The Lamplighter 
 
 BY 
 
 MAKIA S. CUMMINS 
 
 NEW AND COMPLETE EDITION 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
Copyright, 1902, 
 BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COMPANY. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
PUBLISHERS NOTE 
 
 THE issue of this new and authorized edition of " The 
 Lamplighter " will not be without interest to the lover of 
 books. Here is an American story for young people which 
 has been in constant demand for almost half a century. 
 At the time of its first publication, in 1854, it enjoyed an 
 immediate popularity second only to " Uncle Tom s Cabin " 
 and " The Scarlet Letter," which were then the most recent 
 great successes of American fiction. Forty thousand copies 
 of " The Lamplighter " were sold within two months. 
 Edition followed edition, in this country and in England ; 
 its authorized sales had exceeded one hundred and twenty 
 thousand copies before most of the young readers of the 
 present generation were born ; and how many " Lamp- 
 lighters " have been issued in the unauthorized and muti 
 lated forms in which the book has too often appeared can be 
 only a matter of conjecture. Its present appearance in a 
 new dress of type, and with a text scrupulously faithful to 
 the original edition, makes pertinent an introductory word 
 concerning its half-forgotten author and the secret of the 
 long vitality of her most popular book. 
 
 Maria Susanna Cummins, the daughter of Judge David 
 Cummins, was born in Salem April 9, 1827. She was 
 educated at the excellent and once famous school of Mrs. 
 Charles Sedgwick in Lenox, where she found herself in an 
 atmosphere of good breeding and of good literature. She 
 began to write when she was scarcely more than twenty. 
 " The Lamplighter " was her first book ; and like so many 
 other " first books " which have brought fame and for 
 tune to the writer, it was composed without any thought 
 of achieving reputation. It was written originally for the 
 entertainment of one of her nieces during a period of ill- 
 
 0575 
 
iv PUBLISHERS NOTE 
 
 ness, with no intention of publication. But the manuscript 
 found friends, as did the manuscripts of " Pride and Pre 
 judice " and " The Vicar of Wakefield." At the urgent 
 solicitation of those who had read it, it was published, at 
 first as the work of an anonymous writer. Before long, 
 however, the fact that one of the characters was drawn 
 closely from a recognizable person led to the discovery that 
 Miss Cummins was the author. Stimulated by the extraor 
 dinary success of " The Lamplighter," Miss Cummins 
 wrote other stories, such as " Mabel Vaughan " (1857), 
 " El Fureidis," a story of Palestine and Syria (1860), and 
 " Haunted Hearts " (1864). She became a frequent con 
 tributor to " The Atlantic Monthly " and other magazines. 
 But her sudden popularity left her quite unspoiled. A 
 singular modesty, a childlike simplicity, a deep and beauti 
 ful religious faith, were the qualities that endeared her to 
 her friends and that are still evidenced by what was written 
 of her at her death, which occurred in Dorchester October 
 1, 1866. As her pastor, Rev. Nathaniel Hall, declared in 
 his memorial discourse, " She received her success with a 
 simple gladness, less that she was famous than that she 
 might be useful; less that she had gained the public s 
 applause than that she had touched, to issues human and 
 philanthropic, the public s heart, and caused her poor 
 Lamplighter to be the means of illumining other and 
 direr darkness than that of night." 
 
 Here we touch the secret of the impression made by 
 " The Lamplighter." Its didacticism, its conscious moral 
 purpose, must be frankly faced. It was written by a New 
 England Puritan, believing passionately in the reality of 
 the moral and religious life. The aim of the story was to 
 " do good," and it was placed in thousands of Sunday-school 
 libraries. But the people who write books in this spirit 
 have often exhibited an extraordinary story-telling gift. 
 That passionate belief of theirs in the reality and significance 
 of the moral experience of their heroes and heroines com 
 municates itself to the reader ; it becomes the very stuff 
 
PUBLISHERS NOTE v 
 
 from which a good story is made. To see human lives 
 enfolded in what Miss Cummins s pastor called that " other 
 and direr darkness than that of night," to watch their grad 
 ual escape from it by virtue and sacrifice and struggle and 
 faith, this is to view life in one of its dynamic, dramatic 
 aspects. Many a so-called "Sunday-school story" thus 
 possesses an immense literary advantage over the " art 
 for art s sake " narrative composed with flawless obedience 
 to the canons of polite literature. One cares about the 
 people in " The Lamplighter ; " while for the personages of 
 many a story without " The Lamplighter s " faults one does 
 not find himself caring in the slightest. 
 
 That there are technical defects in Miss Cummins s first 
 story may be granted ; the tone is more frankly hortatory 
 than the twentieth century approves, there is some conven 
 tionality in plot, and not a few pages of stilted dialogue. 
 But the old, perennial elements of human interest are here 
 too : an orphaned child ; a rough but kindly protector ; 
 slowly won friends ; changes in outward circumstance ; in 
 ward growth and struggle ; the separation and reuniting of 
 those who love each other ; a touch of romantic mystery ; 
 
 " Effort and expectation and desire, 
 And something evermore about to be ; " 
 
 and, permeating all, the tonic doctrine that goodness and 
 helpfulness are the things that give peace at the last, 
 such are the permanently interesting things to be found in 
 " The Lamplighter." 
 
 4 PARK ST., BOSTON, 
 November, 1902. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Good God ! to think upon a child 
 
 That has no childish days, 
 No careless play, no frolics wild, 
 
 No words of prayer and praise! 
 
 LANDON. 
 
 IT was growing dark in the city. Out in the open country 
 it would be light for half an hour or more ; but within the close 
 streets, where my story leads me, it was already dusk. Upon 
 the wooden doorstep of a low-roofed, dark, and unwholesome- 
 looking house sat a little girl, who was gazing up the street 
 with much earnestness. The house- door, which was open be 
 hind her, was close to the sidewalk ; and the step on which she 
 sat was so low that her little unshod feet rested on the cold 
 bricks. It was a chilly evening in November, and a light fall 
 of snow, which had made everything look bright and clean in 
 the pleasant, open squares near which the fine houses of the 
 city were built, had only served to render the narrow streets 
 and dark lanes dirtier and more cheerless than ever ; for, mixed 
 with the mud and filth which abound in those neighborhoods 
 where the poor are crowded together, the beautiful snow had 
 lost all its purity. 
 
 A great many people were passing to and fro, bent on their 
 various errands of duty or of pleasure ; but no one noticed the 
 little girl, for there was no one in the world who cared for her. 
 She was scantily clad, in garments of the poorest description. 
 Her hair was long and very thick ; uncombed and unbecoming, 
 if anything could be said to be unbecoming to a set of features 
 which, to a casual observer, had not a single attraction, be 
 ing thin and sharp, while her complexion was sallow and her 
 whole appearance unhealthy. 
 
 She had, to be sure, fine, dark eyes ; but so unnaturally large 
 
2 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 aid they seem, in coatiast to her thin, puny face, that they 
 only increased the peculiarity of it, without enhancing its 
 beauty. Had any one felt any interest in her (which nobody 
 did), had she had a mother (which, alas! she had not), those 
 friendly and partial eyes would perhaps have found something 
 in her to praise. As it was, however, the poor little thing 
 was told, a dozen times a day, that she was the worst-looking 
 child in the world, and, what was more, the worst behaved. 
 No one loved her, and she loved no one ; no one treated her 
 kindly; no one tried to make her happy, or cared whether she 
 were so. She was but eight years old, and all alone in the 
 world. 
 
 There was one thing, and one only, which she found pleasure 
 in. She loved to watch for the coming of the old man who lit 
 the street-lamp in front of the house where she lived; to see 
 the bright torch he carried flicker in the wind ; and then, when 
 he ran up his ladder, lit the lamp so quickly and easily, and 
 made the whole place seem cheerful, one gleam of joy was shed 
 on a little desolate heart, to which gladness was a stranger; 
 and, though he had never seemed to see, and certainly had 
 never spoken to her, she almost felt, as she watched for the old 
 lamplighter, as if he were a friend. 
 
 "Gerty," exclaimed a harsh voice within, "have you been 
 for the milk?" 
 
 The child made no answer, but, gliding off the doorstep, 
 ran quickly round the corner of the house and hid a little out 
 of sight. 
 
 "What s become of that child? " said the woman from whom 
 the voice proceeded, and who now showed herself at the door. 
 
 A boy who was passing, and had seen Gerty run, a boy 
 who had caught the tone of the whole neighborhood, and looked 
 upon her as a sort of imp or spirit of evil, laughed aloud, 
 pointed to the corner which concealed her, and, walking off 
 with his head over his shoulder, to see what would happen 
 next, exclaimed to himself as he went, "She 11 catch it! Nan 
 Grant 11 fix her!" 
 
 In a moment more, Gerty was dragged from her hiding-place, 
 and, with one blow for her ugliness and another for her impu 
 dence (for she was making up faces at Nan Grant with all her 
 might), she was despatched down a neighboring alley with a 
 kettle for the milk. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 3 
 
 She ran fast, for she feared the lamplighter would come and 
 go in her absence, and was rejoiced, on her return, to catch 
 sight of him as she drew near the house, just going up his lad 
 der. She stationed herself at the foot of it, and was so en 
 gaged in watching the bright flame that she did not observe 
 when the man began to descend; and, as she was directly in 
 his way, he hit against her as he sprang to the ground, and she 
 fell upon the pavement. " Hullo, my little one ! " exclaimed 
 he, "how s this? " as he stooped to lift her up. 
 
 She was upon her feet in an instant; for she was used to 
 hard knocks, and did not much mind a few bruises. But the 
 milk ! it was all spilt. 
 
 "Well, now, I declare!" said the man, "that s too bad! 
 what 11 mammy say?" and, for the first time looking full in 
 Gerty s face, he here interrupted himself with, "My! what an 
 odd-faced child ! looks like a witch ! " Then, seeing that she 
 looked apprehensively at the spilt milk, and gave a sudden 
 glance up at the house, he added kindly, "She won t be hard 
 on such a mite of a thing as you are ; will she ? Cheer up, my 
 ducky! never mind if she does scold you a little. I ll bring 
 you something to-morrow that I think you ll like, maybe; 
 you re such a lonesome sort of a looking thing. And, mind, 
 if the old woman makes a row, tell her I did it. But didn t 
 I hurt you ? What was you doing with my ladder ? " 
 
 "I was seeing you light the lamp," said Gerty, "and I ain t 
 hurt a bit; but I wish I hadn t spilt the milk." 
 
 At this moment Nan Grant came to the door, saw what had 
 happened, and commenced pulling the child into the house, 
 amidst blows, threats, and profane and brutal language. The 
 lamplighter tried to appease her; but she shut the door in his 
 face. Gerty was scolded, beaten, deprived of the crust which 
 she usually got for her supper, and shut up in her dark attic 
 for the night. Poor little child! Her mother had died in 
 Nan Grant s house five years before; and she had been tolerated 
 there since, not so much because when Ben Grant went to sea 
 he had bade his wife be sure and keep the child until his return 
 (for he had been gone so long that no one thought he would 
 ever come back), but because Nan had reasons of her own for 
 doing so ; and, though she considered Gerty a dead weight upon 
 her hands, she did not care to excite inquiries by trying to dis 
 pose of her elsewhere. 
 
4 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 When Gerty first found herself locked up for the night in 
 Mie dark garret (Gerty hated and feared the dark), she stood 
 for a minute perfectly still; then suddenly began to stamp and 
 scream, tried to beat open the door, and shouted, "I hate you, 
 Nan Grant ! Old Nan Grant, I hate you ! " But nobody came 
 near her; and, after a while, she grew more quiet, went and 
 threw herself down on her miserable bed, covered her face with 
 her little thin hands, and sobbed and cried as if her heart would 
 break. She wept until she was utterly exhausted; and then, 
 gradually, with only now and then a low sob and catching of 
 the breath, she grew quite still. By and by she took away her 
 hands from her face, clasped them together in a convulsive man 
 ner, and looked up at a little glazed window by the side of the 
 bed. It was but three panes of glass unevenly stuck together, 
 and was the only chance of light the room had. There was no 
 moon; but as Gerty looked up, she saw through the window 
 shining down upon her one bright star. She thought she had 
 never seen anything half so beautiful. She had often been out 
 of doors when the sky was full of stars, and had not noticed 
 them much; but this one, all alone, so large, so bright, and yet 
 so soft and pleasant looking, seemed to speak to her; it seemed 
 to say, " Gerty, Gerty ! poor little Gerty ! " She thought it 
 seemed like a kind face, such as she had a long time ago seen 
 or dreamt about. Suddenly it flashed through her mind, 
 " Who lit it? Somebody lit it! Some good person, I know! 
 Oh ! how could he get up so high ! " And Gerty fell asleep, 
 wondering who lit the star. 
 
 Poor little, untaught, benighted soul! Who shall enlighten 
 thee 1 Thou art God s child, little one ! Christ died for thee. 
 Will he not send man or angel to light up the darkness within, 
 to kindle a light that shall never go out, the light that shall 
 shine through all eternity 1 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Who shall assuage thy griefs, "thou tempest-toss* d! >1 
 And speak of comfort, " comfortless! " to thee ? 
 
 EMILY TAYLOR. 
 
 GERTY awoke the next morning, not as children wake who 
 are roused by each other s merry voices, or by a parent s kiss, 
 who have kind hands to help them dress, and know that a nice 
 breakfast awaits them. But she heard harsh voices below; 
 knew, from the sound, that the men who lived at Nan Grant s 
 (her son and two or three boarders) had come in to breakfast, 
 and that her only chance of obtaining any share of the meal 
 was to be on the spot when they had finished, to take that 
 portion of what remained which Nan might chance to throw or 
 shove towards her. So she crept downstairs, waited a little 
 out of sight until she smelt the smoke of the men s pipes as 
 they passed through the passage, and, when they had all gone 
 noisily out, she slid into the room, looking about her with a 
 glance made up of fear and defiance. She met but a rough 
 greeting from Nan, who told her she had better drop that ugly, 
 sour look; eat some breakfast, if she wanted it, but take care 
 and keep out of her way, and not come near the fire plaguing 
 round where she was at work, or she d get another dressing, 
 worse than she had last night. 
 
 Gerty had not looked for any other treatment, so there was 
 no disappointment to bear; but, glad enough of the misera 
 ble food left for her on the table, swallowed it eagerly, and, 
 waiting no second bidding to keep herself out of the way, took 
 her little old hood, threw on a ragged shawl, which had be 
 longed to her mother, and which had long been the child s best 
 protection from the cold, and, though her hands and feet 
 were chilled by the sharp air of the morning, ran out of the 
 house. 
 
 Back of the building where Nan Grant lived was a large 
 wood and coal yard ; and beyond that a wharf, and the thick, 
 muddy water of the dock. Gerty might have found playmates 
 
6 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 enough in the neighborhood of this place. She sometimes did 
 mingle with the troops of boys and girls, equally ragged with 
 herself, who played about in the yard, but not often, there 
 was a league against her among the children of the place. Poor, 
 ragged, and miserably cared for, as most of them were, they all 
 knew that Gerty was still more neglected and abused. They 
 had often seen her beaten, and daily heard her called an ugly, 
 wicked child, told that she belonged to nobody, and had no 
 business in any one s house. Children as they were, they felt 
 their advantage, and scorned the little outcast. Perhaps this 
 would not have been the case if Gerty had ever mingled freely 
 with them, and tried to be on friendly terms. But while her 
 mother lived there with her, though it was but a short time, 
 she did her best to keep her little girl away from the rude 
 herd. Perhaps that habit of avoidance, but still more a some 
 thing in the child s nature, kept her from joining in their rough 
 sports, after her mother s death had left her to do as she liked. 
 As it was, she seldom had any intercourse with them. Nor 
 did they venture to abuse her, otherwise than in words; for, 
 singly, they dared not cope with her ; spirited, sudden, and 
 violent, she had made herself feared as well as disliked. Once 
 a band of them had united in a plan to tease and vex her; but 
 Nan Grant, coming up at the moment when one of the girls 
 was throwing the shoes, which she had pulled from Gerty s 
 feet, into the dock, had given the girl a sound whipping, and 
 put them all to flight. Gerty had not had a pair of shoes since; 
 but Nan Grant, for once, had done her good service, and the 
 children now left her in peace. 
 
 It was a sunshiny, though a cold day, when Gerty ran away 
 from the house to seek shelter in the wood-yard. There was 
 an immense pile of timber in one corner of the yard, almost out 
 of sight of any of the houses. Of different lengths and un 
 evenly placed, the planks formed on one side a series of irreg 
 ular steps, by means of which it was easy to climb up. Near 
 the top was a little sheltered recess, overhung by some long 
 planks, and forming a miniature shed, protected by the wood on 
 all sides but one, and from that looking out upon the water. 
 
 This was Gerty s haven of rest, her sanctum, and the only 
 place from which she never was driven away. Here, through 
 the long summer days, the little, lonesome child sat, brooding 
 over her griefs, her wrongs, and her ugliness; sometimes weep- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 7 
 
 ing for hours. Now and then, when the course of her life had 
 been smooth for a few days (that is, when she had been so for 
 tunate as to offend no one, and had escaped whipping or being 
 shut up in the dark), she would get a little more cheerful, and 
 enjoy watching the sailors belonging to a schooner hard by, as 
 they labored on board their vessel, or occasionally rowed to and 
 fro in a little boat. The warm sunshine was so pleasant, and 
 the men s voices at their work so lively, that the poor little 
 thing would for a time forget her woes. 
 
 But summer had gone; the schooner, and the sailors who 
 had been such pleasant company, had gone too. The weather 
 was now cold, and for a few days it had been so stormy that 
 Gerty had been obliged to stay in the house. Now, however, 
 she made the best of her way to her little hiding-place ; and to 
 her joy, the sunshine had reached the spot before her, dried up 
 the boards, so that they felt warm to her bare feet, and was 
 still shining so bright and pleasant that Gerty forgot Nan 
 Grant, forgot how cold she had been, and how much she dreaded 
 the long winter. Her thoughts rambled about some time, but 
 at last settled down upon the kind look and voice of the old 
 lamplighter; and then, for the first time since the promise was 
 made, it came into her mind that he had engaged to bring her 
 something the next time he came. She could not believe he 
 would remember it; but still, he might, he seemed to be so 
 good natured, and sorry for her fall. 
 
 What could he mean to bring ? Would it be something to 
 eat? 0, if it were only some shoes! But he wouldn t think 
 of that. Perhaps he did not notice but she had some. 
 
 At any rate, Gerty resolved to go for her milk in season to 
 be back before it was time to light the lamp, so that nothing 
 should prevent her seeing him. 
 
 The day seemed unusually long, but darkness came at last; 
 and with it came True or rather Trueman Flint, for that 
 was the lamplighter s name. 
 
 Gerty was on the spot, though she took good care to elude 
 Nan Grant s observation. 
 
 True was late about his work that night, and in a great 
 hurry. He had only time to speak a few words in his rough 
 way to Gerty, but they were words coming straight from as 
 good and honest a heart as ever throbbed. He put his great, 
 smutty hand on her head in the kindest way, told her how sorry 
 
8 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 he was she got hurt, and said, "It was a plaguy shame she 
 should have been whipped, too, and all for a spill o milk, that 
 was a misfortin , and no crime." 
 
 "But here," added he, diving into one of his huge pockets, 
 "here s the critter I promised you. Take good care on t; 
 don t buse it; and I m guessin , if it s like the mother that 
 I ve got at home, t won t be a little ye 11 be likin it, fore 
 you re done. Good-by, my little gal;" and he shouldered his 
 ladder and went off, leaving in Gerty s hands a little gray and 
 white kitten. 
 
 Gerty was so taken by surprise on finding in her arms a live 
 kitten, something so different from what she had anticipated, 
 that she stood for a minute irresolute what to do with it. 
 There were a great many cats, of all sizes and colors, inhabit 
 ants of the neighboring houses and yard, frightened-looking 
 creatures, which, like Gerty herself, crept or scampered about, 
 and often hid themselves among the wood and coal, seeming 
 to feel, as she did, great doubts about their having a right to 
 be anywhere. Gerty had often felt a sympathy for them, but 
 never thought of trying to catch one, carry it home, and tame 
 it ; for she knew that food and shelter were most grudgingly 
 accorded to herself, and would not certainly be extended to 
 her pets. Her first thought, therefore, was to throw the kitten 
 down and let it run away. 
 
 But while she was hesitating, the little animal pleaded for 
 itself in a way she could not resist. Frightened by its long 
 imprisonment and journey in True Flint s pocket, it crept from 
 Gerty s arms up to her neck, clung there tight, and, with its 
 low, feeble cries, seemed to ask her to take care of it. Its elo 
 quence prevailed over all fear of Nan Grant s anger. She 
 hugged pussy to her bosom, and made a childish resolve to love 
 it, feed it, and, above all, keep it out of Nan s sight. 
 
 How much she came in time to love that kitten, no words 
 can tell. Her little, fierce, untamed, impetuous nature had 
 hitherto only expressed itself in angry passion, sullen obsti 
 nacy, and even hatred. But there were in her soul fountains 
 of warm affection yet unstirred, a depth of tenderness never 
 yet called out, and a warmth and devotion of nature that wanted 
 only an object to expend themselves upon. 
 
 So she poured out such wealth of love on the little creature 
 that clung to her for its support as only such a desolate little 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 9 
 
 heart has to spare. She loved the kitten all the more for the 
 care she was obliged to take of it, and the trouble and anxiety 
 it gave her. She kept it, as much as possible, out among the 
 boards, in her own favorite haunt. She found an old hat, in 
 which she placed her own hood, to make a bed for pussy. She 
 carried it a part of her own scanty meals; she braved for it 
 what she would not have done for herself; for she almost every 
 day abstracted from the kettle, when she was returning with 
 the milk for Nan Grant, enough for pussy s supper, running 
 the risk of being discovered and punished, the only risk or 
 harm the poor ignorant child knew or thought of, in connection 
 with the theft and deception ; for her ideas of abstract right 
 and wrong were utterly undeveloped. She would play with her 
 kitten for hours among the boards, talk to it, and tell it how 
 much she loved it. But when the days were very cold, she 
 was often puzzled to know how to keep herself warm out of 
 doors, and the risk of bringing the kitten into the house was 
 great. She would then hide it in her bosom, and run with it 
 into the little garret-room where she slept; and, taking care to 
 keep the door shut, usually eluded Nan s eyes and ears. Once 
 or twice, when she had been off her guard, her little playful 
 pet had escaped from her, and scampered through the lower 
 room and passage. Once Nan drove it out with a broom ; but 
 in that thickly peopled region, as we have said, cats and kittens 
 were not so uncommon as to excite inquiry. 
 
 It may seem strange that Gerty had leisure to spend all her 
 time at play. Most children living among the poorer class 
 of people learn to be useful even while they are very young. 
 Numbers of little creatures, only a few years old, may be seen in 
 our streets, about the yards and doors of houses, bending under 
 the weight of a large bundle of sticks, a basket of shavings, 
 or, more frequently yet, a stout baby, nearly all the care of 
 which devolves upon them. We have often pitied such little 
 drudges, and thought their lot a hard one. But, after all, it 
 was not the worst thing in the world ; they were far better off 
 than Gerty, who had nothing to do at all, and had never known 
 the satisfaction of helping anybody. Nan Grant had no babies ; 
 and, being a very active woman, with but a poor opinion of 
 children s services at the best, she never tried to find employ 
 ment for Gerty, much better satisfied if she would only keep 
 out of her sight; so that, except her daily errand for the milk, 
 
10 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 Gerty was always idle, a fruitful source of unhappiness and 
 discontent, if she had suffered from no other. 
 
 Nan was a Scotchwoman, no longer young, and with a tem 
 per which, never good, became worse and worse as she grew 
 older. She had seen life s roughest side, had always been a 
 hard-working woman, and had the reputation of being very 
 smart and a driver. Her husband was a carpenter by trade; 
 but she made his home so uncomfortable that for years he had 
 followed the sea. She took in washing, and had a few board 
 ers; by means of which she earned what might have been an 
 ample support for herself, had it not been for her son, an un 
 ruly, disorderly young man, spoilt in early life by his mother s 
 uneven temper and management, and who, though a skilful 
 workman when he chose to be industrious, always squandered 
 his own and a large portion of his mother s earnings. Nan, as 
 we have said, had reasons of her own for keeping Gerty, though 
 they were not so strong as to prevent her often having half a 
 mind to rid herself of the encumbrance. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 11 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Mercy and Love have met thee on thy road, 
 Thou wretched outcast! 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 WHEN Gerty had had her kitten about a month, she took a 
 violent cold from being out in the damp and rain ; and Nan, 
 fearing she should have trouble with her if she became seriously 
 ill, bade her stay in the house, and keep in the warm room 
 where she was at work. Gerty s cough was fearful; and it 
 would have been a great comfort to sit by the stove all day and 
 keep warm, had it not been for her anxiety about the kitten, lest 
 it should get lost or starve before she was well enough to be 
 out taking care of it, or, worst of all, come running into the 
 house in search of her. The whole day passed away, however, 
 and nothing was seen of pussy. Towards night, the men were 
 heard coming in to supper. Just as they entered the door of 
 the room where Nan and Gerty were, and where the coarse 
 meal was prepared, one of them stumbled over the kitten, which 
 had come in with them, unperceived. 
 
 "Cracky! what s this ere?" said the man, whom they all 
 were accustomed to call Jemmy; "a cat, I vow! Why, Nan, 
 I thought you kind o hated cats ! " 
 
 "Well, t ain t none o mine; drive it out," said Nan. 
 
 Jemmy started to do so; but puss, suddenly drawing back, 
 and making a circuit round his legs, sprang forward into the 
 arms of Gerty, who was anxiously watching its fate. 
 
 "Whose kitten s that, Gerty 1 " said Nan. 
 
 " Mine ! " said Gerty bravely. 
 
 " Well, how long have you kept cats, I should like to know ? " 
 said Nan. " Speak ! How came you by this ? " 
 
 The men were all looking on. Gerty was afraid of the men. 
 They sometimes teased, and were always a source of alarm to 
 her. She could not think of acknowledging to whom she was 
 indebted for the gift of the kitten; she knew it would only 
 make matters worse, for Nan had never forgiven True Flint s 
 
12 THE LAMPLIGHTEE 
 
 \ 
 
 rough expostulation against her cruelty in beating the child for 
 spilling the milk; and Gerty could not summon presence of 
 mind to think of any other source to which she could ascribe 
 the kitten s presence, or she would not have hesitated to tell 
 a falsehood; for her very limited education had not taught her 
 a love or habit of truth, where a lie would better serve her turn 
 and save her from punishment. She was silent, and burst into 
 tears. 
 
 "Come," said Jemmy, "give us some supper, Nan, and let 
 the gal alone till afterwards." 
 
 Nan complied, ominously muttering, however. 
 
 The supper was just finished, when an organ-grinder struck 
 up a tune outside the door. The men stepped out to join the 
 crowd, consisting chiefly of the inmates of the house, who were 
 watching the motions of a monkey that danced in time to the 
 music. Gerty ran to the window to look out. Delighted with 
 the gambols of the creature, she gazed intently until the man 
 and monkey moved off; so intently that she did not miss the 
 kitten, which, in the meantime, crept down from her arms 
 and, springing upon the table, began to devour the remnants of 
 the repast. The organ-grinder was not out of sight when 
 Gerty s eyes fell upon the figure of the old lamplighter coming 
 up the street. She thought she would stay and watch him light 
 his lamp, when she was startled by a sharp and angry exclama 
 tion from Nan, and turned just in time to see her snatch her 
 darling kitten from the table. Gerty sprang forward to the 
 rescue, jumped into a chair, and caught Nan by the arm; but 
 she firmly pushed her back with one hand, while with the other 
 she threw the kitten half across the room. Gerty heard a sud 
 den splash and a piercing cry. Nan had flung the poor crea 
 ture into a large vessel of steaming-hot water, which stood 
 ready for some household purpose. The little animal struggled 
 and writhed an instant, then died in torture. 
 
 All the fury of Gerty s nature was roused. Without hesita 
 tion, she lifted a stick of wood which lay near her, and flung 
 it at Nan with all her strength. It was well aimed, and struck 
 the woman on the head. The blood started from the wound 
 the blow had given ; but Nan hardly felt the blow, so greatly 
 was she excited against the child. She sprang upon her, caught 
 her by the shoulder, and, opening the house-door, thrust her 
 out upon the sidewalk. "Ye 11 never darken my doors again, 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 13 
 
 yer imp of wickedness ! " said she, as she rushed into the house, 
 leaving the child alone in the cold, dark night. 
 
 When Gerty was angry or grieved, she always cried aloud, 
 not sobbing, as many children do, but uttering a succession 
 of piercing shrieks, until she sometimes quite exhausted her 
 strength. When she found herself in the street, she com 
 menced screaming, not from fear at being turned away from 
 her only home, and left all alone at nightfall to wander about 
 the city, and, perhaps, freeze before morning (for it was very 
 cold) ; she did not think of herself for a moment. Horror and 
 grief at the dreadful fate of the only thing she loved in the 
 world entirely rilled her little soul. So she crouched down 
 against the side of the house, her face hid in her hands, uncon 
 scious of the noise she was making, and unaware of the tri 
 umph of the girl who had once thrown away her shoes, and who 
 was watching her from the house-door opposite. Suddenly she 
 found herself lifted up and placed on one of the rounds of True- 
 man Flint s ladder, which still leaned against the lamp-post. 
 True held her firmly, just high enough on the ladder to bring 
 her face opposite his, recognized her as his old acquaintance, 
 and asked her, in the same kind way he had used on the former 
 occasion, what was the matter. 
 
 But Gerty could only gasp and say, "0 my kitten! my 
 kitten!" 
 
 "What! the kitten I gave you? Well, have you lost it? 
 Don t cry ! there don t cry ! " 
 
 "0 no ! not lost ! poor kitty ! " and Gerty began to cry 
 louder than ever, and coughed at the same time so dreadfully 
 that True was quite frightened for the child. Making every 
 effort to soothe her, and having partially succeeded, he told her 
 she would catch her death o cold, and she must go into the 
 house. 
 
 "0 she won t let me in!" said Gerty, "and I wouldn t 
 go, if she would ! " 
 
 "Who won t let you in your mother? " 
 
 "No. Nan Grant." 
 
 "Who s Nan Grant?" 
 
 "She s a horrid, wicked woman, that drowned my kitten in 
 bilin water!" 
 
 "But where s your mother? " 
 
 "I hain t got none." 
 
14 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 " Who do you belong to, you poor little thing 1 " 
 
 "Nobody; and I ve no business anywhere! " 
 
 "But who do you live with, and who takes care of you? " 
 
 "0, I lived with Nan Grant; but I hate her. I threw a 
 stick of wood at her head, and I wish I d killed her! " 
 
 "Hush! hush! you mustn t say that! I ll go and speak 
 to her." 
 
 True moved towards the door, trying to draw Gerty in with 
 him ; but she resisted so forcibly that he left her outside, and, 
 walking directly into the room where Nan was binding up her 
 head with an old handkerchief, told her she had better call her 
 little girl in, for she would freeze to death out there. 
 
 "She s no child of mine," said Nan; "she s been here long 
 enough; she s the worst little creature that ever lived; it s a 
 wonder I ve kept her so long; and now I hope I 11 never lay 
 *yes on her agin, and what s more, I don t mean to. She 
 wight to be hung for breaking my head! I believe she s got 
 an ill spirit in her, if ever anybody did have in this world ! " 
 
 "But what 11 become of her? " said True. "It s a fearful 
 cold night. How d you feel, marm, if she were found to 
 morrow morning all friz up just on your doorstep? " 
 
 "How d I feel? That s your business; is it? S posen 
 you take care on her yourself! Yer make a mighty deal o fuss 
 about the brat. Carry her home, and try how yer like her. 
 Yer ve been here a-talkin to me about her once afore; and I 
 till you I won t hear a word more. Let other folks see to her, 
 I say; I ve had more n my share; and as to her freezin or 
 dyin anyhow, I 11 risk her. Them children that comes into 
 the world nobody knows how don t go out of it in a hurry. 
 She s the city s property, let em look out for her ; and you d 
 better go long, and not meddle with what don t consarn you." 
 
 True did not wait to hear more. He was not used to wo 
 men ; and an angry woman was the most formidable thing to 
 him in the world. Nan s flashing eyes and menacing attitude 
 were sufficient warning of the coming tempest, and he wisely 
 hastened away before it should burst upon his head. 
 
 Gerty had ceased crying when he came out, and looked up 
 into his face with the greatest interest. 
 
 "Well," said he, "she says you sha n t come back." 
 
 "0, I m so glad! " said Gerty. 
 
 "But where 11 you go to?" 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 15 
 
 "I don t know; p raps I 11 go with you, and see you light 
 the lamps." 
 
 "But where 11 you sleep to-night? " 
 
 "I don t know where; I haven t got any house. I guess 
 I 11 sleep out, where I can see the stars. I don t like dark 
 places. But it 11 be cold; won t iU " 
 
 "My goodness! You 11 freeze to death, child." 
 
 "Well, what 11 become of me then ? " 
 
 "The Lord only knows!" 
 
 True looked at Gerty in perfect wonder and distress. He 
 knew nothing about children, and was astonished at her sim 
 plicity. He could not leave her there, such a cold night; but 
 he hardly knew what he could do with her if he took her home, 
 for he lived alone, and was poor. But another violent cough 
 ing spell decided him at once to share with her his shelter, fire, 
 and food, for one night, at least. So he took her by the hand, 
 saying, "Come with me;" and Gerty ran along confidently by 
 his side, never asking whither. 
 
 True had about a dozen more lamps to light before they 
 reached the end of the street, when his round of duty was fin 
 ished. Gerty watched him light each one with as keen an in 
 terest as if that were the only object for which she was in his 
 company, and it was only after they had reached the corner of 
 the street, and walked on for some distance without stopping, 
 that she inquired where they were going. 
 
 "Going home," said True. 
 
 " Am I going to your home 1 " said Gerty. 
 
 "Yes," said True, "and here it is." 
 
 He opened a little gate close to the sidewalk. It led into ?, 
 small and very narrow yard, which stretched along the wholt 
 length of a decent two-storied house. True lived in the back 
 part of the house; so they went through the yard, passed by 
 several windows and the main entrance, and, keeping on to a 
 small door in the rear, opened it and went in. Gerty was by 
 this time trembling with the cold; her little bare feet were 
 quite blue with walking so far on the pavements. There was 
 a stove in the room into which they had entered, but no fire in 
 it. It was a large room, and looked as if it might be pretty 
 comfortable, though it was very untidy. True made as much 
 haste as he could to dispose of his ladder, torch, etc., in an 
 adjoining shed, and then bringing in a handful of wood, he lit 
 
16 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 a fire in the stove. In a few minutes there was a bright blaze, 
 and the chilly atmosphere grew warm. Drawing an old wooden 
 settle up to the fire, he threw his shaggy great-coat over it, 
 and lifting little Gerty up, he placed her gently upon the com 
 fortable seat. He then went to work to get supper; for True 
 was an old bachelor, and accustomed to do everything for him 
 self. He made tea; then, mixing a great mug full for Gerty, 
 with plenty of sugar and all his cent s worth of milk, he pro 
 duced from a little cupboard a loaf of bread, cut her a huge 
 slice, and pressed her to eat and drink as much as she could; 
 for he judged well when he concluded, from her looks, that 
 she had not always been well fed; and so much satisfaction 
 did he feel in her evident enjoyment of the best meal she had 
 ever had that he forgot to partake of it himself, but sat watch 
 ing her with a tenderness which proved that the unerring in 
 stinct of childhood had not been wanting in Gerty, when she 
 felt, as she watched True about his work, so long before he 
 ever spoke to her, that he was a friend to everybody, even to 
 the most forlorn little girl in the world. 
 
 Trueman Flint was born and brought up in New Hampshire ; 
 but when fifteen years old, being left an orphan, he had made 
 his way to Boston, where he supported himself for many years 
 by whatever employment he could obtain ; having been, at dif 
 ferent times, a newspaper carrier, a cab-driver, a porter, a wood 
 cutter, indeed, a jack-at-all-trades; and so honest, capable, and 
 good tempered had he always shown himself that he every 
 where won a good name, and had sometimes continued for years 
 in the same employ. Previous to his entering upon the service 
 in which we find him, he had been for some time a porter in 
 a large store, owned by a wealthy and generous merchant. 
 Being one day engaged in removing some heavy casks, he had 
 the misfortune to be severely injured by one of them falling 
 upon his chest. For a long time no hope was entertained of 
 his recovering from the effects of the accident; and when he at 
 last began to mend, his health returned so gradually that it was 
 a year before he was able to be at work again. This sickness 
 swallowed up the savings of years; but his late employer never 
 allowed him to want for any comforts, provided an excellent 
 physician, and saw that he was well taken care of. 
 
 True, however, had never been the same man since. He 
 rose up from his sick bed ten years older in constitution, and 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 17 
 
 his strength so much enfeebled that he was only fit for some 
 comparatively light employment. It was then that his kind 
 friend and former master obtained for him the situation he now 
 held as lamplighter; in addition to which, he frequently earned 
 considerable sums by sawing wood, shovelling snow, etc. 
 
 He was now between fifty and sixty years old, a stoutly 
 built man, with features cut in one of nature s rough moulds, 
 but expressive of much good-nature. He was naturally silent 
 and reserved, lived much by himself, was known to but few 
 people in the city, and had only one crony, the sexton of a 
 neighboring church, a very old man, and one usually considered 
 very cross-grained and uncompanionable. 
 
 But we left Gerty finishing her supper; and now, when we 
 return to her, she is stretched upon the wide settle, sound 
 asleep, covered up with a warm blanket, and her head resting 
 upon a pillow. True sits beside her; her little thin hand lies 
 in his great palm, occasionally he draws the blanket closer 
 round her. She breathes hard; suddenly she gives a nervous 
 start, then speaks quickly ; her dreams are evidently troubled. 
 True listens intently to her words, as she exclaims eagerly, 
 "0, don t! don t drown my kitty!" and then, again, in a 
 voice of fear, "0, she ll catch me! she ll catch me!" once 
 m0 re, and now her tones are touchingly plaintive and ear 
 nest, "Dear, dear, good old man, let me stay with you, do 
 let me stay ! " 
 
 Great tears are in Trueman Flint s eyes, and rolling down 
 the furrows of his rough cheeks ; he lays his great head on the 
 pillow and draws Gerty s little face close to his; at the same 
 time smoothing her long, uncombed hair with his hand. He, 
 too, is thinking aloud. What does he say ? 
 
 "Catch you! no, shesha n tf Stay with me! so you shall, 
 I promise you, poor little birdie ! All alone in this big world, 
 and so am I. Please God, we 11 bide together." 
 
18 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 In age, in infancy, from others aid 
 Is all our hope ; to teach us to be kind: 
 That Nature s first, last lesson to mankind. 
 
 YOUNG. 
 
 LITTLE Gerty had found a friend and a protector; and it 
 was well she had, for suffering and neglect had well-nigh cut 
 short her sad existence and ended all her sorrows. The morn 
 ing after True took her home, she woke in a high fever, her 
 head and limbs aching, and with every symptom of severe ill 
 ness. She looked around, and found she was alone in the 
 room; but there was a good fire, and preparation for some 
 breakfast. For a moment or two she was puzzled to know 
 where she was, and what had happened to her; for the room 
 seemed quite strange, now that she first saw it by daylight. 
 A look of happiness passed over her little sick face when she 
 recalled the events of the previous night, and thought of kind 
 old True, and the new home she had found with him. She got 
 up and went to the window to look out, though her head was 
 strangely giddy, and she tottered so that she could hardly walk. 
 The ground was covered with snow, and it was still stormy 
 without. It seemed as if the snow dazzled Gerty s eyes; for 
 she suddenly found herself quite blinded, her head grew dizzy, 
 she staggered and fell. 
 
 Trueman came in a moment after, and was very much fright 
 ened at seeing Gerty stretched upon the floor, but soon found 
 out the real state of the case, for he had made up his mind dur 
 ing the night that she was a very sick child, and was not sur 
 prised that she had fainted in endeavoring to walk. He placed 
 her in bed, and soon succeeded in restoring her to conscious 
 ness ; but for three weeks from that time she never sat up, ex 
 cept when True held her in his arms. True was a rough and 
 clumsy man about most things; but not so in the care of his 
 little charge. He knew a good deal about sickness ; was some 
 thing of a doctor and nurse in his simple way; and, though he 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 19 
 
 had never had much to do with children, his warm heart was 
 a trusty guide, and taught him all that was necessary for 
 Gerty s comfort, and far, far more kindness than she had ever 
 experienced before. 
 
 Gerty was very patient. She would sometimes lie awake 
 whole nights, suffering from pain and extreme weariness at her 
 long confinement to a sick-bed, without uttering a groan, or 
 making any noise, lest she might waken True, who slept on the 
 floor beside her, when he could so far forget his anxiety about 
 her as to sleep at all. Sometimes, when she was in great pain, 
 True had carried her in his arms for hours; but even then 
 Gerty would try to appear relieved before she really was so, 
 and even feign sleep, that he might put her back to bed again 
 and take some rest himself. Her little heart was full of love 
 and gratitude to her kind protector, and she spent much of her 
 time in thinking what she could ever do for liim when she got 
 well, and wondering whether she were capable of ever learning 
 to do any good thing at all. True was often obliged to leave 
 her, to attend to his work; and during the first week of her 
 sickness she was much alone, though everything she could pos 
 sibly want was put within her reach, and many a caution given 
 to her to keep still in bed until his return. At last, however, 
 she grew delirious, and for some days had no knowledge how she 
 was taken care of. One day, after a long and quiet sleep, she 
 woke quite restored to sense and consciousness, and saw a woman 
 sitting by her bedside sewing. 
 
 She sprang up in bed to look at the stranger, who had not 
 observed her open her eyes, but who started the moment she 
 heard her move, and exclaimed, "0, lie down, my child! lie 
 down ! " at the same time laying her hand gently upon her, to 
 enforce the injunction. 
 
 "I don t know you," said Gerty; "where ; s my Uncle 
 True 1 " for that was the name by which True had told her to 
 call him. 
 
 "He s gone out, dear; he ll be home soon. How do you 
 feel, better?" 
 
 "0, yes! much better. Have I been asleep long? " 
 
 "Some time; lie down now, and I 11 bring you some gruel j 
 it will be good for you." 
 
 "Does Uncle True know you are here? " 
 
 "Yes. I came in to sit with you while he was away." 
 
20 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 " Came in ? From where ? " 
 
 "From my room. I live in the other part of the house." 
 
 "I think you re very good," said Gerty. "I like you. I 
 wonder why I did not see you when you came in." 
 
 "You were too sick, dear, to notice; but I think you 11 soon 
 be better now." 
 
 The woman prepared the gruel, and after Gerty had taken it 
 reseated herself at her work. Gerty lay down in bed with her 
 face towards her new friend, and, fixing her large eyes upon 
 her, watched her some time while she sat sewing. At last the 
 woman looked up, and said, "Well, what do you think I m 
 making ? " 
 
 "I don t know," said Gerty; "what are you? " 
 
 The woman held up her work, so that Gerty could see that 
 it was a dark calico frock for a child. 
 
 "0, what a nice gown!" said Gerty. "Who is it for, 
 your little girl ? " 
 
 "No," said the woman, "I haven t got any little girl; I ve 
 only got one child, my boy, Willie." 
 
 "Willie; that s a pretty name," said Gerty. "Is he a good 
 boy ? " 
 
 " Good? He s the best boy in the world, and the handsom 
 est ! " answered the woman, her pale, careworn face lit up with 
 all a mother s pride. 
 
 Gerty turned away, and a look so unnaturally sad for a child 
 came over her countenance that the woman, looking up, 
 thought she was getting tired, and ought to be kept very quiet. 
 She told her so, and bade her shut up her eyes and go to sleep 
 again. Gerty obeyed the first injunction and lay so still that 
 the latter seemed in a fair way to be fulfilled, when the door 
 opened gently and True came in. 
 
 "0! Mis Sullivan," said he, "you re here still! I m 
 very much obleeged to you for stayin ; I hadn t calkerlated to 
 be gone so long. And how does the child seem to be, marm ? " 
 
 "Much better, Mr. Flint. She s come to her reason, and I 
 think, with care, will do very well now. 0! she s awake," 
 she added, seeing Gerty open her eyes. 
 
 True came up to the bedside, stroked back her hair, now cut 
 short and neatly arranged, felt of her pulse, and nodded his 
 head satisfactorily. Gerty caught his great hand between both 
 of hers, and held it tight. He sat down on the side of the 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 21 
 
 "bed, and, glancing at Mrs. Sullivan s work, said, "I shouldn t 
 be surprised if she needed her new clothes sooner than we 
 thought for, marm. It s my pinion we 11 have her up and 
 about afore many days." 
 
 "So I was thinking," said Mrs. Sullivan; "but don t be in 
 too great a hurry. She s had a very severe sickness, and her 
 recovery must be gradual. Did you see Miss Graham to-day ? " 
 
 "Yes, I did see her, poor thing! The Lord bless her sweet 
 face! She axed a sight o questions about little Gerty here, 
 and gave me this parcel of arrer-ioot, I think she called it. 
 She says it s excellent in sickness. Did you ever fix any, Mis 
 Sullivan, so that -you can jist show me how, if you ll be so 
 good ? for I declare I don t remember, though she took a deal 
 o pains to tell me." 
 
 "0, yes; it s very easy. I 11 come in and prepare some, by 
 and by. I don t think Gerty 11 want any at present; she s just 
 had some gruel. But father has come home, and I must be see 
 ing about our tea. I 11 come in again, this evening Mr. Flint." 
 
 "Thank you, marm, thank you; you re very kind." 
 
 During the few following days Mrs. Sullivan came in and 
 sat with Gerty several times. She was a gentle, subdued sort 
 of woman, with a placid face that was very refreshing to a child 
 that had long lived in fear, and suffered a great deal of abuse. 
 She always brought her work with her, which was usually 
 some child s garment that she was making. 
 
 One evening, when Gerty had nearly recovered from her 
 tedious fever, she was sitting in True s lap by the stove fire, 
 carefully wrapped up in a blanket. She had been talking to 
 him about her new acquaintance and friend; suddenly looking 
 up in his face, she said, " Uncle True, do you know what little 
 girl she s making a gown for? " 
 
 "For a little girl," said True, "that needs a gown and a 
 good many other things; for she hasn t got any clothes, as I 
 know on, except a few old rags. Do you know any such little 
 girl, Gerty?" 
 
 "I guess I do," said Gerty, with her head a little on one 
 side and a very knowing look. 
 
 "Well, where is she?" 
 
 "Ain t she in your lap? " 
 
 "What, you! Why, do you think Mis Sullivan would 
 spend her time making clothes for you 1 " 
 
22 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "Well," said Gerty, hanging her head, "I shouldn t think 
 she would ; but then you said * 
 
 " Well, what did I say 1 " 
 
 "Something about new clothes for me." 
 
 "So I did," said True, giving her a rough hug; "and they 
 are for you ; two whole suits, and shoes and stockings into 
 the bargain." 
 
 Gerty opened her large eyes in amazement, laughed, and 
 clapped her hands. True laughed too; they both seemed very 
 happy. 
 
 "Did she buy them, Uncle True? Is she rich?" said 
 Gerty. 
 
 " Mis Sullivan ? ^S T O, indeed ! " said True. " Miss Graham 
 bought em, and is going to pay Mis Sullivan for making them." 
 
 "Who is Miss Graham!" 
 
 " She s a lady too good for this world that s sartin. I 11 
 tell you about her, some time; but I better not now, I guess; 
 it s time you were abed and asleep." 
 
 One Sabbath, after Gerty was nearly well, she was so much 
 fatigued with sitting up all day that she went to bed before 
 dark, and for two or three hours slept very soundly. On awak 
 ing, she saw that True had company. An old man, much older, 
 she thought, than True, was sitting on the opposite side of the 
 stove, smoking a pipe. His dress, though of ancient fashion, 
 and homely in its materials, was very neat; and his hair, of 
 which he had but little, and that perfectly white, growing in 
 two long locks just behind his ears, was nicely combed up and 
 tied on the top of his head, which was elsewhere bald and! 
 shiny. He had sharp features, and Gerty thought, from his 
 looks, it must be easy for him to say sharp things; indeed, 
 rather hard for him to say anything pleasant. There was a 
 sarcastic expression about the corners of his mouth, and a dis 
 appointed look in his whole face, which Gerty observed, though 
 she could not have defined, and from which she drew her con 
 clusions with regard to his temper. She rightly conjectured 
 that he was Mrs. Sullivan s father, Mr. Cooper; and in the 
 opinion she formed of him from her first observation she did 
 not widely differ from most other people who knew the old 
 church-sexton. But both his own face and public opinion 
 somewhat wronged him. It was true his was not a genial na 
 ture. Domestic trials, and the unkindness and fickleness of 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 23 
 
 fortune, had caused him to look upon the dark side of life, 
 to dwell upon its sorrows, and frown upon the bright hopes of 
 the young and the gay, who, as he was wont to say, with a 
 mysterious shake of his head, knew but little of the world. 
 The occcupation, too, which had of late years been his was not 
 calculated to counteract a disposition to melancholy; his duties 
 in the church were mostly solitary, and, as he was much with 
 drawn in his old age from intercourse with the world at large, 
 he had become severe towards its follies, and unforgiving to 
 wards its crimes. There was much that was good and benevo 
 lent in him, however; and True Flint knew it, and loved to 
 draw it out. True liked the old man s sincerity and honesty; 
 and many a Sabbath evening had they sat by that same fireside, 
 and discussed all those questions of public policy, national in 
 stitutions, and individual rights, which every American feels 
 called upon to take under his especial consideration, beside many 
 matters of private feeling and interest, without their friendly 
 relations being once disturbed or endangered ; and this was the 
 more remarkable, inasmuch as Trueman Flint was the very re- 
 verse of old Paul Cooper in disposition and temper, being hope 
 ful and sanguine, always disposed to look upon the bright side 
 of things, and, however discouraging they might seem, ever 
 averring that it was his opinion t would all come out right at 
 last. On the evening of which we are speaking, they had been 
 talking on several of their usual topics ; but when Gerty awoke, 
 she found herself the subject of conversation. Of course she 
 soon became deeply interested. 
 
 "Where," said Mr. Cooper, "did you say you picked her 
 up?" 
 
 "At Nan Grant s," said True. "Don t you remember her? 
 She s the same woman whose son you were called up to wit 
 ness against, at the time the church-windows were broken, the 
 night afore the 4th of July. You can t have forgotten her at 
 the trial, Cooper; for she blew you up with a vengeance, and 
 didn t spare his honor the Judge, either. Well, twas just 
 such a rage she was in with this ere child, the first time I see 
 her; and the second time she d just turned her out o doors." 
 
 "Ah, yes, I remember the she- bear. I shouldn t suppose 
 she d be any too gentle to her own child, much less a stranger s; 
 but what are you going to do with the foundling, Flint ? " 
 
 "Do with her? Keep her, to be sure, and take care on her." 
 
24 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 Cooper laughed rather sarcastically. 
 
 "Well, now, I s pose, neighbor, you think it s rather freak 
 ish in me to be adoptin a child at my time o life; and p raps 
 it is; but I 11 explain to you just how twas. She d a died 
 that night I tell yer on, if I had n t brought her home with 
 me; and a good many times since, what s more, if I, with the 
 help o your darter, hadn t took mighty good care on her. 
 Well, she took on so in her sleep, the first night ever she came, 
 and cried out to me all as if she never had a friend afore (and 
 I doubt me she never had), that I made up rny mind then she 
 should stay, at any rate, and I d take care on her, and share 
 my last crust with the wee thing, come what might. The 
 Lord s been very marciful to me, Mr. Cooper, very marciful. 
 He s raised me up friends in my deep distress. I knew, when 
 I was a little shaver, what a lonesome thing it was to be father 
 less and motherless; and when I see this little sufferin human 
 bein , I felt as if, all friendless as she seemed, she was more par- 
 tickerlerly the Lord s, and as if I could not sarve him more, 
 and ought not to sarve him less, than to share with her the 
 blessin s he has bestowed on me. You look round, neighbor, 
 as if you thought twa n t much to share with any one; and 
 7 t ain t much there is here, to be sure; but it s a home, yes, 
 a home ; and that s a great thing to her that never had one. 
 I ve got my hands yet, and a stout heart, and a willin mind. 
 With God s help, I 11 be a father to that child; and the time 
 may come when she 11 be God s embodied blessin to me." 
 
 Mr. Cooper shook his head doubtfully, and muttered some 
 thing about children, even one s own, not being apt to prove 
 blessings. 
 
 But he had not power to shake Trueman s high faith in the 
 wisdom, as well as righteousness, of his own proceedings. He 
 had risen in the earnestness with which he had spoken, and, 
 after pacing the room hastily and with excitement, he returned 
 to his seat, and said, " Besides, neighbor Cooper, if I had not 
 made up my mind the night Gerty came here, I wouldn t have 
 sent her away after the next day; for the Lord, I think, spoke 
 to me by the mouth of one of his holy angels, and bade me 
 persevere in my resolution. You ve seen Miss Graham. She 
 goes to your church regular, with the fine old gentleman, her 
 father. I was at their house shovelling snow, after the great 
 storm three weeks since, and she sent for me to come into the 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 25 
 
 kitchen. Well may I bless her angel face, poor thing! if 
 the world is dark to her, she makes it light to other folks. She 
 cannot see Heaven s sunshine outside; but she s better off than 
 most people, for she s got it in her, I do believe, and when she 
 smiles it lets the glory out, and looks like God s rainbow in 
 the clouds. She s done me many a kindness, since I got hurt 
 so bad in her father s store, now some five years gone; and she 
 sent for me that day to ask how I did, and if there was any 
 thing I wanted that she could speak to the master about. So 
 I told her all about little Gerty ; and I tell you she and I both 
 cried fore I d done. She put some money into my hand, and 
 told me to get Mis Sullivan to make some clothes for Gerty; 
 more than that, she promised to help me if I got into trouble 
 with the care of her; and when I was going away, she said, 
 I m sure you ve done quite right, True; the Lord will bless 
 and reward your kindness to that poor child. " 
 
 True was so excited and animated by his subject that he did 
 not notice what the sexton had observed, but did not choose 
 to interrupt. Gerty had risen from her bed and was standing 
 beside True, her eyes fixed upon his face, breathless with the 
 interest she felt in his words. She touched his shoulder; he 
 looked round, saw her, and stretched out his arms. She sprang 
 into them, buried her face in his bosom, and, bursting into a 
 paroxysm of joyful tears, gasped out the words, "Shall I stay 
 with you always ? " 
 
 "Yes, just as long as I live," said True, "you shall be my 
 child." 
 
26 THE LAMPLIGHTEB 
 
 CHAPTEK V 
 
 A light, busy foot astir 
 In her small housewifery; the blithest bee 
 That ever wrought in hive. 
 
 MlLFORD. 
 
 IT was a stormy evening. Gerty was standing at the win 
 dow, watching for True s return from his lamplighting. She 
 was neatly and comfortably dressed, her hair smooth, her face 
 and hands clean. She was now quite well, better than for 
 years before her sickness. Care and kindness had done won 
 ders for her, and though still a pale and rather slender-looking 
 child, with eyes and mouth disproportionately large to her other 
 features, the painful look of suffering she had been wont to 
 wear had given place to a happy though rather grave expression. 
 On the wide window-sill in front of her sat a plump and ven 
 erable cat, parent to Gerty s lost darling, and for that reason 
 very dear to her; she was quietly stroking its back, while the 
 constant purring that the old veteran kept up proved her satis 
 faction at the arrangement. 
 
 Suddenly a rumbling, tumbling sound was heard in the wall. 
 The house was old, and furnished with ample accommodations 
 for rats, who seemed, from the noise, to have availed them 
 selves of this fact to give a ball, such an excitement were they 
 manifesting. One would almost have thought a chimney was 
 falling down, brick by brick. It did not alarm Gerty, how 
 ever; she was used to old, rat-inhabited walls, and too much 
 accustomed to hearing such sounds all around her, when she 
 slept in the garret at Kan Grant s, to be disturbed by them. 
 Not so, however, with the ancient grimalkin, who pricked up 
 her ears, and gave every sign of a disposition to rush into bat 
 tle. No war-horse could have been more excited by the sound 
 of the trumpet than was puss at the rushing of her foes through 
 the ceiling. 
 
 "Lie still, pussy," said Gerty, "lie still, I say; don t you 
 be running off after rats. You must sit up straight, and be 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 27 
 
 good, till you see Uncle True coming, so s to hear what he 11 
 say when he sees the room and me." 
 
 Here Gerty turned and glanced around the room with an air 
 of infinite satisfaction; then, clambering upon the wide, old- 
 fashioned window-sill, where she could see up the yard, and 
 have a full view of the lamplighter the moment he entered the 
 gate, she took the cat in her arms, smoothed down her dress, 
 gave a look of interest and pride at her shoes and stockings, 
 and then composed herself, with a determined effort to be pa 
 tient. It would not do, however; she could not be patient; 
 it seemed to her that he never came so late before, and she was 
 just beginning to think he never would come at all, when he 
 turned into the gate. It was nearly dark, but Gerty could see 
 that there was some person with him. He did not look tall 
 enough to be Mr. Cooper, and did not step like him; but she 
 concluded it must be he, for whoever it was stopped at his 
 door further up the yard, and went in. Impatient as Gerty 
 had been for True s arrival, she did not run to meet him as 
 usual, but waited in a listening attitude, until she heard him 
 come in through the shed, where he was in the habit of stop 
 ping to hang up his ladder and lantern, and remove the soiled 
 frock and overalls which he wore outside his clothes when about 
 his work. She then ran and hid behind the door by which he 
 must enter the room. She evidently had some great surprise 
 in store for him, and meant to enjoy it to the utmost. The cat, 
 not being so full of the matter, whatever it was, was more mind 
 ful of her manners, and went to meet him, rubbing her head 
 against his legs, which was her customary welcome. 
 
 "Hullo, whiskers! " said True; "where s my little gal? " 
 
 He shut the door behind him as he spoke, thus disclosing 
 Gerty to view. She sprang forward with a bound, laughed, 
 and looked first at her own clothes and then in True s face, to 
 see what he would think of her appearance. 
 
 " Well, I declare ! " said he, lifting her up in his arms and 
 carrying her nearer to the light; "little folks do look famous! 
 New gown, apron, shoes! got em all on! And who fixed 
 your hair 1 ? My, you ain t none too handsome, sartain, but you 
 do look famous nice ! " 
 
 "Mrs. Sullivan dressed me all up, and brushed my hair; 
 and more too don t you see what else she has done?" 
 
 True followed Gerty s eyes as they wandered around the 
 
28 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 room. He looked amazed enough to satisfy her anticipations, 
 great as they had been; and no wonder. He had been gone 
 since morning, and things had indeed undergone a transforma 
 tion. Woman s hands had evidently been at work, clearing 
 up and setting to rights. 
 
 Until Gerty came to live with True, his home had never 
 been subjected to female intrusion. Living wholly by himself, 
 and entertaining scarcely any visitors, it had been his habit to 
 make himself comfortable in his own way, utterly regardless of 
 appearances. In his humble apartment sweeping-day came but 
 seldom, and spring cleaning was unknown. Two large win 
 dows, facing the yard, were treated with great injustice, the 
 cheerful light they were capable of affording being half obscured 
 by dirt and smoke. The corners of the ceiling were festooned 
 with cobwebs; the high, broad mantelpiece had accumulated 
 a curious medley of things useful and useless ; while there was 
 no end to the rubbish that had collected under the stove. 
 Then the furniture, some of which was very good, was adjusted 
 in the most inconvenient manner, and in a way to turn the size 
 of the room to the least possible advantage. During Gerty s 
 illness, a bed made up on the floor for True s use, and the 
 various articles which had been required in her sick-room, had 
 increased the clutter to such an extent that one almost needed 
 a pilot to conduct him in safety through the apartment. 
 
 Now, Mrs. Sullivan was the soul of neatness. Her rooms 
 were like wax-work. Her own dress was almost quaker-like in 
 its extreme simplicity, and freedom from the least speck or 
 stain. No one could meet her old father, or her young son, 
 even in their working-dress, without perceiving at once the evi 
 dence of a careful daughter and mother s handiwork. It was 
 to nurse Gerty, and take care of her in True s absence, that 
 she first entered a room so much the reverse of her own ; and it 
 is not easy to appreciate the degree in which the virtue and 
 charity of her so doing was enhanced, unless one can realize 
 how painful the contrast was to her, and how excessively an 
 noying she found it to spend sometimes a whole afternoon in 
 a room which, as she expressed herself afterwards at home, it 
 would have been a real pleasure to her to clear up and put to 
 rights, if it were only to see how it would look, and whether 
 anybody would recognize it. Mrs. Sullivan was a little bit of 
 a woman, but had more capability and energy than could have 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 29 
 
 been found in any one among twenty others twice her size. 
 She really pitied those whose home was such a mass of confu 
 sion; felt sure that they could not be happy; and inwardly 
 determined, as soon as Gerty got well, to exert herself in the 
 cause of cleanliness and order, which was in her eyes the cause 
 of virtue and happiness, so completely did she identify outward 
 neatness and purity with inward peace. She pondered in her 
 own mind how she could broach the subject of a renovation in 
 his affairs to True himself, without wounding his feelings; for 
 she was herself so sensitive on a point of neatness that she 
 imagined he must be somewhat the same, and the little 
 woman, being as tender-hearted as she was tidy, would not 
 have mortified him for the world, when a mode of action was 
 suggested to her by Gerty herself. 
 
 On the day previous to that on which the great cleaning 
 operations took place, Gerty was observed by Mrs. Sullivan 
 standing in the passage near her door, and looking shyly but 
 wistfully in. 
 
 "Come in, Gerty," said the kind little woman; "come in 
 and see me. Here," added she, seeing how timid the child 
 felt about intruding herself into a strange room; "you may sit 
 up here by the table, and see me iron. This is your own little 
 dress. I am smoothing it out, and then your things will all 
 be done. You 11 be glad of some new clothes, sha n t you? " 
 
 "Very glad, marm, " said Gerty. "Am I to take them away, 
 and keep them all myself ? " 
 
 "Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Sullivan. 
 
 "I don t know where I 11 put em all; there ain t no nice 
 place in our room, at least, no very nice place," said Gerty, 
 glancing with admiration at the open drawer, in which Mrs. 
 Sullivan was now placing the little dress, adding it to a pile 
 of neatly folded garments. 
 
 " Why, part of them, you know, you 11 be wearing, " said Mrs. 
 Sullivan; "and we must find some good place for the rest." 
 
 "You ve got good places for things," said Gerty, looking 
 round the room; "this is a beautiful room, isn t it? " 
 
 "Why, it isn t very different from Mr. Flint s. It s just 
 about the same size, and two front windows like his. My cup 
 board is the best; yours is only a three-cornered one; but 
 that s about all the difference." 
 
 "0, but then yours don t look one bit like ours. You 
 
30 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 have n t got any bed here, and all the chairs stand in a row, 
 and the table shines, and the floor is so clean, and the stove is 
 new, and the sun comes in so bright ! Oil wish our room 
 was like this! I shouldn t think ours was more than half as 
 big, either. Why, Uncle True stumbled over the tongs, this 
 morning, and he said there wasn t room there to swing a cat." 
 
 " Where were the tongs ? " said Mrs. Sullivan. 
 
 "About in the middle of the floor, marm." 
 
 "Well, you see I don t keep things in the middle of the 
 floor. I think, if your room were all cleaned up, and places 
 found for everything, it would look almost as well as mine." 
 
 "I wish it could be fixed up nice," said Gerty; "but what 
 could be done with those beds ? " 
 
 " I ve been thinking about that. There s that little pantry, 
 -TT- or bathing-room, I think it must have been once, when this 
 house was new, and rich people lived in it; that s large enough 
 to hold a small bedstead and a chair or two; twould be quite 
 a comfortable little chamber for you. There s nothing in it 
 but rubbish, that might just as well be thrown away, or, if it 
 were good for anything, put in the shed." 
 
 "0, that ll be nice! "said Gerty; "then Uncle True can 
 have his bed back again, and I 11 sleep on the floor in there." 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Sullivan; "it won t be necessary for you 
 to sleep on the floor. I ve got a very good little cross-legged 
 bedstead that my Willie slept on when he lived at home; and 
 I will send it to you, if you 11 try to take good care of it, and 
 of everything else that is put into your room." 
 
 " 0, I will, " said Gerty. " But can 1 1 " added she, hesitat 
 ing, "do you think I can? I don t know how to do anything." 
 
 "You never have been taught to do anything, my child; but 
 a girl eight years old can do a great many things, if she is pa 
 tient and tries hard to learn. I could teach you to do a great 
 deal that would be useful, and that would help your Uncle 
 True very much." 
 
 "What could I do?" 
 
 " You could sweep the room up every day ; you could make 
 the beds, after a fashion, with a little help in turning them ; 
 you could set the table, toast the bread, and wash the dishes. 
 Perhaps you would not do these things in the best manner at 
 first ; but you would keep improving, and by and by get to be 
 quite a nice little housekeeper." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 31 
 
 " 0, I wish I could do something for Uncle True ! " said 
 Gerty; "but how could I ever begin? " 
 
 "In the first place, you must have things cleaned up for you. 
 If I thought Mr. Flint would like it, I d get Kate McCarty to 
 come in some day and help us; and I think we could make a 
 great improvement in his home." 
 
 "0, I know he d like it," said Gerty; " twould be grand! 
 May I help?" 
 
 "Yes, you may do what you can; but Kate 11 be the best 
 hand; she s strong, and knows how to do cleaning very well." 
 
 "Who s she?" said Gerty. 
 
 "Kate? She s Mrs. McCarty s daughter, in the next 
 house. Mr. Flint does them many a good turn, saws wood, 
 and so on. They do most of his washing; but they can t half 
 pay him all the kindness he s done that family. Kate s a 
 clever girl; she 11 be glad to come and work for him, any day. 
 I 11 ask her." 
 
 " Will she come to-morrow ? " 
 
 "Perhaps she will." 
 
 "Uncle True s going to be gone all day to-morrow," said 
 Gerty; "he s going to get in Mr. Eustace s coal. Wouldn t it 
 be a good time ? " 
 
 " Very," said Mrs. Sullivan. " I 11 try and get Kate to come 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Kate came. The room was thoroughly cleaned, and put it. 
 complete order. Gerty s new clothes were delivered over to 
 her own keeping; she was neatly dressed in one suit, the other 
 placed in a little chest which was found in the pantry, and 
 which accommodated her small wardrobe very well. 
 
 It was the result of all Mrs. Sullivan s, Kate s, and Gerty s 
 combined labor which called forth True s astonishment on his 
 return from his work; and the pleasure he manifested made 
 the day a memorable one in Gerty s life, one to be marked in 
 her memory as long as she lived, as being the first in which 
 she had known that happiness perhaps the highest earth 
 affords of feeling that she had been instrumental in giving 
 joy to another. Not that Gerty s assistance had been of any 
 great value; or that all could not have been done as well, or 
 even better, if she had been where Nan Grant always put her, 
 out of the way. But the child did not realize that: she 
 had been one of the laborers; she had entered heart and soul 
 
32 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 into every part of the work; wherever she had been allowed to 
 lend a helping hand, she had exerted her whole strength. She 
 could say, with truth, " We did it, Mrs. Sullivan, Kate, 
 and J." 
 
 None but a loving heart, like Mrs. Sullivan s, would have 
 understood and sympathized in the feeling which made Gerty 
 so eager to help. But she did, and allotted to her many little 
 services, which the child felt herself more blessed in being 
 permitted to perform than she would have done at almost any 
 gift or favor that could have been bestowed upon her. 
 
 She led True about to show him how judiciously and ingen 
 iously Mrs. Sullivan had contrived to make the most of the 
 room and the furniture ; how, by moving the bed into a deep 
 recess, which was just wide enough for it, she had reserved the 
 whole square area and made, as True declared, a parlor of it. 
 It was some time before he could be made to believe that half 
 his property had not been spirited away, so incomprehensible 
 was it to him that so much additional space and comfort could 
 be acquired by a little system and order. 
 
 But his astonishment and Gerty s delight reached their climax 
 when she introduced him into the former lumber-closet, now 
 transformed into a really snug and comfortable bedroom. 
 
 "Well, I declare! Well, I declare!" was all the old man 
 could seem to say. He sat down beside the stove, now pol 
 ished and made, as Gerty declared, new, just like Mrs. Sul 
 livan s, rubbed his hands together, for they were cold with 
 being out in the frosty evening, and then, spreading them in 
 front of the fire, took a general view of his reformed domicile, 
 and of Gerty, who, according to Mrs. Sullivan s careful instruc 
 tions, was preparing to set the table and toast the bread for 
 supper. She was standing on a chair, taking down the cups 
 and saucers from among the regular rows of dishes shining in 
 the three-cornered cupboard, having already deposited on the 
 lower shelf, where she could reach it from the floor, a plate 
 containing some smoothly cut slices of bread, which the 
 thoughtful Mrs. Sullivan had prepared for her. True watched 
 her motions for a minute or two, and then indulged in a short 
 soliloquy. "Mrs. Sullivan s a clever woman, sartain, and 
 they ve made my old house here complete, and Gerty s gettin 
 to be like the apple of my eye, and I m as happy a man as " 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 33 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Some dream that they can silence, when they will, 
 The storm of passion, and say peace, be still ! 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 HERE True was interrupted. Quick, noisy footsteps in the 
 passage were followed by a sudden and unceremonious opening 
 of the door. 
 
 "Here, Uncle True," said the newcomer; "here s your pack 
 age. You forgot all about it, I guess; and I forgot it, too, 
 till mother saw it on the table, where I d laid it down. I 
 was so taken up with just coming home, you know." 
 
 "Of course, of course!" said True. "Much obleeged to 
 you, Willie, for fetchin it for me. It s pretty brittle stuff 
 it s made of, and most like I should a smashed it, fore I got 
 it home." 
 
 "What is it? I ve been wondering." 
 
 "Why, it s a little knickknack I ve brought home for Gerty 
 here, that " 
 
 " Willie ! Willie ! " called Mrs. Sullivan from the opposite 
 room, "have you been to tea, dear?" 
 
 " No, indeed, mother ; have you ? " 
 
 "Why, yes; but I 11 get you some." 
 
 "No, no!" said True; "stay and take tea with us, Willie; 
 take tea here, my boy. My little Gerty is makin some famous 
 toast, and I 11 put the tea a-steepin* presently." 
 
 "So I will," said Willie; "I should like to, first-rate. No 
 matter about any supper for me, mother; I m going to have 
 my tea here, with Uncle True. Come, now, let s see what s 
 in the bundle; but first I want to see little Gerty; mother s 
 been telling me about her. Where is she 1 has she got well 1 
 She s been very sick, hasn t she? " 
 
 "0, yes, she s nicely now," said True. "Here, Gerty, look 
 here ! Why, where is she ? " 
 
 "There she is, hiding up behind the settle," said Willie, 
 laughing. " She ain t afraid of me, is she? " 
 
34 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "Well, I didn t know as she was shy," said True. "You 
 silly little girl," added he, going towards her, "come out here, 
 and see Willie. This is Willie Sullivan." 
 
 "I don t want to see him," said Gerty. 
 
 "Don t want to see Willie!" said True; "why, you don t 
 know what you re sayin . Willie s the best boy that ever was; 
 I spect you and he 11 be great friends, by and by." 
 
 "He won t like me," said Gerty; "I know he won t!" 
 
 "Why sha n t I like you?" said Willie, approaching the 
 corner where Gerty had hid herself. Her face was covered 
 with her hands, according to her usual fashion when anything 
 distressed her. "I guess I shall like you first-rate, when I 
 see you." 
 
 He stooped down as he spoke, for he was much taller than 
 Gerty, and, taking her hands directly down from her face and 
 holding them tight in his own, he fixed his eyes full upon her, 
 and, nodding pleasantly, said, 
 
 " How do do, Cousin Gerty how do do 1 " 
 
 "I ain t your cousin! " said Gerty. 
 
 "Yes you are," said Willie decidedly; "Uncle True s your 
 uncle, and mine too; so we re cousins don t you see? 
 and I want to get acquainted." 
 
 Gerty could not resist Willie s good-natured words and man 
 ner. She suffered him to draw her out of the corner, and 
 towards the lighter end of the room. As she came near the 
 lamp, she tried to free her hands, in order to cover her face up 
 again ; but Willie would not let her, and, attracting her atten 
 tion to the unopened package, and exciting her curiosity as to 
 what it might contain, he succeeded in diverting her thoughts 
 from herself, so that in a few minutes she seemed quite at her 
 ease. 
 
 "There, Uncle True says it s for you," said Willie; "and I 
 can t think what tis, can you? Feel it s hard as can be." 
 
 Gerty felt, and looked up wonderingly in True s face. 
 
 "Undo it, Willie," said True. 
 
 Willie produced a knife, cut the string, took off the paper, and 
 disclosed one of those white plaster images, so familiar to every 
 one, representing the little Samuel in an attitude of devotion. 
 
 " 0, how pretty ! " exclaimed Gerty, full of delight. 
 
 "Why didn t I think? " said Willie; "I might have known 
 what twas, by the feeling." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 35 
 
 " Why ! did you ever see it before 1 " said Gerty. 
 
 "Not this same one; but I J ve seen lots just like it." 
 
 "Have you ? " said Gerty. "I never did. I think it s the 
 beautifullest thing that ever was. Uncle True, did you say it 
 was for me ? Where did you get it 1 " 
 
 " It was by an accident I got it. A few minutes before I 
 met you, Willie, I was stoppin at the corner to light my lamp, 
 when I saw one of those furren boys with a sight o these sort 
 of things, and some black ones too, all set up on a board, and 
 he was walkin with em a-top of his head. I was just a-won- 
 derin how he kept em there, when he hit the board agin my 
 lamp-post, and, the first thing I knew, whack they all went! 
 He d spilt em every one. Lucky enough for him, there was 
 a great bank of soft snow close to the sidewalk, and the most 
 of em fell into that, and wasn t hurt. Some few went on to 
 the bricks, and were smashed. Well, I kind o pitied the 
 feller; for it was late, and I thought like enough he hadn t 
 had much luck sellin of em, to have so many left on his 
 hands " 
 
 "On his head, you mean," said Willie. 
 
 "Yes, Master Willie, or on the snow," said True; "any way 
 you re a mind to have it." 
 
 "And I know what you did, Uncle True, just as well as if 
 I d seen you," said Willie; "you set your ladder and lantern 
 right down, and went to work helping him pick em all up, 
 that s just what you d be sure to do for anybody. I hope, 
 if ever you get into trouble, some of the folks you ve helped 
 will be by to make return." 
 
 "This feller, Willie, didn t wait for me to get into trouble; 
 he made return right off. When they were all set right, he 
 bowed, and scraped, and touched his hat to me, as if I d been 
 the biggest gentleman in the land. Talkin , too, he was all the 
 time, though I couldn t make out a word of his lingo; and 
 then he insisted on my takin one o the figur s. I wan t 
 a-goin to, for I didn t want it; but I happened to think little 
 Gerty might like it." 
 
 "0, I shall like it!" said Gerty. "I shall like it better 
 than no, not better, but almost as well as my kitten; not 
 quite as well because that was alive, and this is n t; but almost. 
 O, ain t he a cunning little boy ? " 
 
 True, finding that Gerty was wholly taken up with the inv 
 
36 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 age, walked away and began to get the tea, leaving the two 
 children to entertain each other. 
 
 "You must take care and not break it, Gerty," said Willie. 
 "We had a Samuel once, just like it, in the shop; and I 
 dropped it out of my hand on to the counter, and broke it into 
 a million pieces." 
 
 "What did you call it? " said Gerty. 
 
 "A Samuel; they re all Samuels." 
 
 " What are Sammies ? " said Gerty. 
 
 "Why, that s the name of the child they re taken for." 
 
 "What do you s pose he s sittin on his knee for? " 
 
 Willie laughed. "Why, don t you know? " said he. 
 
 "No," said Gerty; "what is he?" 
 
 "He s praying," said Willie. 
 
 "Is that what he s got his eyes turned up for, too?" 
 
 " Yes, of course ; he looks up to heaven when he prays. " 
 
 "Up to where?" 
 
 "To heaven." 
 
 Gerty looked up at the ceiling in the direction in which the 
 eyes were turned, then at the figure. She seemed very much 
 dissatisfied and puzzled. 
 
 "Why, Gerty," said Willie, "I shouldn t think you knew 
 what praying was." 
 
 "I don t," said Gerty; "tell me." 
 
 "Don t you ever pray, pray to God ? " 
 
 " No / don t. Who is God ? Where is God ? " 
 
 Willie looked inexpressibly shocked at Gerty s ignorance, 
 and answered reverently, "God is in heaven, Gerty." 
 
 "I don t know where that is," said Gerty. "I believe I 
 don t know nothin about it." 
 
 "I shouldn t think you did," said W r illie. "I believe 
 heaven is up in the sky ; but my Sunday-school teacher says, 
 4 Heaven is anywhere where goodness is, or some such thing, " 
 he said. 
 
 "Are the stars in heaven? " said Gerty. 
 
 "They look so, don t they?" said Willie. "They re in 
 the sky, where I always used to think heaven was." 
 
 "I should like to go to heaven," said Gerty. 
 
 "Perhaps, if you re good, you will go, some time." 
 
 "Can t any but good folks go? " 
 
 "No." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 37 
 
 "Then I can t ever go," said Gerty mournfully. 
 
 "Why not?" said Willie; "ain t you good? " 
 
 "O, no! I m very bad." 
 
 "What a queer child!" said Willie. "What makes you 
 think yourself so very bad? ;? 
 
 "0! I am," said Gerty, in a very sad tone; "I m the worst 
 of all. I m the worst child in the world. " 
 
 "Who told you so?" 
 
 "Everybody. Nan Grant says so, and she says everybody 
 thinks so; I know it, too, myself." 
 
 " Is Nan Grant the cross old woman you used to live with ? " 
 
 " Yes. How did you know she was cross ? " 
 
 " 0, my mother s been telling me about her. Well, I want 
 to know if she didn t send you to school, or teach you any 
 thing?" 
 
 Gerty shook her head. 
 
 "Why, what lots you ve got to learn! What did you used 
 to do, when you lived there ? " 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "Never did anything, and don t know anything; my gra 
 cious ! " 
 
 "Yes, I do know one thing," said Gerty. "I know how to 
 toast bread ; your mother taught me; she let me toast some 
 by her fire." 
 
 As she spoke, she thought of her own neglected toast, and 
 turned towards the stove ; but she was too late, the toast 
 was made, the supper ready, and True was just putting it on 
 the table. 
 
 "0, Uncle True," said she, "I meant to get the tea." 
 
 "I know it," said True, "but it s no matter; you can get 
 it to-morrow." 
 
 The tears came into Gerty s eyes; she looked very much 
 disappointed, but said nothing. They all sat down to supper. 
 Willie put the Samuel in the middle of the table for a centre 
 ornament, and told so many funny stories, and said so many 
 pleasant things, that Gerty laughed heartily, forgot that she did 
 not make the toast herself, forgot her sadness, her shyness, even 
 her ugliness and wickedness, and showed herself, for once, a 
 merry child. After tea, she sat beside Willie on the great 
 settle, and, in her peculiar way, and with many odd expressions 
 and remarks, gave him a description of her life at Nan Grant s, 
 
38 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 winding up with a touching account of the death of her kit 
 ten. 
 
 The two children seemed in a fair way to become as good 
 friends as True could possibly wish. True himself sat on the 
 opposite side of the stove, smoking his pipe; his elbows on his 
 knees, his eyes bent on the children, and his ears drinking in 
 all their conversation. He was no restraint upon them. So 
 simple-hearted and sympathizing a being, so ready to be amused 
 and pleased, so slow to blame or disapprove, could never be 
 any check upon the gayety or freedom of the youngest, most 
 careless spirit. He laughed when they laughed ; seemed soberly 
 satisfied, and took long whiffs at his pipe, when they talked 
 quietly and sedately; ceased smoking entirely, letting his pipe 
 rest on his knee and secretly wiping away a tear, when Gerty 
 recounted her childish griefs. He had heard the story before, 
 and he cried then. He often heard it afterwards, but never 
 without crying. 
 
 After Gerty had closed her tale of sorrows, which was fre 
 quently interrupted by Willie s ejaculations of condolence or 
 pity, she sat for a moment without speaking; then, becoming 
 excited, as her ungoverned and easily roused nature dwelt upon 
 its wrongs, she burst forth in a very different tone from that 
 in which she had been speaking, and commenced uttering the 
 most bitter invectives against Nan Grant, making use of many 
 a rough and coarse term, such as she had been accustomed to 
 hear used by the ill-bred people with whom she had lived. 
 The child s language expressed unmitigated hatred, and even 
 a hope of future revenge. True looked worried and troubled 
 at hearing her talk so angrily. Since he brought her home he 
 had never witnessed such a display of temper, and had fondly 
 believed that she would always be as quiet and gentle as during 
 her illness and the few weeks subsequent to it. True s own 
 disposition was so placid, amiable, and forgiving that he could 
 not imagine that any one, and especially a little child, should 
 long retain feelings of anger and bitterness. Gerty had shown 
 herself so mild and patient since she had been with him, so 
 submissive to his wishes, so anxious even to forestall them, 
 that it had never occurred to him to dread any difficulty in 
 the management of the child. Now, however, as he observed 
 her flashing eyes, and noticed the doubling of her little fist, as 
 she menaced Nan with her future wrath, he had an undefined, 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 39 
 
 half-formed presentiment of coming trouble in the control of 
 his little charge ; a feeling almost of alarm, lest he had under 
 taken what he could never perform. For the moment she 
 ceased, in his eyes, to he the pet and plaything he had hitherto 
 considered her. He saw in her something which needed a 
 check, and felt himself unfit to apply it. 
 
 And no wonder. He was totally unfit to cope with a spirit 
 like Gerty s. It was true he possessed over her one mighty 
 influence, her strong affection for him, which he could not 
 doubt. It was that which made her so submissive and patient 
 in her sickness, so grateful for his care and kindness, so anxious 
 to do something in return. It was that deep love for her first 
 friend, which, never wavering, and growing stronger to the 
 last, proved, in after years, a noble motive for exertion, a wor 
 thy incentive to virtue. It was that love, fortified and illu 
 mined by a higher light, which came in time to sanctify it, that 
 gave her, while yet a mere girl, a woman s courage, a woman s 
 strength of heart and self-denial. It was that which cheered 
 the old man s latter years, and shed joy on his dying-bed. 
 
 But for the present it was not enough. The kindness she 
 had received for the few weeks past had completely softened 
 Gerty s heart towards her benefactors; but the effect of eight 
 years mismanagement, ill treatment, and want of all judicious 
 discipline, could not be done away in that short time. Her 
 unruly nature could not be so suddenly quelled, her better capa 
 bilities called into action. 
 
 The plant that for years has been growing distorted, and 
 dwelling in a barren spot, deprived of light and nourishment, 
 withered in its leaves and blighted in its fruit, cannot at once 
 recover from so cruel a blast. Transplanted to another soil, it 
 must be directed in the right course, nourished with care and 
 warmed with Heaven s light, ere it can recover from the shock 
 occasioned by its early neglect, and find strength to expand its 
 flowers and ripen its fruit. 
 
 So with little Gerty ; a new direction must be given to her 
 ideas, new nourishment to her mind, new light to her soul, ere 
 the higher purposes for which she was created could be accom 
 plished in her. 
 
 Something of this True felt, and it troubled him. He did 
 not, however, attempt to check the child. He did not know 
 what to do, and so did nothing. 
 
40 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 Willie tried once or twice to stop the current of her abusive 
 language; but soon desisted, for she did not pay the least at 
 tention to him. He could not help smiling at her childish 
 wrath, nor could he resist sympathizing with her in a degree, 
 and almost wishing he could have a brush with Kan himself, 
 and express his opinion of her character in one or two hard 
 knocks. But he had been well brought up by his gentle 
 mother, was conscious that Gerty was exhibiting a very hot 
 temper, and began to understand what made everybody think 
 her so bad. 
 
 After Gerty had railed about Nan a little while, she stopped 
 of her own accord ; though an unpleasant look remained on her 
 countenance, one of her old looks, that it was a pity should 
 return, but which always did when she got into a passion. It 
 soon passed away, however, and when, a little later in the even 
 ing, Mrs. Sullivan appeared at the door, Gerty looked bright 
 and happy, listened with evident delight while True uttered 
 warm expressions of thanks for the labor which had been un 
 dertaken in his behalf, and when Willie went away with his 
 mother, said her good-night and asked him to come again so 
 pleasantly, and her eyes looked so bright as she stood holding 
 on to True s hand in the doorway, that Willie said, as soon as 
 they were out of hearing, "She s a queer little thing, ain t she, 
 mother? But I kind o like her." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 41 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 Prayer is the burden of a sigh, 
 
 The falling of a tear, 
 The upward glancing of an eye, 
 
 When none but God is near. 
 
 MONTGOMERY. 
 
 IT would have been hard to find two children, both belong 
 ing to the poorer class, whose situations in life had, thus far, 
 presented a more complete contrast than those of Gerty and 
 Willie. With Gerty s experiences the reader is somewhat 
 acquainted. A neglected orphan, she had received little of 
 that care, and still less of that love, which Willie had always 
 enjoyed. Mrs. Sullivan s husband was an intelligent country 
 clergyman; but as he died when Willie was a baby, leaving 
 very little property for the support of his family, the widow 
 went home to her father, taking her child with her. The old 
 man needed his daughter; for death had made sad inroads in 
 his household since she left it, and he was alone. 
 
 From that time the three had lived together in humble com 
 fort; for, though poor, industry and frugality secured them 
 from want. Willie was his mother s pride, her hope, her con 
 stant thought. She spared herself no toil or care to provide 
 for his physical comfort, his happiness, and his growth in 
 knowledge and virtue. 
 
 It would have been strange enough if she had not been proud 
 of a boy whose uncommon beauty, winning disposition, and 
 early evidences of a manly and noble nature won him friends 
 even among strangers. He had been a handsome child; but 
 there was that observable in him, now that he had nearly 
 reached his thirteenth year, far excelling the common boyish 
 beauty, which consists merely in curly hair, dark eyes, and rosy 
 cheeks. It was his broad, open forehead, the clearness and 
 calmness of his full gray eye, the expressive mouth, so deter 
 mined and yet so mild, the well-developed figure and ruddy com 
 plexion, proclaiming high health, which gave promise of power 
 
42 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 to the future man. No one could have been in the boy s com 
 pany half an hour without loving and admiring him. He had 
 naturally a warm-hearted, affectionate disposition, which his 
 mother s love and the world s smiles had fostered; an unusual 
 flow of animal spirits, tempered by a natural politeness towards 
 his elders and superiors ; a quick apprehension ; a ready com 
 mand of language; a sincere sympathy in others pleasures and 
 pains; in fine, one of those genial natures that wins hearts one 
 knows not how. He was fond of study, and until his twelfth 
 year his mother kept him constantly at school. The sons of 
 poor parents have, in our large cities, almost every educational 
 advantage that can be obtained by wealth; and Willie, having 
 an excellent capacity, and being constantly encouraged and 
 exhorted by his mother to improve his opportunities to the 
 utmost, had attained a degree of proficiency quite unusual at 
 his age. 
 
