Much she puzzled over it, wondering what could
be in his way, and why he would not at least talk
frankly with her, and great was her disappoint-
ment in the thought that on this most important
of all themes she was evidently making no progress.

It was in March, toward the middle of the
month, that a new element of power came into
Rebecca's life. In the church which she had
chosen on her first arrival in the city, a series of
evangelistic meetings were commenced, under the
charge of a stranger, and Rebecca, who had had
no experience in such meetings, was from the first
very powerfully attracted. Indeed, her Christian
life received during those three weeks an uplift
which went with her through all the after years.
She was regular in her attendance at the meet-
ings, denying herself the pleasure of several fine
concerts and lectures in order to do so ; at least,
it looked like self-deniaj to Carroll McKenzie.
He was, perhaps, more nearly vexed with her about
this matter than he ever was over anything else.

" Do you really mean me to understand that
you prefer that man's effusion to the finest ora-
torio we have had this season } " he asked half-
angrily.

" It is not fair in you to speak of the preacher
in that tone, Carroll, when you will not go to hear
any of his * effusions * ; and you do not need to be
told, I trust, that some people go to church for
other reasons than to hear any man."

INVITATIONS.

309

But Carroll was unquestionably vexed, and went
away letting her feel that he was. She went to
the meeting with a sore heart, but among those
who arose that night to signify their desire to
become Christians was Nancy, with her face aglow,
nnd all her soul in her eyes; and Rebecca was
comforted. Carroll, however, felt the stings of
1. 'morse over his treatment of her to such a
< c.jw: ihiii on iho next evening he came to her
i.j I i-. fr.ost ;;\'nial mood.

'• I l;ivc I ews for you which, to judge from your
p.c.s<. pt infatuation, will put you into the seventh
lca\en of satisfaction," he said. "What do you
; ny lo Williston and myself going to church with
}ou lliis evening.!* Think of two such trophies at
one time ! Will it not be too much ?**

Rebecca was not greatly elated over their going.
She divined the reason upon Carroll's part, at
least, and believed that Williston went to get
what amusement he could out of it, and that his
presence would have a demoralizing effect upon
Carroll. It was all much as she had feared.
Could she have chosen from all the sermons
which she had, heard from the evangelist, this
would have been the last she would have selected
for CuroU to hear; it was good, but common-
pi tee. Several times in the course of its delivery
sl\c ciuiKi .s< e Carroll's eyes dance over some slip
ill jTiMiMiiur, or loi^iv.'. The svxaker was an edu-
CuLcd liia.j, i.ut Liiiucr li.c [.i\-iit.u.e of extempore

310

WANTED.

t;"

I. Hi.

Utterance, like many other public speakers, he
made grammatical slips ; and Carroll who would
have scorned on ordinary occasion** to ridicule
him for this, was in the mood to notice it. It
was worse when the formal service was concluded.
Rebecca found herself hoping; that Carroll and his
companion would depart, with the uninterested
crowds, but apparently they had no such inten-
tion ; they settled themselves, prepared to be
amused with whatever followed. It suited the
leader that evenini; to ask people forward for
prayers, and to ask, also, that Christian workers
would move down the aisles, repealing the invita-
tion. Meantime, there was much singing inter-
spersed with earnest exhortations, some of them
more earnest than otherwise, at least, in the esti-
mation of those not deeply interested. Rebecca,
watching Carroll's face, could see that its amused
look gradually changed to one of annoyance ; while
Williston continued to be mightily pleased with
the entire scene. Presently, down the aisle came
an elderly, plain-looking man, speaking right and
left to whoever he cI; mcec to see. A good man
he. was, but not one who would have been called
wise in his manner of trying to win souls. How
earnestly, Rebecca hoped, even prayed, that he
would, pass Carroll unnoticed. But he did not.

" Young man," he said, touching Carroll's arm,
which was thrown across the end of the seat,
"have you made your peace with God?"

INVITATIONS.

311

No reply. Only a fixed, haughty stare, as of
one who, but for the proprieties of the place,
would have said, •• What is that to you ? Attend
to your own affairs.". As for Williston, he shook
the seat v ith laughter.

The stranger waited a moment, then made a
second effort. " Won't you come up to the front,
and let us pray for you } "

" No, I will not ; I have no desire to have you
pray for me."

Williston laughed outright. The elderly man
seemed surprised and dismayed ; he moved on
quickly, and Carroll sat erect, his eyes blazing.
However, very many accepted the invitation, and
the meeting was undoubtedly one of great power.
Through it all, Rebecca sat with her heart feeling
like lead. She could not, just then, rejoice over
the great harvest ; she could not join with the
workers in their closing jubilate: "Bringing in
the sheaves."

All she could think of was that poor, proud
sheaf, who sat erect with folded arms and haughty
face, refusing to be garnered.

In the large parlor at home there was a babel of
tongues as soon as they entered ; in fact, several
of the boarders had joined them for the homeward
walk. So general had become the interest in that
part of the city, that large numbers of the boarders
were generally present at the evenin"^ meetings.
On this particular night the spirit of criticism was

312

" WANTED.

in the air, voiced principally by those who called
themselves Christians.

