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( 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' ()|<)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 4 FACR I 27 39 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 1 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, I •' WANTED. f* 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. s 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 f! 8 <4 wAXxm. nrnfessionally as to tlic possibility of hrwin:^ lier come out to him htre. He doi s not Knsj 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 n\ M 111 10 ** 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, II 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 12 *• 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 ? ii TORN HEART-STRINGS. 13 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. W wmrr CHAPTER II. OUT IN THE WORLD. H 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. 15 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^ i6 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 I OUT IN THE WORLD. 17 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 i8 <( WANTED. »» I 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. t9 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. 20 t( WANTED. tt ll m 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. 21 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! m « WANTED tf 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. 23 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 24 « 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. 25 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 m f !!i 26 <( 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 II I !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- 27 I'ls'fT?" 28 " 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. 29 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." r1 y> K WANTED. n 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. 31 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. mm ( l( 1 1 1 1 i L 33 "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. S3 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 WW 34 " WANTED." I 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 4 BUSINESS CHANGES. 35 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\[ n WtHMMWHU amam 'V I H lij.ii I h:|! V ' 36 " 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. 3; 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 38 (< 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. ili!!!!;!'^^ ■ M l ^ ..;iJf^ ,*. *,>;'i: rff - W f>^« ^^-^:- • v-^j. i^f ;i.i" ^:i-:' ^:'?*aiV' "I LOVB 'OO," SHE SAID. (See page 38.) ih !i: ' s£jsis^wr W^ "■ ii <,p IIIWMI* liiiji 42 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 t ,11 UNDER ORDERS. 43 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 44 << 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. 45 .. ;! 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 •d li .»! Wi 'm ii;|;ii:r!:. ^ilillnl 46 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. 47 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 !'*. : ^1 f :• ^ il ';1 ■ ■■ -^ 48 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 i|l:IH mn i 'I il\ • was in to call ^^fl wcver, flW •r fool- L'. Of j^l 1(1 not r^H 1(1 and •as c.!'- nM whiv. h '||Kfl I ken c I ^^H :r said 1 )• '"■^ love ; ^^9 Mecca's 1 ought 'iS ce had ^sB lem to ^^ d than tr with '"1 as she e. As "•91 >y with i it face. almost ^; leed, I J above or my heart, I. He I hope '^^!^| s, and UNDER ORDERS. 49 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- im 50 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- J CHAPTER V. bewild?:rment. I 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 5' ,; i '. '■ 1 • • r ii : 1- J \ i: I: 52 " 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. 53 "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 ■I ' ;i *l ii iij< I I'l; '{•IV i I mm liliiii ■ill' iijiiiiiiiii !■':! f! . I !ij|{|l|iH^i 54 K 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. 55 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 1 i '• 1 i j 1 1 1 ' i 1 i 1 i ll iiililii i iiil! ( ' se " WANTED.' 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. 57 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- I li 5» WANTED. 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. 50 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 ma ke the best of it. It is vcars sinee I have bei- n able to LTo out uitb bim much. II 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 ' i f I 1 1 ;■ I illill! 11.. :i! I I iiilll!i!iNi!ii nil : r. r- 60 WANTED. 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.;iiursc, 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 ,. liil 62 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: );h )) * \ 1 \ \ 1 iili iihii illl iiiUI ( 1 i \ i: , . • 1- :.,:.. ! S ^ . .^ 1 ■ ^ "' V CHAPTER VI. " ■:! I Ml 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 Ml p i P !i ■■ , * ; ■,: , i ! . rt'i'- ll , i-.-l( ^|:' ']■ i^ I 64 (( 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." h- LOOKING BACKWARD. 65 "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 M r'ili ! 1, > 1 !:l..L.-L u iill 66 (( WAXTKD. ijiii Ir/'] ' mm 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. 67 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 i-r i V fil ri I'-V-i 68 " V'ANTED. iill d;l i:! 1 ■ 1 ■ ';!!! I 11 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.** ri ■:■^ > ^- I I 1) II I.OOKIJ^n HACKWARD. 69 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 1' I : ' it' ■ '. ■ ■--' ■ '■ ('A ifi 1 m I' ■ f 70 WAN'TKn III iiii 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. 71 "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 : t NIf! if' ^ 1 72 *' 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. 73 1 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 74 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. /5 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 tl (^•' 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. to 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 76 WAST1N(; SYMPATHY. 77 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 to 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. 79 fo I.I r 5f •cspcctiiiL; people to question her E vcn lur hither she s.iivl, "Whv, father, Fred antl I ueie never enL;a,L;e(l, vou know, W 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 8o WANiri). if 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. 8i "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 82 " 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. 83 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- 84 ** 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 (,iie.i ublo..i..he .. Ji\.\\ o.feiule-1 her, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) // ^ A %\4 4^ 4^ 10 I.I 11.25 nm 1^ itt Ui2 H2.2 2.0 lit lis u 140 Hratograjiiic Sdences Coiporalion ss \ ,v <^ ^ 33 WIST MAIN STRUT WnSTIR.N.Y. MSM (716)I72-4S03 "^V ^>.^ ^ 6^ (' ) A S6 u WANTED. I -i:', 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. 87 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. V* ■A-- UiJU i.«. idtZ '"TIB t ^^^^B( !.' 1 ^^^^B . ' 1 ' 1- 1 ^ ii' i m 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 83 POOR ,' ^1 I' ; I ;! i ' I 11 '■ m i S! 96 *• WAN ri:i)." 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 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 ■ I ' t Pill! 98 l< 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. 99 " 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 f P* liifitl ^ 1 * ' } f. 100 " WANTED. ft 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 ! i ': • # . ^ 44 4nHs- 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 ■^ 'Tr m 'i 1 Iff ill iiri. 1™ ; i ■ 1 ii.i 1 s 1 n I H i :f T' It 104 l< 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 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. r ^h!' 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. '.. t- . mmi: m wi iiiili! : io6 11 WANTED. " 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 I , 108 WANTED. : ill III 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 I "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 't:|| 1 lO " W A\ I ID. : ii ill I'i ! Ill !|l 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 1 ; I I Vl"l-\!, <'!'|-<'!I<)V<;. Ill 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." r' fl 1! 1 1 1 !: \ i I ( i m 1- 1 1 1 .■ , ' i : ■ i m ii 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 aso 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 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>,yv_^v.a 1. i .. V I .JvJr>cd With a iuW- it 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 mit (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 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 m 126 WANT LI). / :i ^: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. 1 128 <( WANTED. Ilt'ii i ■I'll 1 ■/■'i ■■'■■ 1 r i'l' •■ ' ' 1 ■ ' ,'' ' 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. m 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(.«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 • 1 m 1 w i! m 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 t 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 11 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 M ''' 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:it!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) mi m (fit 1 i H 1 i 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)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, asljr 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