 When he was twelve years old, he had an excellent oppor 
 tunity to enter into the service of an apothecary, who did an 
 extensive business in the city, and wanted a boy to assist in his 
 store. The wages that Mr. Bray offered were not great, but 
 there was the hope of an increased salary; and, at any rate, 
 situated as Willie was, it was not a chance to be overlooked. 
 Fond as he was of his books, he had long been eager to be at 
 work, helping to bear the burden of labor in the family. His 
 mother and grandfather assented to the plan, and he gladly 
 accepted Mr. Bray s proposals. 
 
 He was sadly missed at home; for, as he slept at the store 
 during the week, he rarely had much leisure to make even a 
 passing visit to his mother, except on Saturday, when he came 
 home at night and passed Sunday. So Saturday night was 
 Mrs. Sullivan s happy night, and the Sabbath became a more 
 blessed day than ever. 
 
 When Willie reached his mother s room on the evening of 
 which we have been speaking, he sat down with her and Mr. 
 Cooper, and for an hour conversation was brisk with them. 
 Willie never came home that he had not a great deal to relate 
 concerning the occurrences of the week ; many a little anecdote 
 to tell; many a circumstance connected with the shop, the 
 customers, his master the apothecary, and his master s family, 
 with whom he took his meals. Mrs. Sullivan was interested 
 in everything that interested Willie, and it was easy to see 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 43 
 
 that the old grandfather was more entertained by the boy than 
 he was willing to appear, for though he sat with his eyes upon 
 the floor, and did not seem to listen, he usually heard all that 
 was said, as was often proved afterwards by some accidental 
 reference he would make to the subject. He seldom asked 
 questions, and indeed it was not necessary, for Mrs. Sullivan 
 asked enough for them both. He seldom made comments, but 
 would occasionally utter an impatient or contemptuous expres 
 sion regarding individuals or the world in general; thereby 
 evidencing that distrust of human nature, that want of confi 
 dence in men s honesty and virtue, which formed, as we have 
 said, a marked trait in the old man s character. Willie s spirits 
 would then receive a momentary check ; for he loved and trusted 
 everybody, and his grandfather s words, and the tone in which 
 they were spoken, were a damper to his young soul ; but, with 
 the elasticity of youth and a gay heart, they would soon re 
 bound, and he would go on as before. Willie did not fear his 
 grandfather, who had never been severe to him, never having, 
 indeed, interfered at all with Mrs. Sullivan s management; but 
 he sometimes felt chilled, though he hardly knew why, by his 
 want of sympathy with his own warm-heartedness. On the 
 present occasion, the conversation having turned at last upon 
 True Flint and his adopted child, Mr. Cooper had been un 
 usually bitter and satirical, and, as he took his lamp to go to 
 bed, wound up with remarking that he knew very well Gerty 
 would never be anything but a trouble to Flint, who was a 
 fool not to send her to the almshouse at once. 
 
 There was a pause after the old man left the room; then 
 Willie exclaimed, "Mother, what makes grandfather hate 
 folks 1 " 
 
 "Why, he don t, Willie." 
 
 "I don t mean exactly hate, I don t suppose he does 
 that quite ; but he don t seem to think a great deal of any 
 body, do you think he does ? " 
 
 "0, yes; he don t show it much," said Mrs. Sullivan; "but 
 he thinks a great deal of you, Willie, and he wouldn t have 
 anything happen to me for the world; and he likes Mr. Flint, 
 and " 
 
 "0, yes, I know that, of course; I don t mean that; but 
 he doesn t think there s much goodness in folks, and he don t 
 seem to think anybody s going to turn out well, and " 
 
44 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "You re thinking of what he said about little Gerty." 
 
 "Well, she ain t the only one. That s what made me speak 
 of it now, but I ve often noticed it before, particularly since I 
 went away from home, and am only here once a week. Now, 
 you know I think everything of Mr. Bray; and when I was 
 telling to-night how much good he did, and how kind he was 
 to old Mrs. Morris and her sick daughter, grandfather looked 
 just as if he didn t believe it, or didn t think much of it, 
 somehow." 
 
 "0, well, Willie," said Mrs. Sullivan, "you mustn t won 
 der much at that. Grandpa s had a good many disappoint 
 ments. You know he thought everything of Uncle Richard, 
 and there was no end to the trouble he had with him; and 
 there was Aunt Sarah s husband, he seemed to be such a fine 
 fellow when Sally married him, but he cheated father dread 
 fully at last, so that he had to mortgage his house in High 
 Street, and finally give it up entirely. He s dead now, and 
 I don t want to say anything against him; but he didn t prove 
 what we expected, and it broke Sally s heart, I think. That 
 was a dreadful trial to father, for she was the youngest, and 
 had always been his pet. And, just after that, mother was 
 taken down with her death-stroke, and there was a quack doc 
 tor prescribed for her, that father always thought did her more 
 hurt than good. 0, take it altogether, he s had a great deal 
 to make him look on the dark side now; but you mustn t 
 mind it, Willie; you must take care and turn out well your 
 self, my son, and then he 11 be proud enough; he s as pleased 
 as he can be when he hears you praised, and expects great 
 things of you, one of these days." 
 
 Here the conversation ended; but not until the boy had 
 added another to the many resolves already made, that, if his 
 health and strength were spared, he would prove to his grand 
 father that hopes were not always deceitful, and that fears were 
 sometimes groundless. 
 
 ! what a glorious thing it is for a youth when he has ever 
 present with him a high, a noble, an unselfish motive ! What 
 an incentive is it to exertion, perseverance, and self-denial! 
 What a force to urge him on to ever-increasing efforts ! Fears 
 that would otherwise appall, discouragements that would dis 
 hearten, labors that would weary, obstacles that would dismay, 
 opposition that would crush, temptation that would overcome, 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 45 
 
 all, all lie disarmed and powerless, when, with a single-hearted 
 and worthy aim, he struggles for the victory ! 
 
 And so it is, that those born in honor, wealth, and luxury 
 seldom achieve greatness. They were not born for labor; and, 
 without labor, nothing that is worth having can be won. Why 
 will they riot make it their great and absorbing motive (a wor 
 thy one it certainly would be) to overcome the disadvantages 
 of their position, and make themselves great, learned, wise, and 
 good, in spite of those riches, that honorable birth, that oppor 
 tunity for luxurious sloth, which are, in reality, to the clear- 
 judging eye of wise men and angels, their deadliest snare ? A 
 motive Willie had long had. His grandfather was old, his 
 mother weak, and both poor. He must be the staff of their 
 old age; he must labor for their support and comfort; he must 
 do more ; they hoped great things of him ; they must not be 
 disappointed. He did not, however, while arming himself for 
 future conflict with the world, forget the present, but sat down 
 and learned his Sunday-school lessons. After which, accord 
 ing to custom, he read aloud in the Bible; and then Mrs. Sul 
 livan, laying her hand on the head of her son, offered up a 
 simple, heart-felt prayer for the boy, one of those mother s 
 prayers, which the child listens to with reverence and love, and 
 remembers in the far-off years ; one of those prayers which keep 
 men from temptation, and deliver them from evil. 
 
 After Willie went home that evening, and Gerty was left 
 alone with True, she sat on a low stool beside him for some 
 time without speaking. Her eyes were intently fixed upon the 
 white image which lay in her lap; that her little mind was 
 very busy there could be no doubt, for thought was plainly 
 written on her face. True was not often the first to speak; 
 but, finding Gerty unusually quiet, he lifted up her chin, looked 
 inquiringly in her face, and then said : 
 
 "Well, Willie s a pretty clever sort of a boy, isn t he? " 
 
 Gerty answered, "Yes;" without, however, seeming to know 
 what she was saying. 
 
 "You like him, don t you? " said True. 
 
 "Very much," said Gerty, in the same absent way. It was 
 not Willie she was thinking of. True waited for Gerty to be 
 gin talking about her new acquaintance ; but she did not speak 
 for a minute or two. Then looking up suddenly, she said : 
 
 "Uncle True?" 
 
46 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "What say?" 
 
 " What does Samuel pray to God for ? " 
 
 True stared. "Samuel! pray! I guess I don t know 
 exactly what you re saying." 
 
 "Why," said Gerty, holding up the image, "Willie says 
 this little boy s name is Samuel; arid that he sits on his knee, 
 and puts his hands together so, and looks up, because he s 
 praying to God, that lives up in the sky. I don t know what 
 he means, way up in the sky, do you ? " 
 
 True took the image and looked at it attentively ; he moved 
 uneasily upon his chair, scratched his head, and finally said : 
 
 "Well, I s pose he s about right. This ere child is prayin , 
 sartain, though I did n t think on it afore. But I don t jist 
 know what he calls it a Samuel for. We 11 ask him, some 
 time." 
 
 "Well, what does he pray for, Uncle True? " 
 
 "0! he prays to make him good; it makes folks good to 
 ^ray to God." 
 
 "Can God make folks good? " 
 
 "Yes. God is very great; he can do anything." 
 
 " How can he hear ? " 
 
 "He hears everything and sees everything in the world." 
 
 "And does he live in the sky? " 
 
 "Yes," said True, "in heaven." 
 
 Many more questions Gerty asked; many strange questions- 
 that True could not answer, many questions that he wondered 
 he had not oftener asked himself. True had a humble, loving 
 heart, and a child-like faith; he had enjoyed but little religious 
 instruction, but he earnestly endeavored to live up to the light 
 he had. Perhaps, in his faithful practice of the Christian vir 
 tues, and especially in his obedience to the great law of Chris 
 tian charity, he more nearly approached to the spirit of his 
 Divine Master than many who, by daily reading and study, are 
 far more familiar with Christian doctrines. But he had never 
 inquired deeply into the sources of that belief which it had 
 never occurred to him to doubt ; and he was not at all prepared 
 for the questions suggested by the inquisitive, keen, and newly- 
 excited mind of little Gerty. He answered her as well as he 
 could, however; and, where he was at fault, hesitated not to 
 refer her to Willie, who, he told her, went to Sunday-school, 
 and knew a wonderful sight about such things. All the infor- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 47 
 
 mation that Gerty could gain amounted to the knowledge of 
 these facts : that God was in heaven ; that his power was great ; 
 and that people were made better by prayer. Her little eager 
 brain was so intent upon the subject, however, that, as it grew 
 late, the thought even of sleeping in her new room could not 
 efface it from her mind. After she had gone to bed, with the 
 white image hugged close to her bosom, and True had taken 
 away the lamp, she lay for a long time with her eyes wide open. 
 Just at the foot of the bed was the window. Gerty could see 
 out, as she had done before in her garret at Nan Grant s; but, 
 the window being larger, she had a much more extended view. 
 The sky was bright with stars, and the sight of them revived 
 her old wonder and curiosity as to the author of such distant 
 and brilliant lights. Now, however, as she gazed, there darted 
 through her mind the thought, " God lit them ! 0, how great 
 he must be ! But a child might pray to him ! " She rose from 
 her little bed, approached the window, and, falling on her knees 
 and clasping her hands precisely in the attitude of the little 
 Samuel, she looked up to heaven. She spoke no word, but hei 
 eyes glistened with the dew of a tear that stood in each. Was 
 not each tear a prayer? She breathed no petition, but she 
 longed for God and virtue. Was not that very wish a prayer? 
 Her little uplifted heart throbbed vehemently. Was not each 
 throb a prayer? And did not God in heaven, without whom 
 not a sparrow falls to the ground, hear and accept that first 
 homage of a little, untaught child ; and did it not call a blessing 
 down? 
 
 Many a petition did Gerty offer up in after years. In many 
 a time of trouble did she come to God for help; in many an 
 hour of bitter sorrow did she from the same source seek com 
 fort; and, when her strength and heart failed her, God became 
 the strength of her heart. But never did she approach his 
 throne with a purer offering, a more acceptable sacrifice, than 
 when, in her first deep penitence, her first earnest faith, her 
 first enkindled hope, she took the attitude, and her heart 
 uttered, though her lips pronounced them not, the words of the 
 prophet- child, "Here am I, Lord!" 
 
48 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Revenge, at first though sweet, 
 Bitter ere long back on itself recoils. 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 THE next day was Sunday. True was in the habit of going 
 to church half the day at least, with the sexton s family; but 
 Gerty, having no bonnet, could not go, and True would not 
 leave her. So they spent the morning together, wandering 
 round among the wharves and looking at the ships, Gerty wearing 
 her old shawl pinned over her head. In the afternoon, True 
 fell asleep by the fireside, and Gerty played with the cat. 
 
 Willie came in the evening; but it was only to say good-by, 
 before going back to Mr. Bray s. He was in a hurry, and 
 could not stop at all ; for his master had a sober household, and 
 liked to have his doors closed early, especially Sunday night. 
 Old Mr. Cooper, however, made his usual visit; and when 
 he had gone, True, finding Gerty sound asleep on the settle, 
 thought it a pity to wake her, and laid her in bed with her 
 clothes on. 
 
 She did not wake until morning; and then, much surprised 
 and amused at finding herself dressed, sprung up and ran out 
 to ask True how it happened. True was busy making the fire ; 
 and Gerty, having received satisfactory answers to her numer 
 ous inquiries, when and where she fell asleep, and how she 
 came in bed, applied herself earnestly to help in every possi 
 ble way about getting the breakfast, and putting the room in 
 order. She followed Mrs. Sullivan s instructions, all of which 
 she remembered, and showed a wonderful degree of capability 
 in everything she undertook. In the course of the few follow 
 ing weeks, during which her perseverance held out surprisingly, 
 she learned how to make herself useful in many ways, and, as 
 Mrs. Sullivan had prophesied, gave promise of becoming one 
 day quite a clever little housekeeper. Of course, the services 
 she performed were trifling; but her active and willing feet 
 saved True a great many steps, and she was of essential aid in 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 49 
 
 keeping the rooms neat, that being her especial ambition. She 
 felt that Mrs. Sullivan expected her, now that the dust and 
 cobwebs were all cleared away, to take care that they should 
 not accumulate again ; and it was quite an amusing sight every 
 day, when True had gone out as usual to fill and clean the 
 street lamps, to see the little girl diligently laboring with an 
 old broom, the handle of which was cut short to make it more 
 suitable for her use. Mrs. Sullivan looked in occasionally, to 
 praise and assist her; and nothing made Gerty happier than 
 learning how to do some new thing. She met with a few trials 
 and discouragements, to be sure. In two or three instances the 
 toast got burned to a cinder; and worse still, she one day 
 broke a painted teacup, over which she shed many a tear ; but 
 as True never thought of blaming her for anything, she forgot 
 her misfortunes, and experience made her careful. 
 
 Kate McCarty thought her the smartest child in the world, 
 and would sometimes come in and wash up the floor, or do 
 some other work which required more strength or skill than 
 Gerty possessed. 
 
 Prompted by her ambition to equal Mrs. Sullivan s expecta 
 tions, and still more by her desire to be useful to True, and in 
 some degree manifest her love to him by her labors, Gerty was 
 usually patient, good natured, and obliging. So very indulgent 
 was True, that he rarely indeed laid a command upon the child, 
 leaving her to take her own course and have her own way; 
 but, undisciplined as she was, she willingly yielded obedience 
 to one who never thwarted her, and the old man seldom saw 
 her exhibit in his presence that violent temper which, when 
 roused, knew no restraint. She had little to irritate her in 
 the quiet home she now enjoyed; but instances sometimes oc 
 curred which proved that the fire of her little spirit was not 
 quenched or its evil propensities extinguished. 
 
 One Sunday Gerty, who had now a nice little hood which 
 True had bought for her, was returning with Mr. Cooper, Mr. 
 Flint, and Willie from the afternoon service at church. The 
 two old men were engaged in one of their lengthy discussions, 
 and the children, having fallen into the rear, had been talking 
 earnestly about the church, the minister, the people, and the 
 music, all of which were new to Gerty, and greatly excited her 
 wonder and astonishment. 
 
 As they drew near home, Willie remarked how dark it was 
 
50 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 growing in the streets; and then, looking down at Gerty, whom 
 he held by the hand, he said, " Gerty, do you ever go out with 
 Uncle True and see him light the lamps 1 " 
 
 "No, I never did," said Gerty, "since the first night I 
 came. I ve wanted to, but it s been so cold Uncle True 
 would not let me; he said I d just catch the fever again." 
 
 "It won t be cold this evening," said Willie; "it ll be a 
 beautiful night; and if Uncle True s willing, let s you and I 
 go with him. I ve often been, and it s first rate; you can 
 look into the windows and see folks drinking tea and sitting 
 all round the fire in the parlors." 
 
 "And I like to see him light those great lamps," interrupted 
 Gerty ; " they make it look so bright and beautiful all round. I 
 hope he 11 let us go ; I 11 ask him ; come," said she, pulling him 
 by the hand, "let s catch up with them and ask him now." 
 
 "No, wait," said Willie; "he s busy talking with 
 grandpa; and we re almost home, we can ask him then." 
 
 He could hardly restrain her impatience, however; and as 
 soon as they reached the gate, she suddenly broke away from 
 him, and rushing up to True made known her request. The 
 plan was willingly acceded to, and the three soon started on the 
 rounds. 
 
 For some time Gerty s attention was so wholly engrossed by 
 the lamplighting that she could see and enjoy nothing else. 
 But when they reached the corner of the street, and came in 
 sight of a large apothecary s shop, her delight knew no bounds. 
 The brilliant colors displayed in the windows, now for the first 
 time seen by the evening light, completely captivated her fancy ; 
 and when Willie told her that his master s shop was very simi 
 lar, she thought it must be a fine place to spend one s life in. 
 Then she wondered why this was open on Sunday, when all 
 the other stores were closed; and Willie, stopping to explain 
 the matter to her, and to gratify her curiosity on many other 
 points, found, when they again started on their way, that True 
 was some distance in advance of them. He hurried Gerty 
 along, telling her that they were now in the finest street they 
 should pass through, and that they must make haste, for they 
 had nearly reached the house he most wanted her to see. 
 When they came up with True, he was just placing his ladder 
 against a post opposite a fine block of buildings. Many of the 
 front windows were shaded, so that the children could not see 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 51 
 
 in; some, however, either had no curtains, or they had not yet 
 been drawn. In one parlor there was a pleasant wood fire, 
 around which a group were gathered; and here Gerty would 
 fain have lingered. Again, in another, a brilliant chandelier 
 was lit, and though the room was vacant, the furniture was so 
 showy, and the whole so brilliant, that the child clapped her 
 hands in delight, and Willie could not prevail upon her to leave 
 the spot until he told her that further down the street was 
 another house, equally attractive, where she would perhaps see 
 some beautiful children. 
 
 "How do you know there ll be children there?" said she, 
 as they walked along. 
 
 "I don t know, certainly," said Willie; "but I think there 
 will. They used always to be up at the window when I came 
 with Uncle True last winter." 
 
 "How many? " asked Gerty. 
 
 "Three, I believe; there was one little girl with such beau 
 tiful curls, and such a sweet, cunning little face. She looked 
 like a wax doll, only a great deal prettier." 
 
 " 0, I hope we shall see her ! " said Gerty, dancing along on 
 the tops of her toes, so full was she of excitement and pleasure. 
 
 "There they are!" exclaimed Willie; "all three, I declare, 
 just as they used to be ! " 
 
 " Where ? " said Gerty ; " where ? " 
 
 "Over opposite, in the great stone house. Here, let s cross 
 over. It s muddy ; I 11 carry you." 
 
 Willie lifted Gerty carefully over the mud, and they stood in 
 front of the house. True had not yet come up. It was he 
 that the children were watching for. Gerty was not the only 
 child that loved to see the lamps lit. 
 
 It was now quite dark, so that persons in a light room could 
 not see any one out of doors; but Willie and Gerty had so 
 much the better chance to look in. It was indeed a fine man 
 sion, evidently the home of wealth. A clear coal fire, and a 
 bright lamp in the centre of the room, shed abroad their cheer 
 ful blaze. Eich carpets, deeply tinted curtains, pictures in 
 gilded frames, and huge mirrors, reflecting the whole on every 
 side, gave Gerty her first impressions of luxurious life. There 
 was an air of comfort combined with all this elegance, which 
 made it still more fascinating to the child of poverty and want. 
 A table was bountifully spread for tea ; the cloth of snow-white 
 
52 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 damask, the shining plate above all, the homelike hissing tea 
 kettle, had a most inviting look. A gentleman in gay slippers 
 was in an easy-chair by the fire ; a lady in a gay cap was super 
 intending a servant girl s arrangements at the tea table, and 
 the children of the household, smiling and happy, were crowded 
 together on a window-seat, looking out, as we have said. 
 
 They were, as Willie had described them, sweet, lovely look 
 ing little creatures, especially a girl about the same age as 
 Gerty, the eldest of the three. Her fair hair fell in long ring 
 lets over a neck as white as snow; she had blue eyes, a cherub 
 face, and a little round, plump figure. Gerty s admiration and 
 rapture were such that she could find no expression for them, 
 except in jumping up and down, shouting, laughing, and di 
 recting Willie s notice first to one thing and then another. 
 
 "0, Willie! isn t she a darling? and see what a beautiful 
 fire, what a splendid lady! And look! look at the father s 
 shoes ! What is that on the table ? I guess it s good ! 
 There s a big looking-glass; and 0, Willie! ain t they dear 
 little handsome children ? " 
 
 In all her exclamations, she began and ended with her praises 
 of the children. Willie was quite satisfied; Gerty was as 
 much pleased as he had expected or wished. 
 
 True now came up, and as his torchlight swept along the 
 sidewalk, Gerty and Willie became, in their turn, the subjects 
 of notice and conversation. The little curly-haired girl saw 
 them, and pointed them out to the notice of the other two. 
 Though Gerty could not know what they were saying, she did 
 not like the idea of being stared at and talked about ; and, hid 
 ing behind the post, she would not move or look up, though 
 Willie laughed at her, and told her it was now her turn to be 
 looked at. When True took up his ladder, however, and 
 started to move off, she commenced following him at a run, 
 so as to escape observation; but Willie calling to her, and say 
 ing that the children were gone from the window, she ran back 
 as quickly to have one more look, and was just in time to see 
 them taking their places at the tea table. The next instant 
 the servant girl came and drew down the window shades. 
 Gerty then took Willie s hand again, and .they hastened on 
 once more to overtake True. 
 
 " Should n t you like to live in such a house as that, Gerty 1 " 
 said Willie. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 53 
 
 "Yes, indeed," said Gerty; "ain t it splendid?" 
 
 "I wish I had just such a house," said Willie. "I mean to 
 one of these days." 
 
 "Where will you get it? " exclaimed Gerty, much amazed at 
 so bold a declaration. 
 
 "0, I shall work, and grow rich, and buy it." 
 
 "You can t; it would take a lot o money." 
 
 "I know it; but I can earn a lot, and I mean to. The 
 gentleman that lives in that grand house was a poor boy when 
 he first came to Boston, and why can t one poor boy get rich 
 as well as another ? " 
 
 " How do you suppose he got so much money ? " 
 
 "I don t know how he did; there are a good many ways. 
 Some people think it s all luck, but I guess it s as much smart 
 ness as anything." 
 
 ".Are you smart ? " 
 
 Willie laughed. " Ain t I ? " said he. " If I don t turn out 
 a rich man one of these days, you may say I ain t." 
 
 "I know what I d do if I was rich," said Gerty. 
 
 "What? "asked Willie. 
 
 "First, I d buy a great, nice chair for Uncle True, with 
 cushions all in the inside, and bright flowers on it, just ex 
 actly like that one the gentleman was sitting in; and next, I d 
 have great big lamps, ever so many all in a bunch, so s to make 
 the room as light as light as it could be ! " 
 
 "Seems to me you re mighty fond of lights, Gerty," said 
 Willie. 
 
 "I be," said the child. "I hate old, dark, black places. I 
 like stars, and sunshine, and fires, and Uncle True s torch " 
 
 "And I like bright eyes!" interrupted Willie; "yours look 
 just like stars, they shine so to-night. Ain t we having a good 
 time?" 
 
 "Yes, real." 
 
 And so they went on, Gerty jumping and dancing along the 
 sidewalk, Willie sharing in her gayety and joy, and glorying 
 in the responsibility of entertaining and at the same time pro 
 tecting the wild little creature. They talked much of how they 
 would spend that future wealth which, in their buoyant hope 
 fulness, they both fully calculated upon one day possessing; 
 for Gerty had caught Willie s spirit, and she, too, meant to 
 work and grow rich. Willie told Gerty of the many plans he 
 
54 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 had for surrounding his mother and grandfather, and even her 
 self and Uncle True, with every comfort and luxury he had 
 ever heard or dreamt of. Among other things, his mother was 
 to wear a gay cap, like that of the lady they had seen through 
 the window; and at this Gerty had a great laugh. She had 
 an innate perception of the fact that the quiet, demure little 
 widow would be ridiculous in a flowered headgear. Good taste 
 is inborn, and Gerty had it in her. She felt that Mrs. Sulli 
 van, attired in anything that was not simple, neat, and sober- 
 looking, would altogether lose her identity. Willie had no self 
 ish schemes; the generous boy suggested nothing for his own 
 gratification ; it was for the rest he meant to labor, and in and 
 through them that he looked for his reward. Happy chil 
 dren ! happy as children only can be. What do they want of 
 wealth ? What of anything material and tangible, more than 
 they now possess ? They have what is worth more than riches 
 or fame. They are full of childhood s faith and hope. With 
 a fancy and imagination unchecked by disappointment, they 
 are building those same castles that so many thousand children 
 have built before, that children always will be building to 
 the end of time. Far off in the distance they see bright 
 things, and know not what myths they are. High up they 
 rise, and shine, and glitter; and the little ones fix their eyes 
 on them, overlook the rough, dark places that lie between, see 
 not the perils of the way, suspect not the gulfs and snares into 
 which many are destined to fall; but, confident of gaining the 
 glorious goal, they set forth on the way rejoicing. Blessings 
 on that childhood s delusion, if such it be. Undeceive not 
 the little believers, ye wise ones! Check not that God-given 
 hopefulness which will, perhaps, in its airy flight, lift them in 
 safety over many a rough spot in life s road. It lasts not long, 
 at the best ; then check it not, for as it dies out the way grows 
 hard. 
 
 One source of the light-heartedness that Willie and Gerty 
 experienced undoubtedly lay in the disinterestedness and gen 
 erosity of the emotion which occupied them; for in the plans 
 they formed, neither seemed actuated by selfish motives. They 
 were both filled with the desire to contribute to the comfort of 
 their more aged friends. It was a beautiful spirit of grateful 
 love which each manifested, a spirit in a great degree natu 
 ral to both. In Willie, however, it had been so fostered by 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 55 
 
 pious training that it partook of the nature of a principle; 
 while in Gerty it was a mere impulse ; and, alas for poor human 
 nature, when swayed by its own passions alone! The poor 
 little girl had as who has not ? other less pleasing impulses ; 
 and if the former needed encouraging and strengthening, so did 
 the latter require to be uprooted and destroyed. 
 
 They had reached the last lamp-post in the street, and now 
 turned another corner; but scarcely had they gone a dozen 
 steps before Gerty stopped short, and positively refusing to 
 proceed any further, pulled hard at Willie s hand, and tried to 
 induce him to retrace his steps. 
 
 "What s the matter, Gerty? " said he; "are you tired? " 
 
 "No, no! but I can t go any further." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " 0, because because " and here Gerty lowered her voice 
 and, putting her mouth close to Willie s ear, whispered, 
 "there is Nan Grant s; I see the house! I had forgot Uncle 
 True went there; and I can t go I m afraid! " 
 
 " Oho ! " said Willie, drawing himself up with dignity ; " I 
 should like to know what you re afraid of when I m with you. 
 Let her touch you if she dares ! And Uncle True, too ! I 
 should laugh." Very kindly and pleasantly did Willie plead 
 with the child, telling her that Nan would not be likely to see 
 them, but that perhaps they should see her, and that was just 
 what he wanted nothing he should like better. Gerty s fears 
 were easily allayed. She was not naturally timid; it was only 
 the suddenness of the shock she received, on recognizing her 
 old home, that had revived, with full force, her dread and hor 
 ror of Nan. It needed but little reasoning to assure her of the 
 perfect safety of her present position ; and her fears soon gave 
 place to the desire to point out to Willie her former persecutor. 
 So by the time they stood in front of the house, she was 
 rather hoping, than otherwise, to catch sight of Nan. And 
 never had any one a fairer chance to be looked at than Nan at 
 that moment. She was standing opposite the window, engaged 
 in an animated dispute with one of her neighbors. Her coun 
 tenance expressed angry excitement; and an ill-looking woman 
 at best, her face now was so sufficient an index to her charac 
 ter, that no one could see her thus and afterwards question her 
 right to the title of vixen, virago, scold, or anything else that 
 conveys the same idea. 
 
56 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 " Which is she 1 " said Willie ; " the tall one, swinging the 
 coffee-pot in her hand 1 I guess she 11 break the handle off 
 if she don t look out." 
 
 "Yes," said Gerty, "that s Nan." 
 
 "What s she doing?" 
 
 "0, she s fighting with Mis Birch; she does most always 
 with somebody. She don t see us, does she?" 
 
 "No, she s too busy. Come, don t let s stop; she s an 
 ugly-looking woman, just as I knew she was. I ve seen enough 
 of her, and I m sure you have come." 
 
 But Gerty lingered. Courageous in the knowledge that she 
 was safe and unseen, she was attentively gazing at Nan, and 
 her eyes glistened, not, as a few minutes before, with the 
 healthy and innocent excitement of a cheerful heart, but with 
 the fire of kindled passion, a fire that Nan had kindled long 
 ago, which had not yet gone out, and which the sight of Nan 
 had now revived in full force. Willie, thinking it was time 
 to be hurrying home, and perceiving once more that Mr. Flint 
 and his torch were far down the street, now left Gerty, and 
 started himself, as an expedient to draw her on, saying at the 
 same time, "Come, Gerty, I can t wait." 
 
 Gerty turned, saw that he was going, then, quick as light 
 ning, stooped, and picking up a stone from the sidewalk, flung 
 it at the window. There was a crash of broken glass, and an 
 exclamation in Nan s well-known voice; but Gerty was not 
 there to see the result of her work. The instant the stone had 
 left her hand, and she heard the crash, her fears all returned, 
 and flying past Willie, she paused not until she was safe by 
 the side of True. Willie did not overtake them until they 
 were nearly home, and then came running up, exclaiming 
 breathlessly, " Why, Gerty, do you know what you did ? You 
 broke the window ! " 
 
 Gerty jerked her shoulders from side to side to avoid Willie, 
 pouted, and declared that was what she meant to do. 
 
 True now inquired what window, and Gerty unhesitatingly 
 acknowledged what she had done, and avowed that she did it 
 on purpose. True and Willie were shocked and silent. Gerty 
 was silent, too, for the rest of the walk ; there were clouds on 
 her face, and she felt unhappy in her little heart. She did not 
 understand herself, or her own sensations ; we may not say how 
 far she was responsible for them, but this much is certain, her 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 57 
 
 face alone betrayed that, as evil took violent possession of her 
 soul, peace and pleasantness fled away. Poor child ! how much 
 she needs to learn the truth! God grant that the inward may 
 one day become as dear to her as now the outward light! 
 
 Willie bade them good-night at the house-door, and, as usual, 
 (hey saw no more of him for a week. 
 
58 THE LAMPLIGHTEE 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 But peace: I must not quarrel with the will 
 Of highest dispensation, which herein 
 Haply had ends above my reach to know. 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 "FATHER," said Mrs. Sullivan one afternoon, as he was 
 preparing to go out and to take with him a number of articles 
 which he wanted for his Saturday s work in the church, "why 
 don t you get little Gerty to go with you, and carry some of 
 your things? You can t take them all at once, and she d like 
 to go, I know." 
 
 "She d only be in the way," said Mr. Cooper; "I can take 
 them myself." 
 
 But when he had swung a lantern and an empty coal-hod on 
 one arm, taken a little hatchet and a basket of kindlings in his 
 hand, and hoisted a small ladder over his shoulder, he was fain 
 to acknowledge that there was no accommodation for his ham 
 mer and a large paper of nails. 
 
 So Mrs. Sullivan called Gerty, and asked her to go to the 
 church with Mr. Cooper, and help him carry his tools. 
 
 Gerty was very much pleased with the proposal, and taking 
 the hammer and nails, started off with great alacrity. 
 
 When they reached the church, the old sexton took them 
 from her hands, and telling her she could play about until he 
 went home, but to be sure and do no mischief, left her and 
 went down into the vestry room to commence there his opera 
 tion of sweeping, dusting, and building fires. Gerty was thus 
 left to her own amusement; and ample amusement she found 
 it, for some time, to wander round among the empty aisles and 
 pews, and examine closely what, hitherto, she had only viewed 
 from a corner of the gallery. Then she ascended the pulpit, 
 and in imagination addressed a large audience. She was just 
 beginning to grow weary and restless, however, when the or 
 ganist, who had entered unperceived, commenced playing some 
 low, sweet music; and Gerty, seating herself on the pulpit 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 59 
 
 stairs, listened with the greatest attention and pleasure. He 
 had not played long before the door at the foot of the broad 
 aisle opened, and a couple of visitors entered, in observing 
 whom Gerty was soon wholly engrossed. One was an elderly 
 man, dressed like a clergyman, short and spare, with hair thin 
 and gray, forehead high, and features rather sharp ; but though 
 a plain man, remarkable for his calm and benignant expression 
 of countenance. A young lady, apparently about twenty-five 
 years of age, was leaning on his arm. She was attired with 
 great simplicity, wearing a dark brown cloak, and a bonnet of 
 the same color, relieved by some light blue ribbon about the 
 face. The only article of her dress which was either rich or 
 elegant was some beautiful dark fur, fastened at her throat with 
 a costly enamelled slide. She was somewhat below the middle 
 size, but had a pleasing and well-rounded figure. Her features 
 were small and regular, her complexion clear, though rather 
 pale, and her light brown hair was most neatly and carefully 
 arranged. She never lifted her eyes as she walked slowly up 
 the aisle, and the long lashes nearly swept her cheek. 
 
 The two approached the spot where Gerty sat, but without 
 perceiving her. "I am glad you like the organ," said the 
 gentleman; "I m not much of a judge of music myself, but 
 they say it is a superior instrument, and that Hermann plays it 
 remarkably well." 
 
 "Nor is my opinion of any value," said the lady; "for I 
 have very little knowledge of music, much as I love it. But 
 chat symphony sounds very delightful to me; it is a long time 
 since I have heard such touching strains; or, it may be, it is 
 partly owing to their striking so sweetly on the solemn quiet 
 of the church this afternoon. I love to go into a large church 
 on a week day. It was very kind in you to call for me this 
 afternoon. How came you to think of it ? " 
 
 "I thought you would enjoy it, my dear. I knew Hermann 
 would be playing about this time; and besides, when I saw 
 how pale you were looking, it seemed to me the walk would do 
 you good." 
 
 " It has done me good. I was not feeling well, and the clear 
 cold air was just what I needed ; I knew it would refresh me, but 
 Mrs. Ellis was busy, and I could not, you know, go out alone. " 
 
 "I thought I should find Mr. Cooper, the sexton, here," 
 said the gentleman. "I want to speak to him about the light; 
 
60 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 the afternoons are so short now, and it grows dark so early, I 
 must ask him to open more of the blinds, or I cannot see to 
 read my sermon to-morrow. Perhaps he is in the vestry room ; 
 he is always somewhere about here on Saturday ; I think I had 
 better go and look for him." 
 
 Just then Mr. Cooper entered the church, and, seeing the 
 clergyman, came up, and after receiving his directions about 
 the light seemed to request him to accompany him somewhere; 
 for the gentleman hesitated, glanced at the young lady, and 
 then said, " I suppose I ought to go to-day ; and as you say 
 you are at leisure, it is a pity I should not ; but I don t know " 
 
 Then, turning to the lady, he said, "Emily, Mr. Cooper 
 wants me to go to Mrs. Glass s with him; and I suppose I 
 should have to be absent some time. Do you think you should 
 mind waiting here until I return? She lives in the next street; 
 but I may be detained, for it s about that matter of the library 
 books being so mischievously defaced, and I am very much 
 afraid that oldest boy of hers had something to do with it. It 
 ought to be inquired into before to-morrow, and I can hardly 
 walk so far as this again to-night, or I would not think of leav 
 ing you." 
 
 "0! go, by all means," said Emily; "don t mind me; it 
 will be a pleasure to sit here and listen to the music. Mr. 
 Hermann s playing is a great treat to me, and I don t care how 
 long I wait; so I beg you won t hurry on my account, Mr. 
 Arnold." 
 
 Thus assured, Mr. Arnold concluded to go; and having first 
 led the lady to a chair beneath the pulpit, went away with Mr. 
 Cooper. 
 
 All this time Gerty had been quite unnoticed, and had re 
 mained very quiet on the upper stair, a little secured from sight 
 by the pulpit. Hardly had the doors closed, however, with a 
 loud bang, when the child got up, and began to descend the 
 stairs. The moment she moved the lady, whose seat was very 
 near, started, and exclaimed rather suddenly, Who s that?" 
 
 Gerty stood quite still, and made no reply. Strangely enough, 
 the lady did not look up, though she must have perceived that 
 the movement was above her head. There was a moment s 
 pause, and then Gerty began again to run down the stairs. 
 This time the lady sprung up, and stretching out her hand, 
 said as quickly as before, "Who is it? " 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 61 
 
 "Me," said Gerty, looking up in the lady s face; "it s only 
 me." 
 
 " Will you stop and speak to me ? " said the lady. 
 
 Gerty not only stopped, but came close up to Emily s chair, 
 irresistibly attracted by the music of the sweetest voice she had 
 ever heard. The lady placed her hand on Gerty s head, drew 
 her towards her, and said, "Who are you?" 
 
 "Gerty." 
 
 " Gerty who ? " 
 
 "Nothing else but Gerty." 
 
 " Have you forgotten your other name 1 " 
 
 "I haven t got any other name." 
 
 "How came you here? " 
 
 "I came with Mr. Cooper, to help him bring his things." 
 
 "And he s left you here to wait for him, and I m left too; 
 so we must take care of each other, mustn t we? " 
 
 Gerty laughed at this. 
 
 " Where were you ? On the stairs ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Suppose you sit down on this step by my chair, and talk 
 with me a little while; I want to see if we can t find out what 
 your other name is. Where do you say you live ? " 
 
 "With Uncle True." 
 
 "True?" 
 
 "Yes. Mr. True Flint I live with now. He took me 
 home to his house one night, when Nan Grant put me out on 
 the sidewalk." 
 
 "Why! are you that little girl? Then I ve heard of you 
 before. Mr. Flint told me all about you." 
 
 " Do you know my Uncle True ? " 
 
 "Yes, very well." 
 
 "What s your name?" 
 
 "My name is Emily Graham." 
 
 " ! I know, " said Gerty, springing suddenly up, and clap^ 
 ping her hands together; "I know. You asked him to keep 
 me he said so, I heard him say so; and you gave me my 
 clothes and you re beautiful; and you re good; and I love you ! 
 I love you ever so much ! " 
 
 As Gerty spoke with a voice full of excitement, a strange 
 look passed over Miss Graham s face, a most inquiring and rest 
 less look, as if the tones of the voice had vibrated on a chord of 
 
62 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 her memory. She did not speak, but passing her arm round 
 the child s waist drew her closer to her. As the peculiar ex 
 pression passed away from her face, and her features assumed 
 their usual calm composure, Gerty, as she gazed at her with a 
 look of wonder (a look which the child had worn during the 
 whole of the conversation), exclaimed at last, "Are you going 
 to sleep?" 
 
 "No. Why?" 
 
 " Because your eyes are shut." 
 
 "They are always shut, my child." 
 
 " Always shut ! What for ? " 
 
 "I am blind, Gerty; I can see nothing." 
 
 "Not see!" said Gerty; "can t you see anything? Can t 
 you see me now ? " 
 
 "No," said Miss Graham. 
 
 "0!" exclaimed Gerty, drawing a long breath, "I m so 
 glad." 
 
 " Glad ! " said Miss Graham, in the saddest voice that ever 
 was heard. 
 
 "0, yes!" said Gerty, "so glad you can t see me! because 
 now, perhaps, you 11 love me." 
 
 "And shouldn t I love you if I saw you?" said Emily, 
 passing her hand softly and slowly over the child s features. 
 
 "0, no!" answered Gerty; "I m so ugly! I m glad you 
 can t see how ugly I am." 
 
 "But just think, Gerty," said Emily, in the same sad voice; 
 "how would you feel if you could not see the light, could not 
 see anything in the world ? " 
 
 "Can t you see the sun, and the stars, and the sky, and the 
 church we re in ? Are you in the dark ? " 
 
 "In the dark all the time, day and night in the dark." 
 
 Gerty burst into a paroxysm of tears. " ! " exclaimed she 
 as soon as she could find voice amid her sobs, "it s too bad! 
 it s too bad!" 
 
 The child s grief was contagious; and for the first time for 
 years Emily wept bitterly for her blindness. 
 
 It was for but a few moments, however. Quickly recovering 
 herself, she tried to compose the child also, saying, "Hush! 
 hush! don t cry; and don t say it s too bad! It s not too 
 bad; I can bear it very well. I m used to it, and am quite 
 happy." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 63 
 
 "/shouldn t be happy in the dark; I should hate to be! " 
 said Gerty. "I ain t glad you re blind; I m real sorry. I 
 wish you could see me and everything. Can t your eyes be 
 opened any way ? " 
 
 "No," said Emily, "never; but we won t talk about that 
 any more; we 11 talk about you. I want to know what makes 
 you think yourself so very ugly." 
 
 "Because folks say that I m an ugly child, and that nobody 
 loves ugly children." 
 
 "Yes, people do," said Emily, "love ugly children, if they 
 are good." 
 
 "But I ain t good," said Gerty; "I m real bad! " 
 
 "But you can be good," said Emily, "and then everybody 
 will love you." 
 
 "Do you think I can be good? " 
 
 "Yes, if you try." 
 
 "I willtry." 
 
 "I hope you will," said Emily. "Mr. Flint thinks a great 
 deal of his little girl, and she must do all she can to please 
 him." 
 
 She then went on to make inquiries concerning Gerty s 
 former way of life, and became so much interested in the recital 
 of the little girl s early sorrows and trials, that she was uncon^ 
 scious of the flight of time, and quite unobservant of the depar 
 ture of the organist, who had ceased playing, closed his instru 
 ment, and gone away. 
 
 Gerty was very communicative. Always a little shy of 
 strangers at first, she was nevertheless easily won by kind 
 words; and in the present case the sweet voice and sympa 
 thetic tones of Emily went straight to her heart. Singularly 
 enough, though her whole life had been passed among the 
 poorer, and almost the whole of it among the lowest class of 
 people, she seemed to feel none of that awe and constraint which 
 might be supposed natural, on her encountering for the first 
 time one who, born and bred amid affluence and luxury, showed 
 herself, in every word and motion, a lady of polished mind and 
 manners. On the contrary, Gerty clung to Emily as affection 
 ately, and stroked her soft boa with as much freedom, as if she 
 had herself been born in a palace, and cradled in sable fur. 
 Once or twice she took Emily s nicely gloved hand between both 
 her own, and held it tight, her favorite mode of expressing hei 
 
6* THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 enthusiastic warmth of gratitude and admiration. The excit- 
 able but interesting child took no less strong a hold upon Miss 
 Graham s feelings. The latter saw at once how totally neg 
 lected the little one had been, and the importance of her being 
 educated and trained with care, lest early abuse, acting upon 
 an impetuous disposition, should prove destructive to a nature 
 capable of the best attainments. The two were still entertain 
 ing each other, and, as we have said, unconscious of the late 
 ness of the hour, when Mr. Arnold entered the church hastily, 
 and somewhat out of breath. As he came up the aisle, when 
 he was yet some way off, he called to Emily, saying, "Emily, 
 dear, I m afraid you thought I had forgotten you, I have been 
 gone so much longer than I intended. Were you not quite 
 tired and discouraged." 
 
 "Have you been gone long ?" replied Emily. "I thought 
 it was but a very little while ; I have had company, you see. " 
 
 " What, little folks ! " said Mr. Arnold good-naturedly. 
 "Where did this little body come from? " 
 
 " She came to the church this afternoon with Mr. Cooper. 
 Isn t he here for her? " 
 
 "Cooper? No; he went straight home after he left me; 
 he s probably forgotten all about the child. What s to be 
 done 1 " 
 
 " Can t we take her home 1 Is it far ? " 
 
 "It is two or three streets from here, and directly out of our 
 way altogether too far for you to walk. " 
 
 "0, no, it won t tire me; I m quite strong now, and I 
 wouldn t but know she was safe home, on any account. I d 
 rather get a little fatigued." 
 
 If Emily could but have seen Gerty s grateful face that mo 
 ment, she would indeed have felt repaid for almost any amount 
 of weariness. 
 
 So they went home with Gerty, and Emily kissed Gerty at 
 the gate ; and Gerty was a happy child that night. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 65 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 By the strong spirit s discipline, 
 
 By the fierce wrong forgiven, 
 By all that wrings the heart of sin, 
 
 Is woman won to Heaven. 
 
 N. P. WILLIS. 
 
 As may be supposed, the blind girl did not forget our little 
 Gerty. Emily Graham never forgot the sufferings, the wants, 
 the necessities, of others. She could not see the world with 
 out, but there was a world of love and sympathy within her, 
 which manifested itself in abundant benevolence and charity, 
 both of heart and deed. She lived a life of love. She loved 
 God with her whole heart, and her neighbor as herself. Her 
 own great misfortunes and trials could not be helped, and were 
 borne without repining; but the misfortunes and trials of others 
 became her care, the alleviation of them her greatest delight. 
 Emily was never weary of doing good. Many a blessing was 
 called down upon her head, by young and old, for kindness 
 past; many a call was made upon her for further aid; and to 
 the call of none was she ever deaf. But never had she been 
 so touched as now by any tale of sorrow. Ready listener as 
 she was to the story of grief and trouble, she knew how many 
 children were born into the world amid poverty and privation; 
 how many were abused, neglected, and forsaken; so that Gerty s 
 experience was not new to her. But it was something in the 
 child herself that excited and interested Emily in an unwonted 
 degree. The tones of her voice, the earnestness and pathos 
 with which she spoke, the confiding and affectionate manner in 
 which she had clung to her, the sudden clasping of her hand, 
 and finally, her vehement outbreak of grief when she became 
 conscious of Emily s great misfortune, all these things so 
 haunted Miss Graham s recollection, that she dreamt of the 
 child at night, and thought much of her by day. She could 
 not account to herself for the interest she felt in the little 
 stranger; but the impulse to see and know more of her was 
 
66 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 irresistible, and sending for True, she talked a long time with 
 him about the child. 
 
 True was highly gratified by Miss Graham s account of the 
 meeting in the church, and of the interest the little girl had 
 inspired in one for whom he felt the greatest admiration and 
 respect. Gerty had previously told him how she had seen Miss 
 Graham, and had spoken in the most glowing terms of the dear 
 lady, who was so kind to her, and brought her home when Mr. 
 Cooper had forgotten her, but it had not occurred to the old 
 man that the fancy was mutual. 
 
 Emily asked him if he did n t intend to send her to school. 
 
 "Well, I don t know," said he; "she s a little thing, and 
 ain t much used to being with other children. Besides, I don t 
 exactly like to spare her; I like to see her round." 
 
 Emily suggested that it was time she was learning to read 
 and write, and that the sooner she went among other children, 
 the easier it would be to her. 
 
 "Very true, Miss Emily, very true," said Mr. Flint. "I 
 dare say you re right; and if you think she d better go, I 11 
 ask her, and see what she says." 
 
 "I would," said Emily. "I think she might enjoy it, be 
 sides improving very much; and about her clothes, if there s 
 any deficiency, I ll " 
 
 "O, no, no, Miss Emily!" interrupted True; "there s no 
 necessity; she s very well on t now, thanks to your kind 
 ness. " 
 
 "Well," said Emily, "if she should have any wants, you 
 must apply to me. You know we adopted her jointly, and I 
 agreed to do anything I could for her; so you must never 
 hesitate, it will be a pleasure to serve either of you. Father 
 always feels under obligations to you, Mr. Flint, for faithful 
 service, that cost you dear in the end." 
 
 "0, Miss Emily," said True, "Mr. Graham has always been 
 my best friend; and as to that ere accident that happened 
 when I was in his employ, it was nobody s fault but my own; 
 it was my own carelessness, and nobody s else." 
 
 "I know you say so," said Emily, "but we regretted it very 
 much ; and you must n t forget what I tell you, that I shall 
 delight in doing anything for Gerty. I should like to have 
 her come and see me some day, if she would like to, and 
 you ll let her." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 67 
 
 "Sartain, sartain," said True, "and thank you kindly; she d 
 admire to come." 
 
 A few days after, Gerty went with True to see Miss Graham ; 
 but the housekeeper, whom they met in the hall, told them that 
 she was ill and could see no one. So they went away full of 
 disappointment and regret. 
 
 It proved afterwards that Emily took a severe cold the day 
 she sat so long in the church, and was suffering with it when 
 they called; but though confined to her room, she would have 
 been glad to have a visit from Gerty, and was sorry and grieved 
 that Mrs. Ellis should have sent them away so abruptly. 
 
 One Saturday evening, when Willie was present, True 
 broached the subject of Gerty s going to school. Gerty herself 
 was very much disgusted with the idea, but it met with Wil 
 lie s warm approbation; and when Gerty learned that Miss Gra 
 ham also wished it, she consented, though rather reluctantly, 
 to begin the next week, and try how she liked it. So, on the 
 following Monday, Gerty accompanied True to one of the pri 
 mary schools, was admitted, and her education commenced. 
 When Willie came home the next Saturday, he rushed into 
 True s room, full of eagerness to hear how Gerty liked going to 
 school. He found her seated at the table, with her spelling 
 book; and as soon as he entered, she exclaimed, "0, Willie! 
 Willie ! come and hear me read ! " 
 
 Her performance could not properly be called reading. She 
 had not got beyond the alphabet, and a few syllables which she 
 had learned to spell ; but Willie bestowed upon her much well- 
 merited praise, for she had really been very diligent. He was 
 astonished to hear that Gerty liked going to school, liked the 
 teacher and the scholars, and had a fine time at recess. He had 
 fully expected that she would dislike the whole business, and 
 very probably go into tantrums about it, which was the ex 
 pression he used to denote her fits of ill temper. On the con 
 trary, everything, thus far, had gone well, and Gerty had never 
 looked so animated and happy as she did this evening. Willie 
 promised to assist her in her studies; and the two children s 
 literary plans soon became as high-flown as if one had been a 
 poet-laureate and the other a philosopher. 
 
 For two or three weeks all appeared to go on smoothly. 
 Gerty went regularly to school, and continued to make rapid 
 progress. Every Saturday Willie heard her read and spell, 
 
68 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 assisted, praised, and encouraged her. He had, however, a 
 shrewd suspicion that, on one or two occasions, she had come 
 near having a brush with some large girls, for whom she began 
 to show symptoms of dislike. Whatever the difficulty origi 
 nated in, it soon reached a crisis. 
 
 One day, when the children were assembled in the school 
 yard during recess, Gerty caught sight of True in his working- 
 dress, just passing down the street, with his ladder and lamp- 
 filler. Shouting and laughing, she bounded out of the yard, 
 pursued and overtook him. She came back in a few minutes 
 seeming much delighted at the unexpected rencounter, and ran 
 into the yard out of breath, and full of happy excitement. 
 The troop of large girls, whom Gerty had already had some 
 reason to distrust, had been observing her, and as soon as she 
 returned one of them called out, saying: 
 
 "Who s that man?" 
 
 "That s my Uncle True," said Gerty. 
 
 "Your what?" 
 
 "My uncle, Mr. Flint, that I live with." 
 
 " So you belong to him, do you ? " said the girl, in an insolent 
 tone of voice. "Ha, ha, ha!" 
 
 " What are you laughing at ? " said Gerty fiercely. 
 
 "Ugh! Before I d live with him!" said the girl, "Old 
 Smutty ! " 
 
 The others caught it up, and the laugh and epithet Old 
 Smutty circulated freely in the corner of the yard where Gerty 
 was standing. 
 
 Gerty was furious. Her eyes glistened, she doubled her lit 
 tle fist, and without hesitation came down in battle upon the 
 crowd. But they were too many for her, and, helpless as she 
 was with passion, they drove her out of the yard. She started 
 for home on a full run, screaming with all her might. 
 
 As she flew along the sidewalk, she brushed roughly against 
 a tall and rather stiff-looking lady, who was walking slowly in 
 the same direction, with another and much smaller person lean 
 ing on her arm. 
 
 "Bless me!" said the tall lady, who had almost lost her 
 equilibrium from her fright and the suddenness of the shock. 
 " Why, you horrid little creature ! " As she spoke, she grasped 
 Gerty by the shoulder, and, before the child could break away, 
 succeeded in giving her a slight shake. This served to increase 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 69 
 
 Gerty s anger, and, her speed gaining in proportion, it was but 
 a few minutes before she was at home, crouched in a corner of 
 True s room behind the bed, her face to the wall, and as usual 
 on such occasions covered with both her hands. Here she was 
 free to cry as loud as she pleased; for Mrs. Sullivan was gone 
 out, and there was no one in the house to hear her, a privi 
 lege, indeed, of which she fully availed herself. 
 
 But she had not had time to indulge long in her tantrum, 
 when the gate at the end of the yard closed with a bang, and 
 footsteps were heard coming towards Mr. Flint s door. Gerty s 
 attention was arrested, for she knew by the sound that it was 
 the step of a stranger who was approaching. With a strong 
 effort she succeeded, after one or two convulsive sobs, in so far 
 controlling herself as to keep quiet. There was a knock at the 
 door, but Gerty did not reply to it, remaining in her position 
 concealed behind the bed. The knock was not repeated, but 
 the stranger lifted the latch and walked in. 
 
 "There doesn t seem to be any one at home," said a female 
 voice ; " what a pity ! " 
 
 "Isn t there? I m sorry," replied another, in the sweet 
 musical tones of Miss Graham. 
 
 Gerty knew the voice at once. 
 
 "I thought you d better not come here yourself," rejoined 
 the first speaker, who was no other than Mrs. Ellis, the iden 
 tical lady whom Gerty had so frightened and disconcerted. 
 
 "0, I don t regret coming," said Emily. "You can leave 
 me here while you go to your sister s, and very likely Mr. 
 Flint or the little girl will come home in the mean time." 
 
 "It don t become you, Miss Emily, to be carried round 
 everywhere, and left, like an expressman s parcel, till called 
 for. You caught a horrid cold, that you re hardly well of 
 now, waiting there in the church for the minister; and Mr. 
 Graham will be finding fault next." 
 
 "0, no, Mrs. Ellis; it s very comfortable here; the church 
 must have been damp, I think. Come, put me in Mr. Flint s 
 armchair, and I can make myself quite contented." 
 
 " Well, at any rate," said Mrs. Ellis, "I 11 make up a good 
 fire in this stove before I go." 
 
 As she spoke, the energetic housekeeper seized the poker, 
 and after stirring up the coals, and making free with all True s 
 kindling wood, waited long enough to hear the roaring and see 
 
70 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 the blaze; and then, having laid aside Emily s cloak and boa, 
 went away with the same firm, steady step with which she had 
 come, and which had so overpowered Emily s noiseless tread, 
 that Gerty had only anticipated the arrival of a single guest. 
 As soon as Gerty knew, by the swinging of the gate, that Mrs, 
 Ellis had really departed, she suspended her effort at self-con 
 trol, and with a deep-drawn sigh gasped out, "0. dear! O, 
 dear!" 
 
 "Why, Gerty!" exclaimed Emily, "is that you?" 
 
 "Yes," sobbed Gerty. 
 
 "Come here." 
 
 The child waited no second bidding, but starting up, ran, 
 threw herself on the floor by the side of Emily, buried her face 
 in the blind girl s lap, and once more commenced crying aloud. 
 By this time her whole frame was trembling with agitation. 
 
 " Why, Gerty ! " said Emily ; " what is the matter ? " 
 
 But Gerty could not reply ; and Emily, finding this to be the 
 case, desisted from her inquiries until the little one should be 
 somewhat composed. She lifted Gerty up into her lap, laid 
 her head upon her shoulder, and with her own handkerchief 
 wiped the tears from her face. 
 
 Her soothing words and caresses soon quieted the child; and 
 when she was calm, Emily, instead of recurring at once to the 
 cause of her grief, very judiciously questioned her upon other 
 topics. At last, however, she asked her if she went to school. 
 
 "I have been," said Gerty, raising her head suddenly from 
 Emily s shoulder; "but I won t ever go again!" 
 
 "What! Why not?" 
 
 "Because," said Gerty angrily, "I hate those girls; yes, 
 hate em! ugly things!" 
 
 "Gerty," said Emily, "don t say that; you shouldn t hate 
 anybody." 
 
 "Why shouldn t I?" said Gerty. 
 
 "Because it s wrong." 
 
 "No, it s not wrong ; I say it isn t!" said Gerty; "and 
 I do hate em; and I hate Nan Grant, and I always shall! 
 Don t you hate anybody?" 
 
 "No," answered Emily; "I don t." 
 
 "Did anybody ever drown your kitten? Did anybody ever 
 call your father Old Smutty?" said Gerty. "If they had, I 
 know you d hate em, just as I do." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 71 
 
 "Gerty," said Emily solemnly, "didn t you tell me, the 
 other day, that you were a naughty child, but that you wished 
 to be good, and would try ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Gerty. 
 
 " If you wish to become good and be forgiven, you must for 
 give others." 
 
 Gerty said nothing. 
 
 "Do you not wish God to forgive and love you? " 
 
 " God, that lives in heaven, that made the stars ? " said 
 Gerty. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Will he love me, and let me some time go to heaven? " 
 
 "Yes, if you try to be good, and love everybody." 
 
 "Miss Emily," said Gerty, after a moment s pause, "I can t 
 do it, so I s pose I can t go." 
 
 Just at this moment a tear fell upon Gerty s forehead. She 
 looked thoughtfully up in Emily s face, then said: 
 
 "Dear Miss Emily, are you going?" 
 
 "I am trying to." 
 
 "I should like to go with you," said Gerty, shaking her 
 head meditatively. 
 
 Still Emily did not speak. She left the child to the work 
 ing of her own thoughts. 
 
 "Miss Emily," said Gerty at last, in the lowest whisper, 
 "I mean to try, but I don t think I can." 
 
 " God bless you, and help you, my child ! " said Emily, lay 
 ing her hand upon Gerty s head. 
 
 For fifteen minutes or more, not a word was spoken by 
 either. Gerty lay perfectly still in Emily s lap. By and by 
 the latter perceived, by the child s breathing, that, worn out 
 with the fever and excitement of all she had gone through, she 
 had dropped into a quiet sleep. When Mrs. Ellis returned, 
 Emily pointed to the sleeping child, and asked her to place 
 her on the bed. She did so, wonderingly; and then, turning 
 to Emily, exclaimed, "Upon my word, Miss Emily, that s the 
 same rude, bawling little creature that came so near being the 
 death of us ! " Emily smiled at the idea of a child eight 
 years old overthrowing and annihilating a woman of Mrs. Ellis s 
 inches, but said nothing. 
 
 Why did Emily weep long that night, as she recalled the 
 scene of the morning? Why did she, on bended knee, wrestle 
 
72 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 so vehemently with a mighty sorrow? Why did she pray so 
 earnestly for new strength and heavenly aid 1 Why did she so 
 beseechingly ask of God his blessing on the little child ? Be 
 cause she had felt, in many a year of darkness and bereave 
 ment, in many an hour of fearful struggle, in many a pang of 
 despair, how a temper like that which Gerty had this day 
 shown might, in one moment of its fearful reign, cast a blight 
 upon a lifetime, and write in fearful lines the mournful requiem 
 of earthly joy. And so she prayed to Heaven that night for 
 strength to keep her firm resolve, and aid in fulfilling her un 
 dying purpose, to cure that child of her dark infirmity. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 73 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 Her influence breathes, and bids the blighted heart 
 To life and hope from desolation start. 
 
 HEMANS. 
 
 THE next Sabbath afternoon found Gerty seated on a cricket 
 in front of a pleasant little wood-fire in Emily s own room. 
 Her large eyes were fixed upon Emily s face, which always 
 seemed, in some unaccountable way, to fascinate the little girl; 
 so attentively did she watch the play of the features in a coun 
 tenance the charm of which many an older person than Gerty 
 had felt, but tried in vain to describe. It was not beauty, 
 at least not brilliant beauty, for that Emily had not pos 
 sessed, even when her face was illumined, as it had once been, 
 by beautiful hazel eyes ; nor was it the effect of what is usually 
 termed fascination of manner, for Emily s manner and voice 
 were both so soft and unassuming that they never took the 
 fancy by storm. It was not compassion for her blindness, 
 though so great a misfortune might well, and always did, excite 
 the warmest sympathy. But it was hard to realize that Emily 
 was blind. It was a fact never forced upon her friends recol 
 lection by any repining or selfish indulgence on the part of the 
 sufferer; and as there was nothing painful in the appearance 
 of her closed lids, shaded and fringed as they were by her long 
 and heavy eyelashes, it was not unusual for those immediately 
 about her to converse upon things which could only be evident 
 to the sense of sight, and even direct her attention to one object 
 and another, quite forgetting for the moment her sad depriva 
 tion ; and Emily never sighed, never seemed hurt at their want 
 of consideration, or showed any lack of interest in objects thus 
 shut from her gaze; but, apparently quite satisfied with the 
 description she heard, or the pictures which she formed in her 
 imagination, would talk pleasantly and playfully upon whatever 
 was uppermost in the minds of her companions. Some said 
 that Emily had the sweetest mouth in the world, and they 
 loved to watch its ever-varying expression. Some said her 
 
74 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 chief attraction lay in a small dimple in her right cheek ; others 
 (and these were young girls who wanted to be charming them 
 selves) remarked that if they thought they could make their 
 hair wave like Emily s, they d braid it up every night it was 
 so becoming! But the chosen few, who were capable, through 
 their own spirituality, of understanding and appreciating Emily s 
 character, the few, the very few, who had known her strug 
 gles and had witnessed her triumphs, had they undertaken 
 to express their belief concerning the source whence she derived 
 that power by which her face and voice stole into the hearts of 
 young and old, and won their love and admiration, they would 
 have said, as Gerty did, when she sat gazing so earnestly at 
 Emily on the very Sunday afternoon of which we speak, "Miss 
 Emily, I know you ve been with God." 
 
 Gerty was certainly a strange child. All untaught as she 
 was, she had felt Emily s entire superiority to any being she 
 had ever seen before ; and yielding to that belief in her belong 
 ing to an order above humanity, she reposed implicit confidence 
 in what she told her, allowed herself to be guided and influ 
 enced by one whom she felt loved her and sought only her 
 good; and as she sat at her feet and listened to her gentle 
 voice while she gave her her first lesson upon the distinction 
 between right and wrong, Emily, though she could not see the 
 little thoughtful face that was looking up at her, knew, by the 
 earnest attention she had gained, by the child s perfect still 
 ness, and still more by the little hand which had sought hers, 
 and now held it tight, that one great point was won. 
 
 Gerty had not been to school since the day of her battle with 
 the great girls. All True s persuasions had failed, and she 
 would not go. But Emily understood the child s nature so 
 much better than True did, and urged upon her so much more 
 forcible motives than the old man had thought of employing, 
 that she succeeded where he had failed. Gerty considered 
 that her old friend had been insulted, and that was the chief 
 cause of indignation with her; but Emily placed the matter in 
 a different light, and convincing her at last that, if she loved 
 Uncle True, she would show it much better by obeying his 
 wishes than by retaining her foolish anger, she finally obtained 
 Gerty s promise that she would go to school the next morn 
 ing. She also advised her how to conduct herself towards the 
 scholars whom she so much disliked, and gave her some simple 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 75 
 
 directions with regard to her behavior the next day ; telling her 
 that perhaps Mr. Flint would go with her, make suitable apolo 
 gies to the teacher for her absence, and that in such case she 
 would have no further trouble. 
 
 The next morning True, much pleased that Gerty s repug 
 nance to the school was at last overcome, went with her, and, 
 inquiring for the teacher at the door, stated the case to her in 
 his blunt, honest way, and then left Gerty in her special 
 charge. 
 
 Miss Browne, who was a young woman of good sense and 
 good feelings, saw the matter in the right light; and taking 
 an opportunity to speak privately to the girls who had excited 
 Gerty s temper by their rudeness, made them feel so ashamed 
 of their conduct that they no longer molested the child; and 
 as Gerty soon after made friends with one or two quiet children 
 of her own age, with whom she played in recess, she got into 
 no more such difficulties. 
 
 The winter passed away. The pleasant, sunny spring days 
 came, days when Gerty could sit at open windows, or on the 
 doorstep, when birds sang in the morning among the branches 
 of an old locust-tree that grew in the narrow yard, and the sun 
 at evening threw bright rays across True s great room, and 
 Gerty could see to read almost until bedtime. She had been 
 to school steadily all winter, and had improved as rapidly as 
 most intelligent children do, who are first given the opportu 
 nity to learn at an age when, full of ambition, the mind is most 
 fertile and capable of progress. She was looking healthy and 
 well; her clothes were clean and neat, for her wardrobe was 
 well stocked by Emily, and the care of it superintended by 
 Mrs. Sullivan. She was bright and happy too, and tripped 
 round the house so joyously and lightly, that True declared his 
 birdie knew not what it was to touch her heel to the ground, 
 but flew about on the tips of her toes. 
 
 The old man could not have loved the little adopted one 
 better had she been his own child; and as he sat by her side 
 on the wide settle, which when the warm weather came was 
 moved outside the door, and listened patiently and attentively 
 while she read aloud to him story after story of little girls who 
 never told lies, boys who always obeyed their parents, or more 
 frequently still, of the child who knew how to keep her temper, 
 they seemed, as indeed they were, most suitable companions for 
 
76 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 each other. The old man s interest in the story-books, which 
 were provided by Emily, and read and re-read by Gerty, was 
 as keen and unflagging as if he had been a child himself; and 
 he would sit with his elbows on his knees, hearing the simple 
 stories, laughing when Gerty laughed, sympathizing as fully and 
 heartily as she did in the sorrows of her little heroines, and 
 rejoicing with her in the final triumph of truth, obedience, 
 and patience. 
 
 Emily knew the weight that such tales often carried with 
 them to the hearts of children, and most carefully and judi 
 ciously did she select books for Gerty. Gerty s life was now 
 as happy and prosperous as it had once been wretched and 
 miserable. Six months before she had felt herself all alone, 
 unloved, uncared for. Now she had many friends, and knew 
 what it was to be thought of, provided for, and caressed. All 
 the days in the week were joyous; but Saturday and Sunday 
 were marked days with her, as well as with Mrs. Sullivan; for 
 Saturday brought Willie home to hear her recite her lessons, 
 walk, laugh, and play with her. He had so many pleasant 
 things to tell, he was so full of life and animation, so ready to 
 enter into all her plans, and in every way promote her amuse 
 ment, that on Monday morning she began to count the days 
 until Saturday would come again. Then if anything went 
 wrong or got out of order, if the old clock stopped, or her 
 toys got broken, or worse still, if her lessons troubled, or any 
 little childish grief oppressed her, Willie knew how to put 
 everything right, to help her out of every difficulty. So Wil 
 lie s mother looked not more anxiously for his coming than 
 Gerty did. 
 
 Sunday afternoon Gerty always spent with Emily, in Emily s 
 own room, listening to her sweet voice, and half-unconsciously 
 imbibing a portion of her sweet spirit. Emily preached no 
 germons, nor did she weary the child with exhortations and 
 precepts. Indeed, it did not occur to Gerty that she went 
 there to be taught anything; but simply and gradually the 
 blind girl imparted light to the child s dark soul, and the truths 
 that make for virtue, the lessons that are divine, were implanted 
 in her so naturally, and yet so forcibly, that she realized not 
 the work that was going on ; but long after, when goodness 
 had grown strong within her and her first feeble resistance 
 of evil, her first attempts to keep her childish resolves, had 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 77 
 
 matured into deeply rooted principles and confirmed habits of 
 right, she felt, as she looked back into the past, that on 
 those blessed Sabbaths, sitting on her cricket at Emily s knee, 
 she had received into her heart the first beams of that immortal 
 light that never could be quenched. 
 
 f Thus her silent prayer was answered. God had chosen an 
 earthly messenger to lead his child into everlasting peace, a 
 messenger from whose closed eyes the world s paths were all 
 shut out, but who had been so long treading the heavenly road 
 that it was now familiar ground. Who so fit to guide the little 
 one as she, who with patience had learned the way ? Who to 
 well able to cast light upon the darkness of another soul as 
 she to whose own darkened life God had lent a torch divine 1 
 
 It was a grievous trial to Gerty, about this time, to learn 
 that the Grahams were soon going into the country for the 
 summer. Mr. Graham owned a pleasant residence about six 
 miles from Boston, to which he invariably resorted as soon as 
 the planting season commenced; for, though devoted to busi 
 ness during the winter, he had of late years allowed himself 
 much relaxation from his counting-room in the summer; and 
 ledgers and day-books were now soon to be supplanted, in his 
 estimation, by the labors and delights of gardening. Emily 
 promised Gerty, however, that she should come and pass a day 
 with her when the weather was fine, a visit which Gerty 
 enjoyed three months in anticipation, and more than three in 
 retrospection. 
 
 It was some compensation for Emily s absence that, as the 
 days became long, Willie was frequently able to leave the shop 
 and come home for an hour or two in the evening; and Willie, 
 as we have said, always knew how to comfort Gerty, whatever 
 the trouble might be. 
 
?8 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTEE XII 
 
 Let every minute, as it springs, 
 Convey fresh knowledge on its wings; 
 Let every minute, as it flies, 
 Record thee good, as well as wise. 
 
 COTTON. 
 
 IT was one pleasant evening in the latter part of April that 
 Gerty, who had been to see Miss Graham and bid her good- by 
 before her departure for the country, stood at the back part of 
 the yard weeping bitterly. She held in her hand a book and a 
 new slate, Emily s parting gifts; but she had not removed the 
 wrapper from the one, and the other was quite besmeared with 
 tears. She was so full of grief at the parting (with her, the 
 first of those many sad partings life is so full of) that she did 
 not hear any one approach, and was unconscious of any one s 
 presence, until a hand was placed upon each of her shoulders; 
 and as she turned round, she found herself encircled by Willie s 
 arms, and face to face with Willie s sunny countenance. 
 
 " Why, Gerty ! " said he, " this is no kind of a welcome, 
 when I ve come home on a week-night, to stay with you all 
 the evening. Mother and grandfather are both gone out some 
 where, and then, when I come to look for you, you re crying 
 so I can t see your face through such oceans of tears. Come, 
 come ! do leave off; you don t know how shockingly you look ! " 
 
 "Willie! " sobbed she, "do you know Miss Emily s gone? " 
 
 " Gone where ? " 
 
 " Way off, six miles, to stay all summer ! " 
 
 But Willie only laughed. "Six miles! " said he, "that s a 
 terrible way certainly ! " 
 
 "But I can t see her any more! " said Gerty. 
 
 "You can see her next winter," rejoined Willie. 
 
 "O, but that s so long! " said the child. 
 
 " What makes you think so much of her 1 " asked Willie. 
 
 "She thinks much of me; she can t see me, and she likes 
 me better than anybody but Uncle True." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 79 
 
 f 
 
 "I don t believe it; I don t believe she likes you half as 
 well as I do. I know she don t! How can she, when she s 
 blind, and never saw you in her life, and I see you all the time, 
 and love you better than I do anybody in the world, except ray 
 mother?" 
 
 "Do you really, Willie?" 
 
 "Yes, I do. I always think, when I come home, Now I m 
 going to see Gerty; and everything that happens all the week, 
 I think to myself I shall tell Gerty that." 
 
 "I shouldn t think you d like me so well." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "0, because you re so handsome, and I ain t handsome a 
 bit. I heard Ellen Chase tell Lucretia Davis, the other day, 
 that she thought Gerty Flint was the worst- looking girl in 
 school. " 
 
 "Then she ought to be ashamed of herself," said Willie. 
 "I guess she ain t very good-looking. I should hate the looks 
 of her or any other girl that said that." 
 
 "0, Willie!" exclaimed Gerty earnestly, "it s true; as true 
 as can be." 
 
 "No, it ain t true," said Willie. "To be sure, you haven t 
 got long curls, and a round face, and blue eyes, like Belle Clin 
 ton s, and nobody d think of setting you up for a beauty; but 
 when you ve been running, and have rosy cheeks, and your 
 great black eyes shine, and you laugh so heartily as you do 
 sometimes at anything funny, I often think you re the bright 
 est-looking girl I ever saw in my life; and I don t care what 
 other folks think, so long as I like your looks. I feel just as 
 bad when you cry, or anything s the matter with you, as if it 
 were myself, and worse. George Bray struck his little sister 
 Mary yesterday, because she tore his kite; I should have liked 
 to give him a flogging. I wouldn t strike you, Gerty, if you 
 tore all my playthings to pieces." 
 
 Such professions of affection on Willie s part were frequent, 
 and always responded to by a like declaration from Gerty. Nor 
 were they mere professions. The two children loved each other 
 dearly. They were very differently constituted, for Willie was 
 earnest, persevering, and patient, calm in his temperament, and 
 equal in his spirits. Gerty, on the other hand, excitable and 
 impetuous, was constantly thrown off her guard; her temper 
 was easily roused, her spirits variable, her whole nature sensi- 
 
80 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 tive to the last degree. Willie was accustomed to be loved, 
 expected to be loved, and was loved by everybody. Gerty had 
 been an outcast from all affection, looked not for it, and, ex 
 cept under favorable circumstances and by those who knew her 
 well, did not readily inspire it. But that they loved each other 
 there could be no doubt; and if in the spring the bond be 
 tween them was already strong, autumn found it cemented by 
 still firmer ties; for, during Emily s absence, Willie filled her 
 place and his own too; and though Gerty did not forget her 
 blind friend, she passed a most happy summer, and continued 
 to make such progress in her studies at school, that when 
 Emily returned to the city in October she could hardly under 
 stand how so much had been accomplished in what had seemed 
 to her so short a time. 
 
 The following winter, too, was passed most profitably by 
 Gerty. Miss Graham s kindly feeling towards her little pro 
 tegee, far from having diminished, seemed to have been in 
 creased by time and absence, and Gerty s visits to Emily be 
 came more frequent than ever. The profit derived from these 
 visits was not all on Gerty s part. Emily had been in the 
 habit, the previous winter, of hearing her read occasionally, that 
 she might judge of her proficiency; now, however, she discov 
 ered, on the first trial, that the little girl had attained to a 
 greater degree of excellence in this accomplishment than is com 
 mon among grown people. She read understandingly, and her 
 accent and intonations were so admirable that Emily found rare 
 pleasure in listening to her. 
 
 Partly with a view to the child s benefit, and partly for her 
 own gratification, she proposed that Gerty should come every 
 day and read to her for an hour. Gerty was only too happy to 
 oblige her dear Miss Emily, who, in making the proposal, re 
 presented it as a personal favor to herself, and a plan by which 
 Gerty s eyes could serve for them both. It was agreed that 
 when True started on his lamp-lighting expeditions he should 
 take Gerty to Mr. Graham s, and call for her on his return. 
 Owing to this arrangement, Gerty was constant and punctual 
 in her attendance at the appointed time; and none but those 
 who have tried it are aware what a large amount of reading 
 may be accomplished in six months, if only an hour is devoted 
 to it regularly each day. Emily, in her choice of books, did 
 not confine herself to such as come strictly within a child s 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 81 
 
 comprehension. She judged, rightly, that a girl of such keen 
 intelligence as Gerty was naturally endowed with, would suffer 
 nothing by occasionally encountering what was beyond her com 
 prehension ; but that, on the contrary, the very effort she would 
 be called upon to make would enlarge her capacity, and be an 
 incentive to her genius. So history, biography, and books of 
 travels were perused by Gerty at an age when most children s 
 literary pursuits are confined to stories and pictures. The child 
 seemed, indeed, to give the preference to this comparatively 
 solid reading; and, aided by Emily s .kind explanations and 
 encouragement, she stored up in her little brain many an im 
 portant fact and much useful information. At Gerty s age the 
 memory is strong and retentive, and things impressed on the 
 mind then are usually better remembered than what is learned 
 in after years, when the thoughts are more disturbed and di 
 vided. 
 
 Her especial favorite was a little work on astronomy, which 
 puzzled her more than all the rest put together, but which de 
 lighted her in the same proportion; for it made some things 
 clear, and all the rest, though a mystery still, was to her a beau 
 tiful mystery, and one which she fully meant some time to ex 
 plore to the uttermost. And this ambition to learn more, and 
 understand better by and by, was, after all, the greatest good 
 she derived. Awaken a child s ambition, and implant in her 
 a taste for literature, and more is gained than by years of 
 school-room drudgery, where the heart works not in unison 
 with the head. 
 
 From the time Gerty was first admitted until she was twelve 
 years old, she continued to attend the public schools, and was 
 rapidly advanced and promoted; but what she learned with 
 Miss Graham and acquired by study with Willie at home 
 formed nearly as important a part of her education. Willie, as 
 we have said, was very fond of study, and was delighted at 
 Gerty s warm participation in his favorite pursuit. They were 
 a great advantage to each other, for each found encouragement 
 in the other s sympathy and cooperation. After the first year 
 or two of their acquaintance, Willie could not be properly 
 called a child, for he was in his fifteenth year, and beginning 
 to look quite manly. But Gerty s eagerness for knowledge 
 had all the more influence upon him; for if the little girl ten 
 years of age was patient and willing to labor at her books until 
 
82 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 after nine o clock, the youth of fifteen must not rub his eyes 
 and plead weariness. It was when they had reached these re 
 spective years that they commenced studying French together. 
 Willie s former teacher continued to feel a kindly interest in 
 the boy, who had long been his best scholar, and who would 
 certainly have borne away from his class the first prizes had 
 not a higher duty called him to inferior labors previous to the 
 public exhibition. Whenever he met him in the street, or 
 elsewhere, he inquired concerning his mode of life, and whether 
 he continued his studies. Finding that Willie had considerable 
 spare time, he earnestly advised him to learn the French lan 
 guage, that being a branch of knowledge which would un 
 doubtedly prove useful to him, whatever business he might 
 chance to pursue in life, and offered to lend him such books 
 as he would need at the commencement. 
 
 Willie availed himself of his teacher s advice, and his kind 
 offer, and began to study in good earnest. When he was at 
 home in the evening, he was in the habit of coming into True s 
 room, partly for the sake of quiet (for True was a quiet man, 
 and had too great a veneration for learning to interrupt the 
 students with his questions), and partly for the sake of being 
 with Gerty, who was usually, at that time, occupied with her 
 books. Gerty, as may be supposed, conceived a strong desire 
 to learn French, too. Willie was willing she should try, but 
 had no confidence that she would long persevere. To his sur 
 prise, however, she not only discovered a wonderful determina 
 tion, but a decided talent for language ; and as Emily furnished 
 her with books similar to Willie s, she kept pace with him, 
 oftentimes translating more during the week than he could 
 find time to do. On Saturday evening, when they always had 
 a fine study time together, True would sit on his old settle by 
 the fire, watching Willie and Gerty, side by side, at the table, 
 with their eyes bent on the page, which to him seemed the 
 greatest of earthly labyrinths. Gerty always looked out the 
 words, in which employment she had great skill, her bright 
 eyes diving, as if by magic, into the very heart of the diction 
 ary, and transfixing the right word at a glance, while Willie s 
 province was to make sense. Almost the only occasion when 
 True was known to disturb them, by a word even, was when 
 he first heard Willie talk about making sense. " Making sense, 
 Willie? " said the old man; "is that what ye re after? Well, 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 83 
 
 you could n t do a better business. I 11 warrant you a market 
 for it; there s want enough on t in the world! " 
 
 It was but natural that, under such favorable influences as 
 Gerty enjoyed, with Emily to advise and direct, and Willie to 
 aid and encourage, her intellect should rapidly expand and 
 strengthen. But how is it with that little heart of hers, that 
 at once warm and affectionate, impulsive, sensitive, and pas 
 sionate, now throbs with love and gratitude, and now again 
 burns as vehemently with the consuming fire that a sense of 
 wrong, a consciousness of injury, to herself or her friends, would 
 at any moment enkindle? Has she, in two years of happy 
 childhood, learned self-control? Has she also attained to an 
 enlightened sense of the distinction between right and wrong, 
 truth and falsehood? In short, has Emily been true to her 
 self-imposed trust, her high resolve, to soften the heart and in 
 struct the soul of the little ignorant one ? Has Gerty learned 
 religion ? Has she found out God, and begun to walk patiently 
 in that path which is lit by a holy light and leads to rest ? 
 
 She has begun ; and though her footsteps often falter, though 
 she sometimes quite turns aside, and, impatient of the narrow 
 way, gives the rein to her old irritability and ill temper, she is 
 yet but a child, and there is the strongest foundation for hope 
 fulness in the sincerity of her good intentions, and the depth 
 of her contrition when wrong has had the mastery. Emily has 
 spared no pains in teaching her where to place her strong re 
 liance, and Gerty has already learned to look to higher aid than 
 Emily s, and to lean on a mightier arm. 
 
 Miss Graham had appointed for herself no easy task, when 
 she undertook to inform the mind and heart of a child utterly 
 untaught in the ways of virtue. In some important points, 
 however, she experienced far less difficulty than she had antici 
 pated. For instance, after her first explanation to Gerty of the 
 lifference between honesty and dishonesty, the truth and a lie, 
 lie never had any cause to complain of the child, whose whole 
 nature was the vciy reverse of deceptive, and whom nothing but 
 extreme fear had ever driven to the meanness of falsehood. 
 If Gerty s greatest fault lay in a proud and easily roused tem 
 per, that very fault carried with it its usual accompaniment 
 of frankness and sincerity. Under almost any circumstances 
 Gerty would have been too proud to keep back the truth, even 
 before she became too virtuous. Emily was convinced, before 
 
84 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 she had known Gerty six months, that she could always depend 
 upon her word; and nothing could have been a greater encour- 
 agement to Miss Graham s unselfish efforts than the knowledge 
 that truth, the root of every holy thing, had thus easily and 
 early been made to take up its abode in the child. But this 
 sensitive, proud temper of Gerty s seemed an inborn thing; 
 abuse and tyranny had not been able to crush it; on the con 
 trary, it had nourished in the midst of the unfavorable influ 
 ences amid which she had been nurtured. Kindness could 
 accomplish almost anything with her, could convince and re 
 strain; but restraint from any other source was unbearable, 
 and however proper and necessary a check it might be, she 
 was always disposed to resent it. Emily knew that to such a 
 spirit even parental control is seldom sufficient. She knew of 
 but one influence that is strong enough, one power that never 
 fails to quell and subdue earthly pride and passion; the power 
 of Christian humility, engrafted into the heart, the humility 
 of principle, of conscience, the only power to which native 
 pride ever will pay homage. 
 
 She knew that a command of almost any kind, laid upon 
 Gerty by herself or Uncle True, would be promptly obeyed ; for 
 in either case the little girl would know that the order was 
 given in love, and she would fulfil it in the same spirit; but 
 to provide for all contingencies, and to make the heart right as 
 well as the life, it was necessary to inspire her with a higher 
 motive than merely pleasing either of these friends; and in 
 teaching her the spirit of her Divine Master, Emily was making 
 her powerful to do and to suffer, to bear and to forbear, when, 
 depending on herself, she should be left to her own guidance 
 alone. How much Gerty had improved in the two years that 
 had passed since she first began to be so carefully instructed 
 and provided for, the course of our story must develop. We 
 cannot pause to dwell upon the trials and struggles, the failures 
 and victories, that she experienced. It is sufficient to say that 
 Miss Graham was satisfied and hopeful, True proud and over 
 joyed, while Mrs. Sullivan, and even old Mr. Cooper, declared 
 she had improved wonderfully in her behavior and her looks, 
 and was remarkably mannerly for such a child. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 85 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 No caprice of mind, 
 
 No passing influence of idle time, 
 
 No popular show, no clamor from the crowd 
 
 Can move him, erring, from the path of right. 
 
 W. G. SIMMS, 
 
 ONE Saturday evening in December, the third winter of 
 Gerty s residence \vith True, Willie came in with his French 
 books under his arm, and after the first salutations were over, 
 exclaimed, as he threw the grammar and dictionary upon the 
 table, "0, Gerty! before we begin to study I must tell you 
 and Uncle True the funniest thing that happened to-day; I 
 have been laughing so at home as I was telling mother about 
 it!" 
 
 "I heard you laugh, 7 said Gerty. "If I had not been so 
 busy, I should have gone into your mother s room, to hear 
 what it was so very droll. But, come, do tell us ! " 
 
 " Why, you will not think it s anything like a joke when 
 I begin; and I should not be so much amused, if she hadn t 
 been the very queerest old woman that ever I saw in my life." 
 
 " Old woman ! You have n t told us about any old woman ! " 
 
 "But I m going to," said Willie. "You noticed how every 
 thing was covered with ice this morning. How splendidly it 
 looked, did n t it ? I declare, when the sun shone on that great 
 elm-tree in front of our shop, I thought I never saw anything 
 so handsome in my life. But there, that s nothing to do with 
 my old woman, only that the sidewalks were just like every 
 thing else, a perfect glare." 
 
 "I know it," interrupted Gerty; "I fell down going to 
 school." 
 
 "Did you? " said Willie; "didn t you get hurt? " 
 
 "No, indeed. But go on; I want to hear about your old 
 woman." 
 
 "I was standing at the shop-door about eleven o clock, look 
 ing out, when I saw the strangest- looking figure that you ever 
 
86 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 imagined, coming down the street. I must tell you how she 
 was dressed. She did look so ridiculous ! She had on some 
 kind of a black silk or satin gown, made very scant, and 
 trimmed all round with some brownish-looking lace (black, I 
 suppose it had been once, but it isn t now); then she had a 
 gray cloak, of some sort of silk material, that you certainly 
 would have said came out of the ark, if it hadn t been for a 
 little cape, of a different color, that she wore outside of it, and 
 which must have dated a generation further back. I would 
 not undertake to describe her bonnet, only I know it was twice 
 as big as anybody s else, and she had a figured lace veil thrown 
 over one side, that reached nearly to her feet. But her goggles 
 were the crowner ; such immense, horrid - looking things I 
 never saw! She had a work-bag, made of black silk, with 
 pieces of cloth of all the colors in the rainbow sewed on to it 
 zigzag; then her pocket handkerchief was pinned to her bag, 
 and a great feather fan (only think, at this season of the year !), 
 that was pinned on somewhere (by a string, I suppose), and a 
 bundle handkerchief and a newspaper! 0, gracious! I can t 
 think of half the things; but they were all pinned together 
 with great brass pins, and hung in a body on her left arm, all 
 depending on the strength of the bag-string. Her dress, 
 though, was n t the strangest thing about her. What made it 
 too funny was to see her way of walking; she looked quite old 
 and infirm, and it was evident she could hardly keep her foot 
 ing on the ice ; and yet she walked with such a smirk, such a 
 consequential little air! 0, Gerty, it s lucky you did n t see 
 her; you d have laughed from then till this time." 
 
 "Some poor crazy crittur , wasn t she? " asked True. 
 