"Such an excitement!" they said. "So iin-
fortunate ! There must have been many sensible
persons who were repelled from the whole thing."
"That was the way with these traveling revival-
ists; they never knew when to stop." "What if
there were crowds pushin<^ forward } What would
it all amount to.? Mere animal excitement in the
majority of cases, no doubt." "Oh! very prob-
ably some of the ignorant were in earnest, but it
was a pity for a cultured audience to have to
endure such personaliiics."

Rebecca felt weary of them all. She had prom-
ised to wait in the boarders' sitting-room for a
messenger from the Association rooms, who was
to bring her word that ni.:;ht about a member who
was ill, and to take her some little comforts, so
thither she escaped as soon as she could, with a
bow for Carroll as she passed him. But he fol-
lowed her to the parlor, upstairs. It was vacant,
and he began the moment he closed the door.

" Now, Miss Meredith, go ahead; you are vexed
with me ; you think I disgraced myself to-night,
and you long to tell me so. I am ready, and
would rather have it out than not."

" I have nothing to say," replied Rebecca coldly.
" If your conscience exonerates you for the posi-
tion you took to-night, you certainly have no cause
to care what others think of you."

IX V IT AT IONS.

313

"But I do care, and you know that I do. I say-
it was insutiterablc in that man to stop and ask me
insulting questions lo-night before all the people
about me, and to set VVilliston into almost a shout
of laughter. Do you justify him in any such
proceeding.? "

" I shall not undertake to 'justify ' him, as you
call it. He may have chosen an unfortunate per-
son to invite to Christ, and he may not have
known how to give the invitation as well as some
might. Hut if I were you, and believed, as you
say you do, in Jesus Christ, I do not think I would
quarrel with the icrvant who came to remind me
that he was waiting to give me an audience, ro
matter how crudely put the servant's word might
be. It hanlly seems like you to attach so much
importance to trifles, and to trifle with the impor-
tant. In point of f.ict, you know the man did not
mean to insult you — did not mean anything but
the utmost kindness."

Carroll's mood seemed to change suddenly.

"I know it," he said. "Hang it all. Miss Mere-
dith ! I am ashamed of myself, and I might as well
own it ; I don't know what possessed me to be
such a bear. I had not the slightest intention
of saying anything disagreeable. I think it was
that everlasting giggling which Williston kept up
which angered me ; I thought the effect on him
woukl be anything but helpful. The whole thing,
you see, was calculated to offend the taste of peo

514

((

WANTED.

pie of refinement. The very singing was offen-
sive, and the words mere doggerel, some of them.
As for all those people surging down the aisle,
what good did it do them ? The most of them
were too much excited to know what they were
about. It is the offensive part of the whole thing
to which I object, Miss Meredith, you must know
tl-i.it, and not to the thing itself. The man was as
ilKgical some of the time as he well could be, but
J presume he is in earnest. All I say is, that it
is most unfortunate that he should allow himself
and his audience to be led into such a whirl ot
excitement that they don't know what they are
about. Religion, if it is anything, is a serious
matter, and ought to be considered quietly and
dispassionately."

Rebecca was very tired, and very much disap-
pointed. She had, it may as well be confessed,
lost all hope of Carroll's being influenced at this
time to acknowledge the claims of Christ, so that
in what she said next she was influenced solely by
the desire to let Carroll see how fully she under-
stood the weakness of his apologies and excuses.

^ ■

• • - • — I /

. '» -v

CHAPTER XXVI.

LOGICAL CONCLUSIONS.

/^"^ARROLL," she said, speaking very quietly
V-^ and wearily, "do you know I think that
Williston would not have laughed so immoderately
to-night if he had not thought he was pleasing
you. I believe you have yourself to thank for
whatever harm results from his presence at the
meeting. He is a weaker man than you in every
way, yet you let him influence you to your injury,
and you in turn injure him. But never mind that.
You have talked about illogical people to-night, do
let me remind you how illogical you are yourself.
You object to the exciteme.it there was ; I did not
ice any display of feeling which did not seem to
me quite natural and reasonable, when one con-
sidered the mometitousness of the subject, and
the length of time which it had been neglected ;
but you objected ; you think religion ought to be
considered quietly and dispassionately ; you think
it is a matter of judgment, and not of feeling.

3^5

3i6

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WANTED.

»»

! ,J ■■¥■

Now let me ask you, Why, do you suppose, did
not those people take it into consideration in the
quietness of the months which have passed, before
these meetings began? You have seen nothin-;
like excitement heretofore, have you ? No; |)lcase
don't interrupt me, I heard you through quietly ;
I want to be still more * logical ' than that ; I want
to ask you why you suppose it is that you h:ive
not quietly and dispassionately considered this
thing and settled it? Why you do not do so
to-night, for instance, now and here? This room
is quiet enough, and neither you nor I are excited ;
and you dc not need to wait for feeling, for relig-
ion, *if it is anything, is not a matter of feeling,
but of judgment;' and your judgment has been
convinced for years — so you have told me. Now
will you tell me why, instead of venting your in-
dignation on an old man who asked you to begin
to-night to serve Christ, you do not tjuietly and
dispassionately do it ?"

The young man had given over all attempt to
interrupt her, although for a moment he had been
eager to do so. He was looking steadily at her
while she spoke ; when she ceased he turned from
her and began to walk up and down the room ;
not excitedly, but with slow, thoughtful footsteps.
She, meantime, was wondering now thnt the ex-
citement of her first feeling was passing, whether
by yielding to her desire to si)c dc some plain
truths, she had not done harm, in.stead of good.