 " 0, no ! " said Willie ; " I don t think she was ; queer enough, 
 to be sure, but not crazy. Just as she got opposite the shop- 
 door her feet slipped, and the first thing I knew, she fell flat 
 on the sidewalk. I rushed out, for I thought the fall might 
 have killed the poor little thing; and Mr. Bray, and a gentle 
 man he was waiting upon, followed me. She did appear 
 stunned at first; but we carried her into the shop, and she 
 came to her senses in a minute or two. Crazy, you asked if 
 she were, Uncle True. No, not she! She s as bright as a 
 dollar. As soon as she opened her eyes, and seemed to know 
 what she was about, she felt for her work-bag and all its ap 
 pendages; counted them up, to see if the number were right, 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 87 
 
 and then nodded her head very satisfactorily. Mr. Bray 
 poured out a glass of cordial, and offered it to her. By this 
 time she had got her airs and graces back again ; so when he 
 recommended to her to swallow the cordial, she retreated, with 
 a little old-fashioned curtsey, and put up both hands to express 
 her horror at the idea of such a thing. The gentleman that 
 was standing by smiled, and advised her to take it, telling her 
 it would do her no harm. Upon that she turned round, made 
 another curtsey to him, and answered, in a little, cracked voice. 
 4 Can you assure me, sir, as a gentleman of candor and gallan 
 try, that it is not an exhilarating potion 1 The gentleman 
 could hardly keep from laughing; but he told her it was no 
 thing that would hurt her. Then/ said she, I will venture 
 to sip the beverage ; it has a most aromatic fragrance. She 
 seemed to like the taste as well as the smell, for she drank every 
 drop of it; and when she had set the glass down on the coun 
 ter, she turned to me and said, * Except upon this gentleman s 
 assurance of the harmlessness of the liquid, I would not have 
 swallowed it in your presence, my young master, if it were 
 only for the example. I have set my seal to no temperance 
 pledge, but I am abstemious because it becomes a lady; it is 
 with me a matter of choice a matter of taste. She now 
 seemed quite restored, and talked of starting again on her walk ; 
 but it really was not safe for her to go alone on the ice, and I 
 rather think Mr. Bray thought so, for he asked her where she 
 was going. She told him, in her roundabout way, that she was 
 proceeding to pass the day with Mistress somebody, that lived 
 in the neighborhood of the Common. I touched Mr. Bray s 
 arm, and said, in a low voice, that if he could spare me I d 
 go with her. He said he shouldn t want me for an hour; so 
 I offered her my arm, and told her I should be happy to wait 
 upon her. You ought to have seen her then ! If I had been 
 a grown-up man, and she a young lady, she couldn t have 
 tossed her head or giggled more. But she took my arm, and 
 we started off. I knew Mr. Bray and the gentleman were 
 laughing to see us, but I didn t care; I pitied the old lady, 
 and I did not mean she should get another tumble. 
 
 "Every person we met stared at us; and it s no wonder they 
 did, for we must have been a most absurd-looking couple. She 
 not only accepted my offered crook, but clasped her hands to 
 gether round it, making a complete handle of her two arms; 
 
88 THE LAMPLIGHTEE 
 
 and so she hung on with all her might. But there, I ought 
 not to laugh at the poor thing; for she needed somebody to 
 help her along, and I m sure she wasn t heavy enough to tire 
 me out, if she did make the most of herself. I wonder who 
 she belongs to. I shouldn t think her friends would let 
 her go about the streets so, especially such walking as it is 
 to-day." 
 
 "What s her name ?" inquired Gerty. "Didn t you find 
 out?" 
 
 "No," answered Willie; "she wouldn t tell me. I asked 
 her; but she only said, in her little, cracked voice (and here 
 Willie began to laugh immoderately), that she was the incog 
 nito, and that it was the part of a true and gallant knight to 
 discover the name of his fair lady. 0, I promise you, she was 
 a case ! Why, you never heard any one talk so ridiculously as 
 she did! I asked her how old she was. Mother says that 
 was very impolite, but it s the only uncivil thing I did or 
 said, as the old lady would testify herself, if she were here." 
 
 " How old is she ? " said Gerty. 
 
 "Sixteen." 
 
 " Why, Willie, what do you mean 1 " 
 
 "That s what she told me," returned Willie; "and a true 
 and gallant knight is bound to believe his fair lady." 
 
 " Poor body ! " said True ; " she s childish ! " 
 
 "No, she isn t, Uncle True," said Willie; "you d think 
 so part of the time, to hear her run on with her nonsense ; and 
 then the next minute she d speak as sensibly as anybody, and 
 say how much obliged she was to me for showing such a spirit 
 of conformity as to be willing to put myself to so much trouble 
 for the sake of an old woman like her. Just as we turned 
 into Beacon Street, we met a whole school of girls, blooming 
 beauties, handsome enough to kill, my old lady called them; 
 and from the instant they came in sight she seemed to take it 
 for granted I should try to get away from her, and run after 
 some of them. But she held on with a vengeance ! It s lucky 
 I had no idea of forsaking her, for it would have been im 
 possible. Some of them stopped and stared at us, of course, 
 I didn t care how much they stared; but she seemed to think I 
 should be terribly mortified ; and when we had passed them all, 
 she complimented me again and again on my spirit of con 
 formity, her favorite expression." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 89 
 
 Here Willie paused, quite out of breath. True clapped him 
 upon the shoulder. "Good boy, Willie!" said he; "clever 
 boy! You always look out for the old folks; and that s right. 
 Respect for the aged is a good thing; though your grandfather 
 says it s very much out of fashion." 
 
 "I don t know much about fashion, Uncle True; but I 
 should think it was a pretty mean sort of a boy that would see 
 an old lady get one fall on the ice, and not save her from 
 another by seeing her safe home." 
 
 "Willie s always kind to everybody," said Gerty. 
 
 "Willie s either a hero," said the boy, "or else he has got 
 two pretty good friends, I rather think it s the latter. But 
 come, Gerty ; Charles the XII. is waiting for us, and we must 
 study as much as we can to-night. We may not have another 
 chance very soon, for Mr. Bray isn t well this evening; he 
 seems threatened with a fever, and I promised to go back to 
 the shop after dinner to-morrow. If he should be sick, I shall 
 have plenty to do, without coming home at all." 
 
 "0, I hope Mr. Bray is not going to have a fever," said 
 True and Gerty, in the same breath. 
 
 "He s such a clever man! " said True. 
 
 "He s so good to you, Willie! " added Gerty. 
 
 Willie hoped not, too; but his hopes gave place to his fears, 
 when he found, on the following day, that his kind master was 
 not able to leave his bed, and the doctor pronounced his symp 
 toms alarming. 
 
 A typhoid fever set in, which in a few days terminated the 
 life of the excellent apothecary. 
 
 The death of Mr. Bray was so sudden and dreadful a blow 
 to Willie, that he did not at first realize the important bearing 
 the event had upon his own fortunes. The shop was closed, 
 the widow having determined to dispose of the stock and re 
 move into the country as soon as possible. 
 
 Willie was thus left without employment, and deprived of 
 Mr. Bray s valuable recommendation and assistance. His earn 
 ings during the past year had been very considerable, and had 
 added essentially to the comfort of his mother and grandfather, 
 who had thus been enabled to relax the severity of their own 
 labors. The thought of being a burden to them, even for a 
 day, was intolerable to the independent and energetic spirit of 
 the boy ; and he earnestly set himself to work to obtain another 
 
90 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 place. He commenced by applying to the different apotheca 
 ries in the city. But none of them wanted a youth of his age, 
 and one day was spent in fruitless inquiries. 
 
 He returned home at night disappointed, but not by any 
 means discouraged. If he could not obtain employment with 
 an apothecary, he would do something else. 
 
 But what should he do? That was the question. He had 
 long talks with his mother about it. She felt that his talents 
 and education entitled him to fill a position equal, certainly, to 
 that he had already occupied, and could not endure the thought 
 of his descending to more menial service. Willie, without too 
 much self-esteem, thought so too. He knew, indeed, that he 
 was capable of giving satisfaction in a station which required 
 more business talent than his situation at Mr. Bray s had ever 
 given scope to. But if he could not obtain such a place as he 
 desired, he would take what he could get. So he made every 
 possible inquiry; but he had no one to speak a good word for 
 him, and he could not expect people to feel confidence in a boy 
 concerning whom they knew nothing. 
 
 So he met with no success, and day after day returned home 
 silent and depressed. He dreaded to meet his mother and 
 grandfather after every fresh failure. The care-worn, patient 
 face of the former turned towards him so hopefully that he 
 could not bear to sadden it by the recital of any new disap 
 pointment; and his grandfather s incredulity in the possibility 
 of his ever having anything to do again was equally tantalizing, 
 so long as he saw no hope of convincing him to the contrary. 
 After a week or two, Mrs. Sullivan avoided asking him any 
 questions concerning the occurrences of the day ; for her watch 
 ful eye saw how much such inquiries pained him, and therefore 
 she waited for him to make his communications, if he had any. 
 
 Sometimes nothing was said, on either side, of the manner 
 in which Willie had passed his day. And many an application 
 did he make for employment, many a mortifying rebuff did he 
 receive, of which his mother never knew. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 9) 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Yet where an equal poise of hope and fear 
 Does arbitrate the event, my nature is 
 That I incline to hope, rather than fear. 
 
 COMUS. 
 
 THIS was altogether a new experience to Willie, and one of 
 the most trying he could have been called upon to bear. But 
 he bore it, and bore it bravely; kept all his worst struggles 
 from his anxious mother and desponding grandfather, and re 
 solved manfully to hope against hope. Gerty was now his 
 chief comforter. He told her all his troubles, and young as 
 she was, she was a wonderful consoler. Always looking on the 
 bright side, always prophesying better luck to-morrow, she did 
 much towards keeping up his hopes and strengthening his reso 
 lutions. Gerty was so quick, sagacious, and observing, that 
 she knew more than most children of the various ways in which 
 things are often brought about; and she sometimes made valu 
 able suggestions to Willie, of which he gladly availed himself. 
 Among others, she one day asked him if he had applied at the 
 intelligence offices. He had never thought of it, wondered 
 he had not, but would try the plan the very next day. He 
 did so, and for a time was buoyed up with the hopes held out 
 to him ; but they proved fleeting, and he was ^now almost in 
 despair, when his eye fell upon an advertisement in a news 
 paper, which seemed to afford still another chance. He showed 
 the notice to Gerty. It was just the thing. He had only to 
 apply; he was the very boy that man wanted, just fifteen, 
 smart, capable, and trustworthy, and would like, when he had 
 learned the business, to go into partnership. That was what 
 was required, and Willie was the very person, she was sure. 
 
 Gerty was so sanguine, that Willie presented himself the 
 next day at the place specified, with a more eager countenance 
 than he had ever yet worn. The gentleman, a sharp-looking 
 man, with very keen eyes, talked with him some time, asked 
 a great many questions, made the boy very uncomfortable by 
 
92 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 hinting his doubts about his capability and honesty, and finally 
 wound up by declaring that, under the most favorable circum 
 stances, and with the very best recommendations, he could not 
 think of engaging with any young man, unless his friends were 
 willing to take some interest in the concern, and invest a small 
 amount on his account. 
 
 This, of course, made the place out of the question for Wil 
 lie, even if he had liked the man which he did not, for he 
 felt in his heart that he was a knave, or not many degrees re 
 moved from one. 
 
 Until now he had never thought of despairing; but when 
 he went home after this last interview, it was with such a heavy 
 heart that it seemed to him utterly impossible to meet his 
 mother, and so he went directly to True s room. It was the 
 night before Christmas. True had gone out, and Gerty was 
 alone. There was a bright fire in the stove, and the room 
 was dimly lighted by the last rays of the winter sunset, and by 
 the glare of the coals, seen through one of the open doors of 
 the stove. 
 
 Gerty was engaged in stirring up an Indian cake for tea, 
 one of the few branches of the cooking department in which 
 she had acquired some little skill. She was just coming from 
 the pantry, with a scoop full of meal in her hand, when Willie 
 entered at the opposite door. The manner in which he tossed 
 his cap upon the settle, and, seating himself at the table, leaned 
 his head upon both his hands, betrayed at once to Gerty the 
 defeat the poor boy had met with in this last encounter with 
 ill fate. It was so unlike Willie to come in without even 
 speaking, it was such a strange thing to see his bright young 
 head bowed down with care, and his elastic figure looking tired 
 and old, that Gerty knew at once his brave heart had given 
 way. She laid down the scoop, and walking softly and slowly 
 up to him, touched his arm with her hand, and looked up anx 
 iously into his face. Her sympathetic touch and look were 
 more than he could bear. He laid his head on the table, and 
 in a minute more Gerty heard great heavy sobs, each one of 
 which sank deep into her soul. She often cried herself, it 
 seemed only natural ; but Willie, the laughing, happy, light- 
 hearted Willie, she had never seen him cry; she didn t 
 know he could. She crept up on the rounds of his chair, and 
 putting her arm round his neck whispered : 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 93 
 
 "I shouldn t mind, Willie, if I didn t get the place. I 
 don t believe it s a good place." 
 
 "I don t believe it is either," said Willie, lifting up his 
 head; "but what shall I do? I can t get any place, and I 
 can t stay here doing nothing." 
 
 "We like to have you at home," said Gerty. 
 
 "It s pleasant enough to be at home. I was always glad 
 enough to come when I lived at Mr. Bray s, and was earning 
 something, and could feel as if anybody was glad to see me." 
 
 "Everybody is glad to see you now." 
 
 "But not as they were then," said W T illie rather impatiently. 
 "Mother always looks as if she expected to hear I d got 
 something to do; and grandfather, I believe, never thought 
 I should be good for much; and now, just as I was begin 
 ning to earn something, and be a help to them, I ve lost my 
 chance ! " 
 
 "But that ain t your fault, Willie; you couldn t help Mr. 
 Bray s dying. I shouldn t think Mr. Cooper would blame 
 you for not having anything to do now." 
 
 "He don t blame me; but if you were in my place you d 
 feel just as I do, to see him sit in his armchair evenings, and 
 groan and look up at me, as much as to say, It s you I m 
 groaning about. He thinks this is a dreadful world, and that 
 he s never seen any good luck in it himself; so I suppose he 
 thinks I never shall." 
 
 "/ think you will," said Gerty. "I think you ll be rich, 
 some time and then won t he be astonished?" 
 
 "0 Gerty! you re a nice child, and think I can do any 
 thing. If ever I am rich, I promise to go shares with you ; 
 but," added he despondingly, " t ain t so easy. I used to 
 think I could make money when I grew up; but it s pretty 
 slow business." 
 
 Here he was on the point of leaning down upon the table 
 again and giving himself up to melancholy, but Gerty caught 
 hold of his hands. "Come," said she, "Willie. Don t think 
 any more about it. People have troubles always, but they get 
 over em ; perhaps next week you 11 be in a better shop than 
 Mr. Bray s, and we shall be as happy as ever. Do you know," 
 said she, by way of changing the subject (a species of tact 
 which children understand as well as grown people), "it s just 
 two years to-night since I came here ? " 
 
94 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 " Is it ? " said Willie. " Did Uncle True bring you home 
 with him the night before Christmas 1 " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why, that was Santa Glaus carrying you to good things, 
 instead of bringing good things to you, wasn t it? " 
 
 Gerty did not know anything about Santa Glaus, that special 
 friend of children ; and Willie, who had only lately read about 
 him in some book, undertook to tell her what he knew of the 
 veteran toy dealer. 
 
 Finding the interest of the subject had engaged his thoughts 
 in spite of himself, Gerty returned to her cooking, listening 
 attentively, however, to his story, while she stirred up the 
 corn-cake. When he had finished, she was just putting her 
 cake in the oven ; and as she sat on her knee by the stove, 
 swinging the handle of the oven door in her hand, her eyes 
 twinkled with such a merry look that Willie exclaimed, "What 
 are you thinking of, Gerty, that makes you look so sly ? " 
 
 " I was thinking that perhaps Santa Glaus would come for 
 you to-night. If he comes for folks that need something, I 
 expect he 11 come for you, and carry you to some place where 
 you 11 have a chance to grow rich." 
 
 "Very likely," said Willie, "he 11 clap me into his bag, and 
 trudge off with me as a prest,nt to somebody, some old 
 Croesus, that will give me a fortune for the asking. I do hope 
 he will; for if I don t get something to do before New Year, 
 I shall give up in despair." 
 
 True now came in, and interrupted the children s conversa 
 tion by the display of a fine turkey, a Christmas present from 
 Mr. Graham. He had also a book for Gerty, a gift from 
 Emily. 
 
 "Isn t that queer 1" exclaimed Gerty. "Willie was just 
 saying you were my Santa Glaus, Uncle True ; and I do believe 
 you are." As she spoke she opened the book, and in the 
 frontispiece was a portrait of that individual. "It looks like 
 him, Willie; I declare it does!" shouted she; "a fur cap, a 
 pipe, and just such a pleasant face! O! Uncle True, if you 
 only had a sack full of toys over your shoulder, instead of your 
 lantern and that great turkey, you would be a complete Santa 
 Glaus. Haven t you got anything for Willie, Uncle True? " 
 
 "Yes, I ve got a little something; but I m afeared he won t 
 think much on t. It s only a bit of a note." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 95 
 
 "A note for me?" inquired Willie. "Who can it be 
 from 1 
 
 "Can t say," said True, fumbling in his great pockets; 
 "only just round the corner I met a man who stopped me to 
 inquire where Mis Sullivan lived. I told him she lived jist 
 here, and I d show him the house. When he saw I belonged 
 here too, he give me this little scrap o paper, and asked me to 
 hand it over, as it was directed to Master William Sullivan. 
 I s pose that s you, ain t it? " 
 
 He now handed Willie the slip of paper; and the boy, tak 
 ing True s lantern in his hand, and holding the note up to the 
 light, read aloud : 
 
 "K. H. Clinton would like to see William Sullivan on 
 Thursday morning, between ten and eleven o clock, at No. 
 13 _ -Wharf." 
 
 Willie looked up in amazement. " What does it mean 1 " 
 said he; "I don t know any such person." 
 
 "I know who he is," said True; "why, it s he as lives in 
 
 the great stone house in Street. He s a rich man, and 
 
 that s the number of his store his counting-room, rather, 
 on Wharf." 
 
 "What, father to those pretty children we used to see in the 
 window ? " 
 
 "The very same." 
 
 "What can he want of me ? " 
 
 "Very like he wants your sarvices," suggested True. 
 
 "Then it s a place!" cried Gerty, "a real good one, and 
 Santa Claus came and brought it ! I said he would ! Wil 
 lie, I m so glad! " 
 
 Willie did not know whether to be glad or not. It was such 
 a strange message, coming too from an utter stranger. He could 
 not but hope, as Gerty and True did, that it might prove the 
 dawning of some good fortune; but he had reasons, of which 
 they were not aware, for believing that no offer from this quar 
 ter could be available to him, and therefore made them both 
 promise to give no hint of the matter to his mother or Mr. 
 Cooper. 
 
 On Thursday, which was the next day but one, being the 
 day after Christmas, Willie presented himself at the appointed 
 time and place. Mr. Clinton, a gentlemanly man, with a 
 friendly countenance, received him very kindly, asked him but 
 
96 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 few questions, and did not even mention such a thing as a re 
 commendation from his former employer; but telling him that 
 he was in want of a young man to fill the place of junior clerk 
 in his counting-room, offered him the situation. Willie hesi 
 tated; for though the offer was most encouraging to his future 
 prospects, Mr. Clinton made no mention of any salary; and 
 that was a thing the youth could not dispense with. Seeing 
 that he was undecided, Mr. Clinton said, "Perhaps you do not 
 like my proposal, or have already made some other engage 
 ment. " 
 
 "]S"o, indeed," answered Willie quickly. "You are very 
 kind to feel so much confidence in a stranger as to be willing to 
 receive me, and your offer is a most unexpected and welcome 
 one ; but I have been in a retail store, where I obtained regular 
 earnings, which were very important to my mother and grand 
 father. I had far rather be in a counting-room like yours, sir, 
 and I think I might learn to be of use ; but I know there are 
 numbers of boys, sons of rich men, who would be glad to be 
 employed by you, and would ask no compensation for their 
 services; so that I could not expect any salary, at least for 
 some years. I should, indeed, be well repaid, at the end of 
 that time, by the knowledge I might gain of mercantile affairs ; 
 but unfortunately, sir, I can no more afford it than I could 
 afford to go to college. 7 
 
 The gentleman smiled. "How did you know so much of 
 these matters, my young friend 1 " 
 
 "I have heard, sir, from boys who were at school with me 
 and are now clerks in mercantile houses, that they received no 
 pay, and I always considered it a perfectly fair arrangement; 
 but it was the reason why I felt bound to content myself with 
 the position I held in an apothecary s shop, which, though it 
 was not suited to my taste, enabled me to support myself, and 
 to relieve my mother, who is a widow, and my grandfather, 
 who is old and poor." 
 
 " Your grandfather is " 
 
 "Mr. Cooper, sexton of Mr. Arnold s church." 
 
 "Aha!" said Mr. Clinton; "I know him." 
 
 "What you say, W illiam," added he, after a moment s pause, 
 "is perfectly true. We are not in the habit of paying any 
 salary to our young clerks, and are overrun with applications 
 at that rate; but I have heard good accounts of you, my boy 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 97 
 
 (I sha n t tell you where I had my information, though I see 
 you look very curious), and, moreover, I like your countenance, 
 and believe you will serve me faithfully. So, if you will tell 
 me what you received from Mr. Bray, I will pay you the same 
 next year, and after that, increase your salary, if I find you 
 deserve it; and if you please, you shall commence with me 
 the first of January." 
 
 Willie thanked Mr. Clinton in the fewest possible words, 
 and hastened away. 
 
 The senior clerk, who, as he leaned over his accounts, lis 
 tened to the conversation, thought the boy did not express much 
 gratitude, considering the unusual generosity of the merchant s 
 offer. But the merchant himself, who was watching the boy s 
 countenance, while despondency gave place to surprise, and 
 surprise again was superseded by hope, joy, and a most sincere 
 thankfulness, saw there a gratitude too deep to express itself 
 in words, and remembered the time when he too, the only son 
 of his mother, and she a widow, had come alone to the city, 
 sought long for employment, and, finding it at last, had sat 
 down to write and tell her how he hoped soon to earn enough 
 for himself and her. 
 
 The grass had been growing on that parent s grave, far back 
 in the country, more than twenty years, and the merchant s 
 face was furrowed with the lines of care; but as he returned 
 slowly to his desk, and unconsciously traced, on a blank sheet 
 of paper and with a dry pen, the words "Dear mother," she 
 for the time became a living image, he a boy again, and those 
 invisible words were the commencement of the very letter that 
 carried her the news of his good fortune. 
 
 No. The boy was not ungrateful, or the merchant would 
 not thus have been reminded of the time when his own heart 
 had been so deeply stirred. 
 
 And the spirits of those mothers who have wept, prayed, 
 and thanked God over similar communications from much loved 
 sons, may know how to rejoice and sympathize with good little 
 Mrs. Sullivan when she heard from Willie the joyful tidings. 
 Mr. Cooper and Gerty also have their prototypes in many an 
 old man, whose dim and world-worn eye lights up occasionally 
 with the hope that, disappointed as he has been himself, he 
 cannot help cherishing for his grandson; and in many a proud 
 little sister, who now sees her noble brother appreciated by 
 
98 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 others, as he has always been by her. Nor, on such an occa 
 sion, is the band of rejoicing once complete, without some such 
 hearty friend as True to come in unexpectedly, tap the boy on 
 the shoulder, and exclaim, "Ah! Master Willie, they needn t 
 have worried about you, need they? I ve told your grand 
 father more than once that I was of the pinion twould all 
 come out right at last." 
 
 The great mystery of the whole mattei was Mr. Clinton s 
 ever having heard of Willie at all. Mrs. Sullivan thought over 
 all her small circle of acquaintances, and suggested a great many 
 impossible ways. But as with much conjecturing they came 
 no nearer to the truth, they finally concluded to do as Gerty 
 did, set it all down to the agency of Santa Glaus. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 99 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 Whether the day its wonted course renewed 
 Or midnight vigils wrapt the world in shade, 
 Her tender task assiduous she pursued, 
 To soothe his anguish, or his wants to aid. 
 
 BLACKLOCK. 
 
 "I WONDER," said Miss Peekout, as she leaned both her 
 hands on the sill of the front window, and looked up and down 
 the street, a habit in which she indulged herself for about 
 ten minutes, after she had washed up the breakfast things, and 
 before she trimmed the solar lamp, "I wonder who that 
 slender girl is that walks by here every morning, with that fee 
 ble-looking old man leaning on her arm ! I always see them 
 at just about this time, when the weather and walking are 
 good. She s a nice child, I know, and seems to be very fond 
 of the old man, probably her grandfather. I notice she s 
 careful to leave the best side of the walk for him, and she 
 watches every step he takes ; she needs to, indeed, for he totters 
 sadly. Poor little thing! she looks pale and anxious; I won 
 der if she takes all the care of the old man ! " But they are 
 quite out of sight, and Miss Peekout turns round to wonder 
 whether the solar lamp doesn t need a new wick. 
 
 "I wonder" said old Mrs. Grumble, as she sat at her win 
 dow, a little further down the street, "if I should live to be 
 old and infirm (Mrs. Grumble was over seventy, but as yet 
 suffered from no infirmity but that of a very irritable temper), 
 I wonder if anybody would wait upon me, and take care of 
 me, as that little girl does of her grandfather! No, I ll war 
 rant not ! Who can the patient little creature be ? " 
 
 "There, look, Belle," said one young girl to another, as they 
 walked up the shady side of the street, on their way to school, 
 "there s the girl that we meet every day with the old man. 
 How can you say you don t think she s pretty? I admire her 
 looks!" 
 
 "You always do manage, Kitty, to admire people that 
 everybody else thinks are horrid looking." 
 
100 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "Horrid looking!" replied Kitty, in a provoked tone; 
 "she s anything but horrid looking! Do notice now, Belle, 
 when we meet them, she has the sweetest way of looking up 
 in the old man s face, and talking to him. I wonder what is 
 the matter with him. Do see how his arm shakes, the one 
 that s passed through hers." 
 
 The two couples are now close to each other, and they pass 
 in silence. 
 
 "Don t you think she has an interesting face? " said Kitty 
 eagerly, as soon as they were out of hearing. 
 
 "She s got handsome eyes," answered Belle. "I don t see 
 anything else that looks interesting about her. I wonder if 
 she don t hate to have to walk in the street with that old grand 
 father; trudging along so slow, with the sun shining right in 
 her face, and he leaning on her arm, and shaking so he can 
 hardly stand on his feet! I wouldn t do it for anything." 
 
 "Why, Belle!" exclaimed Kitty, "how can you talk so? 
 I m sure I pity that old man dreadfully." 
 
 "Lor!" said Belle, "what s the use of pitying 1 ? If you are 
 going to begin to pity, you 11 have to do it all the time. 
 Look," and here Belle touched her companion s elbow, 
 "there s Willie Sullivan, father s clerk; ain t he a beauty? I 
 want to stop and speak to him." 
 
 But before she could address a word to him, Willie, who was 
 walking very fast, passed her with a bow and a pleasant " Good- 
 morning, Miss Isabel ; " and ere she had recovered from the sur 
 prise and disappointment was some rods down the street. 
 
 "Polite ! " muttered the pretty Isabel. 
 
 "Why, Belle! do see," said Kitty, who was looking back 
 over her shoulder, "he s overtaken the old man and my inter 
 esting little girl. Look, look! He s put the old man s 
 other arm through his, and they are all three walking off to 
 gether. Isn t that quite a coincidence?" 
 
 "Nothing very remarkable," replied Belle, who seemed a 
 little annoyed. "I suppose they are persons he s acquainted 
 with. Come, make haste; we shall be late at school." 
 
 Reader! Do you wonder who they are, the girl and the old 
 man ? or have you already conjectured that they are no other 
 than Gerty and Trueman Flint? True is no longer the brave, 
 strong, sturdy protector of the feeble, lonely little child. The 
 cases are quite reversed. True has had a paralytic stroke. His 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER IjOl. 
 
 strength is gone, his power even to walk alone. He sits ail 
 day in his armchair, or on the old settle, when he is not out 
 walking with Gerty. The blow came suddenly, struck down 
 the robust man, and left him feeble as a child. And the little 
 stranger, the orphan girl, who, in her weakness, her loneliness, 
 and her poverty, found in him a father and a mother, she now 
 is all the world to him, his staff, his stay, his comfort, and his 
 hope. During four or five years that he has cherished the frail 
 blossom, she has been gaining strength for the time when he 
 should be the leaning, she the sustaining power; and when the 
 time came, and it came full soon, she was ready to re 
 spond to the call. With the simplicity of a child, but a wo 
 man s firmness; with the stature of a child, but a woman s 
 capacity; the earnestness of a child, but a woman s persever 
 ance, from morning till night, the faithful little nurse and 
 housekeeper labors untiringly in the service of her first, her 
 best friend. Ever at his side, ever attending to his wants, and 
 yet most wonderfully accomplishing many things which he 
 never sees her do, she seems, indeed, to the fond old man, 
 what he once prophesied she would become, God s embodied 
 blessing to his latter years, making light his closing days, and 
 cheering even the pathway to the grave. 
 
 Though disease had robbed Truq s limbs of all their power, 
 the blast had happily spared his mind, which was clear and 
 tranquil as ever; while his pious heart was fixed in humble 
 trust on that God whose presence and love he had ever acknow 
 ledged, and on whom he so fully relied, that even in this bitter 
 trial he was able to say, in perfect submission, "Thy will not 
 mine be done ! " Little did those who wondered, as day after 
 day they watched the invalid and his childish guardian, at the 
 patience and self-sacrifice of the devoted girl, little did they 
 understand the emotions of Gerty s loving, grateful heart. 
 Little did they realize the joy it was to her to sustain and sup 
 port her beloved friend. Little did she, who would have been 
 too proud to walk with the old paralytic, know what Gerty s 
 pride was made of. She would have wondered, had she been 
 told that the heart of the girl, whom she would have pitied, 
 could she have spared time to pity any one, had never swelled 
 with so fervent and noble a satisfaction as when, with the trem 
 bling old man leaning on her arm, she gloried in the burden. 
 
 The outward world was nothing at all to her. She cared 
 
1Q2 
 
 TEE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 not for the conjectures of the idle, the curious, or the vain. 
 She lived for True now ; she might almost be said to live in 
 him, so wholly were her thoughts bent on promoting his happi 
 ness, prolonging and blessing his days. 
 
 It had not long been thus. Only about two months previous 
 to the morning of which we have been speaking had True been 
 stricken down with this weighty affliction. He had been in 
 failing health, but had still been able to attend to all his duties 
 and labors, until one day in the month of June, when Gerty 
 went into his room, and found, to her surprise, that he had 
 not risen, although it was much later than his usual hour. On 
 going to the bedside and speaking to him, she perceived that 
 he looked strangely, and had lost the power of replying to her 
 questions. Bewildered and frightened, she ran to call Mrs. 
 Sullivan. A physician was summoned, the case pronounced 
 one of paralysis, and for a time there seemed reason to fear that 
 it would prove fatal. He soon, however, began to amend, re 
 covered his speech, and in a week or two was well enough to 
 walk about with Gerty s assistance. 
 
 The doctor had recommended as much gentle exercise as pos 
 sible ; and every pleasant morning, before the day grew warm, 
 Gerty presented herself, bonneted and equipped for those walks 
 which, unknown to her, excited so much observation. She 
 usually took advantage of this opportunity to make such little 
 household purchases as were necessary, that she might not be 
 compelled to go out again and leave True alone, that being a 
 thing she as much as possible avoided doing. 
 
 On the occasion already alluded to, Willie accompanied them 
 as far as the provision shop, which was their destination; and 
 
 having seen True comfortably seated, proceeded to Wharf, 
 
 while Gerty stepped up to the counter to bargain for the din 
 ner. She purchased a bit of veal suitable for broth, gazed wish 
 fully at some tempting summer vegetables, turned away, and 
 sighed. She held in her hand the wallet which contained all 
 their money ; it had now been in her keeping for some weeks, 
 and was growing light, so she knew it was no use to think 
 about the vegetables ; and she sighed, because she remembered 
 how much Uncle True enjoyed the green peas last year. 
 
 "How much is the meat?" asked she of the rosy-cheeked 
 butcher, who was wrapping it up in a paper. 
 
 He named the sum. It was very little; so little that it 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 103 
 
 almost seemed to Gerty as if he had seen into her purse, and 
 her thoughts too, and knew how glad she would be that it did 
 not cost any more. As he handed her the change, he leaned 
 over the counter, and asked, in an undertone, what kind of 
 nourishment Mr. Flint was able to take. 
 
 "The doctor said any wholesome food," replied Gerty. 
 
 "Don t you think he d relish some green peas? I ve got 
 some first-rate ones, fresh from the country ; and if you think 
 he d eat em, I should like to send you some. My boy shall 
 take round half a peck or so, and I 11 put the meat right in 
 the same basket." 
 
 "Thank you," said Gerty; "he likes green peas." 
 
 "Very well, very well! Then I 11 send him some beauties," 
 and he turned away to wait upon another customer so quick, 
 that Gerty thought he did not see how the color came into her 
 face and the tears into her eyes. But he did see, and that was 
 the reason he turned away so quickly. He was a clever fellow, 
 that rosy-cheeked butcher! 
 
 True had an excellent appetite, enjoyed and praised the din 
 ner exceedingly, and after eating heartily of it fell asleep in his 
 chair. 
 
 The moment he awoke, Gerty sprung to his side, exclaiming, 
 "Uncle True, here s Miss Emily! here s dear Miss Emily 
 come to see you ! " 
 
 " The Lord bless you, my dear, dear young lady ! " said True, 
 trying to rise from his chair and go towards her. 
 
 "Don t rise, Mr. Flint, I beg you will not," exclaimed 
 Emily, whose quick ear perceived the motion. "From what 
 Gerty tells me, I fear you are not able. Please give me a 
 chair, Gerty, nearer to Mr. Flint." 
 
 She drew near, took True s hand, but looked inexpressibly 
 shocked as she observed how tremulous it had become. 
 
 "Ah, Miss Emily!" said he; "I m not the same man as 
 when I saw you last; the Lord has given me a warnin , and 
 I sha n t be here long! " 
 
 "I m so sorry I did not know of this!" said Emily. "I 
 should have come to see you before, but I never heard of your 
 illness until to-day. George, my father s man, saw you and 
 Gertrude at a shop this morning, and mentioned it to me as 
 soon as he came out of town. I have been telling this little 
 girl that she should have sent me word." 
 
104 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 Gerty was standing by True s chair, smoothing his gray 
 locks with her slender fingers. As Emily mentioned her name, 
 he turned and looked at her. 0, what a look of love he gave 
 her ! Gerty never forgot it. 
 
 "Miss Emily," said he, " twas no need for anybody to be 
 troubled. The Lord provided for me, his own self. All the 
 doctors and nurses in the land couldn t have done half as much 
 for me as this little gal o mine.* It wa n t at all in my mind, 
 some four or five years gone, when I brought the little bare 
 foot mite of a thing to my home, and when she was sick and 
 e en a most dyin in this very room, and I carried her in my 
 arms night and day, that her turn would come so soon. Ah ! 
 I little thought then, Miss Emily, how the Lord would lay me 
 low, how those very same feet would run about in my ser 
 vice, how her bit of a hand would come in the dark nights to 
 smooth my pillow, and I d go about daytimes leaning on her 
 little arm. Truly God s ways are not like our ways, nor his 
 thoughts like our thoughts." 
 
 "0, Uncle True! " said Gerty, "I don t do much for you; I 
 wish I could do a great deal more. I wish I could make you 
 strong again. " 
 
 "I dare say you do, my darlin , but that can t be in this 
 world; you ve given me what s far better than strength o 
 body. Yes, Miss Emily," added he, turning again towards the 
 blind girl, " it s you we have to thank for all the comfort we 
 enjoy. I loved my little birdie ; but I was a foolish man, and 
 I should ha spiled her. You knew better what was for her 
 good, and mine too. You made her what she is now, one of 
 the lambs of Christ, a handmaiden of the Lord. If anybody d 
 told me six months ago that I should become a poor cripple, 
 and sit in my chair all day, and not know who was going to 
 furnish a livin for me or birdie either, I should ha said I 
 never could bear my lot with patience, or keep up any heart at 
 all. But I ve learned a lesson from this little one. When I 
 first got so I could speak, after the shock, and tell what was in 
 my mind, I was so mightily troubled a thinkin of my sad case, 
 and Gerty with nobody to work or do anything for her, that 
 I took on bad enough, and said, c What shall we do now 1 
 what shall we do now ? And then she whispered in my ear. 
 God will take care of us, Uncle True ! And when I forgot 
 tlie sayin , and asked, Who will feed and clothe us now? 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 105 
 
 she said again, The Lord will provide. And in my deepest 
 distress of all, when one night I was full of anxious thoughts 
 about my child, I said aloud, If I die, who will take care o 
 Gerty ? the little thing, that I supposed was sound asleep in 
 her bed, laid her head down beside me and said, * Uncle True, 
 when I was turned out into the dark street all alone, and had 
 no friends nor any home, my Heavenly Father sent you to me; 
 and now, if he wants you to come to him, and is not ready to 
 take me too, he will send somebody else to take care of me the 
 rest of the time I stay. After that, Miss Emily, I gave up 
 worry in any more. Her words, and the blessed teachin s of 
 the Holy Book that she reads me every day, have sunk deep 
 into my heart, and I m at peace. 
 
 "I used to think that, if I lived and had my strength spared 
 me, Gerty would be able to go to school and get a sight o larn- 
 in , for she has a nateral lurch for it, and it comes easy to her. 
 She s but a slender child, and I never could bear the thought 
 of her bein driv to hard work for a livin ; she don t seem 
 made for it somehow. I hoped, when she grew up, to see her 
 a schoolmistress, like Miss Browne, or somethin in that line; 
 but I ve done bein vexed about it now. I know, as she says, 
 it s all for the best, or it wouldn t be." 
 
 When he finished speaking, Gerty, whose face had been hid 
 against his shoulder, looked up and said bravely, "0, Uncle 
 True, I m sure I can do almost any kind of work. Mrs. Sul 
 livan says I sew very well, and I can learn to be a milliner or 
 a dressmaker; that isn t hard work." 
 
 "Mr. Flint," said Emily, "would you be willing to trust 
 your child with me 1 If you should be taken from her, would 
 you feel as if she were safe in my charge ? " 
 
 "Miss Emily," said True, "would I think her safe in angel 
 keepin 1 I should believe her in little short o that, if she 
 :ould have you to watch over her." 
 
 "0, do not say that," said Miss Emily, "or I shall be afraid 
 to undertake so solemn a trust. I know too well that my want 
 of sight, my ill health, and my inexperience almost unfit me 
 for the care of a child like Gerty. But since you approve of 
 the teaching I have already given her, and are so kind as to 
 think a great deal better of me than I deserve, I know you will 
 at least believe in the sincerity of my wish to be of use to her : 
 and if it will be any comfort to you to know that in case of 
 
106 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 your death I will gladly take Gerty to my home, see that she 
 is well educated, and as long as I live, provide for and take 
 care of her, you have my solemn assurance (and here she laid 
 her hand on his) that it shall be done, and that to the best of 
 my ability I will try to make her happy." 
 
 Gerty s first impulse was to rush towards Emily, and fling 
 her arms around her neck; but she was arrested in the act, for 
 she observed that True was weeping like an infant. In an in 
 stant his feeble head was resting upon her bosom; her hand 
 was wiping away the great tears that had rushed to his eyes. 
 It was an easy task, for they were tears of joy, of a joy that 
 had quite unnerved him in his present state of prostration and 
 weakness. 
 
 The proposal was so utterly foreign to his thoughts or expec 
 tations, that it seemed to him a hope too bright to be relied 
 upon; and after a moment s pause, an idea occurring to him 
 which seemed to increase his doubts, he gave utterance to it in 
 the words, "But your father, Miss Emily! Mr. Graham! 
 he s partickler, and not over young now. I m af eared he 
 wouldn t like a little gal in the house." 
 
 "My father is indulgent to me," replied Emily; "he would 
 not object to any plan I had at heart, and I have become so 
 much attached to Gertrude that she would be of great use and 
 comfort to me. I trust, Mr. Flint, that you will recover a 
 portion at least of your health and strength, and be spared to 
 her for many a year yet; but in order that you may in no case 
 feel any anxiety on her account, I take this opportunity to tell 
 you that, if I should outlive you, she will be sure of a home 
 with me." 
 
 "Ah, Miss Emily!" said the old man, "my time s about 
 out, I feel right sure o that; and since you re willin , you 11 
 soon be called to take charge on her. I haven t forgot how 
 tossed I was in my mind, the day after I brought her home 
 with me, with thinkin that p raps I wasn t fit to undertake 
 the care of such a little thing, and hadn t ways to make her 
 comfortable; and then, Miss Emily, do you remember you said 
 to me, * You ve done quite right; the Lord will bless and re 
 ward you ? I ve thought many a time since that you was a 
 true prophet, and that your words were, what I thought em 
 then, a whisper right from heaven! And now you talk o 
 doin the same thing yourself: and I, that am just goin home 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 107 
 
 to God, and feel as if I read his ways clearer than ever afore, 
 I tell you, Miss Emily, that you re doin right, too; and if 
 the Lord rewards you as he has done me, there 11 come a time 
 when this child will pay you back in love and care all you ever 
 do for her. Gerty." 
 
 "She s not here," said Emily; "I heard her run into her 
 own room." 
 
 "Poor birdie!" said True, "she doesn t like to hear o my 
 leavin her; I m sad to think how some day soon she 11 almost 
 sob her heart away over her old uncle. Never mind now ! I 
 was goin to bid her be a good child to you; but I think she 
 will without biddin ; and I can say my say to her another time. 
 Good-by, my dear young lady ; " for Emily had risen to go, 
 and George, the man-servant, was waiting at the door for her, 
 "if I never see you again, remember that you ve made an 
 old man so happy that he s nothing in this world left to wish 
 for; and that you carry with you a dyin man s best blessin , 
 and his prayer that God may grant such perfect peace to your 
 last days as now He does to mine," 
 
 That evening, when True had already retired to rest, and 
 Gerty had finished reading aloud in her little Bible, as she 
 always did at bedtime, True called her to him, and asked her, 
 as he had often done of late, to repeat his favorite prayer for 
 the sick. She knelt at his bedside, and with a solemn and 
 touching earnestness fulfilled his request. 
 
 "Now, darlin , the prayer for the dyin ; isn t there such 
 a one in your little book ? " 
 
 Gerty trembled. There was such a prayer, a beautiful one; 
 and the thoughtful child, to whom the idea of death was famil 
 iar, knew it by heart, but could she repeat the words ? 
 Could she command her voice ? Her whole frame shook with 
 agitation; but Uncle True wished to hear it, it would be a 
 comfort to him, and she would try. Concentrating all her en 
 ergy and self-command, she began, and gaining strength as she 
 proceeded, went on to the end. Once or twice her voice fal 
 tered, but with new effort she succeeded, in spite of the great 
 bunches in her throat ; and her voice sounded so clear and calm 
 that Uncle True s devotional spirit was not once disturbed by 
 the thought of the girl s sufferings; for, fortunately, he could 
 not hear how her heart beat and throbbed, and threatened to 
 burst. 
 
108 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 She did not rise at the conclusion of the prayer, she could 
 not, but remained kneeling, her head buried in the bed 
 clothes. For a few moments there was a solemn stillness in the 
 room, then the old man laid his hand upon her head. 
 
 She looked up. 
 
 "You love Miss Emily, don t you, birdie?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed." 
 
 "You 11 be a good child to her, when I m gone? " 
 
 "0, Uncle True!" sobbed Gerty, "you mustn t leave me! 
 I can t live without you, dear Uncle True! " 
 
 "It is God s will to take me, Gerty; he has always been 
 good to us, and we mustn t doubt him now. Miss Emily can 
 do more for you than I could, and you 11 be very happy with 
 her." 
 
 "No, I sha n t ! I sha n t ever be happy again in this 
 world; I never was happy until I came to you; and now, if you 
 die, I wish I could die too ! " 
 
 "You mustn t wish that, darlin ; you are young, and must 
 try to do good in the world, and bide your time. I m an old 
 man, and only a trouble now." 
 
 "Iso, no, Uncle True ! " said Gerty earnestly; "you are not 
 a trouble, you never could be a trouble! I wish I d never 
 been so much trouble to you." 
 
 "So far from that, birdie, God knows you J ve long been my 
 heart s delight! It only pains me now to think that you re a 
 spendin all your time, and slavin here at home, instead of 
 goin to school, as you used to; but 0! we all depend on each 
 other so! first on God, and then on each other! And that 
 minds me, Gerty, of what I was goin to say. I feel as if the 
 Lord would call me soon, sooner than you think for now; and 
 at first you ll cry, and be sore vexed, no doubt; but Miss 
 Emily will take you with her, and she 11 tell you blessed 
 things to comfort you, how we shall all meet again and be 
 happy in that world where there s no partin s, and Willie 11 
 do everything he can to help you in your sorrer; and in time 
 you 11 be able to smile again. At first, and p raps for a long 
 time, Gerty, you 11 be a care to Miss Emily, and she 11 have 
 to do a deal for you in the way o schoolin , clothin , and so 
 on; and what I want to tell you is, that Uncle True expects 
 you 11 be as good as can be, and do just what Miss Emily says; 
 and by and by maybe, when you re bigger and older, you 11 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 109 
 
 be able to do somethin for her. She s blind, you know, and 
 you must be eyes for her; and she s not over strong, and you 
 must lend a helpin hand to her weakness, just as you do to 
 mine; and if you re good and patient, God will make your 
 heart light at last, while you re only tryin to make other folks 
 happy; and when you re sad and troubled (for everybody is 
 sometimes), then think of old Uncle True, and how he used to 
 say, Cheer up, birdie, for I m of the pinion t will all come 
 out right at last. There, don t feel bad about it; go to bed, 
 daiiin , and to-morrow we 11 have a nice walk, and Willie s 
 goin with us, you know." 
 
 Gerty tried to cheer up for True s sake, and went to bed. 
 She did not sleep for some hours; but when at last she did 
 fall into a quiet slumber, it continued unbroken until morning. 
 
 She dreamed that morning was already come; that she and 
 Uncle True and Willie were taking a pleasant walk; that 
 Uncle True was strong and well again, his eye bright, his 
 step firm, and Willie and herself laughing and happy. 
 
 And while she dreamed the beautiful dream, little thinking 
 that her first friend and she should no longer tread life s paths 
 together, the messenger came, a gentle, noiseless messenger, 
 and in the still night, while the world was asleep, took the 
 soul of good old True, and carried it home to God ! 
 
110 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 The stars are mansions built by Nature s hand; 
 And, haply, there the spirits of the blest 
 Dwell, clothed in radiance, their immortal vest. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Two months have passed since Trueman Flint s death, and 
 Gertrude has for a week been domesticated in Mr. Graham s 
 family. It was through the newspaper that Emily first heard 
 of the little girl s sudden loss, and immediately acquainting 
 her father with her wishes and plans concerning the child, she 
 found she had no opposition to fear from him. He reminded 
 her, however, of the inconvenience that would attend Ger 
 trude s coming to them at once, as they were soon to start on 
 a visit to some distant relatives, from which they would not 
 return until it was nearly time to remove to the city for the 
 winter. Emily felt the force of this objection; for although 
 Mrs. Ellis would be at home during their absence, she knew 
 that, even were she willing to undertake the charge of Gertrude, 
 she would be a very unfit person to console her in her time of 
 sorrow and affliction. 
 
 This thought troubled Emily, who now considered herself 
 the orphan girl s sole protector, and she regretted much that 
 this unusual journey should take place so inopportunely. 
 There was no help for it, however, for Mr. Graham s plans 
 were arranged, and must not be interfered with, unless she 
 would make Gertrude s coming, at the very outset, unwelcome 
 and disagreeable. She started for town, therefore, the next 
 morning, quite undecided what course to pursue under the 
 circumstances. 
 
 The day was Sunday, but Emily s errand was one of charity 
 and love, and would not admit of delay ; and an hour before 
 the time for morning service, Mrs. Sullivan, who stood at her 
 open window, which looked out upon the street, saw Mr. Gra 
 ham s carryall stop at the door. She ran to meet Emily, and, 
 with the politeness and kindness always observable in her, 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 111 
 
 waited upon her into her neat parlor, guided her to a comfort 
 able seat, placed in her hand a fan (for the weather was ex 
 cessively warm), and then proceeded to tell how thankful she 
 was to see her, and how sorry she felt that Gertrude was not 
 at home. Emily wonderingly asked where Gertrude was, and 
 learned that she was out walking with Willie. A succession 
 of inquiries followed, and a long and touching story was told by 
 Mrs. Sullivan of Gertrude s agony of grief, the impossibility of 
 comforting her, and the fears the kind little woman had enter 
 tained lest the girl would die of sorrow. 
 
 "I couldn t do anything with her myself," said she. 
 " There she sat day after day, last week, on her little cricket, 
 by Uncle True s easy-chair, with her head on the cushion, and 
 I couldn t get her to move or eat a thing. She didn t appear 
 to hear me when I spoke to her; and if I tried to move her, 
 she didn t struggle (for she was very quiet), but she seemed 
 just like a dead weight in my hands; and I couldn t bear to 
 make her come away into my room, though I knew it would 
 change the scene, and be better for her. If it hadn t been for 
 Willie, I don t know what I should have done, I was getting 
 so worried about the poor child; but he knows how to manage 
 her a great deal better than I do. When he is at home, we 
 get along very well; for he takes her right up in his arms (he s 
 very strong, and she s as light as a feather, you know), and 
 either carries her into some other room or out into the yard; 
 and somehow he contrives to cheer her up wonderfully. He 
 persuades her to eat, and in the evenings, when he comes home 
 from the store, takes long walks with her. Now last evening 
 they went way over Chelsea Bridge, where it was cool and plea 
 sant, you know ; and I suppose he diverted her attention and 
 amused her, for she came home brighter than I ve seen her at 
 all, and quite tired. I got her to go to bed in my room, and 
 she slept soundly all night, so that she really looks quite like 
 herself to-day. They ve gone out again this morning, and 
 being Sunday, and Willie at home all day, I ve no doubt he 11 
 keep her spirits up, if anybody can." 
 
 "Willie shows very good judgment," said Emily, "in trying 
 to change the scene for her, and divert her thoughts. I m 
 thankful she has had such kind friends. I promised Mr. Flint 
 she should have a home with me when he was taken away, and 
 not knowing of his death until now, I consider it a great favor 
 
112 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 to myself, as well as her, that you have taken such excellent 
 care of her. I felt sure you had been all goodness, or it would 
 have given me great regret that I had not heard of True s death 
 before." 
 
 "0, Miss Emily!" said Mrs. Sullivan, "Gertrude is so dear 
 to us, and we have suffered so much in seeing her suffer, that 
 it was a kindness to ourselves to do all we could to comfort 
 her. Why, I think she and Willie could not love each other 
 better, if they were own brother and sister; and Willie and 
 Uncle True were great friends; indeed, we shall all miss him 
 very much. My old father doesn t say much about it, but I 
 can see he s very down-hearted." 
 
 More conversation followed, in the course of which Mrs. 
 Sullivan informed Emily that a cousin of hers, a farmer s wife, 
 living in the country, about twenty miles from Boston, had 
 invited them all to come and pass a week or two with her at 
 the farm, and as Willie was now to enjoy his usual summer 
 vacation, they proposed accepting the invitation. 
 
 She spoke of Gertrude s accompanying them as a matter of 
 course, and enlarged upon the advantage it would be to her to 
 breathe the country air, and ramble about the fields and woods, 
 after all the fatigue and confinement she had endured. 
 
 Emily, finding from her inquiries that Gertrude would be a 
 welcome and expected guest, cordially approved of the visit, 
 and also arranged with Mrs. Sullivan that she should remain 
 under her care until Mr. Graham removed to Boston for the 
 winter. She was then obliged to leave, without waiting for 
 Gertrude s return, though she left many a kind message for 
 her, and placed in Mrs. Sullivan s hands a sufficient sum of 
 money to provide for all her wants and expenses. 
 
 Gertrude went into the country, and abundance of novelty, 
 of country fare, healthful exercise, and heartfelt kindness and 
 sympathy, brought the color into her cheek, and calmness and 
 composure, if not happiness, into her heart. 
 
 Soon after the Sullivans* return from their excursion, the 
 Grahams removed to the city, and, as we have said before, Ger 
 trude had now been with them about a week. 
 
 "Are you still standing at the window, Gertrude 1 ? What 
 are you doing, dear ? " 
 
 "I m watching to see the lamps lit, Miss Emily." 
 
 "But they will not be lit at all. The moon will rise at 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 113 
 
 eight o clock, and light the streets sufficiently for the rest of 
 the night." 
 
 "I don t mean the street lamps." 
 
 "What do you mean, my child? " said Emily, coming towards 
 the window, and lightly resting a hand on each of Gertrude s 
 shoulders. 
 
 "I mean the stars, dear Miss Emily. 0, how I wish you 
 could see them too ! " 
 
 "Are they very bright?" 
 
 " 0, they are beautiful ! and there are so many ! The sky is 
 as full as it can be." 
 
 " How well I remember when I used to stand at this very 
 window, and look at them as you are doing now ! It seems to 
 me as if I saw them this moment, I know so well how they 
 look." 
 
 "I love the stars, all of them," said Gertrude; "but my 
 own star I love the best." 
 
 " Which do you call yours 1 " 
 
 "That splendid one there, over the church steeple; it shines 
 into my room every night, and looks me in the face. Miss 
 Emily (and here Gertrude lowered her voice to a whisper), it 
 seems to me as if that star were lit on purpose for me. I think 
 Uncle True lights it every night. I always feel as if he were 
 smiling up there and saying, See, Gerty, I m lighting the 
 lamp for you. Dear Uncle True ! Miss Emily, do you think 
 he loves me now 1 " 
 
 "I do, indeed, Gertrude; and I think, if you make him an 
 example, and try to live as good and patient a life as he did, 
 that he will really be a lamp to your feet and as bright a light 
 to your path as if his face were shining down upon you through 
 the star." 
 
 "I was patient and good when I lived with him; at least, 
 I almost always was; and I m good when I m with you; but 
 I don t like Mrs. Ellis. She tries to plague me, and she makes 
 me cross, and then I get angry, and don t know what I do or 
 say. I did not mean to be impertinent to her to-day, and I 
 wish I hadn t slammed the door; but how could I help it, 
 Miss Emily, when she told me, right before Mr. Graham, that 
 I tore up the last night s Journal, and I know that I did not? 
 It was an old paper that she saw me tying your slippers up in, 
 and I am almost sure that she lit the library fire with that very 
 
114 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 Journal, herself; but Mr. Graham will always think I did 
 it." 
 
 "I have no doubt, Gertrude, that you had some reason to 
 feel provoked, and I believe you when you say that you were 
 not the person to blame for the loss of the newspaper. But 
 you must remember my dear, that there is no merit in being 
 patient and good-tempered when there is nothing to irritate 
 you. I want you to learn to bear even injustice, without los 
 ing your self-control. You know Mrs. Ellis has been here a 
 number of years; she has had everything her own way, and is 
 not used to young people. She felt, when you came, that it 
 was bringing new care and trouble upon her, and it is not 
 strange that when things go wrong she should sometimes think 
 you in fault. She is a very faithful woman, very kind and 
 attentive to me, and very important to my father. It will 
 make me unhappy if I have any reason to fear that you and she 
 will not live pleasantly together." 
 
 "I do not want to make you unhappy; I do not want to be 
 a trouble to anybody," said Gertrude, with some excitement; 
 "I 11 go away. I 11 go off somewhere, where you will never 
 see me again ! " 
 
 " Gertrude ! " said Emily seriously and sadly. Her hands 
 were still upon the young girl s shoulders, and as she spoke 
 she turned her round, and brought her face to face with her 
 self. " Gertrude, do you wish to leave your blind friend 1 Do 
 you not love me ? " 
 
 So touchingly grieved was the expression of the countenance 
 that met her gaze, that Gertrude s proud, hasty spirit was sub 
 dued. She threw her arms round Emily s neck, and exclaimed, 
 "No ! dear Miss Emily, I would not leave you for all the world, 
 I will do just as you wish. I will never be angry with Mrs. 
 Ellis again, for your sake." 
 
 "Not for my sake, Gertrude," replied Emily ; "for your 
 own sake, for the sake of duty and of God. A few years ago 
 I should not have expected you to be pleasant and amiable 
 towards any one whom you felt ill- treated you ; but now that 
 you know so well what is right; now that you are familiar 
 with the life of that blessed Master who, when he was reviled, 
 reviled not again ; now that you have learned faithfully to ful 
 fil so many important duties, I had hoped that you had learned, 
 also, to be forbearing under the most trying circumstances. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 115 
 
 But do not think, Gertrude, because I remind you when you 
 have done wrong, I despair of your becoming one day all I 
 wish to see you. What you are experiencing now being a new 
 trial, you must bring new strength to bear upon it; and I have 
 such confidence in you as to believe that, knowing my wishes, 
 you will try to behave properly to Mrs. Ellis on all occasions." 
 
 "I will, Miss Emily, I will. I 11 not answer her back when 
 she s ugly to me, if I have to bite my lips to keep them to 
 gether. " 
 
 "0, I do not believe it will be so bad as that," said Emily 
 smiling. "Mrs. Ellis s manner is rather rough, but you will 
 get used to her." 
 
 Just then a voice was heard in the entry, " To see Miss 
 Flint! Really. Well, Miss Flint is in Miss Emily s room. 
 She s going to entertain company, is she ? " 
 
 Gertrude colored to her temples, for it was Mrs. Ellis s voice, 
 and the tone in which she spoke was very derisive. 
 
 Emily stepped to the door, and opened it. "Mrs. Ellis! " 
 
 "What say, Emily?" 
 
 " Is there any one below 1 " 
 
 "Yes; a young man wants to see Gertrude; it s that young 
 Sullivan, I believe." 
 
 " Willie ! " exclaimed Gertrude, starting forward. 
 
 "You can go down and see him, Gertrude," said Emily; 
 "come back here when he s gone; and, Mrs. Ellis, I wish you 
 would step in and put my room a little in order. I think you 
 will find plenty of pieces for your rag-bag about the carpet, 
 Miss Randolph always scatters so many when she is engaged 
 with her dressmaking." 
 
 Mrs. Ellis made her collection, and then, seating herself on 
 a couch at the side of the fireplace, with her colored rags in 
 one hand and the white in the other, commenced speaking of 
 Gertrude. 
 
 " What are you going to do with her, Emily ? " said she, 
 send her to school ? " 
 
 "Yes. She will go to Mr. W. s this winter." 
 
 "Why! Isn t that a very expensive school for a child like 
 her?" 
 
 " It is expensive, certainly ; but I wish her to be with the 
 best teacher I know of, and father makes no objection to the 
 terms. He thinks, as I do, that if we undertake to fit hei 
 
116 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 to instruct others, she must be thoroughly taught herself. I 
 talked with him about it the first night after we came into town 
 for the season, and he agreed with me that we had better put 
 her out to learn a trade at once, than half-educate, make a fine 
 lady of her, and so unfit her for anything. He was willing I 
 should manage the matter as I pleased, and I resolved to send 
 her to Mr. W. s. So she will remain with us for the present. 
 I wish to keep her with me as long as I can, not only because 
 I am fond of the child, but she is delicate and sensitive; and 
 now that she is so sad about old Mr. Flint s death, I think we 
 ought to do all we can to make her happy, don t you, Mrs. 
 Ellis ? 
 
 "I always calculate to do my duty," said Mrs. Ellis, rather 
 stiffly. "Where is she going to sleep when we get settled? " 
 
 "In the little room at the end of the passage. 7 
 
 " Then where shall I keep the linen press ? " 
 
 "Can t it stand in the back entry? I should think the 
 space between the windows would accommodate it." 
 
 "I suppose it s got to," said Mrs. Ellis, flouncing out of the 
 room, and muttering to herself, "everything turned topsy 
 turvy for the sake of that little upstart ! " 
 
 Mrs. Ellis was vexed on more accounts than one. She had 
 long had her own way in the management of all household 
 matters at Mr. Graham s, and had consequently become rather 
 tyrannical. She was capable, methodical, and neat ; accustomed 
 to a small family, and now for many years quite unaccustomed 
 to children ; Gertrude was in her eyes an unwarrantable intruder 
 one who must of necessity be continually in mischief, contin 
 ually deranging her most cherished plans. Then, too, Gertrude 
 had been reared, as Mrs. Ellis expressed it, among the lower 
 classes, and the housekeeper, who was not in reality very hard 
 hearted, and quite approved of all public and private charities, 
 had a slight prejudice in favor of high birth. Indeed, though 
 now depressed in her circumstances, she prided herself on being 
 of a good family, and considered it an insult to her dignity to 
 expect that she should feel an interest in providing for the 
 wants of one so inferior to her in point of station. 
 
 More than all this, she saw in the new inmate a formidable 
 rival to herself in Miss Graham s affections; and Mrs. Ellis 
 could not brook the idea of being second in the regard of Emily, 
 who, owing to her peculiar misfortune and to her delicate 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 117 
 
 health, had long been her especial charge, and for whom she 
 felt as much tenderness as it was in her nature to feel for any 
 one. 
 
 Owing to all these circumstances, Mrs. Ellis was far from 
 being favorably disposed towards Gertrude; and Gertrude, in 
 her turn, was not yet prepared to love Mrs. Ellis very cor 
 dially. 
 
118 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 And thou must sail upon this sea, a long, 
 Eventful voyage. The wise may suffer wreck, 
 The foolish must. O, then, be early wise. 
 
 WARE. 
 
 EMILY sat alone in her room. Mr. Graham had gone to a 
 meeting of bank directors. Mrs. Ellis was stoning raisins in 
 the dining-room. Willie still detained Gertrude in the little 
 library below stairs, and Emily, with the moonlight now stream 
 ing across the chamber, which was none the less dark to her on 
 that account, was indulging in a long train of meditation. Her 
 head rested on her hand; her face, usually so placid, was sad 
 and melancholy in its expression ; and her whole appearance and 
 attitude denoted despondency and grief. As thought pressed 
 upon thought, and past sorrows arose in quick succession, her 
 head gradually sank upon the cushions of the couch where she 
 sat, and tears slowly trickled through her fingers. 
 
 Suddenly a hand was laid softly upon hers. She gave a 
 quick start, as she always did when surprised, for her unusual 
 preoccupation of mind had made Gertrude s approaching step 
 unheard. 
 
 " Is anything the matter, Miss Emily ? " said Gertrude. " Do 
 you like best to be alone, or may I stay ? " 
 
 The sympathetic tone, the delicacy of the child s question, 
 touched Emily. She drew her towards her, saying as she did 
 so, "0 yes, stay with me;" then observing, as she passed an 
 arm round the little girl, that she trembled and seemed vio 
 lently agitated, she added, "but what is the matter with you, 
 Gerty ] What makes you tremble and sob so 1 " 
 
 At this Gertrude broke forth with, "0 Miss Emily! I 
 thought you were crying when I came in, and I hoped you 
 would let me come and cry with you ; for I am so miserable I 
 can t do anything else." 
 
 Calmed herself by the more vehement agitation of the child, 
 Emily endeavored to discover the cause of this evidently new 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 119 
 
 and severe affliction. It proved to be this: Willie had been 
 to tell her that he was going away, going out of the country ; 
 as Gertrude expressed it, to the very other end of the world 
 to India. Mr. Clinton was interested in a mercantile house at 
 Calcutta, and had offered William the most favorable terms to 
 go abroad as clerk to the establishment. The prospect thus 
 afforded was far better than he could hope for by remaining at 
 home; the salary was, at the very first, sufficient to defray all 
 his own expenses and provide for the wants of those who were 
 now becoming every year more and more dependent upon him. 
 The chance, too, of future advancement was great ; and though 
 the young man s affectionate heart clung fondly to home and 
 friends, there was no hesitation in his mind as to the course 
 which both duty and interest prompted. He agreed to the pro 
 posal, and whatever his own struggles were at the thought of 
 five, or perhaps ten years banishment, he kept them manfully 
 to himself, and talked cheerfully about it to his mother and 
 grandfather. 
 
 "Miss Emily," said Gertrude, when she had acquainted her 
 with the news, and become again somewhat calm, "how can I 
 bear to have Willie go away 1 How can I live without Willie 1 
 He is so kind, and loves me so much ! He was always bet 
 ter than any brother, and since Uncle True died, he has done 
 everything in the world for me. I believe I could not have 
 borne Uncle True s death if it had not been for Willie; and 
 now how can I let him go away ? " 
 
 "It is hard, Gertrude," said Emily kindly, "but it is no 
 doubt for his advantage ; you must try and think of that. " 
 
 "I know it," replied Gertrude; "I suppose it is; but, 
 Miss Emily, you do not know how I love Willie. We were so 
 much together; and there were only us two, and we thought 
 everything of each other; he was so much older than I, and 
 always took such good care of me! 0, I don t think you have 
 any idea what friends we are ! " 
 
 Gertrude had unconsciously touched a chord that vibrated 
 through Emily s whole frame. Her voice trembled as she an 
 swered, "/, Gertrude! not know, my child! I know better 
 than you imagine how dear he must be to you. /, too, had " 
 then checking herself, she paused abruptly, and there was a 
 few moments silence, during which Emily got up, walked has 
 tily to the window, pressed her aching head against the frosty 
 
120 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 glass, and then, returning to Gertrude, said, in a voice which 
 had recovered its usual calmness, "0 Gertrude! in the grief 
 that oppresses you now, you little realize how much you have 
 to be thankful for. Think, my dear, what a blessing it is that 
 Willie will be where you can often hear from him, and where 
 he can have constant news of his friends." 
 
 "Yes," replied Gerty; "he says he shall write to his mother 
 and me very often." 
 
 "Then, too," said Emily, "you ought to rejoice at the good 
 opinion Mr. Clinton must have of Willie; the perfect confi 
 dence he must feel in his uprightness, to place in him so much 
 trust. I think that is very flattering." 
 
 "So it is," said Gertrude; "I did not think of that." 
 
 "And you have lived so happily together," continued Emily, 
 "and will part in such perfect peace. Gertrude! Gertrude! 
 such a parting as that should not make you sad; there are so 
 much worse things in the world. Be patient, my dear child, 
 do your duty, and perhaps there will some day be a happy 
 meeting, that will quite repay you for all you suffer in the 
 separation. " 
 
 Emily s voice trembled as she uttered the last few words. 
 Gertrude s eyes were fixed upon her friend with a very puzzled 
 expression. "Miss Emily," said she, "I begin to think every 
 body has trouble." 
 
 "Certainly, Gertrude; can you doubt it ?" 
 
 "I did not use to think so. I knew / had, but I thought 
 other folks were more fortunate. I fancied that rich people 
 were all happy; and though you are blind, and that is a dread 
 ful thing, I supposed you were used to it; and you always 
 looked so pleasant and quiet, I took it for granted nothing ever 
 vexed you now. And then, Willie ! I believed once that 
 nothing could make him look sad, he was always so gay; but 
 when he hadn t any place, I saw him really cry; and then, 
 when Uncle True died, and now again to-night, when he was 
 telling me about going away, he could hardly speak, he felt so 
 badly. And so, Miss Emily, since I see that you and Willie 
 have troubles, and that tears will come though you try to keep 
 them back, I think the world is full of trials, and that every 
 body gets a share." 
 
 "It is the lot of humanity, Gertrude, and we must not ex 
 pect it to be otherwise." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 121 
 
 " Then who can be happy, Miss Emily ? " 
 
 "Those only, my child, who have learned submission; those 
 who, in the severest afflictions, see the hand of a loving Father, 
 and, obedient to his will, kiss the chastening rod." 
 
 "It is very hard, Miss Emily. 77 
 
 "It is hard, my child, and therefore few in this world can 
 rightly be called happy; but if, even in the midst of our dis 
 tress, we can look to God in faith and love, we may, when the 
 world is dark around, experience a peace that is a foretaste of 
 heaven. 77 
 
 And Emily was right. Who that is striving after the Chris 
 tian life has not experienced moments when, amid unusual dis 
 couragements and disappointments, the heart, turning in love 
 and trust to its great Source, experiences emotions of ecstatic 
 joy and hope, that never come to the prosperous and the world- 
 called happy 1 He who has had such dreams of eternal peace 
 can form some conception of the rest which remaineth for the 
 people of God, when, with an undivided affection, and a faith 
 undimmed by a single doubt, the soul reposes in the bosom of 
 its Creator. 
 
 Gertrude had often found in time and the soothing influences 
 of religious faith some alleviation to her trials ; but never until 
 this night did she feel a spirit not of earth, coming forth from 
 the very chaos of sorrow into which she was plunged, and en 
 kindling within her the flame of a higher and nobler sensation 
 than she ever yet had cherished. 
 
 When she left Emily that night, it was with a serenity 
 which is strength; and if the spirit of Uncle True, looking 
 down upon her through the bright star which she so loved, 
 sighed to see the tears which glittered in her eyes, it was reas 
 sured by the smile of a heaven-lit light that played over her 
 features, and when she sunk to slumber stamped them with the 
 seal of peace. 
 
 Willie s departure was sudden, and Mrs. Sullivan had only 
 a week in which to make those arrangements which a mother s 
 thoughtfulness deems necessary. Her hands were therefore 
 full of work, and Gerty, whom Emily at once relinquished for 
 the short time previous to the vessel s sailing, was of great 
 assistance to her. Willie was very busy daytimes, but was 
 always with them in the evening. 
 
 On one occasion he returned home about dusk, and his 
 
122 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 mother and grandfather both being out, and Gertrude having 
 just put aside her sewing, he said to her, "Come, Gerty, if 
 you are not afraid of taking cold, come and sit on the doorstep 
 with me, as we used to in old times; there will be no more 
 such warm days as this, and we may never have another chance 
 to sit there, and watch the moon rise above the old house at 
 the corner." 
 
 "0 Willie," said Gertrude, "do not speak of our never be 
 ing together in this old place again ! I cannot bear the thought ; 
 there is not a house in Boston I could ever love as I do this." 
 
 "Nor I," replied Willie; "but there is not one chance in a 
 hundred, if I should be gone five years, that there would not 
 be a block of brick stores in this spot when I come to look for 
 it. I wish I did not think so, for I shall have many a longing 
 after the old home." 
 
 "But what will become of your mother and grandfather if 
 this house is torn down 1 " 
 
 "It is not easy to tell, Gerty, what will become of any of 
 us by that time ; but if there is any necessity for their moving, 
 I hope I shall be able to provide a better house than this for 
 them." 
 
 "You won t be here, Willie." 
 
 "I know it, but I shall be always hearing from you, and we 
 can talk about it by letters, and arrange everything. The idea 
 of any such changes, after all," added he, "is what troubles 
 me most in going away ; I think they would miss me and need 
 me so much. Gertrude, you will take care of them, won t 
 you?" 
 
 " I ! " said Gertrude in amazement, " such a child as I ! what 
 can I do?" 
 
 "If I am gone five or ten years, Gerty, you will not be a 
 child all that time, and a woman is often a better dependence 
 than a man; especially such a good, brave woman as you will 
 be. I have not forgotten the beautiful care you took of Uncle 
 True ; and whenever I imagine grandfather or mother old and 
 helpless, I always think of you, and hope you will be near 
 them ; for I know if you are, you will be a greater help than 
 I could be. So I leave them in your care, Gerty, though you 
 are only a child yet." 
 
 "Thank you, Willie," said Gertrude, "for believing I shall 
 do everything I can for them. I certainly will as long as 1 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 123 
 
 live. But Willie, they may be strong and well all the time 
 you are gone ; and /, although I am so young, may be sick and 
 die, nobody knows." 
 
 "That is true enough," said Willie sadly; "and I may die 
 myself, but it will not do to think of that. It seems to me I 
 never should have courage to go, if I didn t hope to find you 
 all well and happy when I come home. You must write to 
 me every month, for it will be a much greater task to mother, 
 and I am sure she will want you to do nearly all the writing; 
 and whether my letters come directed to her or you, it will be 
 all the same, you know. And Gerty, you must not forget 
 me, darling ; you must love me just as much when I am gone, 
 won t you? " 
 
 "Forget you, Willie! I shall be always thinking of you, 
 and loving you the same as ever. What else shall I have to 
 do? But you will be off in a strange country, where every 
 thing will be different, and you will not think half as much of 
 me I know." 
 
 "If you believe that, Gertrude, it is because you do not 
 know. You will have friends all around you, and I shall be 
 alone in a foreign land ; but every day of my life my heart will 
 be with you and my mother, and I shall live here a great deal 
 more than there." 
 
 They were now interrupted by Mr. Cooper s return, nor did 
 they afterwards renew the conversation on the above topics ; but 
 the morning Willie left them, when Mrs. Sullivan was leaning 
 over a neatly packed trunk in the next room, trying to hide 
 her tears, and Mr. Cooper s head was bowed lower than usual, 
 while the light had gone out in the neglected pipe, which he 
 still held in his hand, Willie whispered to Gerty, who was 
 standing on a small chest of books, in order to force down the 
 lid for him to lock it, " Gerty dear, for my sake take good care 
 of our mother and grandfather they are yours almost as much 
 as mine." 
 
 On Willie s thus leaving home for the first time, to struggle 
 and strive among men, Mr. Cooper, who could not yet believe 
 that the boy would be successful in the war with fortune, gave 
 him many a caution against indulging hopes which never would 
 be realized, and reminded him again and again that he knew 
 nothing of the world. 
 
 Mrs. Sullivan bestowed on her son but little parting counsel 
 
124 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 Trusting to the lessons he had been learning from his child 
 hood, she compressed her parental advice into few words, say 
 ing, "Love and fear God, Willie, and do not disappoint your 
 mother. " 
 
 We pause not to dwell upon the last night the youth spent 
 at home, his mother s last evening prayer, her last morning 
 benediction, the last breakfast they all took together (Gertrude 
 among the rest), or the final farewell embrace. 
 
 And Willie went to sea. And the pious, loving, hopeful 
 woman, who for eighteen years had cherished her boy with 
 tenderness and pride, maintained now her wonted spirit of self- 
 sacrifice, and gave him up without a murmur. None knew 
 how she struggled with her aching heart, or whence came the 
 power that sustained her. No one had given the little widow 
 credit for such strength of mind, and the neighbors wondered 
 much to see how quietly she went about her duties the day 
 before her son sailed; and how, when he had gone, she still 
 kept on with her work, and wore the same look of patient 
 humility that ever characterized her. 
 
 At the present moment, when emigration offers rare hopes 
 and inducements, there is scarcely to be found in New England 
 a village so insignificant, or so secluded, that there is not there 
 some mother s heart bleeding at the perhaps lifelong separation 
 from a darling son. Among the wanderers, we hope ay, we 
 believe that there is many a one who is actuated, not by the 
 love of gold, the love of change, the love of adventure, but 
 by the love he bears his mother, the earnest longing of his 
 heart to save her from a life of toil and poverty. Blessings 
 and prosperity to him who goes forth with such a motive ! And 
 if he fail, he has not lived in vain; for though stricken by dis 
 ease or violence at the very threshold of his labors, he dies in 
 attestation of the truth that there are sons worthy of a mother s 
 love, a love which is the highest, the holiest, the purest type 
 of God on earth. 
 
 And now, in truth, commenced Gertrude s residence at Mr. 
 Graham s, hitherto in various ways interrupted. She at once 
 -commenced attending school, and until the spring labored dili 
 gently at her studies. Her life was varied by few incidents, 
 for Emily never entertained much company, and in the winter 
 scarcely any at all, and Gertrude formed no intimate acquaint 
 ances among her companions. With Emily she passed many 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 125 
 
 happy hours; they took walks, read books, and talked much 
 with each other, and Miss Graham found that in Gertrude s 
 observing eyes, and her feeling and glowing descriptions of 
 everything that came within their gaze, she was herself renew 
 ing her acquaintance with the outside world. In errands of 
 charity and mercy Gertrude was either her attendant or her 
 messenger; and all the dependants of the family, from the cook 
 to the little boy who called at the door for the fragments of 
 broken bread, agreed in loving and praising the child who, 
 though neither beautiful nor elegantly dressed, had a fairy 
 lightness of step, a grace of movement, and a dignity of bearing, 
 which impressed them all with the conviction that she was no 
 beggar in spirit, whatever might be her birth or fortune, and 
 all were in the invariable habit of addressing her as Miss Ger 
 trude. 
 
 Mrs. Ellis s prejudices against her were still strong, but as 
 Gertrude was always civil, and Emily prudently kept them 
 much apart, no unhappy result had yet ensued. 
 
 Mr. Graham, seeing her sad and pensive, did not at first take 
 much notice of her; but having on several occasions found his 
 newspaper carefully dried, and his spectacles miraculously re 
 stored, after a vain search on his part, he began to think her 
 a smart girl ; and when a few weeks after, he took up the last 
 number of the "Working Farmer," and saw to his surprise 
 that the leaves were cut and carefully stitched together, he, 
 supposing she had done it for her own benefit, pronounced her 
 decidedly an intelligent girl. 
 
 She went often to see Mrs. Sullivan, and as the spring ad 
 vanced, they began to look for news of Willie. No tidings 
 had come, however, when the season arrived for the Grahams 
 to remove into the country for the summer. A letter, written 
 by Gertrude to Willie, soon after they were established there, 
 will give some idea of her situation and mode of life. 
 
 After dwelling at some length upon the disappointment of 
 not having yet heard from him, and giving an account of the 
 last visit she had made his mother before leaving the city, she 
 went on to say : " But you made me promise, Willie, to write 
 about myself, and said you should wish to hear everything that 
 occurred at Mr. Graham s which concerned me in any way; so 
 if my letter is more tedious than usual, it is your own fault, 
 for I have much to tell of our removal to D , and of the 
 
126 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 way in which we live here, so different from our life in Bos* 
 ton. I think I hear you say, when you have read so far, * 
 dear! now Gerty is going to give me a description of Mr. Gra 
 ham s country-house! but you need not be afraid; I have 
 not forgotten how, the last time I undertook to do so, you 
 placed your hand over my mouth to stop me, and assured me 
 you knew the place as well as if you had lived there all your 
 life, for I had described it to you as often as once a week ever 
 since I was eight years old. I made you beg my pardon for 
 being so uncivil; but I believe I talked enough about my first 
 visit here to excuse you for being quite tired of the subject. 
 Now, however, quite to my disappointment, everything looks 
 smaller and less beautiful than it seemed to me then; and 
 though I do not mean to describe it to you again, I must just 
 tell you that the entry and piazzas are much narrower than I 
 expected, the rooms lower, and the garden and summer-houses 
 not nearly so large. Miss Emily asked me a day or two ago 
 how I liked the place, and if it looked as it used to. I told 
 her the truth; and she was not at all displeased, but laughed 
 at my old recollections of the house and grounds, and said it 
 was always so with things we had seen when we were little 
 children. 
 
 "I need not tell you that Miss Emily is kind and good to me 
 as ever; for nobody who knows her as you do would suppose 
 she could ever be anything but the best and loveliest person 
 in the world. I can never do half enough, Willie, to repay 
 her for all her goodness to me ; and yet she is so pleased with 
 little gifts, and so grateful for trifling attentions, that it seems 
 as if everybody might do something to make her happy. I 
 found a few violets in the grass yesterday, and when I brought 
 them to her she kissed and thanked me as if they had been so 
 many diamonds; and little Ben Gately, who picked a hatful of 
 dandelion blossoms, without a single stem, and then rang at the 
 front-door bell and asked for Miss Ga am, so as to give them 
 to her himself, got a sweet smile for his trouble, and a thank 
 you, Bennie, that he will not soon forget. Was n t it pleasant 
 in Miss Emily, Willie 1 
 
 "Mr. Graham has given me a garden, and I mean to have 
 plenty of flowers for her by and by, that is, if Mrs. Ellis 
 doesn t interfere; but I expect she will, for she does in almost 
 everything. Willie, Mrs. Ellis is my trial, my great trial. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 127 
 
 She is just the kind of person I cannot endure. I believe 
 there are some people that other people can t like, and she 
 is just the sort I can t. I would not tell anybody else so, 
 because it would not be right, and I do not know as it is right 
 to mention it at all; but I always tell you everything. Miss 
 Emily talks to me about her, and says I must learn to love 
 her ; and when I do I shall be an angel. 
 
 "There, I know you will think that is some of Gerty s old 
 temper; and perhaps it is, but you don t know how she tries 
 me: it is in little things that I cannot tell very easily, and I 
 would not plague you with them if I could, so I won t write 
 about her any more, I will try to be perfect, and love her 
 dearly. 
 
 " You will think that now, while I am not going to school, 
 I shall hardly know what to do with my time; but I have 
 plenty to do. The first week after we came here, however, I 
 found the mornings very dull. You know I am always an 
 early riser; but as it does not agree with Miss Emily to keep 
 early hours, I never see her until eight o clock, full two hours 
 after I am up and dressed. When we were in Boston, I al 
 ways spent that time studying; but this spring Miss Emily, 
 who noticed that I was growing fast, and heard Mr. Arnold 
 observe how pale I looked, fancied it would not do for me to 
 spend so much time at my books; and so, when we came to 
 
 D , she planned my study hours, which are very few, and 
 
 arranged that they should take place after breakfast and in her 
 own room. She also advised me, if I could, to sleep later in 
 the morning; but I could not, and was up at my usual time, 
 wandering around the garden. One day I was quite surprised 
 to find Mr. Graham at work, for it was not like his winter 
 habits ; but he is a queer man. He asked me to come and help 
 him plant onion seeds, and I rather think I did it pretty well; 
 for after that he let me help him plant a number of things, and 
 label little sticks to put down by the side of them. At last, 
 to my joy, he offered to give me a piece of ground for a garden, 
 where I might raise flowers. He does not care for flowers, 
 which seems so strange ; he only raises vegetables and trees. 
 
 "And so I am to have a garden. But I am making a very 
 long story, Willie, and have not time to say a thousand other 
 things that I want to. ! if I could see you, I could tell you 
 in an hour more than I can write in a week. In five minutes 
 
128 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 I expect to hear Miss Emily s bell, and then she will send for 
 me to come and read to her. 
 
 "I long to hear from you, dear Willie, and pray to God, 
 morning and evening, to keep you in safety, and soon send 
 tidings of you to your loving 
 
 GERTY." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 129 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 Is it not lovely ? Tell me, where doth dwell 
 The fay that wrought so beautiful a spell ? 
 In thine own bosom, brother, didst thou say ? 
 Then cherish as thine own so good a fay. 
 
 DANA. 
 
 A FEW weeks after the date of this letter, Gerty learned 
 through George, who went daily to the city to attend to the 
 marketing, that Mrs. Sullivan had left word at the shop of our 
 old acquaintance, the rosy-cheeked butcher, that she had re 
 ceived a letter from Willie, and wanted Gerty to come into 
 town and see it. Emily was willing to let her go, but afraid it 
 would be impossible to arrange it, as Charlie, the only horse Mr. 
 Graham kept, was in use, and she saw no way of sending her. 
 
 "Why don t you let her go in the omnibus?" asked Mrs. 
 Ellis. 
 
 Gerty looked gratefully at Mrs. Ellis; it was the first time 
 that lady had ever seemed anxious to promote her views. 
 
 "I don t think it s safe for her to go alone in the coach," 
 said Emily. 
 
 "Safe! What, for that great girl !" exclaimed Mrs. Ellis, 
 whose position in the family was such that there were no forms 
 of restraint in her intercourse with Miss Graham. 
 
 "Do you think it is? " inquired Emily. "She seems a child 
 to me, to be sure ; but as you say, she is almost grown up, and 
 I dare say is capable of taking care of herself. Gertrude, are 
 you sure you know the way from the omnibus office in Boston 
 to Mrs. Sullivan s?" 
 
 "Perfectly well, Miss Emily." 
 
 Without further hesitation, two tickets for the coach were 
 put into Gertrude s hand, and she set forth on her expedition 
 with beaming eyes and a full heart. She found Mrs. Sullivan 
 and Mr. Cooper well, and rejoicing over the happiest tidings 
 from Willie, who, after a long but agreeable voyage, had 
 reached Calcutta in health and safety. A description of his 
 
130 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 new home, his new duties, and employers filled all the rest of 
 the letter, excepting what was devoted to affectionate messages 
 and inquiries, a large share of which were for Gerty. Gertrude 
 stayed and dined with Mrs. Sullivan, and then hastened to the 
 omnibus. She took her seat, and as she waited for the coach 
 to start, amused herself with watching the passers-by. It was 
 nearly three o clock, and she was beginning to think she should 
 be the only passenger, when she heard a strange voice proceed 
 ing from a person whose approach she had not perceived. She 
 moved towards the door, and saw standing at the back of the 
 coach the most singular looking being she had ever beheld. 
 It was an old lady, small, and considerably bent with years. 
 Gertrude knew at a glance that the same original mind must 
 have conceived and executed every article of the most remark 
 able toilet she had ever witnessed. But before she could ob 
 serve the details of that which was as a whole so wonderfully 
 grotesque, her whole attention was arrested by the peculiar be 
 havior of the old lady. 
 
 She had been vainly endeavoring to mount the inconvenient 
 vehicle, and now, with one foot upon the lower step, was call 
 ing to the driver to come to her assistance. 
 
 "Sir," said she, in measured tones, "is this travelling equi 
 page under your honorable charge ? " 
 
 "What say, marm? Yes, I m the driver;" saying which, 
 he came up to the door, opened it, and without waiting for the 
 polite request which was on the old lady s lips, placed his hand 
 beneath her elbow, and before she was aware of his intention 
 lifted her into the coach and shut the door. 
 
 " Bless me ! " ejaculated she, as she seated herself opposite 
 Gertrude, and began to arrange her veil and other draperies, 
 " that individual is not versed in the art of assisting a lady with 
 out detriment to her habiliments. O dear, dear ! " added she 
 in the same breath, "I ve lost my parasol! " 
 
 She rose as she spoke, but the sudden starting of the coach 
 threw her off her balance, and she would have fallen, had it 
 not been for- Gertrude, who caught her by the arm and reseated 
 her, saying as she did so, " Do not be alarmed, madam ; here is 
 the parasol." 
 
 As she spoke she drew into view the missing article, which, 
 though nearly the size of an umbrella, was fastened to the old 
 lady s waist by a green ribbon, and having slipped out of place 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 131 
 
 was supposed lost. And not a parasol only did she thus bring 
 to light ; numerous other articles, arranged in the same manner, 
 and connected with the same green string, now met Gertrude s 
 astonished eyes, a reticule of unusual dimensions and a great 
 variety of colors, a black lace cap, a large feather fan, a roll of 
 fancy paper, and several other articles. They were partly hid 
 den under a thin black silk shawl, and Gertrude began to think 
 her companion had been on a pilfering expedition. If so, how 
 ever, the culprit seemed remarkably at her ease, for before the 
 coach had gone many steps she deliberately placed her feet on 
 the opposite seat, and proceeded to make herself comfortable. 
 In the first place, much to Gertrude s horror, she took out all 
 her teeth and put them in her work-bag ; then drew off a pair 
 of black silk gloves, and replaced them by cotton ones; re 
 moved her lace veil, folded and pinned it to the green string. 
 She next untied her bonnet, threw over it, as a protection from 
 the dust, a large cotton handkerchief, and with some difficulty 
 unloosing her fan, applied herself diligently to the use of it, 
 closing her eyes as she did so, and evidently intending to go to 
 sleep. She probably did fall into a doze, for she was very 
 quiet, and Gertrude, occupied with her own thoughts, and with 
 observing some heavy clouds that were arising from the west, 
 forgot to observe her fellow traveller, until she was startled by 
 a hand suddenly laid upon her own, and an abrupt exclamation 
 of "My dear young damsel, do not those dark shadows betoken 
 adverse weather 1 " 
 
 "I think it will rain very soon," replied Gertrude. 
 
 "This morn, when I ventured forth," soliloquized the old 
 lady, "the sun was bright, the sky serene; even the winged 
 songsters, as they piped their hymns, proclaimed their part in 
 the universal joy ; and now, before I can regain my retirement, 
 my delicate lace flounces (and she glanced at the skirt of her 
 dress) will prove a sacrifice to the pitiless storm." 
 
 "Doesn t the coach pass your door? " inquired Gertrude, her 
 compassion excited by the old lady s evident distress. 
 
 "No! 0, no! not within half a mile. Does it better accom 
 modate you, my young miss? " 
 
 "No. I have a mile to walk beyond the omnibus office." 
 
 The old lady, moved by a deep sympathy, drew nearer to 
 Gertrude, saying in the most doleful accents, "Alas for the 
 delicate whiteness of your bonnet ribbon ! " 
 
132 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 The coach had by this time reached its destination, and the 
 two passengers alighted. Gertrude placed her ticket in the 
 driver s hand, and would have started at once on her walk, but 
 was prevented by the old lady, who grasped her dress, and 
 begged her to wait for her, as she was going the same way. 
 And now great difficulty and delay ensued. The old lady re 
 fused to pay the amount of fare demanded by the driver; de 
 clared it was not the regular fare, and accused the man of an 
 intention to put the surplus of two cents in his own pocket. 
 Gertrude was impatient, for she was every moment expecting 
 to see the rain pour in torrents; but at last the matter being 
 compromised between the driver and his closely calculating 
 passenger, she was permitted to proceed. They had walked 
 about a quarter of a mile, and that at a very slow rate, when 
 the rain commenced falling ; and now Gertrude was called upon 
 to unloose the huge parasol, and carry it over her companion 
 and herself. In this way they had accomplished nearly as 
 much more of the distance, when the water began to descend 
 as if all the reservoirs of heaven were at once thrown open. 
 At this moment Gertrude heard a step behind them, and turn 
 ing she saw George, Mr. Graham s man, running in the direc 
 tion of the house. He recognized her at once, and exclaimed, 
 "Miss Gertrude, you ll be wet through; and Miss Pace, too," 
 added he, seeing Gerty s companion. "Sure and ye d better 
 baith hasten to her house, where ye 11 be secure." 
 
 So saying, he caught Miss Pace in his arms, and signing to 
 Gertrude to follow, rushed across the street, arid hurrying on 
 to a cottage near by, did not stop until he had placed the old 
 lady in safety beneath her own porch ; and Gerty at the same 
 instant gained its shelter. Miss Pace for such was the old 
 lady s name was so bewildered that it took her some minutes 
 to recover her consciousness ; and in the mean time it was ar 
 ranged that Gertrude should stop where she was for an hour or 
 two, and that George should call for her when he passed that 
 way with the carriage, on his return from the depot, where he 
 went regularly on three afternoons in the week for Mr. Graham. 
 
 Miss Patty Pace was not generally considered a person of 
 much hospitality. She owned the cottage which she occupied, 
 and lived there quite alone, keeping no servants and entertain 
 ing no visitors. She was herself a famous visitor; and as but 
 a small part of her life had been passed in D , and all her 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 133 
 
 friends and connections lived either in Boston or at a much 
 greater distance, she was a constant frequenter of omnibuses 
 and other public vehicles. But though, through her travelling 
 propensities and her regular attendance at church, she was well 
 known, Gertrude was, perhaps, the first visitor that had ever 
 entered her house; and she, as we have seen, could scarcely be 
 said to have come by invitation. 
 
 Even when she was at the very door, she found herself 
 obliged to take the old lady s key, unlock and open it herself, 
 and finally lead her hostess into the parlor, and help her oif 
 with her innumerable capes,, shawls, and veils. Once come to 
 a distinct consciousness of her situation, however, and Miss 
 Patty Pace conducted herself with all the elegant politeness for 
 which she was remarkable. Suffering though she evidently 
 was with a thousand regrets at the trying experience her own 
 clothes had sustained, she commanded herself sufficiently to 
 express nearly as many fears lest Gertrude had ruined every 
 article of her dress. It was only after many assurances from 
 the latter that her boots were scarcely wet at all, her gingham 
 dress and cape not likely to be hurt by rain, and her nice straw 
 bonnet safe under the scarf she had thrown over it, that Miss 
 Patty could be prevailed upon to so far forget the duties of a 
 hostess as to retire and change her lace flounces for something 
 more suitable for home wear. 
 
 As soon as she left the room, Gertrude, whose curiosity was 
 wonderfully excited, hastened to take a nearer view of numbers 
 of articles, both of ornament and use, which had already at 
 tracted her attention from their odd and singular appearance. 
 
 Miss Pace s parlor was as remarkable as its owner. Its fur 
 niture, like her apparel, was made up of the gleanings of every 
 age and fashion, from chairs that undoubtedly came over in 
 the Mayflower, to feeble attempts at modern pincushions, and 
 imitations of crystallized grass, that were a complete failure. 
 Gertrude s quick and observing eye was revelling amid the few 
 relics of ancient elegance, and the numerous specimens of folly 
 and bad taste, with which the room was filled, when the old 
 lady returned. 
 
 A neat though quaint black dress having taken the place of 
 the much valued flounces, she now looked far more ladylike. 
 She held in her hand a tumbler of pepper and water, and 
 begged her visitor to drink, assuring her it would warm her 
 
134 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 stomach and prevent her taking cold; and when Gertrude, who 
 could only with great difficulty keep from laughing in her face, 
 declined the beverage, Miss Patty seated herself, and while en 
 joying the refreshment, carried on a conversation which at one 
 moment satisfied her visitor she was a woman of sense, and the 
 next persuaded her that she was either foolish or insane. 
 
 The impression which Gertrude made upon Miss Patty, how 
 ever, was more decided. Miss Patty was delighted with the 
 young miss, who, she declared, possessed an intellect that would 
 do honor to a queen, a figure that was airy as a gazelle, and 
 motions more graceful than those of a swan. 
 
 When George came for Gertrude, Miss Pace, who seemed 
 really sorry to part with her, cordially invited her to come 
 again, and Gertrude promised to do so. 
 
 The satisfactory news from Willie, and the amusing adven 
 tures of the afternoon, had given to Gertrude such a feeling 
 of buoyancy and light-heartedness, that she bounded into the 
 house and up the stairs with that fairy quickness Uncle True 
 had so loved to see in her, and which, since his death, her 
 subdued spirits had rarely permitted her to exercise. She has 
 tened to her own room to remove her bonnet and change her 
 dress before seeking Emily, to whom she longed to communi 
 cate the events of the day. 
 
 At the door of her room she met Bridget, the housemaid, 
 with a dustpan, hand-broom, etc. On inquiring what was 
 going on there at this unusual hour, she learned that during 
 her absence her room, which had since their removal been in 
 some confusion, owing to Mrs. Ellis s not having decided what 
 furniture should be placed there, had been subjected to a thor 
 ough and comprehensive system of spring cleaning. Alarmed, 
 though she scarcely knew why, at the idea of Mrs. Ellis having 
 invaded her premises, she surveyed the apartment with a slight 
 feeling of agitation, which, as she continued her observations, 
 swelled into a storm of angry excitement. 
 
 When Gertrude went from Mrs. Sullivan s to Mr. Graham s 
 house in the city, she carried with her, beside a trunk contain 
 ing her wardrobe, an old bandbox, which she stored away on 
 the shelf of a closet in her chamber. 
 
 There it remained during the winter, unpacked and unob 
 served by any one. When the family went into the country, 
 however, the box went also, carefully watched and protected 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 135 
 
 by its owner. As there was no closet or other hiding place in 
 Gertrude s new room, she placed it in a corner behind the bed, 
 and the evening before her expedition to the city had been en 
 gaged in removing and inspecting a part of its contents. Each 
 article was endeared to her by the charm of old association, and 
 many a tear had the little maiden shed over her stock of valu 
 ables. There was the figure of the Samuel, Uncle True s first 
 gift, now defaced by time and accident. As she surveyed a 
 severe contusion on the back of the head, the effect of an inad 
 vertent knock given it by True himself, and remembered how 
 patiently the dear old man labored to repair the injury, she felt 
 that she would not part with the much valued memento for the 
 world. There, too, were his pipes, of common clay, and dark 
 with smoke and age; but as she thought how much comfort 
 they had been to him, she felt that the possession of them was 
 a consolation to her. She had brought away, too, his lantern, 
 for she had not forgotten its pleasant light, the first that ever 
 fell upon the darkness of her life; nor could she leave behind 
 an old fur cap, beneath which she had often sought a kindly 
 smile, and never having sought in vain, could hardly realize 
 that there was not one for her still hidden beneath its crown. 
 There were some toys too, and picture books, gifts from Willie, 
 a little basket he had carved for her from a nut, and a few 
 other trifles. 
 
 All these things, excepting the lantern and cap, Gertrude 
 had left upon the mantel-piece; and now, upon entering the 
 room, her eye at once sought her treasures. They were gone. 
 The mantel-piece was nicely dusted and quite empty. She ran 
 towards the corner where she had left the old box. That, too, 
 was gone. To rush after the retreating housemaid, call her 
 back, and pour forth a succession of eager inquiries, was but 
 the work of an instant. 
 
 Bridget was a newcomer, a remarkably stupid specimen, but 
 Gertrude contrived to obtain from her all the information she 
 needed. The image, the pipes, and the lantern were thrown 
 among a heap of broken glass and crockery, and as Bridget 
 declared, smashed all to nothing. The cap, pronounced moth- 
 eaten, had been condemned to the flames; and the other arti 
 cles, Bridget could not be sure, but "troth, she belaved she 
 was just afther laving them in the fireplace." And all this in 
 strict accordance with Mrs. Ellis s orders. Gertrude allowed 
 
136 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 Bridget to depart unaware of the greatness of her loss; then 
 shutting the door, she threw herself upon the bed, and gave 
 way to a violent fit of weeping. 
 
 So this, thought she, was the reason why Mrs. Ellis was so 
 willing to forward my plans, and I was foolish enough to 
 believe it was for my own sake ! She wanted to come here and 
 rob me, the thief! 
 
 She rose from the bed as suddenly as she had thrown herself 
 down, and started for the door; then some new thought seem 
 ing to check her, she returned again to the bedside, and with 
 a loud sob, fell upon her knees, and buried her face in her 
 hands. Once or twice she lifted her head, and seemed on the 
 point of rising and going to face her enemy. But each time 
 something came across her mind and detained her. It was not 
 fear, 0, no ! Gertrude was not afraid of anybody. It must 
 have been some stronger motive than that. Whatever it might 
 be, it was something that had, on the whole, a soothing influ 
 ence ; for after every fresh struggle she grew calmer, and pre 
 sently, rising, seated herself in a chair by the window, leaned her 
 head on her hand, and looked out. The window was open; 
 the shower was over, and the smiles of the refreshed and beau 
 tiful earth were reflected in a glowing rainbow, that spanned 
 the eastern horizon. A little bird came and perched on a 
 branch of a tree close to the window, and shouted forth a Te 
 Deum. A Persian lilac-bush in full bloom sent up a delicious 
 fragrance. A wonderful composure stole into Gertrude s heart, 
 and ere she had sat there many minutes she felt "the grace 
 that brings peace succeed to the passions that produce trouble." 
 She had conquered; she had achieved the greatest of earth s 
 victories, a victory over herself. The brilliant rainbow, the 
 carol of the bird, the fragrance of the blossoms, all the bright 
 things that gladdened the earth after the sto.rm, were not half 
 so beautiful as the light that overspread the face of the young 
 girl when, the storm within her laid at rest, she looked up to 
 heaven, and her heart sent forth its silent offering of praise. 
 
 The sound of the tea-bell startled her. She hastened to 
 bathe her face and brush her hair, and then went down stairs. 
 There was no one in the dining-room but Mrs. Ellis; Mr. 
 Graham had been detained in town, and Emily was suffering 
 with a severe headache. Consequently, Gertrude took tea alone 
 with Mrs. Ellis. The latter, though unaware of the great 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 137 
 
 value Gertrude attached to her old relics, was conscious she 
 had done an unkind thing; and as the injured party gave no 
 evidence of anger or ill-will, not even mentioning the subject, 
 the aggressor felt more uncomfortable and mortified than she 
 would have been willing to allow. The matter was never re 
 curred to, but Mrs. Ellis experienced a stinging consciousness 
 of the fact that Gertrude had shown a superiority to herself in 
 point of forbearance. 
 
 The next day Mrs. Prime, the cook, came to the door of 
 Emily s room, and obtaining a ready admittance, produced the 
 little basket made of a nut, saying, "I wonder now, Miss Emily, 
 where Miss Gertrude is, for I ve found her little basket in the 
 coal-hod, and I guess she 11 be right glad on t t ain t hurt a 
 mite." Emily inquired, "What basket 1 ?" and the cook, pla 
 cing it in her hands, proceeded with eagerness to give an account 
 of the destruction of Gertrude s property, which she had her 
 self witnessed with great indignation. She also gave a piteous 
 description of the distress the young girl manifested in her 
 questioning of Bridget, which the sympathizing cook had over 
 heard from her own not very distant chamber. 
 
 As Emily listened to the story, she well remembered having 
 thought, the previous afternoon, that she heard Gertrude sob 
 bing in her room, which on one side adjoined her own, but 
 that she afterwards concluded herself to have been mistaken. 
 "Go," said she, "and carry the basket to Gertrude; she is in 
 the little library; but please, Mrs. Prime, don t tell her that 
 you have mentioned the matter to me." Emily expected for 
 several days to hear from Gertrude the story of her injuries; 
 but Gertrude kept her trouble to herself, and bore it in silence. 
 
 This was the first instance of complete self-control in Gerty, 
 and the last we shall have occasion to dwell upon. From this 
 time she continued to experience more and more the power 
 of governing herself; and with each new effort gaining new 
 strength, became at last a wonder to those who knew the tem 
 perament she had had to contend with. She was now nearly 
 fourteen years old, and so rapid had been her recent growth 
 that, instead of being below the usual stature, she was taller 
 than most girls of her age. Freedom from study, and plenty 
 of air and exercise, prevented her, however, from suffering 
 from this circumstance. 
 
 Her garden was a source of great pleasure to her, and flowers 
 
138 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 seeming to prosper under her careful training, she had always 
 a bouquet ready to place by Emily s plate at breakfast-time. 
 
 Occasionally she went to see her friend Miss Patty Pace, and 
 always met with a cordial reception. Miss Patty s attention 
 was very much engrossed by the manufacture of paper flowers, 
 and as Gertrude s garden furnished the models, she seldom 
 went empty-handed; but the old lady s success being very ill 
 proportioned to her efforts, it would have been a libel upon 
 nature to pronounce even the most favorable specimens of this 
 sort of fancy-work true copies of the original. Miss Patty was 
 satisfied, however; and it is to be hoped that her various 
 friends, for whom the large bunches were intended that travelled 
 about tied to her waist by the green string, were satisfied also. 
 
 Miss Patty seemed to have a great many friends. Judging 
 from the numbers of people that she talked about to Gertrude, 
 the latter concluded she must be acquainted with everybody in 
 Boston. And it would have been hard to find any one whose 
 intercourse extended to a wider circle. She had, in her youth, 
 learned an upholsterer s trade, which she had practised for 
 many years in the employment (as she said) of the first families 
 in the city ; and so observing was she, and so acute in her judg 
 ment, that a report at one time prevailed that Miss Pace had 
 eyes in the back of her head, and two pair of ears. Notwith 
 standing her wonderful visionary and comprehending powers, 
 she had never been known to make mischief in families. She 
 was prudent and conscientious, and though always peculiar in 
 her habits and modes of expression, and so wild in some of her 
 fancies as to be often thought by strangers a little out, she had 
 secured and continued to retain the good-will of a great many 
 kindly disposed ladies and gentlemen, at whose houses she was 
 always well received and politely treated. She calculated, in 
 the course of every year, to go the rounds among all these 
 friends, and thus kept up her intimacy with households in 
 every member of which she felt a warm personal interest. 
 
 Miss Patty labored under one great and absorbing regret, and 
 frequently expatiated to Gertrude on the subject; it was, that 
 she was without a companion. "Ah, Miss Gertrude," she 
 would sometimes exclaim, seeming for the time quite forgetful 
 of her age and infirmities, "I should do vastly well in this 
 world, if I only had a companion ; " and here, with a slight toss 
 of the head and a little, smirking air, she would add, in a 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 139 
 
 Whisper, "and you must know, my dear, I somewhat meditate 
 matrimony." Then seeing Gertrude s look of surprise and 
 amusement, she would apologize for having so long delayed 
 fulfilling what had always been her intention; and at the same 
 time that she admitted not being as young as she had once 
 been, would usually close with the remark, " It is true, time is 
 inexorable; but I cling to life, Miss Gertrude, I cling to life, 
 and may marry yet." 
 
 On the subject of fashion, too, she would declaim at great 
 length, avowing, for her own part, a rigid determination to be 
 modern, whatever the cost might be. Gertrude could not fail 
 to observe that she had failed in this intention as signally as 
 in that of securing a youthful swain; and she was also gradu 
 ally led to conclude that Miss Pace, whatever might be her 
 means, was a terrible miser. Emily, who knew the old lady 
 very well, and had often employed her, did not oppose Ger 
 trude s visits to the cottage, and sometimes accompanied her; 
 for Emily loved to be amused, and Miss Patty s quaint conver 
 sation was as great a treat to her as to Gertrude. These calls 
 were so promptly returned, that it was made very evident that 
 Miss Patty preferred doing the greater part of the visiting her 
 self; observing which, Emily gave her a general invitation to 
 the house, of which she was not slow to avail herself. 
 
140 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 More health, dear maid, thy soothing presence brings, 
 Than purest skies, or salutary springs. 
 
 MRS. BARBAULD. 
 
 PERSONS who own residences within six miles of a large city 
 cannot be properly said to enjoy country life. They have large 
 gardens, oftentimes extensive grounds, and raise their own fruit 
 and vegetables; they usually keep horses, drive about and take 
 the air. Some maintain quite a barnyard establishment, and 
 pride themselves upon their fat cattle and Shanghae fowls. 
 But, after all, these suburban residents do not taste the charms 
 of true country life. There are no pathless woods, no roaring 
 brooks, no waving fields of grain, no wide stretches of pasture 
 land. Every eminence commands a view of the near metropo 
 lis, the hum of which is almost audible; and every hourly 
 omnibus, or train of cars, carries one s self, or one s neighbor, 
 to or from the busy mart. 
 
 Those who seek retirement and seclusion, however, can no 
 where be more sure to find it than in one of these half-country, 
 half-city homes ; and many a family will, summer after summer, 
 resort to the same quiet corner, and undisturbed by visitors 
 or gossip, maintain an independence of life which would be 
 quite impossible either in the crowded streets of the town, 
 where one s acquaintances are forever dropping in, or in the 
 strictly country villages, where every newcomer is observed, 
 called upon, and talked about. 
 
 Mr. Graham s establishment was of the medium order, and 
 little calculated to attract notice. The garden was certainly 
 very beautiful, abounding in rich shrubbery, summer-houses, 
 and arbors covered with grapevines; but a high board fence 
 hid it from public view, and the house, standing back from 
 the road, was rather old-fashioned and very unobtrusive in its 
 appearance. 
 
 Excepting his horticultural propensities, Mr. Graham s asso 
 ciations were all connected with the city; and Emily, being 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 141 
 
 unfitted for much general intercourse with society, entertained 
 little company, save that of the neighbors who made formal 
 calls, and some particular friends, such as Mr. Arnold, the 
 clergyman, and a few intimates, who often towards evening 
 drove out of town to see Emily and eat fruit. 
 
 The summer was passing away most happily, and Gertrude, 
 in the constant enjoyment of Emily s society, and in the con 
 sciousness that she was, in various ways, rendering herself use 
 ful and important to this excellent friend, was finding in every 
 day new causes of contentment and rejoicing, when a seal was 
 suddenly set to all her pleasure. 
 
 Emily was taken ill with a fever, and Gertrude, on occasion 
 of her first undertaking to enter the sick-room, and share in 
 its duties, was rudely repulsed by Mrs. Ellis, who had consti 
 tuted herself sole nurse, and who declared, when the poor girl 
 pleaded hard to be admitted, that the fever was catching, and 
 Miss Emily did not want her there, that when she was sick 
 she never wanted any one about her but herself. 
 
 For three or four days Gertrude wandered about the house 
 inconsolable. On the fifth morning after her banishment from 
 the room, she saw Mrs. Prime, the cook, going upstairs with 
 some gruel ; and thrusting into her hand some beautiful rose 
 buds, which she had just gathered, she begged her to give them 
 to Emily, and ask if she might not come in and see her. 
 
 She lingered about the kitchen awaiting Mrs. Prime s return, 
 in hopes of some message at least from the sufferer. But when 
 the cook came down the flowers were still in her hand, and as 
 she threw them on the table, the kind-hearted woman gave 
 vent to her feelings. 
 
 "Well! folks do say that first-rate cooks and nurses are allers 
 as cross as bears! T ain t for me to say whether it s so bout 
 cooks, but bout nurses there ain t no sort o doubt! I would 
 not want to go there, Miss Gertrude; I wouldn t insure you 
 but what she d bite your head off." 
 
 "Wouldn t Miss Emily take the flowers ?" asked Gertrude, 
 looking quite grieved. 
 
 "Well, she hadn t no word in the matter. You know she 
 couldn t see what they were, and Mis Ellis flung em outside 
 the door, vowin I might as well bring pison into the room 
 with a fever as them roses. I tried to speak to Miss Emily, 
 but Mis Ellis set up such a hush-sh-sh I s posed she was goin 
 
142 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 to sleep, and jest made the best o my way out. Ugh! don t 
 she scold when there s anybody sick? " 
 
 Gertrude sauntered out into the garden. She had nothing 
 to do but think anxiously about Emily, who she feared was 
 very ill. Her work and her books were all in Emily s room, 
 where they were usually kept ; the library might have furnished 
 amusement, but it was locked up. So the garden was the only 
 thing left for her, and there she spent the rest of the morning; 
 and not that morning only, but many others ; for Emily contin 
 ued to grow worse, and a fortnight passed away without Ger 
 trude s seeing her or having any other intimation regarding her 
 health than Mrs. Ellis s occasional report to Mr. Graham, who, 
 however, as he saw the physican every day, and made frequent 
 visits to his daughter himself, did not require that particular 
 information which Gertrude was eager to obtain. Once or 
 twice she had ventured to question Mrs. Ellis, whose only re 
 ply was, "Don t bother me with questions! what do you know 
 about sickness 1 " 
 
 One afternoon Gertrude was sitting in a large summer-house 
 at the lower end of the garden; her own piece of ground, fra 
 grant with mignonette and verbena, was close by, and she was 
 busily engaged in tying up and marking some little papers of 
 seeds, the gleanings from various seed vessels, when she was 
 startled by hearing a step close beside her, and looking up, saw 
 Dr. Jeremy, the family physician, just entering the building. 
 
 "Ah! what are you doing?" exclaimed the doctor, in a 
 quick, abrupt manner peculiar to him. " Sorting seeds, eh ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied Gerty, looking up and blushing, as she 
 saw the doctor s keen black eyes scrutinizing her face. 
 
 "Where have I seen you before?" asked he, in the same 
 blunt way. 
 
 "At Mr. Flint s." 
 
 "Ah! True Flint s! I remember all about it. You re his 
 girl! Nice girl, too. And poor True, he s dead! Well, 
 he s a loss to the community! So this is the little nurse I 
 used to see there. Bless me ! how children do grow ! " 
 
 "Doctor Jeremy," asked Gertrude, in an earnest voice, "will 
 you please to tell me how Miss Emily is ? " 
 
 "Emily ! she ain t very well just now." 
 
 "Do you think she if die?" 
 
 "Die! No! What should she die for? I won t let her 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 143 
 
 die, if you 11 help me keep her alive. Why ain t you in the 
 house, taking care of her ! " 
 
 "I wish I might!" exclaimed Gertrude, starting up; "I 
 wish I might ! " 
 
 "What s to hinder?" 
 
 "Mrs. Ellis, sir, she won t let me in; she says Miss Emily 
 doesn t want anybody but her." 
 
 "She s nothing to say about it, or Emily either; it s my 
 business, and I want you. I d rather have you to take care 
 of my patients than all the Mrs. Ellises in the world. She 
 doesn t know anything about nursing; let her stick to her 
 cranberry sauce and squash pies. So mind, to-morrow you re 
 to begin." 
 
 "0, thank you, doctor!" 
 
 "Don t thank me yet; wait till you ve tried it, it s hard 
 work taking care of sick folks. Whose orchard is that 1 " 
 
 "Mrs. Bruce s." 
 
 " Is that her pear tree ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "By George, Mrs. Bruce, I 11 try your pears for you! " 
 
 As he spoke, the doctor, a man some sixty-five years of age, 
 stout and active, sprung over a stone wall which separated 
 them from the orchard, and carried along by the impetus the 
 leap had given him, reached the foot of the tree almost at a 
 bound. 
 
 As Gertrude, full of mirth, watched the proceeding, she ob 
 served the doctor stumble over some obstacle, and only save 
 himself from falling by stretching forth both hands, and sus 
 taining himself against the huge trunk of the fine old tree. 
 At the same instant a head, adorned with a velvet smoking- 
 cap, was slowly lifted from the long grass, and a youth, about 
 sixteen or seventeen years of age, raised himself upon his elbow 
 and stared at the unlooked-for intruder. 
 
 Nothing daunted, the doctor at once took offensive ground 
 towards the occupant of the place, saying, " Get up, lazy bones ! 
 What do you lie there for, tripping up honest folks ? " 
 
 "Who do you call honest folks, sir?" inquired the youth, 
 apparently quite undisturbed by the doctor s epithet and in 
 quiry. 
 
 "I call myself and my little friend here remarkably honest 
 people," replied the doctor, winking at Gertrude, who, stand- 
 
144 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 ing behind the wall and looking over, was laughing heartily at 
 the way in which the doctor had got caught. 
 
 The young man, observing the direction of the latter s eyes, 
 turned and gave a broad stare at Gertrude s merry face. 
 
 "Can I do anything for you, sir? " asked he. 
 
 "Yes, certainly," replied the doctor. "I came here to help 
 myself to pears ; but you are taller than I, perhaps with the 
 help of that crooked handled cane of yours you can reach that 
 best branch." 
 
 " A remarkably honorable and honest errand ! " muttered the 
 young man. "I shall be happy to be engaged in so good a 
 cause. " 
 
 As he spoke he lifted his cane, which lay by his side, and 
 drawing down the end of the branch so that he could reach it 
 with his hand, shook it vigorously. The ripe fruit fell on 
 every side, and the doctor, having rilled his pockets and both 
 his hands, started for the other side of the wall. 
 
 " Have you got enough 1 " asked the youth, in a very lazy 
 tone of voice. 
 
 "Plenty, plenty," said the doctor. 
 
 "Glad of it," said the boy, indolently throwing himself on 
 the grass, and still staring at Gertrude. 
 
 "You must be very tired," said the doctor, stepping back a 
 pace or two; "I m a physician, and should advise a nap." 
 
 "Are you, indeed!" replied the youth, in the same half- 
 drawling, half-ironical tone of voice in which he had previously 
 spoken; "then I think I 11 take your advice; " saying which he 
 threw himself back upon the grass and closed his eyes. 
 
 Having emptied his pockets upon . the seat of the summer- 
 house, and invited Gertrude to partake, the doctor, still laugh 
 ing so immoderately at his boyish feat that he could scarcely 
 eat the fruit, happened to bethink himself of the lateness of 
 the hour. He looked at his watch. "Half- past four! The 
 cars go in ten minutes. Who s going to drive me down to the 
 depot?" 
 
 "I don t know, sir," replied Gertrude, to whom the ques 
 tion seemed to be addressed. 
 
 "Where s George?" 
 
 "He s gone to the meadow to get in some hay, but he left 
 white Charlie harnessed in the yard; I saw him fasten him to 
 the chain after he drove you up from the cars." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 145 
 
 "Ah! then you can drive me down to the depot." 
 
 "I can t, sir; I don t know how." 
 
 "But you must; I 11 show you how. You re not afraid! n 
 
 "0 no, sir; but Mr. Graham " 
 
 "Never you mind Mr. Graham do you mind me. I ll 
 answer for your coming back safe enough." 
 
 Gertrude was naturally courageous; she had never driven 
 before, but having no fears, she succeeded admirably, and being 
 often afterwards called upon by Dr. Jeremy to perform the 
 same service, she soon became skilful in the use of the reins, 
 an accomplishment not always particularly desirable in a 
 lady, but which in her case proved very useful. 
 
 Dr. Jeremy was true to his promise of installing Gertrude 
 in Emily s sick-room. The very next visit he made to his 
 patient he spoke in terms of the highest praise of Gertrude s 
 devotion to her old uncle, and her capability as a nurse, and 
 asked why she had been expelled from the chamber. 
 
 "She is timid," said Emily, "and is afraid of catching the 
 fever." 
 
 "Don t believe it," said Dr. Jeremy; " t ain t like her." 
 
 "Do you think not?" inquired Emily earnestly. "Mrs. 
 Ellis " 
 
 "Told a lie," interrupted the doctor. "Gerty wants to come 
 and take care of you, and she knows how as well as Mrs. Ellis 
 any day; it isn t much you need done. You want quiet, and 
 that s what you can t have with that great talking woman 
 about. So I 11 send her to Jericho to-day, and bring my little 
 Gertrude up here. She s a quiet little mouse, and has got a 
 head on her shoulders." 
 
 It is not to be supposed that Gertrude could provide for 
 Emily s wants any better or even as well as Mrs. Ellis; and 
 Emily knowing this took care that the housekeeper should not 
 be sent to Jericho; for though Dr. Jeremy, a man of strong 
 prejudices, did not like her, she was excellent in her depart 
 ment, and could not be dispensed with. Had it been other 
 wise, Emily would not have hurt her feelings by letting her see 
 that she was in any degree superseded. 
 
 So though Emily, Dr. Jeremy, and Gertrude were all made 
 happy by the free admission of the latter to the sick-room, the 
 housekeeper, unhandsomely as she had behaved, was never con 
 scious that any one knew the wrong she had done to Gertrude 
 
146 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 in keeping her out of sight and giving a false reason for her 
 continued absence. 
 
 There was a watchfulness, a care, a tenderness in Gertrude, 
 which only the warmest love could have dictated. 
 
 When Emily awoke at night from a troubled sleep, found a 
 cooling draught ready at her lips, and knew from Mrs. Ellis s 
 deep snoring that it was not her hand that held it, when she 
 observed that all day long no troublesome fly was ever permit 
 ted to approach her pillow, her aching head was relieved by 
 hours of patient bathing, and the little feet that were never 
 weary were always noiseless, she realized the truth, that Dr. 
 Jeremy had brought her a most excellent medicine. 
 
 A week or two passed away, and she was well enough to sit 
 up nearly all the time, though not yet able to leave her room. 
 A few weeks more and the doctor began to insist upon air and 
 exercise. "Drive out two or three times every day," said he. 
 
 "How can I?" said Emily. "George has so much to do 
 it will be very inconvenient." 
 
 "Let Gertrude drive you ; she is a capital hand." 
 
 "Gertrude," said Emily smiling, "I believe you are a great 
 favorite of the doctor s; he thinks you can do anything. You 
 never drove in your life, did you ? " 
 
 " Has n t she driven me to the depot every day for these six 
 weeks 1 " inquired the doctor. 
 
 " Is it possible 1 " asked Emily, who was unaccustomed to the 
 idea of a lady s attempting the management of a horse. 
 
 Upon her being assured this was the case, and the doctor 
 insisting that there was no danger, Charlie was harnessed into 
 the carryall, and Emily and Mrs. Ellis went out to drive with 
 Gertrude; an experiment which, being often repeated, was a 
 source of health to the invalid, and pleasure to them all. In 
 the early autumn, when Emily s health was quite restored, old 
 Charlie was daily called into requisition; sometimes Mrs. Ellis 
 accompanied them, but as she was often engaged about house 
 hold duties, they usually went by themselves in a large, old- 
 fashioned buggy, and Emily declared that Gertrude s learning 
 to drive had proved one of the greatest sources of happiness 
 she had known for years. 
 
 Once or twice in the course of the summer and autumn, Ger 
 trude saw again the lazy youth whom Dr. Jeremy had stumbled 
 over when he went to steal pears. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 147 
 
 Once he came and sat on the wall while she was at work in 
 her garden, professed himself astonished at her activity, talked 
 a little with her about her flowers, asked some questions con 
 cerning her friend Dr. Jeremy, and ended by requesting to 
 know her name. 
 
 Gertrude blushed ; she was a little sensitive about her name, 
 and though she always went by that of Flint, and did not, on 
 ordinary occasions, think much about it, she could not fail to 
 remember, when the question was put to her point blank, that 
 she had, in reality, no surname of her own. 
 
 Emily had endeavored to find Nan Grant, in order to learn 
 from her something of Gertrude s early history; but Nan had 
 left her old habitation, and for years nothing had been heard 
 of her. 
 
 Gertrude, as we have said, blushed on being asked her name, 
 but replied, with dignity, that she would tell hers, provided 
 her new acquaintance would return the compliment. 
 
 "Sha n t do it!" said the youth impudently, "and don t 
 care about knowing yours, either;" saying which, he kicked 
 an apple with his foot, and walked off, still kicking it before 
 him, leaving Gertrude to the conclusion that he was the most 
 >ll-bred person she had ever seen. 
 
148 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTEK XX 
 
 A perfect woman, nobly planned, 
 To warn, to comfort, and command, 
 And yet a spirit still, and bright, 
 With something of an angel light. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 IT was the twilight of a sultry September day, and, wearied 
 with many hours endurance of an excessive heat, unlocked for 
 so late in the season, Emily Graham sat on the front piazza of 
 her father s house, inhaling a delicious and refreshing breeze, 
 which had just sprung up. The western sky was still streaked 
 with brilliant lines of red, the lingering effects of a gorgeous 
 sunset, while the moon, now nearly at the full, and triumphing 
 in the close of day and the commencement of her nightly reign, 
 cast her full beams upon Emily s white dress, and gave to the 
 beautiful hand and arm, which, escaping from the draperied 
 sleeve, rested on the side of her rustic arm-chair, the semblance 
 of polished marble. 
 
 Ten years had passed since Emily was first introduced to the 
 reader; and yet so slight were the changes wrought by time 
 upon her face and figure, that she looked scarcely any older than 
 on the occasion of her first meeting Gertrude in Mr. Arnold s 
 church. 
 
 She had even then experienced much of the sorrow of life, 
 and learned how to distil from the bitter dregs of suffering a 
 balm for every pain. Even then, that experience, and the 
 blessed knowledge she had gained from it, had both stamped 
 themselves upon her countenance : the one in a sobered and sub 
 dued expression, which usually belongs to more mature years; 
 the other, in that sweet, calm smile of trust and hope, which 
 proclaims the votary of Heaven. 
 
 Therefore time had little power upon her, and as she was 
 then so was she now; lovely in her outward appearance, and 
 still more lovely in her heart and life. A close observer might, 
 however, perceive in her a greater degree of buoyancy of spirit, 
 keenness of interest in what was going on about her, and evi- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 149 
 
 dent enjoyment of life, than she had formerly evinced; and 
 this was due, as Emily felt and acknowledged, to her recent 
 close companionship with one to whom she was bound by the 
 warmest affection, and who by her lively sympathy, her con 
 stant devotion, her natural appreciation of the entertaining and 
 the ludicrous, as well as the beautiful and the true, and her ear 
 nest and unsparing efforts to bring her much loved friend into 
 communion with everything she herself enjoyed, had called into 
 play faculties which blindness had rendered almost dormant, and 
 become what Uncle True bade her be, eyes to her benefactor. 
 
 On the present occasion, however, as Emily sat alone, shut 
 out from the beautiful sunset, and unconscious of the shadows 
 that played over her in the moonlight, her thoughts seemed to 
 be sad. She held her head a little on one side, in a listening 
 attitude, and as often as she heard the sound of the gate swing 
 ing in the breeze, she would start, while a look of anxiety, and 
 even pain, would cross her features. 
 
 At length, some one emerges from behind the high fence 
 which screens the garden from public gaze, and approaches the 
 gate. None but Emily s quick ear could have distinguished 
 the light step ; but she hears it at once, and rising, goes to meet 
 the newcomer, whom we must pause to introduce, for though an 
 old acquaintance, time has not left her unchanged, and it would 
 be hard to recognize in her our little quondam Gertrude. 
 
 The present Gertrude for she it is has now become a 
 young lady. She is some inches taller than Emily, and her 
 figure is slight and delicate. Her complexion is dark but 
 clear, and rendered brilliant by the rosy hue that flushes her 
 cheeks; but that may be the effect of her rapid walk from the 
 railroad station. She has taken off her bonnet, and is swing 
 ing it by the string, a habit she always had as a child ; so 
 we will acquit her of any coquettish desire to display an un 
 usually fine head of hair. 
 
 Gertrude s eyes have retained their old lustre, and do not now 
 look too large for her face ; and if her mouth be less classically 
 formed than the strict rule of beauty would commend, one can 
 easily forgive that, in consideration of two rows of small pearly 
 teeth which are as regular and even as a string of beads. Her 
 neat dress of spotted muslin fits close to her throat, and her simple 
 black mantle does not conceal the roundness of her taper waist. 
 
 What then 1 Is Gertrude a beauty 1 
 
150 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 By no means. Hers is a face and form about which there 
 would be a thousand different opinions, and out of the whole 
 number few would pronounce her beautiful. But there are 
 faces whose ever- varying expression one loves to watch, tell 
 tale faces, that speak the truth and proclaim the sentiment 
 within; faces that now light up with intelligence, now beam 
 with mirth, now sadden at the tale of sorrow, now burn with 
 a holy indignation for that which the soul abhors, and now, 
 again, are sanctified by the divine presence, when the heart 
 turns away from the world and itself, and looks upward in the 
 spirit of devotion. Such a face was Gertrude s. 
 
 There are forms, too, which, though neither dignified, queenly, 
 or fairy-like, possess a grace, an ease, a self-possession, a power 
 of moving lightly and airily in their sphere, and never being in 
 any one s way, and such a form was Gertrude s. 
 
 Whatever charm these attractions might give her, and 
 there were those who estimated it highly, it was undoubt 
 edly greatly enchanced by an utter unconsciousness, on her 
 part, of possessing any attractions at all. The early engrafted 
 belief in her own personal plainness had not yet deserted her, 
 but she no longer felt the mortification she had formerly labored 
 under on that account. 
 
 As she perceived Miss Graham coming to meet her, she 
 quickened her pace, and joining her near the doorstep, where 
 a path turning to the right led into the garden, passed her arm 
 affectionately over Emily s shoulder, in a manner which the 
 latter s blindness, and Gertrude s superior height and ability 
 to act as guide, had of late rendered usual, and turning into 
 the walk which led from the house, said, while she drew the 
 shawl closer around her blind friend, 
 
 " Here I am again, Emily ! Have you been alone ever since 
 I went away ? " 
 
 "Yes, dear, most of the time, and have been quite worried 
 to think you were travelling about in Boston this excessively 
 warm day." 
 
 "It has not hurt me in the least; I only enjoy this cool 
 breeze all the more ; it is such a contrast to the heat and dust 
 of the city ! " 
 
 "But, Gerty," said Emily, stopping short in their walk, 
 "what are you coming away from the house for? You have 
 not been to tea, my child. " 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 151 
 
 "I know it, Emily, but I don t want any supper." 
 
 They walked on for some time, slowly and in perfect silence. 
 At last Emily said, 
 
 " Well, Gertrude, have you nothing to tell me ? " 
 
 " 0, yes, a great deal, but " 
 
 "But you know it will be sad news to me, and so you don t 
 like to speak it ; is it not so ? " 
 
 "I ought not to have the vanity, dear Emily, to think it 
 would trouble you very much; but ever since last evening, 
 when I told you what Mr. W. said, and what I had in my 
 mind, and you seemed to feel so badly at the thought of our 
 being separated, I have felt almost doubtful what it was right 
 for me to do." 
 
 "And I, on the other hand, Gertrude, have been reproach 
 ing myself for allowing you to have any knowledge of my feel 
 ing in the matter, lest I should be influencing you against your 
 duty, or, at least, making it harder for you to fulfil. I feel 
 that you are right, Gertrude, and that, instead of opposing, I 
 ought to do everything I can to forward your plans." 
 
 "Dear Emily!" exclaimed Gertrude vehemently, "if you 
 thought so from what I told you yesterday, you would be con 
 vinced, had you seen and heard all that I have to-day." 
 
 " Why ? are matters any worse than they were at Mrs. Sul 
 livan s?" 
 
 "Much worse than I described to you. I did not then know 
 myself all that Mrs. Sullivan had to contend with ; but I have 
 been at their house nearly all the time since I left home this 
 morning (for Mr. W. did not detain me five minutes), and it 
 really does not seem to me safe for such a timid, delicate woman 
 as Mrs. Sullivan to be alone with Mr. Cooper, now that his 
 mind is in such a dreadful state." 
 
 "But do you think you can do any good, Gertrude? " 
 
 " I know I can, dear Emily ; I can manage him much better 
 than she can, and at the same time do more for his comfort and 
 happiness. He is like a child now, and full of whims. When 
 he can possibly be indulged, Mrs. Sullivan will please him at 
 any amount of inconvenience, and even danger to herself; not 
 only because he is her father, and she feels it her duty, but I 
 actually think she is afraid of him, he is so irritable and vio 
 lent. She tells me he often takes it into his head to do the 
 strangest things, such as going out late at night^ whejv it would 
 
152 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 be perfectly unsafe; and sleeping with his window wide open, 
 though his room is on the lower floor." 
 
 "Poor woman!" exclaimed Emily; "what does she do in 
 such cases ? " 
 
 "I can tell you, Emily, for I saw an instance of it to-day. 
 When I first went in this morning, he was preparing to make 
 a coal-fire in the grate, notwithstanding the heat, which was 
 becoming intense in the city." 
 
 "And Mrs. Sullivan?" said Emily. 
 
 "Was sitting on the lower stair, in the front entry, crying." 
 
 " Poor thing ! " murmured Emily. 
 
 "She could do nothing with him," continued Gertrude, "and 
 had given up in despair." 
 
 " She ought to have a strong woman, or a man, to take care 
 of him." 
 
 "That is what she dreads more than anything. She says 
 it would kill her to see him unkindly treated, as he would be 
 sure to be by a stranger ; and besides, I can see that she shrinks 
 from the idea of having any one in the house to whom she is 
 unaccustomed. She is exceedingly neat and particular in all 
 her arrangements, has always done her work herself, and de 
 clares she would sooner admit a wild beast into her family than 
 an Irish girl." 
 
 "Her new house has not been a source of much pleasure to 
 her yet, has it 1 " 
 
 "0, no. She was saying to-day how strange it seemed, 
 when she had been looking forward so long to the comfort of 
 a new and well-built tenement, that, just as she had moved in 
 and got everything furnished to her mind, she should have 
 this great trial come upon her." 
 
 "It seems strange to me," said Emily, "that she did not 
 sooner perceive its approach. I noticed, when I went witli 
 
 you to the house in E Street, the failure in the old man s 
 
 intellect." 
 
 "I had observed it for a long time," remarked Gertrude, 
 "but never spoke of it to her; and I do not think she was in 
 the least aware of it, until about the time of their removal, 
 when the breaking up of old associations had a sad effect upon 
 poor Mr. Cooper." 
 
 "Don t you think, Gertrude, that the pulling down of the 
 church, and his consequent loss of employment, were a great 
 injury to his mind ? " 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 153 
 
 "Yes, indeed, I am sure of it; he altered very much after 
 that, and never seemed so happy, even while they were in the 
 house in E Street; and when the owners of that land con 
 cluded to take it for stores and warehouses, and gave Mrs. Sul 
 livan notice that she would be obliged to leave, the old sex 
 ton s mind gave way entirely." 
 
 " Sad thing ! said Emily. " How old is he, Gertrude ? " 
 
 "I don t know exactly, but I believe he is very old; I re 
 member Mrs. Sullivan s telling me, some time ago, that he was 
 near eighty." 
 
 "Is he so old as that? Then I am not surprised that these 
 changes have made him childish." 
 
 " 0, no. Melancholy as it is, it is no more than we may 
 any of us come to, if we live to his age; and as he seems for 
 the most part full as contented and happy as I have ever seen 
 him appear, I do not lament it so much on his own account as 
 on Mrs. Sullivan s. But I do, Emily, feel dreadfully anxious 
 about her." 
 
 11 Does it seem to be so very hard for her to bear up under 
 it?" 
 
 "I think it would not be, if she were well; but there is 
 something the matter with her, and I fear it is more serious 
 than she allows, for she looks very pale, and has, I know, had 
 several alarming ill turns lately." 
 
 "Has she consulted a physician? " 
 
 "No; she doesn t wish for one, and insists upon it she shall 
 soon be better; but I do not feel sure that she will, especially 
 as she takes no care of herself; and that is one great reason for 
 my wishing to be in town as soon as possible. I am anxious 
 to have Dr. Jeremy see her, and I think I can bring it about 
 without her knowing that he comes on her account. I 11 have 
 a severe cold myself, if I can t manage it in any other way." 
 
 "You speak confidently of being in town, Gertrude; so I 
 suppose it is all arranged." 
 
 " 0, I have not told you, have I, about my visit to Mr. W. ? 
 Dear, good man, how grateful I ought to be to him ! He has 
 promised me the situation." 
 
 "I had no doubt he would, from what you told me he said 
 to you at Mrs. Bruce s." 
 
 "You hadn t, really! Why, Emily, I was almost afraid to 
 mention it to him. I couldn t believe he would have sufficient 
 
154 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 confidence in me ; but he was so kind ! I hardly dare tell yon 
 what he said about my capacity to teach, you will think me so 
 vain." 
 
 "You need not tell me, my darling; I know, from his own 
 lips, how highly he appreciates your ability ; you could not tell 
 me anything so flattering as what he told me himself." 
 
 "Dear Uncle True always wanted me to be a teacher; it 
 was the height of his ambition. He would be pleased, would n t 
 he, dear Emily 1 " 
 
 "He would no doubt have been proud enough to see you as 
 sistant in a school like Mr. W. s. I am not sure, however, 
 but he would think, as I do, that you are undertaking too much. 
 You expect to be occupied in the school the greater part of 
 every morning, and yet you propose to establish yourself as 
 nurse to Mrs. Sullivan, and guardian to her poor old father. 
 My dear child, you are not used to so much care, and I shall 
 be constantly troubled for you, lest your own health and 
 strength give way." 
 
 " 0, dear Emily, there is no occasion for any anxiety on my 
 account; I am well and strong, and fully capable of all that I 
 have planned for myself. My only dread is in the thought of 
 leaving you ; and the only fear I have is that you will miss me, 
 and perhaps feel as if " 
 
 "I know what you would say, Gertrude. You need not fear 
 that; I am sure of your affection. I am confident you love me 
 next to your duty, and I would not for the world that you 
 should give me the preference. So dismiss that thought from 
 your mind, and do not carry with you the belief that I would 
 be selfish enough to desire to retain you a moment. I only 
 wish, my dear, that for the present you had not thought of en 
 tering the school. You might then have gone to Mrs. Sulli 
 van s, stayed as long as you were needed, and perhaps found, by 
 the time we are ready to start on our southern tour, that your 
 services could be quite dispensed with; in which case you could 
 accompany us on a journey which I am sure your health will by 
 that time require." 
 
 "But, dear Emily, how could I do that? I could not pro 
 pose myself as a visitor to Mrs. Sullivan, however useful I 
 might intend to be to her; nor could I speak of nursing to a 
 woman who will not acknowledge that she is ill. I thought 
 of all that, and it seemed to me impossible, with all the deli- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 155 
 
 cacy and tact in the world, to bring it about; for I have been 
 with you so long that Mrs. Sullivan, I have no doubt, thinks 
 me entirely unfitted for her primitive way of life. It was only 
 when Mr. W. spoke of his wanting an assistant, and, as I im 
 agined, hinted that he should like to employ me in that capa 
 city, that the present plan occurred to me. I knew if I told 
 Mrs. Sullivan that I was engaged to teach there, and that you 
 were not coming to town at all, but were soon going south, and 
 represented to her that I wanted a boarding- place for the win 
 ter, she would not only be loath to refuse me a home with her, 
 but would insist that I should go nowhere else." 
 
 " And it proved as you expected? " 
 
 "Exactly; and she showed so much pleasure at the thought 
 of my being with her, that I realized still more how much she 
 needed some one." 
 
 "She will have a treasure in you, Gertrude; I know that 
 very well." 
 
 "No, indeed! I do not hope to be of much use. The feel 
 ing I have is, that however little I may be able to accomplish, 
 it will be more than any one else could do for Mrs. Sullivan. 
 She has lived so retired that she has not an intimate friend in 
 the city, and I do not really know of any one, except myself, 
 whom she would willingly admit under her roof. She is used 
 to me and loves me ; I am no restraint upon her, and she allows 
 me to assist in whatever she is doing, although she often says 
 that I live a lady s life now, and am not used to work. She 
 knows, too, that I have an influence over her father; and I 
 have, strange as it may seem to you, I have more than I 
 know how to account for myself. I think it is partly because 
 I am not at all afraid of him, and am firm in opposing his un 
 reasonable fancies, and partly because I am more of a stranger 
 than Mrs. Sullivan. But there is still another thing which 
 gives me a great control over him. He naturally associates me 
 in his mind with Willie ; for we were for some years constantly 
 together, both left the house at the same time, and he knows, 
 too, that it is through me that the correspondence with him is 
 chiefly carried on. Since his mind has been so weak, he seems 
 to think continually of Willie, and I can at any moment, how 
 ever irritable or wilful he may be, make him calm and quiet 
 by proposing to tell him the latest news from his grandson. It 
 does not matter how often I repeat the contents of the last 
 
156 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 letter, it is always new to him ; and you have no idea, Emily, 
 what power this little circumstance gives me. Mrs. Sullivan 
 sees how easily I can guide his thoughts, and I noticed what a 
 load of care seemed to be taken from her mind by merely hav 
 ing me there to-day. She looked so happy when I came away 
 to-night, and spoke so hopefully of the comfort it would be 
 during the winter to have me with her, that I felt repaid for 
 any sacrifice it has been to me. But when I came home, and 
 saw you, and thought of your going so far away, and of the 
 length of time it might be before I should live with you again, 
 I felt as if " Gertrude could say no more. She laid her 
 head on Emily s shoulder and wept. 
 
 Emily soothed her with the greatest tenderness. "We have 
 been very happy together, Gerty," said she, "and I shall miss 
 you sadly; half the enjoyment of my life has of late years been 
 borrowed from you. But I never loved you half so well as I 
 do now, at the very time that we must part ; for I see in the 
 sacrifice you are making of yourself one of the noblest and most 
 important traits of character a woman can possess. I know how 
 much you love the Sullivans, and you have certainly every rea 
 son for being attached to them, and desiring to repay your old 
 obligations ; but your leaving us at this time, and renouncing 
 without a murmur the southern tour, from which you expected 
 so much pleasure, proves that my Gerty is the brave, good girl 
 I always hoped and prayed she might become. You are in the 
 path of duty, Gertrude, and will be rewarded by the approba 
 tion of your own conscience, if in no other way." 
 
 As Emily finished speaking, they reached a corner of the 
 garden, and were here met by a servant girl, who had been 
 looking for them to announce that Mrs. Bruce and her son were 
 in the parlor, and had asked for them both. 
 
 " Did you get her buttons in town, Gertrude 1 " inquired 
 Emily. 
 
 " Yes, I found some that were an excellent match for the 
 dress; she probably wants to know what success I had; but 
 how can I go in ? " 
 
 "I will return to the house with Katy, and you can go in at 
 the side door, and reach your own room without being seen. 
 I will excuse you to Mrs. Bruce for the present; and when 
 you have bathed your eyes, and feel composed, you can come 
 in and report concerning the errand she intrusted to you." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 157 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 But had we best retire ? I see a storm. 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 ACCORDINGLY, when Gertrude entered the room half an hour 
 afterwards, there was no evidence in her appearance of any un 
 usual distress of mind. Mrs. Bruce nodded to her good na- 
 turedly from a corner of the sofa. Mr. Bruce rose and offered 
 his chair, at the same time that Mr. Graham pointed to a va 
 cant window-seat near him, and said kindly, " Here is a place 
 for you, Gertrude." 
 
 Declining, however, the civilities of both gentlemen, she 
 withdrew to an ottoman which stood near an open glass door, 
 where she was almost immediately joined by Mr. Bruce, who, 
 seating himself in an indolent attitude upon the upper row of a 
 flight of steps which led from the window to the garden, com 
 menced conversation with her. 
 
 Mr. Bruce the same gentleman who some years before 
 wore a velvet smoking-cap, and took afternoon naps in the grass 
 had recently returned from Europe, and, glorying in the re 
 nown acquired from a mustache, a French tailor, and the pos 
 session of a handsome property in his own right, now viewed 
 himself with more complacency than ever. 
 
 "So you ve been in Boston all day, Miss Flint? " 
 
 "Yes, nearly all day." 
 
 "Didn t you find it distressingly warm? " 
 
 " Somewhat so. " 
 
 " I tried to go in to attend to some business that mother was 
 anxious about, and even went down to the depot; but I had 
 to give it up." 
 
 " Were you overpowered by the heat ? " 
 
 "I was." 
 
 " How unfortunate ! " remarked Gertrude in a half-compas 
 sionate, half-ironical tone of voice. 
 
 Mr. Bruce looked up, to judge, if possible, from her counte 
 nance, whether she were serious or not; but there being little 
 
158 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 light in the room, on account of the warmth of the evening, 
 he could not decide the question in his mind, and therefore 
 replied, "I dislike the heat, Miss Gertrude, and why should I 
 expose myself to it unnecessarily 1 " 
 
 "0, I beg your pardon; I thought you spoke of important 
 business. " 
 
 "Only some affair of my mother s. Nothing I felt any in 
 terest in, and she took the state of the weather for an excuse. 
 If I had known that you were in the cars, as I have since 
 heard, I should certainly have persevered, in order to have had 
 the pleasure of walking down Washington Street with you." 
 
 "I did not go down Washington Street." 
 
 " But you would have done so with a suitable escort, " sug 
 gested the young man. 
 
 " If I had gone out of my way for the sake of accompanying 
 my escort, the escort would have been a very doubtful advan 
 tage," said Gertrude, laughing. 
 
 " How very practical you are, Miss Gertrude ! Do you mean 
 to say that, when you go to the city, you always have a settled 
 plan of operations, and never swerve from your course 1 " 
 
 " By no means. I trust I am not difficult to influence when 
 there is a sufficient motive." 
 
 The young man bit his lip. " Then you never act without 
 a motive; pray what is your motive in wearing that broad- 
 brimmed hat when you are at work in the garden ? " 
 
 "It is an old habit, adopted some years ago from motives of 
 convenience, and still adhered to, in spite of later inventions, 
 which would certainly be a better protection from the sun. I 
 must plead guilty, I fear, to a little obstinacy in my partiality 
 for that old hat." 
 
 "Why not acknowledge the truth, Miss Gertrude, and con 
 fess that you wear it in order to look so very fanciful and pic 
 turesque that the neighbors slumbers are disturbed by the very 
 thoughts of it 1 My own morning dreams, for instance, as you 
 are well aware, are so haunted by that hat, as seen in company 
 with its owner, that I am daily drawn, as if by magnetic at 
 traction, in the direction of the garden. You will have a heavy 
 account to settle with Morpheus one of these days, for defraud 
 ing him of his rights ; and your conscience, too, will suffer for 
 injuries to my health, sustained by continued exposure to early 
 dews." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 159 
 
 "It is hard to condemn me for such innocent and uninten 
 tional mischief; but since I am to experience so much future 
 remorse on account of your morning visits, I shall take upon 
 myself the responsibility of forbidding them." 
 
 "O, you wouldn t be so unkind! especially after all the 
 pains I have taken to impart to you the little I know of horti 
 culture. " 
 
 "Very little I think it must have been; or I have but a lit 
 tle memory, 7 said Gertrude, laughing. 
 
 "Now, how can you be so ungrateful? Have you forgotten 
 the pains I took yesterday to acquaint you with the different 
 varieties of roses? Don t you remember how much I had to 
 say at first of damask roses and damask bloom ; and how, be 
 fore I had finished, I could not find words enough in praise of 
 blushes, especially such sweet and natural ones as met my eyes 
 while I was speaking ? " 
 
 "I know you talked a great deal of nonsense. I hope you 
 don t think I listened to it all." 
 
 " 0, Miss Gertrude ! It is of no use to say flattering things 
 to you; you alwavs look upon my compliments as so many 
 jokes." 
 
 "I have told you several times that it was the most useless 
 thing in the world to waste so much flattery upon me. I am 
 glad you are beginning to realize it." 
 
 "Well, then, to ask a serious question, where were you this 
 morning ? " 
 
 "At what hour?" 
 
 "Half- past seven." 
 
 "On my way to Boston, in the cars." 
 
 "Is it possible? so early! Why, I thought you went at 
 ten. Then all the time I was watching by the garden w r all to 
 get a chance to say good-morning, you were half a dozen miles 
 away. I wish I had not wasted that hour so; I might have 
 spent it in sleeping." 
 
 "Very true, it is a great pity." 
 
 "And then half an hour more here this evening! How 
 came you to keep me waiting so long ? " 
 
 "I?_When?" 
 
 "Why, now, to-night." 
 
 "I was not aware of doing so. I certainly did not take 
 your visit to myself." 
 
160 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "My visit certainly was not meant for any one else." 
 
 "Ben," said Mr. Graham, approaching rather abruptly, and 
 taking part in the conversation, "are you fond of gardening? 
 I thought I heard you just now speaking of roses." 
 
 "Yes, sir; Miss Flint and I were having quite a discussion 
 upon flowers, roses especially." 
 
 Gertrude, availing herself of Mr. Graham s approach, tried 
 to make her escape and join the ladies at the sofa; but Mr. 
 Bruce, who had risen on Mr. Graham s addressing him, saw 
 her intention, arid frustrated it by placing himself in the way, 
 so that she could not pass him without positive rudeness. Mr. 
 Graham continued, " I propose placing a small fountain in the 
 vicinity of Miss Flint s flower garden; won t you walk down 
 with me, and give your opinion of my plan ? " 
 
 "Isn t it too dark, sir, to " 
 
 "No, no, not at all; there is ample light for our purpose ; 
 this way, if you please ; " and Mr. Bruce was compelled to fol 
 low where Mr. Graham led, though, in spite of his acquaintance 
 with Paris manners, he made a wry face, and shook his head 
 menacingly. 
 
 Gertrude was now permitted to relate to Mrs. Bruce the re 
 sults of the shopping which she had undertaken on her account, 
 and display the buttons, which proved very satisfactory. The 
 gentlemen, soon after returning to the parlor, took seats near 
 the sofa, and the company forming one group, the conversation 
 became general. 
 
 "Mr. Graham," said Mrs. Bruce, "I have been questioning 
 Emily about your visit to the south ; and from the route which 
 she tells me you propose taking, I think it will be a charming 
 trip." 
 
 "I hope so, madam; we have been talking of it for some 
 time ; it will be an excellent thing for Emily, and as Gertrude 
 has never travelled at all, I anticipate a great deal of pleasure 
 for her." 
 
 "Ah! then you are to be of the party, Miss Flint?" 
 
 "Of course, of course," answered Mr. Graham, without giv 
 ing Gertrude a chance to speak for herself; "we depend upon 
 Gertrude, couldn t get along at all without her." 
 
 "It will be delightful for you," continued Mrs. Bruce, her 
 eyes still fixed on Gertrude. 
 
 "I did expect to go with Mr. and Miss Graham," answered 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 161 
 
 Gertrude, "and looked forward to the journey with the great 
 est eagerness; but I have just decided that I must remain in 
 Boston this winter." 
 
 " What are you talking about, Gertrude ? " asked Mr. Gra 
 ham. "What do you mean? This is all news to me." 
 
 "And to me too, sir, or I should have informed you of it 
 before. I supposed you expected me to accompany you, and 
 there is nothing I should like so much. I should have told 
 you before of the circumstances that now make it impossible; 
 but they are of quite recent occurrence." 
 
 "But we can t give you up, Gertrude; I won t hear of such 
 a thing; you must go with us, in spite of circumstances." 
 
 "I fear I shall not be able to," said Gertrude, smiling plea 
 santly, but still retaining her firmness of expression; "you are 
 very kind, sir, to wish it." 
 
 "Wish it! I tell you I insist upon it. You are under my 
 care, child, and I have a right to say what you shall do." 
 
 Mr. Graham was beginning to get excited, Gertrude and 
 Emily both looked troubled, but neither of them spoke. 
 
 "Give me your reasons, if you have any," added Mr. Gra 
 ham vehemently, "and let me know what has put this strange 
 notion into your head." 
 
 "I will explain it to you to-morrow, sir." 
 
 "To-morrow! I want to know now." 
 
 Mrs. Bruce, plainly perceiving that a family storm was brew 
 ing, wisely rose to go. Mr. Graham suspended his wrath until 
 she and her son had taken leave, but as soon as the door was 
 closed upon them, burst forth with real anger. 
 
 "Now tell me what all this means! Here I plan my busi 
 ness, and make all my arrangements, on purpose to be able to 
 give up this winter to travelling, and that, not so much on 
 my own account as to give pleasure to both of you; and just 
 as everything is settled, and we are almost on the point of 
 starting, Gertrude announces that she has concluded not to go. 
 Now I should like to know her reasons." 
 
 Emily undertook to explain Gertrude s motives, and ended 
 by expressing her own approbation of her course. As soon as 
 she had finished, Mr. Graham, who had listened very impa 
 tiently, and interrupted her with many a " pish ! " and 
 " pshaw ! " burst forth with redoubled indignation. 
 
 "So Gerty prefers the Sullivans to us, and you seem to en- 
 
162. THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 courage her in it! I should like to know what they ve ever 
 done for her, compared with what I have done ! " 
 
 "They have been friends of hers for years, and now that 
 they are in great distress, she does not feel as if she could 
 leave them; and I confess I do not wonder at her decision." 
 
 "I must say I do. .She prefers to make a slave of herself 
 in Mr. W. s school, and a still greater slave in Mrs. Sullivan s 
 family, instead of staying with us, where she has always been 
 treated like a lady, and more than that, like one of my own 
 family!" 
 
 "0, Mr. Graham!" said Gertrude earnestly, "it is not a 
 matter of preference or choice, except as I feel it to be a duty." 
 
 "And what makes it a duty? Just because you used to live 
 in the same house with them, and that boy out in Calcutta has 
 sent you home a camel s-hair scarf, and a cage full of miserable 
 little birds, and written you a great package of letters, you 
 think you must forfeit your own interests to take care of his sick 
 relations! I can t say that I see how their claim compares with 
 mine. Have n t I given you the best of educations, and spared 
 no expense either for your improvement or your happiness ? " 
 
 "I did not think, sir," answered Gertrude humbly, and yet 
 with quiet dignity, "of counting up the favors I had received, 
 and measuring my conduct accordingly. In that case, my ob 
 ligations to you are immense, and you would certainly have the 
 greatest claim upon my services." 
 
 "Services! I don t want your services, child. Mrs. Ellis 
 can do quite as well as you can for Emily, or me either; but 
 I like your company, and think it is very ungrateful in you 
 to leave us, as you talk of doing." 
 
 "Father," said Emily, "I thought the object, in giving Ger 
 trude a good education, was to make her independent of all the 
 world, and not simply dependent upon us." 
 
 "Emily," said Mr. Graham, "I tell you it is a matter of 
 feeling, you don t seem to look upon the thing in the light 
 I do; but you are both against me, and I won t talk any more 
 about it." 
 
 So saying, Mr. Graham took a lamp, went to his study, shut 
 the door hard, not to say slammed it, and was seen no 
 more that night. 
 
 Poor Gertrude! Mr. Graham, who had been so kind and 
 generous, who had seldom before spoken harshly to her, and 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 163 
 
 had always treated her with great indulgence, was now deeply 
 offended. He had called her ungrateful ; he evidently felt that 
 she had abused his kindness, and believed that he and Emily 
 stood in her estimation secondary to other, and as he considered 
 them, far less warm-hearted friends. Deeply wounded and 
 grieved, she hastened to say good-night to the no less afflicted 
 Emily, and seeking her own room, gave way to feelings that 
 exhausted her spirit and caused her a sleepless night. 
 
164 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 LEFT at three years of age dependent upon the mercy and 
 charity of a world in which she was friendless and alone, Ger 
 trude had, during the period of her residence at Nan Grant s, 
 found little of that mercy, and still less of that charity. But 
 although her turbulent spirit rebelled at the treatment she re 
 ceived, she was then too young to reason upon the subject, or 
 come to any philosophical conclusions upon the general hard 
 ness and cruelty of humanity; and had she done so, such im 
 pressions could not but have been effaced amid the atmosphere 
 of love and kindness which surrounded her during the succeed 
 ing period, when, cherished and protected in the home of her 
 kind foster father, she enjoyed a degree of parental tenderness 
 which rarely falls to the lot of an orphan. 
 
 And having, through a similar providence, found in Emily 
 additional proof of the fact that the tie of kindred blood is 
 not always needed to bind heart to heart in the closest bonds 
 of sympathy and affection, she had hitherto, in her unusually 
 happy experience, felt none of the evils that spring from de 
 pendence upon the bounty of strangers. The unfriendly con 
 duct of Mrs. Ellis had at times been a source of irritation to 
 her; but the housekeeper s power and influence in the family 
 were limited by her own dependence upon the good opinion of 
 those she served, and Gertrude s patience and forbearance had 
 at last nearly disarmed her enmity. 
 
 From Mr. Graham she had until now experienced only kind 
 ness. On her first coming to live with them, he had, to be 
 sure, taken very little notice of her, and so long as she was 
 quiet, well mannered, and no trouble to anybody, had been 
 quite indifferent concerning her. He observed that Emily was 
 fond of the girl and liked to have her with her; and though 
 he wondered at her taste, was glad that she should be indulged. 
 It was not long, however, before he was led to notice in his 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 165 
 
 daughter s favorite a quickness of mind and propriety of de 
 portment which had the effect of creating an interest in her 
 that soon increased to positive partiality, especially when he dis 
 covered her taste for gardening, and her perseverance in labor 
 ing among her flowers. He not only set off a portion of his 
 grounds for her use, but charmed with her success during the 
 h rst summer after the appropriation was made, added to the 
 original flower-garden, and himself assisted in laying out and 
 ornamenting it. Emily formed no plan with regard to Ger 
 trude s education to which she did not obtain a ready assent 
 from her father; and Gertrude, deeply grateful for so much 
 bounty, spared no pains to evidence her sense of obligation and 
 regard, by treating Mr. Graham with the greatest respect and 
 attention. 
 
 But, unfortunately for the continuance of these amicable 
 relations, Mr. Graham possessed neither the disinterested, for 
 bearing spirit of Uncle True or the saintly patience and self- 
 sacrifice of Emily. Mr. Graham was a liberal and highly 
 respectable man; he had the reputation, as the world goes, of 
 being a remarkably high-minded and honorable man; and not 
 without reason, for his conduct had oftentimes justified this 
 current report of him. But, alas ! he was a selfish man, and 
 often took very one-sided views. He had supported and edu 
 cated Gertrude, he liked her, she was the person whom 
 he preferred for a travelling companion for himself and Emily, 
 nobody else had any claim upon her to compare with his, 
 and he either could not or would not see that her duty lay in 
 any other direction. 
 
 And yet, while he was ready to act the tyrant, he deceived 
 himself with the idea that he was the best friend she had in 
 the world. He was not capable of understanding that kind of 
 regard which causes one to find gratification in whatever tends 
 to the present or future welfare of another, without reference to 
 himself or his own interests. Acting, therefore, under the 
 influence of his own prejudiced and narrow sentiments, Mr. 
 Graham gave way to his ill temper, and distressed Gertrude 
 by the first really harsh and severe language he had ever used 
 towards her. 
 
 During the long hours of a wakeful and restless night, Ger 
 trude had ample time to review and consider her own situation 
 and circumstances. At first, her only emotion was one of grief 
 
166 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 and distress, such as a child might feel on being reproved; but 
 that gradually subsided, as other and bitter thoughts rose up in 
 her mind. "What right," thought she, "has Mr. Graham to 
 treat me thus, to tell me I shall go with them on this 
 southern journey, and speak as if my other friends were ciphers 
 in his estimation, and ought to be in my own ? Does he con 
 sider that my freedom is to be the price of my education, and 
 am I no longer to be able to say yes or no ? Emily does not 
 think so; Emily, who loves and needs me a thousand times 
 more than Mr. Graham, thinks I have acted rightly, and as 
 sured me, only a few hours ago, that it was my duty to carry 
 out the plans I had formed. And my solemn promise to Wil 
 lie! is that to be held for nothing? No," thought she, "it 
 would be tyranny in Mr. Graham to insist upon my remaining 
 with them, and I am glad I have resolved to break away from 
 such thraldom. Besides, I was educated to teach, and Mr. W. 
 says it is important to commence at once, while my studies are 
 fresh in my mind. Perhaps, if I yielded now, and stayed here 
 living in luxury, I should continue to do so until I lost the 
 power of regaining my independence. It is cruel in Mr. Gra 
 ham to try to deprive me of my free will." 
 
 So much said pride; and Gertrude s heart, naturally proud, 
 and only kept in check by strict and conscientious self-control, 
 listened awhile to such suggestions. But not long. She had 
 accustomed herself to view the conduct of others in that spirit 
 of charity which she desired should be exercised towards her 
 own, and milder thoughts soon took the place of these excited 
 and angry feelings. 
 
 "Perhaps," said she to herself, as she reviewed in her mind 
 the conversation of the evening, " it is, after all, pure kindness 
 to me that prompted Mr. Graham s interference. He may 
 think, as Emily does, that I am undertaking too much. It is 
 impossible for him to know how strong my motives are, how 
 deep I consider my obligations to the Sullivans, and how much 
 I am needed by them at this time. I had no idea, either, that 
 it was such an understood thing that I was to be of the party 
 to the south; for though Emily talked as if she took it for 
 granted, Mr. Graham never spoke of it, or asked me to go, and 
 I could not suppose it would be any great disappointment to 
 him to have me refuse; but after his planning the journey, as 
 he says he has done, with reference to the enjoyment of us 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 167 
 
 both, I do not wonder at his being somewhat annoyed. He 
 probably feels, too, as if I had been under his guardianship so 
 long that he has almost a right to decide upon my conduct. 
 And he has been very indulgent to me, and I a stranger, 
 with no claims ! ! I hate to have him think me so ungrate 
 ful! 
 
 "Shall I then decide to give up my teaching, go to the 
 south, and leave dear Mrs. Sullivan to suffer, perhaps die, 
 while I am away 1 No, that is impossible. I will never be 
 such a traitor to my own heart and my sense of right; sorry 
 as I shall be to offend Mr. Graham, I must not allow fear of 
 his anger to turn me from my duty." 
 
 Having thus resolved to brave the tempest that she well 
 knew she must encounter, and committed her cause to Him 
 who judgeth righteously, Gertrude tried to compose herself to 
 sleep, but found it impossible to obtain any untroubled rest. 
 Scarcely had slumber eased her mind of the weight that pressed 
 upon it, before dreams of an equally painful nature seized upon 
 her, and startled her back to consciousness. In some of these 
 visions she beheld Mr. Graham, angry and excited as on the 
 previous evening, and threatening her with the severest marks 
 of his displeasure if she dared to thwart his plans; and then, 
 again, she seemed to see Willie, the same boyish youth from 
 whom she had parted nearly five years before, beckoning her 
 with a sad countenance to the room where his pale mother lay 
 in a swoon, as Gertrude had a few weeks before discovered her. 
 Exhausted by a succession of such harassing images, she at 
 length gave up the attempt to obtain any rest through sleep, 
 and rising, seated herself at the window, where, watching the 
 now descending moon, and the first approach of dawn, she 
 found, in quiet self -communing, the strength and courage which 
 she felt would be requisite to carry her calmly and firmly 
 through the following day; a day destined to witness her sad 
 separation from Emily, and her farewell to Mr. Graham, which 
 would probably be of a still more distressing character. It 
 may seem strange that anything more than ordinary mental 
 courage and decision should be needful to sustain Gertrude un 
 der the present emergency. But in truth, it required no small 
 amount of both these qualities for a young girl of eighteen 
 years, long dependent upon the liberality of an elderly man, 
 well known as a stern dictator in his household, to suddenly 
 
168 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 break the bonds of custom and habit, and mark out a course 
 for herself in opposition to his wishes and intentions; -and 
 nothing but an urgent motive could have led the grateful and 
 peace-loving Gertrude to such a step. The tyrannical disposi 
 tion of Mr. Graham was well understood in his family, each 
 member of which was accustomed to respect all his wishes and 
 whims ; and though he was always indulgent, and usually kind, 
 none ever ventured to brave a temper which, when excited, 
 was violent in the extreme. It cannot then be surprising that 
 Gertrude s heart should have almost failed her, when she stood, 
 half an hour before breakfast time, with the handle of the din 
 ing-room door in her hand, summoning all her energies for an 
 other meeting with the formidable opposer of her plans. She 
 paused but a moment, however, then opened the door and went 
 in. Mr. Graham was where she expected to see him, sitting 
 in his arm-chair, and on the breakfast table by his side lay the 
 morning paper. It had been Gertrude s habit, for a year or 
 two, to read that paper aloud to the old gentleman at this same 
 hour, and it was for that very purpose she had now come. 
 
 She advanced towards him with her usual "good-morning." 
 
 The salutation was returned in a purposely constrained voice. 
 She seated herself, and leaned forward to take the newspaper, 
 but he placed his hand upon it and prevented her. 
 
 "I was going to read the news to you, sir." 
 
 "And I do not wish to have you read, or do anything else 
 for me, until I know whether you have concluded to treat me 
 with the respect I have a right to demand from you." 
 
 "I certainly never intended to treat you otherwise than with 
 respect, Mr. Graham." 
 
 " When girls or boys set themselves up in opposition to those 
 older and wiser than themselves, they manifest the greatest 
 disrespect they are capable of; but I am willing to forgive the 
 past, if you assure me, as I think you will after a night s re 
 flection, that you have returned to a right sense of your duty." 
 
 "I cannot say, sir, that I have changed my views with re 
 gard to what that duty is." 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me, " asked Mr. Graham, rising from 
 his chair and speaking in a tone which made Gerty s heart 
 quake, in spite of her brave resolutions, "do you mean to tell 
 me that you have any idea of persisting in your folly 1 " 
 
 "Is it folly, sir, to do right?" 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 169 
 
 "Right! There is a great difference of opinion between 
 you and me as to what right is in this case." 
 
 "But, Mr. Graham, I think if you knew all the circum 
 stances, you would not blame my conduct. I have told Emily 
 the reasons that influenced me, and she " 
 
 "Don t quote Emily to me!" interrupted Mr. Graham, as 
 he walked the floor rapidly. "I don t doubt she d give her 
 head to anybody that asked for it; but I hope I know a little 
 better what is due to myself; and I tell you plainly, Miss Ger 
 trude Flint, without any more words in the matter, that if you 
 leave my house, as you propose doing, you leave it with my 
 displeasure; and that, you may find one of these days, it is 
 no light thing to have incurred, unnecessarily, too, " he mut 
 tered, "as you are doing." 
 
 " I am very sorry to displease you, Mr. Graham, but " 
 
 "No, you re not sorry ; if you were, you would not walk 
 straight in the face of my wishes," said Mr. Graham, who be 
 gan to observe the expression of Gertrude s face, which, though 
 grieved and troubled, had in the last few minutes acquired ad 
 ditional firmness, instead of quailing beneath his severe and 
 cutting words; "but I have said enough about a matter which 
 is not worthy of so much notice. You can go or stay, as you 
 please. I wish you to understand, however, that in the former 
 case I utterly withdraw my protection and assistance from you. 
 You must take care of yourself, or trust to strangers. I sup 
 pose you expect your Calcutta friend will support you, perhaps 
 come home and take you under his especial care ; but if you 
 think so, you know little of the world. I dare say he is mar 
 ried to an Indian by this time, and if not, has pretty much for 
 gotten you." 
 
 "Mr. Graham," said Gertrude proudly, "Mr. Sullivan will 
 not probably return to this country for many years, and I as 
 sure you I neither look to him or any one else for support; I 
 intend to earn a maintenance for myself." 
 
 " A heroic resolve ! " said Mr. Graham contemptuously, 
 "and pronounced with a dignity I hope you will be able to 
 maintain. Am I to consider, then, that your mind is made 
 up?" 
 
 "It is, sir," said Gertrude, not a little strengthened for the 
 dreaded necessity of pronouncing her final resolution by Mr. 
 Graham s sarcastic speeches. 
 
170 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "And you go?" 
 
 "I must. I believe it to be my duty, and am therefore 
 willing to sacrifice my own comfort, and, what I assure you I 
 value far more, your friendship." 
 
 Mr. Graham did not seem to take the least notice of the lat 
 ter part of her remark, and before she had finished speaking so 
 far forgot his usual politeness as to drown her voice in the vio 
 lent ringing of the table bell. 
 
 It was answered by Katy with the breakfast, and Emily and 
 Mrs. Ellis coming in at the same moment, all seated themselves 
 at table, and the meal was commenced in unusual silence and 
 constraint; for Emily had heard the loud tones of her father s 
 voice, and was filled with anxiety and alarm, while Mrs. Ellis 
 plainly saw, from the countenances of all present, that some 
 thing unpleasant had occurred. 
 
 When Mr. Graham, whose appetite appeared undiminished, 
 had finished eating a hearty breakfast, he turned to Mrs. Ellis, 
 and deliberately and formally invited her to accompany himself 
 and Emily on their journey to the south, mentioning the prob 
 ability that they should pass some weeks in Havana. 
 
 Mrs. Ellis, who had never before heard any intimation that 
 such a tour was contemplated, accepted the invitation with 
 pleasure and alacrity, and proceeded to ask a number of ques 
 tions concerning the proposed route and length of absence ; 
 while Emily hid her agitated face behind her tea-cup ; and Ger 
 trude, who had lately been reading "Letters from Cuba," and 
 was aware that Mr. Graham knew the strong interest she con 
 sequently felt in the place, pondered in her mind whether it 
 were possible that he could be guilty of the small and mean 
 desire to vex and mortify her. 
 
 Breakfast over, Emily hastily sought her room, where she 
 was immediately joined by Gertrude. 
 
 In answering Emily s earnest inquiries as to the scene which 
 had taken place, Gertrude forebore to repeat Mr. Graham s 
 most bitter and wounding remarks; for she saw, from her kind 
 friend s pained and anxious countenance, how deeply she par 
 ticipated in her own sense of wrong and misapprehension. She 
 told her, however, that it was now well understood by Mr. 
 Graham that she was to leave, and as his sentiments towards 
 her were far from kindly, she thought it best to go at once, 
 especially as she could never be more needed by Mrs. Sullivan 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 171 
 
 than at present. Emily saw the reasonableness of the pro 
 posal, assented to it, and agreed to accompany her to town that 
 very afternoon; for deeply sensitive at any unkindness mani 
 fested towards Gertrude, she preferred to have her depart 
 thus abruptly, rather than encounter her father s contemptuous 
 neglect. 
 
 The remainder of the day, therefore, was spent by Gertrude 
 in packing and other preparations; while Emily sat by, coun 
 selling and advising the future conduct of her adopted darling, 
 lamenting the necessity of their separation, and exchanging 
 with her reiterated assurances of continued and undiminished 
 affection. 
 
 "0! if you could only write to me, dear Emily, during your 
 long absence, what a comfort it would be ! " exclaimed Ger 
 trude. 
 
 "With Mrs. Ellis s assistance, my dear," replied Emily, "I 
 will send you such news as I can of our movements; but 
 though you may not be able to hear much from me, you will 
 be ever in my thoughts, and I shall never forget to commend 
 my beloved child to the protection and care of One who will 
 be to her a better counsellor and friend than I can be." 
 
 In the course of the day Gertrude sought Mrs. Ellis, and 
 astonished that lady by announcing that she had come to have 
 a few farewell words with her. Surprise and curiosity, how 
 ever, were soon superseded by the housekeeper s eagerness to 
 expatiate upon the kindness and generosity of Mr. Graham, and 
 the delights of the excursion in prospect. After wishing her 
 a great deal of pleasure, Gertrude begged to hear from her by 
 letter during her absence ; to which apparently unheard request 
 Mrs. Ellis only replied by asking if Gertrude thought a thibet 
 dress would be uncomfortable on the journey; and when it was 
 repeated with still greater earnestness, she, with equal unsatis- 
 factoriness to the suppliant for epistolary favors, begged to know 
 how many pairs of undersleeves she should probably require. 
 Having responded to her questions, and at last gained her ear 
 and attention, Gertrude obtained from her a promise to write 
 one letter, which would, she declared, be more than she had 
 done for years. 
 
 Before leaving the house, Gertrude sought Mr. Graham s 
 study, in hopes that he would take a friendly leave of her; but 
 on her telling him that she had come to bid him "good-by," 
 
172 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 he indistinctly muttered the simple words of that universal 
 formula, so deep in its meaning when coming from the heart, 
 so chilling when uttered, as on the present occasion, by stern 
 and nearly closed lips; and turning his back upon her, took 
 up the tongs to mend his fire. 
 
 So she went away, with a tear in her eye and sadness in her 
 heart, for until now Mr. Graham had been a good friend to 
 her. 
 
 A far different scene awaited her in the upper kitchen, where 
 she went to seek Mrs. Prime and Katy. 
 
 " Bless yer soul, dear Miss Gertrude ! " said the former, 
 stumbling up the staircase which led from the lower room, and 
 wiping her hands on her apron, "how we shall miss yer! Why, 
 the house won t be worth livin in when you re out of it. My 
 gracious! if you don t come back, we shall all die out in a fort 
 night. Why, you re the life and soul of the place ! But there, 
 I guess you know what s right; so if you must go, we must 
 bear it, though Katy and I 11 cry our eyes out, for aught I 
 know. " 
 
 "Sure, Miss Gairthrude," said Irish Katy, "and it s right 
 gude in you to be afther comin to bid us good-by. I don t 
 see how you gets memory to think of us all, and I m shure 
 yer 11 never be betther off than what I wish yer. I can t but 
 think, miss, it 11 go to help yer along, that everybody s gude 
 wishes and blessin goes with yer." 
 
 "Thank you, Katy, thank you," said Gertrude, much 
 touched by the simple earnestness of these good friends. " You 
 must come and see me some time in Boston ; and you too, Mrs. 
 Prime, I shall depend upon it. Good-by ; " and the good-by 
 that now fell upon Gertrude s ear was a hearty and a true one; 
 it followed her through the hall, and as the carryall drove away 
 she heard it mingling with the rattling of the vehicle. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 173 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 One of that stubborn sort he is, 
 Who, if they once grow fond of an opinion, 
 They call it honor, honesty, and faith, 
 And sooner part with life than let it go. 
 
 ROWE. 
 
 PASSING over Gertrude s parting with Emily, her cordial 
 reception by Mrs. Sullivan, and her commencement of school 
 duties, we will look in upon her and record the events of a day 
 in November, about two months after she left Mr. Graham s. 
 
 Rising with the sun, she made her neat toilet in a room so 
 cold that before it was completed her hands were half be 
 numbed ; nor did she, in spite of the chilling atmosphere, omit, 
 ere she commenced the labors of the day, to supplicate Heaven s 
 blessing upon them. Then, noiselessly entering the adjoining 
 apartment, where Mrs. Sullivan was still sleeping, she lit a 
 fire, the materials for which had been carefully prepared the 
 night before, in a small grate, and descending the stairs with 
 the same light footstep, performed a similar service at the cook 
 ing stove, which stood in a comfortable room, where, now that 
 the weather was cold, the family took their meals. The table 
 was set, and the preparations for breakfast nearly completed, 
 when Mrs. Sullivan entered, pale, thin, and feeble in her ap 
 pearance, and wrapped in a large shawl. 
 
 "Gertrude," said she, "why will you let me sleep so morn 
 ings, while you are up and at work ? I believe it has happened 
 so every day this week." 
 
 "For the very best reason in the world, auntie: because I 
 sleep all the early part of the night, and am wide awake at 
 daybreak, and with you it is just the reverse. Besides, I like 
 to get the breakfast, I make such beautiful coffee. Look ! " 
 said she, pouring some into a cup, and then lifting the lid of 
 the coffee-pot and pouring it back again; "see how clear it is! 
 Don t you long for some of it this cold morning? " 
 
 Mrs. Sullivan smiled; for Uncle True having always pre- 
 
174 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 ferred tea, Gertrude did not at first know how to make coffee, 
 and had been obliged to come to her for instructions. 
 
 "Now," said Gertrude playfully, as she drew a comfortable 
 chair close to the fire, "I want you to sit down here and watch 
 the tea-kettle boil, while I run and see if Mr. Cooper is ready 
 to let me tie up his cue." 
 
 She went, leaving Mrs. Sullivan to think what a good girl 
 she was, and presently returning with the old man, who was 
 dressed with perfect neatness, she placed a chair for him, and 
 having waited, as for a child, while he seated himself, and then 
 pinned a napkin about his throat, she proceeded to place the 
 breakfast on the table. 
 
 While Mrs. Sullivan poured out the coffee, Gertrude, with 
 a quiet tact which rendered the action almost unobserved, re 
 moved the skin from a baked potato and the shell from a boiled 
 egg, and placing both on the plate destined for Mr. Cooper, 
 handed him his breakfast in a state of preparation which obvi 
 ated the difficulty the old man experienced in performing these 
 tasks for himself, and spared Mrs. Sullivan the anxiety she 
 always felt at witnessing his clumsiness and sadly increasing 
 carelessness on those points of neatness so sacred in her eyes. 
 Poor Mrs. Sullivan had no appetite, and it was with difficulty 
 Gertrude persuaded her to eat anything; a few fried oysters, 
 however, unexpectedly placed before her, proved such a temp 
 tation that she was induced to taste and finally to eat several, 
 with a degree of relish she rarely felt lately for any article of 
 food. As Gertrude gazed at her languid face, she realized, 
 more than ever before, the change which had come over the 
 active, energetic little woman; and confident that nothing but 
 positive disease could have effected such a transformation, she 
 resolved that not another day should pass without her seeing a 
 physician. 
 