LOGICAL CONCLUSIONS.

1^7

The silence lasted but a few minutes, then he
came over to her.

'' Miss Meredith, you do not think that I will
accept your invitation to begin to-night to serve
Christ; in fact, it was hardly an invitation, but a
question which you thought I could not answer.
What you wished, was to show me the folly of my
position. I realize it, ix\ part, at -least ; but I am
going to surprise you. I mean to do it. This
very night, here, in this room, now, I mean to go
on my knees to God and ask him to accept me.
And I am not doing it because I am excited or
because mv feelings are enlisted."

If he were nol; excited, his listener was; so
utterly unexpected was this thing for which she
had been praying all winter, that she could not
even hope it was sincere.

''Carroll,*' she said, her face pale with fear,
*' surely you would not make a mock of such a
sacred thing! **

" Miss Meredith, do you believe ray father's son
would make a mock of anything which deserved
respect } I was never more in earnest in my life ;
and I haven't a particle of feeling in the matter.
That is, 1 have no desire to serve God ; I have
simply the conviction that for a fellow who be-
lieves what [ do, it is the logical step to take, and
J urn going to take it. And, Miss Meredith, you
m.iy not know it, but there is one curious thing
about me, careless fellow as all my friends con-

i
pi

r' w

318

" WANTL'D."

sider me ; when I absolutely make up my mind to
a thing I stand by it. Now I am ready. Will
you kneel with mc ? "

It was beyond belief. Even when Rebecca was
on her knees, listening to his words which were
calm and deliberate ; an unreserved surrender of
himself to the service of Christ — her bewildered
brain refused to take in ihe magnitude of the
experience. When he evidently waited for her
to pray, she could only repeat tlic petition which
she had been offering for him so long, that he
might be brought to sec his need of Christ.
There was not a woril of thanksgiving in it.

Just as they arose from their knees, some one
knocked at the door, and the messenger for whom
Rebecca had been waiting appeared.

"Good-night," said Carroll, and left her at once.

All through the following day Rebecca, though
outwardly at work as usual, was in reality going
over the remarkable scenes of the evening before.
Could it be possible that Carroll McKenzie had
settled the momentous question which he had
seemed so far from settling but a half-hour before.^
She recalled the haughty, even angry words which
he had spoken to that old man, and her heart
failed her ; surely such was not the spirit of one
near to the kingdom. They had missed each
other in the morning, and Rebecca was detained
at dinner-time, and came late only to find as she
had expected, that Carroll had dined some time

L()(. IC A L CONC I. U S I ( >X.S.

319

before. But just as she was leaving the house for
the evening service, he came springing down the
steps.

" Were you going without me ? " he asked her
brightly. ** Where have you been all day ? I
took an early breakfast as there was a matter
which I wanted to attend to before college, but
you were invisible both at luncheon and dinner.
Halloo, Williston ! were you going to my room ?
Come with us to church,"

" You don't say you are going to church again ! "
exclaimed that young man, in real or affected sur-
prise. They met him just as they reached the
sidewalk. Carroll linked his arm in Williston's
and the two walked on together, the former talk-
ing earnestly, while Rebecca dropped behind with
some of the boarders. Arrived at church, Carroll
evidently made an effort to be seated beside
Rebecca, and succeeded. His face was bright,
and he gave the most serious attention to the
sermon, which was much stronger than the one of
the previous night. In the after service the same
method was employed which had so jarred Carroll,
and the same old man came, presently, down the
aisle. He seemed to recognize Carroll, for al-
though he looked steadily at him he was passing
without a word when that young man deliberately
arose, whispered a few words in his ear, then
walked down the aisle beside him, the old man's
face rediant the while.

320

WANTKD.

E' ,1'

A'f!

I..,

f 'ii

"You look as though you thought I was incom-
prehensible ! " Carroll said to Rebecca, as they
filed out of church. " Let me walk along with
you and explain. Williston is talking with Miss
Andrews. Why, you see, it is like this : I was,
as I told you last evening, in solemu earnest. To
make a long story into a short one, I have been
fighting this thing for a year. Father used to
talk with me a good deal last winter, but I did not
think I wanted to have anything to do with relig-
ion. To be entirely frank with you, I thought it
ought to have made my mother a happier woman
than it did ; she was the sweetest mother ! yet
her religion never made her happy ; she used to
cry over it. Sometime, Miss Meredith, I will tell
you about my mother."

" O, sometime ! " thought Rebecca, " I will tell
you about your mother, and what religion did for
her last months on earth." .

Carroll went on eagerly : " I think I was almost
resentful over it, and rebellious. I know I have
resisted all personal efforts for years ;.and during
this past year I have had more calls to the service,
I think, than in all my previous life. Last even-
ing something in that man's sermon got hold of
me; I am sure I don't know how, or why. It was
illogical. Miss Meredith, though you did not like
my saying so ; some of the points made were very
weak, yet the intense earnestness of the man, and
the fact that despite his evident want of mental

LOGICAI. CO.VCI.USIONS.