 Breakfast over, there were dishes to wash, rooms to be put 
 in order, dinner to be decided on and partially prepared; and 
 all this Gertrude exerted herself and saw accomplished, chiefly 
 through her own labor, before she went to rearrange her dress, 
 previous to her departure for the school, where she had now 
 been some weeks installed as assistant teacher. A quarter be 
 fore nine she looked in at the kitchen door and said, in a cheer 
 ing tone to the old man, who was cowering gloomily over the 
 fire, 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 175 
 
 "Come, Mr. Cooper, won t you go over and superintend the 
 new church a little while this morning 1 Mr. Miller will be 
 expecting you; he said yesterday that he depended on your 
 company when he was at work." 
 
 The old man rose, and taking his great-coat from Gertrude, 
 put it on with her assistance, and accompanied her in a me 
 chanical sort of way, that seemed to imply a great degree of 
 indifference whether he went or stayed. As they walked in 
 silence down the street, Gertrude could not but revolve in her 
 mind the singular coincidence which had thus made her the 
 almost daily companion of another infirm old man; nor could 
 she fail to draw a comparison between the genial, warm-hearted 
 Uncle True and the gloomy, discontented Paul Cooper, who, 
 never, as we have said, possessing a genial temperament, now 
 retained, in his state of mental imbecility, his old characteris 
 tics in an exaggerated form. Unfavorable as the comparison 
 necessarily was to the latter, it did not diminish the kindness 
 and thoughtfulness of Gertrude towards her present charge, 
 who was in her eyes an object of sincere compassion. They 
 soon reached the new church of which Gertrude had spoken, 
 a handsome edifice, built on the site of the old building in 
 which Mr. Cooper had long officiated as sexton. It was not 
 yet finished, and a number of workmen were at this time en 
 gaged in the completion of the interior. 
 
 A man with a hod full of mortar preceded Gertrude and her 
 companion up the steps which led to the main entrance, but 
 stopped inside the porch, on hearing himself addressed by name, 
 and laying down his burden, turned to respond to the well- 
 known voice. 
 
 "Good-morning, Miss Flint," said he. "I hope you re very 
 well, this fine day. Ah! Mr. Cooper, you ve come to help 
 me a little, I see; that s right! We can t go on very well 
 without you you re so used to the place. Here, sir, 
 if you 11 come with me, I 11 show you what has been done 
 since you were here last; I want to know how you think we 
 get along." 
 
 So saying, he was walking away with the old sexton ; but 
 Gertrude followed, and detained him a moment, to ask if he 
 would do her the favor to see Mr. Cooper safe home when he 
 passed Mrs. Sullivan s house on his way to dinner. 
 
 "Certainly, Miss Flint," replied the man, "with all the 
 
176 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 pleasure in the world ; he has usually gone with me pretty reacU 
 ily, when you have left him in my care." 
 
 Having obtained this promise, Gertrude hastened towards 
 the school, rejoicing in the certainty that Mr. Cooper would be 
 safe and well amused during the morning, and that Mrs. Sulli 
 van, freed from all responsibility concerning him, would be left 
 to the rest and quiet she so much needed. 
 
 This cordial coadjutor in Gertrude s plan of diverting and 
 occupying the old man s mind was a respectable mason, who 
 had often been in Mr. Graham s employ, and whose good-will 
 and gratitude Gertrude had won by the kindness and attention 
 she had shown his family during the previous winter, when 
 they were sick and afflicted. In her daily walk past the church, 
 she had frequently seen Mr. Miller at his work, and it occurred 
 to her that, if she could awaken in Mr. Cooper s mind an in 
 terest in the new structure, he might find amusement in coming 
 there and watching the workmen. She had some difficulty in 
 persuading him to visit a building to the erection of which he 
 had been vehemently opposed, not only because it was inimical 
 to his interests, but on account of the strong attachment he had 
 for the old place of worship. Once there, however, he became 
 interested in the work, and as Mr. Miller took pains to make 
 him comfortable, and even awakened in him the belief that he 
 was useful, he gradually acquired a habit of passing the greater 
 part of every morning in watching the men engaged in their 
 various branches of industry. Sometimes Gertrude called for 
 him on her return from school; and sometimes, as on the 
 present occasion, Mr. Miller undertook to accompany him 
 home. 
 
 Since Gertrude had been at Mrs. Sullivan s there was a very 
 perceptible alteration in Mr. Cooper. He was much more man 
 ageable, looked better contented, and manifested far less irrita 
 bility than he had previously done; and this favorable change, 
 together with the cheering influence of Gertrude s society, had 
 for a time produced a proportionately beneficial effect upon 
 Mrs. Sullivan ; but within the last few days, her increased de 
 bility, and one or two sudden attacks of faintness, had awak 
 ened all, and more than all, of Gertrude s former fears. She 
 had left home with the determination, as soon as she should 
 be released from her school duties, to seek Dr. Jeremy and re 
 quest his attendance; and it was in order to secure leisure foi 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 177 
 
 that purpose that she had solicited Mr. Miller s superintending 
 care for Mr. Cooper. 
 
 Of Gertrude s school duties we shall say nothing, save that 
 she was found by Mr. W. fully competent to the performance 
 of them, and that she met with those trials and discouragements 
 only to which all teachers are more or less subjected, from the 
 idleness, obstinacy, or stupidity of their pupils. On this day, 
 however, she was, from various causes, detained to a later hour 
 than usual, and the clock struck two at the very moment that 
 she was ringing Dr. Jeremy s doorbell. The girl who opened 
 the door knew Gertrude by sight, having often seen her at her 
 master s house; and telling her that, though the doctor was 
 just going to dinner, she thought he would see her, asked her 
 into the office, where he stood, with his back to the fire, eating 
 an apple, as it was his invariable custom to do before dinner. 
 He laid it down, however, and advanced to meet Gertrude, hold 
 ing out both his hands. " Gertrude Flint, I declare ! " ex 
 claimed he. " Why, I m glad to see you, my girl. Why 
 have n t you been here before, I should like to know? " 
 
 Gertrude explained that she was living with friends, one of 
 whom was very old, the other an invalid; and that so much 
 of her time was occupied in school that she had no opportunity 
 for visiting. 
 
 "Poor excuse!" said the doctor; "poor excuse! But now 
 we ve got you here, we sha n t let you go very soon;" and go 
 ing to the foot of the staircase, he called, in the loudest possible 
 tone of voice, " Mrs. Jerry ! Mrs. Jerry ! come ! come down 
 to dinner as quick as you can, and put on your best cap, 
 we ve got company. Poor soul!" added he, in a lower tone, 
 addressing himself to Gertrude, and smiling good-naturedly, 
 "she can t hurry, can she, Gerty? she s fat." 
 
 Gertrude now protested against staying to dinner, declaring 
 she must hasten home, and announcing Mrs. Sullivan s illness 
 as the object of her visit. 
 
 "An hour can t make much difference in such a case," in 
 sisted the doctor. "You must stay and dine with me, and 
 then I 11 go wherever you wish, and take you with me in the 
 buggy." 
 
 Gertrude hesitated; the sky had clouded over, and a few 
 flakes of snow were falling; she should have an uncomfortable 
 walk ; and, moreover, it would be better for her to accompany 
 
178 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 the doctor, as the street in which she lived was principally 
 composed of new houses, not yet numbered, and he might, if 
 he were alone, have some difficulty in finding the right tene 
 ment. 
 
 At this stage of her reflections, Mrs. Jeremy entered. Fat 
 she certainly was, very uncommonly fat, and flushed, too, with 
 her unwonted haste and the excitement of anticipating the 
 company of a stranger. She kissed Gertrude in the kindest 
 manner, and then, looking round and seeing that there was no 
 one else present, exclaimed, glancing reproachfully at the doctor. 
 
 "Why, Dr. Jerry! ain t you ashamed of yourself? I never 
 will believe you again; you made me think there was some 
 great stranger here." 
 
 "And pray, Mrs. Jerry, who s a greater stranger in this 
 house than Gerty Flint 1 " 
 
 " Sure enough ! " said Mrs. Jeremy. " Gertrude is a stran 
 ger, and I ve got a scolding in store for her on that very ac 
 count; but you know, Dr. Jerry, I shouldn t have put on my 
 lilac and pink for Gertrude to see; she likes me just as well in 
 my old yellow, if she did tell me, when I bought it, the saucy 
 girl, that I d selected the ugliest cap in Boston. Do you re 
 member that, Gerty ? " 
 
 Gerty laughed heartily at the recollection of a very amusing 
 scene that took place at the milliner s when she went shopping 
 with Mrs. Jeremy. "But come, Gerty," continued that lady, 
 "dinner s ready; take off your cloak and bonnet, and come into 
 the dining-room; the doctor has got a great deal to say, and 
 has been wanting dreadfully to see you." 
 
 They had been sitting some minutes without a word s having 
 been spoken, beyond the usual civilities of the table, when the 
 doctor, suddenly laying down his knife and fork, commenced 
 laughing, and laughed till the tears came into his eyes. Ger 
 trude looked at him inquiringly, and Mrs. Jeremy said, " There, 
 Gertrude! for one whole week he had just such a laughing 
 fit, two or three times a day. I was as much astonished at first 
 as you are; and I confess I don t quite understand now what 
 could have happened between him and Mr. Graham that was so 
 very funny." 
 
 "Come, wife," said the doctor, checking himself in his mer 
 riment; "don t you forestall my communication. I want to 
 tell the story myself. I don t suppose," continued he, turning 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 179 
 
 towards Gertrude, "you ve lived five years at Mr. Graham s, 
 without finding out what a cantankerous, opinionative, obsti 
 nate old hulk he is 1 " 
 
 "Doctor!" said Mrs. Jeremy reprovingly, and shaking her 
 head at him. 
 
 "I don t care for winking or head-shaking, wife; I speak 
 my mind, and that s the conclusion I ve come to with regard 
 to Mr. Graham; and Gertrude, here, has done the same, I 
 haven t a particle of doubt, only she s a good girl, and won t 
 say so." 
 
 "I never saw anything that looked like it," said Mrs. 
 Jeremy, "and I ve seen as much of him as most folks. I meet 
 him in the street almost every day, and he looks as smiling as 
 a basket of chips, and makes a beautiful bow." 
 
 "I dare say," said the doctor; "Gertrude and I know what 
 gentlemanly manners he has when one does not walk in the 
 very teeth of his opinions, eh, Gertrude ? but when one 
 does " 
 
 "In talking politics, for instance," suggested Mrs. Jeremy. 
 "It s your differences with him on politics that have set you 
 against him so." 
 
 "No, it isn t," replied the doctor. "A man may get angry 
 talking politics, and be a pretty good-natured man too, in the 
 main. I get angry myself on politics, but that isn t the sort 
 of thing I have reference to at all. It s Graham s wanting to 
 lay down the law to everybody that comes within ten miles of 
 him that I can t endure ; his dictatorial way of acting, as if he 
 were the Grand Mogul of Cochin China. I thought he d im 
 proved of late years ; he had a serious lesson enough in that 
 sad affair of poor Philip Amory s; but, fact, I believe he s been 
 trying the old game again. Ha ! ha ! ha ! " shouted the good 
 doctor, leaning forward, and giving Gertrude a light tap on the 
 shoulder; "wasn t I glad when I found he d met at last 
 with a reasonable opposition? and that, too, where he least 
 expected it. ! " 
 
 Gertrude looked her astonishment at his evident knowledge 
 of the misunderstanding between herself and Mr. Graham ; and 
 in answer to that look he continued, "You wonder where I 
 picked up my information, and I 11 tell you. It was partly 
 from Graham himself; and what diverts me is to think how 
 hard the old chap tried to hide his defeat, and persuade me 
 
180 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 that he d had his own way after all, when I saw through him, 
 and knew as well as he did that he d found his match in 
 you. " 
 
 "Dr. Jeremy," interposed Gertrude, "I hope you don t 
 think " 
 
 "No, my dear, I don t think you & prof essed pugilist ; but 
 I consider you a girl of sense one who knows what s right 
 and will do what s right, in spite of Mr. Graham or any 
 body else; and when you hear my story you will know the 
 grounds on which I formed my opinion with regard to the 
 course things had taken, and the reasons I have for understand 
 ing the state of the case rather better than Graham meant I 
 should. One day perhaps it was about two months ago 
 you may remember the exact time better than I do I was 
 summoned to go and see one of Mr. W. s children who had 
 an attack of croup. Mr. W. was talking with me, when he 
 was called away to see a visitor, and on his return he men 
 tioned that he had just secured your services in his school. I 
 was not surprised, for I knew Emily intended you for a 
 teacher, and I was thankful you had got so good a situation. 
 I had hardly left Mr. W. s door, however, before I encountered 
 Mr. Graham, and he entertained me, as we went down the 
 street, with an account of his plans for the winter. But Ger 
 trude Flint is not going with you, said I. Gertrude! said 
 he; certainly she is. Are you sure of that 1 ? I asked. 
 Have you invited her ? Invited her ! No, was his an 
 swer ; but of course I know she will go, and be glad enough 
 of the opportunity; it isn t every girl in her situation that is 
 so fortunate. Now, Gerty, I felt a little provoked at his way 
 of speaking, and I answered, in nearly as confident a tone as 
 his own, I doubt, myself, whether she will accept the invita 
 tion. Upon that, Mr. Dignity straightened up, and such a 
 speech as he made ! I never can recall it without being amused, 
 especially when I think of the come-down that followed so soon 
 after. I can t repeat it; but goodness, Gertrude! one would 
 have thought, to hear him, that it was not only impossible you 
 should oppose his wishes, but actual treason in me to suggest 
 such a thing. Of course, I knew better than to tell what I 
 had just heard from Mr. W., but I never felt a greater curios 
 ity about anything than I did to know how the matter would 
 end. Two or three times I planned to drive out with my wife, 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 181 
 
 see Emily, and hear the result; but a doctor never can call 
 a day his own, and I got prevented. At last, one Sunday, I 
 heard Mrs. Prime s voice in the kitchen (her niece lives here), 
 and down I went to make my inquiries. That woman is a 
 friend of yours, Gertrude, and pretty sharp where you are con 
 cerned. She told me the truth, I rather think; though not, 
 perhaps, all the particulars. It was not more than a day or 
 two after that before I saw Graham. * Ah ! said I ; when do 
 you start? To-morrow, replied he. Really, I ex 
 claimed, then I sha n t see your ladies again. Will you take 
 a little package from me to Gertrude ? I know nothing 
 about Gertrude! said he stiffly. What! rejoined I, af 
 fecting the greatest surprise, c has Gertrude left you 1 She 
 has, answered he. * And dared, continued I, quoting his 
 own words, to treat you with such disrespect, to trifle so 
 with your dignity 1 Dr. Jeremy ! exclaimed he, I don t 
 wish to hear that young person mentioned; she has behaved as 
 ungratefully as she has unwisely. Why, about the gratitude, 
 Graham, said I, I believe you said it would only be an addi 
 tional favor on your part if you took her with you, and I can t 
 say but what I think it is wisdom in her to make herself inde 
 pendent at home. But I really am sorry for you and Emily ; 
 you will miss her so much. We can dispense with your 
 sympathy, sir, answered he, for that which is no loss. 
 Ah! really! I replied; now, I was thinking Gertrude s so 
 ciety would be quite a loss. Mrs. Ellis goes with us, said 
 he with a marked emphasis, that seemed to say she was a per 
 son whose company compensated for all deficiencies. Ah ! 
 said I, charming woman, Mrs. Ellis ! Graham looked an 
 noyed, for he is aware that Mrs. Ellis is my antipathy." 
 
 "Well, you ought to have known better, Dr. Jerry," said 
 his kind-hearted wife, "than to have attacked a man so on his 
 weak point; it was only exciting his temper for nothing." 
 
 "I was taking up the cudgels for Gertrude, wife." 
 
 "And I don t believe Gertrude wants you to take up the 
 cudgels for her. I have no manner of doubt that she has the 
 kindest of feelings towards Mr. Graham, this blessed minute." 
 
 "I have indeed, Mrs. Jeremy," said Gertrude; "he has 
 been a most generous and indulgent friend to me." 
 
 "Except when you wanted to have your own way," sug 
 gested the doctor. 
 
182 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "Which I seldom did, when it was in opposition to his 
 wishes." 
 
 "And what if it were?" 
 
 "I always considered it my duty to submit to him, until at 
 last a higher duty compelled me to do otherwise." 
 
 "And then, my dear," said Mrs. Jeremy, "I dare say it 
 pained you to displease him; and that is a right woman s feel 
 ing, and one that Dr. Jerry, in his own heart, can t hut ap 
 prove of, though one would think, to hear him talk, that he 
 considered it pretty in a young girl to take satisfaction in brow 
 beating an old gentleman. But don t let us talk any more 
 about it; he has had his say, and now it s my turn. I want 
 to hear how you are situated, Gerty, where you live, and how 
 you like teaching." 
 
 Gertrude answered all these questions; and the doctor, who 
 had heard Mrs. Sullivan spoken of as a friend of True s and 
 Gerty s, at the time when he attended the former, made many 
 inquiries concerning the state of her health. It was by this 
 time beginning to snow fast, and Gertrude s anxiety to return 
 home in good season being very manifest to her kind host and 
 hostess, they urged no further delay, and after she had given 
 many a promise to repeat her visit on the earliest opportunity, 
 she drove away with the doctor. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 183 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 No simplest duty is forgot ; 
 Life hath no dim and lowly spot 
 That doth not in her sunshine share. 
 
 LOWELL. 
 
 "I HAVE been thinking," said Gertrude, as she drew neal 
 home, "how we shall manage, doctor, so as not to alarm Mrs. 
 Sullivan." 
 
 "What s going to alarm her?" asked the doctor. 
 
 "You, if she knows at once that you are a physician. I 
 think I had better introduce you as a friend, who brought me 
 home in the storm. " 
 
 "0! so we are going to act a little farce, are we? Stage 
 manager, Gertrude Flint; unknown stranger, Dr. Jeremy. 
 I m ready. What shall I say first? " 
 
 "I leave that to a wiser head than mine, doctor, and trust 
 entirely to your own discretion to obtain some knowledge of 
 her symptoms, and only gradually disclose to her that you are 
 a physician." 
 
 "Ah, yes! pretend, at first, to be only a private individual 
 of a very inquiring mind. I think I can manage it." 
 
 They went in. As they opened the door, Mrs. Sullivan 
 rose from her chair with a troubled countenance, and hardly 
 waited for the introduction to Gertrude s friend before she 
 turned to her and asked, with some anxiety, if Mr. Cooper 
 were not with them. 
 
 " No, indeed, " replied Gertrude. " Has n t he come home ? " 
 
 Upon Mrs. Sullivan s saying that she had not seen him since 
 morning, Gertrude informed her, with a composure she was far 
 from feeling, that Mr. Miller had undertaken the care of him, 
 and could undoubtedly account for his absence. She would 
 seek him at once. 
 
 "0, I m so sorry," said Mrs. Sullivan, "that you should 
 have to go out again in such a storm ! but I feel very anxious 
 about grandpa don t you, Gerty ? " 
 
184 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "Not very; I think he is safe in the church. But I 11 go 
 for him at once; you know, auntie, I never mind the weather." 
 
 "Then take my great shawl, dear." And Mrs. Sullivan 
 went to the entry closet for her shawl, giving Gertrude an 
 opportunity to beg of Dr. Jeremy that he would await her re 
 turn; for she knew that any unusual agitation of mind would 
 often occasion an attack of faintness in Mrs. Sullivan, and was 
 afraid to have her left alone, to dwell with anxiety and alarm 
 upon Mr. Cooper s prolonged absence. 
 
 It was a very disagreeable afternoon, and already growing 
 dark. Gertrude hastened along the wet sidewalks, exposed to 
 the blinding storm (for the wind would not permit her to carry 
 an umbrella), and after passing through several streets, gained 
 the church. She went into the building, now nearly deserted 
 by the workmen, saw at once that Mr. Cooper was not there, 
 and was beginning to fear that she should gain no information 
 concerning him, when she met Mr. Miller coming from the 
 gallery. He looked surprised at seeing her, and asked if Mr. 
 Cooper had not returned home. She answered in the negative, 
 and he then informed her that his utmost efforts were insuffi 
 cient to persuade the old man to go home at dinner time, and 
 that he had therefore taken him to his own house ; he had sup 
 posed, however, that long before this hour he would have been 
 induced to allow one of the children to accompany him to Mrs. 
 Sullivan s. 
 
 As it now seemed probable that he was still at Mr. Miller s, 
 Gertrude took the direction (for the family had moved within 
 a year, and she did not know where to seek them), and declin 
 ing the company of the friendly mason, whom she was unwill 
 ing to take from his work, proceeded thither at once. After 
 another uncomfortable walk, and some difficulty in finding the 
 right street and house, she reached her destination. She 
 knocked at the outside door; but there was no response, and 
 after waiting a moment, she opened it and went in. Through 
 another door at the right, there was the sound of children s 
 voices, and so much noise that she believed it impossible to 
 make herself heard, and therefore, without further ceremony, 
 entered the room. A band of startled children dispersed at 
 the sight of a stranger, and ensconced themselves in corners; 
 and Mrs. Miller, in dismay at the untidy appearance of her 
 kitchen, hastily pushed back a clothes-horse against the wall, 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 185 
 
 thereby disclosing to view the very person Gertrude had come 
 to seek, who, in his usual desponding attitude, sat cowering 
 over the fire. But before she could advance to speak to him, 
 her whole attention was arrested by another and most unex 
 pected sight. Placed against the side of the room, directly 
 opposite the door, was a narrow bed, in which some person 
 seemed to be sleeping. Hardly, however, had Gertrude pre 
 sented herself in the doorway, before the figure suddenly raised 
 itself, gazed fixedly at her, lifted a hand as if to ward off her 
 approach, and uttered a piercing shriek. 
 
 The voice and countenance were not to be mistaken, and Ger 
 trude, pale and trembling, felt something like a revival of her 
 old dread, as she beheld the well-known features of Nan Grant. 
 
 " Go away ! go away ! " cried Nan, as Gertrude, after a mo 
 ment s hesitation, advanced into the room. Again Gertrude 
 paused, for the wildness of Nan s eyes and the excitement of 
 her countenance were such that she feared to excite her further. 
 
 Mrs. Miller now came forward, and interfered. "Why, 
 Aunt Nancy!" said she, "what is the matter 1 ? This is Miss 
 Flint, one of the best young ladies in the land." 
 
 "No, t ain t! " said Nan fiercely. "I know better! " 
 
 Mrs. Miller now drew Gertrude aside, into the shadow of 
 the clothes-horse, and conversed with her in an undertone, 
 while Nan, leaning on her elbow, and peering after them into 
 the dim corner to which they had retreated, maintained a 
 watchful, listening attitude. Gertrude was informed that Mrs. 
 Miller was a niece of Ben Grant s, but had seen nothing of 
 him or his wife for years, until a few days previous, Nan had 
 come there in a state of the greatest destitution, and threatened 
 with the fever under which she was now laboring. "I could 
 not refuse her a shelter," said Mrs. Miller; "but as you see, 
 I have no accommodation for her, and it s not only bad for me 
 to have her sick right here in the kitchen, but what with the 
 noise of the children and all the other discomforts, I m afraid 
 the poor old thing will die. " 
 
 " Have you a room that you could spare above stairs ? " asked 
 Gertrude. 
 
 "Why, there s our Jane," answered Mrs. Miller, "and she s 
 as good-hearted a girl as ever lived ; she said, right off, she d give 
 up her room to poor Aunt Nancy, and she d sleep in with the 
 other children; I didn t feel, though, as if we could afford to 
 
186 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 keep another fire a-going, and so I thought we d put up a bed 
 here for a day or two, and just see how she got along. But 
 she s looked pretty bad to-day, and now I m thinking, from 
 her actions, that she s considerable out of her head." 
 
 "She ought to be kept quiet," said Gertrude; "and if you 
 will have a fire in Jane s room at my expense, and do what 
 you can to make her comfortable, I 11 try and send a physician 
 here to see her." Mrs. Miller was beginning to express the 
 warmest gratitude, but Gertrude interrupted her with saying, 
 "Don t thank me, Mrs. Miller; Nancy is not a stranger to me; 
 I have known her before, and perhaps feel more interest in her 
 than you do yourself. " 
 
 Mrs. Miller looked surprised; but Gertrude, whose time was 
 limited, could not stop to enter into a further explanation. 
 Anxious, however, if possible, to speak to Nan, and assure her 
 of her friendly intentions, she went boldly up to the side of 
 the bed, in spite of the wild and glaring eyes which were fixed 
 steadily upon her. 
 
 "Nan," said she, "do you know me?" 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " replied Nan in a half whisper, speaking quickly 
 and catching her breath; "what have you come for? " 
 
 "To do you good, I hope." 
 
 But Nan still looked incredulous, and in the same under 
 tone, and with the same nervous accent, inquired, "Have you 
 seen Gerty ? "Where is she ? " 
 
 "She is well," answered Gertrude, astonished, however, at 
 the question, for she had supposed herself recognized. 
 
 "What did she say about me ? " 
 
 "She says that she forgives and pities you, and is in hopes 
 to do something to help you and make you well." 
 
 "Did she?" said the sick woman. "Then you won t kill 
 me?" 
 
 "Kill you? No, indeed. We are in hopes to make you 
 comfortable, and cure you." 
 
 Mrs. Miller, who had been preparing a cup of tea, now drew 
 near, with it in her hand. Gertrude took it and offered it to 
 Nan, who drank eagerly of it, staring at her, however, in the 
 mean time, over the edge of the cup. When she had finished, 
 she threw herself heavily upon the pillow, and began muttering 
 some indistinct sentences, the only distinguishable word being 
 the name of her son Stephen. Finding the current of her 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 187 
 
 thoughts thus apparently diverted, Gertrude, now feeling in 
 haste to return and relieve Dr. Jeremy, who had so kindly 
 agreed to stay with Mrs. Sullivan, moved a little from the bed 
 side, saying, as she did so, " Good- by, I will come and see you 
 again. " 
 
 "You won t hurt me?" exclaimed Nan, starting up once 
 more. 
 
 " no. I will try to bring you something you will like. " 
 
 "Don t bring Gerty here with you! I don t want to see 
 her." 
 
 "I will come alone," replied Gertrude. 
 
 Nan now lay down, and did not speak again while Gertrude 
 remained in the house, though she watched her steadily until 
 she was outside the door. Mr. Cooper made no objection to 
 accompanying his young guide; and though the severity of the 
 storm was such that they did not escape a thorough wetting, 
 they reached home in safety, in little more than an hour from 
 the time she started on her expedition. 
 
 Dr. Jeremy, seated at the side of the grate, with his feet 
 upon the fender, had the contented appearance of one who is 
 quite at home; he seemed, indeed, unconscious that he was 
 waiting for Gertrude s return, or anything else but his own 
 pleasure. He had been talking with Mrs. Sullivan about the 
 people of a country town where they had both passed some 
 time in their childhood, and the timid, retiring woman had, in 
 the course of conversation, come to feel so much at her ease 
 in the society of the social and entertaining physician, that 
 although he had, in his unguarded discourse, accidentally dis 
 closed his profession, she allowed him to question her upon 
 the state of her health, without any of the alarm she had ner 
 vously fancied she should feel at the very sight of a doctor. 
 By the time Gertrude returned, he had made himself well ac 
 quainted Avith the case, and was prepared, on Mrs. Sullivan s 
 leaving the room to provide dry clothes for her father, to report 
 to Gertrude his opinion. 
 
 "Gertrude," said he, as soon as the door was shut, "that s 
 a very sick woman." 
 
 " Do you think so, Dr. Jeremy ? " said Gertrude, much 
 alarmed, and sinking into the nearest chair. 
 
 "I do," replied he thoughtfully, "I wish to mercy I had 
 seen her six months ago ! " 
 
188 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "Why, doctor! Do you date her illness so far back as 
 that?" 
 
 "Yes, and much further. She has borne up under the 
 gradual progress of a disease which is now, I fear, beyond the 
 aid of medical treatment." 
 
 "Dr. Jeremy, " said Gertrude in tones of great distress, "you 
 do not mean to tell me that auntie is going to die, and leave me 
 and her poor old father, and without ever seeing Willie again, 
 too ! 0, I had hoped it was not nearly so bad as that ! " 
 
 " Do not be alarmed, Gertrude, " said the doctor kindly. " I 
 did not mean to frighten you; she may live some time yet. 
 I can judge better of her case in a day or two. But it is abso 
 lutely unsafe for you to be here alone with these two friends 
 of yours, to say nothing of its overtasking your strength. Has 
 not Mrs. Sullivan the means to keep a nurse, or even a domes 
 tic? She tells me she has no one." 
 
 "Yes, indeed," answered Gerty; "her son supplies her 
 wants most generously. I know that she never draws nearly 
 the whole of the amount he is anxious she should expend." 
 
 "Then you must speak to her about getting some one to 
 assist you at once; for if you do not, /shall." 
 
 "I intend to," said Gertrude. "I have seen the necessity 
 for some time past; but she has such a dread of strangers that 
 I hated to propose it." 
 
 "Nonsense," said the doctor; "that s only imagination in 
 her; she would soon get used to being waited upon." 
 
 Mrs. Sullivan now returned, and Gertrude, giving an ac 
 count of her unexpected rencounter with Nan Grant, begged 
 Dr. Jeremy, who knew the particulars of her own early life, 
 and had frequently heard of Nan, to go the next day and see 
 her. "It will be a visit of charity," said she, "for she is 
 probably penniless, and though staying with your old patients 
 the Millers, she is but distantly connected, and has no claim 
 upon them. That never makes any difference with you, how 
 ever, I know very well." 
 
 "Not a bit, not a bit," answered the doctor. "I 11 go and 
 see her to-night, if the case require it, and to-morrow I shall 
 look in to report how she is, and hear the rest of what Mrs. 
 Sullivan was telling me about her wakeful nights. But, Ger 
 trude, do you go, child, and change your wet shoes and stock 
 ings. I shall have you on my hands next." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 189 
 
 Mrs. Sullivan was delighted with Dr. Jeremy, and when he 
 was gone eagerly sounded his praise. "So different," said she, 
 "from common doctors (a portion of humanity for which she 
 seemed to have an unaccountable aversion); so sociable and 
 friendly ! Why, I felt, Gertrude, as if I could talk to him 
 about my sickness as freely as I could to you." 
 
 Gertrude readily joined in the praises bestowed upon her 
 much valued friend, and it was tea time before Mrs. Sullivan 
 was weary of the subject. After the evening meal was over, 
 and Mr. Cooper, much wearied with the fatigues of the day, 
 had been persuaded to retire to rest, while Mrs, Sullivan, com 
 fortably reclining on the sofa, was enjoying what she always 
 termed her happiest hour, -Gertrude broached the subject re 
 commended by Dr. Jeremy. Contrary to her expectations, 
 Mrs. Sullivan no longer objected to the proposal of introducing 
 a domestic into the family. She was convinced of her own 
 incompetency to perform any active labor, and was equally 
 opposed to the exertion on Gertrude s part which had, during 
 the last week, been requisite. Gertrude suggested Jane Miller 
 as a girl remarkably well suited to their wants, and it was 
 agreed that she should be applied for on the following morning. 
 
 One more glance at Gertrude, and we shall have followed her 
 to the conclusion of the day. She is alone. It is ten o clock, 
 and the house is still. Mr. Cooper is sound asleep. Gertrude 
 has just listened at his door, and heard his loud breathing. 
 Mrs. Sullivan, under the influence of a soothing draught recom 
 mended by Dr. Jeremy, has fallen into an unusually quiet 
 slumber. The little Calcutta birds, ten in number, that occupy 
 a large cage in the window, are nestled, side by side, on their 
 slender perch, in a close, unbroken row, and Gertrude has 
 thrown a warm covering over them, that they may not suffer 
 from the cold night air. She has locked the doors, made all 
 things safe, fast, and comfortable, and now sits down to read, 
 to meditate, and pray. Her trials and cares are multiplying. 
 A great grief stares her in the face, and a great responsibility ; 
 but she shrinks not from either. No! on the contrary, she 
 thanks God that she is here; that she had the resolution to 
 forsake pleasure and ease, and, in spite of her own weakness 
 and man s wrath, to place herself in the front of life s battle, 
 and bravely wait its issues. She thanks God that she knows 
 where to look for help ; that the bitter sorrows of her childhood 
 
190 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 and early youth left her not without a witness of His love who 
 can turn darkness into light, and that no weight can now over 
 shadow her whose gloom is not illumined by rays from the throne 
 of God. But though her heart is brave and her faith firm, she 
 has a woman s tender nature; and as she sits alone, she weeps 
 weeps for herself, and for him who, far away in a foreign 
 land, is counting the days, the months, and years which shall 
 restore him to a mother he is destined never to see again. With 
 the recollection, however, that she is to stand in the place of a 
 child to that parent, and that hers is the hand that must soothe 
 the pillow of the invalid, and minister to all her wants, comes 
 the stern necessity of self-control, a necessity to which Ger 
 trude has long since learned to submit; and rallying all her 
 calmness and fortitude, she wipes away the blinding tears, com 
 mends herself to Him who is strength to the weak and comfort 
 to the sorrowing, and soothed by the communion of her spirit 
 with the Father of spirits, she seeks her couch, and worn out 
 by the varied mental and bodily fatigues of her day s experi 
 ence, follows the rest of the household to the land of dreams. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 191 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 Some say that gleams of a remoter world 
 Visit the soul in sleep. 
 
 SHELLEY. 
 
 IT was a fortunate thing for Gertrude that Thanksgiving 
 week was approaching, as that was a vacation time at Mr. W. s 
 school, and she would thus be more at leisure to attend to her 
 multiplied cares. She considered herself favored, too, in ob 
 taining the services of Jane, who willingly consented to come 
 and help Miss Gertrude. She did not, she said, exactly like 
 the idea of living out, but couldn t refuse a young lady who 
 had been so good to them in times past. Gertrude had feared 
 that, with Nan Grant sick in the house, Mrs. Miller would not 
 be able to give up her eldest daughter; but Mary, a second 
 girl, having returned home unexpectedly, one of them could be 
 very conveniently spared. Under Gertrude s tuition, Jane, 
 who was neat and capable, was able, after a few days, to relieve 
 Mrs. Sullivan of nearly all her household duties, and so far 
 provide for many of her personal wants as to leave Gertrude at 
 liberty to pay frequent visits to the sick-room of Nan, whose 
 fever, having reached its height, rendered her claim for aid at 
 present the most imperative. 
 
 We need hardly say that, in Gertrude s still vivid recollec 
 tion of her former sufferings under the rule of Nan, there re 
 mained nothing of bitterness or a spirit of revenge. If she 
 remembered the past, it was only to pity and forgive her per 
 secutor; if she meditated upon the course she should herself 
 pursue towards her once hated tyrant, it was only to revolve 
 in her mind how she could best serve and comfort her. 
 
 Therefore, night after night found her watching by the bed 
 side of the sick woman, who, though still delirious, had entirely 
 lost the fear and dread she had at first seemed to feel at her 
 presence. Nan talked much of little Gerty, sometimes in a 
 way that led Gertrude to believe herself recognized, but more 
 frequently as if the child were supposed to be absent; and it 
 
192 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 was not until a long time after that Gertrude was led to adopt 
 the correct supposition, which was that she had been mistaken 
 for her mother, whom she much resembled, and whom, though 
 tended in her last sickness by Nan herself, the fevered, dis 
 eased, and conscience-stricken sufferer believed had come back 
 to claim her child at her hands. It was only the continued 
 assurances of good- will on Gertrude s part, and her unwearied 
 efforts to soothe and comfort her, that finally led Nan to the 
 belief that the injured mother had found her child in health 
 and safety, and was ignorant of the wrongs and unkindness she 
 had endured. 
 
 One night it was the last of Nan s life Gertrude, who 
 had scarcely left her during the previous day, and was still 
 maintaining her watch, heard her own name mingled with those 
 of others in a few rapid sentences. She approached the bed 
 and listened intently, for she was always in hopes, during these 
 partly incoherent ravings, to gain some information concerning 
 her own early life. Her name was not repeated, however, and 
 for some time the muttering of Nan s voice was indistinct. 
 Then suddenly starting up and addressing herself to some im 
 aginary person, she shouted aloud, "Stephie! Stephie! give 
 me back the watch, and tell me what you did with the rings ! 
 They will ask those folks! and what shall I tell them?" 
 Then, after a pause, during which her eyes were fixed steadily 
 upon the wall, she said in a more feeble but equally earnest 
 voice, "No, no, Stephie, I never 11 tell. I never, never 
 will ! " The moment the words had left her lips, she started, 
 turned, saw Gertrude standing by the bedside, and with a 
 frightened look, shrieked rather than asked, "Did you hear? 
 Did you hear? You did, " continued she, "and you 11 tell! 
 0, if you do ! " She was here preparing to spring from the 
 bed, but overcome with exhaustion sunk back on the pillow. 
 Summoning both Mr. and Mrs. Miller, who half expecting to 
 be called up during the night had lain down in the next room, 
 the agitated Gertrude, believing that her own presence was too 
 exciting, left the now dying woman to their care, and sought 
 in another part of the house to calm her disturbed mind and 
 disordered nerves. Learning, about an hour afterwards, from 
 Mrs. Miller that Nan had become comparatively calm, but was 
 utterly prostrated in strength, and seemed near her end, Ger 
 trude thought it best not to enter the room again; and sitting 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 193 
 
 down by the kitchen stove, pondered in her mind the strange 
 scene she had witnessed. Day was just dawning when Mrs. 
 Miller came to tell her that Nan had breathed her last. 
 
 Gerty s work of mercy, forgiveness, and Christian love being 
 thus finished, she hastened home to recruit her wasted strength, 
 and fortify herself, as she best might, for the labor and suffer 
 ing yet in store for her. 
 
 And it was no ordinary strength and fortitude that she 
 needed to sustain her through a period such as persons in this 
 world are often called upon to meet, when scenes of suffering, 
 sickness, and death follow each other in such quick succession 
 that, ere one shock can be recovered from, and composure of 
 mind restored, another blow comes to add its force to the 
 already overwhelming torrent. In less than three weeks from 
 the time of Nan Grant s death, Paul Cooper was smitten by 
 the destroyer s hand, and after a brief illness, he, too, was laid 
 to his last rest; and though the deepest feelings of Gertrude s 
 heart were not in either case fully awakened, it was no slight 
 call upon the mental and physical endurance of a girl of eigh 
 teen to bear up under the self-imposed duties occasioned by 
 each event, and that, too, at a time when her mind was racked 
 by the apprehension of a new and far more intense grief. 
 Emily s absence was also a sore trial to her, for she was accus 
 tomed to rely upon her for advice and counsel, and in seasons 
 of peculiar distress, to learn patience and submission from one 
 who was herself a living exemplification of both virtues. Only 
 one letter had been received from the travellers, and that, writ 
 ten by Mrs. Ellis, contained little that was satisfactory. It 
 was written from Havana, where they were boarding in a house 
 kept by an American lady, and crowded with visitors from 
 Boston, New York, and other northern cities. 
 
 "It ain t so very pleasant, after all, Gertrude," wrote Mrs. 
 Ellis, "and I only wish we were safe home again; and not on 
 my own account, either, so much as Emily s. She feels kind 
 of strange here; and no wonder, for it s a dreadful uncomfort 
 able sort of a place. The windows have no glass about them, 
 but are grated just like a prison; arid there is not a carpet in 
 the house, nor a fireplace, though sometimes the mornings are 
 quite cold. There s a widcler here, with a brother and some 
 nieces. The widcler is a flaunting kind of a woman, that I 
 begin to think, if you 11 believe it, is either setting her cap for 
 
194 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 Mr. Graham, or means to make an old fool of him. She is 
 one of your loud-talking women, that dress up a good deal, and 
 like to take the lead; and Mr. Graham is just silly enough to 
 follow after her party, and go to all sorts of rides and excur 
 sions; it s so ridiculous, and he over sixty-five years old! 
 Emily and I have pretty much done going into the parlor, for 
 these gay folks don t take any sort of notice of us. Emily 
 doesn t say a word, or complain a bit, but I know she is not 
 happy here, and would be glad to be back in Boston; and so 
 should I, if it wasn t for that horrid steamboat. I liked to 
 have died with sea-sickness, Gertrude, coming out; and I dread 
 going home so, that I don t know what to do." 
 
 Gertrude wrote frequently to Emily; but as Miss Graham 
 was dependent upon Mrs. Ellis s eyesight, and the letters must 
 therefore be subject to her scrutiny, she could not express her 
 innermost thoughts and feelings as she was wont to do in con 
 versation with her sympathizing and indulgent friend. 
 
 Every India mail brought news from William Sullivan, who, 
 prosperous in business, and rendered happy, even in his exile, 
 by the belief that the friends he loved best were in the enjoy 
 ment of the fruits of his exertions, wrote always in his accus 
 tomed strain of cheerfulness. 
 
 One Sabbath afternoon, a few weeks after Mr. Cooper s 
 death, found Gertrude with an open letter in her hand, the 
 numerous postmarks upon the outside of which proclaimed from 
 whence it came. It had that day been received, and Mrs. Sul 
 livan, as she lay stretched upon her couch, had been listening 
 for the third time to the reading of its contents. The bright 
 hopes expressed by her son, and the gay tone in which he 
 wrote, all unconscious as he yet was of the cloud of sorrow 
 that was gathering for him, formed so striking a contrast to 
 her own reflections, that she lay with her eyes closed, and op 
 pressed with an unwonted degree of sadness; while Gertrude, 
 as she glanced at the passage in which Willie dilated upon the 
 "joy of once more clasping in his arms the dear little mother 
 whom he so longed to see again, 7 and then turned her gaze upon 
 the wasted form and faded cheek of that mother, felt an inde 
 scribable chill at her heart. Dr. Jeremy s first fears were all 
 confirmed, and, her disease still further aggravated by the anxiety 
 and agitation which attended her father s sickness and death, 
 Mrs. Sullivan was rapidly passing away. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 195 
 
 Whether she were herself aware that this was the case, 
 Gertrude had not yet been able to determine. She had never 
 spoken upon the subject, or intimated in any manner a con 
 viction of her approaching end; and Gertrude, as she surveyed 
 her placid countenance, was almost inclined to believe that she 
 was yet deceiving herself with the expectation of recovery. 
 
 All doubt on this point was soon removed; for after remain 
 ing a short time engaged in deep thought, or perhaps in prayer, 
 Mrs. Sullivan opened her eyes, fixed them upon her young 
 attendant, and said, in a calm, distinct voice, 
 
 " Gertrude, I shall never see Willie again ! " 
 
 Gertrude made no reply. 
 
 "I wish to write and tell him so myself," she continued, 
 "or rather, if you will write for me, as you have done so many 
 times already, I should like to tell you what to say ; and I feel 
 that no time is to be lost, for I am failing fast, and may not 
 long have strength enough left to do it. It will devolve upon 
 you, my child, to let him know when all is over; but you 
 have had too many sad duties already, and it will spare you 
 somewhat to have me prepare him to hear bad news. Will 
 you commence a letter to-day 1 " 
 
 "Certainly, auntie, if you think it best." 
 
 "I do, Gerty. What you wrote by the last mail was chiefly 
 concerning grandpa s sickness and death; and there was nothing 
 mentioned which would be likely to alarm him on my account, 
 was there 1 " 
 
 "Nothing at all." 
 
 "Then it is quite time he should be forewarned, poor boy! 
 I do not need Dr. Jeremy to tell me that I am dying." 
 
 "Did he tell you so?" asked Gertrude, as she went to her 
 desk, and began to arrange her writing materials. 
 
 "No, Gerty! he was too prude.nt for that; but I told him, 
 and he did not contradict me. You have known it some time, 
 have you not ? " inquired she, gazing earnestly in the face of 
 Gertrude, who had returned to the couch, and seated upon the 
 edge of it was bending over the invalid, and smoothing the 
 hair from her forehead. 
 
 "Some weeks," replied Gertrude, as she spoke imprinting a 
 kiss upon the pale brow of the sufferer. 
 
 "Why did you not tell me? " 
 
 " Why should I, dear auntie ? " said Gertrude, her voice 
 
196 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 trembling with emotion. "I knew the Lord could never call 
 you at a time when your lamp would not be trimmed and burn 
 ing." 
 
 "Feebly, it burns feebly! 7 said the humble Christian. 
 
 "Whose, then, is bright," responded Gertrude, "if yours be 
 dim? Have you not, for years past, been a living lesson of 
 piety and patience ? Unless it be Emily, auntie, I know of no 
 one who seems so fit for heaven." 
 
 " 0, no, Gerty ! I am a sinful creature, full of weakness ; 
 much as I long to meet my Saviour, my earthly heart pines 
 with the vain desire for one more sight of my boy, and all my 
 dreams of heaven are mingled with the aching regret that the 
 one blessing I most craved on earth has been denied me." 
 
 " auntie ! " exclaimed Gertrude, " we are all human ! 
 Until the mortal puts on immortality, how can you cease to 
 think of Willie, and long for his presence in this trying hour 1 
 It cannot be a sin, that which is so natural ! " 
 
 "I do not know, Gerty; perhaps it is not; and if it be, I 
 trust before I go hence, I shall be blessed with a spirit of per 
 fect submission, that will atone for the occasional murmuring 
 of a mother s heart ! Read to me, my dear, some holy words 
 of comfort; you always seem to open the good book at the pas 
 sage I most need. It is sinful, indeed, in me, Gertrude, to in 
 dulge the least repining, blessed as I am in the love and care 
 of one who is dear to me as a daughter ! " 
 
 Gertrude took her Bible, and opening it at the Gospel of St. 
 Mark, her eye fell at once upon the account of our Saviour s 
 agony in the garden of Gethsemane. She rightly believed that 
 nothing could be more appropriate to Mrs. Sullivan s state of 
 mind than the touching description of the struggle of our Lord s 
 humanity ; nothing more likely to soothe her spirit, and recon 
 cile her to the occasional rebellion of her own mortal nature, 
 than the evident contest of the human with the divine so thrill- 
 ingly narrated by the disciple; and that nothing could be more 
 inspiring than the example of that holy Son of God, who ever 
 to His thrice repeated prayer that, if possible, the cup might 
 pass from him, added the pious ejaculation, "Thy will, not 
 mine, be done." Without hesitation, therefore, she read what 
 first met her glance, and had the satisfaction of seeing that the 
 words were not without effect; for when she had finished, she 
 observed that as Mrs. Sullivan lay still and calm upon her 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 197 
 
 couch, her lips seemed to be repeating the Saviour s prayer. 
 Not wishing to disturb her meditations, Gertrude made no re 
 ference to the proposed letter to Willie, but sat in perfect 
 silence, and about half an hour afterward Mrs. Sullivan fell 
 asleep. It was a gentle, quiet slumber, and Gertrude sat and 
 watched with pleasure the peaceful, happy expression of her 
 features. Darkness had come on before she awoke, and so 
 shrouded the room that Gertrude, who still sat there, was in 
 visible in the gloom. She started on hearing her name, and 
 hastily lighting a candle, approached the couch. 
 
 "0 Gertrude! 7 said Mrs. Sullivan, "I have had such a 
 beautiful dream! Sit down by me, my dear, and let me tell 
 it to you; it could not have been more vivid, if it had all been 
 reality. I thought I was sailing rapidly through the air, arid 
 for some time I seemed to float on and on, over clouds and 
 among bright stars. The motion was so gentle that I did not 
 grow weary, though in my journey I travelled over land and 
 sea. At last I saw beneath me a beautiful city, with churches, 
 towers, monuments, and throngs of gay people moving in every 
 direction. As I drew nearer, I could distinguish the faces of 
 those numerous men and women, and among them, in a crowded 
 street, there was one who looked like Willie. I followed him, 
 and soon felt sure it was he. He looked older than when we 
 saw him last, and much as I have always imagined him, since 
 the descriptions he has given in his letters of the change that 
 has taken place in his appearance. I followed him through 
 several streets, and at last he turned into a fine, large building, 
 which stood near the centre of the city. I went in also. We 
 passed through large halls and beautifully furnished rooms, and 
 at last stood in a dining-saloon, in the middle of which was a 
 table covered with bottles, glasses, arid the remains of a rich 
 dessert, such as I never saw before. There was a group of 
 young men round the table, all well dressed, and some of them 
 fine looking, so that at first I was quite charmed with their 
 appearance. I seemed, however, to have a strange power of 
 looking into their hearts, and detecting all the evil there was 
 there. One had a very bright, intelligent face, and might have 
 been thought a man of talent and so he was ; but I could see 
 better than people usually can, and I perceived, by a sort of 
 instinct, that all his mind and genius were converted into a 
 means of duping and deceiving those who were so foolish or 
 
198 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 so ignorant as to be ensnared; and in a corner of his pocket I 
 knew he had a pair of loaded dice. 
 
 "Another seemed by his wit and drollery to be the charm of 
 the company; but I could detect marks of intoxication, and 
 felt a certainty that in less than an hour he would cease to be 
 the master of his own actions. 
 
 " A third was making a vain attempt to look happy ; but his 
 very soul was bared to my searching gaze, and I was aware of 
 the fact that he had the day before lost at the gaming-table all 
 his own and a part of his employer s money, and was tortured 
 with anxiety lest he might not this evening be fortunate enough 
 to win it back. 
 
 "There were many others present, and all, more or less sunk 
 in dissipation, had reached various stages on the road to ruin. 
 Their faces, however, looked animated and gay, and as Willie 
 glanced from one to another, he seemed pleased and attracted. 
 
 "One of them offered him a seat at the table, and all urged 
 him to take it. He did so, and the young man at his right filled 
 a glass with bright wine and handed it to him. He hesitated, 
 then took it and raised it to his lips. Just then I touched him 
 on the shoulder. He turned, saw me, and instantly the glass 
 fell from his hand and was broken into a thousand pieces. .1 
 beckoned, and he immediately rose and followed me. The gay 
 circle he had left called loudly upon him to return; one of 
 them even laid a hand upon his arm and tried to detain him; 
 but he would not listen or stay he shook off the hand that 
 would have held him, and we went on. Before we had got 
 outside the building, the man whom I had first noticed, and 
 whom I knew to be the most artful of the company, came out 
 from a room near the door, which he had reached by some 
 other direction, and approaching Willie, whispered in his ear. 
 W r illie faltered, turned, and would perhaps have gone back; 
 but I placed myself in front of him, held up my finger mena 
 cingly, and shook my head. He hesitated no longer, but fling 
 ing aside the tempter, rushed out of the door, and was down 
 the long flight of steps before I could overtake him. I seemed, 
 however, to move with great rapidity, and soon found myself 
 taking the lead, and guiding my son through the intricate, 
 crowded streets of the city. Many were the adventures we 
 encountered, many the snares we found laid for the unwary in 
 every direction. More than once my watchful eye saved the 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 199 
 
 thoughtless boy by my side from some pitfall or danger, into 
 which, without me, he would have surely fallen. Occasion 
 ally I lost sight of him, and was obliged to turn back; now 
 he had been separated from me by the crowd, and consequently 
 missed his way, and now he had purposely lingered to witness 
 or join in the amusements of the gay populace. Each time, 
 however, he listened to my warning voice, and we went on in 
 safety. 
 
 "At last, however, in passing through a brilliantly lighted 
 street, for it was now evening, I suddenly observed that 
 he was absent from my side. I went backwards and forwards, 
 but he was nowhere to be seen. For an hour I hunted the 
 streets, and called him by name ; but there was no answer. I 
 then unfolded my wings, and soaring high above the crowded 
 town, surveyed the whole, hoping that in that one glance I 
 might, as I had at first done, detect my boy. 
 
 " I was not disappointed. In a gorgeous hall, dazzlingly lit, 
 and filled with gayety and fashion, I beheld Willie. A bril 
 liant young creature was leaning on his arm, and I saw into 
 her heart, and knew that she was not blind to his beauty or 
 insensible to his attractions. But, ! I trembled for him now ! 
 She was lovely and rich, and it was evident to me, from the 
 elegance of her dress and the attention she attracted, that she 
 was also fashionable and admired. I saw into her soul, how 
 ever, and she was vain, proud, cold hearted, and worldly ; and 
 if she loved Willie, it was his beauty, his winning manners, 
 and his smile that pleased her not his noble nature, which 
 she knew not how to prize. As they promenaded through the 
 hall, and she, whom crowds were praising, gave all her time 
 and thoughts to him, I, descending .in an invisible shape, and 
 standing by his side, touched his shoulder, as I had done be 
 fore. He looked around, but before he could see his mother s 
 face, the siren s voice attracted all his attention. Again and 
 again I endeavored to win him away; but he heard me not. 
 At length she spoke some word that betrayed to my high- 
 minded boy the folly and selfishness of her worldly soul. I 
 seized the moment when she had thus weakened her hold 
 upon him, and clasping him in my arms, spread my wings and 
 soared far, far away, bearing with me the prize I had toiled 
 after and won. As we rose into the air, my manly son became 
 in my encircling arms a child again, and there rested on my 
 
200 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 bosom the same little head, with its soft, silken curls, that had 
 nestled there in infancy. Back we flew, over sea and land, and 
 paused not until on a soft, grassy slope, under the shade of 
 green trees, I thought I saw my darling Gerty, and was flying 
 to lay my precious boy at her feet, when I awoke, pronouncing 
 your name. 
 
 "And now, Gertrude, the bitterness of the cup I am called 
 upon to drink is passed away. A blessed angel has indeed 
 ministered unto me. I no longer wish to see my son again on 
 earth, for I am persuaded that my departure is in perfect ac 
 cordance with the schemes of a merciful Providence. I now 
 believe that Willie s living mother might be powerless to turn 
 him from temptation and evil ; but the spirit of that mother 
 will be mighty still, and in the thought that she, in her home 
 beyond the skies, is ever watching around his path, and striv 
 ing to lead him in the straight and narrow way, he may find 
 a truer shield from danger, a firmer rest to his tempted soul, 
 than she could have been while yet on earth. Now, 0-my 
 Father, I can say, from the depths of my heart, * Thy will, 
 not mine, be done ! ; 
 
 From this time until her death, which took place about a 
 month afterward, Mrs. Sullivan s mind remained in a state of 
 perfect resignation and tranquillity. As she said, the last pang 
 had lost its bitterness. In the letter which she dictated to 
 Willie, she expressed her perfect trust in the goodness and 
 wisdom of Providence, and exhorted him to cherish the same 
 submissive love for the All-wise. She reminded him of the 
 early lessons she had taught him, the piety and self-command 
 which she had inculcated, and made it her dying prayer that 
 her influence might be increased, rather than diminished, and 
 her presence felt to be a continual reality. She gave the im 
 portant caution to one who had faithfully struggled with adver 
 sity to beware of the dangers and snares which attend prosperity, 
 and besought him never to discredit or disgrace his childhood s 
 training. 
 
 After Gertrude had folded the letter, which she supposed 
 completed, and left the house to attend to those duties in 
 school which she still continued regularly to perform, Mrs. 
 Sullivan reopened the nearly covered sheet, and with her own 
 feeble and trembling hand recounted the disinterested, patient, 
 loving devotion of Gertrude. "So long," said, she, "my son, 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 201 
 
 as you cherish in your heart the memory of your grandfather 
 and mother, cease not to bestow all the- gratitude of which that 
 heart is capable upon one whose praises my hand is too feeble 
 to portray." 
 
 So slow and gradual was the decline of Mrs. Sullivan, that 
 her death at last came as an unexpected blow to Gertrude, who, 
 though she saw the ravages of disease, could not realize that a 
 termination must come to their work. 
 
 In the dead hours of the night, with no one to sustain and 
 encourage her but the frightened and trembling Jane, did she 
 watch the departing spirit of her much loved friend. "Are 
 you afraid to see me die, Gertrude ? " asked Mrs. Sullivan, 
 about an hour before her death. On Gertrude s answering 
 that she was not, "Then turn me a little towards you," said 
 she, "that your face, my darling, may be the last to me of 
 earth." 
 
 It was done, and with her hand locked fast in Gertrude s, 
 and a look that spoke of the deepest affection, she expired. 
 
202 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 But, whatsoe er the weal or woe 
 That Heaven across her lot might throw, 
 Full well her Christian spirit knew 
 Its path of virtue, straight and true. 
 
 JOANNA BAILLIE. 
 
 NOT until her work of love was thus ended did Gertrude 
 become conscious that the long continuance of her labors by 
 night and day had worn upon her frame and utterly exhausted 
 her strength. For a week after Mrs. Sullivan was laid in her 
 grave, Dr. Jeremy was seriously apprehensive of a severe ill 
 ness for Gertrude. But after struggling with her dangerous 
 symptoms for several days, she rallied, and though still pale 
 and worn by care and anxiety, was able to resume her classes 
 at school, and make arrangements for providing herself with 
 another home. 
 
 Several homes had been already offered to her, several urgent 
 invitations given, with a warmth and cordiality which made 
 it difficult to decline their acceptance; but Gertrude, though 
 deeply touched by the kindness thus manifested towards her in 
 her loneliness and desolation, preferred to abide by her previ 
 ously formed resolution to seek for herself a permanent boarding- 
 place; and when the grounds on which she based her decision 
 were understood by her friends, they approved her course, ceased 
 to importune her, and manifested a sincere wish to be of service, 
 by lending their aid to the furtherance of her plans. 
 
 Mrs. Jeremy was at first disposed to feel hurt and wounded 
 by Gertrude s refusal to come to them without delay, and con 
 sider herself established for any length of time that she chose 
 to remain ; and the doctor himself was so peremptory with his 
 "Come, Gertrude, come right home with us don t say a 
 word ! " that she was afraid lest, in her weak state of health, 
 she should be actually carried off, without a chance to remon 
 strate. But after he had taken upon himself to give Jane 
 orders about packing her clothes and sending them after her, 
 and then locking up the house and going home herself, he gave 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 203 
 
 Gertrude an opportunity to expostulate, and present her reasons 
 for wishing to decline the generous proposal. 
 
 All her reasoning upon general principles, however, proved 
 insufficient to convince the warm-hearted couple. " It was all 
 nonsense about independent position. She would he perfectly 
 independent with them, and her company would be such a 
 pleasure that she need feel no hesitation in accepting their offer, 
 and might be sure she would herself be conferring a favor, in 
 stead of being the party obliged." At last she was compelled 
 to make use of an argument which had greatly influenced her 
 own mind, and would, she felt sure, carry no little weight with 
 it in the doctor s estimation. 
 
 "Dr. Jeremy," said she, "I hope you will not condemn in 
 me a motive which has, I confess, strengthened my firmness in 
 this matter. I should be unwilling to mention it, if I did not 
 know that you are so far acquainted with the state of affairs 
 between Mr. Graham and myself as to understand, and perhaps 
 in some degree sympathize with, my feelings. You know that 
 he was opposed to my leaving them and remaining here this 
 winter, and must suspect that, when we parted, there was not 
 a perfectly good understanding between us. He hinted that 
 I should never be able to support myself, and should be driven 
 to a life of dependence; and since the salary which I receive 
 from Mr. W. is sufficient for all my wants, I am anxious to be 
 so situated, on Mr. Graham s return, that he will perceive that 
 my assurance, or boast (if I must call it so), that I could earn 
 my own living, was not without foundation." 
 
 "So Graham thought that, without his sustaining power, 
 you would soon come to beggary, did he ? With your talents, 
 too! That s just like him!" 
 
 "0 no, no!" replied Gertrude, "I did not say that; but I 
 seemed to him a mere child, and he did not realize that, in 
 giving me an education, he had, as it were, paid my expenses 
 in advance. It was very natural he should distrust my capa 
 city ; he had never seen me compelled to exert myself. " 
 
 "I understand I understand," said the doctor. "He 
 thought you would be glad enough to come back to them 
 yes, yes, just like him!" 
 
 "Well, now," said Mrs. Jeremy, "I don t believe he thought 
 any such thing. He was provoked, and did n t mind what he 
 said. Ten to one he will never think of it again, and it seems 
 
204 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 to me it is only a kind of pride in Gertrude to care anything 
 about it." 
 
 "I don t know that, wife," said the doctor. "If it is pride, 
 it s an honorable pride, that I like; and I am not sure but, 
 if I were in Gertrude s place, I should feel just as she does; 
 so I sha n t urge her to do any other ways than she proposes. 
 She can have a boarding-place and yet spend a good share 
 of her time with us, what with running in and out, coming to 
 spend days, and so on; and she doesn t need to be told that, 
 in case of any sickness or trouble, our doors are always open 
 to her." 
 
 "No, indeed," said Mrs. Jeremy; "and if you feel set about 
 it, Gerty dear, I am sure I shall want you to do whatever 
 pleases you best; but one thing I do insist on, and that is, that 
 you leave this house, which must look dreary enough to you 
 now, this very day, go home with me, and stay until you get 
 recruited." 
 
 Gertrude, gladly consenting to a short visit, compromised 
 the matter by accompanying them without delay ; and it was 
 chiefly owing to the doctor s persevering skill and care bestowed 
 upon his young guest, and the kind and motherly nursing of 
 Mrs. Jeremy, that she escaped the illness which had so severely 
 threatened her. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. W., who had felt great sympathy for Ger 
 trude, in consequence of the acquaintance they had had with 
 the trying nature of her winter s experience, pressed her to 
 come to their house, and remain until the return of Mr. Gra 
 ham and Emily; but on being assured by her that she was 
 quite unaware of the period of their absence, and should not 
 probably reside with them for the future, they were satisfied 
 that she acted with wisdom and judgment in at once providing 
 herself with an independent situation. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Arnold, who had been constant in their atten 
 tions both to Mrs. Sullivan and Gertrude, and were the only 
 persons, except the physician, who had been admitted to the 
 sick-room of the invalid, felt that they had a peculiar claim 
 to the guardianship and care of the doubly orphaned girl, and 
 were not slow to urge upon her to become a member of their 
 household, and accept of their protection, limiting their invita 
 tion, as the W. s had done, to the time when Emily should 
 be back from the south. Mr. Arnold s family, however, being 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 205 
 
 large, and his house and salary small in proportion, true bene 
 volence alone prompted this proposal; and on Gertrude s ac 
 quainting his economical and prudent wife with the ample 
 means she enjoyed from her own exertions, and the decision 
 she had formed of procuring an independent home, she received 
 the warm approbation of both, and found in the latter an excel 
 lent adviser and assistant. 
 
 Mrs. Arnold had a widowed sister, who was in the habit of 
 adding to her moderate income by receiving into her family, 
 as boarders, a few young ladies who came to the city for pur 
 poses of education. Gertrude did not know this lady person 
 ally, but had heard her warmly praised; and she indulged the 
 hope that through her friend, the clergyman s wife, she might 
 obtain with her an agreeable and not too expensive residence. 
 In this she was not disappointed. Mrs. Warren had fortu 
 nately vacant at this time a large and cheerful front chamber; 
 and Mrs. Arnold having recommended Gertrude in the warmest 
 manner, suitable terms were agreed upon, and the room imme 
 diately placed at her disposal. Mrs. Sullivan had bequeathed 
 to her all her furniture, a part of which had lately been pur 
 chased, and was, in accordance with Willie s injunctions, most 
 excellent, both in material and workmanship; and Mrs. Arnold 
 and her two eldest daughters insisted that, in consideration of 
 her recent fatigue and bereavement, she should consent to 
 attend only to her school duties, and leave to them the task of 
 furnishing her room with such articles as she preferred to have 
 placed there, and superintending the packing away of all other 
 movables, for Gertrude was unwilling that anything should be 
 sold. It was a great relief to be thus spared the cruel trial of 
 seeing the house her lost friend had taken so much pleasure and 
 pride in stripped and left desolate, and though, on first enter 
 ing her apartment at Mrs. Warren s, a deep sadness crept into 
 her heart at the sight of the familiar furniture, she could not 
 but think, as she observed the neatness, care, and taste with 
 which everything had been arranged for her reception, that it 
 would be a sin to repine and call one s self wretched and alone 
 in a world which contained hearts so quick to feel, and hands 
 so ready to labor, as those that had interested themselves for 
 her. 
 
 On entering the dining-room the first evening after she took 
 up her residence at Mrs. Warren s, she expected to meet only 
 
206 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 strangers at the tea table, but was agreeably disappointed at 
 the sight of Fanny Bruce, who, left in Boston while her mother 
 and brother were spending the winter in travelling, had now 
 been several weeks an inmate of Mrs. Warren s house. Fanny 
 was a schoolgirl, twelve or thirteen years of age, and, having 
 for some summers past been a near neighbor to Gertrude, had 
 been in the habit of seeing her frequently at Mr. Graham s, 
 had sometimes begged flowers from her, borrowed books, and 
 obtained assistance in her fancy work. She admired Gertrude 
 exceedingly; had hailed with great delight the prospect of 
 knowing her better, as she hoped to do at Mrs. Warren s; and 
 when she met the gaze of her large dark eyes, and saw a smile 
 of pleasure overspread her countenance at the sight of a familiar 
 face, she felt emboldened to come forward, shake hands, and 
 beg that Miss Flint would sit next her at the table. 
 
 Fanny Bruce was a girl of good disposition and warm heart, 
 but she had been much neglected by her mother, whose chief 
 pride was in her son, the same Ben of whom we have previ 
 ously spoken. She had often been left behind in some boarding- 
 house, while her pleasure-loving mother and indolent brother 
 passed their time in journeying; she had not always been so 
 fortunately situated as at present. A sense of loneliness, a want 
 of sympathy in any of her pursuits, had been a source of great 
 unhappiness to the poor child, who labored under the painful 
 consciousness that but little interest was felt by any one in her 
 improvement or happiness. 
 
 Gertrude had not been long at Mrs. Warren s before she ob 
 served that Fanny occupied an isolated position in the family. 
 She was a few years younger than her companions, three dressy 
 misses, who could not condescend to admit her into their 
 clique; and Mrs. Warren s time was so much engrossed by 
 household duties that she took but little notice of her. Her 
 apparent loneliness could not fail to excite the compassion of 
 one who was herself suffering from recent sorrow and bereave 
 ment; and although the quiet and privacy of her own room 
 were at this time grateful to Gertrude s feelings, pity for poor 
 Fanny induced her to invite her frequently to come and sit 
 with her, and she often so far forgot her own griefs as to exert 
 herself in providing entertainment for her young visitor, who, 
 on her part, considered it privilege enough to share Gertrude s 
 retirement, read her books, and feel confident of her friend- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 207 
 
 ship. During the month of March, which was unusually 
 stormy, Fanny spent almost every evening with Gertrude ; and 
 she, who at first felt that she was making a sacrifice of her 
 own comfort and ease by giving another such constant access to 
 her apartment, came at last to realize the force of Uncle True s 
 prophecy, that in her efforts for the happiness of others, she 
 would at last find her own; for Fanny s lively and often amus 
 ing conversation drew Gertrude from the contemplation of her 
 trials, and the interest and affection she awakened saved her 
 from the painful consciousness of her solitary situation. 
 
 April arrived, and still no further news from Emily. Ger 
 trude s heart ached with a vain longing to once more pour out 
 her griefs on the bosom of that dear friend, and find in her 
 consolation, encouragement, and support. She longed to tell 
 her how many times during the winter she had sighed for the 
 gentle touch of the soft hand which was wont to rest so lov 
 ingly on her head, the sound of that sweet voice whose very 
 tones were comforting. For some time Gertrude wrote regu 
 larly, but of late she had not known where to direct her let 
 ters; and since Mrs. Sullivan s death there had been no com 
 munication between her and the travellers. She was sitting 
 at her window one evening, thinking of that group of friends 
 whom she had loved with a daughter s and a sister s love, and 
 who were now separated from her by distance, or that greater 
 barrier, death, when she was summoned below stairs to see Mr. 
 Arnold and his daughter Anne. 
 
 After the usual civilities and inquiries, Miss Arnold turned 
 to Gertrude and said, "Of course you have heard the news, 
 Gertrude ? " 
 
 "No," replied Gertrude, "I have heard nothing special." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Mr. Arnold, "have you not heard of 
 Mr. Graham s marriage? " 
 
 Gertrude started up in surprise. " Do you really mean so, 
 Mr. Arnold ? Mr. Graham married ! When ? To whom 1 " 
 
 "To the widow Holbrook, a sister-in-law of Mr. Clinton s; 
 she has been staying at Havana with a party from the north, 
 and the Grahams met her there." 
 
 "But, Gertrude," asked Miss Arnold, "how does it happen 
 you had not heard of it ? It is in all the newspapers, Mar 
 ried in New Orleans, J. H. Graham, Esq., of Boston, to Mrs. 
 Somebody or other Holbrook. " 
 
208 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "I have not seen a newspaper for a day or two," replied 
 Gertrude. 
 
 "And Miss Graham s blindness, I suppose, prevents her writ 
 ing," said Anne; "but I should have thought Mr. Graham 
 would have sent wedding compliments." 
 
 Gertrude made no reply, and Miss Arnold continued, laugh 
 ingly, "I suppose his bride engrosses all his attention." 
 
 " Do you know anything of this Mrs. Holbrook ? " asked 
 Gertrude. 
 
 "Not much," answered Mr. Arnold. "I have seen her 
 occasionally at Mr. Clinton s. She is a handsome, showy 
 woman, fond of society, I should think." 
 
 "I have seen her very often," said Anne. "She is a coarse, 
 noisy, dashing person, just the one to make Miss Emily 
 miserable. " 
 
 Gertrude looked distressed, and Mr. Arnold glanced reprov 
 ingly at his daughter. 
 
 "Anne," said he, "are you sure you speak advisedly 1 ?" 
 
 "Belle Clinton is my authority, father. I only judge from 
 what I used to hear her say at school about her Aunt Bella, 
 as she always used to call her." 
 
 " Did Isabel represent her aunt so unfavorably ? " 
 
 "Not intentionally," replied Anne; "she meant the greatest 
 praise, but I never liked anything she told us about her." 
 
 "We will not condemn her until we can decide upon ac 
 quaintance," said Mr. Arnold mildly; "perhaps she will prove 
 the very reverse of what you suppose her." 
 
 "Can you tell me anything concerning Emily?" asked Ger 
 trude, " and whether Mr. Graham is soon to return 1 " 
 
 "Nothing," said Miss Arnold. "I have seen only the no 
 tice in the papers. When did you hear from them yourself 1 " 
 
 Gertrude mentioned the date of her letter from Mrs. Ellis, 
 the account she had given of a gay party from the north, and 
 suggested the probability that the present Mrs. Graham was the 
 widow she had described. 
 
 "The same, undoubtedly," said Mr. Arnold. 
 
 Their knowledge of facts was so slight, however, that little 
 remained to be said concerning the marriage, and other topics 
 of conversation were introduced. But Gertrude found it im 
 possible to give her thoughts to any other subject; the matter 
 was one of such vital importance to Emily, that her mind con- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 209 
 
 stantly recurred to it, and she found it difficult to keep pace 
 with Anne Arnold s rapidly flowing words and ideas. The 
 necessity which at last arose of replying to a question which 
 she had not at all understood was fortunately obviated by the 
 sudden entrance of Dr. and Mrs. Jeremy. The former held 
 in his hand a sealed letter, directed to Gertrude, in the hand 
 writing of Mr. Graham; and as he handed it to her, he rubbed 
 his hands, and looking at Anne Arnold, exclaimed, "Now, Miss 
 Anne, we shall hear all about these famous nuptials ! " 
 
 Finding her visitors thus eager to learn the contents of her 
 letter, Gertrude dispensed with ceremony, broke the seal, and 
 hastily perused its contents. 
 
 The envelope contained two or three pages closely written 
 by Mrs. Ellis, and also a somewhat lengthy note from Mr. 
 Graham. Surprised as Gertrude was at any communication 
 from one who had parted from her in anger, her strongest 
 desire was to hear particularly from Emily, and she therefore 
 gave the preference to the housekeeper s document, that being 
 most likely to contain the desired information. It ran as 
 follows : 
 
 NEW YORK, March 31, 1852. 
 
 DEAR GERTRUDE, As there were plenty of Boston folks 
 at the wedding, I dare say you have heard before this of Mr. 
 Graham s marriage. He married the widder Holbrook, the 
 same I wrote you about. She was determined to have him, 
 and she s got him. I don t hesitate to say he s got the worst 
 of the bargain. He likes a quiet life, and he s lost his chance 
 of that, poor man! for she s the greatest hand for com 
 pany that ever I saw. She followed Mr. Graham up pretty 
 well at Havana, but I guess he thought better of it, and didn t 
 really mean to have her. When we got to New Orleans, how 
 ever, she was there; and the long and short of it is, she car 
 ried her point, and married him. Emily behaved beautifully; 
 she never said a word against it, and always treated the widder 
 as pleasantly as could be; but dear me! how will our Emily 
 get along with so many young folks as there are about all the 
 time now, and so much noise and confusion ? For my part, I 
 ain t used to it, and don t pretend that I think it s agreeable. 
 The new lady is civil enough to me, now she s married. I 
 dare say she thinks it stands her in hand, as long as she s one 
 
210 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 of the family, and I ve been in it so long. But I suppose 
 you ve been wondering what had become of us, Gertrude, and 
 will be surprised to find we ve got so far as New York, on 
 our way home, my way home, I should say, for I m the 
 only one that talks of coming at present. The truth is, I kept 
 meaning to write while we were in New Orleans, but there was 
 so much going on I didn t get a chance; and after that horrid 
 steamboat from Charleston here, I wasn t good for anything 
 for a week. But Emily was so anxious to have you written to 
 that I couldn t put it off any longer than until to-day. Poor 
 Emily isn t very well; I don t mean that she s downright 
 sick, it s low spirits and nervousness, I suppose, more than 
 anything. She gets tired and worried very quick, and is 
 easily startled and disturbed, which did n t use to be the case. 
 I think likely it s the new wife, and all the nieces, and other 
 disagreeable things. She never complains, and nobody would 
 know but what she was pleased to have her father married 
 again; but she hasn t seemed quite happy all winter, and now 
 it troubles me to see how sad she looks sometimes. She talks 
 a sight about you, and felt dreadfully not to get any more 
 letters. To come to the principal thing, however, they are all 
 going to Europe, Emily and all. I take it it s the new 
 wife s idea; but whoever proposed the thing, it s all settled 
 now. Mr. Graham wanted me to go, but I would not hear of 
 such a thing; I would as soon be hung as venture on the sea 
 again, and I told him so, up and down. So now he has writ 
 ten for you to go with Emily ; and if you are not afraid of sea 
 sickness, I hope you won t refuse, for it would be dreadful for 
 her to have a stranger, and you know she always needs some 
 body, on account of her blindness. I do not think she has 
 the least wish to go; but she would not ask to be left behind, 
 for fear her father should think she did not like the new wife. 
 As soon as they sail, which will be the last of April, 
 
 I shall come back to the house in D , and see to things 
 
 there while they are away. I am going to write a postscript 
 to you from Emily, and I believe I will add nothing more 
 myself, except that we shall be very impatient to hear your 
 answer; and I must say once more that I hope you will not 
 refuse to go with Emily. 
 
 Yours, very truly, 
 
 SARAH H. ELLIS. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 211 
 
 The postscript contained the following : 
 
 I need not tell my darling Gertrude how much I have 
 missed her, and longed to have her with me again; how I have 
 thought of her by night and day, and prayed God to strengthen 
 and fit her for her many trials and labors. The letter written 
 soon after Mr. Cooper s death is the last that has reached me, 
 and I do not know whether Mrs. Sullivan is still living. 
 Write to me at once, my dear child, if you cannot come to us. 
 Father will tell you of our plans, and ask you to accompany us 
 to Europe; my heart will be light if I can take my dear Gerty 
 with me, but not if she leave any other duty behind. I trust 
 to you, my love, to decide aright. You have heard of father s 
 marriage. It is a great change for us all, but will, I trust, re 
 sult in happiness. Mrs. Graham has two nieces who are with 
 us at the hotel. They are to be of our party to go abroad, and 
 are, I understand, very beautiful girls, especially Belle Clinton, 
 whom you have seen in Boston some years ago. Mrs. Ellis is 
 very tired of writing, and I must close with assuring my dear 
 est Gertrude of the devoted affection of 
 
 EMILY GRAHAM. 
 
 It was with great curiosity that Gertrude unfolded Mr. Gra 
 ham s epistle; she thought it would be awkward for him to 
 address her, and wondered much whether he would maintain 
 his severe and authoritative tone, or condescend to explain and 
 apologize. Had she known him better, she would have been 
 assured that nothing would ever induce him to do the latter, 
 for he was one of those persons who never believe themselves 
 in the wrong. The letter ran thus : 
 
 Miss GERTRUDE FLINT, I am married, and intend to 
 qo abroad on the 28th of April; my daughter will accompany 
 is, and as Mrs. Ellis dreads the sea, I am induced to propose 
 hat you join us in New York, and attend the party as a com 
 panion to Emily. I have not forgotten the ingratitude with 
 which you once slighted a similar offer on my part, and nothing 
 would compel me to give you another opportunity to manifest 
 such a spirit, but a desire to promote the happiness of Emily, 
 and a sincere wish to be of service to a young person who has 
 been in my family so long that I feel a friendly interest in pro- 
 
212 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 viding for her. I thus put it in your power, by complying 
 with our wishes, to do away from my mind the recollection of 
 your past behavior, and if you choose to return to us, I shall 
 enable you to maintain the place and appearance of a lady. As 
 we sail the last of the month, it is important you should be 
 here in the course of a fortnight; and if you will write and 
 name the day, I will myself meet you at the boat. Mrs. Ellis 
 being anxious to return to Boston, I hope you will come as 
 soon as possible. As you will be obliged to incur expenses, I 
 inclose a sum of money sufficient to cover them. If you have 
 contracted debts, let me know to what amount, and I will see 
 that all is made right before you leave. Trusting to your being 
 now come to a sense of your duty, I am ready to subscribe 
 myself your friend, 
 
 J. H. GRAHAM. 
 
 Gertrude was sitting near a lamp whose light fell directly 
 upon her face, which, as she glanced over Mr. Graham s note, 
 flushed crimson with wounded pride. Dr. Jeremy, who was 
 watching her countenance, observed that she changed color; 
 and during the few minutes that Mr. and Miss Arnold stayed to 
 hear the news he gave an occasional glance of defiance at the 
 letter, and as soon as they were gone begged to be made ac 
 quainted with its contents, assuring Gertrude that if she did 
 not let him know what Graham said, he should- believe it a 
 thousand times more insulting than it really was. 
 
 "He writes," said Gertrude, "to invite me to accompany 
 them to Europe. 7 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Dr. Jeremy, with a low whistle, " and he 
 thinks you 11 be silly enough to pack up and start off at a 
 minute s notice! " 
 
 "Why, Gerty," said Mrs. Jeremy, "you 11 like to go, sha n t 
 you, dear? It will be delightful." 
 
 "Delightful nonsense, Mrs. Jerry!" exclaimed the doctor. 
 " What is there delightful, I want to know, in travelling about 
 with an arrogant old tyrant, his blind daughter, upstart, dashy 
 wife, and her two fine lady nieces ? A pretty position Gertrude 
 would be in, a slave to the whims of all that company ! " 
 
 " Why, Dr. Jerry," interrupted his wife, "you forget Emily." 
 
 "Emily, to be sure, she s an angel, and never would im 
 pose upon anybody, least of all her own pet; but she 11 have 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 2 IS 
 
 to play second fiddle herself, and I m mistaken if she doesn t 
 find it pretty hard to defend her rights and maintain a comfort 
 able position in her father s enlarged family circle." 
 
 "So much the more need, then," said Gertrude, "that some 
 one should be enlisted in her interests, to ward off the approach 
 of every annoyance." 
 
 "Do you mean, then, to put yourself in the breach? " asked 
 the doctor. 
 
 "I mean to accept Mr. Graham s invitation," replied Ger 
 trude, "and join Emily at once; but I trust the harmony that 
 seems to subsist between her and her new connections will 
 continue undisturbed, so that I shall have no occasion to take 
 up arms on her account, and on my own I do not entertain a 
 single fear." 
 
 "Then you really think you shall go," said Mrs. Jeremy. 
 
 "I do," said Gertrude; "nothing but my duty to Mrs. Sul 
 livan and her father led me to think of leaving Emily. That 
 duty is at an end, and now that I can be of use to her, and 
 she wishes me back, I cannot hesitate a moment. I see very 
 plainly, from Mrs. Ellis s letter, that Emily is not happy, and 
 nothing which I can do to make her so must be neglected. 
 Only think, Mrs. Jeremy, what a friend she has been to me ! " 
 
 "I know it," said Mrs. Jeremy, "and I dare say you will 
 enjoy the journey, in spite of all the scarecrows the doctor 
 sets up to frighten you; but still, I declare, it does seem a sac 
 rifice for you to leave your beautiful room, and all your com 
 forts, for such an uncertain sort of life as one has travelling 
 with a large party." 
 
 "Sacrifice!" interrupted the doctor, "it s the greatest sacri 
 fice that ever I heard of ! It is not merely giving up three 
 hundred and fifty dollars a year of her own earning, and as 
 pleasant a home as there is in Boston ; it is relinquishing all 
 the independence that she has been striving after, and which 
 she was so anxious to maintain that she would not accept of 
 anybody s hospitality for more than a week or two." 
 
 "No, doctor," said Gertrude warmly, "nothing that I do for 
 Emily s sake can be called a sacrifice; it is my greatest plea 
 sure. " 
 
 "Gerty always finds her pleasure in doing what is right," 
 remarked Mrs. Jeremy. 
 
 "0 no," said Gertrude, "my wishes would often lead me 
 
214 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 astray, but not in this case. The thought that our dear Emily 
 was dependent upon a stranger for all those little attentions 
 that are only acceptable from those she loves would make me 
 miserable. Our happiness has for years been almost wholly in 
 each other, and when one has suffered, the other has suffered 
 also. I must go to her ; I cannot think of doing otherwise. " 
 
 "I wish I thought," muttered Dr. Jeremy, "that the sacri 
 fice you make would be half appreciated. But there s Gra 
 ham, I 11 venture to say, thinking it will be the greatest favor 
 in the world to take you back again. Perhaps he addresses 
 you as a beggar; it would n t be the first time he s done such 
 a thing. I wonder what would have induced poor Philip 
 Amory to go back." Then, in a louder tone he inquired, "Has 
 he made any apology in his letter for past unkindness ? " 
 
 "I do not think he considered any to be needed," replied 
 Gertrude. 
 
 "Then he didn t make any sort of excuse for his ungentle- 
 manly behavior! I might have known he wouldn t. I de 
 clare, it s a shame you should be exposed to any more such 
 treatment; but I always did hear that women were self- forget 
 ful in their friendship, and I believe it. Gertrude makes an 
 excellent friend. Mrs. Jerry, we must cultivate her regard, 
 and some time or other perhaps make a loud call upon her 
 services. " 
 
 "And if ever you do, sir, I shall be ready to respond to it. 
 If there is a person in the world who owes a debt to society, it 
 is myself. I hear the world called cold, selfish, and unfeeling, 
 but it has not been so to me. I should be ungrateful if I did 
 not cherish a spirit of universal love ; how much more so, if I 
 did not feel bound heart and hand to those dear friends who 
 have bestowed upon me such affection as no orphan ever found 
 before!" 
 
 "Gertrude," said Mrs. Jeremy, "I believe that you were 
 right in leaving Emily when you did, and that you are right 
 in returning to her now; and if your being such a good girl 
 as you are is at all due to her, she certainly has a great claim 
 upon you." 
 
 " She has a claim indeed, Mrs. Jeremy ! It was Emily who 
 first taught me the difference between right and wrong " 
 
 "And she is going to reap the benefit of that knowledge in 
 you," said the doctor, in continuation of her remark. "That s 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 215 
 
 fair! But if you are resolved to take this European tour, you 
 will be busy enough with your preparations. Do you think 
 Mr. W. will be willing to give you up 1 " 
 
 "I hope so," said Gertrude; "I am sorry to be obliged to 
 ask it of him, for he has been very indulgent to me, and I 
 have been absent from school two weeks out of the winter 
 already ; but as there want only a few months to the summer 
 vacation, he will perhaps be able to supply my place. I shall 
 speak to him about it to-morrow." 
 
 Mrs. Jeremy now interested herself in the details of Ger 
 trude s arrangements, offered an attic room for the storage of 
 her furniture, gave up to her a dressmaker whom she had en 
 gaged for herself, and before she left, a plan was laid out, by 
 following which Gertrude would be enabled to start for New 
 York in less than a week. 
 
 Mr. W., on being applied to, relinquished Gertrude, though 
 deeply regretting, as he told her, to lose so valuable an assist 
 ant; and after a few days busily occupied in preparation, she 
 bade farewell to the tearful Fanny Bruce, the bustling doctor 
 and his kind-hearted wife, all of whom accompanied her to the 
 railroad station. She promised to write to the Jeremys, and 
 they, on their part, agreed to forward to her any letters that 
 might arrive from Willie. 
 
 In less than a fortnight from the time of her departure, Mrs. 
 Ellis returned to Boston, and brought news of the safe conclu 
 sion of Gertrude s journey. A letter received a week after by 
 Mrs. Jeremy announced that they should sail in a few days. 
 She was therefore surprised when a second epistle was put into 
 her hands, dated the day succeeding that on which she sup 
 posed Mr. Graham s party to have left the country. It was 
 as follows : 
 
 NEW YORK, April 29. 
 
 MY DEAR MRS. JEREMY, As yesterday was the day on 
 which we expected to sail for Europe, you will be somewhat 
 astonished to hear that we are yet in New York, and still more 
 so to learn that the foreign tour is now indefinitely postponed. 
 Only two days since, Mr. Graham was seized with his old com 
 plaint, the gout, and the attack proved so violent as seriously 
 to threaten his life. Although to-day somewhat relieved, and 
 considered by his physician out of immediate danger, he re 
 mains a great sufferer, and a sea voyage is pronounced imprac- 
 
216 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 ticable for months to come. His great anxiety is to be at 
 home; and as soon as it is possible for him to bear the jour 
 ney, we shall all hasten to the house in D . I inclose a 
 
 note for Mrs. Ellis. It contains various directions which 
 Emily is desirous she should receive; and as we did not know 
 how to address her, I have sent it to you, trusting to your 
 kindness to see it forwarded. Mrs. Graham and her nieces, 
 who had been anticipating much pleasure from going abroad, 
 are of course greatly disappointed at the entire change in their 
 plans for the summer. It is particularly trying to Miss Clin 
 ton, as her father has been absent more than a year, and she 
 was hoping to meet him in Paris. 
 
 It is impossible that either Emily or myself should person 
 ally regret a journey of which we felt only dread, and were it 
 not for Mr. Graham s illness being the cause of its postpone 
 ment, we should both, I think, find it hard not to realize a 
 degree of selfish satisfaction in the prospect of returning to the 
 
 dear old place in D , where we hope to be established in 
 
 the course of the next month. I say we, for neither Mr. Gra 
 ham nor Emily will hear of my leaving them again. 
 
 With the kindest regards to yourself, and my friend the doctor, 
 I am yours, very sincerely, 
 
 GERTRUDE FLINT. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 217 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 I see her ; 
 
 Her hair in ringlets fluttering free, 
 And her lips that move with melody. 
 
 Not she. There s a beauty that lovelier glows, 
 Though her coral lip with melody flows. 
 
 I see her ; t is she of the ivory brow 
 And heaven-tinged orbs : I know her now. 
 
 Not she. There s another more lovely still, 
 With a chastened mind, and a tempered will. 
 
 CAROLINE OILMAN. 
 
 MR. GRAHAM S country house boasted a fine old-fashioned 
 entry with a door at either end, both of which usually stood 
 open during the warm weather, admitting a cool current of air, 
 and rendering the neighborhood of the front entrance a favorite 
 resort for the family, especially during the early hours of the 
 day, when the warm sun had no access to the spot; and the 
 shady yard, which sloped gradually down to the road, was re 
 freshing and grateful to the sight. Here, on a pleasant June 
 morning, Isabel Clinton and her cousin Kitty Ray had made 
 themselves comfortable, each according to her own idea of what 
 constituted comfort. 
 