321

grasp of lii.s subject, it was powerful in his hands,
mowcl mc strangely ; not in the line of my feel-
in;, you understand, but my intellect. It made
mj realize somehow as never before, that God was
bjhind this thing", and that he was calling me, and
tliat I was a fool to resist his reasonable service
when I admitted that it was reasonable, and that

dy. My very anger with that old gentleman
helped U) eonvice me tliat I was a fool. I was
q larreling with him for urging me to do that
w,iich I knew I ought to do, and which sometime

1 really meant to do. To mike me appear less
idiotic, 1 hid behind the excitement dodge, al-
though mv common sense told me that the sub-
j -Ct, even as I understO(;d it, was more worthy of
rousing excitement than most things which we
consider it good form to rave over. Vour bit of
logic in that line made a clifnax. Suddenly, while
you stood there looking utterly dissatisfied with
me, I rose to the privileges of my common sense.
I said 'This thing is right, and I know it ; and I
shall surrender.* Well, I did, with as much sin-
cerity as I ever did anything in my life. But that
wasn't the end of it. I went to my room resolved
to live by principle, and pay no attention to feel-
ing ; but I assure you. Miss Meredith, I had
feeling enough before the night was over. I have
had a very happy day, but part of the night was
miserable. I think the question was settled when
I knelt there with \i)u, but I know a good deal

*' WANTED.

iif

ii^iJ!

I If ii

more about if lluin I ilid last night. As for my
dear old man I knew iK'fore morning that I shoiiui
ask him to forgive me, though I did not think
then of going forward with him this evening; l>i t
when it occurred to me to-night I found that I
quite liked to do it ; I had not the slightest objec-
tion to walking down the aisle with him, and ask-
ing the people to pray for me. Last night I hated
it, to-night it seemed a privilege. Perhaps yon
understand something about such sudden changes ;
I confess I did not. And now, Miss Meredith,
I have talked enough about myself; I want to
speak of something of much more importance.
Will you join me in praying for and working lor
VVdliston .-* He is not so bail a fellow as some
think; but he is weak, and — O. well ! he needs
Christ ; the fact is, he must have him, or he is
lost"

That was the beginning of very precious weeks.
Carroll had understood himself well when he said
if he made up his mind to a thing he "stood by
it." No more earnest worker for his recently
chosen Leader could have been foUnd; and among
the college students, especially, he was a power.
Before the special meetings closed, large numbe'-s
from the university had enlisted for life in Christ's
service, and among them was Williston, the weak
and wavering — the tool in the hands of that keen-
brained young scamp, Chester. A great d<':d < f
help and a <_,reat dal of forbearance would W ...i..-

LOGICAL CONCLUSIONS.

323

ton need, but yet it was apparent, after a few
weeks, that the mighty Christ had indeed gotten
hold of him.

"He has no backbone," explaine*^' Carroll; "but
if he will only lean on the right One, even that
will be all right."

And in the course of time it became apparent
that God could make not only " the wrath of
man " but the weakness of man "to praise him."

Meantime, spring was coming with rapid strides.
They were well into April now, and June was not
far away. Mr. McKenzie was growing restive
under his many restrictions.

"The fact is," he wrote to Rebecca, "I feel
like a hypocrite whenever I write to my boy. He
pours out his whole heart to me, and a fair share
of it is filled with you, and when I respond I have
to confine myself to the merest commonplaces or
to total silence, so far as one theme is concerned ;
and, in short, have you not more than gained your
point ? Isn't it time to confess ? "

And Rebecca, who began to realize that there
would be a good deal to confess, admitted that
perhaps the time had come to begin ; but she had
her own plan of operations, and held him strictly
to it. If he thought it wise he might now tell
Carroll of his future intentions, but on no account
was he to mention the lady's name or place of
abode. That followed which she had hoped and
believed would. Carroll had many friends, but

324

WANTED.

»»

few confidantes ; she believed herself to be his
chiefest, and so it proved.

At the dinner-table one evening her heart ached
for the boy. it was so evident to her that he had
received a blow of some sort. He was much
quieter than usual, though quite as thoughtful of
others, and he paid almost no attention to the
various subjects of conversation, some of which
would naturally have interested him.

"What are you going to do this evening.?" he
asked Rebecca before she left the table. He had
come around to her side to speak to her.

" Nothing," she said promptly, mentally laying
aside two possible: engagements as he spoke.

"Then may I have a little visit with you in ;
small reception-room, quite alone ? I want to talk
with you a little about — well, about myself."

And then Rebecca felt in her guilty soul that
he had had a letter from his father.

She made the little reception-room, which was
held for the convenience of boarders who wished
to see their friends with a reasonable degree of
privacy, s . bright as she could, placing the spring
violets which Carroll had given her in a vase
beside her, and then sat down with her bit of
lace work to wait. There was not long waiting.
Carroll came promptly at the hour named.

" I think I have what the girls cal] the blues,"
he said, smiling, "and it seemed natural, some
way, to rush to you for comfort."

LOGICAL CONCLUSIONS.

325

'• I am glad of that. Am I lo know what causes
them ?"

•* I suppose so. Selfishness is, without doubt,
at the root."

•' That surprises me ; I have never thought it
one f)f your besetments."

" Ah ! you don't know me, I can be very sel-
fisR over my friends. I h:ive only a very few —
liost.s of acquaintances, and friends in a way, but
e.Ntremcly few who belong; lo the inner circle.
I'm going to dash right into the middle of it. Miss
Meredith ; I never was a fellow who could wait
around on the outside of a thinj:. ?»Iy f.ither is
going to marry again. There ! now you know the
whole."