 Isabel had drawn a large arm-chair close to the doorsill, 
 ensconced herself in it, and although she held in her hand a 
 piece of worsted work, was gazing idly down the road. She 
 was a beautiful girl, tall and finely formed, with a delicate 
 complexion, clear blue eyes, and rich, light, flowing curls. The 
 same lovely child whom Gertrude had gazed upon with rap 
 ture as, leaning against the window of her father s house, she 
 watched old True while he lit his lamp, had ripened into an 
 equally lovely woman. Her uncommon beauty aided and en 
 hanced by all the advantages of dress which skill could suggest 
 or money provide, she was universally admired, flattered, and 
 caressed. 
 
218 THE LAMPLIGHTEE 
 
 At an early age deprived of her mother, and left for some 
 years almost wholly to the care of servants, she soon learned 
 to appreciate at more than their true value the outward attrac 
 tions she possessed; and her aunt, under whose tutelage she 
 had been since she left school, was little calculated to counter 
 act in her this undue self-admiration. An appearance of con 
 scious superiority which distinguished her, and the independ 
 ent air with which she tapped against the doorstep with her 
 little foot, might safely be attributed, then, to her conviction 
 that Belle Clinton, the beauty and the heiress, was looking 
 vastly well, as she sat there, attired in a blue cashmere morn 
 ing dress, richly embroidered, and flowing open in front, for 
 the purpose of displaying an equally rich flounced cambric pet 
 ticoat. It can scarcely be wondered at that she was herself 
 pleased and satisfied with an outward appearance that could 
 not fail to please and satisfy the most severe critic. 
 
 On a low step at her feet sat Kitty Kay, a complete contrast 
 to her cousin in looks, manner, and many points of character. 
 Kitty was one of those whom the world usually calls a sweet 
 little creature, lively, playful, and affectionate. She was so 
 small that her childish manners became her; so full of spirits 
 that her occasional rudeness claimed pardon on that score ; too 
 thoughtless to be always amiable or always wise; and for all 
 other faults her warm-heartedness and generous enthusiasm 
 must plead an excuse to one who wished or even endeavored 
 to love her as she wished and expected to be loved by every 
 body. She was a pretty girl, always bright and animated, 
 mirthful and happy ; fond of her Cousin Belle, and sometimes 
 influenced by her, though often, on the other hand, enlisting 
 with all her force on the opposite side of some contested ques 
 tion. Unlike Belle, she was seldom well dressed, for though 
 possessed of ample means, she was very careless. On the pre 
 sent occasion, her dark silk wrapper was half concealed by a 
 crimson flannel sack, which she held tightly around her, declar 
 ing it was a dreadful chilly morning, and she was half frozen 
 to death; she certainly would go and warm herself at the 
 kitchen fire, if she were not afraid of encountering that she 
 dragon Mrs. Ellis; she was sure she did not see, if she must 
 sit in the doorway, why Belle couldn t come to the side door, 
 where the sun shone beautifully. "0, I forgot, though," 
 added she ; " complexion ! " 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 219 
 
 Complexion! " said Belle; "I m no more afraid of hurting 
 my complexion than you are; I m sure I never freckle, or tan 
 either." 
 
 "I know that; but you burn all up, and look like a fright." 
 
 "Well, if I didn t, I shouldn t go there to sit; I like to 
 be at the front of the house, where I can see the passing. I 
 wonder who those people are coming up the road; I ve been 
 watching them for some time." 
 
 Kitty stood up, and looked in the direction to which Belle 
 pointed. After observing the couple who were approaching 
 for a minute or two, she exclaimed, "Why, that s Gertrude 
 Flint! I wonder where she s been! and who can that be with 
 her? I didn t know there was a beau to be had about here." 
 
 "Beau!" said Belle sneeringly. 
 
 "And why not a beau, Cousin Belle! I m sure he looks 
 like one." 
 
 "I wouldn t give much for any of her beaux! " said Belle. 
 
 "Wouldn t you?" said Kitty. "You d better wait until 
 you see who they are; you near-sighted people shouldn t de 
 cide in such a hurry. I can tell you that he is a gentleman 
 you wouldn t object to walking with yourself; it s Mr. Bruce, 
 the one we met in New Orleans." 
 
 "I don t believe it!" exclaimed Belle, starting up. 
 
 "You will soon have a chance to see for yourself, for he is 
 coming home with her." 
 
 " He is ? What can he be walking with her for? " 
 
 ".To show his taste, perhaps. I am sure he could not find 
 more agreeable company." 
 
 "You and I don t agree about that," replied Belle. "I 
 don t see anything very agreeable about her." 
 
 "Because you are determined not to, Belle. Everybody else 
 thinks her charming, and Mr. Bruce is opening the gate for 
 her as politely as if she were a queen ; I like him for that. " 
 
 "Do see," said Belle; "she s got on that white cape bonnet 
 of hers ! and that checked gingham dress ! I wonder what Mr. 
 Bruce thinks of her, and he such a critic in regard to ladies 
 dress." 
 
 Gertrude and her companion now drew near the house; the 
 former looked up, saw the young ladies in the doorway, and 
 smiled pleasantly at Kitty, who was making strange grimaces, 
 and giving significant glances over Belle s shoulder; but Mr. 
 
220 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 Bruce, who seemed much engaged by the society he was already 
 enjoying, did not observe either of them; and they distinctly 
 heard him say, as he handed Gertrude a small parcel he had 
 been carrying for her, "I believe I won t come in; it s such 
 a bore to have to talk to strangers. Do you work in the gar 
 den, mornings, this summer 1 " 
 
 "No," replied Gertrude, "there is nothing left of my garden 
 but the memory of it." 
 
 "Why, Miss Gertrude! " said the young man, "I hope these 
 newcomers haven t interfered with " Here observing the 
 direction of Gertrude s eyes, he raised his own, saw Belle and 
 Kitty standing opposite to him, and, compelled now to recog 
 nize and speak with them, went forward to shake hands, trust 
 ing to his remarks about strangers in general, and these new 
 comers in particular, not having been overheard. 
 
 Although overheard, the young ladies chose to take no notice 
 of that which they supposed intended for unknown individuals. 
 
 They were mistaken, however; Mr. Bruce knew perfectly 
 well that the nieces of the present Mrs. Graham were the same 
 girls whom he had met at the south, and was, nevertheless, in 
 different about renewing his acquaintance. His vanity, how 
 ever, was not proof against the evident pleasure they both 
 manifested at seeing him again, and he was in a few minutes 
 engaged in an animated conversation with them, while Gertrude 
 quietly entered the house, and went upstairs unnoticed. She 
 sought Emily s room, to which she had always free access, and 
 was giving an account of her morning s expedition to the vil 
 lage, and the successful manner in which she had accomplished 
 various commissions and errands, when Mrs. Ellis put her head 
 in at the door, and said, with a most distressed voice arid coun 
 tenance, "Hasn t Gertrude? 0, there you are ! Do tell me 
 what Mrs. Wilkins said about the strawberries." 
 
 "I engaged three quarts; hasn t she sent them? " 
 
 "No, but I m thankful to hear they re coming; I have 
 been so plagued about the dinner." 
 
 She now came in, shut the door, and seating herself, ex 
 claimed, with something like a groan, " I declare, Emily, such 
 an ironing as our girls have got to do to-day ! you never saw 
 anything like it! There s no end to the fine clothes Mrs. 
 Graham and those nieces of hers put into our wash. I declare, 
 it s a shame! Kich as they are, they might put out their 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 221 
 
 washing. I ve been helping myself^ as much as I could; but 
 as Mrs. Prime says, one can t do everything at once; and I ve 
 had to see the butcher, make puddings and blanc-mange, and 
 been worried to death all the time because I had forgotten to 
 engage those strawberries. So Mrs. Wilkins hadn t sent her 
 fruit to market when you got there ? " 
 
 "No, but she was in a great hurry getting it ready; it 
 would have been gone in a very short time." 
 
 "Well, that was lucky. I don t know what I should have 
 done without the berries, for I ve no time to hunt up anything 
 else for dessert. I ve got just as much as I can do till dinner 
 time. Mrs. Graham never kept house before, and don t know 
 how to make allowance for anything. She comes home from 
 Boston, expects to find everything in apple pie order, and never 
 asks or cares who does the work." 
 
 Mrs. Prime s voice was now heard, calling at the back stair 
 case, "Mrs. Ellis, Miss Wilkins s boy has fetched your straw 
 berries, and the hulls ain t off o one on em; he said they 
 hadn t no time." 
 
 "That s too bad!" exclaimed the tired, worried house 
 keeper. "Who s going to take the hulls off, I should like 
 to know? Katy is busy enough, and I m sure I can t do 
 it." 
 
 "I will, Mrs. Ellis. Let me do it," said Gertrude, follow 
 ing Mrs. Ellis, who was now halfway down stairs. 
 
 "No, no! don t you touch to, Miss Gertrude," said Mrs. 
 Prime; "they 11 only stain your fingers all up." 
 
 "No matter if they do; my hands are not made of white 
 kid. They 11 bear washing." 
 
 Mrs. Ellis was only too thankful for Gertrude s help, and 
 seating herself in the dining-room, she commenced the task. 
 In the mean while, Belle and Kitty were doing their best to 
 entertain Mr. Bruce, who, sitting on the doorsteps, and lean 
 ing back against a pillar of the piazza, from time to time cast 
 his eyes down the entry, and up the staircase, in hopes of Ger 
 trude s reappearance; and despairing of it at last, he was on 
 the point of taking his departure, when his sister Fanny came 
 in at the gate, and running up the yard, was rushing past the 
 assembled trio and into the house. 
 
 Her brother, however, stretched out his arm, caught her, 
 and before he let her go whispered something in her ear. 
 
222 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "Who is that wild Indian?" asked Kitty Kay, as Fanny 
 ran across the entry and disappeared. 
 
 "A sister of mine," answered Ben in a nonchalant manner. 
 
 "Why! is she?" inquired Kitty with interest; "I have 
 seen her here several times, and never took any notice of her. 
 I did n t know she was your sister. What a pretty girl she 
 is!" 
 
 "Do you think so?" said Ben; "sorry I can t agree with 
 you. I think she s a fright." 
 
 Fanny now reappeared, and stopping a moment on her way 
 upstairs, called out, without any ceremony, " She says she can t 
 come; she s busy." 
 
 "W T ho?" asked Kitty, in her turn catching Fanny and de 
 taining her. 
 
 "Miss Flint." 
 
 Mr. Bruce colored slightly, and Belle Clinton observed it. 
 
 "What is she doing?" inquired Kitty. 
 
 "Hulling strawberries." 
 
 "Where are you going, Fanny? " asked her brother. 
 
 "Upstairs." 
 
 "Do they let you go all over the house? " 
 
 "Miss Flint said I might go up and bring down the birds." 
 
 "What birds?" 
 
 " Her birds ; I am going to hang them in the sun, and then 
 they 11 sing beautifully." 
 
 She ran off, and soon came back again with a cage in her 
 hand, containing the little monias, sent by Willie from Cal 
 cutta. 
 
 "There, Kitty," cried Belle; "I think those are the birds 
 that wake us up so early every morning with their noise. " 
 
 "Very likely," said Kitty; "bring them here, will you, 
 Fanny ? I want to see them. Goodness ! " continued she, 
 "what little creatures they are! Do look at them, Mr. Bruce 
 they are sweet pretty. " 
 
 "Put them down on the doorstep, Fanny," said Ben, "so 
 that we can see them better." 
 
 "I m afraid you 11 frighten them," replied Fanny; "Miss 
 Gertrude doesn t like to have them frightened." 
 
 "No, we won t," said Ben; "we are disposed to be very 
 friendly to Miss Gertrude s birds. Where did she get them ? 
 Do you know, Fanny ? " 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 223 
 
 "Why, they are India birds; Mr. Sullivan sent them to 
 her." 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 "0, he is a very particular friend; she has letters from him 
 every little while." 
 
 "What Mr. Sullivan?" asked Belle. "Do you know his 
 Christian name ? " 
 
 "I suppose it s William," said Fanny. "Miss Emily al 
 ways calls the birds little Willies." 
 
 "Belle," exclaimed Kitty, "that s your William Sullivan! " 
 
 "What a favored man he seems to be!" said Mr. Bruce in 
 a tone of sarcasm; "the property of one beautiful lady, and 
 the particular friend of another." 
 
 "I don t know what you mean, Kitty," said Belle tartly. 
 "Mr. Sullivan is a junior partner of my father s, but I have 
 not seen him for years." 
 
 "Except in your dreams, Belle," suggested Kitty. "You 
 forget." 
 
 Belle now looked angry. 
 
 "Do you dream about Mr. Sullivan?" asked Fanny, fixing 
 her eyes on Belle as she spoke. "I mean to go and ask Miss 
 Gertrude if she does." 
 
 "Do," said Kitty; "I 11 go with you." 
 
 They ran across the entry, opened the door into the dining- 
 room, and both put the question to her at the same moment. 
 
 Taken thus by surprise, Gertrude neither blushed nor looked 
 confused, but answered quietly, " Yes, sometimes ; but what do 
 you, either of you, know of Mr. Sullivan ? Why do you ask ? " 
 
 "0, nothing," answered Kitty ; "only some others do, and 
 we are inquiring round to see how many there are," and she 
 shut the door and ran back in triumph, to tell Belle she might 
 as well be frank, like Gertrude, and plead guilty to the weak 
 ness; it looked so much better than blushing and denying it. 
 
 But it would not do to joke with Belle any longer; she was 
 seriously offended, and took no pains to conceal the fact. Mr. 
 Bruce felt awkward and annoyed, and soon went away, leaving 
 the two cousins to settle their difficulty as they best could. As 
 soon as he had gone, Belle folded up her work, and walked 
 upstairs to her room with great dignity, while Kitty stayed 
 behind to laugh over the matter, and improve her opportunity 
 to make friends with Fanny Bruce; for Kitty was not a little 
 
224 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 interested in the brother, and labored under the common but 
 often mistaken idea that in cultivating the acquaintance of the 
 sister she should advance her cause. Perhaps she was some 
 what induced to this step by her having observed that Gertrude 
 appeared to be an equal favorite with both. 
 
 She therefore called Fanny to sit beside her, put her arm 
 round her waist, and commenced talking about Gertrude, and 
 the origin and extent of the intimacy which seemed to exist 
 between her and the Bruce family. 
 
 Fanny, who was always communicative, willingly informed 
 her of the circumstances which had attached her so strongly to 
 a friend who was some years her senior. 
 
 "And your brother," said Kitty; "he has known her some 
 time, hasn t he?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed, I suppose so," answered Fanny carelessly. 
 
 "Does he like her?" 
 
 "I don t know; I should think he would; I don t see how 
 he can help it." 
 
 "What did he whisper to you, when you came up the 
 steps?" 
 
 Fanny could not remember at once ; but on being reminded 
 of the answer she had given, she replied promptly, 
 
 "0, he bade me ask Miss Gertrude if she wasn t coming 
 back to see him again, and tell her he was tired to death wait 
 ing for her. " 
 
 Kitty pouted and looked vexed. "I want to know," said 
 she, "if Miss Flint has been in the habit of receiving company 
 here, and being treated like an equal ? " 
 
 "Of course she has," answered Fanny with spirit; "why 
 should n t she ? She s the most perfect Jady I ever saw, and 
 mother says she has beautiful manners, and I must take pat 
 tern by her." 
 
 "0, Miss Gertrude," called she, as Gertrude, who had been 
 to place the strawberries in the refrigerator, crossed the back 
 part of the long entry, "are you ready now ? " 
 
 "Yes, Fanny, I shall be in a moment," answered Gertrude. 
 
 " Eeady for what ? " inquired Kitty. 
 
 "To read," said Fanny. "She is going to read the rest of 
 Hamlet to Miss Emily ; she read the first three acts yesterday, 
 and Miss Emily let me sit in her room and hear it. I can t 
 understand it when I read it myself; but when I listen to 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 225 
 
 Miss Gertrude, it seems quite plain. She s a splendid reader, 
 and I came in to-day on purpose to hear the play finished." 
 
 Kitty s last companion having deserted her, she stretched 
 herself on the entry sofa and fell asleep. She was wakened 
 by her aunt, who returned from the city a short time before 
 dinner, and finding her asleep in her morning wrapper, shook 
 her by the arm, and said, in a voice which the best intentions 
 could never render otherwise than loud and coarse, "Kitty 
 Kay, wake up and go dress for dinner! I saw Belle at the 
 chamber window, looking like a beauty. I wish you d take 
 half the pains she does to improve your appearance." 
 
 Kitty yawned, and after delaying as long as she chose, finally 
 followed Mrs. Graham s directions. It was Kitty s policy, 
 after giving offence to her Cousin Belle, to appear utterly un 
 conscious of the existence of any unkind feelings; and though 
 Belle often manifested some degree of sulkiness, she was too 
 dependent upon Kitty s society to retain that disposition long. 
 They were soon, therefore, chatting together as usual. 
 
 "Belle," said Kitty, as she stood arranging her hair at the 
 glass, "do you remember a girl we used to meet every morn 
 ing, on our way to school, walking with a paralytic old man ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Do you know I think it was Gertrude Flint? She has 
 altered very much, to be sure; but the features are still the 
 same, and there certainly never was but one such pair of eyes." 
 
 "I have no doubt she is the same person," said Belle com 
 posedly. 
 
 " Did you think of it before 1 " 
 
 " Yes, as soon as Fanny spoke of her knowing Willie Sulli 
 van." 
 
 "Why, Belle, why didn t you speak of it?" 
 
 "Lor , Kitty, I don t feel so much interest in her as you 
 and some others do." 
 
 "What others?" 
 
 It was now Belle s turn to be provoking. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Bruce; don t you see he is half in love with 
 her?" 
 
 "No, I don t see any such thing; he has known her for a 
 long time (Fanny says so), and of course he feels a regard and 
 respect for a girl that the Grahams make so much account of. 
 But I don t believe he d think of such a thing as being in love 
 
226 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 with a poor girl like her, with no family connections to boast 
 of." 
 
 "Perhaps he didn t think of being." 
 
 "Well, he wouldn t be. She isn t the sort of a person 
 that would suit him. He has been in society a great deal, not 
 only at home, but in Paris; and he would want a wife that 
 was very lively and fond of company, and knew how to make 
 a show with money." 
 
 "A girl, for instance, like Kitty Kay." 
 
 "How ridiculous, Belle! just as if people couldn t talk 
 without thinking of themselves all the time ! What do I care 
 about Ben Bruce 1 " 
 
 "I don t know that you care anything about him; but I 
 wouldn t pull all the hair out of my head about it, as you 
 seem to be doing. There s the dinner bell, and you 11 be 
 late, as usual." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 227 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 She hath a natural, wise sincerity, 
 
 A simple truthfulness, and these have lent her 
 
 A dignity as moveless as the centre. 
 
 LOWELL. 
 
 TWILIGHT of this same day found Gertrude and Emily 
 seated at a window which commanded a delightful western 
 view. Gertrude had been describing to her blind friend the 
 gorgeous picture presented to her vision by the masses of rich 
 and brilliantly painted cloud; and Emily, as she listened to 
 the glowing description of nature, as she unfolded herself at an 
 hour which they both preferred to all others, experienced a 
 participation in Gertrude s enjoyment. The glory had now 
 iaded away, save a long strip of gold which skirted the horizon ; 
 nnd the stars, as they came out, one by one, seemed to look in 
 at the chamber window with a smile of recognition. 
 
 In the parlor below there was company from the city, and 
 the sound of mirth and laughter came up on the evening breeze ; 
 so mellowed, however, by distance, that it contrasted with the 
 peace of the quiet room without disturbing it. 
 
 "You had better go down, Gertrude," said Emily; "they 
 appear to be enjoying themselves, and I love to hear your 
 laugh mingling with the rest." 
 
 "0, no, dear Emily!" said Gertrude; "I prefer to stay 
 with you; they are nearly all strangers to me." 
 
 "As you please, my dear; but don t let me keep you from 
 the young people." 
 
 " You can never keep me with you, dear Emily, longer than 
 I wish to stay; there is no society I love so well." And so 
 she stayed, and they resumed their pleasant conversation, which, 
 though harmonious and calm, was not without its playfulness 
 and occasional gleams of wit. 
 
 They were interrupted by Katy, whom Mrs. Graham sent to 
 announce a new visitor, Mrs. Bruce, who had inquired for 
 Emily. 
 
228 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "I suppose I must go down," said Emily; "you ll come 
 too, Gertrude?" 
 
 "No, I believe not, unless she asked for me. Did she, 
 Katy ? " 
 
 "Mrs. Graham was only afther mintioning Miss Emily," 
 said Katy. 
 
 "Then I will stay here," said Gertrude; and Emily, finding 
 it to be her wish, went without her. 
 
 There was soon another loud ring at the doorbell. It seemed 
 to be a reception evening, and this time Gertrude s presence 
 was particularly requested, to see Dr. and Mrs. Jeremy. 
 
 When she entered the parlor, she found a great number of 
 guests assembled, and every seat in the room occupied. As 
 she came in alone, and unexpected by the greater part of the 
 company, all eyes were turned upon her. Contrary to the ex 
 pectation of Belle and Kitty, who were watching her with 
 curiosity, she manifested neither embarrassment nor awkward 
 ness; but glancing leisurely at the various groups, until she 
 recognized Mrs. Jeremy, crossed the large saloon with charac 
 teristic grace, and as much ease and self-possession as if she 
 were the only person present. After greeting that lady with 
 her usual warmth and cordiality, she turned to speak to the 
 doctor; but he was sitting next Fanny Bruce in the window- 
 seat, and was half concealed by the curtain. Before he could 
 rise and come forward, Mrs. Bruce nodded pleasantly from the 
 opposite corner, and Gertrude went to shake hands with her ; 
 Mr. Bruce, who formed one in a gay circle of young ladies and 
 gentlemen collected in that part of the room, and who had been 
 observing Gertrude s motions so attentively as to make no reply 
 to a question put to him by Kitty Ray, now rose and offered 
 his chair, saying, "Miss Gertrude, do take this seat." 
 
 "Thank you," said Gertrude, "but I see my friend the doc 
 tor, on the other side of the room; he expects me to come and 
 speak to him, so don t let me disturb you." 
 
 Dr. Jeremy now came halfway across the room to meet her, 
 and taking her by both hands, led her into the recess formed 
 by the window, and placed her in his own seat, next to Fanny 
 Bruce. To the astonishment of all who knew him, Ben Bruce 
 brought his own chair and placed it for the doctor opposite to 
 Gertrude. So much respect for age had not been anticipated 
 from the modern-bred man of fashion. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 229 
 
 " Is that a daughter of Mr. Graham ? " asked a young ladv 
 of Belle Clinton, who sat next her. 
 
 "No, indeed," replied Belle; "she is a person to whom 
 Miss Graham gave an education, and now she lives here to read 
 to her, and be a sort of companion ; her name is Flint." 
 
 "What did you say that young lady s name was?" asked 
 a dashing lieutenant, leaning forward and addressing Isabel. 
 
 "Miss Flint." 
 
 "Flint, ah! she s a genteel-looking girl. How peculiarly 
 she dresses her hair ! " 
 
 "Very becoming, however, to that style of face," remarked 
 the young lady who had first spoken. "Don t you think so? " 
 
 "I don t know," replied the lieutenant; "something be 
 comes her; she makes a fine appearance. Bruce," said he, as 
 Mr. Bruce returned, after his unusual effort at politeness, 
 "who is that Miss Flint? I have been here two or three 
 times, and I never saw her before." 
 
 "Very likely," said Mr. Bruce; "she won t always show 
 herself. Is n t she a fine-looking girl? " 
 
 "I haven t made up my mind yet; she s got a splendid 
 figure, but who is she ? " 
 
 "She s a sort of adopted daughter of Mr. Graham s, I be 
 lieve; a protegee of Miss Emily s." 
 
 " Ah ! poor thing ! An orphan 1 " 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so," said Ben, biting his lip. 
 
 "Pity ! " said the young man; "poor thing! but, as you say, 
 Ben, she s good looking, particularly when she smiles; there 
 is something very attractive about her face." 
 
 There certainly was to Ben, for a moment after, Kitty Bay 
 missed him from the room, and immediately espied him stand 
 ing on the piazza, and leaning through the open window to 
 talk with Gertrude, Dr. Jeremy, and Fanny. The conversa 
 tion soon became very lively ; there seemed to be a war of wits 
 going on; the doctor, especially, laughed very loud, and Ger 
 trude and Fanny often joined in the merry peal. Kitty en 
 dured it as long as she could, and then ran boldly across to 
 join the party, and hear what they were having so much fun 
 about. 
 
 But it was all an enigma to Kitty. Dr. Jeremy was talking 
 with Mr. Bruce concerning something which had happened 
 many years ago; there was a great deal about a fool s cap, with 
 
230 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 a long tassel, and taking afternoon naps in the grass; the doe 
 tor was making queer allusions to some old pear-tree, and traps 
 set for thieves, and kept reminding Gertrude of circumstances 
 which attended their first acquaintance with each other and 
 with Mr. Bruce. 
 
 Kitty was beginning to feel that, as she was uninitiated in all 
 they were talking about, she had placed herself in the position 
 of an intruder, and was thereupon looking a little embarrassed 
 and ill at ease, when Gertrude touched her arm, and kindly 
 making room for her next herself, motioned to her to sit down, 
 saying as she did so, "Dr. Jeremy is speaking of the time 
 when he (or he and /, as he chooses to have it) went fruit 
 stealing in Mrs. Bruce s orchard, and were unexpectedly dis 
 covered by Mr. Bruce." 
 
 "You mean, my dear, 37 interrupted the doctor, "that Mr. 
 Bruce was discovered by us. Why, it s my opinion he would 
 have slept until this time if I hadn t given him such a thor 
 ough waking up ! " 
 
 "My first acquaintance with you was certainly the greatest 
 awakening of my life," said Ben, speaking as if to the doctor, 
 but looking meaningly at Gertrude; "that was not the only 
 nap it cost me. How sorry I am, Miss Gertrude, that you ve 
 given up working in the garden, as you used to ! Pray, how 
 does it happen ? " 
 
 "Mrs. Graham has had it remodelled," replied Gertrude, 
 "and the new gardener neither needs nor desires my services. 
 He has his own plans, and it is not well to interfere with the 
 professor of an art; I should be sure to do mischief." 
 
 "I doubt whether his success compares with yours," said 
 Ben. "I do not see anything like the same quantity of flow 
 ers in the room that you used to have." 
 
 "I don t think," said Gertrude, "that he is as fond of cut 
 ting them as I was. I did not care so much for the appearance 
 of the garden as for having plenty of flowers in the house; but 
 with him it is the reverse." 
 
 Kitty now addressed some remark to Mr. Bruce on the sub 
 ject of gardening, and Gertrude, turning to Dr. Jeremy, con 
 tinued in earnest conversation with him, until Mrs. Jeremy 
 rose to go, when, approaching the window, she said, "Dr. 
 Jerry, have you given Gertrude her letter 1 " 
 
 "Goodness me!" exclaimed the doctor, "I came near forget- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 231 
 
 ting it." Then, feeling in his pocket, he drew forth an evi 
 dently foreign document, the envelope literally covered with 
 various colored post-office stamps. "See here, Gerty, genuine 
 Calcutta; no mistake!" 
 
 Gertrude took the letter, and as she thanked the doctor her 
 countenance expressed pleasure at receiving it; a pleasure, 
 however, somewhat tempered by sadness, for she had heard 
 from Willie but once since he learned the news of his mother s 
 death, and that letter had been such an outpouring of his vehe 
 ment grief that the sight of his handwriting almost pained 
 her, as she anticipated something like a repetition of the out 
 burst. 
 
 Mr. Bruce, who kept his eyes upon her, and half expected to 
 see her change color and look disconcerted, on the letter being 
 handed to her in the presence of so many witnesses, was reas 
 sured by the composure with which she took it, and held it 
 openly in her hand while she bade the doctor and his wife 
 good- evening. She followed them to the door, and was then 
 retreating to her own apartment, when she was met at the foot 
 of the stairs by Mr. Bruce, who had noticed the movement, 
 and now entered from the piazza in time to arrest her steps, 
 and ask if her letter was of such importance that she must 
 deny the company the pleasure of her society in order to study 
 its contents. 
 
 "It is from a friend of whose welfare I am anxious to hear," 
 said Gertrude gravely. "Please excuse me to your mother, if 
 she inquires for me ; and as the rest of the guests are strangers, 
 I shall not be missed by them." 
 
 "0, Miss Gertrude," said Mr. Bruce, "it s no use coming 
 here to see you, you are so frequently invisible. What part 
 of the day is one most likely to find you disengaged ? " 
 
 "Hardly any part," said Gertrude. "I am always a very 
 busy character; but good-night, Mr. Bruce. Don t let me 
 detain you from the other young ladies," and Gertrude ran 
 upstairs, leaving Mr. Bruce uncertain whether to be vexed 
 with himself or her. . 
 
 Contrary to Gerty s expectations, her letter from William 
 Sullivan proved very soothing to the grief she had felt on his 
 account. His spirit had been so weighed down and crushed 
 by the intelligence of the death of his grandfather, and finally 
 of his second and still greater loss, that his first communication 
 
232 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 to Gertrude had alarmed her, from the discouraged, disheart 
 ened tone in which it was written; she had feared lest his 
 Christian fortitude would give way to the force of this double 
 affliction. 
 
 She was therefore much relieved to find that he now wrote 
 in a calmer strain; that he had taken to heart his mother s last 
 entreaty and prayer for a submissive disposition on his part; 
 and that, although deeply afflicted, he was schooling himself to 
 patience and resignation. But he did not, in this letter, dwell 
 long upon his own sufferings under bereavement. 
 
 The three closely written pages were almost wholly devoted 
 to fervent and earnest expressions of gratitude to Gertrude for 
 the active kindness and love which had cheered and comforted 
 the last days of his much regretted friends. He prayed that 
 Heaven would bless her, and reward her disinterested and self- 
 denying efforts, and closed with saying, "You are all there is 
 left to me, Gertrude. If I loved you before, my heart is now 
 bound to you by ties stronger than those of earth ; my hopes, 
 my labors, my prayers, are all for you. God grant we may 
 some day meet again ! " 
 
 For an hour after she had finished reading, Gertrude sat lost 
 in meditation; her thoughts went back to her home at Uncle 
 True s, and the days when she and Willie passed so many 
 happy hours in close companionship, little dreaming of the long 
 separation so soon to ensue. She rehearsed, in her mind, all 
 the succeeding events which had brought her into her present 
 position, and was only startled at last from the reverie she was 
 indulging in by the voices of Mrs. Graham s visitors, who 
 were now taking leave. 
 
 Mrs. Bruce and her son lingered a little, until the carriages 
 had driven off with those of the guests who were to return to 
 the city, and as they were making their farewells on the door 
 step, directly beneath Gertrude s window, she heard Mrs. Gra 
 ham say, " Kemernber, Mr. Bruce, we dine at two; and, Miss 
 Fanny, we shall hope to see you also. I presume you will 
 join the walking party." 
 
 This, then, was an arrangement which was to bring Mr. 
 Bruce there to dinner, at no very distant period; and Ger 
 trude s reflections, forsaking the past, began to centre upon the 
 present. 
 
 Mr. Bruce s attentions to her had that day been marked; 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 233 
 
 and the professions of admiration he had contrived to whisper 
 in her ear had been still more so. Both these attentions and 
 this admiration were unsought and undesired; neither were 
 they in any degree flattering to the high-minded girl, who was 
 superior to coquetry, and whose self-respect was even wounded 
 by the confident and assured manner in which Mr. Bruce made 
 his advances. As a youth of seventeen, she had marked him 
 as indolent and ill bred. Her sense of justice, however, would 
 have obliterated this recollection, had his character and man 
 ners appeared changed on the renewal of their acquaintance, 
 some years after. This was not the case, however, for the 
 outward polish, bestowed by fashion and familiarity with so 
 ciety, could not cloud Gertrude s discernment; and she quickly 
 perceived that his old characteristics still remained, heightened 
 and rendered more glaring by an ill-concealed vanity. As a 
 boy, he had stared at Gertrude from impudence, and inquired 
 her name out of idle curiosity ; as a youthful coxcomb, he had 
 resolved to flirt with her, because his time hung heavy on his 
 hands, and he could think of nothing better to do. But to 
 his surprise, he found the country girl (for such he considered 
 her, never having seen her elsewhere) was quite insensible to 
 the flattery and notice which many a city belle had coveted; 
 appeared wholly indifferent to his admiration, and that when 
 he tried raillery he usually proved the disconcerted party. If 
 he sought her, as he was frequently in the habit of doing when 
 she was at work among the flowers, he found it impossible to 
 distract her attention from her labors, or detain her after they 
 were completed; if he joined her in her walks, and with his 
 wonted self-conceit made her aware of the honor he supposed 
 himself conferring, she either maintained a dignity which 
 warded off his fulsome adulation, or, if he ventured to make 
 her the object of direct compliment, received it as a jest, and 
 retorted with a playfulness and wit which often left the opaque 
 wits of poor Ben in some doubt whether he had not been mak 
 ing himself ridiculous ; and this, not because Gertrude was will 
 ing to wound the feelings of one who was disposed to admire 
 her, but because she perceived that he was far from being sin 
 cere, and she had an honorable pride which would not endure 
 to be trifled with. 
 
 It was something new to Mr. Bruce to find any lady thus 
 indifferent to his merits, and proved such an awakening to his 
 
234 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 ambition, that he resolved, if possible, to recommend himself 
 to Gertrude, and consequently improved every opportunity of 
 gaining admittance to her society. 
 
 While laboring, however, to inspire her with a due appre 
 ciation of himself, he fell into his own snare; for, though he 
 failed in awakening Gertrude s interest, he could not be equally 
 insensible to her attractions. Even the comparatively dull in 
 tellect of Ben Bruce was capable of measuring her vast supe 
 riority to most girls of her age, and her vivacious originality 
 was a contrast to the insipidity of fashionable life, which at 
 length completely charmed him. 
 
 His earnestness and perseverance began to annoy the object 
 of his admiration before she left Mr. Graham s in the autumn, 
 and she was glad soon after to hear that he had accompanied 
 his mother to Washington, as it insured her against meeting 
 him again for months to come. 
 
 Mr. Bruce regretted losing sight of Gertrude, but amid the 
 gayety and dissipation of southern cities contrived to waste hia 
 time with tolerable satisfaction. He was reminded of her again 
 on meeting the Graham party at New Orleans, and it is some 
 credit to his understanding to say that in the comparison which 
 he constantly drew between her and the vain daughters of 
 fashion she stood higher than ever in his estimation. He did 
 not hesitate to tell her so on the morning already mentioned, 
 when, with evident satisfaction, he had recognized and joined 
 her; and the increased devotion of his words and manner, 
 which now took a tone of truth in which they had before been 
 wanting, alarmed Gertrude, and led to a serious resolve on her 
 part to avoid him on all possible occasions. It will soon be 
 seen how difficult she found it to carry out this resolution. 
 
 On the day succeeding the one of which we have been speak 
 ing, Mr. Graham returned from the city about noon, and join 
 ing the young ladies in the entry, unfolded his newspaper, and 
 handing it to Kitty, asked her to read the news. 
 
 " What shall I read ? " said Kitty, taking the paper rather 
 unwillingly. 
 
 "The leading article, if you please." 
 
 Kitty turned the paper inside and out, looked hastily up and 
 down its pages, and then declared her inability to find it. Mr. 
 Graham stared at her in astonishment, then pointed in silence 
 to the wished-for paragraph. She began, but had scarcely read 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 235 
 
 a sentence before Mr. Graham stopped her, saying impatiently, 
 "Don t read so fast! I can t hear a single word!" She now 
 fell into the other extreme, and drawled so intolerably that her 
 auditor interrupted her again, and bade her give the paper to 
 her cousin. 
 
 Belle took it from the pouting Kitty, and finished the arti 
 cle, not, however, without being once or twice compelled to go 
 back and read more intelligibly. 
 
 " Do you wish to hear anything more, sir ? " asked she. 
 
 "Yes; won t you turn to the ship news, and read me the 
 list by the steamer." 
 
 Belle, more fortunate than Kitty, found the place, and com 
 menced. " At Canton, April 30th, ship Ann Maria, Ray, 
 d-i-s-c-g. What does that mean ? " 
 
 "Discharging, of course; go on." 
 
 "<S-l-d a-b-t 13th, " spelt Belle, looking dreadfully puz 
 zled all the while. 
 
 "Stupid!" muttered Mr. Graham, almost snatching the 
 paper out of her hands. "Not know how to read ship news! 
 Where s Gertrude? Where s Gertrude Flint? She s the 
 only girl I ever saw that did know anything. Won t you speak 
 to her, Kitty?" 
 
 Kitty went, though rather reluctantly, to call Gertrude, and 
 told her for what she was wanted. Gertrude was astonished; 
 since the day when she had persisted in leaving his house, Mr. 
 Graham had never asked her to read to him ; but obedient to 
 the summons, she presented herself, and taking the seat which 
 Belle had vacated near the door, commenced with the ship 
 news, and without asking any questions, turned to various 
 items of intelligence, taking them in the order which she knew 
 Mr. Graham preferred. 
 
 The old gentleman, leaning back in his easy-chair, and rest 
 ing his gouty foot upon an ottoman opposite to him, looked 
 amazingly contented and satisfied; and when Belle and Kitty 
 had gone off to their room, he remarked, " This seems like old 
 times, does n t it, Gertrude ? " He now closed his eyes, and 
 Gertrude was soon made aware, by his deep breathing, that he 
 had fallen asleep. 
 
 Seeing that, as he sat, it would be impossible for her to pass 
 without waking him, she laid down the paper, and was prepar 
 ing to draw some work from her pocket (for Gertrude seldom 
 
236 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 spent her time in idleness), when she observed a shadow in the 
 doorway, and looking up, saw the very person whom she had 
 yesterday resolved to avoid. 
 
 Mr. Bruce was staring in her face with an indolent air of 
 ease and confidence, which she always found very offensive. 
 He had in one hand a bunch of roses, which he held up to her 
 admiring gaze. 
 
 "Very beautiful! " said Gertrude, as she glanced at the little 
 bunches, covered with a luxurious growth of moss-rose buds, 
 both pink and white. 
 
 She spoke in a low voice, fearing to awaken Mr. Graham. 
 Mr. Bruce, therefore, softening his to a whisper, remarked, as 
 he dangled them above her head, "I thought they were pretty 
 when I gathered them, but they suffer from the comparison, 
 Miss Gertrude ; }) and he gave a meaning look at the roses in 
 her cheeks. 
 
 Gertrude, to whom this was a stale compliment, coming from 
 Mr. Bruce, took no notice of it, but rising, advanced to make 
 her exit by the front door, saying, " I will go across the piazza, 
 Mr. Bruce, and send the ladies word that you are here." 
 
 "0, pray don t! " said he, putting himself in her way. "It 
 would be cruel; I haven t the slightest wish to see them." 
 
 He so effectually prevented her, that she was unwillingly 
 compelled to retreat from the door and resume her seat. As 
 she did so, she took her work from her pocket, her countenance 
 in the mean time expressing vexation. 
 
 Mr. Bruce looked his triumph, and took advantage of it. 
 
 "Miss Gertrude," said he, "will you oblige me by wearing 
 these flowers in your hair to-day ? " 
 
 "I do not wear gay flowers," replied Gertrude, without lift 
 ing her eyes from the piece of muslin on which she was em 
 ployed. 
 
 Supposing this to be on account of her mourning (for she 
 wore a plain black dress), he selected the white buds from the 
 rest, and presenting them to her, begged that for his sake she 
 would display them in contrast with her dark silken braids. 
 
 "I am much obliged to you," said Gertrude; "I never saw 
 more beautiful roses, but I am not accustomed to be so much 
 dressed, and believe you must excuse me." 
 
 "Then you won t take my flowers? " 
 
 "Certainly I will, with pleasure," said she, rising, "if you 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 237 
 
 will let me get a glass of water, and place them in the parlor, 
 where we can all enjoy them." 
 
 " I did not cut my flowers and bring them here for the bene 
 fit of the whole household," said Ben in a half-offended tone. 
 "If you won t wear them, Miss Gertrude, I will offer them to 
 somebody that will." 
 
 This, he thought, would alarm her, for his vanity was such 
 that he attributed her behavior wholly to coquetry, and as 
 instances of this sort had always served to enhance his admira 
 tion, he believed that they were intended to produce that effect. 
 "I will punish her," thought he, as he tied the roses together 
 again, and arranged them for presentation to Kitty, whom he 
 knew would be flattered to receive them. 
 
 "Where s Fanny to-day?" asked Gertrude, anxious to 
 divert the conversation. 
 
 "I don t know," answered Ben, with a manner which im 
 plied that he had no idea of talking about Fanny. 
 
 A short silence ensued, during which he gazed idly at Ger 
 trude s fingers, as she sat sewing. 
 
 "How attentive you are to your work!" said he at last; 
 "your eyes seem nailed to it. I wish I were as attractive as 
 that piece of muslin ! " 
 
 "I wish you were as inoffensive," thought Gertrude. 
 
 "I do not think you take much pains to entertain me," 
 added he, "when I ve come here on purpose to see you." 
 
 "I thought you came by Mrs. Graham s invitation," said 
 Gertrude. 
 
 "And didn t I have to court Kitty for an hour in order to 
 get it?" 
 
 "If you obtained it by artifice," said Gertrude, smiling, 
 "you do not deserve to be entertained." 
 
 "It is much easier to please Kitty than you," remarked Ben< 
 
 "Kitty is very amiable and pleasant," said Gertrude. 
 
 "Yes, but I d give more for one smile from you than " 
 
 Gertrude now interrupted him with, "Ah, here is an old 
 friend coming to see us; please let me pass, Mr. Bruce." 
 
 The gate at the end of the yard swung to as she spoke, and 
 Ben, looking in that direction, beheld approaching the person 
 whom Gertrude seemed desirous to go and meet. 
 
 "I do not see why you need to hurry," said Ben; "that 
 little crone, whose coming seems to give you so much satisfac- 
 
238 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 tion, can t get here this half hour, at the rate she is travel 
 ling." 
 
 "She is an old friend," replied Gertrude; "I must go and 
 welcome her." Her countenance expressed so much earnest 
 ness that Mr. Bruce was ashamed to persist in his incivility, 
 and rising, permitted her to pass. Miss Patty Pace for she 
 it was who was toiling up the yard seemed overjoyed at see 
 ing Gertrude, and the moment she recognized her, commenced 
 waving, in a theatrical manner, a huge feather fan, her favorite 
 mode of salutation. As she drew near, Miss Patty took her 
 by both hands, and stood talking with her some minutes before 
 they proceeded together up the yard. They entered the house 
 at the side door, and Ben, being thus disappointed of Ger 
 trude s return, sallied out into the garden, in hopes to attract 
 the notice of Kitty. 
 
 Ben Bruce had such confidence in the power of wealth and 
 a high station in fashionable life, that it never occurred to him 
 to doubt that Gertrude would gladly accept his hand and for 
 tune, if it were placed at her disposal. No degree of coldness, 
 or even neglect on her part, would have induced him to believe 
 that an orphan girl, without a cent in the world, would forego 
 such an opportunity to establish herself. 
 
 Many a prudent and worldly-wise mother had sought his 
 acquaintance; many a young lady, even among those who pos 
 sessed property and rank of their own, had received his atten 
 tion with favor; and believing, as he did, that he had money 
 enough to purchase for a wife any woman whom he chose to 
 select, he would have laughed at the idea that Gertrude would 
 presume to hold herself higher than the rest. 
 
 He had not made his mind up to such an important step, 
 however, as the deliberate surrender of the many advantages 
 of which he was the fortunate possessor. He had merely de 
 termined to win Gertrude s good opinion and affection; and 
 although more interested in her than he was aware of himself, 
 he at present made that his ultimate object. He felt conscious 
 that as yet she had given no evidence of his success ; and hav 
 ing resolved to resort to some new means of winning her, he, 
 with a too common selfishness and baseness, fixed upon a method 
 which was calculated, if successful, to end in the mortification 
 if not the unhappiness of a third party. He intended, by 
 marked devotion to Kitty Ray, to excite the jealousy of Ger- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 239 
 
 trude; and it was with the view to furthering his intentions 
 that he walked in the garden, hoping to attract her observa 
 tion. 
 
 ! it was a shameful scheme ! for Kitty liked him already. 
 She was a warm-hearted girl, a credulous one too, and likely 
 to become a ready victim to his duplicity. 
 
240 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 Is this the world of which we want a sight ? 
 Are these the beings who are called polite ? 
 
 HANNAH MORE. 
 
 A HALF hour before dinner, Mrs. Graham and her nieces, 
 Mr. Bruce, his sister Fanny, and Lieutenant Osborne, as they 
 sat in the large parlor, had their curiosity much excited by 
 the merriment which seemed to exist in Emily s room, directly 
 above. It was not noisy or rude, but strikingly genuine. 
 Gertrude s clear laugh was very distinguishable, and even 
 Emily joined frequently in the outburst which would every 
 now and then occur; while still another person appeared to be 
 of the party, as a strange and most singular voice occasionally 
 mingled with the rest. 
 
 Kitty ran to the entry two or three times, to listen, and 
 hear, if possible, the subject of their mirth, and at last returned 
 with the announcement that Gertrude was coming downstairs 
 with the very queen of witches. 
 
 Presently Gertrude opened the door, which Kitty had 
 slammed behind her, and ushered in Miss Patty Pace, who 
 advanced with measured, mincing steps to Mrs. Graham, and 
 stopping in front of her, made a low curtsy, 
 
 "How do you do, ma am?" said Mrs. Graham, half inclined 
 to believe that Gertrude was playing off a joke upon her. 
 
 "This, I presume, is the mistress," said Miss Patty. 
 
 Mrs. Graham acknowledged her claim to that title. 
 
 "A lady of presence!" said Miss Patty to Gertrude in an 
 audible whisper, pronouncing each syllable with a manner and 
 emphasis peculiar to herself. Then turning towards Belle, who 
 was shrinking into the shadow of a curtain, she approacjied her, 
 held up both hands in astonishment, and exclaimed, "Miss Isa 
 bella, as I still enjoy existence! and radiant, too, as the morning! 
 Bless my heart ! how your youthful charms have expanded ! " 
 
 Belle had recognized Miss Pace the moment she entered the 
 room, but with foolish pride was ashamed to acknowledge the 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 241 
 
 acquaintance of so eccentric an individual, and would have still 
 feigned ignorance, but Kitty now came forward, exclaiming, 
 " Why, Miss Pace, where did you come from ? " 
 
 "Miss Catharina," said Miss Pace, taking her hands in an 
 ecstasy of astonishment, "then you knew me/ Blessings on 
 your memory of an old friend ! " 
 
 "Certainly, I knew you in a minute; you re not so easily 
 forgotten, I assure you. Belle, don t you remember Miss 
 Pace 1 It s at your house I ve always seen her." 
 
 "O, is it she?" said Belle, with a poor attempt to conceal 
 the fact that she had any previous knowledge of a person who 
 had been a frequent visitor at her father s house, and was held 
 in esteem by both her parents. 
 
 "I apprehend," said Miss Patty to Kitty in the same loud 
 whisper, "that she carries a proud heart." Then, without 
 having appeared to notice the gentlemen, who were directly 
 behind her, she added, " Sparks, I see, Miss Catharina, young 
 sparks. Whose ? yours, or hers 1 " 
 
 Kitty laughed, for she saw that the young men heard her 
 and were much amused, and replied, without hesitation, "0, 
 mine, Miss Patty, mine, both of em!" Miss Patty now 
 looked round the room, and missing Mr. Graham, advanced to 
 his wife, saying, "And where, madam, is the bridegroom?" 
 
 Mrs. Graham, a little confused, replied that her husband 
 would be in presently, and invited Miss Pace to be seated. 
 
 "No, mistress, I am obliged to you; I have an inquiring 
 mind, and with your leave will take a survey of the apart 
 ment. I love to see everything that is modern." She then 
 proceeded to examine the pictures upon the walls, but had not 
 proceeded far before she turned to Gertrude and asked, still 
 loud enough to be distinctly heard, " Gertrude, my dear, what 
 have they done with the second wife ? " Gertrude looked sur 
 prised, and Miss Pace corrected her remark, saying, " 0, it is 
 the counterfeit that I have reference to; the original, I am 
 aware, departed long since ; but where is the counterfeit of the 
 second Mistress Graham ? It always hung here, if my memory 
 serves me." 
 
 Gertrude whispered a reply to this question, and Miss Pace 
 then uttered the following soliloquy: "The garret! well, tis 
 the course of nature; what is new obliterates the recollection^ 
 even, of the old." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 She now linked her arm in Gertrude s, and made her the 
 companion of her survey. When they had completed the cir 
 cuit of the room, she stopped in front of the group of young 
 people, all of whom were eyeing her with great amusement, 
 claimed acquaintance with Mr. Bruce, and asked to be intro 
 duced to the member of the war department, as she styled 
 Lieutenant Osborne. Kitty introduced her with great formal 
 ity, and at the same time presented the lieutenant to Gertrude, 
 a ceremony which she felt indignant that her aunt had not 
 thought proper to perform. A chair was now brought, Miss 
 Patty joined their circle, and entertained them until dinner 
 time. Gertrude again sought Emily s room. 
 
 At the table, Gertrude, seated next to Emily, whose wants 
 she always made her care, and with Miss Patty on the other 
 side, had no time or attention to bestow on any one else ; much 
 to the chagrin of Mr. Bruce, who was anxious she should ob 
 serve his assiduous devotion to Kitty, whose hair was adorned 
 with moss-rose buds and her face with smiles. 
 
 Belle was also made happy by the marked admiration of her 
 young officer, and no one felt any disposition to interfere with 
 either of the well-satisfied girls. Occasionally, however, some 
 remark made by Miss Pace irresistibly attracted the attention 
 of every one at the table, and extorted either the laughter it 
 was intended to excite, or a mirth which, though perhaps ill 
 timed, it was impossible to repress. 
 
 Mr. Graham treated Miss Patty with the most marked polite 
 ness and attention, and Mrs. Graham, who was possessed of 
 great suavity of manners when she chose to exercise it, and 
 who loved dearly to be amused, spared no pains to bring out 
 the old lady s conversational powers. She found, too, that 
 Miss Patty was acquainted with everybody, and made most 
 appropriate and amusing comments upon almost every person 
 who became the topic of conversation. Mr. Graham at last 
 led her to speak of herself and her lonely mode of life; and 
 Fanny Bruce, who sat next, asked her bluntly why she never 
 got married. 
 
 "Ah, my young miss," said she, "we all wait our time, and 
 I may take a companion yet." 
 
 "You should," said Mr. Graham. "Now you have property, 
 Miss Pace, and ought to share it with some nice, thrifty man." 
 Mr. Graham knew her weak point. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 243 
 
 "I have but an insignificant trifle of worldly wealth," said 
 Miss Pace, "and am not as youthful as I have been; but I may 
 suit myself with a companion, notwithstanding. I approve of 
 matrimony, and have my eye upon a young man." 
 
 "A young man ! " exclaimed Fanny Bruce, laughing. 
 
 "0, yes, Miss Frances," said Miss Patty; "I am an admirer 
 of youth, and of everything that is modern. Yes, I cling to 
 life I cling to life." 
 
 "Certainly," remarked Mrs. Graham, "Miss Pace must 
 marry somebody younger than herself; some one to whom she 
 can leave all her property, if he should happen to outlive her." 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Graham; "at present you would not know 
 how to make a will, unless you left all your money to Gertrude, 
 here ; I rather think she would make a good use of it. " 
 
 "That would certainly be a consideration to me," said Miss 
 Pace; "I should dread the thought of having my little savings 
 squandered. Now I know there s more than a sufficiency of 
 pauper population, and plenty that would be glad of legacies; 
 but I have no intention of bestowing on such. Why, sir, nine 
 tenths of them will always be poor. No, no ! I should n t give 
 to such! No, no! I have other intentions." 
 
 "Miss Pace, "asked Mr. Graham, "what has become of Gen 
 eral Pace s family?" 
 
 "All dead!" replied Miss Patty promptly, "all dead! I 
 made a pilgrimage to the grave of that branch of the family. 
 It was a melancholy and touching scene," continued she in a 
 pathetic tone of voice. "There was a piece of grassy ground, 
 belted about with an iron railing, and in the centre a beautiful 
 white marble monument, in which they were all buried ; it was 
 pure as alabaster, and on it was inscribed these lines : 
 
 PACE. " 
 
 " What were the lines 1 " inquired Mrs. Graham, who be 
 lieved her ears had deceived her. 
 
 "Pace, ma am, Pace; nothing else." 
 
 Solemn as was the subject, a universal titter pervaded the 
 circle; and Mrs. Graham, perceiving that Kitty and Fanny 
 would soon burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter, made the 
 move for the company to quit the table. 
 
 The gentlemen did not care to linger, and followed the ladies 
 into the wide entry, the refreshing coolness of which invited 
 
244 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 every one to loiter there during the heat of the day. Miss 
 Patty and Fanny Bruce compelled the unwilling Gertrude to 
 join the group there assembled; and Mrs. Graham, who was 
 never disposed to forego her afternoon nap, was the only mem 
 ber of the family who absented herself. 
 
 So universal was the interest Miss Patty excited, that all 
 private dialogue was suspended, and close attention given to 
 whatever topic the old lady was discussing. 
 
 Belle maintained a slightly scornful expression of counte 
 nance, and tried, with partial success, to divert Lieutenant 
 Osbome s thoughts into another channel; but Kitty was so 
 delighted with Miss Pace s originality, that she made no at 
 tempt at any exclusive conversation, and with Mr. Bruce sitting 
 beside her and joining in her amusement, looked more than 
 contented. 
 
 Dress and fashion, two favorite themes with Miss Patty, 
 were now introduced, and after discoursing at some length upon 
 her love of the beautiful, as witnessed in the mantua-making 
 and millinery arts, she deliberately left her seat, and going 
 towards Belle (the only one of the company who seemed desir 
 ous to avoid her), began to examine the material of her dress, 
 and finally requested her to rise and permit her to further in 
 spect the mode in which it was made, declaring the description 
 of so modern and finished a masterpiece of art would be a feast 
 to the ears of some of her junior acquaintances. 
 
 Belle indignantly refused to comply, and shook off the hand 
 of the old lady as if there had been contamination in her touch. 
 
 "Do stand up, Belle," said Kitty in an undertone. "Don t 
 be so cross." 
 
 "Why don t you stand up yourself," said Belle, "and show 
 off your own dress, for the benefit of her low associates ? " 
 
 "She didn t ask me to," replied Kitty, "but I will, with 
 the greatest pleasure, if she will condescend to look at it. Miss 
 Pace," continued she gayly, placing herself in front of the 
 inquisitive Miss Patty, " do admire my gown at your leisure, 
 and take a pattern of it, if you like; I should be proud of the 
 honor." 
 
 For a wonder, Kitty s dress was pretty and well worthy of 
 observation. Miss Patty made many comments, especially on 
 the train, as she denominated its unnecessary and inconvenient 
 length, and then, her curiosity being satisfied, commenced re- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 245 
 
 treating towards the place she had left, first glancing behind 
 her to see if it was still vacant, and then moving towards it 
 with a backward motion, consisting of a series of curtsies. 
 
 Fanny Bruce, who stood near, observing that she had made 
 an exact calculation how many steps would be required to reach 
 her seat, placed her hand on the back of the chair, as if to draw 
 it away; and encouraged by a look and smile from Isabel, 
 moved it slightly, but still enough to endanger the old lady s 
 safety. 
 
 On attempting to regain it, Miss Pace stumbled, and would 
 have fallen, but Gertrude, who had been watching Fanny s 
 proceedings, sprung forward in time to fling an arm around 
 her and place her safely in the chair, casting at the same time 
 a reproachful look at Fanny, who, much confused, turned to 
 avoid Gertrude s gaze, and in doing so accidentally trod on Mr. 
 Graham s gouty toes, which drew from him an exclamation of 
 pain. 
 
 "Fan, 7 said Mr. Bruce, who had observed the latter accident 
 only, "I wish you could learn politeness." 
 
 " Who am I to learn it from ? " asked Fanny pertly. " You ? " 
 
 Ben looked provoked, but forbore to reply; while Miss 
 Pace, who had now recovered her composure, took up the word 
 and said, 
 
 "Politeness! Ah, a lovely but rare virtue; perceptibly de 
 veloped, however, in the manners of my friend Gertrude, which 
 I hesitate not to affirm would well become a princess." 
 
 Belle curled her lip and smiled disdainfully. "Lieutenant 
 Osborne," said she, "don t you think Miss Devereux has beau 
 tiful manners 1 " 
 
 " Very fine," replied the lieutenant. " The style in which she 
 receives company, on her reception da) 7 , is elegance itself." 
 
 " Who are you speaking of 1 " inquired Kitty ; " Mrs. Harry 
 Noble ? " 
 
 "Miss Devereux we were remarking upon," said Belle, "but 
 Mrs. Noble is also very stylish." 
 
 "I think she is," said Mr. Bruce. "Do you hear, Fanny? 
 We have found a model for you ; you must imitate Mrs. 
 Noble." 
 
 "I don t know anything about Mrs. Noble," retorted Fanny. 
 "I d rather imitate Miss Flint. Miss Gertrude," said she, 
 with a seriousness which Gertrude rightly believed was intended 
 
246 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 to express regret for her late rudeness, "how shall I learn 
 politeness ? " 
 
 "Do you remember," asked Gertrude, speaking low, and 
 giving Fanny a look full of meaning, " what your music master 
 told you about learning to play with expression? I should 
 give you the same rule for improvement in politeness." 
 
 Fanny blushed deeply. 
 
 " What is that ? " said Mr. Graham. " Let us know, Fanny. 
 What is Gertrude s rule for politeness." 
 
 "She only said," answered Fanny, "that it was the same my 
 music master gave me last winter." 
 
 "And what did he say ? " inquired her brother with a tone of 
 interest. 
 
 "I asked Mr. Hermann," said Fanny, "how I should learn 
 to play with expression, and he said, You must cultivate 
 your heart, Miss Bruce ; you must cultivate your heart. " 
 
 This new direction for the attainment of a great accomplish 
 ment was received with countenances that indicated as great a 
 variety of sentiment as there was difference of character among 
 Fanny s audience. Mr. Graham bit his lip, and walked away, 
 for his politeness was founded on no such rule, and he knew 
 that Gertrude s was. Belle looked glorious disdain; Mr. 
 Bruce and Kitty, puzzled and half amused, while Lieutenant 
 Osborne proved himself not quite callous to a noble truth, by 
 turning upon Gertrude a glance of admiration and interest. 
 Emily s face evidenced how fully she coincided in the opinion 
 thus unintentionally made public, and Miss Patty unhesitat 
 ingly expressed her approbation. 
 
 "Miss Gertrude s remark is undeniably a verity," said she. 
 "The only politeness which is trustworthy is the spontaneous 
 offering of the heart. Perhaps this goodly company of masters 
 and misses would condescend to give ear to an old woman s 
 tale of a rare instance of true politeness, and the fitting reward 
 it met." 
 
 All professed a strong desire to hear Miss Patty s story, and 
 she began : 
 
 "On a winter s day, some years ago, an old woman of many 
 foibles and besetting weaknesses, but with a keen eye and her 
 share of worldly wisdom, Miss Patty Pace by name, 
 started by special invitation for the house of one worshipful 
 Squire Clinton, the honored parent of Miss Isabella, the fair 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 247 
 
 damsel yonder. Every tall tree in our good city was spangled 
 with frost-work, more glittering far than gems that sparkle in 
 Golconda s mine, and the sidewalks were a snare to the feet of 
 the old and the unwary. 
 
 "I lost my equilibrium, and fell. Two gallant gentlemen 
 lifted and carried me to a neighboring apothecary s emporium, 
 restored my scattered wits, and revived me with a fragrant 
 cordial. I went on my way with many a misgiving, however, 
 and scarcely should I have reached my destination with bones 
 unbroken, had it not been for a knight with a rosy counte 
 nance, who overtook me, placed my old arm within his own 
 more strong and youthful one, and protected my steps to the 
 very end of my journey. No slight courage either, my young 
 misses, did my noble escort need, to carry him through what 
 he had undertaken. Paint to your imaginations a youth fresh 
 and beautiful as a sunbeam, straight as an arrow, a perfect 
 Apollo, indeed, linked to the little bent body of poor Miss 
 Patty Pace. I will not spare myself, young ladies; for had 
 you seen me then, you would consider me now vastly amelio 
 rated in outward presentment. My double row of teeth were 
 stowed away in my pocket, my frizette was pushed back from 
 my head by my recent fall, and my gogs the same my father 
 wore before me covered my face, and they alone attracted 
 attention, and created some excitement. But he went on un 
 moved; and in spite of many a captivating glance and smile 
 from long rows of beautiful young maidens whom we met, and 
 many a sneer from the youths of his own age, he sustained my 
 feeble form with as much care as if I had been an empress, 
 and accommodated his buoyant step to the slow movement 
 which my infirmities compelled. Ah! what a spirit of con 
 formity he manifested ! my knight of the rosy countenance ! 
 Could you have seen him, Miss Catharina, or you, Miss Frances, 
 your palpitating hearts would have taken flight forever. He 
 was a paragon, indeed. 
 
 " Whither his own way tended I cannot say, for he moved 
 in conformity to mine, and left me not until I was safe at the 
 abode of Mistress Clinton. I hardly think he coveted my old 
 heart, but I sometimes believe it followed him; for truly he is 
 still a frequent subject of my meditations." 
 
 "Ah! then that was his reward! " exclaimed Kitty. 
 
 " Not so, Miss Kitty ; guess again. " 
 
248 THE LAMPLIGHTEE 
 
 "I can think of nothing so desirable, Miss Patty." 
 
 "His fortune in life, Miss Catharina. That was his re 
 ward; it may be that he cannot yet estimate the full amount 
 of his recompense." 
 
 " How so ? " exclaimed Fanny. 
 
 "I will briefly narrate the rest. Mistress Clinton encour 
 aged me always to converse much in her presence. She knew 
 my taste, was disposed to humor me, and I was pleased to be 
 indulged. I told my story, and enlarged upon the merits of 
 my noble youth, and his wonderful spirit of conformity. The 
 squire, a gentleman who estimates good breeding, was present, 
 with his ears open; and when I recommended my knight with 
 all the eloquence I could command, he was amused, interested, 
 pleased. He promised to see the boy, and did so; the noble 
 features spake for themselves, and gained him a situation as 
 clerk, from which he has since advanced in the ranks, until 
 now he occupies the position of partner and confidential agent 
 in a creditable and wealthy house. Miss Isabella^ it would 
 rejoice my heart to hear the latest tidings from Mr. William 
 Sullivan." 
 
 "He is well, I believe," said Isabella sulkily. "I know 
 nothing to the contrary." 
 
 "0, Gertrude knows," said Fanny. "Gertrude knows all 
 about Mr. Sullivan ; she will tell you. " 
 
 All turned and looked at Gertrude, who, with face flushed 
 and eyes glistening with the interest she felt in Miss Patty s 
 narrative, stood leaning upon Emily s chair. Miss Patty now 
 appealed to her, much surprised, however, at her having any 
 knowledge of her much-admired and well-remembered young 
 escort. Gertrude drew near, and answered all her questions 
 without the least hesitation or embarrassment, but in a tone of 
 voice so low that the others, most of whom felt no interest in 
 Willie, entered into conversation, and left her and Miss Patty 
 to discourse freely concerning a mutual friend. 
 
 Gertrude gave Miss Pace a brief account of the wonder and 
 curiosity which Willie and his friends had felt concerning the 
 original author of his good fortune; and the old lady was so 
 entertained and delighted at hearing of the various conjectures 
 and doubts which arose on the reception of Mr. Clinton s un 
 expected summons, and of the matter being finally attributed 
 to the agency of Santa Claus, that her laugh was nearly as 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 249 
 
 loud, and quite as heartfelt, as that of the gay party near the 
 doorstep, whom Kitty and Fanny had excited to unusual mer 
 riment. Miss Pace was just taxing Gertrude with interminable 
 compliments and messages of remembrance to be dispatched in 
 her next letter to Willie, when Mrs. Graham presented herself, 
 refreshed both in dress and countenance since her nap, and 
 arrested the attention of the whole company, by exclaiming, 
 in her abrupt manner and loud tones, 
 
 "What! are you all here still? I thought you were bound 
 for a walk in the woods. Kitty, what has become of your 
 cherished scheme of climbing Sunset Hill ? " 
 
 "I proposed it, aunt, an hour ago, but Belle insisted it was 
 too warm. / think the weather is just right for a walk." 
 
 "It will soon be growing cool," said Mrs. Graham, "and I 
 think you had better start; it is some distance if you go round 
 through the woods." 
 
 "Who knows the way?" asked Kitty. 
 
 No one responded to the question, and on being individually 
 appealed to, all professed total ignorance; much to the aston 
 ishment of Gertrude, who believed that every part of the 
 woody ground and hill beyond were familiar to Mr. Bruce. 
 She did not stay, however, to hear any further discussion of 
 their plans; for Emily was beginning to suffer from headache 
 and weariness, and Gertrude, perceiving it, insisted that she 
 should seek the quiet of her own room, to which she herself 
 accomDanied her. She was just closing the chamber door, 
 when Fanny called from the staircase, "Miss Gertrude, ain t 
 you going to walk with us ? " 
 
 "No," replied Gertrude, "not to-day." 
 
 "Then I won t go," said Fanny, "if you don t. Why 
 don t you go, Miss Gertrude? " 
 
 "I shall walk with Miss Emily by and by, if she is well 
 enough; you can accompany us, if you like, but I think you 
 would enjoy going to Sunset Hill much more." 
 
 Meantime a whispered consultation took place below, in 
 which some one suggested that Gertrude was well acquainted 
 with the path which the party wished to follow through the 
 woods. Belle opposed her being invited to join them; Kitty 
 hesitated between her liking for Gertrude and her fears regard 
 ing Mr. Bruce s allegiance; Lieutenant Osborne forbore to urge 
 what Belle disapproved; and Mr. Bruce remained silent, trust* 
 
250 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 ing to the final necessity of her being invited to act as guide, 
 in which capacity he had purposely concealed his own ability 
 to serve. This necessity was so obvious that, as he had fore 
 seen, Kitty was at last dispatched to find Gertrude and make 
 known their request. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 251 
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 There are haughty steps that would walk the globe 
 O er necks of humbler ones. 
 
 Miss L. P. SMITH. 
 
 GERTRUDE would have declined, and made her attendance 
 upon Emily an excuse for non-compliance; but Emily herself, 
 believing that the exercise would be beneficial to Gertrude, 
 interfered, and begged her to agree to Kitty s apparently very 
 cordial proposal; and on the latter s declaring that the expedi 
 tion must otherwise be given up, she consented to join it. To 
 change her slippers for thick walking-boots occupied a few 
 minutes only ; a few more were spent in a vain search for her flat 
 hat, which was missing from the closet where it usually hung. 
 
 " What are you looking for ? " said Emily, hearing Gertrude 
 once or twice open and shut the door of the large closet at the 
 end of the upper entry. 
 
 "My hat; but I don t see it. I believe I shall have to 
 borrow your sunbonnet again," and she took up a white sun- 
 bonnet, the same she had worn in the morning, and which now 
 lay on the bed. 
 
 "Certainly, my dear," said Emily. 
 
 "I shall begin to think it s mine, before long," said Ger 
 trude gayly, as she ran off; "I wear it so much more than 
 you do." She found Fanny waiting for her; the rest of the 
 party had started, and were some distance down the road, 
 nearly out of sight. Emily now called from the staircase, 
 " Gertrude, my child, have you thick shoes ? It is always very 
 wet in the meadow beyond the Thornton place." Gertrude 
 assured her that she had ; but fearing that the others were less 
 carefully equipped, inquired of Mrs. Graham whether Belle 
 and Kitty were insured against the dampness, possibly the 
 mud, they might encounter. 
 
 Mrs. Graham declared they were not, and was at a loss what 
 to do, as they were now quite out of sight, and it would be so 
 much trouble for them to return. 
 
252 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "I have some very light India rubbers," said Gertrude; "I 
 will take them with me, and Fanny and I shall be in time to 
 warn them before they come to the place." 
 
 It was an easy matter to overtake Belle and the lieutenant, 
 for they walked very slowly, and seemed not unwilling to be 
 left in the rear. The reverse, however, was the case with Mr. 
 Bruce and Kitty, who appeared purposely to keep in advance; 
 Kitty hastening her steps from her reluctance to allow an agree 
 able tete-k-tete to be interfered with, and Ben from a desire 
 to occupy such a position as would give Gertrude a fair oppor 
 tunity to observe his devotion to Kitty, which increased the 
 moment she came in sight whose jealousy he was desirous to 
 arouse. 
 
 They had now passed the Thornton farm, and only one field 
 separated them from the meadow, which, covered with grass 
 and fair to the eye, was nevertheless in the centre a complete 
 quagmire, and only passable, even for the thickly shod, by 
 keeping close to the wall, and thus skirting the field. Ger 
 trude and Fanny were some distance behind, and already nearly 
 out of breath with a pursuit in which the others had gained 
 so great an advantage. As they were passing the farmhouse, 
 Mrs. Thornton appeared at the door and addressed Gertrude, 
 who, foreseeing that she should be detained some minutes, bade 
 Fanny run on, acquaint her brother and Kitty with the nature 
 of the soil in advance, and beg them to wait at the bars until 
 the rest of the party came up. Fanny was too late, notwith 
 standing the haste she made ; they were half across the meadow 
 when she reached the bars, proceeding, however, in perfect 
 safety, for Mr. Bruce was conducting Kitty by the only prac 
 ticable path, close under the wall, proving to Gertrude, who in 
 a few moments joined Fanny, that he was no stranger to the 
 place. When they were about halfway across, they seemed 
 to encounter some obstacle, for Kitty stood poised on one foot 
 and clinging to the wall, while Mr. Bruce placed a few step 
 ping-stones across the path. He then helped her over, and 
 they went on, their figures soon disappearing in the grove 
 beyond. 
 
 Isabel and the lieutenant were so long making their appear 
 ance that Fanny became very impatient, and urged Gertrude 
 to leave them to their fate. They at last turned the corner 
 near the farmhouse, and came on, Belle maintaining her lei- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 253 
 
 surely pace, although it was easy to be seen that the others 
 were waiting for her. 
 
 " Are you lame, Miss Clinton 1 " called out Fanny, as soon 
 as they were within hearing. 
 
 " Lame ! " said Belle ; " what do you mean 1 " 
 
 "Why, you walk so slow," said Fanny, "I thought some 
 thing must be the matter with your feet." 
 
 Belle disdained any reply to this, and tossing her head en 
 tered the damp meadow, in close conversation with her devoted 
 young officer, not deigning even to look at Gertrude, who, 
 without appearing to notice her haughtiness, took Fanny s 
 hand, and turning away from the direct path to make the cir 
 cuit of the field, said to Belle, with an unruffled ease and cour 
 tesy of manner, "This way, if you please, Miss Clinton; we 
 have been waiting to guide you through this wet meadow. " 
 
 "Is it wet?" asked Belle in alarm, glancing down at her 
 delicate slipper. She then added in a provoked tone, "I should 
 have thought you would have known better than to bring us 
 this way. I sha n t go across." 
 
 "Then you can go back," said the pert Fanny; "nobody 
 cares. " 
 
 "It was not my proposition," remarked Gertrude mildly, 
 though with a heightened color, "but I think I can help you 
 through the difficulty. Mrs. Graham was afraid you had worn 
 thin shoes, and I brought you a pair of India rubbers." 
 
 Belle took them, and without the grace to express any thanks 
 said, as she unfolded the paper in which they were wrapped, 
 " Whose are they ? " 
 
 "Mine," replied Gertrude. 
 
 "I don t believe I can keep them on," muttered Belle; 
 "they 11 be immense, I suppose." 
 
 "Allow me," said the lieutenant; and taking one of the 
 shoes he stooped to place it on her foot, but found it difficult 
 to do so, as it proved quite too small. Belle, perceiving this 
 to be the case, bent down to perform the office for herself, and 
 treated Gertrude s property with such angry violence that she 
 snapped the slender strap which passed across the instep, and 
 even then only succeeded in partially forcing her foot into the 
 shoe. 
 
 Meantime, as she bent forward, Fanny s attention was at 
 tracted by a very tasteful broad-brimmed hat, which she wore 
 
254 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 jauntily set on one side of her head, and which Fanny at once 
 recognized as Gertrude s. It was a somewhat fanciful article 
 of dress, that Gertrude would hardly have thought of purchas 
 ing for herself, but which Mr. Graham had selected and brought 
 home to her the previous summer, to replace a common garden 
 hat which he had accidentally crushed and ruined. As the 
 style of it was simple and in good taste, she had been in the 
 habit of wearing it often in her country walks, and usually 
 kept it hung in the entry closet, where it had been found and 
 appropriated by Belle. It had been seen by Fanny in Ger 
 trude s room at Mrs. Warren s; she had also been permitted 
 to wear it on one occasion, when she took part in a charade, 
 and could not be mistaken as to its identity. Having heard 
 Gertrude remark to Emily upon its being missing, she was as 
 tonished to see it adorning Belle; and as she stood behind her, 
 deliberately pointed, made signs to Gertrude, opened her eyes, 
 distorted her countenance, and performed a series of panto 
 mimic gestures expressive of an intention to snatch it from 
 Miss Clinton s head, and place it on that of its rightful owner. 
 
 Gertrude s gravity nearly gave way; she shook her head at 
 Fanny, held up her finger, made signs for her to forbear, and 
 with a face whose laughter was only concealed by the deep 
 white bonnet which she wore, took her hand, and hastened 
 with her along the path, leaving Belle and beau to follow. 
 
 "Fanny," said she, "you must not make me laugh so; if 
 Miss Clinton had seen us, she would have been very much 
 hurt." 
 
 "She has no business to wear your hat," said Fanny; "and 
 she sha n t!" 
 
 "Yes, she shall," replied Gertrude; "she looks beautifullj 
 in it. I am delighted to have her wear it, and you must not 
 intimate to her that it is mine." 
 
 Fanny would not promise, and there was a sly look in her 
 eye which prophesied mischief. 
 
 The walk through the woods was delightful, and Gertrude 
 and her young companion, in the quiet enjoyment of it, had 
 almost forgotten that they were members of a gay party, when 
 they suddenly came in sight of Kitty and Mr. Bruce. They 
 were pitting at the foot of an old oak, Kitty earnestly engaged 
 in the manufacture of an oak wreath, which she was just fitting 
 to her attendant s hat; while he himself, when Gertrude first 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 255 
 
 caught sight of him, was leaning against the tree in a care 
 less, listless attitude. As soon, however, as he perceived their 
 approach, he bent forward, inspected Kitty s work, and when 
 they came within hearing, was uttering a profusion of thanks 
 and compliments, which he took care should reach Gertrude s 
 ears, and which the blushing, smiling Kitty received with man 
 ifest pleasure, a pleasure which was still further enhanced 
 by her perceiving that Gertrude had apparently no power to 
 withdraw his attention from her, but that, on the contrary, he 
 permitted her rival to seat herself at a distance, and continued 
 to pour into her own ear little confidential nothings. Poor, 
 simple Kitty! she believed him honest, while he bought her 
 heart with counterfeits. 
 
 "Miss Gertrude," said Fanny, "I wish we could go into 
 some pine woods, so that I could get some cones to make bas 
 kets and frames of." 
 
 "There are plenty of pines in that direction," said Gertrude, 
 pointing with her finger. 
 
 "Why can t we go and look for cones? " asked Fanny; "we 
 could get back by the time Belle Clinton reaches this place." 
 
 Gertrude professed her willingness to do so, and she and 
 Fanny started off, having first tied their bonnets to the branch 
 of a tree. They were gone some time, for Fanny found plenty 
 of cones, and made a large collection of them, but was then at 
 a loss how to carry them home. "I have thought," said she 
 at last; "I will run back and borrow brother Ben s handker 
 chief, or if he won t let me have it, I 11 take my own bonnet 
 and fill it full." Gertrude promised to await her return, and 
 she ran off. When she came near the spot where she had left 
 Kitty and Mr. Bruce, she heard several voices and loud laugh 
 ter. Belle and the lieutenant had arrived, and they were hav 
 ing great sport about something. Belle was standing with the 
 white cape bonnet in her hand. She had bent it completely 
 out of shape, so as to give it the appearance of an old woman s 
 cap, had adorned the front with whiteweed and dandelions, 
 and finally pinned on a handkerchief to serve as a veil. It 
 certainly looked very ridiculous; she was holding it up on the 
 end of the lieutenant s cane, and endeavoring to obtain a bid 
 for Miss Flint s bridal bonnet. 
 
 Fanny listened a moment with an indignant countenance, 
 then advanced with a bound, as if just running from the woods. 
 
256 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 Kitty caught her frock as she passed, and exclaimed, "Why, 
 Fanny, are you here ? Where s Gertrude ? " 
 
 "0, she s in the pine woods!" replied Fanny, "and I m 
 going right back; she only sent me to get her hat, the sun s 
 so warm where we are." 
 
 "Ah, yes!" said Belle, "her Paris hat. Please give it to 
 her, with our compliments." 
 
 "No, that isn t hers," said Fanny; "that is Miss Emily s. 
 This is hers ; " and she laid her hand upon the straw head 
 dress which the gentlemen had but a moment before been 
 assuring Belle was vastly becoming, and without ceremony 
 snatched it from her head. 
 
 Belle s eyes flashed angrily. "What do you mean?" said 
 she, " you saucy little creature ! Give me that hat ! " and she 
 stretched out her hand to take it. 
 
 "I sha n t do any such thing," said Fanny; "it s Gertrude s 
 hat. She looked for it this afternoon, but concluded it was 
 either lost or stolen, and so borrowed Miss Emily s cape bon 
 net; but she 11 be very glad to find it, and I 11 carry it to her. 
 I rather think," said she, looking over her shoulder, as she ran 
 off, "I rather think Miss Emily would be willing you should 
 wear her bonnet home, if you 11 be careful and not bend it! " 
 
 A few moments of embarrassment and anger to Belle, laugh 
 ter from Kitty and Mr. Bruce, and concealed amusement on 
 Lieutenant Osborne s part, and Gertrude came hastily from the 
 woods, with the hat in her hand, Fanny following her, and 
 taking advantage of Belle s position, with her back towards 
 her, to resume her pantomimic threats and insinuations. " Miss 
 Clinton," said Gertrude, as she placed the hat in her lap, "I 
 am afraid Fanny has been very rude in my name. I did not 
 send her for either hat or bonnet, and shall be pleased to have 
 you wear this as often as you like." 
 
 "I don t want it," said Belle scornfully; "I d no idea it 
 belonged to you." 
 
 "Certainly not; I am aware of it," said Gertrude. "But 
 I trust that will not prevent your making use of it for to-day, 
 at least." Without urging the matter further, she proposed 
 that they should hasten on to the top of the hill, which they 
 could not otherwise reach before sundown ; and set the example 
 by moving forward in that direction, Fanny accompanying her, 
 and busying herself as she went with stripping the decorations 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 257 
 
 from Emily s despised bonnet; Belle tying an embroidered 
 handkerchief under her chin, and Mr. Bruce swinging on his 
 arm the otherwise neglected hat. 
 
 Belle did not recover her temper for the evening; the rest 
 found their excursion agreeable, and it was nearly dark when 
 they reached the Thornton farm on their return. Here Ger 
 trude left them, telling Fanny that she had promised to stop 
 and see Jemmy Thornton, one of her Sunday-school class, who 
 was sick with a fever, and refusing to let her remain, as her 
 mother might not wish her to enter the house where several of 
 the family were sick. 
 
 About an hour after, as Gertrude was walking home in 
 some haste, she was joined near Mr. Graham s house by Mr. 
 Bruce, who, with her hat still hanging on his arm, seemed to 
 have been awaiting her return. She started on his abruptly 
 joining her, for it was so dark that she did not at once recognize 
 him, and supposed it might be a stranger. 
 
 "Miss Gertrude," said he, "I hope I don t alarm you." 
 
 "0, no," said she, reassured by the sound of his voice, "I 
 did not know who it was." 
 
 He offered his arm, and she took it ; for his recent devotion 
 to Kitty had served in some degree to relieve her of any fear 
 she had felt lest his attentions carried meaning with them ; and 
 concluding that he liked to play beau-general, she had no ob 
 jection to his escorting her home. 
 
 "We had a very pleasant walk this evening," said he; "at 
 least, /had. Miss Kitty is a very entertaining companion." 
 
 "I think she is," replied Gertrude; "I like her frank, lively 
 manners much." 
 
 "I am afraid you found Fanny rather poor company. I 
 should have joined you occasionally, but I could hardly find 
 an opportunity to quit Miss Kitty, we were so much interested 
 in what we were saying." 
 
 " Fanny and I are accustomed to each other, and very happy 
 together," said Gertrude. 
 
 "Do you know we have planned a delightful drive for to 
 morrow 1 " 
 
 "No, I was not aware of it." 
 
 " I suppose Miss Kay expects I shall ask her to go with me ; 
 but supposing, Miss Gertrude, I should give you the prefer 
 ence, and ask you, what should you say 1 " 
 
258 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "That I was much obliged to you, but had an engagement 
 to take a drive with Miss Emily," replied Gertrude promptly. 
 
 "Indeed!" said he in a surprised and provoked tone. "I 
 thought you would like it; but Miss Kitty, I doubt not, will 
 accept. I will go in and ask her " (for they had now reached 
 the house). "Here is your hat." 
 
 "Thank you," said Gertrude, and would have taken it; but 
 Ben still held it by one string, and said, 
 
 "Then you won t go, Miss Gertrude?" 
 
 "My engagement with Miss Emily cannot be postponed on 
 any account," answered Gertrude, thankful that she had so 
 excellent a reason for declining. 
 
 "Nonsense!" said Mr. Bruce; "you could go with me if 
 you chose; and if you don t, I shall certainly invite Miss 
 Kitty." 
 
 The weight he seemed to attach to this threat astonished 
 Gertrude, "Can it be possible," thought she, "that he ex 
 pects thus to pique and annoy me 1 " and she replied to it by 
 saying, "I shall be happy if my declining prove the means of 
 Kitty s enjoying a pleasant drive; she is fond of variety, and 
 has few opportunities here to indulge her taste." 
 
 They now entered the parlor. Mr. Bruce sought Kitty in 
 the recess of the window, and Gertrude, not finding Emily 
 present, stayed but a short time in the room ; long enough, how 
 ever, to observe Mr. Bruce s exaggerated devotion to Kitty, 
 which was marked by others besides herself. Kitty promised 
 to accompany him the next day, and did so. Mrs. Graham, 
 Mrs. Bruce, Belle, and the lieutenant went also in another 
 vehicle; and Emily and Gertrude, according to their original 
 intention, took a different direction, and driving white Charlie 
 in the old-fashioned buggy, rejoiced in their quiet independ 
 ence. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 259 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 Sporting at will, and moulding sport to art, 
 With that sad holiness the human heart. 
 
 NEW TIMON. 
 
 AND now days and even weeks passed on, and no marked 
 event took place in Mr. Graham s household. The weather 
 became intensely warm, and no more walks and drives were 
 planned. The lieutenant left the neighboring city, which was 
 at this season nearly deserted by the friends of Mrs. Graham 
 and her nieces; and Isabel, who could neither endure with 
 patience excessive heat or want of society, grew more irritable 
 and fretful than ever. 
 
 To Kitty, however, these summer days were fraught with 
 interest. Mr. Bruce remained in the neighborhood, visited 
 constantly at the house, and exercised a marked influence upon 
 her outward demeanor and her inward happiness, which were 
 changeable and fluctuating as his attentions were freely bestowed 
 or altogether suspended. No wonder the poor girl was puzzled 
 to understand one whose conduct was certainly inexplicable to 
 any but those initiated into his motives. Believing, as he did, 
 that Gertrude would in time show a disposition to win him 
 back, he was anxious only to carry his addresses to Kitty to 
 such a point as would excite a serious alarm in the mind of 
 the poor protegee of the Grahams, who dared to slight his 
 proffered advances. Acting then as he did almost wholly with 
 reference to Gertrude, it was only in her presence, or under 
 such circumstances that he was sure it would reach her ears, 
 that he manifested a marked interest in Kitty; and his behav 
 ior was therefore in the highest degree unequal, leading the 
 warm-hearted Kitty to believe one moment that he felt for her 
 almost the tenderness of a lover, and the next to suffer under 
 the apprehension of having unconsciously wounded or offended 
 him by her careless gayety or conversation. Unfortunately, 
 too, Mrs. Graham took every opportunity to tease and congratu- 
 
260 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 late her upon her conquest, thereby increasing the simple girl 8 
 confidence in the sincerity of Mr. Bruce s admiration. 
 
 Nor were Mr. Bruce and Kitty the only persons who found 
 occasion for vexation and anxiety in this matter. Gertrude, 
 whose eyes were soon opened to the existing state of things, 
 was filled with regret and apprehension on account of Kitty, 
 for whose peace and welfare she felt a tender and affectionate 
 concern. The suspicions to which Mr. Bruce s conduct gave 
 rise, during the scenes which have been detailed, were soon 
 strengthened into convictions; for on several occasions, after 
 he had been offering Kitty ostentatious proofs of devotion, he 
 thought proper to test their effect upon Gertrude by the tender 
 of some attention to herself; more than intimating, at the same 
 time, that she had it in her power to rob Kitty of all claim 
 upon his favor. 
 
 Gertrude availed herself of every opportunity to acquaint 
 him with the truth, that he could not possibly render himself 
 more odious in her eyes than by the use of such mean attempts 
 to mortify her ; but attributing her warmth to the very feeling 
 of jealousy which he desired to excite, the selfish young man 
 persevered in his course of folly and wickedness. As he only 
 proffered his attentions, and made no offer of his heart and 
 hand, Gertrude did not in the least trust his professions towards 
 herself ] considering them merely as intended, if possible, to 
 move her from her firm and consistent course of behavior, in 
 order to gratify his self-love. But she saw plainly that, how 
 ever light and vain his motives might be in her own case, they 
 were still more so with reference to Kitty ; and she was deeply 
 grieved at the evident unconsciousness of this fact which the 
 simple girl constantly exhibited. 
 