Rebecca put a very crooked stitch in her lace
work, but her voice was quiet.

•'*VVell, and you do not like the v/oman he has
chosen.? Is that what I am expected to under-
stand ? If so, ought I not to know why you object
to her.?"

Carroll made a movement of impatience. *' I
don't know the wonian's name, nor where she
lives, nor the first thing about her," he said pas-
sionately ; "and I don't want to. Haven't I a
right to object to every woman on earth under
such circumstances.?"

** I don't believe I see why."

"Would you like a woman to come mto your
home and take your mother's place .?"

326

WAKTED.

" There is one in my home, the dearest woman
fricmi I Imve in this vvoiKI. I could not, if I were
to tr\ , tell you aM she has been, and is, to me."

" O, well ! " he said, "then I am mistaken ; you
vviU not understand me," and he spoke like one
who resented her position as a personal injury.

"Yes," she said quietly, " I tiiink perhaps I am
the very one to understand ; for I must tell you
that I resented the gift as an intrusion, and would
have none of the comfort of it for years. I made
my own life and that of others miserable be-
cause of it, and on'y after years learned my grave
mistake."

"Oh!" he said again ; then he laughed a little,
and added that he believed he sympathized witli
her first condition mi>re than he tdd with the lasl.
When she asked him how a Christian young man
could have such a belief, he burst forth again. »

" 1 don't think you know anything about it. I
have been a great deal to my father — at least !
thought I was — and now to have a stranger coinc
between 'js " —

"Ca'roll, cannot young men be a great deal to
their fathers even when they have mothers living .''"

" l-Ass Meredith, you know that is a different
thing."

"Yes, I know it is; but I want you to remember
that your father is not putting you, his son, away,
and taking another son ; he is entering upon an
entirelv i.ifTeient relation."

LOGICAL CONCLUSIONS.

327

" I was satisfied with the present state of things,"
said Carroll gloomily.

" Just now you are ; but may I ask if you r:up-
pose you would always be.* Was it your intention
to give yourself utterly and for life to your father
never to marry, never to enter into any business
which would take you away from him and his
home, never to travel to any extent without him ?
In short, to give yourself up to him and his plans
utterly and forever ? "

Carroll looked half-wonderingly at her, and
laughed.

** What do you mean } " he asked. " Is that
your idea of a son's duty ? "

" No, not in the usual order of things ; but it is
accepted as a wife's duty, as a matter of course,
and if you are really satisfied with your father for
a life companion, and demand nothing else in life
but his love, and care, and society, why, you ought
to be ready to meet the ordinary conuitions, ought
you not .? "

" Do yoi! suppose my father is lonely ? "

" Why should he not be ? Was there ever a
wife who went away from her husband for a term
of years, and planned to be away from him more
or less through the long future, as you have done,
and in the nature of things must do > Do you not
see, Carroll, that both you and I were trying to
make our fathers fill other relations to us than
those of father and child } I know all about it.

328

" WAXTtn.'

ior I have done it. And I know, also, that my
second mother is not only my falhei's heipi. r :in(l
comforter in my a1:)scnce, but, as I told you, tlie
best woman friend I Iiave."

He changed his "oase suddenly.

"Miss Meredith, I have not been strictly honest
with you. Occasionally I have thought of the
possibility of my father marrying again, and have
tried to make myself feel willing to harbor ihe
thought, and under some circumstances I could
do so. You will lau;4h at me n«>w, l:>ut ! am going
to tell the whole. When it dawned upon me that
he was a comparatively younj, man, and that my
little sister was a nure child, anti that he might
of necessity be mueli separated not only from me,
I'Ut from her, I saiti lo niys> If if he would only let
nie choose for him, 1 could show him a woman
who would be all that any sane man could desire.
In short, Miss Meredith, it is all up now, but at
the risk of being laughed at, I am going to confess
that I have j^lotted and schemed for it, and failed.
I have beggfed my father again and again to come
here for a visit ; I had it in my heart to introduce
you two, and it did seem to me that the eternal
fitness of things ought to do the rest. But I could
never i)revail upon him to come, and now it is
too late."

«««V • I I It » > I l*» ( tl * .4 W II

V • ^v

r •

V Vf

CHAPTER XXVII.

WANTED AT HOME.

REBECCA'S cheeks were the color of carna-
tions ; but she struggled to laugh, as was
expected of her, rather than to give way to tears.

"You dear boy! don't you know you would
have hated me if any such thing had happened } "

" I should have adored you ! O, Miss Mere-
dith ! think what it might have been to have
actually belonged to you ; to have felt, when I
was away from my father, that he was not deso-
late, because you were with him ; to have thought
of my little sister as having such love and care as
you would have given her. Oh ! it is too, too
bad."

He actually arose and tramped up and down
the little room in his intense excitement. This
was almost too much for Rebecca's nerves. No
such remarkable scheming on the part of the
boy had been planned for. It would not do to
laugh even hysterically too long, and it would be

329

330

WANTED.

>»

supremely ridiculous to cry. By degrees Car-
roll's excitement calmed. He was helped by the
thought that it was ungentlemanly to force his
own troubles long upon an outsider.

" I beg your pardon," he said, coming presently
back to his seat near her, " I do not intend to be
a fool, if I can help it ; but this thing came upon
me suddenly, and I am all broken up. I had an
idea that my father was absorbed in business, and
had not given thought to such matters ; and now
to find everything settled, and me not apparently
considered."