 For strangely enough, Kitty, having quite forgotten that she 
 had a few weeks back looked upon Gertrude as a rival, now 
 chose her for her bosom friend and confidant. Her aunt was 
 too coarse and rough, Belle too selfish and vain, to be intrusted 
 with little matters of the heart; and though Kitty had no idea 
 of confessing her partiality for Mr. Bruce, the transparency of 
 her character was such that she betrayed her secret to Ger 
 trude without being in the least aware that she had done so. 
 Though no one but Gertrude appeared to observe it, Kitty was 
 wonderfully changed. The gay, laughing, careless Kitty had 
 now her fits of musing, her sunny face was subject to cloudy 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 261 
 
 that flitted across it and robbed it of all its brightness. Now 
 her spirits were unnaturally free and lively; and now she wore 
 a pensive expression, and stealthily lifting her eyes, fixed them 
 anxiously on the face of Mr. Bruce, as if studying his temper 
 or his sentiments. If she saw Gertrude walking in the garden 
 or sitting alone in her room, she would approach, throw her 
 arm around her, lean against her shoulder, and talk on her 
 favorite topic. She would relate, with a mixture of simplicity 
 and folly, the complimentary speeches and polite attentions of 
 Mr. Bruce ; talk about him for an hour, and question Gertrude 
 as to her opinion of his merits and the sincerity of his avowed 
 admiration for herself. She would intimate her perception of 
 some fault possessed by him, who was in her eyes almost per 
 fection; and when Gertrude coincided with her, and expressed 
 regret at the evident failing, she would exhaust a great amount 
 of strength and ingenuity in her efforts to prove that they were 
 both mistaken in attributing it to him, and that, if he had a 
 fault, it was in reality quite the reverse. She would ask if Ger 
 trude really supposed he meant all he said, and add that of 
 course she didn t believe he did, it was all nonsense. And 
 if Gertrude embraced the opportunity to avow the same opinion, 
 and declare that it was not best to trust all his high-flown flat 
 teries, poor Kitty s face would fall, and she would proceed to 
 give her reasons for sometimes thinking he was sincere, he had 
 such a truthful, earnest way of speaking. 
 
 It was no use to throw out hints, or try to establish safe 
 guards. Kitty was completely infatuated. At last Mr. Bruce 
 thought proper to try Gertrude s firmness by offering to her 
 acceptance a rich ring. Not a little surprised at his presump 
 tion, she declined it without hesitation or ceremony, and the 
 next day saw it on the finger of Kitty, who was eager to give 
 an account of its presentation. 
 
 " And did you accept it ? " asked Gertrude, with such a look 
 of astonishment that Kitty observed it, and evaded an acknow 
 ledgment of having done so, by saying, with a blushing counte 
 nance, that she agreed to wear it a little while. 
 
 "I wouldn t," said Gertrude. 
 
 " Why not?" 
 
 "Because, in the first place, I do not think it is in good 
 taste to receive rich gifts from gentlemen ; and then again, if 
 strangers notice it, you may be subjected to uupleasant, signifi 
 cant remarks." 
 
262 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "What would you do with it? " asked Kitty. 
 
 " I should give it back." 
 
 Kitty looked very undecided, but on reflection concluded to 
 offer it to Mr. Bruce, and tell him what Gertrude said. She 
 did so, and that gentleman, little appreciating Gertrude s mo 
 tives, and believing her only desirous of making difficulty 
 between him and Kitty, jumped at the conclusion that her 
 heart was won at last, and that his triumph would now be com 
 plete. He was disappointed, therefore, when, on his next meet 
 ing with her, she treated him, as she had invariably done of 
 late, with cool civility; indeed, it seemed to him that she was 
 more insensible than ever to his attractions; and hastily quit 
 ting the house, much to the distress of Kitty (who spent the 
 rest of the day in thinking over everything she had done and 
 said which could by any possibility have given offence), he 
 sought his old haunt under the pear-tree and gave himself up 
 to the consideration of a weighty question. 
 
 Seldom did Ben Bruce feel called upon to take serious views 
 of any subject; seldom was he accustomed to rally and marshal 
 the powers of his mind, and deliberately weigh the two sides 
 of an argument. Living as he did, with no higher aim than 
 the promoting of his own selfish gratification, he had been wont 
 to avail himself of every opportunity for amusement and indul 
 gence, and even to bring mean and petty artifice to the further 
 ance of his plans. Possessed, as he was, notwithstanding his 
 narrow mind, with what is often called "a good look-out," he 
 was rarely cheated or defrauded of his rights. He knew the 
 value of his money and position in life, and never suffered 
 himself to be sacrificed to the designs of those who hoped to 
 reap a benefit from his companionship. Self-sacrifice, too, 
 was a thing of which he had no experience, and with which, 
 as seen in others, he felt no sympathy. Now, however, a crisis 
 had arrived when his own interests and wishes clashed; when 
 necessity demanded that one should be immolated at the shrine 
 of the other, and a choice must be made between the two. It 
 was certainly a matter which claimed deep deliberation; and if 
 Ben Bruce, for the first time in his life, devoted a whole after 
 noon to careful thought and an accurate measurement of oppos 
 ing forces, the occurrence must be attributed to the fact that he 
 was making up his mind on the most important question that 
 ever yet had agitated it. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 263 
 
 "Shall I," thought he, "conclude to marry this poor girl? 
 Shall I, who am master of a handsome fortune, and have addi 
 tional expectations, forego the prospect they afford me of mak 
 ing a brilliant alliance, and condescend to share my wealth and 
 station in society with this adopted child of the Grahams, who, 
 in spite of her poverty, will not grant me a smile even, except 
 at the price of all my possessions? If she were one atom less 
 charming, I would disappoint her after all! I wonder how 
 she d feel if I should marry Kitty ! I dare say I never should 
 have the satisfaction of knowing; for she s so proud that she 
 would come to my wedding, for aught I know, bend her slen 
 der neck as gracefully as ever, and say, * Good-evening, Mr. 
 Bruce, as politely and calmly as she does now, every time I 
 go to the house ! It provokes me to see how a poor girl like 
 that carries herself. But as Mrs. Bruce, I should be proud 
 of that manner, certainly. I wonder how I ever got in love 
 with her; I m sure I don t know. She isn t handsome; at 
 least, mother thinks she is n t, and so does Belle Clinton. But 
 then, again, Lieutenant Osborne noticed her the minute she came 
 into the room; and there s Fan raves about her beauty. I don t 
 know what I think myself; I believe she s bewitched me, so 
 that I m not capable of judging; but if it isn t beauty, it is 
 because it s something more than mere good looks." 
 
 Thus he soliloquized; and as every time he revolved the 
 subject he commenced by dwelling upon the immense sacrifice^ 
 he was making, and ended with reflections upon Gertrude s 
 charms, it may well be supposed that he ultimately came to 
 the conclusion that he should suffer less by laying his fortune 
 at her feet than by the endeavor to enjoy that fortune without 
 her. For a few days after he arrived at a resolve on this point, J 
 he had no opportunity to address a word to Gertrude, who was 
 now doubly anxious to avoid him, and spent nearly the whole 
 day above stairs, except when, at Emily s request, she accom 
 panied her for a short time into the parlor; and even then she 
 took pains, under some pretext or other, to remain close by 
 the side of her blind friend. 
 
 About this time, Mrs. Graham and Mrs. Bruce, with their 
 families, received cards for a levee to be held at the house of 
 an acquaintance nearly five miles distant. It was on the occa 
 sion of the marriage f a schoolmate of Isabel s, and both she 
 and Kitty were desirous to be present. Mrs. Bruce, who had 
 
264 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 a close carriage, invited both the cousins to accompany her; 
 and as Mr. Graham s carryall, when closed, would only accom 
 modate himself and lady, the proposal was gladly acceded to. 
 
 The prospect of a gay assembly and an opportunity for dis 
 play revived Isabel s drooping spirits and energy. Her rich 
 evening dresses were brought out for the selection of the most 
 suitable and becoming; and as she stood before her mirror, and 
 tried on first one wreath and then another, and looked so beau 
 tiful in each that it was difficult to make a choice, Kitty, who 
 stood by, eagerly endeavoring to win her attention, and obtain 
 her advice concerning the style and color most desirable for 
 herself, gave up in despair, and ran off to consult Gertrude. 
 
 She found her reading in her own room; but on Kitty s 
 abrupt entrance she laid down her book, and gave her undi 
 vided attention to the subject which was under discussion. 
 
 "Gertrude," said Kitty, "what shall I wear this evening? 
 I ? ve been trying to get Belle to tell me, but she never will 
 speak a word, or hear what I ask her, when she s thinking 
 about her own dress! I declare, she s dreadfully selfish!" 
 
 "Who advises her?" asked Gertrude. 
 
 "0, nobody; she always decides for herself; but then she 
 has so much taste, and I haven t the least in the world! So, 
 do tell me, Gertrude, what had I better wear to-night ? 
 
 "I m the last person you should ask, Kitty; I never went 
 to a fashionable party in my life." 
 
 "That doesn t make any difference. I m sure, if you did 
 go, you d look better than any of us; and I m not afraid to 
 trust to your opinion, for I never in my life saw you wear any 
 thing that didn t look genteel; even your gingham morning 
 gown has a sort of stylish air." 
 
 "Stop, stop, Kitty! you are going too far; you must keep 
 within bounds, if you want me to believe you." 
 
 "Well, then," said Kitty, "to say nothing of yourself (for 
 I know you re superior to flattery, Gertrude, somebody told 
 me so), who furnishes Miss Emily s wardrobe? Who selects 
 her dresses ? " 
 
 "I have done so, lately, but " 
 
 * I thought so ! I thought so ! " interrupted Kitty. " I knew 
 poor Miss Emily was indebted to you for always looking so 
 nice and so beautiful." 
 
 "No, indeed, Kitty, you are mistaken; I have never seen 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 265 
 
 Emily better dressed than she was the first time I met her; 
 and her beauty is not borrowed from art it is all her own. " 
 
 " 0, I know she is lovely, and everybody admires her ; but 
 no one can suppose she would take pains to wear such pretty 
 things, and put them on so gracefully, just to please her 
 self." 
 
 "It is not done merely to please herself; it was to please 
 her father that Emily first made the exertion to dress with 
 taste as well as neatness. I have heard that, for some time 
 after she lost her eyesight, she was disposed to be very careless ; 
 but having accidentally discovered that it was an additional 
 cause of sorrow to him, she roused herself at once, and with 
 Mrs. Ellis s assistance contrived always afterwards to please him 
 in that particular. But you observe, Kitty, she never wears 
 anything showy or conspicuous." 
 
 "No, indeed that is what I like; but, Gertrude, hasn t 
 she always been blind ? " 
 
 "No; until she was sixteen she had beautiful eyes, and could 
 see as well as you can." 
 
 " What happened to her ? How did she lose them ? " 
 
 "I don t know." 
 
 "Didn t you ever ask?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Why not ? how queer ! " 
 
 "I heard that she didn t like to speak of it." 
 
 "But she would have told you; she half worships you." 
 
 "If she had wished me to know, she would have told with 
 out my asking." 
 
 Kitty stared at Gertrude, wondering much at such unusual 
 delicacy and consideration, and instinctively admiring a forbear 
 ance of which she was conscious she should herself have been 
 incapable. 
 
 "But your dress! " said Gertrude, smiling at Kitty s abstrac 
 tion. 
 
 "0, yes! I had almost forgotten what I came here for," 
 said Kitty. " What shall it be, then, thick or thin, pink, 
 blue, or white ? " 
 
 " What has Isabel decided upon ? " 
 
 " Blue a rich blue silk ; that is her favorite color always, 
 but it doesn t become me." 
 
 "No, I should think not," said Gertrude; "but come, Kitty 9 
 
266 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 we will go to your room and see the dresses, and I will give 
 my opinion." 
 
 Kitty s wardrobe having been inspected, and Gertrude hav 
 ing expressed her preference for a thin and flowing material, 
 especially in the summer season, a delicate white crape was 
 fixed upon. And now there was a new difficulty. Among all 
 her headdresses, none proved satisfactory ; all were more or less 
 defaced, and none of them to be compared with a new and exqui 
 site wreath which Isabel was arranging among her curls. 
 
 "I cannot wear any of them," said Kitty, "they look so 
 mean by the side of Isabel s; but, 0! " exclaimed she, glancing 
 at a box which lay on the dressing-table, "these are just what 
 I should like ! Isabel, where did you get these beautiful 
 carnations ? " and she took up some flowers, which were, indeed, 
 a rare imitation of nature, and displaying them to Gertrude, 
 added that they were just what she wanted. 
 
 "0 Kitty," said Isabel angrily, turning away from the glass, 
 and observing what her cousin had in her hand, "don t touch 
 my flowers ! you will spoil them ! " and snatching them from 
 her she replaced them in the box, opened a drawer in her 
 bureau, and having deposited them there, took the precaution 
 to lock them up and put the key in her pocket, an action 
 which Gertrude witnessed with astonishment, not unmingled 
 with indignation, 
 
 "Kitty," said she, "I will arrange a wreath of natural flow 
 ers for you, if you wish." 
 
 " Will you, Gertrude ? " said the disappointed and provoked 
 Kitty. "0, that will be delightful! I should like it, of all 
 things. And Isabel, you cross old miser, you can keep all 
 your wreaths to yourself! It is a pity you can t wear two at 
 a time ! " 
 
 True to her promise, Gertrude prepared a headdress foi 
 Kitty ; and so tastefully did she mingle the choicest productions 
 of the garden, that when Isabel saw her cousin arrayed under 
 a more careful and affectionate superintendence than she often 
 enjoyed, she felt, notwithstanding her own proud consciousness 
 of superior beauty, a sharp pang of jealousy of Kitty and dis 
 like to Gertrude. 
 
 It had been no small source of annoyance to Isabel, who 
 could not endure to be outshone, that Kitty had of late been 
 the object of marked attention to Mr. Bruce, while she herself 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 267 
 
 had been entirely overlooked. Not that she felt any partiality 
 for the gentleman whom Kitty was so anxious to please; but 
 the dignity conferred on her cousin by his admiration, the in 
 terest the atfair awakened in her aunt, and the meaning looks 
 of Mrs. Bruce, all made her feel herself of second-rate impor 
 tance, and rendered her more eager than ever to supplant, in 
 general society, the comparatively unpretending Kitty. There 
 fore when Mrs. Graham complimented the latter on her un 
 usually attractive appearance, and declared that somebody would 
 this night be more charmed than ever, Isabel curled her lip 
 with mingled disdain and defiance, while the blushing Kitty 
 turned to Gertrude and whispered in her ear, " Mr. Bruce likes 
 white ; he said so the other day, when you passed through the 
 room dressed in your mulled muslin." 
 
268 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 Know, then, that I have supported my pretensions to your hand in the way 
 that best suited my character. JVANHOE. 
 
 EMILY was not well this evening. It was often the case 
 lately, that headache, unwonted weariness, or a nervous shrink 
 ing from noise and excitement sent her to her own room, and 
 sometimes led her to seek her couch at an early hour. After 
 Mrs. Graham and her nieces had gone downstairs to await Mr. 
 Graham s pleasure and Mrs. Bruce s arrival, Gertrude returned 
 to Emily, whom she had left only a short time before, and 
 found her suffering more than usual from what she termed her 
 troublesome head. She was easily induced to seek the only 
 infallible cure, sleep ; and Gertrude, seating herself on the 
 bedside, as she was frequently in the habit of doing, bathed 
 her temples until she fell into a quiet slumber. The noise of 
 Mrs. Bruce s carriage, coming and going, seemed to disturb 
 her a little; but in a few moments more she was so sound 
 asleep that, when Mr. and Mrs. Graham departed, the loud 
 voice of the latter, giving her orders to one of the servants, 
 did not startle her in the least. Gertrude sat some time longer 
 without changing her position; then quietly rising and arrang 
 ing everything for the night, according to Emily s well-known 
 wishes, she closed the door gently behind her, sought a book 
 in her own room, and entering the cool and vacant parlor, 
 seated herself at a table, to enjoy the now rare opportunity for 
 perfect stillness and repose. 
 
 Either her own thoughts, however, proved more interesting 
 than the volume she held, or it may be the insects, attracted 
 by the bright lamp, annoyed her, or the beauty of the evening 
 won her observation ; for she soon forsook her seat at the table, 
 and going towards the open glass doors, placed herself near 
 them, and leaning her head upon her hand, became absorbed in 
 meditation. 
 
 She had not long sat thus when she heard a footstep in the 
 room, and turning, saw Mr. Bruce beside her. She started, 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 269 
 
 and exclaimed, "Mr. Bruce! is it possible? I thought you 
 had gone to the wedding." 
 
 "No, there were greater attractions for me at home. Could 
 you believe, Miss Gertrude, I should find any pleasure in a 
 party which did not include yourself ? " 
 
 "I certainly should not have the vanity to suppose the 
 reverse," replied Gertrude. 
 
 "I wish you had a little more vanity, Miss Gertrude. Per 
 haps then you would sometimes believe what I say." 
 
 "I am glad you have the candor to acknowledge, Mr. Bruce, 
 that, without that requisite, one would find it impossible to 
 put faith in your fair speeches." 
 
 "I acknowledge no such thing. I only say to you what any 
 other girl but yourself would be willing enough to believe; but 
 how shall I convince you that I am serious, and wish to be so 
 understood ? How shall I persuade you to converse freely with 
 me, and no longer shun my society ? " 
 
 "By addressing me with simple truthfulness, and sparing me 
 those words and attentions which I have endeavored to convince 
 you are unacceptable to me and unworthy of yourself." 
 
 "But I have a meaning, Gertrude, a deep meaning. I have 
 been trying for several days to find an opportunity to tell you 
 of rny resolve, and you must listen to me now ; " for he saw 
 her change color and look anxious and uneasy. "You must 
 give me an answer at once, and one that will, I trust, be 
 favorable to my wishes. You like plain speaking; and I will 
 be plain enough, now that my mind is made up. My relatives 
 and friends may talk and wonder as much as they please at my 
 choosing a wife who has neither money nor family to boast of; 
 but I have determined to defy them all, and offer, without hes 
 itation, to share my prospects with you. After all, what is 
 money good for, if it does n t make a man independent to do 
 as he pleases? And as to the world, I don t see but you can 
 hold your head as high as anybody, Gertrude; so if you ve no 
 objection to make, we 11 play at cross purposes no longer, and 
 consider the thing settled ; " and he endeavored to take her 
 hand. 
 
 But Gertrude drew back ; the color flushed her cheeks and 
 her eyes glistened as she fixed them upon his face with an ex 
 pression of astonishment and pride that could not be mistaken. 
 
 The calm, penetrating look of those dark eyes spoke volumes, 
 
270 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 and Mr. Bruce replied to their inquiring gaze in these words. 
 "I hope you are not displeased at my frankness." 
 
 "With your frankness," said Gertrude calmly; "no, that is 
 a thing that never displeases me. But what have I uncon 
 sciously done to inspire you with so much confidence that, 
 while you defend yourself for defying the wishes of your 
 friends, you hardly give me a voice in the matter 1 " 
 
 "Nothing," said Bruce in an apologizing tone; "but I 
 thought you had labored under the impression that I was dis 
 posed to trifle with your affections, and had therefore kept 
 aloof and maintained a distance towards me which you would 
 not have done had you known how much I was in earnest; 
 but, believe me, I only admired you the more for behaving with 
 so much dignity, and if I have presumed upon your favor, you 
 must forgive me. I shall be only too happy to receive a favor 
 able answer from you." 
 
 The expression of wounded pride vanished from Gertrude s 
 face. "He knows no better," thought she; "I should pity 
 his vanity and ignorance, and sympathize in his disappoint 
 ment ; " and in disclaiming, with a positiveness which left no 
 room for further self-deception, any interest in Mr. Bruce be 
 yond that of an old acquaintance and sincere well-wisher, she 
 nevertheless softened her refusal by the choice of the mildest 
 language, and terms the least likely to grieve or mortify him. 
 She felt, as every true woman must under similar circumstances, 
 that her gratitude and consideration were due to the man who, 
 however little she might esteem him, had paid her the highest 
 honor ; and though her regret in the matter was somewhat tem 
 pered by the thought of Kitty, and the strangeness of Mr. 
 Bruce s conduct towards her, now rendered doubly inexplicable, 
 she did not permit that reflection, even, to prevent her from 
 maintaining the demeanor, not only of a perfect lady, but of 
 one who, in giving pain to another, laments the necessity of so 
 doing. 
 
 She almost felt, however, as if her thoughtfulness for his 
 feelings had been thrown away when she perceived the spirit 
 in which he received her refusal. 
 
 "Gertrude," said he, "you are either trifling with me or 
 yourself. If you are still disposed to coquet with me, I desire 
 to have it understood that I shall not humble myself to urge 
 you further; but if, on the other hand, you are so far forgetful 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 271 
 
 of your own interests as deliberately to refuse such a fortune as 
 mine, I think it s a pity you have n t got some friend to advise 
 you. Such a chance does n t occur every day, especially to poor 
 school-mistresses, and if you are so foolish as to overlook it, 
 I 11 venture to say you 11 never have another." 
 
 Gertrude s old temper rose at this insulting language, beat 
 and throbbed in her chafed spirit, and even betrayed itself in 
 the tips of her fingers, which trembled as they rested on the 
 table near which she stood (having risen as Mr. Bruce spoke) ; 
 but though this was an unlooked-for and unwonted rebellion of 
 an old enemy, her feelings had too long been under strict regu 
 lation to yield to the blast, however sudden, and she replied 
 in a tone which, though slightly agitated, was far from being 
 angry: "Allowing I could so far forget myself, Mr. Bruce, I 
 would not do you such an injustice as to marry you for your 
 fortune. I do not despise wealth, for I know the blessing it 
 may often be, but my affections cannot be bought with gold ; " 
 and as she spoke she moved towards the door. 
 
 " Stay ! " said Mr. Bruce, catching her hand ; " listen to me 
 one moment; let me ask you one question. Are you jealous 
 of my late attentions to another 1 " 
 
 "No," answered Gertrude; "but I confess I have not under 
 stood your motives." 
 
 "Did you think," asked he eagerly, "that I cared for that 
 silly Kitty 1 Did you believe, for a moment, that I had any 
 other desire than to show you that my devotion was acceptable 
 elsewhere 1 No, upon my word, I never had the least particle 
 of regard for her; my heart has been yours all the time, and I 
 only danced attendance upon her in hopes to win a glance from 
 you, an anxious glance, if might be. 0, how often I have 
 wished that you would show one quarter of the pleasure that 
 she did in my society; would blush and smile as she did; 
 would look sad when I was dull, and laugh when I was merry ; 
 so that I might flatter myself, as I could in her case, that your 
 heart was won. But, as to loving her, pooh ! Mrs. Gra 
 ham s poodle dog might as well try to rival you as that soft " 
 
 " Stop ! stop ! " exclaimed Gertrude ; " for my sake, if not 
 for your own ! 0, how " She could say no more, but sink 
 ing into the nearest seat, burst into tears, and hiding her face 
 in her hands, as had been her habit in childhood, wept without 
 restraint. 
 
272 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 Mr. Bruce stood by in utter amazement; at last he ap 
 proached her, and asked in a low voice, "What is the matter 1 ? 
 what have I done ? " 
 
 It was some minutes before she could reply to the question; 
 then lifting her head, and tossing the hair from her forehead, 
 she displayed features expressive only of the deepest grief, and 
 said in broken accents, " What have you done 1 0, how can 
 you ask? She is gentle and amiable and affectionate. She 
 loves everybody and trusts everybody. You have deceived her, 
 and / was the cause of it ! 0, how, how could you do it ! " 
 
 A most disconcerted appearance did Ben present at her 
 words, and hesitating was the tone in which he muttered, 
 "She will get over it." 
 
 " Get over ivhat ? " said Gertrude ; " her love for you 1 Per 
 haps so ; I know not how deep it is. But think of her happy, 
 trusting nature, and how it has been betrayed ! Think how she 
 believed your nattering words, and how hollow they were, all 
 the while ! Think how her confidence has been abused ! how 
 that fatherless and motherless girl, who had a claim to the sym 
 pathy of all the world, has been taught a lesson of distrust ! " 
 
 "I didn t think you would take it so," said Ben. 
 
 "How else could I view it?" asked Gertrude. "Could you 
 expect that such a course would win my respect ? " 
 
 " You take it very seriously, Gertrude. Such flirtations are 
 common. " 
 
 "I am sorry to hear it," said Gertrude. "To my mind, 
 unversed in the ways of society, it is a dreadful thing to trifle 
 thus with a human heart. W r hether Kitty loves you is not for 
 me to say ; but what opinion alas ! will she have of your 
 sincerity 1 " 
 
 "I think you re rather hard, Miss Gertrude, when it was 
 my love for you that prompted my conduct." 
 
 "Perhaps I am," said Gertrude. "It is not my place to 
 censure; I speak only from the impulse of my heart. One 
 orphan girl s warm defence of another is but natural. Perhaps 
 she views the thing lightly, and does not need an advocate; 
 but, 0, Mr. Bruce, do not think so meanly of my sex as to 
 believe that one woman s heart can be won to love and rever 
 ence by the author of another s betrayal! She were less than 
 woman who could be so false to her sense of right and honor." 
 
 " Betrayal ! Nonsense ! you are very high flown. " 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 273 
 
 " So much so, Mr. Bruce, that half an hour ago I could have 
 wept that you should have bestowed your affection where it 
 met with no requital; and if now I weep for the sake of her 
 whose ears have listened to false professions, and whose peace 
 has, to say the least, been threatened on my account, you 
 should attribute it to the fact that my sympathies have not 
 been exhausted by contact with the world." 
 
 A short silence ensued. Ben went a step or two towards 
 the door, then stopped, came back, and said, "After all, Ger 
 trude Flint, I believe the time will come when your notions 
 will grow less romantic, and you will look back to this night 
 and wish you had acted differently. You will find out, in 
 time, that this is a world where people must look out for them 
 selves. 7 
 
 Immediately upon this remark he left the room, and Ger 
 trude heard him shut the hall door with a loud bang as he 
 went out. 
 
 A moment after, the silence that ensued was disturbed by 
 a slight sound, which seemed to proceed from the deep recess 
 in the window. Gertrude started, and as she went towards 
 the spot, heard distinctly a smothered sob. She lifted a dra- 
 peried curtain, and there, upon the wide window-seat, her head 
 bent over and buried in the cushions, and her little slender 
 form distorted into a strange and forlorn attitude, such as 
 might be seen in a grieved child, sat, or rather crouched, 
 poor Kitty Eay. The crumpled folds of her white crape dress, 
 her withered wreath, which had half fallen from her head, 
 and hung drooping on her shoulders, her disordered hair, 
 and her little hand clinging to a thick cord connected with the 
 window curtain, all added to the appearance of extreme dis 
 tress. 
 
 "Kitty!" cried Gertrude, at once recognizing her, although 
 her face was hid. 
 
 At the sound of her voice, Kitty sprung suddenly from her 
 recumbent posture, threw herself into Gertrude s arms, laid 
 her head upon her shoulder, and though she did not, could not 
 weep, shook and trembled with an agitation which was perfectly 
 uncontrollable. Her hand, which grasped Gertrude s, was 
 fearfully cold ; her eyes seemed fixed ; and occasionally, at in 
 tervals, the same hysterical sound which had at first betrayed 
 her in her hiding-place alarmed her young protector, to whom 
 
274 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 she clung as if seized with sudden fear. Gertrude supported 
 her to a seat, and then, folding the slight form to her bosom, 
 chafed the cold hands, and again and again kissing the rigid 
 lips, succeeded at last in restoring her to something like com 
 posure. For an hour she lay thus, receiving Gertrude s caresses 
 with evident pleasure, and now and then returning them con 
 vulsively, but speaking no word, and making no noise. Ger 
 trude, with the truest judgment and delicacy, refrained from 
 asking questions, or recurring to a conversation the whole of 
 which had been thus overheard and comprehended; but pa 
 tiently waiting until Kitty grew more quiet and calm, prepared 
 for her a soothing draught; and then, finding her completely 
 prostrated, both in mind and body, passed her arm around her 
 waist, guided her upstairs, and without the ceremony of an 
 invitation, took her into her own room, where, if she proved 
 wakeful, she would be spared the wonder and scrutiny of Isa 
 bel. Still clinging to Gertrude, the poor girl, to whose relief 
 tears came at last, sobbed herself to sleep ; and all her suffer 
 ings were for a time forgotten in that oblivion in which child 
 hood and youth find a temporary rest, and often a healing balm 
 to pain. 
 
 It was otherwise, however, with Gertrude, who, though of 
 nearly the same age as Kitty, had seen too much trouble, expe 
 rienced too much care, to enjoy in times of disquiet the privi 
 lege of sinking easily to repose. She felt under the necessity, 
 too, of remaining awake until Isabel s return, that she might 
 inform her what had become of Kitty, whom she would be sure 
 to miss from the room which they occupied in common. She 
 seated herself, therefore, at the window to watch for her return ; 
 and was pained to observe that Kitty tossed restlessly on her 
 pillows and occasionally muttered in her sleep, as if distressed 
 by uneasy dreams. It was past midnight when Mrs. Graham 
 and her niece returned home, and Gertrude went immediately 
 to inform the latter that her cousin was asleep in her room. 
 The noise of the carriages, however, had awakened the sleeper, 
 and when Gertrude returned she was rubbing her eyes, and 
 trying to collect her thoughts. 
 
 Suddenly the recollection of the scene of the evening flashed 
 upon her, and with a deep sigh she exclaimed, " Gertrude ! 
 I have been dreaming of Mr. Bruce ! Should you have thought 
 he would have treated me so ? " 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 275 
 
 "No, I should not," said Gertrude; "but I wouldn t dream 
 about him, Kitty, nor think of him any more; we will both go 
 to sleep and forget him." 
 
 "It is different with you," said Kitty with simplicity. 
 "He loves you, and you do not care for him; but I I " 
 Here her feelings overpowered her, and she buried her face in 
 the pillow. 
 
 Gertrude approached, laid her hand kindly upon the head of 
 the poor girl, and finished the sentence for her. "You have 
 such a large heart, Kitty, that he found some place there, per 
 haps; but it is too good a heart to be shared by the mean and 
 base. You must think no more of him he is not worthy of 
 your regard." 
 
 "I can t help it," said Kitty; "I am silly, just as he said." 
 
 "No, you are not," said Gertrude encouragingly; "and you 
 must prove it to him." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Let him see that, with all her softness, Kitty Eay is strong 
 and brave; that she has ceased to believe his flattery, and val 
 ues his professions at just what they are worth." 
 
 "Will you help me, Gertrude? You are my best friend; 
 you took my part, and told him how wicked he had been to 
 me. May I come to you for comfort when I can t make believe 
 happy any longer to him and my aunt and Isabel ? " 
 
 Gertrude s fervent embrace was assurance enough of her 
 cooperation and sympathy. 
 
 " You will be as bright and happy as ever in a few weeks, " 
 said she; "you will soon cease to care for a person whom you 
 no longer respect." 
 
 Kitty disclaimed the possibility of ever being happy again; 
 but Gertrude, though herself a novice in the ways of the human 
 heart, was much more sanguine and hopeful. She saw that 
 Kitty s violent outburst of sobs and tears was like a child s 
 impetuous grief, and suspected that the deepest recesses of her 
 nature were safe, and unendangered by the storm. 
 
 She felt a deep compassion for her, however, and many fears 
 lest she would be wanting in sufficient strength of mind to be 
 have with dignity and womanly pride in her future intercourse 
 with Mr. Bruce, and would also expose herself to the ridicule 
 of Isabel and the contempt of her aunt, by betraying in her 
 looks and behavior her recent trying and mortifying experience. 
 
276 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 Fortunately, the first mentioned trial was spared her, by Mr, 
 Bruce s immediately absenting himself from the house, and in 
 the course of a few days leaving home for the remainder of the 
 summer; and as this circumstance involved both his own and 
 Mrs. Graham s family in doubt and wonder as to the cause of 
 his sudden departure, Kitty s outward trials consisted chiefly 
 in the continued and repeated questionings from her aunt and 
 cousin, to which she was incessantly exposed, as to her share 
 in this sudden and unlooked-for occurrence. Had she refused 
 him ? Had she quarrelled with him 1 and why *{ 
 
 Kitty denied that she had done either; but she was not 
 believed, and the affair remained a strange and interesting mys 
 tery. 
 
 Both Mrs. Graham and Isabel were aware that Kitty s refus 
 ing at the last moment to attend the wedding levee was owing 
 to her having accidentally learned, just before the carriage drove 
 to the door, that Mr. Bruce was not to be of the party ; and as 
 they wrung from her the confession that he had passed a part 
 of the evening at the house, they came to the very natural con 
 clusion that some misunderstanding had arisen between the sup 
 posed lovers. 
 
 Isabel was too well acquainted with Kitty s sentiments to 
 believe she had voluntarily relinquished an admirer who had 
 evidently been highly prized; and she also saw that the sensi 
 tive girl winced under every allusion to the deserter. One 
 would have thought, then, that common affection and delicacy 
 would have taught her to forbear any reference to the painful 
 subject. But this was not the case. She made Mr. Bruce and 
 his strange disappearance her almost constant topic; and on 
 occasion of the slightest difference or disagreement arising be 
 tween herself and Kitty, she silenced and distressed the latter 
 by some pointed and cutting sarcasm relative to her late love 
 affair. Kitty would then seek refuge with Gertrude, relate her 
 trials, and claim her sympathy ; and she not only found in her a 
 friendly listener to her woes, but invariably acquired in her 
 society greater strength and cheerfulness than she could else 
 where rally to her aid, so that she became gradually dependent 
 upon her for the only peace she enjoyed; and Gertrude, who 
 felt a sincere interest in the girl, who had been on her account 
 subjected to such cruel deception, and whose drooping spirits 
 and pensive countenance spoke touchingly of her inner sorrow, 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 277 
 
 spared no pains to enliven her sadness, divert her thoughts, and 
 win her to those occupations and amusements in which she her 
 self had often found a relief from preying care and vexation. 
 
 A large proportion of her time was necessarily devoted to her 
 dearest and best friend, Emily; but there was nothing exclu 
 sive in Emily s nature; when not suffering from those bodily 
 afflictions to which she was subject, she was ever ready to 
 extend a cordial welcome to all visitors who could find pleasure 
 or benefit from her society ; and even the wild and thoughtless 
 Fanny never felt herself an intruder in Emily s premises, so 
 sweet was the smile with which she was greeted, so forbearing 
 the indulgence which was awarded to her waywardness. It can 
 hardly be supposed, then, that Kitty would be excluded from 
 her hospitality, especially after Emily, with a truly wonderful 
 perception, became aware that she was less gay and happy than 
 formerly, and had therefore an additional claim upon her kind 
 ness. 
 
 Many a time, when Isabel had been tantalizing and wound 
 ing Kitty beyond what her patience could endure, and Gertrude 
 had been vainly sought elsewhere, a little figure would present 
 itself at the half -open door of Miss Graham s room, and was 
 sure to hear the sweetest of voices saying from within, "I hear 
 you, Kitty ; come in, my dear ; we shall be glad of your pleasant 
 company ; " and once there, seated by the side of Gertrude, 
 learning from her some little art in needlework, listening to an 
 agreeable book, or Emily s more agreeable conversation, Kitty 
 passed hours which were never forgotten, so peaceful were they, 
 so serene, so totally unlike any she had ever spent before. Nor 
 did they fail to leave a lasting impression upon her, for the 
 benefit of her mind and heart. 
 
 None could live in familiar intercourse with Emily, listen 
 to her words, observe the radiance of her heavenly smile, and 
 breathe in the pure atmosphere that environed her very being, 
 and not carry away with them the love of virtue and holiness, 
 if not something of their essence. She was so unselfish, so 
 patient, notwithstanding her privations, that Kitty would have 
 been ashamed to repine in her presence ; and there was a con 
 tagious cheerfulness ever pervading her apartment, which, in 
 spite of Kitty s recent cause of unhappiness, often led her to 
 forget herself, and break into her natural tone of buoyancy and 
 glee. As week after week passed away, and her sufferings and 
 
278 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 regrets, which at first were so vehement and severe, began to 
 wear off as rapidly as such hurricane sorrows are apt to do, and 
 the process of cure went on silently and unconsciously, another 
 work at the same time progressed, to her equally salutary and 
 important. In her constant intercourse with the pure heart and 
 superior mind of Emily, and her still more familiar intimacy 
 with one who had sat at her feet and learned of her, Kitty 
 imbibed an elevation of thought and a worthiness of aim quite 
 foreign to her quondam character. 
 
 The foolish child, whose heart was ensnared by the flatteries 
 of Mr. Bruce, learned partly through the example and pre 
 cepts of her new counsellors and friends, and partly through 
 her own bitter experience the vanity and emptiness of the 
 food thus administered to her mind ; and resolving, for the first 
 time in her life, to cultivate and cherish her immortal powers, 
 she now developed the first germs of her better nature, which, 
 expanding in later years, and through other influences, trans 
 formed the gay, fluttering, vain child of fashion into the use 
 ful, estimable, and lovely woman. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 279 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 Small slights, neglect, unmixed perhaps with hate, 
 Make up in number what they want in weight. 
 These, and a thousand griefs minute as these, 
 Corrode our comfort and destroy our ease. 
 
 HANNAH MOKE. 
 
 LITTLE did Gertrude imagine, while she was striving most 
 disinterestedly to promote the welfare and happiness of Kitty, 
 who had thrown herself upon her love and care, the jealousy 
 and ill will she was exciting in others. Isahel, who had never 
 liked one whose whole tone of action and life was a continual 
 reproach to her own vanity and selfishness, and who saw in her 
 the additional crime of being the favored friend of a youth of 
 whose interesting boyhood she herself retained a sentimental 
 recollection, was ready and eager to seize the earliest opportu 
 nity of rendering her odious in the eyes of Mrs. Graham. She 
 was not slow to observe the remarkable degree of confidence 
 that seemed to exist between Kitty and Gertrude; she remem 
 bered that her cousin had forsaken her own room for that of 
 the latter the very night after her probable quarrel at parting 
 with Bruce ; and her resentment and anger excited still further 
 by the growing friendship which her own coldness and unkind- 
 ness to Kitty served only to strengthen and confirm, she has 
 tened to communicate to Mrs. Graham her suspicion that Ger 
 trude had, for purposes of her own, made a difficulty between 
 Bruce and Kitty, fostered and widened the breach, and suc 
 ceeded at last in breaking off the match. 
 
 Mrs. Graham readily adopted Belle s opinion. "Kitty," 
 said she, "is weak minded, and evidently very much under 
 Miss Flint s influence. I shouldn t be surprised if you were 
 right, Belle!" 
 
 Thus leagued together, they endeavored to surprise or entrap 
 Kitty into a confession of the means which had been taken by 
 Gertrude to drive away her lover and outwit herself. But 
 Kitty, while she indignantly denied Gertrude s having thus in- 
 
280 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 jured her, persisted obstinately in refusing to reveal the occur 
 rences of the eventful evening of the wedding levee. It was 
 the first secret Kitty ever did keep; but her woman s pride was 
 involved in the affair, and she preserved it with a care which 
 both honor and wisdom prompted. 
 
 Mrs. Graham and Belle were now truly angry, and many 
 were the private discussions held by them on the subject, many 
 the vain conjectures which they conjured up; and as, day after 
 day, they became more and more incensed against Gertrude, so 
 they gradually began to manifest it in their demeanor. 
 
 Gertrude soon perceived the incivility to which she was con 
 stantly subjected; for though in a great degree independent of 
 their friendship, she could not live under the same roof without 
 their having frequent opportunities to wound her by their rude 
 ness, which soon became marked, and would have been unen 
 durable to one whose disposition was less thoroughly schooled 
 than Gertrude s. 
 
 With wonderful patience, however, did she preserve her 
 equanimity. She had never looked for kindness and attention 
 from Mrs. Graham and Isabel. She had seen from the first 
 that between herself and them there could be little sympathy, 
 and now that they manifested open dislike she struggled hard 
 to maintain, on her part, not only self-command and compo 
 sure, but a constant spirit of charity. It was well that she did 
 not yield to this comparatively light trial of her forbearance, 
 for a new, unexpected, and far more intense provocation was 
 in store for her. Her malicious persecutors, incensed and irri 
 tated by an unlooked-for calmness and patience, which gave 
 them no advantage in their one-sided warfare, now made their 
 attack in another quarter; and Emily, the sweet, lovely, unof 
 fending Emily, became the object against whom they aimed 
 many of their shafts of unkindness and ill will. 
 
 Gertrude could bear injury, injustice, and even hard and cruel 
 language, when exercised towards herself only ; but her blood 
 boiled in her veins when she began to perceive that her cher 
 ished Emily was becoming the victim of mean and petty neglect 
 and ill usage. To address the gentle Emily in other words than 
 those of courtesy was next to impossible; it was equally hard 
 to find fault with the actions of one whose life was so good and 
 beautiful; and the somewhat isolated position which she occu 
 pied on account of her blindness seemed to render her secure 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 281 
 
 from interference; but Mrs. Graham was coarse and blunt, Isa 
 bel selfish and unfeeling, and long before the blind girl was 
 herself aware of any unkind intention on their part, Gertrude s 
 spirit had chafed and rebelled at the sight and knowledge of 
 many a word and act, well calculated, if perceived, to annoy 
 and distress a sensitive and delicate spirit. Many a stroke was 
 warded off by Gertrude; many a neglect atoned for, before it 
 could be felt; many a nearly defeated plan, which Emily was 
 known to have had at heart, carried through and accomplished 
 by Gertrude s perseverance and energy; and for some weeks 
 Emily was kept ignorant of the fact that many a little office 
 formerly performed for her by a servant was now fulfilled by 
 Gertrude, who would not let her know that Bridget had re 
 ceived from her mistress orders which were quite inconsistent 
 with her usual attendance upon Miss Graham s wants. 
 
 Mr. Graham was, at this time, absent from home ; some dif 
 ficulty and anxiety in business matters having called him to New 
 York, at a season when he usually enjoyed his leisure, free from 
 all such cares. His presence would have been a great restraint 
 upon his wife, who was well aware of his devoted affection for 
 his daughter, and his wish that her comfort and ease should 
 always be considered of first-rate importance. Indeed, his love 
 and thoughtfulness for Emily, and the enthusiastic devotion 
 manifested towards her by every member of the household, had 
 early rendered her an object of jealousy to Mrs. Graham, who 
 was therefore very willing to find ground of offence against her ; 
 and in her case, as in Isabel s, Kitty s desertion to what her 
 aunt and cousin considered the unfriendly party was only a 
 secondary cause of distrust and dislike. 
 
 The misunderstanding with Mr. Bruce, and their unworthy 
 suspicions of its having been fostered by Gertrude, aided and 
 abetted by Emily, furnished, however, an ostensible motive for 
 the indulgence of their animosity, and one of which they re 
 solved to avail themselves to the utmost. 
 
 Shortly before Mr. Graham s return home, Mrs. Graham and 
 Isabel were sitting together, endeavoring to while away the 
 tedious hours of a sultry August afternoon by indulging them 
 selves in an unlimited abuse of the rest of the household, when 
 a letter was brought to Mrs. Graham, which proved to be from 
 her husband. After glancing over its contents, she remarked, 
 with an air of satisfaction, "Here is good news for us, Isabel, 
 
282 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 and a prospect of some pleasure in the world ; " and she read 
 aloud the following passage: "The troublesome affair which 
 called me here is nearly settled, and the result is exceedingly 
 favorable to my wishes and plans. I now see nothing to pre 
 vent our starting for Europe the latter part of next month, and 
 the girls must make their arrangements accordingly. Tell 
 Emily to spare nothing towards a full and complete equipment 
 for herself and Gertrude." 
 
 "He speaks of Gertrude," said Isabel sneeringly, "as if she 
 were one of the family. I m sure I don t see any very great 
 prospect of pleasure in travelling all through Europe with a 
 blind woman and her disagreeable appendages; I can t think 
 what Mr. Graham wants to take them for." 
 
 "I wish he would leave them at home," said Mrs. Graham; 
 "it would be a good punishment for Gertrude. But mercy! 
 he would as soon think of going without his right hand as 
 without Emily." 
 
 "I hope if ever I am married," exclaimed Isabel, "it won t 
 be to a man that s got a blind daughter! Such a dreadful good 
 person, too, whom everybody has got to worship and admire and 
 wait upon ! " 
 
 " I don t have to wait upon her," said Mrs. Graham; "that s 
 Gertrude s business it s what she s going for." 
 
 "That s the worst of it; blind girl has to have a waiting 
 maid, and waiting maid is a great lady, who doesn t mind 
 cheating your nieces out of their lovers, and even robbing them 
 of each other s affection." 
 
 "Well, what can I do, Belle? I m sure I don t want Ger 
 trude s company any more than you do; but I don t see how I 
 can get rid of her." 
 
 "I should think you d tell Mr. Graham some of the harm 
 she s done already. If you have any influence over him, you 
 might prevent her going." 
 
 "It would be no more than she deserves," said Mrs. Graham 
 thoughtfully, "and I am not sure but I shall give him a hint 
 of her behavior; he ll be surprised enough when he hears of 
 Bruce s sudden flight. I know he thought it would be a match 
 between him and Kitty." 
 
 At this point in the conversation Isabel was summoned to 
 see visitors, and left her aunt in a mood pregnant with conse 
 quences. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 283 
 
 As Isabel descended the front staircase, to meet with smiles 
 and compliments the guests whom in her heart she wished a 
 thousand miles away on this intensely hot afternoon, Gertrude 
 came up by the back way from the kitchen, and passed along 
 a passage leading to her own room. She carried over one arm 
 a dress of delicate white muslin, and a number of embroidered 
 collars, sleeves, and ruffles, together with other articles evidently 
 fresh from the ironing-board. Her face was flushed and heated ; 
 she looked tired, and as she reached her room, and carefully 
 deposited her burden upon the bed, she drew a long breath, as 
 if much fatigued, seated herself by a window, brushed the hair 
 back from her face, and threw open a blind, to feel, if possible, 
 a breath of cool air. Just at this moment, Mrs. Prime put her 
 head in at the half-open door, and seeing Gertrude alone, entered 
 the room, but stood fixed with astonishment on observing the 
 evidences of her recent laborious employment; then glancing 
 directly opposite at the fruits of her diligence, she burst forth 
 indignantly, "My sakes alive! Miss Gertrude, I do believe 
 you ve been doin up them muslins yourself, after all! " 
 
 Gertrude smiled, but did not reply. 
 
 "Now, if that ain t too bad!" said the friendly and kind- 
 hearted woman, "to think you should ha been at work down 
 in that ere hot kitchen, and all the rest on us takin a spell o* 
 rest in the heat of the day! I 11 warrant if Miss Emily knew 
 it, she d never put on that white gown in this ere world! " 
 
 "It hardly looks fit for her to wear," said Gertrude. "I m 
 not much used to ironing, and have had a great deal of trou 
 ble with it; one side got dry before I could smooth out the 
 other." 
 
 "It looks elegant, Miss Gertrude; but what should you be 
 doin Bridget s work for, I want to know? " 
 
 "Bridget always has enough to do," said Gertrude, evading 
 a direct answer, "and it s very well for me to have some prac 
 tice. Knowledge never comes amiss, you know, Mrs. Prime." 
 
 ; "T ain t no kind of an afternoon for speriments o that 
 sort; and you wouldn t ha done it, I 11 venture to say, if you 
 hadn t been afeard Miss Emily would want her things, and 
 find out they wasn t done. Times is changed in this house, 
 when Mr. Graham s own daughter, that was once to the head of 
 everything, has to have her clothes laid by to make room for 
 other folks. Bridget ought to know better than to mind these 
 
284 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 upstarters, when they tell her, as I heard Miss Graham yester* 
 day; to let alone that heap o muslins, and attend to something 
 that was o more consequence. Our Katy would ha known bet 
 ter: but Bridget s a newcomer, like all the rest. Thinks I 
 to myself, then, what would Miss Gertrude say, if she sus 
 pected as how Miss Emily was bein neglected ? But I 11 tell 
 Miss Emily, as sure as my name s Prime, just how things 
 go; you sha n t get so red in the face with ironing ag in, Miss 
 Gertrude. If the kind o frocks she likes to wear can t be done 
 up at home, and yourn too, what s more, the washin ought 
 to be put out. There s money enough, and some of it ought to 
 be spent for the use o the ladies as is ladies ! I wish to heart 
 that Isabella could have to start round a little lively; twould 
 do her good; but Lor , Miss Gertrude, it goes right to my heart 
 to see all the vexatious things as is happenin nowadays ! I 11 
 go right to Miss Emily, this minute, and blow my blast ! " 
 
 "No, you won t, Mrs. Prime," said Gertrude persuasively, 
 "when I ask you not to. You forget how unhappy it would 
 make her if she knew that Mrs. Graham was so wanting in 
 consideration. I would rather iron dresses every day, or do 
 anything else for our dear Miss Emily, than to let her suspect 
 even that anybody could willingly be unkind to her." 
 
 Mrs. Prime hesitated. "Miss Gertrude," said she, "I 
 thought I loved our dear young lady as well as anybody could, 
 but I believe you love her better still, to be so thoughtful and 
 wise-like all for her sake; and I wouldn t say nothin about it, 
 only I think a sight o you, too; you ve been here ever since 
 you was a little gal, and we all set lots by you, and I can t see 
 them folks ride over your head, as I know they mean to." 
 
 "I know you love me, Mrs. Prime, and Emily too; so, for 
 the sake of us both, you must n t say a word to anybody about 
 the change in the family arrangements. We 11 all do what we 
 can to keep Emily from pain, and as to the rest, we won t care 
 for ourselves; if they don t pet and indulge me as much as 
 I ve been accustomed to, the easiest way is not to notice it; 
 and you mustn t put on your spectacles to see trouble." 
 
 "Lord bless yer heart, Miss Gertrude, them folks is lucky 
 to have you to deal with; it isn t everybody as would put up 
 with em. They don t come much in my way, thank fortin! 
 I let Miss Graham see right off that I would n t put up with 
 interference; cooks is privileged to set up for their rights, and 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 285 
 
 I scared her out o ray premises pretty quick, I tell yer! It a 
 mighty hard for me to see our own ladies imposed upon; but 
 since you say * mum, Miss Gertrude, I 11 try and hold my 
 tongue as long as I can. It s a shame, though, I do declare! " 
 and Mrs. Prime walked off, muttering to herself. 
 
 An hour after, Gertrude was at the glass, braiding up the 
 bands of her long hair, when Mrs. Ellis, after a slight knock 
 at the door, entered. 
 
 "Well, Gertrude," said she, "I didn t think it would come 
 to this!" 
 
 "Why, what is the matter? " inquired Gertrude anxiously. 
 
 " It seems we are going to be turned out of our rooms ! " 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "You, and I next, for aught I know." 
 
 Gertrude colored, but did not speak, and Mrs. Ellis went on 
 to relate that she had just received orders to fit up Gertrude s 
 room for some visitors who were expected the next day. She 
 was astonished to hear that Gertrude had not been consulted 
 on the subject. Mrs. Graham had spoken so carelessly of her 
 removal, and seemed to think it so mutually agreeable for Emily 
 to share her apartment with her young friend, that Mrs. Ellis 
 concluded the matter had been prearranged. 
 
 Deeply wounded and vexed, both on her own and Emily s 
 account, Gertrude stood for a moment silent and irresolute. 
 She then asked if Mrs. Ellis had spoken to Emily on the sub 
 ject. She had not. Gertrude begged her to say nothing 
 about it. 
 
 "I cannot bear," said she, "to let her know that the little 
 sanctum she fitted up so carefully has been unceremoniously 
 taken from me. I sleep in her room more than half the time, 
 as you know ; but she always likes to have me call this cham 
 ber mine, that I may be sure of a place where I can read and 
 study by myself. If you will let me remove my bureau into 
 your room, Mrs. Ellis, and sleep on a couch there occasionally, 
 we need not say anything about it to Emily." 
 
 Mrs. Ellis assented. She had grown strangely humble and 
 compliant within a few months, and Gertrude had completely 
 won her good will; first by forbearance, and latterly by the 
 frequent favors and assistance she had found it in her power 
 to render the overburdened housekeeper. So she made no 
 objection to receive her into her room as an inmate, and even 
 
286 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 offered to assist in the removal of her wardrobe, work tahle, and 
 books. 
 
 But though yielding and considerate towards Gertrude, 
 whom, with Emily and Mrs. Prime, she now considered mem 
 bers of the oppressed and injured party to which she herself 
 belonged, no words could express her indignation with regard 
 to the late behavior of Mrs. Graham and Isabel. "It is all a 
 piece," said she, "with the rest of their conduct! Sometimes 
 I almost feel thankful that Emily is blind : it would grieve her 
 so to see the goings on. I should have liked to box Isabella s 
 ears for taking your seat at the table so impudently as she did 
 yesterday, and then neglecting to help Emily to anything at 
 all ; and there sat dear Emily, angel as she is, all unconscious 
 of her shameful behavior, and asking her for butter as sweetly 
 as if it were by mere accident that you had been driven from 
 the table, and she left to provide for herself. And all those 
 strangers there, too ! I saw it all from the china closet ! And 
 then Emily s dresses and muslins! there they laid in the 
 press drawer, till I thought they would mildew. I m glad to 
 see Bridget has been allowed to do them at last, for I began 
 to think Emily would one of these warm days be without a 
 clean gown in the world. But there, it s no use talking about 
 it; all I wish is, that they d all go off to Europe and leave us 
 here to ourselves. You don t want to go, do you, Gertrude?" 
 
 "Yes, if Emily goes." 
 
 "Well, you re better than I am; I couldn t make such a 
 martyr of myself, even for her sake. r 
 
 It is needless to detail the many petty annoyances to which 
 Gertrude was daily subjected; especially after the arrival of 
 the expected visitors, a gay and thoughtless party of fashion 
 ables, who were taught to look upon her as an unwarrantable 
 intruder, and upon Emily as a troublesome incumbrance. Nor, 
 with all the pains taken to prevent it, could Emily be long 
 kept in ignorance of the light estimation in which both herself 
 and Gertrude were regarded. Kitty, incensed at the incivility 
 of her aunt and Isabel, and indifferent towards the visitors, to 
 whose folly and levity of character her eyes were now partially 
 opened, hesitated not to express both to Emily and Gertrude 
 her sense of the injuries they sustained, and her own desire to 
 act in their defence. But Kitty was no formidable antagonist 
 to Mrs. Graham and Belle, for, her spirits greatly subdued and 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 287 
 
 her fears constantly excited by her cousin s sarcastic looks and 
 speeches, she had become a sad coward, and no longer dared, as 
 she would once have done, to thwart their schemes, and stand 
 between her friends and the indignities to which they were 
 exposed. 
 
 But Mrs. Graham, thoughtless woman, went too far, and 
 became at last entangled in difficulties of her own weaving. Her 
 husband returned, and now it became necessary to set bounds 
 to her own insolence, and, what was far more difficult, to that 
 of Isabel. Mrs. Graham was a woman of tact; she knew just 
 how far her husband s forbearance would extend, just the point 
 to which his perceptions might be blinded; and had also suffi 
 cient self-control to check herself in any course which would 
 be likely to prove obnoxious to his imperious will. In his 
 absence, however, she acted without restraint, permitted Belle 
 to fill the house with her lively young acquaintances, and 
 winked at the many open and flagrant violations of the law of 
 politeness, manifested by the young people towards the daugh 
 ter of their absent host, and her youthful friend and attendant. 
 Now, however, a check must be put to all indecorous proceed 
 ings; and unfortunately for the execution of the wife s wise 
 precautions, the head of the family returned unexpectedly, and 
 under circumstances which forestalled any preparation or warn 
 ing. He arrived just at dusk, having come from town in an 
 omnibus, which was quite contrary to his usual custom. 
 
 It was a cool evening; the windows and doors of the house 
 were closed, and the parlor was so brilliantly lighted that he 
 at once suspected the truth that a large company was being 
 entertained there. He felt vexed, for it was Saturday night, 
 and, in accordance with old New England customs, Mr. Gra 
 ham loved to see his household quiet on that evening. He 
 was, moveover, suffering from a violent headache, and avoiding 
 the parlor, he passed on to the library, and then to the dining- 
 room; both were chilly and deserted. He then made his way 
 upstairs, walked through several rooms, glanced indignantly at 
 their disordered and slovenly appearance, for he was exces 
 sively neat, and finally gained Emily s chamber. He opened 
 the door noiselessly, and looked in. 
 
 A bright wood fire burned upon the hearth; a couch was 
 drawn up beside it, on which Emily was sitting; and Gertrude s 
 little rocking-chair occupied the opposite corner. The firelight 
 
288 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 reflected upon the white curtains, the fragrant perfume which 
 proceeded from a basket of flowers upon the table, the perfect 
 neatness and order of the apartment, the placid, peaceful face 
 of Emily, and the radiant expression of Gertrude s countenance, 
 as she looked up and saw the father and protector of her blind 
 friend looking pleasantly in upon them, proved such a charm 
 ing contrast to the scenes presented in other parts of the house 
 that the old gentleman, warmed to more than usual satisfaction 
 with both of the inmates, greeted his surprised daughter with 
 a hearty paternal embrace, and bestowing upon Gertrude an 
 equally affectionate greeting, exclaimed, as he took the arm 
 chair which the latter wheeled in front of the fire for his ac 
 commodation, "Now, girls, this looks pleasant and homelike! 
 What in the world is going on downstairs 1 What is every 
 thing up in arms about 1 " 
 
 Emily explained that there was company staying in the 
 house. 
 
 " Ugh ! company ! " grunted Mr. Graham in a dissatisfied 
 tone. "I should think so! Been emptying rag- bags about 
 the chambers, I should say, from the looks ! " 
 
 Gertrude asked if he had been to tea. 
 
 He had not, and should be thankful for some ; he was tired. 
 So she went downstairs to see about it. 
 
 "Don t tell anybody that I ve got home, Gerty," called he, 
 as she left the room ; " I want to be left in peace, to-night, at 
 least." 
 
 While Gertrude was gone, Mr. Graham questioned Emily as 
 to her preparations for the European tour; to his surprise, he 
 learned that she had never received his message communicated 
 in the letter to Mrs. Graham, and knew nothing of his plans. 
 Equally astonished and angry, he nevertheless restrained his 
 temper for the present. He did not like to acknowledge to 
 himself, far less to his daughter, that his commands had been 
 disregarded by his wife. It put him upon thinking, however. 
 
 After he had enjoyed a comfortable repast, at which Gertrude 
 presided, they both returned to Emily s room; and now Mr. 
 Graham s first inquiry was for the Evening Transcript. 
 
 "I will go for it," said Gertrude, rising. 
 
 " Ring ! " said Mr. Graham imperatively. He had observed 
 at the tea-table that Gertrude s ring was disregarded, and 
 wished to know the cause of so strange a piece of neglect. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 289 
 
 Gertrude rang several times, but obtained no answer to the 
 bell. At last she heard Bridget s step in the entry, and open 
 ing the door, said to her, "Bridget, won t you find the Tran 
 script, and bring it to Miss Emily s room." Bridget soon re 
 turned, with the announcement that Miss Isabella was reading it, 
 and declined to give it up. 
 
 A storm gathered on Mr. Graham s brow. "Such a message 
 to my daughter ! " he exclaimed. "Gertrude, go yourself, and 
 tell the impertinent girl that / want the paper ! What sort of 
 behavior is this 1 " muttered he. 
 
 Gertrude entered the parlor with great composure, and amid 
 the stares and wonder of the company, spoke in a low tone to 
 Belle, who immediately yielded up the paper, blushing and 
 looking much confused as she did so. Belle was afraid of Mr. 
 Graham, and on her informing her aunt of his return, it was 
 that lady s turn also to look disconcerted. She had fully cal 
 culated upon seeing her husband before he had access to Emily ; 
 she knew the importance of giving the desired bias to a man 
 of his strong prejudices. 
 
 But it was too late now. She would not go to seek him ; 
 she must take her chance, and trust to fortune to befriend her. 
 She used all her tact, however, to disperse her friends at an 
 early hour, and then found Mr. Graham smoking in the dining- 
 room. 
 
 He was in an unpleasant mood (as she told her niece after 
 wards, cross as a bear) ; but she contrived to conciliate rather 
 than irritate him, avoided all discordant subjects, and was able 
 the next morning to introduce to her friends an apparently 
 affable and obliging host. 
 
 This serenity was disturbed, however, long before the Sab 
 bath drew to a close. As he walked up the church aisle, be 
 fore morning service, with Emily, according to invariable cus 
 tom, leaning upon his arm, his brow darkened at seeing Isabel 
 complacently seated in that corner of the old-fashioned square 
 pew which all the family were well aware had for years been 
 sacred to his blind daughter. Mrs. Graham, who accompanied 
 them, winked at her niece; but Isabel was mentally rather 
 obtuse, and was consequently subjected to the mortification of 
 having Mr. Graham deliberately take her hand and remove her 
 from the seat, in which he immediately placed Emily, while 
 the displaced occupant, who had been so mean as for the last 
 
290 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 three Sundays to purposely deprive Miss Graham of this old 
 established right, was compelled to sit during the service in the 
 only vacant place, beside Mr. Graham, with her back to the pul 
 pit. And very angry was she at observing the smiles visible 
 upon many countenances in the neighboring pews, and espe 
 cially chagrined when Fanny Bruce, who was close to her in the 
 next pew, giggled outright. 
 
 Emily would have been grieved if she had been in the least 
 aware of the triumph she had unconsciously achieved. But 
 her heart and thoughts were turned upward, and as she had 
 felt no pang of provocation at Isabel s past encroachment, so 
 had she no consciousness of present satisfaction, except as the 
 force of habit made her feel more at ease in her old seat. 
 
 Mr. Graham had not been at home a week before he under 
 stood plainly the existing state of feeling in the mind of his 
 wife and Isabel, and the manner in which it was likely to act 
 upon the happiness of the household. He saw that Emily was 
 superior to complaint; he knew that she had never in her life 
 complained; he observed, too, Gertrude s devotion to his much- 
 loved child, and it stamped her in his mind as one who had a 
 claim to his regard which should never be disputed. It is not, 
 then, to be wondered at, that when, with much art and many 
 plausible words, Mrs. Graham made her intended insinuations 
 against his youthful protegee, Mr. Graham treated them with 
 indifference and contempt. 
 
 He had known Gertrude from a child. She was high-spir 
 ited, he had sometimes thought her wilful, but never mean 
 or false. It was no use to tell him all that nonsense ; he was 
 glad, for his part, that it was all off between Kitty and Bruce; 
 for Ben was an idle fellow, and would never make a good hus 
 band; and as to Kitty, he thought her much improved of late, 
 and if it were owing to Gertrude s influence, the more they saw 
 of each other the better. 
 
 Mrs. Graham was in despair. "It is all settled," said she 
 to Isabel. "It is no use to contest the point; Mr. Graham is 
 firm as a rock, and as sure as we go to Europe, Emily and Ger 
 trude will go too." 
 
 She was almost startled, therefore, by what she considered 
 an excess of good luck, when informed, a few days afterwards, 
 that the couple she had so dreaded to have of the party were 
 in reality to be left behind, and that, too, at Miss Graham s 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 291 
 
 special request. Emily s scruples with regard to mentioning 
 to her father the little prospect of pleasure the tour was likely 
 to afford her all vanished when she found that Gertrude, whose 
 interest she ever had at heart, would be likely to prove a still 
 greater sufferer from the society to which she would be sub 
 jected. 
 
 Blind as she was, Emily understood and perceived almost 
 everything that was passing around her. Quick of perception, 
 and with a hearing rendered doubly intense by her want of 
 sight, the events of the summer were perhaps more familiar 
 to her than to any other member of the family. She more than 
 suspected the exact state of matters betwixt Mr. Bruce and 
 Gertrude, though the latter had never spoken to her on the 
 subject. She imagined the manner in which Kitty was in 
 volved in the affair (no very difficult thing to be conceived by 
 one who enjoyed the confidences which the simple-hearted girl 
 unconsciously, but continually, made during her late intercourse 
 with her). 
 
 As Mrs. Graham s and Isabel s abuse of power became more 
 open and decided, Mrs. Ellis and Mrs. Prime both considered 
 the embargo upon free speech in Miss Graham s presence wholly 
 removed; and any pain which the knowledge of their neglect 
 might have caused her was more than compensated to Emily 
 by the proofs it had called forth of devoted attachment and 
 willing service on the part of her adopted child, as she loved 
 to consider Gertrude. 
 
 Calmly, and without hesitation, as without excitement, did 
 she resolve to adopt a course which should at once free Ger 
 trude from her self-sacrificing service. That she encountered 
 much opposition from her father may well be imagined; but 
 he knew too well the impossibility of any pleasure to be de 
 rived to herself from a tour in which mental pain was added 
 to outward deprivation, to persist in urging her to accompany 
 the party; and concluding at last that it was, after all, the 
 only way to reconcile opposing interests, and that Emily s plan 
 was perhaps the best that could be adopted under the circum 
 stances, decided to resign himself to the long separation from 
 his daughter, and permit her to be happy in her own way. He 
 had seen, during the previous winter at the south, how entirely 
 Emily s infirmity unfitted her for travelling, especially when 
 deprived of Gertrude s attendant eyes; he now realized how 
 
292 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 totally contrary to her tastes and habits were the tastes and 
 habits of his new wife and her nieces ; and unwilling to be con 
 vinced of the folly of his sudden choice, and the probable chance 
 of unhappiness arising from it, he appreciated the wisdom of 
 Emily s proposal, and felt a sense of relief in the adoption of a 
 course which would satisfy all parties. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 29* 
 
 CHAPTEK XXXIV 
 
 A course of days, composing happy months. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 MRS. WARREN S pleasant boarding-house was the place 
 chosen by Emily for her own and Gertrude s winter home; 
 and one month from the time of Mr. Graham s return from 
 New York his country house was closed, he, with his wife, 
 Isabel and Kitty, were on their way to Havre ; Mrs. Ellis gone 
 to enjoy a little rest from care with some cousins at the east 
 ward; and Mrs. Prime established as cook in Mrs. Warren s 
 household, where all the morning she grumbled at the increase 
 of duty she was here called upon to perform, and all the even 
 ing blessed her stars that she was still under the same roof 
 with her dear young ladies. 
 
 Although ample arrangements were made by Mr. Graham, 
 and all-sufficient means provided for the support of both Emily 
 and Gertrude, the latter was anxious to be once more usefully 
 employed, and therefore resumed a portion of her school du 
 ties at Mr. W. s. Much as Emily loved Gertrude s constant 
 presence, she gladly resigned her for a few hours every day, 
 rejoiced in the spirit which prompted her exertions, and re 
 warded her with her encouragement and praise. In the undis 
 turbed enjoyment of each other s society, and in their inter 
 course with a small but intelligent circle of friends, they passed 
 a season of sweet tranquillity. They read, walked, and com 
 muned, as in times long past. Together they attended lectures, 
 concerts, and galleries of art. As they stood before the works 
 of a master s hand, whether in the sculptured marble or the 
 painted canvas, and Emily listened while Gertrude, with glow 
 ing eyes and a face radiant with enthusiasm, described with 
 minuteness and accuracy the subject of the pieces, the manner 
 in which the artist had expressed in his work the original con 
 ception of his mind, the attitudes of figures, the expression 
 of faces, the coloring of landscapes, and the effect produced 
 upon her mind and heart by the thoughts which the work con- 
 
294 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 veyed, such was the eloquence of the one, and the sympa< 
 thizing attention of the other, that, as they stood there in strik 
 ing contrast, forgetful of all around, they were themselves a 
 study, if not for the artist, for the observer of human nature, 
 as manifested in novel forms and free from affectation and 
 worldliness. 
 
 Then, too, as in their daily walks, or gazing upon the glories 
 of a brilliant winter s night, Gertrude, enraptured at the work 
 of the great Master of the universe, poured out without reserve 
 her soul s deep and earnest admiration, dilated upon the gor- 
 geousness of a clear sunset, or in the sweet hour of twilight sat 
 watching the coming on of beautiful night, and lighting of 
 Heaven s lamps, then would Emily, from the secret fountains 
 of her largely illumined nature, speak out such truths of the 
 inner life as made it seem that she alone were blessed with the 
 true light, and all the seeing world sat in comparative darkness. 
 
 It was a blissful and an improving winter which they thus 
 passed together. They lived not for themselves alone; the 
 poor blessed them, the sorrowful came to them for sympathy, 
 and the affection which they both inspired in the family circle 
 was boundless. Gertrude often recurred to it, in her after life, 
 as the time when she and Emily lived in a beautiful world of 
 their own. Spring came, and passed, and still they lingered 
 there, loath to leave a place where they had been so happy ; and 
 nothing at last drove them from the city but a sudden failure 
 in Emily s health, and. Dr. Jeremy s peremptory command that 
 they should at once seek the country air, as the best restorative. 
 
 Added to her anxiety about Emily, Gertrude began to feel 
 much troubled at Willie Sullivan s long silence; no word from 
 him for two or three months. Willie could not have forgotten 
 or meant to neglect her. That was impossible. But why this 
 strange suspension to their correspondence? She tried, how 
 ever, not to feel disturbed about it, and gave all her care to 
 Emily, who now began indeed to require it. 
 
 They went to the seaside for a few weeks ; but the clear and 
 bracing atmosphere brought no strength to the blind girl s 
 feeble frame. She was obliged to give up her daily walks; a 
 continued weariness robbed her step of its elasticity, and her 
 usually equal spirits were subject to an unwonted depression, 
 while her nervous temperament became so susceptible that the 
 utmost care was requisite to preserve her from all excitement. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 295 
 
 The good doctor came frequently to see his favorite patient, 
 but finding on every visit that she seemed worse instead of 
 better, he at last ordered her back to the city, declaring that 
 Mrs. Jerry s front chamber was as cool and comfortable as 
 the little stived-up apartments of the crowded boarding-house 
 at Nahant, and there he should insist upon both her and Ger 
 trude s taking up their quarters, at least for a week or two; at 
 the end of which time, if Emily had not found her health, he 
 hoped to have leisure to start off with them in search of it. 
 
 Emily thought she was doing very well where she was; was 
 afraid she should be troublesome to Mrs. Jeremy. 
 
 "Don t talk about trouble, Emily. You ought to know 
 Mrs. Jerry and me better, by this time. Come up to-morrow ; 
 I 11 meet you at the cars ! Good-by ! " and he took his hat and 
 was off. 
 
 Gertrude followed him. "I see, doctor, you think Emily 
 is not so well." 
 
 "No; how should she be? What with the sea roaring on 
 one side, and Mrs. Fellows s babies on the other, it s enough to 
 wear away her strength. I won t have it so! This isn t the 
 place for her, and do you bring her up to my house to-morrow." 
 
 "The babies don t usually cry as much as they have to-day," 
 said Gertrude, smiling; "and as to the ocean, Emily loves 
 dearly to hear the waves rolling in. She sits and listens to 
 them by the hour together." 
 
 "Knew she did! " said the doctor. "Sha n t do it; bad for 
 her ; it makes her sad, without her knowing why. Bring her 
 up to Boston, as I tell you." 
 
 It was full three weeks after the arrival of his visitors before 
 the popular physician could steal away from his patients to 
 enjoy a few weeks recreation in travelling. For his own sake 
 he would hardly have thought of attempting so unusual a thing 
 as a journey; and his wife, too, loved home so much better 
 than any other place, that she was loath to start for parts un 
 known; but both were willing, and even anxious, to sacrifice 
 their long indulged habits for what they considered the advan 
 tage of their young friends. 
 
 Emily was decidedly better; so much so as to view with 
 pleasure the prospect of visiting West Point, Catskill, and Sara 
 toga, even on her own account; and when she reflected upon 
 the probable enjoyment the trip would afford Gertrude, she felt 
 
296 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 herself endowed with new strength for the undertaking. Ger 
 trude needed change of scene and diversion of mind almost as 
 much as Emily. The excessive heat of the last few weeks, 
 ind her constant attendance in the invalid s room, had paled 
 the roses in her cheeks, while care and anxiety had weighed 
 upon her mind. The late improvement in Emily, however, 
 and the alacrity with which she entered into the doctor s plans, 
 relieved Gertrude of her fears ; and as she moved actively about 
 to complete the few preparations which were needed in her own 
 and her friend s wardrobe, her step was as light, and her voice 
 as gladsome, as her fingers were busy and skilful. 
 
 New York was their first destination; but the heat and dust 
 of the city were almost insufferable, and during the one day 
 which they passed there Dr. Jeremy was the only member of 
 the party who ventured out of the hotel, except on occasion of 
 a short expedition which Mrs. Jeremy and Gertrude made in 
 search of dress caps, the former lady s stock being still limited 
 to the old yellow and the lilac and pink, neither of which, she 
 feared, would be just the thing for Saratoga. 
 
 The doctor, however, seemed quite insensible to the state 
 of the weather, so much was he occupied with visits to some of 
 his ^Esculapian brethren, several of whom were college class 
 mates whom he had not seen for years. He passed the whole 
 day in the revival of old acquaintances and associations; and 
 a number of these newly found but warm-hearted friends hav 
 ing presented themselves at the hotel in the evening, to be in 
 troduced to Mrs. Jeremy and her travelling companions, their 
 parlor was enlivened until a late hour by the happy and cheer 
 ful conversation of a group of elderly men, who, as they re 
 called the past and dwelt upon the scenes and incidents of their 
 youthful days, seemed to renew their boyish spirits, so joyous 
 was the laughter and excitement with which each anecdote of 
 former times was received as it fell from the lips of the spokes 
 man, an office which each filled by turns. Dr. Jeremy had 
 been a great favorite among his circle, and almost every narrative 
 of college days (save those which he himself detailed) bore refer 
 ence to some exploit in which he had borne a spirited and hon 
 orable part; and the three female auditors, especially Gertrude, 
 who was enthusiastic in her own appreciation of the doctor s 
 merits, listened triumphantly to this corroborative testimony of 
 his worth. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 297 
 
 The conversation, however, was not of a character to exclude 
 the ladies from participating in as well as enjoying it; and 
 Gertrude, who always got on famously with elderly men, and 
 whom the doctor loved dearly to draw out, contributed not a 
 little to the mirth and good humor of the company by her play 
 ful and amusing sallies, and the quickness of repartee with 
 which she responded to the adroit, puzzling, and sometimes 
 ironical questions and jokes of an old bachelor physician, who 
 from the first took a wonderful fancy to her. 
 
 Emily listened with delighted interest to a conversation 
 which had for her such varied charms, and shared with Ger 
 trude the admiration of the doctor s friends, who were all ex 
 cited to the warmest sympathy for her misfortune; while Mrs. 
 Jeremy, proud, smiling, and happy, looked so complacent as 
 she sat ensconced in an arm-chair, listening to the encomiums 
 pronounced on her husband s boyhood, that Gertrude declared, 
 as they separated for the night, that she had almost come to the 
 conclusion that the old yellow was becoming to her, and her new 
 caps altogether superfluous. 
 
 Upon hearing that Dr. Jeremy s party were going up the 
 Hudson the next morning, Dr. Gryseworth, of Philadelphia, 
 who had many years before been a student of our good doctor s, 
 expressed his satisfaction in the prospect of meeting them on 
 board the boat, and introducing to Gertrude his two daugh 
 ters, whom he was about to accompany to Saratoga to meet 
 tneir grandmother, already established at Congress Hall for the 
 summer. 
 
 It was midnight before Gertrude could compose her mind, 
 and so far quiet her imagination (which, always lively, was 
 now keenly excited by the next day s promise of pleasure) as 
 to think of the necessity of fortifying herself by sleep; and 
 Emily was finally obliged to check her gayety and loquacity by 
 positively refusing to join in another laugh, or listen to another 
 word that night. Thus condemned to silence, she sunk at once 
 to slumber, unconscious that Emily, usually an excellent sleeper, 
 had in this instance acted solely for her benefit, being herself 
 so strangely wakeful that morning found her unrefreshed, and 
 uncertain whether she had once during the night been lulled 
 into a perfect state of repose. 
 
 Gertrude, who slept soundly until wakened by Miss Graham, 
 started up in astonishment on seeing her dressed and standing 
 
298 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 by the bedside. a most unusual circumstance, and one which 
 reversed the customary order of things, as Gertrude s morning 
 kiss was wont to be Emily s first intimation of daylight. 
 
 "Six o clock, Gerty, and the boat starts at seven! The 
 doctor has already been knocking at our door." 
 
 " How soundly I have slept ! " exclaimed Gertrude. " I 
 wonder if it s a pleasant day. 7 
 
 "Beautiful," replied Emily, "but very warm. The sun 
 was shining in so brightly, that I had to close the blinds on 
 account of the heat." 
 
 Gertrude made haste to repair for lost time, but was not 
 quite dressed when they were summoned to the early breakfast 
 prepared for travellers. She had, also, her own and Emily s 
 trunks to lock, and therefore insisted upon the others preceding 
 her to the breakfast-hall, where she promised to join them in 
 a few moments. 
 
 The company assembled at this early hour was small, con 
 sisting only of two parties beside Dr. Jeremy s, and a few 
 gentlemen, most of them business men, who, having partaken 
 of their food in a business-like manner, started off in haste for 
 their different destinations. Of those who still lingered at the 
 table when Gerty made her appearance, there was only one 
 whom she particularly observed, during the few moments al 
 lowed her by Dr. Jeremy for the enjoyment of her breakfast. 
 
 This was a gentleman who sat at some distance from her, idly 
 balancing his tea-spoon on the edge of his cup. He had con 
 cluded his own repast, but seemed quite at his leisure, and pre 
 vious to Gertrude s entrance had won Mrs. Jeremy s animad 
 versions by a slight propensity he had manifested to make a 
 more critical survey of her party than she found wholly agree 
 able. "Do, pray," said she to the doctor, "send the waiter to 
 ask that man to take something himself: I can t bear to have 
 anybody looking at me so when I m eating ! " 
 
 "He isn t looking at you, wife; it s Emily that has taken 
 his fancy. Emily, my dear, there s a gentleman over oppo 
 site who admires you exceedingly." 
 
 " Is there 1 " said Emily smiling. " I am very much obliged 
 to him. May I venture to return the compliment 1 " 
 
 "Yes. He s a fine-looking fellow, though wife, here, doesn t 
 seem to like him very well." 
 
 At this moment Gertrude joined them, and as she made her 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 299 
 
 morning salutation to the doctor and his wife, and gayly apolo 
 gized to the former for her tardiness, the fine color which man 
 tled her countenance, and the deep brilliancy of her large dark 
 eyes, drew glances of affectionate admiration from the kind old 
 couple, and were, perhaps, the cause of the stranger s attention 
 being at once transferred from the lovely and interesting face of 
 Emily to the more youthful, beaming, and eloquent features of 
 Gertrude. 
 
 She had hardly taken her seat before she became aware of the 
 notice she was attracting. It embarrassed her, and she was glad 
 when, after a moment or two, the gentleman hastily dropped his 
 tea-spoon, rose and left the room. As he passed out, she had 
 an opportunity of observing him, which she had not ventured to 
 do while he sat opposite to her. 
 
 He was a man considerably above the middle height, slender, 
 but finely formed, and of a graceful and dignified bearing. His 
 features were rather sharp, but expressive, and even handsome ; 
 his eyes, dark, keen, and piercing, had a most penetrating look, 
 while his firmly compressed lips spoke of resolution and strength 
 of will. 
 
 But the chief peculiarity of his appearance was his hair, which 
 was deeply tinged with gray, and in the vicinity of his temples 
 almost snowy white. This was so strikingly in contrast with 
 the youthful fire of his eye, and the easy lightness of his step, 
 that, instead of seeming the effect of age, and giving him a title 
 to veneration, it rather enhanced the contradictory claims of his 
 otherwise apparent youth and vigor. 
 
 "What a queer-looking man! " exclaimed Mrs. Jeremy, when 
 he had passed out. 
 
 "An elegant-looking man, isn t he?" said Gertrude. 
 
 "Elegant? " rejoined Mrs. Jeremy. "What! with that gray 
 head?" 
 
 "I think it s beautiful," said Gertrude; "but I wish he 
 didn t look so melancholy; it makes me quite sad to see him." 
 
 "How old should you think he was? " asked Dr. Jeremy. 
 
 "About fifty," said Mrs. Jeremy. 
 
 "About thirty," said Gertrude, and both in the same breath. 
 
 "A wide difference," remarked Emily. "Doctor, you must 
 decide the point." 
 
 "Impossible! I wouldn t venture to tell that man s age 
 within ten years, at least. Wife has got him old enough, cer- 
 
300 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 tainly : I m not sure but I should set him as low even as Ger 
 trude s mark. Age never turned his hair gray that is cer 
 tain." 
 
 Intimation was now given that passengers for the boat must 
 be on the alert; and all speculation upon the probable age of 
 the stranger (a fruitless kind of speculation, often indulged in^ 
 and sometimes a source of vain and endless discussion) was sud 
 denly and peremptorily suspended. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 301 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 His mien is lofty, but his gaze 
 Too well a wandering soul betrays t 
 His full, dark eye at times is bright 
 With strange and momentary light, 
 And oft his features and his air 
 A shade of troubled mystery wear, 
 A glance of hurried wildness, fraught 
 With some unfathomable thought. 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 To most of our travelling public a little trip from Boston into 
 New York State seems an every-day affair, scarce worth calling 
 a journey; but to Dr. Jeremy it was a momentous event, call 
 ing the good physician out of a routine of daily professional 
 visits, which, during a period of twenty years, had not been 
 interrupted by a week s absence from home, and plunging him 
 at once into that whirl of hurry, tumult, and excitement, which 
 exists on all our great routes, especially in the summer season, 
 the time when the American populace takes its yearly pleasure 
 excursion. 
 
 The doctor was by nature and habit a social being; never 
 shrinking from intercourse with his fellow-men, but rather seek 
 ing and enjoying their companionship on all occasions. He 
 knew how to adapt himself to the taste of young and old, rich 
 and poor, and was well acquainted with city life in all its forms. 
 In the art of travelling, however, an art to be acquired by 
 practice only, he was totally unversed. He had yet to learn 
 the adroit use of those many springs, which, touched at the 
 right moment, and by a skilful hand, soften the obdurate hearts 
 of landlords, win the devoted attendance of waiters, inspire rail 
 road conductors and steamboat officials with a spirit of accom 
 modation, and convert the clamorous, noisy hackmen into quiet, 
 obedient, and humble servants at command. In Dr. Jeremy s 
 travelling days the stage-coach was the chief vehicle of conven 
 ience and speed; the driver was a civil fellow, each passenger 
 a person of consequence, and each passenger s baggage a thing 
 
302 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 not to be despised. Now, on the contrary, people moved in 
 masses; a single individual was a man of no influence, a mere 
 unit in the great whole, and his much valued luggage that which 
 seemed in his eyes a mark for the heaviest knocks and bruises. 
 Dr. Jeremy was appalled at this new state of things, and quite 
 unable to reconcile to it either his taste or temper. To him the 
 modern landlord resembled the keeper of an intelligence office, 
 who condescendingly glances at his books to see if he can fur 
 nish the humble suppliant with a situation, and often turns him 
 away mortified and disappointed ; the waiters, whom the honest 
 and unsophisticated doctor scorned to bribe, were an impudent, 
 lazy set of varlets; conductors and steamboat masters lordly 
 tyrants ; and the hackmen, a swarm of hungry, buzzing, stinging 
 wasps, let loose on wharves and in depots for the torment of 
 their victims. 
 
 Thus were these important members of society stigmatized, 
 and loudly were they railed at by our traveller, who invariably, 
 at the commencement and close of every trip, got wrought up 
 to a high pitch of excitement at the wrongs and indignities to 
 which he was subjected. It was astonishing, however, to see 
 how quickly he cooled down, and grew comfortable and con 
 tented, when he was once established in car or steamboat, or 
 had succeeded in obtaining suitable quarters at a hotel. He 
 would then immediately subside into the obliging, friendly, and 
 sociable man of the world; would make acquaintance with 
 everybody about him, and talk and behave with such careless 
 unconcern, that one would have supposed he considered himself 
 fixed for life, and was moreover perfectly satisfied with the fate 
 that destiny had assigned to him. 
 
 Thankful, therefore, were the ladies of his party when they 
 were safe on board the steamboat, a circumstance upon which 
 they were still congratulating themselves and each other, while 
 they piled up their heavy shawls and other extra garments in 
 an out of the way corner of the cabin, when the doctor s voice 
 was again heard calling to them from the other end of the long 
 saloon : " Come, come, wife, Gertrude, Emily ! what are 
 you staying down in this stived-up place for? you 11 lose the 
 best part of the view ; " and, coming towards them, he took 
 Gertrude s arm, and would have hurried her away, leaving Mrs. 
 Jeremy and Emily to follow when they were ready ; but Ger 
 trude would not trust Emily to ascend the cabin stairs under 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 303 
 
 any guardianship but her own, and Mrs. Jeremy immediately 
 engaged the doctor in an animated discussion as to the advisa 
 bility of his adopting a straw hat, which the thoughtful wife 
 had brought from home in her hand, and which she was eager 
 to see enjoyed. By the time the question was settled, and 
 Emily, at Gertrude s persuasion, had been induced to exchange 
 her thin mantilla for a light travelling cloak, which the latter 
 T?as sure she would require, as there was a fresh breeze stirring 
 on the river, the boat had proceeded some distance; and when 
 our party finally gained the head of the stairs, and looked about 
 thorn for seats on deck, not a single vacant bench or accommo 
 dation of any sort was to be seen. There was an unusually large 
 number of passengers, nearly all of whom were collected at the 
 stern of the boat. Dr. Jeremy was obliged to leave his ladies, 
 and go off in search of chairs. 
 
 "Don t let us stay here!" whispered Mrs. Jeremy to Ger 
 trude and Emily. "Let s go right back, before the doctor 
 comes! There are beautiful great rocking-chairs down in the 
 cabin, without a soul to sit in them, and I m sure we ain t 
 wanted here to make up a company. I hate to stand with all 
 these people staring at us, and crowing to think they ve got 
 such nice places; don t you, Emily?" 
 
 Mrs. Jeremy was one of the people who were constantly for 
 getting that Emily could not see. 
 
 But Gertrude was not she never forgot it; and as she 
 stood with her arm lightly passed around her friend s waist, to 
 prevent the motion of the boat from throwing her off her bal 
 ance, it was no wonder they attracted attention; the one so 
 bright, erect, and strong with youth and health, that she seemed 
 a fit protector for the other, who, in her sweet and gentle help 
 lessness, leaned upon her so trustingly. 
 
 "I think, when we get seated in the shade, we shall find it 
 cooler here than it is below," said Emily, in reply to Mrs. 
 Jeremy s urgent proposition that they should make their escape 
 in the doctor s absence. " You always prefer the coolest place, 
 I believe." 
 
 "So I do; but I noticed there was a good draught of air in 
 the ladies saloon, and " Here the good woman s argument 
 was interrupted by the cordial salutation of Dr. Gryseworth, 
 who, previously seated with his back towards them, had turned 
 at the sound of Emily s flute-like voice, which, once heard, in- 
 
304 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 variably left an impression upon the memory. When he had 
 finished shaking hands, he insisted upon giving up his seat to 
 Mrs. Jeremy; and, at the same instant, another gentleman, 
 who, owing to the throng of passengers, had hitherto been un 
 noticed by our party, rose, and bowing politely, placed his own 
 chair for the accommodation of Emily, and then walked quickly 
 away. It was the stranger whom they had seen at breakfast. 
 Gertrude recognized his keen, dark eye, even before she per 
 ceived his singular hair; and, as she thanked him, and placed 
 Emily in the offered seat, she felt herself color under his earnest 
 glance. But Dr. Gryseworth immediately claimed her attention 
 for the introduction to his daughters, and all thought of the 
 retreating stranger was banished for the present. 
 
 The Miss Gryseworths %vere intelligent looking girls; the 
 eldest, lately returned from Europe, where she had been travel 
 ling with her father, was considered a very elegant and superior 
 person, and Gertrude was charmed with the lady-like cordiality 
 with which they both made her acquaintance, and still more 
 with the amiable and sympathizing attentions which they paid 
 to Emily. 
 