It was hard, this part of it. Rebecca felt it for
him ; felt all but ashamed of herself for having
planned it, and was, therefore, prepared to be v^ry
sympathetic.

This was the first of many talks. Carroll hav-
ing, under the impulse of his first surprise and
pain, gone to her with what he called " the whole
story," felt at liberty to think aloud in her pres-
ence as much as he would. And very fortunate
was it for him that he had chosen such a friend
to think before. The very experience through
which she had been helped her wonderfully in
understanding him ; and she was interested to
note what little difference there was, after all,
in hearts. Gradually he grew reconciled to the
new state of things, or, as he heroically ex-
pressed it, made up his mind to * make the best
of what could not be helped," and even inter-

W.WTKI) Ar IIOMi:.

331

ested himself in sjx^culating as to the ai^jc and
personal appearance of bis fatlier's clioice. That
the stranger was liis father's choice, was a strong-
hold which Rebecca took great pains to keep
before the boy. It ought lo be such a steady
support and comfort to him to remember that his
t.ither could not but choose wisely.

Occasionally, liowcvcr, after some of her best
t tfoits, the b')v would turn awiiv from her with
somethinir like a rrroan, imu! an outburst which
bcL^an with, "Oh I if he only" — and then would
sudcicnly stop. At such times there was a sweet
])iin in Rebecca's heart; the pain was for the
poor boy, whom siic loved ahnost with a mother's
\enrnincr, and the sweetness was because she felt
assured that tlic com))k'ted se.'.tence would have
been, "Oh ! if he onlv had chosen vou."

lUit Mr. McKenzie, far away from these experi-
ence><, was growing restive to an alarming degree,
lie really owed it to the boy to accept one of his
i;iany invitations and spend a day or two with
\i.m. He had not been so long without visiting
I'm since Carroll first went away from home,
when he was almost a little boy ; and there was
no reason now why- all secrecy should not come
to an end. So Rebecca, who had thought with
no little anxiety about the best way of acquainting
Carroll with the truth, prepared to carry out the
l?st part of her programme. She hafi one musi-
cal friend, a resident in ihe citv, with whom she

332

"WANTED."

15
III

would have spent much time, had she not been
so closely employed otherwise. This friend was
intimate enough to be taken into confidence, and
allowed to assist in the final scene.

Accordingly, the young woman was better pro-
pared than Carroll could have imagined possible,
for his air of suppressed excitement when he told
her one evening at the dinner-table, that he nur t
see her for a few minutes as soon as possible.

Yes, he had great news ; his father was coming
to see him, at last ; was coming to-morrow, lint
there was more than that. What did Miss Mere-
dith think.' She was actually in this city, spend-
ing the time with a friend out at Hampton P:irk,
and his father wanted him to go on that very first
evening and call upon her.

Truth to tell, Ciirroll, who had before this made
many promises about good behavior, was much
dismayed at the thought of the approaching ordeal.
His father might have spent the first evening with
him, he declared, in bis unreasonableness; "Or he
might have gone alone to call upon her, and K t
him do it some other time." It took all Rebecca's
influence to reason him into admitting his un-
reasonableness ; and at the last he well-nigh upset
everything by suddenly insisting that she join
them and make the acquaintance of the stranger.
He had as good a right to have a stranger friend
as his -father had, he grumbled, "and to take her
along, if he wanted to." But he laughed at Re-

WANTED AT HOME.

333

becca's utterly dismayed face, and assured her
that he wasn't quite an idiot, although he knew
he acted like one. Still, he was genuinely an-
noyed when he learned that Rebecca would not
be at home the next day ; she was going out to
make a long-promised visit to a uiend. He
wanted her especially, he said. In the first place,
he wanted his father to see her, "and be filled
with regrets " — this last in the serio-comic tone
which he could afifect on occasion — but above all
he needed her to "strengthen him up" for the
ordeal. " I know I shall hate her, in spite of all
my resolutions," was his last doleful comment.

As for Rebecca's part in the day's preparations,
they may, perhaps, be imagined. Her friend lived
in one of the handsome suburbs, in a pretty home
furnished with quiet, refined taste. On this par-
ticular evening she was quite alone, her father
having a business engagement that would keep
him late, and her brothers being out of town.
The back parlor had been given over to Rebecca's
use, and here she, in the prettiest dress her slen-
der purse could manage, and her dainty taste
evolve, sat waiting for calls.

"Miss Meredith experts some friends to call
upon her," had been the word to the servant.
" If I am not down when they arrive, take them
directly to the back parlor ; she will be there to
receive them."

So, in process of time, two cards were brought

334

WAN] i:i).

to Rebecca — " Mr. Deane McKcnzie," and **Mr.
Carroll McKenzie " — the gentlemen following
their cards so promptly that the servant hardly
had time to announce them. At least Mr.
McKenzie was prompt. Carroll lingered a mo-
ment, ostensibly to look at a picture in the front
parlor as his father passed behind the portiere,
but really to give the father a chance to greet his
friend. A moment more, and he heard his name.
•' I want to present to you my son Carroll." And
Carroll came swiftly from the front room, that his
father might not be embarrassed by his tardiness,
and stood face to face with — Rebecca.

For a single instant he stood as if transfixed ;
then, his quick brain taking in enough of the situ-
ation, he cried out, " O, my dearest ! " and was at
her side, clasping her hands, kissing them, laugh-
ing over them, all but crying over them, in his
intense excitement and joy.

" Really ! " said Mr. McKenzie, as he looked on,
half-astonished and wholly touched, until the amus-
ing side of the picture began to press upon him ;
" I thought I was to introduce you two ; it looks
the rather as though somebody was needed to
introduce me.'*

The only other event of special interest which
occurred that spring was the fact that Nancy went
to Dr. Meredith's as second girl, and general
helper. Nancy, whom the religion of Jesus Christ

WA:r'F'>

noMS.

335

had transformed ; ( f wIkmii Mr. McKenzie said the
very "fashion of her countenance" was altered.
Nancy, who had such a debt of gratitude to pay
to Rebecca that she would have gladly gone daily
down on her knees to serve her, and who, hearing
with whom Miss Lilian was staying, began to long
exceedingly, since she could not serve Rebecca, to
serve some of her friends. A treasure she proved
to Mrs. Meredith, who, in view of her small charge,
and of the events of the coming June, had her
hands very full. The first of May Rebecca went
home herself, her second term of lessons with
Professor Glyck being completed. Circumstances
were such that she was obliged positively to refuse
to play at his concert in June, whereat he was
aggrieved, and considered her somewhat ungrate-
ful, after all the extra care he had bestowed upon
her, and the pride he had taken in her, until he
received those long-delayed cards : " Dr. and Mrs.
John Ellis Meredith request the pleasure," etc.,
then he understood. But before that date many
details had been arranged.

" Is Nancy to make one of our household ? "
wrote Mr. McKenzie. '* I have quite a long and
very well executed letter from her, begging me to
intercede to that effect. Lilian seems to be fond
of her ; but of course I leave all such matters to
you. I do not even know whether you like to
retain Mrs. Barnett. She, also, is be2;ij:in;j: th:it I
will learn, if possible, whether her services will be

33^^

" WAN-TI.IJ."

h
u

agrec.ible ; and she siLjnifics licr own hearty pleas-
ure in view of such a pf)ssibility If yoii care to
send her a word, please (]<y so ; or, if you prefer
to lerve all those details until we are fairly settled,
of course you will do that."

Then Rebecca p;ave lierseif time to think of
some of the startling;" contrasts in her life ; tried
to imagine herself at Carroll Place, with Mrs.
Barnett bowing to her and waiting for orders,
and Nancy speaking of her as "the Missis!"
though Nancy was learning in these days to use
the language which belongs to good breeding.
The prospective mistress decided that some things
must be left until she had learned how to adjust
herself to new environments; but for the present
she would as soon have thought of distnissing
herself, as Mrs. Barnett; and she made Nancy's
cheeks red for the day by telling her that the dress
she was wearing would do nicely for mornings, at
Carroll Place.

It was a perfect June day when Rebecca took
her next journey under the care of Mr. Deane
McKenzie. This time he gave her openly and
constantly the most thoughtful attention and care ;
and the contrast between this and that other
journey which she had taken to the same city,
when alone and desolate she went in search of
"Madame" and employment, was almost too much
for her composure.

WANTED AT HOME.

337

It was probably well for both Mr. and Mrs.
McKenzie that Carroll and Lilian were their
traveling companions. It had been decided that,
June though it was, the family should return to
Carroll Place for several weeks, to arrange for
a somewhat extended trip which Mr. and Mrs.
McKenzie were to take, as soon as certain mat-
ters of business could be settled. During their
absence Lilian was to return to the care of her
dear "Doctor Grandma and Grandpa;" a fact
which staid her tears at parting with them, and
made their own hearts less heavy. As for Carroll,
his satisfaction in all the arrangements could not,
it seemed to him, have been greater. Intimate as
his friendship had been with Rebecca all winter,
after that first bewildering evening when he went
to be introduced to her as his father's prospective
wife, their relations had grown more close and con-
fidential. Long evenings they had spent together,
during which Rebecca went over for him every
little detail which she could recall of her acquaint-
ance with his mother — except, indeed, that dark
place in her life which alone had made such in-
timacy as theirs possible ; for that she had encour-
aged the dead mother to feel that her boy need
never know about, and certainly he would not
learn the story from her. But all the rest — the
gentle words and ways, the loving mention of his
name, the constant reference to him as the dear
son about whom the love of her heart centered ;

33^

WANTED.

i»

all these Rebecca remembered, and went over
aj;ain and aj^ain for the boy who had mourned as
perhaps few do, the young and beautiful mother
about whom, after all, he knew so little. It seemed
wonderful to him, and beautiful, that Rebecca
should have known, and loved, and cared for his
mother ; should have been with her during those
last days, should have actually received from her
lips messages for him, which she had been treasur-
ing until the best time would come for him to
receive them. Altogether, those last weeks which
Rebecca spent in the boarding-house, giving what
attention she might to music during the day, but
giving nearly every evening to Carroll, they had
grown to know and love each other almost as
mother and son, even before the formal relation
was established.

During this homeward journey Mr. McKenzie
watched the boy bend ove*- Rebecca and murmur
laughingly some confidencvi in her ear, and noted
the look of mutual understanding which the two
exchanged, and said, as Carroll went back to
Lilian : " My boy brought me his Bible this morn-
ing with these words underscored : ' Doth not He
see my ways, and number all my steps.' He said
that it seemed to him as though the Lord Jesus
Christ had chosen his ways for him in -a very
peculiar manner this last year — led him step by
step up to his highest good ; and that among the
greatest blessings that his life had ever known, he

WANTED AT HOME.

339

was sure he would count you ; and his father said,
* Amen.' They were precious words for me to
hear, Rebecca.** Be sure that they were precious
words to her.

She was in her own room at 1200 Carroll Place.
It was a lovely summer morning, their first at
home, and they were ready to go down to break-
fast. Lilian, in spotless white, arrayed by Nancy's
own careful hand, had just fluttered in to receive
what she called her **dressed-up kisses" — truth
to tell, she had received half a dozen kisses already
that morning from both father and mother — then
she had departed to sec if Carroll was ready. Mr.
McKenzie had been to the conservatory, and was
fastening a spray of violets just where he wanted
them on his wife's dress when she said, "O,
Deane ! one thing I forgot to speak about. Shall
we have prayers before or after breakfast ? "

" Prayers .' " he repeated, half-bewildered. " You
and I, do you mean ? "

"And the family, of course, dear — family wor-
ship, you know."

" O, yes ! assuredly I know that families have
such a service, .some of them ; but I am not accus-
tomed to it, you remember."

"Biit you will establish the custom at once,
dear, will you not ? "

" I had not thouj^bt of it. That may seem
strange to you," he uddQcl, after a moment, turn-

340

WANTED.

ing to her with a frank smile, " but it really had
not once occurred to me. Now that you speak of
it, of course, we are a Christian household ; it is
eminently proper. But, Rebecca, would it not be
as well to wait until we return in the fall, and are
fully established as a family ? We shall be here
for so short a time now."

She shook her head. "We are a family now,
Deane, as much as we shall be in the fall, and the
way one begins is so often the way in which one
continues. I should not like to set up my home,
even for three weeks, without a family altar.
Moreover, Carroll may not be able to be with us
in the fall, if the university should open before we
should get settled here ; and he is a man now,
you know, in some matters, and should take his
turn in leading the devotions in his father's house.
You will find him quite willing, I think, to do
so, and I am sure it will be a joy to you to hear
him. After we established the custom of morn-
ing prayers in the boarding-house on Sunday
mornings — which were the only mornings when
we could gather any sort of regularity at an ap-
pointed hour — Carroll led without the slightest
hesitation whenever called upon, although he was
the youngest of them all."

Mr. McKenzie flushed slightly, then laughed as
he said, " I am not sure but the son has more
courage than the father ; he has not so many years
of habit to overcome. But, Rebecca, do not think

WANTED AT HOME.

341

tiie unwilling ; now that you call my attention to
it, I know, of course, that it is the only right way
to begin. I like that idea of Carroll taking his
turn ; and, dear wife, I shall like another one to
take her turn, also. It is to be family worship,
you know, so the family should divide the duties.
Shall there be three of us who will in turn lead
lie SLTvico .-* "

iui.: ready color glowed in Rebecca's cheeks,
r 1.-. Way uiiLXpcttcu ; she could certainly say that
s .0 ii ul never been accustomed to anything of
I 1^ k..Kl. Siill, tlid siie like to say that she could
iM'L ^ lier liusband waitetl for his answer.

'• I know you can pray," he said at last, signifi-
cant!}, "and it seems eminently proper that the
one who taught both father and son to pray should
join us in this. Will you ? "

'• It seems hard to me," she said ; " I scarcely
know why. Certainly I am not afraid of you, nor
of Carroll, nor Lilian ; I have prayed before you
each, but — taken collectively — and then there
are Mrs. Barnett, and Nancy, and the others. Oh!
that is unworthy of mc. I will not let myself be
a coward on this, of all subjects. But then, Deane,
it is not the usual custofn, you r^now. Still, after
all, uliy should not women join audibly in the
f liHiJy |H-iiycM-, as well as in the family conversa-
t..M, ? Dj,.in.,', i will."

•■ 1 .i:i..-..: M'li," he said, sniiiinLj. "Then let us
h.ivc ^j.A\\:\., .it once, i ii..ve iwu;i<l that there is

342

** WANTED."

nothing like beginning immediately a thing which
one dreads a little."

As they went downstairs toward the library he
added, ** I ought to have established the custom
during the winter. It did not once occur to me
that I was the head of a household. Nothing is
plainer than that I have needed you all winter to
help me see clearly the right steps to take. If I
needed you half as much as I wanted you, Rebecca,
my need was sore. "

She had no words with which to answer him.
In truth, her lips were too tremulous to frame
words. Perhaps you cannot think what it was to
her to be sure that while life labtcd she would be
wanted. But there was no chance for reply ; they
were in the library now, where Rebecca had ;iot
been since she wen: to receive her directions for
the day. Carroll ana Lilian were there, and while
Rebecca moved toward them the master of the
house touched his bell.

" Rogers," he said, as that faithful attendant
appeared, •* call Mrs. Barnett and the others, and
say to them that we will have family worship in
the library at once."

" Yes, sir," said Rogers, and disappeared.

And Rebecca said to herself that the master of
the house spoke and acted precisely as though
family worship haci been the custom in the
McKenzie households from time immemorial

the

'.*