 By the time that Dr. Jeremy returned with the solitary chair 
 which he had been able to obtain, he found Gertrude and Dr. 
 Gryseworth comfortably accommodated, through the skilful 
 agency of the latter, and was thus enabled to sink at once into 
 his seat and subside into that state of easy unconcern which 
 admirably became his pleasant, genial temperament. 
 
 Long before the boat reached West Point, where the Jeremys 
 were to go on shore, it was plain to be seen that an excellent 
 understanding subsisted between Gertrude and the Miss Gryse 
 worths, and that time only was wanting to ripen their acquaint 
 ance into friendship. 
 
 Gertrude was not one of those young persons who consider 
 every girl of their own age entitled to their immediate intimacy 
 and confidence. She had her decided preferences, and though 
 invariably civil and obliging, was rarely disposed to admit new 
 members into her sacred circle of friends. She was quick, how 
 ever, to recognize a congenial spirit; and such an one, once 
 found, was claimed by her enthusiastic nature, and engrafted 
 into her affections as something of kindred birth. Nor was the 
 readily adopted tie easily loosened or broken. Whom Gertrude 
 once loved, she loved long and well; faithful was she in her 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 305 
 
 efforts to serve, and prompt in her sympathy to feel for those 
 whose interest and happiness friendship made dear to her as her 
 own. 
 
 Perhaps Ellen Gryseworth divined this trait of her character, 
 and appreciated the value of so steady and truthful a regard ; 
 for she certainly tried hard to win it ; and her father, who had 
 heard Gertrude s history from Dr. Jeremy, smiled approvingly, 
 as he witnessed the pains which his high bred and somewhat 
 aristocratic daughter was taking to render herself agreeable to 
 one whose social position had in it nothing to excite her ambi 
 tion, and whose person, mind, and manners, constituted her sole 
 recommendation. 
 
 They had been for about an hour engaged in the enjoyment 
 of each other s society, and in the view of some of the most 
 charming scenery in the world, when Netta Gryseworth touched 
 her sister s arm, and glancing towards another part of the boat, 
 said, in an undertone, "Ellen, do invite Mr. Phillips to come 
 back and be introduced to Miss Flint ! see how lonesome the 
 poor man looks." 
 
 Gertrude followed the direction of Netta s eye, and saw the 
 stranger of the morning at some distance from them, slowly 
 pacing up and down, with a serious and abstracted air. 
 
 "He has not been near us for an hour," said Netta. "I am 
 afraid he has got the blues." 
 
 "I hope we have not frightened your friend away," said 
 Gertrude. 
 
 "0, no, indeed!" replied Ellen. "Although Mr. Phillips 
 is but a recent acquaintance, we have found him so independ 
 ent, and sometimes so whimsical, that I am never astonished 
 at his proceedings, or mortified at being suddenly forsaken by 
 him. There are some people, you know, for whom it is always 
 sufficient excuse to say, It is their way. I wish he would 
 condescend to join us again, however; I should like to intro 
 duce him to you, Miss Flint." 
 
 "You wouldn t like him," said Netta. 
 
 "Now, that is not fair, Netta!" exclaimed her sister, "to 
 try and prejudice Miss Flint against my friend. You mustn t 
 let her influence you," added she, addressing Gertrude. "She 
 has n t known him half as long as I have; and I do not dislike 
 him, by any means. My little, straightforward sister never 
 likes odd people, and I must confess that Mr. Phillips is some- 
 
306 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 what eccentric; but he interests me all the more on that ao> 
 count, and I feel positive he and you would have many ideal 
 and sentiments in common." 
 
 "How can you say so, Ellen? " said Ketta. "I think they 
 are totally different." 
 
 "You must consider Netta s remark very complimentary, 
 Miss Flint," said Ellen, good-naturedly; "it would not be quite 
 so much so, if it had come from me." 
 
 " But you wished me to become acquainted with your od 
 dity," remarked Gertrude, addressing herself to Netta. "I sus 
 pect you act on the principle that one s misfortunes should be 
 shared by one s friends." 
 
 Netta laughed. "Not exactly," said she; "it was compas 
 sion/or him that moved me. I can t help pitying him when 
 he looks so homesick, and I thought your society would brighten 
 him up and do him good." 
 
 "Ah, Netta! Netta!" cried her sister; "he has excited your 
 sympathy, I see. A few days more, and I shouldn t be sur 
 prised if you went beyond me in your admiration of him. If 
 so, take care, you transparent creature, not to betray your in 
 consistency." Then, turning to Gertrude, she said, "Netta 
 met Mr. Phillips yesterday for the first time, and has not 
 seemed very favorably impressed. Father and I were passen 
 gers in the same steamer in which he came from Liverpool, a 
 few weeks ago. He had an ill turn in the early part of the 
 voyage, and it was in a professional way that father first made 
 his acquaintance. I was surprised at seeing him on board the 
 boat to-day, for he mentioned no such intention yesterday." 
 
 Gertrude suspected that the agreeable young lady might her 
 self be the cause of his journey; but she did not say so her 
 native delicacy and the slight knowledge she had of the parties 
 forbade such an allusion; and the conversation soon taking 
 another turn, Mr. Phillips was not again adverted to, though 
 Gertrude observed, just before the boat stopped at West Point, 
 that Dr. Jeremy and Dr. Gryseworth, having left their party, 
 had joined him, and that the trio were engaged in a colloquy 
 which seemed to possess equal interest to them all. 
 
 At West Point Gertrude parted from her new friends, who 
 expressed an earnest hope that they should again meet in Sara 
 toga ; and before the bustle of going on shore had subsided, and 
 she had found on the narrow pier a safe place of refuge foi 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 307 
 
 Emily and herself, the boat was far up the river, and the Miss 
 Gryseworths quite undistinguishable among the crowd that 
 swarmed the deck. 
 
 Our travellers passed one night only at West Point. The 
 weather continued extremely hot, and Dr. Jeremy, perceiving 
 that Emily drooped under the oppressive atmosphere, was de 
 sirous to reach the summit of Catskill Mountain before the Sab 
 bath, which was now near at hand. 
 
 One solitary moonlight evening, however, sufficed to give 
 Gertrude some idea of the beauties of the place. She had no 
 opportunity to observe it in detail ; she saw it only as a whole ; 
 but thus presented to her vision in all the dreamy loveliness of 
 a summer s night, it left on her fresh and impressive mind a 
 vague sentiment of wonder and delight at the surpassing sweet 
 ness of what seemed rather a glimpse of Paradise than an actual 
 show of earth, so harmonious was the scene, so calm, so still, 
 so peaceful. "Emily darling," said she as they stood together 
 in a rustic arbor, commanding the most striking prospect both 
 of the river and the shore, " it looks like you ; you ought to live 
 here, and be the priestess of such a temple ! " and locking her 
 hand in that of Emily, she poured into her attentive ear the 
 holy and elevated sentiments to which the time and the place 
 gave birth. To pour out her thoughts to Emily was like whis 
 pering to her own heart, and the response to those thoughts 
 was as sure and certain. 
 
 So passed the evening away, and an early hour in the morn 
 ing found them again steaming up the river. Their first day s 
 experience having convinced them of the danger of delay, they 
 lost no time in securing places on deck, for the boat was as 
 crowded as on the previous morning; but the shores of West 
 Point were hardly passed from their view before Gertrude s 
 watchful eye detected in Emily s countenance the well-known 
 signs of weariness and debility. Sacrificing, without hesitation, 
 the intense pleasure she was herself deriving from the beautiful 
 scenes through which the boat was at the moment passing, she 
 at once proposed that they should seek the cabin, where Miss 
 Graham might rest in greater stillness and comfort. 
 
 Emily, however, would not listen to the proposal; would 
 not think of depriving Gertrude of the rare pleasure she knew 
 she must be experiencing. 
 
 "The prospect is all lost upon me now, Emily," said Ger* 
 
308 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 trude. "I see only your tired face. Do go and lie down, if 
 it be only to please me ; you hardly slept at all last night. " 
 
 "Are you talking of going below?" exclaimed Mrs. Jeremy. 
 "I, for one, shall be thankful to; it s as comfortable again, 
 and we can see all we want to from the cabin windows, can t 
 we, Emily?" 
 
 " Should you really prefer it ? " inquired Emily. 
 
 " Indeed, I should ! " said Mrs. Jeremy, with such emphasis 
 that her sincerity could not be doubted. 
 
 "Then, if you will promise to stay here, Gertrude," said 
 Emily, "I will go with Mrs. Jeremy." 
 
 Gertrude assented to the plan, but insisted upon first accom 
 panying them, to find a vacant berth for Emily, and see her 
 under circumstances which would promise repose. 
 
 Dr. Jeremy having, in the mean time, gone to inquire about 
 dinner, they at once carried their plan into effect. Emily was 
 really too weak to endure the noise and confusion on deck, and 
 after she had lain down in the quiet and nearly deserted saloon, 
 Gertrude stood smoothing back her hair, and watching her pale 
 countenance, until she was accused of violating the conditions 
 of their agreement, and was at last driven away by the lively 
 and good-natured doctor s lady, who declared herself perfectly 
 well able to take care of Emily. 
 
 "You d better make haste back," said she, "before you lose 
 your seat; and mind, Gerty, don t let the doctor come near us; 
 he 11 be teasing us to go back again, and we ve no idea of do 
 ing any such thing." Saying which, Mrs. Jeremy untied her 
 bonnet strings, put her feet up in the opposite chair, clapped 
 her hands at Gertrude, and bade her be gone. 
 
 Gertrude ran off laughing, and a smile was still on her face 
 when she reached the staircase. As she came up with her usual 
 quick and light step, a tall figure moved aside to let her pass. 
 It was Mr. Phillips. He bowed, and Gertrude, returning the 
 salutation, passed on to the place she had left, wondering how 
 he came to be again their travelling companion. He could not 
 have been on board previously to her going below with Emily; 
 she was sure she should have seen him, she should have known 
 him among a thousand. He must have taken the boat at New- 
 burgh; it stopped there while she was in the cabin. 
 
 As these reflections passed through her mind, she resumed 
 her seat, which was placed at the very stern of the boat, and 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 309 
 
 with her back to most of the company, gazed out upon the river. 
 She had sat thus for about five minutes, her thoughts divided 
 between the scenery and the interesting countenance of the 
 stranger, when a shadow passed before her, and looking up, pre 
 pared to see and address Dr. Jeremy, she betrayed a little confu 
 sion at again encountering a pair of eyes whose earnest, magnetic 
 gaze had the power to disconcert and bewilder her. She was 
 turning away, somewhat abruptly, when the stranger spoke. 
 
 " Good-morning, young lady ! our paths still lie in the same 
 direction, I see. Will you honor me by making use of my 
 guide-book ? " 
 
 As he spoke, he offered her a little book containing a map 
 of the river, and the shores on either side. Gertrude took it, 
 and thanked him. As she unfolded the map, he stationed him 
 self a few steps distant, and leaned over the railing, in an ap 
 parently absent state of mind; nor did he speak to her again 
 for some minutes. Then, suddenly turning towards her, he 
 said, "You like all this very much." 
 
 "Very much," said Gertrude. 
 
 "You have never seen anything so beautiful before in your 
 life." He did not seem to question her; he spoke as if he 
 knew. 
 
 "It is an old story to you, I suppose," said Gertrude. 
 
 "What makes you think so? " asked he, smiling. 
 
 Gertrude was disconcerted by his look, and still more by his 
 smile ; it changed his whole face so, it made him look so 
 handsome, and yet so melancholy. She blushed, and could not 
 reply ; he saved her the trouble. " That is hardly a fair ques 
 tion, is it? You probably think you have as much reason for 
 your opinion as I had for mine. You are wrong, however; I 
 never was here before ; but I am too old a traveller to carry my 
 enthusiasm in my eyes as you do," added he, after a mo 
 ment s pause, during which he looked her full in the face. 
 Then, seeming, for the first time, to perceive the embarrassment 
 which his scrutiny of her features occasioned, he turned away, 
 and a shadow passed over his fine countenance, lending it for a 
 moment an expression of mingled bitterness and pathos, which 
 served at once to disarm Gertrude s confusion at his self-intro 
 duction and subsequent remarks, and render her forgetful of 
 everything but the strange interest with which this singular 
 man inspired her. 
 
310 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 Presently, taking a vacant chair next hers, he directed her 
 attention to a beautiful country residence on their right, spoke 
 of its former owner, whom he had met in a foreign land, and 
 related some interesting anecdotes concerning an adventurous 
 journey which they had taken together. This again introduced 
 other topics, chiefly connected with wanderings in countries al 
 most unknown, even in this exploring age; and so rich and 
 varied was the stranger s conversation, so graphic were his de 
 scriptions, so exuberant and glowing his imagination, and so 
 powerful his command of words and his gift at expressing and 
 giving force to his thoughts, that his young and enthusiastic 
 listener sat entranced with admiration and delight. 
 
 Her highly wrought and intellectual nature sympathized fully 
 with the fervor and poetry of a mind as sensitive as her own 
 to the great and wonderful, whether in nature or art; and her 
 fancy and interest thus taken by storm, her calm and observant 
 entertainer had soon the satisfaction of perceiving that he had 
 succeeded in disarming her diffidence and embarrassment; for, 
 as she listened to his words, and even met the occasional glance 
 of his dark eyes, her animated and beaming countenance no 
 longer showed signs of fear or distrust. 
 
 He took no advantage, however, of the apparent self-forget- 
 fulness with which she enjoyed his society, but continued to 
 enlarge upon such subjects as naturally presented themselves, 
 and was careful not to disturb her equanimity by again bestow 
 ing upon her the keen and scrutinizing gaze which had proved 
 so disconcerting. By the time, therefore, that Dr. Jeremy came 
 in search of his young charge, conversation between her and the 
 stranger had assumed so much ease and freedom from restraint 
 that the doctor opened his eyes in astonishment, shrugged his 
 shoulders, and exclaimed, "This is pretty well, I declare!" 
 
 Gertrude did not see the doctor approach, but looked up at 
 the sound of his voice. Conscious of the surprise it must be 
 to him to find her talking so familiarly with a complete stran 
 ger, she colored slightly at his abrupt remark; but, observing 
 that her companion was quite unconcerned, and even received 
 it with a smile, she felt herself rather amused than embarrassed ; 
 for, strangely enough, the latter feeling had almost entirely van 
 ished, and she had come to feel confidence in her fellow-travel 
 ler, who rose, shook hands with Dr. Jeremy, to whom he had, 
 ihe previous day, been introduced, and said, with perfect com- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 311 
 
 posure, "Will you have the kindness, sir, to present me to this 
 young lady. We have already had some conversation together, 
 but do not yet know by what name we may address each other. " 
 
 Dr. Jeremy having performed the ceremony of introduction, 
 Mr. Phillips bowed gracefully, and looked at Gertrude in such 
 a benignant, fatherly way that she hesitated not to take his of 
 fered hand. He detained hers a moment while he said, "Do 
 not be afraid of me when we meet again ; " and then walked 
 away, and paced slowly up and down the deck until passengers 
 for Catskill were summoned to dinner, when he, as well as Dr. 
 Jeremy and Gertrude, went below. 
 
 The doctor tried to rally Gertrude a little about her gray- 
 headed beau, declaring that he was yet young and handsome, 
 and that she could have his hair dyed any color she pleased. 
 But he could not succeed in annoying her in that way, for her 
 interest in him, which she did not deny, was quite independent 
 of his personal appearance. 
 
 The bustle, however, of dinner, and going on shore at Cats- 
 kill, banished from the good doctor s head all thought of every 
 thing except the safety of himself, his ladies, and their baggage ; 
 fit cause, indeed, for anxiety to a more experienced traveller 
 than he. For, so short was the time allotted for the boat to 
 stop at the landing and deposit the passengers, and such was the 
 confusion attending the operation of pushing them on shore and 
 flinging their baggage after them, that when the panting engine 
 was again set in motion the little crowd collected on the wharf 
 resembled rather a flock of frightened sheep than human beings 
 with a free will of their own. 
 
 Emily, whose nervous system was somewhat disordered, clung 
 tremblingly to Gertrude ; and Gertrude found herself, she knew 
 not how, leaning on the arm of Mr. Phillips, to whose silent 
 exertions they were both indebted for their safety in disembark 
 ing. Mrs. Jeremy, in the mean time, was counting up the 
 trunks, while her husband, with his foot upon one of them, 
 and a carpet-bag in his left hand, was loudly denouncing the 
 steamboat, its conductors, and the whole hurrying, skurrying 
 Yankee nation. 
 
 Two stage-coaches were waiting at the wharf to take passen 
 gers up the mountain, and before Dr. Jeremy had turned his 
 back upon the river Emily and Gertrude were placed in one of 
 them by Mr. Phillips, who, without asking questions, or even 
 
312 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 speaking at all, took this office upon himself, and then went to 
 inform the doctor of their whereabouts. The doctor and his 
 wife soon joined them; a party of strangers occupied the other 
 seats in the coach, and, after some delay, they commenced the 
 afternoon s drive. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 313 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 Believe in God as in the sun, and, lo ! 
 Along thy soul morn s youth restored shall glow ; 
 As rests the earth, so rest, troubled heart, 
 Rest, till the burden of the cloud depart ! 
 
 NEW TIMON. 
 
 BEFORE they had passed through the dusty village, and 
 gained the road leading in the direction of the Mountain House, 
 they became painfully conscious of the vast difference between 
 the temperature of the river and that of the inland country, and, 
 in being suddenly deprived of the refreshing breeze they had 
 enjoyed on board the boat, they fully realized the extreme heat 
 of the weather. For the first few miles Gertrude s whole atten 
 tion was required to shield Emily and herself from the rays of 
 a burning sun which shone into the coach full upon their faces, 
 and it was a great relief when they at last reached the steep but 
 smooth and beautifully shaded road which led up the side of 
 the mountain. 
 
 The atmosphere being perfectly clear, the gradually widening 
 prospect was most beautiful, and Gertrude s delight and rapture 
 were such that the restraint imposed by stage-coach decorum 
 was almost insupportable. When, therefore, the ascent became 
 so laborious that the gentlemen were invited to alight, and re 
 lieve the weary horses of a part of their burden, Gertrude gladly 
 accepted Dr. Jeremy s proposal that she should accompany him 
 on a walk of a mile or two. 
 
 Gertrude was an excellent walker, and she and the still active 
 doctor soon left the coaches far behind them. At a sudden turn 
 in the road they stopped to view the scene below, and lost in 
 silent admiration, stood enjoying the stillness and beauty of the 
 spot, when they were startled by a voice close beside them say 
 ing, "A fine landscape, certainly!" 
 
 They looked around, and saw Mr. Phillips seated upon a 
 moss-grown rock, against which Gertrude was at the moment 
 leaning. His attitude was easy and careless, his broad-brimmed 
 straw hat lay on the ground, where it had fallen, and his snow 
 
314 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 besprinkled but wavy and still beautiful hair was tossed back 
 from his high and expanded forehead. One would have thought, 
 to look at him leaning so idly and even boyishly upon his hand, 
 that he had been sitting there for hours at least, and felt quite 
 at home in the place. He rose to his feet, however, imme 
 diately upon being perceived, and joined Dr. Jeremy and Ger 
 trude. 
 
 "You have got the start of us, sir," said the former. 
 
 "Yes; I have walked from the village, my practice always 
 when the roads are such that no time can be gained by riding. " 
 
 As he spoke, he placed in Gertrude s hand, without looking 
 at her, or seeming conscious what he was doing, a bouquet of 
 rich laurel blossoms, which he had probably gathered during his 
 walk. She would have thanked him, but his absent manner 
 was such that it afforded her no opportunity, especially as he 
 went on talking with the doctor, as if she had not been present. 
 
 All three resumed their walk. Mr. Phillips and Dr. Jeremy 
 conversed in an animated manner, and Gertrude, content to be 
 a listener, soon perceived that she was not the only person to 
 whom the stranger had power to render himself agreeable. Dr. 
 Jeremy engaged him upon a variety of subjects, upon all of 
 which he appeared equally well informed ; and Gertrude smiled 
 to see her old friend more than once rub his hands together, 
 according to his well-known manner of expressing boundless 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Now, Gertrude thought their new acquaintance must be a 
 botanist by profession, so versed was he in everything relating 
 to that department of science. Then, again, she was equally 
 sure that geology must have been with him an absorbing study, 
 so intimate ,seemed his acquaintance with mother earth; and 
 both of these impressions were in turn dispelled, when he talked 
 of the ocean like a sailor, of the counting-room like a merchant, 
 of Paris like a man of fashion and the world. 
 
 In the mean time, she walked beside him, silent but not for 
 gotten or unnoticed ; for, as they approached a rough and steep 
 ascent, he offered his arm, and expressed a fear lest she should 
 become fatigued. She assured him there was no danger of that. 
 Dr. Jeremy declared it his belief that Gerty could outwalk them 
 both ; and, thus satisfied, Mr. Phillips resumed the broken thread 
 of their discourse, into which, before long, Gertrude was drawn 
 almost unawares. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 315 
 
 Mr. Phillips was a man who knew how to inspire awe, and 
 even fear, when such was his pleasure. The reverse being the 
 case, however, he had equal ability to dispel such sentiments, 
 awaken confidence, and bid character unfold itself at his bid 
 ding. He no longer seemed in Gertrude s eyes a stranger; 
 he was a mystery, certainly, but not a forbidding one. She 
 longed to know more of him ; to learn the history of a life which 
 many an incident of his own narrating proved to have been made 
 up of strange and mingled experience ; especially did her sym 
 pathetic nature desire to fathom the cause of that deep-seated 
 melancholy which shadowed and darkened his noble counte 
 nance, and made his very smile a sorrowful thing. 
 
 Dr. Jeremy, who in a degree shared her curiosity, asked a 
 few leading questions, in hopes to obtain some clue to his new 
 friend s personal history; but in vain. Mr. Phillips s lips were 
 either sealed on the subject or opened only to baffle the curios 
 ity of his interrogator. 
 
 At length the doctor was compelled to give way to a weari 
 ness which he could no longer disguise from himself or his com 
 panions, much as he disliked to acknowledge the fact; and, 
 seating themselves by the roadside, they awaited the arrival of 
 the coach. 
 
 There had been a short silence, when the doctor, looking at 
 Gertrude, remarked, "There will be no church for us to-morrow, 
 Gerty." 
 
 "No church!" exclaimed Gertrude, gazing about her with a 
 look of reverence ; " how can you say so ? " 
 
 Mr. Phillips bestowed upon her a smile of interest and in 
 quiry, and said, in a peculiar tone, "There is no Sunday here, 
 Miss Flint, it doesn t come up so high." 
 
 He spoke lightly, too lightly, Gertrude thought, and 
 she replied with some seriousness, and much sweetness, " I have 
 often rejoiced that the Sabbath had been sent down into the 
 lower earth ; the higher we go, the nearer we come, I trust, to 
 the eternal Sabbath." 
 
 Mr. Phillips bit his lip, and turned away without replying. 
 There was an expression about his mouth which Gertrude did 
 not exactly like ; but she could not find it in her heart to re 
 proach him for the slight sneer which his manner, rather than 
 his look, implied, for as he gazed a moment or two into va 
 cancy, there was in his wild and absent countenance such a look 
 
316 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 of sorrow, that she could only pity and wonder. The coaches 
 now came up, and as he placed her in her former seat, he re 
 sumed his wonted serene and kindly expression, and she felt 
 convinced that it was only doing justice to his frank and open 
 face to believe that nothing was hid behind it that would not 
 do honor to the man. 
 
 An hour more brought them to the Mountain House, and, 
 greatly to their joy, they were at once shown to some of the 
 most excellent rooms the hotel afforded. As Gertrude stood 
 at the window of the chamber allotted to herself and Emily, 
 and heard the loud murmurs of some of her fellow-travellers 
 who were denied any tolerable accommodation, she could not 
 but be astonished at Dr. Jeremy s unusual good fortune in be 
 ing treated with such marked partiality. 
 
 Emily, being greatly fatigued with the toilsome journey, had 
 supper brought to her own room, and Gertrude partaking of it 
 with her, neither of them sought other society that night, but 
 at an early hour betook themselves to rest. 
 
 The last thing that Gertrude heard, before falling asleep, was 
 the voice of Dr. Jeremy, saying as he passed their door, "Take 
 care, Gerty, and be up in time to see the sun rise." 
 
 She was not up in time, however, nor was the doctor himself ; 
 neither of them had calculated upon the sun s being such an 
 early riser; and though Gertrude, mindful of the caution, 
 sprung up almost before her eyes were open, a flood of daylight 
 was pouring in at the window, and a scene met her gaze which 
 at once put to flight every regret at having oyerslept herself, 
 since nothing, she thought, could be more solemnly glorious 
 than that which now lay outspread before her. 
 
 From the surface of the rocky platform upon which the house 
 was built, far out to the distant horizon, nothing was to be seen 
 but a sea of snowy clouds, which wholly overshadowed the lower 
 earth, and hid it from view. Vast, solid, and of the most per 
 fect whiteness, they stretched on every side, forming, as they 
 lay in thick masses, between which not a crevice was discernible, 
 an unbroken curtain, dividing the heavens from the earth. 
 
 While most of the world, however, was thus shut out from 
 the clear light of morning, the mountain-top was rejoicing in 
 an unusually brilliant and glorious dawn, the beauty of which 
 was greatly enhanced by those very clouds which were obscur 
 ing and shadowing the dwellings of men below. A fairy bark 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 317 
 
 might have floated upon the undulating waves which glistened 
 in the sunshine like new-fallen snow, and which, contrasted 
 with the clear blue sky above, formed a picture of singular gran 
 deur. The foliage of the oaks, the pines, and the maples, which 
 had found root in this lofty region, was rich, clear, and polished, 
 and tame and fearless birds of various note were singing in the 
 branches. Gertrude gave one long look, then hastened to dress 
 herself and go out upon the platform. The house was perfectly 
 still ; no one seemed yet to be stirring, and she stood for some 
 time entranced, almost breathless, with awe and admiration. 
 
 At length she heard footsteps, and looking up, saw Dr. and 
 Mrs. Jeremy approaching; the former, as usual, full of life, 
 and dragging forward his reluctant, sleepy partner, whose coun 
 tenance proclaimed how unwillingly she had foregone her morn 
 ing nap. The doctor rubbed his hands as they joined Gertrude. 
 "Very fine this, Gerty! A touch beyond anything I had cal 
 culated upon." 
 
 Gertrude turned upon him her beaming eyes, but did not 
 speak. Satisfied, however, with the expression of her face, 
 which was sufficient, without words, to indicate her appreciation 
 of the scene, the doctor stepped to the edge of the flat rock 
 upon which they stood, placed his hands beneath his coat-tails, 
 and indulged in a soliloquy, made up of short exclamations and 
 interjectional phrases, expressive of his approbation, still fur 
 ther confirmed and emphasized by a quick, regular nodding of 
 his head. 
 
 "Why, this looks queer, does n t it? " said Mrs. Jeremy, rub 
 bing her eyes, and gazing about her; "but I dare say it would 
 be just so an hour or two hence. I don t see what the doctor 
 would make me get up so early for." Then, catching sight of 
 her husband s position, she darted forward, exclaiming, "Dr. 
 Jerry, for mercy s sake, don t stand so near the edge of that 
 precipice! Why, are you crazy, man? You frighten me to 
 death! you ll fall over and break your neck, as sure as the 
 world!" 
 
 Finding the doctor deaf to her entreaties, she caught hold of 
 his coat, and tried to drag him backwards; upon which he 
 turned about, inquired what was the matter, and perceiving her 
 anxiety, considerately retreated a few paces; the next moment, 
 however, he was once more in the same precarious spot. The 
 same scene was reenacted, and finally, after the poor woman s 
 
318 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 fears had been excited and relieved half a dozen times in suc 
 cession, she grew so disturbed, that, looking most imploringly 
 at Gertrude, she begged her to get the doctor away from that 
 dangerous place, for the poor man was so venturesome he would 
 surely be killed. 
 
 "Suppose we explore that little path at the right of the 
 house," suggested Gertrude; "it looks attractive." 
 
 "So it does," said Mrs. Jeremy; "beautiful little shady 
 path. Come, doctor, Gerty and I are going to walk up here, 
 come. " 
 
 The doctor looked in the direction in which she pointed. 
 "Ah! " said he, "that is the path the man at the office spoke 
 about; it leads up to the pine gardens. We ll climb up, by 
 all means, and see what sort of a place it is." 
 
 Gertrude led the way, Mrs. Jeremy followed, and the doctor 
 brought up the rear, all walking in single file, for the path 
 was a mere foot-track. The ascent was very steep, and they 
 had not proceeded far before Mrs. Jeremy, panting with heat 
 and fatigue, stopped short, and declared her inability to reach 
 the top; she would not have thought of coming if she had 
 known what a horrid hard hill she had got to climb. Encour 
 aged and assisted, however, by her husband and Gertrude, she 
 was induced to make a further attempt; and they had gone on 
 some distance when Gertrude, who happened for a moment to 
 be some steps in advance, heard Mrs. Jeremy give a slight 
 scream. She looked back; the doctor was laughing heartily, 
 but his wife, who was the picture of consternation, was endeav 
 oring to pass him and retrace her steps down the hill, at the 
 same time calling upon her to follow. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " asked Gertrude. 
 
 "Matter!" cried Mrs. Jeremy; "why, this hill is covered 
 with rattlesnakes, and here we are all going up to be bitten to 
 death!" 
 
 "No such thing, Gerty!" said the doctor, still laughing. 
 "I only told her there had been one killed here this summer, 
 and now she s making it an excuse for turning back." 
 
 "I don t care!" said the good-natured lady, half laughing 
 herself, in spite of her fears; "if there s been one, there may 
 be another, and I won t stay here a minute longer! I thought 
 it was a bad enough place before, and now I m going down 
 faster than I came up." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 319 
 
 Finding her determined, the doctor hastened to accompany 
 her, calling to Gertrude as he went, however, assuring her there 
 was no danger, and begging her to keep on and wait for him at 
 the top of the hill, where he would join her after he had left 
 his wife in safety at the hotel. Gertrude, therefore, went on 
 alone. For the first few rods she looked carefully about her, 
 and thought of rattlesnakes; but the path was so well worn 
 that she felt sure it must be often trod and was probably safe, 
 and the beauty of the place soon engrossed all her attention. 
 After a few moments spent in active climbing, she reached the 
 highest point of ground, and found herself once more on an 
 elevated woody platform, from which she could look forth as 
 before upon the unbroken sea of clouds. 
 
 She seated herself at the root of an immense pine-tree, re 
 moved her bonnet, for she was warm from recent exercise, and 
 as she inhaled the refreshing mountain breeze, gave herself up 
 to the train of reflection which she had been indulging when 
 disturbed by Dr. and Mrs. Jeremy. 
 
 She had sat thus but a moment, when a slight rustling noise 
 startled her; she remembered the rattlesnakes, and was spring 
 ing to her feet, but hearing a low sound, as of some one breath 
 ing, turned her eyes in the direction from which it came, and 
 saw, only a few yards from her, the figure of a man stretched 
 upon the ground, apparently asleep. She went towards it with 
 a careful step, and before she could see the face, the large straw 
 hat and the long, blanched, wavy hair betrayed the identity 
 of the individual. Mr. Phillips was, or appeared to be sleep 
 ing; his head was pillowed upon his arm, his eyes were closed, 
 and his attitude denoted perfect repose. Gertrude stood still 
 and looked at him. As she did so, his countenance suddenly 
 changed; the peaceful expression gave place to the same un 
 happy look which had at first excited her sympathy. His lips 
 moved, and in his dreams he spoke, or rather shouted, "No! 
 no ! no ! " each time that he repeated the word pronouncing it 
 with more vehemence and emphasis; then wildly throwing one 
 arm above his head, he let it fall gradually and heavily upon the 
 ground, and the excitement subsiding from his face, he uttered 
 the simple words, " 0, dear ! " much as a grieved and tired 
 child might do as he leans his head upon his mother s knee. 
 
 Gertrude was deeply touched. She forgot that he was a 
 stranger; she saw only a sufferer. An insect lit upon his fair, 
 
320 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 open forehead; she leaned over him, brushed away the greedy 
 creature, and as she did so, one of the many tears that filled 
 her eyes fell upon his cheek. 
 
 Quietly, then, without motion or warning, he awoke, and 
 looked full in the face of the embarrassed girl, who started, and 
 would have hastened away, but, leaning on his elbow, he caught 
 her hand and detained her. He gazed at her for a moment 
 without speaking; then said, in a grave voice, "My child, did 
 you shed that tear for me ? " 
 
 She did not reply, except by her eyes, which were still glis 
 tening with the dew of sympathy. 
 
 "I believe you did," said he, "and from my heart I bless 
 you. But never again weep for a stranger; you will have woes 
 enough of your own, if you live to be of my age." 
 
 "If I had not had sorrows already," said Gertrude, " I should 
 not know how to feel for others ; if I had not often wept for 
 myself, I should not weep now for you." 
 
 " But you are happy 1 " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Some find it easy to forget the past." 
 
 "/have not forgotten it." 
 
 "Children s griefs are trifles, and you are still scarce more 
 than a child." 
 
 "I never was a child," said Gertrude. 
 
 " Strange girl ! " soliloquized her companion. " Will you sit 
 down and talk with me a few mimites 1 " 
 
 Gertrude hesitated. 
 
 " Do not refuse ; I am an old man, and very harmless. Take 
 a seat here under this tree, and tell me what you think of the 
 prospect." 
 
 Gertrude smiled inwardly at the idea of his being such an 
 old man, and calling her a child; but, old or young, she had it 
 not in her heart to fear him, or refuse his request. She sat 
 down, and he seated himself beside her, but did not speak of 
 the prospect, or of anything, for a moment or two; then turn 
 ing to her abruptly he said, "So you never were unhappy in 
 your life 1 " 
 
 "Never!" exclaimed Gertrude. "0, yes, often." 
 
 "But never long?" 
 
 "Yes, I can remember whole years when happiness was a 
 thing I had never even dreamed of." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 321 
 
 "But comfort came at last. What do you think of those to 
 whom it never comes ? " 
 
 "I know enough of sorrow to pity and wish to help them." 
 
 "What can you do for them? " 
 
 " Hope for them, pray for them ! " said Gertrude, with a 
 voice full of feeling. 
 
 "What if they be past hope? beyond the influence of 
 prayer ? " 
 
 "There are no such," said Gertrude, with decision. 
 
 "Do you see," said Mr. Phillips, "this curtain of thick 
 clouds, now overshadowing the world ? Even so many a heart 
 is weighed down and overshadowed by thick and impenetrable 
 darkness." 
 
 "But the light shines brightly above the clouds," said Ger 
 trude. 
 
 "Above! well, that may be; but what avails it to those who 
 see it not ? " 
 
 " It is sometimes a weary and toilsome road that leads to the 
 mountain-top; but the pilgrim is well repaid for the trouble 
 which brings him above the clouds^ replied Gertrude, with 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 "Few ever find the road that leads so high," responded her 
 melancholy companion ; " and those who do cannot live long in 
 so elevated an atmosphere. They must come down from their 
 height, and again dwell among the common herd; again mingle 
 in the warfare with the mean, the base, and the cruel; thicker 
 clouds will gather over their heads, and they will be buried in 
 redoubled darkness." 
 
 "But they have seen the glory; they know that the light is 
 ever burning on high, and will have faith to believe it will 
 pierce the gloom at last. See, see ! " said she, her eyes glowing 
 with the fervor with which she spoke, " even now the heav 
 iest clouds are parting ; the sun will soon light up the valley ! " 
 
 She pointed, as she spoke, to a wide fissure which was grad 
 ually disclosing itself, as the hitherto solid mass of clouds sepa 
 rated on either side, and then turned to the stranger to see if 
 he observed the change; but, with the same smile upon his 
 unmoved countenance, he was watching, not the display of na 
 ture in the distance, but that close at his side. He was gazing 
 with intense interest upon the young and ardent worshipper of 
 the beautiful and the true ; and in studying her features and 
 
322 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 observing the play of her countenance, he seemed so wholly ab 
 sorbed, that Gertrude believing he was not listening to her 
 words, but had fallen into one of his absent moods ceased 
 speaking, rather abruptly, and was turning away, when he said, 
 
 "Go on, happy child! Teach me, if you can, to see the 
 world tinged with the rosy coloring it wears for you teach me 
 to love and pity, as you do, that miserable thing called man. 
 I warn you that you have a difficult task, but you seem to be 
 very hopeful." 
 
 " Do you hate the world ? " asked Gertrude, with straightfor 
 ward simplicity. 
 
 "Almost," was Mr. Phillips s answer. 
 
 "/did once," said Gertrude musingly. 
 
 "And will again, perhaps." 
 
 "No, that would be impossible; it has been a good foster- 
 mother to its orphan child, and now I love it dearly." 
 
 " Have they been kind to you ? " asked he, with eagerness. 
 "Have heartless strangers deserved the love you seem to feel 
 for them ? " 
 
 "Heartless strangers! " exclaimed Gertrude, the tears rushing 
 to her eyes. "0 sir, I wish you could have known my Uncle 
 True, and Emily, dear, blind Emily ! You would think better 
 of the world, for their sakes." 
 
 "Tell me about them," said he, in a low, unsteady voice, 
 and looking fixedly down into the precipice which yawned at 
 his feet^ 
 
 "There is not much to tell, only that one was old and poor, 
 and the other wholly blind; and yet they made everything rich, 
 and bright, and beautiful to me, a poor, desolate, injured child." 
 
 "Injured! Then you acknowledge that you had previously 
 met with wrong and injustice ? " 
 
 " I ! " exclaimed Gertrude ; " my earliest recollections are only 
 of want, suffering, and much unkindness." 
 
 "And these friends took pity on you? " 
 
 " Yes. One became an earthly father to me, and the other 
 taught me where to find a heavenly one." 
 
 " And ever since then you have been free and light as air, 
 without a wish or care in the world ? " 
 
 "No, indeed, I did not say so, I do not mean so," said 
 Gertrude. "I have had to part from Uncle True, and to give 
 up other dear friends, some for years and some forever; I have 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 323 
 
 had many trials, many lonely, solitary hours, and even now am 
 oppressed by more than one subject of anxiety and dread." 
 
 " How, then, so cheerful and happy ? " asked Mr. Phillips. 
 
 Gertrude had risen, for she saw Dr. Jeremy approaching, and 
 stood with one hand resting upon a solid mass of stone, under 
 whose protecting shadow she had been seated. She smiled a 
 thoughtful smile at Mr. Phillips s question, and after casting 
 her eyes a moment into the deep valley beneath her, turned 
 them upon him with a look of holy faith, and said, in a low 
 but fervent tone, "I see the gulf yawning beneath me, but I 
 lean upon the Rock of ages." 
 
 Gertrude had spoken truly when she said that more than one 
 anxiety and dread oppressed her; for, mingled with a daily in 
 creasing fear lest the time was fast approaching when Emily 
 would be taken from her, she had of late been harassed and 
 grieved by the thought that Willie Sullivan, towards whom her 
 heart yearned with more than a sister s love, was fast forget 
 ting the friend of his childhood, or, at least, ceasing to regard 
 her with the love and tenderness of former years. It was now 
 some months since she had received a letter from India; the 
 last was short, and written in a haste which Willie apologized 
 for on the score of business cares and duties, and Gertrude was 
 compelled unwillingly to admit the chilling presentiment that 
 now that his mother and grandfather were no more the ties 
 which bound the exile to his native home were sensibly weak 
 ened. 
 
 Nothing would have induced her to hint, even to Emily, a 
 suspicion of neglect on Willie s part; nothing would have 
 shocked her more than hearing such neglect imputed to him by 
 another; but still, in the depths of her own heart, she some 
 times mused with wonder upon his long silence, and the strange 
 diminution of intercourse between herself and him. During 
 several weeks in which she had received no tidings she had still 
 continued to write as usual, and felt sure that such reminders 
 must have reached him by every mail. What, then, but illness 
 or indifference could excuse his never replying to her faithfully 
 dispatched missives 1 She often tried to banish from her mind 
 any self-questioning upon a subject so involved in uncertainty; 
 but at times a sadness came over her which could only be dis 
 persed by turning her thoughts upward with that trusting faith 
 and hope which had so often sustained her drooping spirits, and 
 
324 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 it was from one of these soaring reveries that she had turned 
 with pitying looks and words to the fellow-sufferer whose moans 
 had escaped him even in his dreams. 
 
 Dr. Jeremy s approach was the signal for hearty congratula 
 tions and good-mornings between himself and Mr. Phillips ; the 
 doctor began to converse in his animated manner, spoke with 
 hearty delight of the beauty and peacefulness of that bright 
 Sabbath morning in the mountains ; and Mr. Phillips, compelled 
 to exert himself, and conceal, if he could not dispel, the gloom 
 which weighed upon his mind, talked with an ease, and even 
 playfulness, which astonished Gertrude, who walked back to the 
 house silently wondering at this strange and inconsistent man. 
 She did not see him at breakfast, and at dinner he took a seat 
 at some distance from Dr. Jeremy s party, and merely acknow 
 ledged their acquaintance by a graceful salutation to Gertrude as 
 she left the dining-hall. 
 
 Still later in the day, he suddenly made his appearance upon 
 the broad piazza where Emily and Gertrude were seated, one 
 pair of eyes serving, as usual, to paint pictures for the minds 
 of both. There had been a thunder shower, but as the sun 
 went down and the storm passed away, a brilliant bow, and its 
 almost equally brilliant reflection, spanned the horizon, seem 
 ingly far beneath the height of the mountain-top, and the lights 
 and shadows which were playing upon the valley and its shin 
 ing river were brilliant and beautiful in the extreme. Gertrude 
 hoped Mr. Phillips would join them; she knew that Emily 
 would be charmed with his rich and varied conversation, and 
 felt an instinctive hope that the sweet tones of the comfort 
 carrying voice which so many loved and blessed would speak to 
 his heart a lesson of peace. But she hoped in vain; he started 
 on seeing them, walked hastily away, and Gertrude soon after 
 espied him toiling up the same steep path which had attracted 
 them both in the morning, nor did he make his appearance 
 at the hotel again that night. 
 
 The Jeremys stayed two days longer at the Mountain House ; 
 the invigorating air benefited Emily, who appeared stronger 
 than she had done for weeks past, and was able to take many a 
 little stroll in the neighborhood of the house. 
 
 Gertrude was never weary of the glorious prospect, upon 
 which she gazed with ever increasing delight ; and an excursion 
 which she and the doctor made on foot to the cleft in the heart 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 325 
 
 of the mountain, where a narrow stream leaps a distance of two 
 hundred feet into the valley below, furnished the theme for 
 many a descriptive reverie, of which Emily reaped a part of the 
 enjoyment. They saw no more of their new acquaintance, who 
 had disappeared without their knowledge. Dr. Jeremy inquired 
 of their host concerning him, and learned that he left at an 
 early hour on Monday, and took up a pedestrian course down 
 the mountain. 
 
 The doctor was surprised and disappointed, for he liked Mr. 
 Phillips exceedingly, and had flattered himself, from some par 
 ticular inquiries he had made concerning their proposed route, 
 that he had an idea of attaching himself to their party. 
 
 "Never mind, Gerty," said he, in a tone of mock condolence. 
 " I dare say we shall come across him yet, some time when we 
 least expect it." 
 
326 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 Led by simplicity divine, 
 
 She pleased, and never tried to shine. 
 
 HANNAH MORE. 
 
 FROM Catskill Dr. Jeremy proceeded directly to Saratoga. 
 The place was crowded with visitors, for the season was at its 
 height, and the improvident traveller having neglected to secure 
 rooms, they had no right to expect any accommodation. 
 
 " Where do you propose stopping 1 " inquired an acquaintance 
 of the doctor s, whom they accidentally encountered in the cars. 
 
 "At Congress Hall," was the reply. "It will be a quiet 
 place for us old folks, and more agreeable than any other house 
 to Miss Graham, who is an invalid." 
 
 "You are expected, I conclude? " 
 
 "Expected? No; who should be expecting us? " 
 
 " Your landlord. If you have not engaged rooms you will 
 fare badly, for every hotel is crowded to overflowing." 
 
 "We must take our chance, then," said the doctor, with an 
 indifference of manner which wholly forsook him upon his fairly 
 arriving at his destination, and learning that his friend s words 
 were true. 
 
 "I don t know what we are going to do," said he, as he 
 joined the ladies, whom he had left for a few moments while 
 he made inquiries; "they say every house is full; and if so, 
 we d better take the next train of cars and be off, for we can t 
 sleep in the street." 
 
 " Carriage, sir ? " shouted a hackman, leaning over a railing 
 a few steps distant, and beckoning to the doctor with all his 
 might, while another and still bolder aspirant for employment 
 tapped his shoulder, and made a similar suggestion, in a most 
 insinuating tone of voice. 
 
 "Carriage!" repeated the doctor angrily. "What for? 
 where would you carry us, for mercy s sake? There isn t a 
 garret to be had in your town, for love or money." 
 
 "Well, sir," said the last mentioned petitioner (a sort of 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 327 
 
 omnibus attache, taking off his cap as he spoke, and wiping his 
 forehead with a torn and soiled pocket handkerchief), " the 
 houses is pretty considerable full just now, to be sure, but 
 maybe you can get colonized out." 
 
 " Colonized out ? " said the doctor, still in a tone of extreme 
 vexation. "That s what I think we are already; what I want is 
 to get in somewhere. "Where do you usually drive your coach ? " 
 
 "To Congress Hall." 
 
 "Drive up, then, and let us get in; and mind, if they don t 
 take us at Congress Hall, we shall expect you to keep us until 
 we rind better accommodations." 
 
 Mrs. Jeremy, Emily, and Gertrude, were consequently as 
 sisted into a small omnibus, and closely packed away among 
 half a dozen ladies and children, who, tired, dusty, and anxious, 
 were schooling themselves to patience, or encouraging themselves 
 with hope. The doctor took a seat upon the outside, and the 
 moment the vehicle stopped hastened to present himself to the 
 landlord. As he had anticipated, there was not a vacant cor 
 ner in the house. Wishing to accommodate him, however, the 
 office keeper announced the possibility that he might be able 
 before night to furnish him with one room in a house in the 
 next street. 
 
 "One room! in the next street!" cried the doctor. "Ah, 
 that s being colonized out, is it? Well, sir, it won t do for 
 me, I must have a place to put my ladies in at once. Why in 
 conscience don t you have hotels enough for your visitors? " 
 
 "It is the height of the season, sir, and " 
 
 " Why, Dr. Jeremy ! " exclaimed the youthful voice of Netta 
 Gryseworth, who was passing through the hall with her grand 
 mother, "how do you do, sir? Are Miss Graham and Miss 
 Flint with you ? Have you come to stay ? " 
 
 Before the doctor could answer her questions, and pay his 
 respects to Madam Gryseworth, a venerable old lady, whom he 
 had known thirty years before, the landlord of the hotel ac 
 costed him. 
 
 "Dr. Jeremy? " said he. "Excuse me, I did not know you. 
 Dr. Jeremy, of Boston ? " 
 
 "The same," said the doctor, bowing. 
 
 " Ah ! we are all right, then. Your rooms are reserved, and 
 will be made ready in a few minutes: they were vacated two 
 days ago, and have not been occupied since." 
 
328 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "What is all this?" exclaimed the honest doctor. "I en 
 gaged no rooms." 
 
 "A friend did it for you, then, sir; a fortunate circumstance, 
 especially as you have ladies with you. Saratoga is very 
 crowded at this season; there were seven thousand strangers in 
 the town yesterday." 
 
 The doctor thanked his stars and his unknown friend, and 
 summoned the ladies to enjoy their good fortune. 
 
 "Why, now, ain t we lucky?" said Mrs. Jeremy, as she 
 glanced round the comfortable room allotted to herself, and 
 then, crossing the narrow entry, took a similar survey of Emily s 
 and Gertrude s apartment. " After all the talk everybody made, 
 too, about the crowd of folks there were here scrambling for 
 places ! " 
 
 The doctor, who had just come upstairs, having waited to 
 give directions concerning his baggage, approached the door in 
 time to hear his wife s last remark, and entering with his finger 
 upon his lip, and a mock air of mystery, exclaimed in a low 
 voice, "Hush! hush! don t say too much about it! We are 
 profiting by a glorious mistake on the part of our good land 
 lord. These rooms were engaged for somebody, that s certain, 
 but not for us. However, they can t do more than turn us out 
 when the right folks come, and until then we have a prospect, 
 I see, of very good lodgings." 
 
 But if the Jeremys were not the right folks, the right folks 
 never came, and in the course of a week our party not only 
 ceased to be conscious of their precarious footing in the house, 
 but even had the presumption to propose, and the good for 
 tune to obtain, a favorable exchange for Emily to a bedroom 
 upon the first floor, which opened directly into the drawing-room, 
 and saved her the necessity of passing up and down the often 
 crowded staircases. 
 
 It was nearly tea-time on the day of their arrival, and Emily 
 and Gertrude had just completed their toilet, when there was 
 a light rap upon their door. Gertrude hastened to open it, and 
 to admit Ellen Gryseworth, who, while she saluted her with 
 southern warmth of manner, hesitated at the threshold, saying, 
 "I am afraid you will think me an intruder, but Netta told me 
 you had arrived, and hearing accidentally from the chambermaid 
 that you had the next room to mine, I could not forbear stop 
 ping a moment as I passed to tell you how very glad I am to 
 see you again." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 329 
 
 Gertrude and Emily expressed their pleasure at the meeting, 
 thanked her for her want of ceremony, and urged her to come 
 in and remain with them until the gong sounded for tea. She 
 availed herself of the invitation, and taking a seat upon the 
 nearest trunk, proceeded to inquire concerning their travels and 
 Emily s health since they parted at West Point. 
 
 Among other adventures, Gertrude mentioned their having 
 ^ain encountered Mr. Phillips. " Indeed ! " said Miss Gryse- 
 worth, "he seems to be a ubiquitous individual. He was in 
 Saratoga a day or two ago, and sat opposite to me at our dinner 
 table, but I have not seen him since. Did you become ac 
 quainted with him, Miss Graham ? " 
 
 "I am sorry to say, I did not," replied Emily; then looking 
 smilingly at Gertrude, she added, "Gerty was so anxious for 
 an opportunity to introduce me, that I was quite grieved for her 
 disappointment. " 
 
 " Then you liked him ! " said Miss Gryseworth, addressing 
 herself to Gertrude, and speaking with great earnestness. " I 
 knew you would." 
 
 "He interested me much," replied Gertrude. "He is very 
 agreeable, very peculiar, and to me rather incomprehensible." 
 
 "Non-committal, I see," said Miss Gryseworth archly. "I 
 hope you will have a chance to make up your mind; it is more 
 than I can do, I confess; for every time I am in his company 
 I recognize some new and unexpected trait of character. He 
 got so angry with one of the waiters, the day he dined with us 
 in New York, that I was actually frightened. However, I be 
 lieve my fears were groundless, for he is too much of a gentle 
 man to bandy words with an inferior, and though his eyes 
 flashed like coals of fire, he kept his temper from blazing forth. 
 I will do him the justice to say that this great indignation did 
 not spring from any neglect he had himself received, but from 
 the man s gross inattention to two dowdy looking women from 
 the country, who had never thought of such a thing as feeing 
 him, and therefore got nothing to eat until everybody else had 
 finished, and looked all the time as disappointed and ashamed 
 as if they were just out of the state prison." 
 
 "Too bad!" exclaimed Gertrude energetically. "I don t 
 wonder Mr. Phillips felt provoked with the mercenary fellow. 
 I like him for that." 
 
 "It was too bad," said Miss Gryseworth. "I couldn t help 
 
330 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 pitying them, myself. One of them a young girl, fresh from 
 the churn, who had worn her best white gown on purpose to 
 make a figure in the city looked just ready to burst out 
 crying. " 
 
 "I hope such instances of neglect are not very common," 
 said Gertrude. "I am afraid, if they are, Emily and I shall 
 be on the crying list, for Dr. Jeremy never will fee the waiters 
 beforehand; he says it is a mean thing, and he should scorn to 
 command attention in that way." 
 
 "0, you need have no such fear," said Miss Gryse worth. 
 "Persons in the least accustomed to hotel life can always com 
 mand a moderate share of attention, especially in so well-regu 
 lated an establishment as this. Grandmamma shares the doctor s 
 views with regard to bargaining for it beforehand, but no one 
 ever sees her neglected here. The case which occurred in New 
 York was a gross instance of that partiality for which the pub 
 lic are partly to blame. The waiters can tell easily enough who 
 will endure to be imposed upon, and the embarrassed faces of 
 the two country ladies, who found so fierce an advocate in Mr. 
 Phillips, were alone sufficient to lay them open to any degree 
 of neglect." 
 
 Another light tap at the door, and this time it was Netta 
 Gryseworth, who entered, exclaiming, "I hear Ellen s voice, 
 so I suppose I may come in. I am provoked," added she, as 
 she kissed Emily s hand, and shook Gertrude s with a freedom 
 and vivacity which seemed to spring partly from girlish hoy- 
 denism and partly from high-bred independence of manner, " to 
 think that while I have been watching about the drawing-room 
 door for this half hour, so as to see you the first minute you 
 came in, Ellen has been sitting here on a trunk, as sociable as 
 all the world, enjoying your society, and telling you every bit 
 of the news." 
 
 "Not every bit, Netta," said Ellen; "I have left several 
 choice little morsels for you." 
 
 " Have you told Miss Flint about the Foxes and the Coxes 
 that were here yesterday ? Has she, Miss Flint ? " 
 
 "Not a word about them," said Gertrude. 
 
 " Nor about the fright we had on board the steamboat ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Nor about Mr. Phillips s being here?" 
 
 "0, yes! she told us that." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 331 
 
 "Ah, she did!" exclaimed Netta, with an arch look, which 
 called up her sister s blushes. "And did she tell you how he 
 occupied this room, and how we heard him through the thin 
 partition pacing up and down all night, and how it kept me from 
 sleeping, and gave me a terrible headache all the next day 1 " 
 
 "No, she did not tell me that," said Gertrude. 
 
 "You don t either of you walk all night, do you?" asked 
 Netta. 
 
 "Not of ten." 
 
 "0, how thankful we ought to be to have you for neigh 
 bors ! " replied Netta. " If that horrible man had stayed here 
 and kept up that measured tread, there would have been a sui 
 cide either in his room or ours before many nights." 
 
 "Do you think he was ill? " inquired Gertrude. 
 
 "No, indeed," said Ellen; "it was nothing very remarkable, 
 not for him, at least, all his habits are peculiar ; but it 
 kept Netta awake an hour or two and made her fidgetty." 
 
 "An hour or two, Ellen? " cried Netta. "It was the whole 
 night." 
 
 "My dear sis," said Ellen, "you don t know what a whole 
 night is. You never saw one." 
 
 A little sisterly discussion might have ensued about the 
 length of Mr. Phillips s walk and Netta s consequent wakeful- 
 ness, but fortunately the gong sounded, and Netta flew off to 
 her own room to brush out her puffs before tea. 
 
 Saratoga is a queer place. One sees congregated there, at 
 the height of the season, delegates from every part of our own 
 and from many foreign countries. Fashion s ladder is trans 
 planted thither, and all its rounds are filled. Beauty, wealth, 
 pride, and folly are well represented ; and so too are wit, genius, 
 and learning. Idleness reigns supreme, and no one, not even 
 the most active, busy, and industrious citizen of our working 
 land, dares, in this her legitimate province, to dispute her tempo 
 rary sway. Every rank of society, every profession, and almost 
 every trade meet each other on an easy and friendly footing. 
 The acknowledged belle, the bearer of an aristocratic name, the 
 owner of a well-filled purse, the renowned scholar, artist, or 
 poet, have all a conspicuous sphere to shine in. There are 
 many counterfeits, too. The nobodies at home stand a chance 
 to be considered somebodies here ; and the first people of a dis 
 tant city, accustomed to consider themselves somebodies, sit in 
 
382 THK LAMI U .HII II 
 
 cornerfi nri l pout fit Huddenly finding themr.elveH nohodien, All 
 come, however, from a e.ommon motive; all are in purmiit of 
 amw.ement, recreation, and rent from lahor ; and, in this search 
 .-ifLi-r pleai .ine, .1 friendly and henevolent f.entmienl. for the numt 
 part prevails All an- in motion, and tin- throng, of well- 
 dreBKed people moving to and fio, on foot., on horv.ehack, and 
 in c/uriaiM-., together wiUi the gay UHHombUgM crowded upon 
 tin- pi;i/./.a;; of the hoteln, OODftitute a liv ly and f .! I . T. -JM- , 
 and lio \vhr lovi M to oli.^.i-rvi-. human natim: may r.l.udy it h-ro 
 in itn moHt animal -.d form. 
 
 It waH a wholly n;w exjMTirnr,<- t,o (ii-rf.rnde , and alUiouj/h, 
 in the eomparativ r-t,n<-m<-nt, and privacy of ( IHUJMI- . . Hall, 
 ho wiw only t,h<- n-H -r.tion of Saratoga ^ayr.ty, and h aid only 
 the fv.ho of jtn di-.tant. hum, th<-n- wa rn<nijdi of novelty and 
 exeit.ement, t.o enferlain, aimiHe, and f.urpnr.e one who wa.^ a rom- 
 j.l-t,- novi -c in the wayp. of fap.hionahle life. In the. < irr le ,f 
 hiy.li hred, polir.lie.il, literary, and talented per-ons; whom Madam 
 (iryMe.worth drew ahout h-r, nnd into whieh Dr. .leremy H party 
 WW> nt once admitted mi honored nieinheni, (ii-rtrndi- fouml 
 niiirli that wan r.onj emal to h-r cultivated and r.upenor tnHte,, 
 and f.he herr.elf oon c.arm- to le appreciated and admin-d a . -.IK-, 
 deserved. Madam Oryeworth wan fi lady of the old w hool, 
 one who had all her life, h<--n acru -.tomed t< tin- he.-.t r.ociety, 
 -ind who rontinned, in Kpite of hT advanced year;;, to e.njoy 
 and to adorn it. She was: r.till an elegant looking woman, tall 
 and f.tately ; ami though n little, proud, and to tranjM-i . a little 
 n-Mcrvd, nlie HOOII jiroved her-:elf an nj^reeahle companion to 
 people of all a^re.H. I 4 "or the first day or two of their :i<vpiaint- 
 ance, pofir MrH. .leretny ntood inuc.li in awe of her, ., nd could 
 
 lint feel ipnl.e. at e;i".e III lid prer.enee , hilt thhl feeling WOT1 off 
 
 wonderfully fjuie.k, and the Htoilt little <loetor n lady KOOH h-came, 
 Imjdy conlidiri)^ and r-.hatty towardn the nugimt dame. 
 
 One evening, when the .JeremyH had now IHJOTI a woek at 
 Saratoga, an Krnily and (iwrtrnde w-re leaving the te.a-tahle, 
 they were joined hy N etta (tryneworth, who, linking ln-r arm 
 in (Jertnide n, excl.ume.l in her iif.ual yay manner, "(iertrude, 
 I uliall quarrel with you HOOII I" 
 
 "Indeed!" Baid (iertrude, "on w)iat ground?" 
 
 "Jealousy." 
 
 Gertrude hluv.h-d uli^htly. 
 
 "O! you needn t turn so rod; it is not on account of any 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 333 
 
 gray-headed gentleman s staring at you all dinner time, from 
 the other end of the table. No; I m indifferent on that score* 
 Ellen and you may disagree about Mr. Phillips s attentions, but 
 I m jealous of those of another person." 
 
 "I hope Gertrude isn t interfering with your happiness in 
 any way," said Emily smiling. 
 
 "She is, though," replied Netta, "my happiness, my pride, 
 my comfort. She is undermining them all; she would not dare 
 to conduct so, Miss Graham, if you could see her behavior." 
 
 "Tell me all about it," said Emily coaxingly, "and I will 
 promise to interest myself for you." 
 
 "I doubt that," answered Netta; "I am not sure but you 
 are :i coadjutor with her. However, 1 will state my grievance. 
 IX) you not see how entirely she engrosses the attention of an 
 important personage? Are you not aware that Peter has ceased 
 to have eyes for any one else? For my own part, 1 can get 
 nothing to eat or drink until Miss Flint is served, and 1 m 
 determined to ask papa to change our seats at the table. It 
 is n t that I care about my food ; but I feel insulted, my 
 pride is essentially wounded. A few days ago I was a gnv.t 
 favorite with Peter, and all my pet dishes were sure to be 
 placed directly in front of me; but now the tune is changed, 
 and this very evening I saw him pass Gertrude the blackber 
 ries, which the creature knows I delight in, while he pushed 
 a dish of blues towards me in a contemptuous manner, which 
 seemed to imply, Blueberries are good enough for you, miss! 
 
 "1 have noticed that the waiters are very attentive to us," 
 said Emily : "do you suppose Gertrude has been secretly brib 
 ing them ? " 
 
 "She says not," replied Notta. "Didn t you tell me so 
 yesterday, Gertrude, when 1 was drawing a similar comparison 
 between their devotion to you and to our party? Didn t you 
 tell me that neither the doctor nor any of you ever gave Peter 
 a cent?" 
 
 "Certainly," answered Gertrude ; "his attentions are all vol 
 untary; but 1 attribute them entirely to Emily s influence, and 
 Ins desire to serve her." 
 
 "It s no such thing!" said Notta, emphasizing her remark 
 by a mysterious little shake of the head. "It s sorcery, 1 m 
 sure of it; yon ve been practising the black art, Gertrude, and 
 I 11 warn Peter this very day." 
 
334 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 As she spoke, they reached a corner of the drawing-roor& 
 where the old ladies Gryseworth and Jeremy were sitting upon 
 a sofa, engaged in earnest conversation, while Ellen, who had 
 just returned from a drive with her father, stood talking with 
 him and a Mr. Petrancourt, who had that evening arrived from 
 New York. 
 
 The ladies on the sofa made room for Emily, and Netta and 
 Gertrude seated themselves near by. Occasionally Madam 
 Gryseworth cast glances of annoyance at a group of children 
 on the other side of the room, who by their noisy shouts con 
 tinually interrupted her remarks, and prevented her understand 
 ing those of her neighbor. Gertrude s attention soon became 
 attracted by them also to such a degree that she did not hear 
 more than half of the lively and gay sallies of wit and nonsense 
 which Netta continued to pour forth. 
 
 "Do go and play with those children, Gertrude," said Netta, 
 at last; "I know you re longing to." 
 
 " I m longing to stop their play ! ?> exclaimed Gertrude ; an 
 apparently ill-natured remark, which we are bound to explain. 
 Some half dozen gayly and fancifully dressed children, whose 
 mothers were scattered about on the piazzas, and whose nurses 
 were at supper, had collected around a strange little new-comer, 
 whom they were subjecting to every species of persecution. 
 Her clothes, though of rich material, were most untidily ar 
 ranged, and appeared somewhat soiled by travelling. Her little 
 black silk frock (for the child was clad in mourning) seemed to 
 be quite outgrown, being much shorter than some of her other 
 garments, and her whole appearance denoted great negligence 
 on the part of her parents or guardian. When Madam Gryse 
 worth s evident disturbance first led Gertrude to notice the 
 youthful group, this little girl was standing in their midst, 
 looking wildly about her, as if for a chance to escape; but this 
 the children prevented, and continued to ply her with ques 
 tions, each of which called forth a derisive shout from all but 
 the poor little object of attack, who, on her part, looked ready 
 to burst into tears. Whether the scene reminded Gertrude of 
 some of her own experiences, or merely touched the chord of a 
 universal spirit of sympathy for the injured, she could not keep 
 her eyes from the little party ; and just as Netta was fairly 
 launched upon one of her favorite topics, namely, Mr. Phil 
 lips and his unaccountable conduct, she sprung from her seat, 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 335 
 
 exclaiming, "They sha n t torment that child so!" and hastily 
 crossed the room to the rescue. 
 
 Netta burst into a hearty laugh at Gertrude s excited and 
 enthusiastic manner of starting on her benevolent errand, and 
 this, together with the unusual circumstance of her crossing the 
 large and crowded room hastily and alone, drew the inquiries 
 of all the circle whom she had left, and during her absence she 
 unconsciously became the subject of discussion and remark. 
 
 " What is the matter, Netta 1 " asked Madam Gryseworth. 
 "Where has Gertrude gone?" 
 
 "To offer herself as a champion, grandmamma, for that little 
 rowdy-dowdy looking child." 
 
 "Is she the one who has been making all this noise?" 
 
 "No, indeed, but I believe she is the cause of it." 
 
 "It isn t every girl," remarked Ellen, "who could cross a 
 great room like this so gracefully as Gertrude can." 
 
 "She has a remarkably good figure," said Madam Gryse 
 worth, "and knows how to walk; a very rare accomplishment 
 nowadays." 
 
 "She is a very well-formed girl," remarked Dr. Gryseworth, 
 who had observed Gertrude attentively as she crossed the room, 
 and now, hearing her commented upon, turned to take his part 
 in the criticism ; " but the true secret of her looking so com 
 pletely the lady lies in her having uncommon dignity of char 
 acter, being wholly unconscious of observation and independent 
 of the wish to attract it, and therefore simply acting herself. 
 She dresses well, too. Ellen, I wish you would imitate Miss 
 Flint s style of dress; nothing could be in better taste." 
 
 "Or a greater saving to your purse, papa," whispered Netta. 
 "Gertrude dresses very simply." 
 
 "Miss Flint s style of dress would not become Miss Gryse 
 worth," said the fashionable Mrs. Petrancourt, who approached 
 in time to hear the doctor s remark. "Your daughter, sir, is a 
 noble, showy looking girl, and can carry off a great deal of dress." 
 
 "So can a milliner s doll, Mrs. Petrancourt. However, I 
 suppose, in a certain sense, you are right. The two girls are 
 not sufficiently alike to resemble each other, if their dresses 
 were matched with Chinese exactness." 
 
 "Kesemble each other! You surely would not wish to see 
 your beautiful daughter the counterpart of one who has not 
 half her attractions." 
 
336 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "Are you much acquainted with Miss Flint? " 
 
 "Not at all; but Netta pointed her out to me at the tea 
 table as being a particular friend." 
 
 "Then you must excuse me, ma am, if I remark that it is 
 impossible you should have any idea of her attractions, as they 
 certainly do not lie on the surface." 
 
 " You confess, then, that you do not think her handsome, 
 sir?" 
 
 " To tell the truth, I never thought anything about it. Ask 
 Petrancourt; he is an acknowledged judge;" and the doctor 
 bowed in a flattering manner to the lady, who had been the 
 belle of the season at the time her husband paid his addresses 
 to her. 
 
 "I will, when I can get a chance; but he is standing too 
 near the blind lady, Miss Flint s aunt, is she not? " 
 
 "Particular friend; not her aunt." 
 
 This conversation had been carried on in a low voice, that 
 Emily might not hear it. Others, however, were either more 
 careless or more indifferent to her presence; for Madam Gryse- 
 worth began to speak of Gertrude without restraint, and she 
 was at this moment saying, "One must see her under peculiar 
 circumstances to be struck with her beauty at once; for in 
 stance, as I did yesterday, when she had just returned from 
 horseback riding, and her face was in a glow from exercise and 
 excitement; or as she looks when animated by her intense in 
 terest in some glowing and eloquent speaker, or when her feel 
 ings are suddenly touched, and the tears start into her eyes, 
 and her whole soul shines out through them ! " 
 
 "Why, grandmamma!" cried Netta, "you are really elo 
 quent ! " 
 
 "So is Gertrude, at such times as those I speak of. 0! she 
 is a girl after my own heart." 
 
 " She must be a very agreeable young lady, from your ac 
 count," said Mr. Petrancourt. "We must know her." 
 
 " You will not find her at all the same stamp as most of the 
 agreeable young ladies whom you meet in the gay circles. I 
 must tell you what Horace Willard said of her. He is an ac 
 complished man and a scholar, his opinion is worth some 
 thing. He has been staying a fortnight at the United States 
 Hotel, and used to call here occasionally, to see us. The day 
 he left, he came to me and said, * Where is Miss Flint ? I must 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 337 
 
 have one more refreshing conversation with her before I go. 
 It is a perfect rest to be in that young lady s society, for she 
 never seems to be making the least effort to talk with me, or 
 to expect any attempt on my part; she is one of the few girls 
 who never speak unless they have something to say. How 
 she has contrived to quiet those children ! " 
 
 Mr. Petrancourt followed the direction of Madam Gryse- 
 worth s eyes. "Is that the young lady you are speaking of ? " 
 asked he. "The one with great dark eyes, and such a splen 
 did head of hair ? I have been noticing her for some time. " 
 
 "Yes, that is she, talking to the little girl in black." 
 
 "Madam Gryseworth," said Dr. Jeremy, through the long 
 open window, and stepping inside as he spoke, "I see you ap 
 preciate our Gerty ; I did not say too much in praise of her 
 good sense, did I ? " 
 
 "Not half enough, doctor; she is a very bright girl, and a 
 very good one, I believe." 
 
 "Good!" exclaimed the doctor; "I didn t know that good 
 ness counted in these places; but if goodness is worth speak 
 ing of, I should like to tell you a little of what I know of 
 that girl ; " and, without going closely into particulars, he com 
 menced dilating enthusiastically upon Gertrude s noble and dis 
 interested conduct under trying circumstances, and, warming 
 with his subject, had recounted in a touching manner her de 
 votion to one old paralytic, to another infirm, imbecile, and 
 ill-tempered old man, and his slowly declining daughter, and 
 would have proceeded, perhaps, to speak of her recent self-sac 
 rificing labors in Emily s service; but Miss Graham touched 
 his arm, spoke in a low voice, and interrupted him. 
 
 He stopped abruptly. "Emily, my dear," said he, "I beg 
 your pardon; I didn t know you were here; but what you say 
 is very true. Gertrude is a private character, and I have no 
 right to bring her before the public. I am an old fool, cer 
 tainly ; but there, we are all friends. " And he looked around 
 the circle a little anxiously, cast a slightly suspicious glance at 
 the Petrancourts, and finally rested his gaze upon a figure di 
 rectly behind Ellen Gryseworth. The latter turned, not having 
 been previously aware that any stranger was in the neighbor 
 hood, and to her surprise found herself face to face with Mr. 
 Phillips! 
 
 "Good-evening, sir," said she, on recognizing him; but he 
 
338 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 did not seem to hear her. Madam Gryseworth, who had never 
 seen him before, looked up inquiringly. 
 
 "Mr. Phillips," said Ellen, "shall I make you acquainted 
 with Mrs. Gryseworth, my " But, before she could com 
 plete the introduction, he had darted quickly through the win 
 dow, and was walking across the piazza with hasty strides. He 
 drew forth his handkerchief, wiped the moisture from his brow, 
 and unseen and unsuspected brushed away a tear. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 339 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 It was not thus in other days we met: 
 
 Hath time, hath absence, taught thee to forget ? 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 LATER in the evening, when Gertrude, having resigned her 
 little charge to the nurse who came to seek her, had again 
 joined her party, the attention of every one assembled in the 
 drawing-room was attracted by the entrance of a beautiful and 
 showily dressed young lady, attended by two or three gentle 
 men. After glancing round the room for the person whom she 
 came to seek, she advanced towards Mrs. Petrancourt, who, on 
 her part, rose to receive her young visitor. Unexpected as the 
 meeting was to Gertrude, she at once recognized Isabel Clinton, 
 who, however, passed both her and Emily without observing 
 them, and there being no vacant chair near at hand, seated herself 
 with Mrs. Petrancourt on a couch a little further up the room, 
 and entered into earnest and familiar conversation ; nor did she 
 change her position or look in the direction of Dr. Jeremy s 
 party, until just as she was taking her leave. She would have 
 passed them then without noticing their presence, but acciden 
 tally hearing Dr. Gryseworth address Miss Flint by name, she 
 half turned, caught Gertrude s eye, spoke a careless "How do 
 you do," with that sort of indifference with which one salutes 
 a very slight acquaintance, cast a look back at Emily, surveyed 
 with an impertinent air of curiosity the rest of the circle to 
 which they belonged, and without stopping to exchange words 
 or inquiries, walked off whispering to her companions some 
 satirical comments both upon the place and the company. 
 
 " 0, what a beauty ! " exclaimed Netta to Mrs. Petrancourt. 
 "Who is she?" 
 
 Mrs. Petrancourt related what she knew of Miss Clinton; 
 told how she had travelled with her in Switzerland, and met 
 her afterwards in Paris, where she was universally admired; 
 then, turning to Gertrude, she remarked, " You are acquainted 
 with her, I see, Miss Flint." 
 
340 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 Gertrude replied that she knew her before she went abroad, 
 but had seen nothing of her since her return. 
 
 "She has but just arrived," said Mrs. Petrancourt; "she 
 came with her father in the last steamer, and has been in Sara 
 toga but a day or two. She is making a great sensation at the 
 United States, I hear, and has troops of beaux." 
 
 "Most of whom are probably aware," remarked Mr. Petran 
 court, "that she will have plenty of money one of these days." 
 
 Emily s attention was by this time attracted. She had been 
 conversing with Ellen Gryseworth, but now turned to ask Ger 
 trude if they were speaking of Isabel Clinton. 
 
 "Yes," said Dr. Jeremy, taking upon himself to reply, "and 
 if she were not the rudest girl in the world, my dear, you 
 would not have remained so long in ignorance of her having 
 been here." 
 
 Emily forbore to make any comment. It did not surprise 
 her to hear that the Clintons had returned home, as they had 
 separated from the Grahams soon after the latter went abroad, 
 and she had since heard nothing of their movements ; nor was 
 she astonished at any degree of incivility from one who some 
 times seemed ignorant of the most common rules of politeness. 
 Gertrude was silent also ; but she burned inwardly, as she always 
 did, at any slights being offered to the gentle Emily. 
 
 Gertrude and Dr. Jeremy were always among the earliest 
 morning visitors at the spring. The doctor enjoyed drinking 
 the water at this hour; and as Gertrude was an early riser and 
 fond of walking before breakfast, he made it a point that she 
 should accompany him, partake of the beverage of which he 
 was himself so fond, and afterwards join him in brisk pedes 
 trian exercise until near the hour of the morning meal, which 
 was as early as Mrs. Jeremy or Emily cared to have their slum 
 bers disturbed. 
 
 On the morning succeeding the evening of which we have 
 been speaking they had as usual presented themselves at the 
 spring. Gertrude had gratified the doctor, and made a martyr 
 of herself by imbibing a tumbler-full of a water which she found 
 very unpalatable ; and he having quaffed his seventh glass, they 
 had both proceeded some distance on one more walk around the 
 grounds, when he suddenly missed his cane, and believing that 
 he had left it at the spring, declared his intention to return and 
 look for it 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 341 
 
 Gertrude would have gone back also, but as there might be 
 some difficulty and delay in recovering it, he insisted upon her 
 continuing her walk in the direction of the circular railway, 
 promising to come round the other way and meet her. She had 
 proceeded some little distance, and was walking thoughtfully 
 along, when at an abrupt winding in the path she observed a 
 couple approaching her, a young lady leaning on the arm of 
 a gentleman. A straw hat partly concealed the face of the 
 latter, but in the former she at once recognized Belle Clinton. 
 It was equally evident, too, that Belle saw Gertrude, and knew 
 her, but did not mean to acknowledge her acquaintance ; for, 
 after the first glance, she kept her eyes obstinately fixed either 
 upon her companion or the ground. This conduct did not dis 
 turb Gertrude in the least; Belle could not feel more indiffer 
 ent about the acquaintance than she did ; but being thus saved 
 the necessity of awaiting and returning any salutation from that 
 quarter, she naturally bestowed her passing glance upon the 
 gentleman who accompanied Miss Clinton. He looked up at 
 the same instant, fixed his full gray eyes upon her, with merely 
 that careless look, however, with which one stranger regards 
 another, then turning as carelessly away, made some slight re 
 mark to his companion. 
 
 They pass on. They have gone some steps, but Gertrude 
 stands fixed to the spot. She feels a great throbbing at her 
 heart. She knows that look, that voice, as well as if she had 
 seen and heard them yesterday. Could Gertrude forget Willie 
 Sullivan ? 
 
 But he has forgotten her. Shall she run after him, and stop 
 him, and catch both his hands in hers, and compel him to see, 
 and know, and speak to her ? She started one step forward in 
 the direction he had taken, then suddenly paused and hesitated. 
 A crowd of emotions choked, blinded, suffocated her, and while 
 she wrestled with them and they with her, he turned the corner 
 and passed out of sight. She covered her face with her hands 
 (always her first impulse in moments of distress), and leaned 
 against a tree. 
 
 It was Willie. There was no doubt of that; but not her 
 Willie, the boy Willie. It was true, time had added but 
 little to his height or breadth of figure, for he was a well-grown 
 youth when he went away. But six years of Eastern life, in 
 cluding no small amount of travel, care, exposure, and suffering, 
 
342 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 had done the work that twice that time would ordinarily have 
 accomplished. 
 
 The fresh complexion of the boy had given place to the paler 
 beard-darkened and somewhat sun-browned tints that mark a 
 ripened manhood; the joyous eye had a deeper cast of thought, 
 the elastic step a more firm and measured tread; while the 
 beaming, sunny expression of countenance had given place to 
 a certain grave and composed look, which marked his features 
 when in repose. 
 
 The winning attractiveness of the boy, however, had but 
 given place to equal, if not superior qualities in the man, who 
 was still eminently handsome, and gifted with that inborn and 
 natural grace and ease of deportment which win universal re 
 mark and commendation. The broad, open forehead, the lines 
 of mild but firm decision about the mouth, the frank, fearless 
 manner, were as marked as ever, and were alone sufficient to 
 betray his identity to one upon whose memory these, and all 
 his other characteristics were indelibly stamped; and Gertrude 
 needed not the sound of his well-known voice, though that, too, 
 at the same moment fell upon her ear, to proclaim at once to 
 her beating heart that Willie Sullivan had met her face to face, 
 had passed on, and that she was left alone, unrecognized, un 
 known, and to all appearance unthought of and uncared for ! 
 
 For a time, this bitter thought, "He does not know me," 
 was alone present to her mind; it filled and engrossed her en 
 tire imagination, and sent a thrill of surprise and agony through 
 her whole frame. She did not stop to reflect upon the fact that 
 she was but a child when she parted from him, and that the 
 change in her appearance must be immense. Far less did it 
 occur to her to congratulate herself upon a transformation every 
 shade of which had been to her a proportionate improvement 
 and advantage. The one painful idea, that she was forgotten 
 and lost, as it were, to the dear friend of her childhood, oblit 
 erated every other recollection. Had they both been children, 
 as in the earlier days of their brother-and-sisterhood, it would 
 have been easy and but natural to dart forward, overtake, and 
 claim him. But time, in the changes it had wrought, had built 
 up a huge barrier between them. Gertrude was a woman now, 
 with all a woman s pride; and delicacy and maiden modesty 
 deterred her from the course which impulse and old affection 
 prompted. Other feelings, too, soon crowded into her mind. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 343 
 
 in confused and mingled array. Why was Willie here, and 
 with Isabel Clinton leaning on his arm ? How came he on this 
 side the ocean? and how happened it that he had not immedi 
 ately sought herself, the earliest, and, as she had supposed, 
 almost the only friend he had left to welcome him back to his 
 native land? Why had he not written and warned her of his 
 coming? How should she account for his strange silence, and 
 the still stranger circumstance of his hurrying at once to the 
 haunts of fashion, without once visiting the city of his birth 
 and the sister of his adoption ? 
 
 Question after question, and doubt following doubt, rushed 
 into her mind so confusedly, that she could not reflect, could 
 not come to any conclusion in the matter. She could only feel 
 and weep; and giving way to her overpowering emotion, she 
 burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 Poor child ! It was so different a meeting from what she 
 had imagined and expected ! For the six years that she had 
 been growing into womanhood, it had been the dream of her 
 waking hours, and had come as a beautiful though transient 
 reality to her happy sleep. He could hardly have presented 
 himself at any hour of the day or night, scarcely in any disguise, 
 that would not have been foreseen and anticipated. He could 
 have used no form of greeting that had not already rung in the 
 ears of her fancy ; he could bestow upon her no look that would 
 not be familiar. What Willie would say when he first saw her, 
 what he would do to express his delight, the questions he would 
 ask, the exclamations he would utter, and the corresponding 
 replies on her part, the happiness of them both (lately sobered 
 and subdued to her imagination by the thought of the dear de 
 parted ones they had both loved so well), all this had been 
 rehearsed by Gertrude again and again, in every new instance tak 
 ing some new form, or varied by some additional circumstance. 
 
 But among all her visions, there had been none which in 
 the least approached the reality of this painful experience that 
 had suddenly plunged her into disappointment and sorrow. Her 
 darkest dreams had never pictured a meeting so chilling; her 
 most fearful forebodings (and she had of late had many) had 
 never prefigured anything so heart-rending as this seemingly 
 total annihilation of all the sweet and cherished relations that 
 had subsisted between herself and the long-absent and exiled 
 wanderer. 
 
344 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 No wonder, then, that she forgot the place, the time, every 
 thing but her own overwhelming grief; and that, as she stood 
 leaning against the old tree, her chest heaved with sobs too 
 deep for utterance, and great tears trickled from her eyes, and 
 between the little taper fingers that vainly sought to hide her 
 disturbed countenance. 
 
 She was startled from her position by the sound of an ap 
 proaching footstep. Hastily starting forward, without looking 
 in the direction from which it came, and throwing a lace veil 
 (which, as the day was warm, was the only protection she wore 
 upon her head) in such a manner as to hide her face, she wiped 
 away her fast-flowing tears, and hastened on, to avoid being 
 overtaken and observed by any of the numerous strangers who 
 frequented the grounds at this hour. 
 
 Half blinded, however, by the thick folds of the veil, and 
 her sight rendered still dimmer by the tears which continued to 
 fill her eyes, she was scarcely conscious of the unsteady course 
 she was pursuing, when suddenly a loud, whizzing noise, close 
 to her ears, frightened and confused her so that she knew not 
 which way to turn ; nor had she time to take a single step ; for 
 at the same instant an arm was suddenly flung round her waist, 
 she was forcibly lifted from her feet with as much ease and 
 lightness as if she had been a little child, and before she was 
 conscious what was taking place, found herself detained and 
 supported by the same strong arm, while just in front of her 
 a little hand-car containing two persons was whirling by at full 
 speed. One step more, and she would have reached the track 
 of the miniature railway, and been exposed to serious, perhaps 
 fatal injury, from the rapidly moving vehicle. Flinging back 
 her veil, she at once perceived her fortunate escape; and being 
 at the same moment released from the firm grasp of her rescuer, 
 she turned upon him a half -confused, half-grateful face, whose 
 disturbed expression was much enhanced by her previous ex 
 citement and tears. 
 
 Mr. Phillips for it was he looked upon her in the most 
 tender and pitying manner. " Poor child ! " said he sooth 
 ingly, at the same time drawing her arm through his, "you 
 were very much frightened. Here, sit down upon this bench ; " 
 and he would have drawn her towards a seat, but she shook her 
 head, and signified by a movement her wish to proceed towards 
 the hotel. She could not speak; the kindness of his look and 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 345 
 
 voice only served to increase her trouble, and rob her of the 
 power to articulate. 
 
 So he walked on in perfect silence, supporting her, however, 
 with the greatest care, and bestowing upon her many an anx 
 ious glance. At last, making a great effort to recover her calm 
 ness, she partially succeeded, so much so that he ventured to 
 speak again, and asked, " Did / frighten you ? " 
 
 " You ? " replied she, in a low and somewhat unsteady voice. 
 "0, no! you are very kind." 
 
 "I am sorry you are so disturbed," said he; "those little 
 .cars are troublesome things; I wish they d put a stop to them." 
 
 "The car?" said Gertrude in an absent way. "0, yes, I 
 forgot." 
 
 "You are a little nervous, I fear. Can t you get Dr. Jeremy 
 to prescribe for you ? " 
 
 "The doctor! He went back for his cane, I believe." 
 
 Mr. Phillips saw that she was bewildered, obtuse he knew 
 she never was; for within the last few days his acquaintance 
 with her had grown and ripened by frequent intercourse. He 
 forbore any attempt at conversation, and they continued their 
 walk to the hotel without another word. Just before leaving 
 her, however, he said, in a tone of the deepest interest, as he 
 held her hand for a moment at parting, " Can I do anything 
 for you ? Can I help you ? " 
 
 Gertrude looked up at him. She saw at once, from his coun 
 tenance, that he understood and realized that she was unhappy, 
 not nervous. Her eyes thanked him as they again glistened 
 behind a shower of tears. "No, no," gasped she, "but you are 
 very good ; " and she hastened into the house, leaving him stand 
 ing for more than a minute in the spot where she had left him, 
 gazing at the door by which she had disappeared, as if she were 
 still in sight, and he were watching her. 
 
 Gertrude s first thought, after parting from Mr. Phillips and 
 gaming the shelter of the hotel, was how she might best conceal 
 from all her friends, and especially from Miss Graham, any know 
 ledge of the load of grief she was sustaining. That she would 
 receive sympathy and comfort from Emily there could be no 
 doubt; but in proportion as she loved and respected her bene 
 factress, did she shrink, with jealous sensitiveness, from any 
 disclosure which was calculated to lessen Willie Sullivan in the 
 estimation of one in whose opinion she was anxious that he should 
 
846 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 sustain the high place to which her own praises had exalted 
 him. 
 
 The chief knowledge that Emily had of Willie was derived 
 from Gertrude, and with a mingled feeling of tenderness for him 
 and pride on her own account did the latter dread to disclose 
 the fact that he had returned after so many years of absence, 
 that she had met him in the public walks of Saratoga, and that 
 he had passed her carelessly by. 
 
 The possibility naturally presented itself to her mind that he 
 had indeed visited Boston, sought her, and learning where she 
 might be found, had come hither purposely to see her; nor, on 
 calm reflection, did this supposition seem contradicted by his 
 failing, on a mere casual glance, to recognize her; for she could 
 not be ignorant or insensible of the vast change which had taken 
 place both in her face and figure. But the ray of hope which 
 this thought called up was quickly dissipated by the recollection 
 of a letter received the previous evening from Mrs. Ellis (now 
 acting as housekeeper at Dr. Jeremy s), which would certainly 
 have mentioned the arrival of so important a visitor. There 
 was, however, the still further possibility that this arrival might 
 have taken place since the date of Mrs. Ellis s concise epistle, 
 and that Willie might have but just reached his destination, 
 and not yet had time to discover her temporary place of abode. 
 Though the leisurely manner in which he was escorting Miss 
 Clinton on her morning walk seemed to contradict the supposi 
 tion, Gertrude, clinging fondly to this frail hope, and believing 
 that the rest of the day would not pass without his presenting 
 himself at the hotel, determined to concentrate all her energies 
 in the effort to maintain her usual composure, at least until her 
 fears should become certainties. 
 
 It was very hard for her to appear as usual, and elude the 
 vigilance of the affectionate and careful Emily, who, always deeply 
 conscious of her responsibility towards her young charge, and 
 fearful lest, owing to her blindness, she might even be an insuffi 
 cient protection to one of so ardent and excitable a temperament, 
 was keenly alive to every sensation and emotion experienced by 
 Gertrude, especially to any fluctuation in her usually cheerful 
 spirits. 
 
 And Gertrude s spirits, even when she had armed herself 
 with confidence and hope by the encouraging thought that Wil 
 lie would yet prove faithful to his old friendship, could not but 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 847 
 
 be sorely depressed by the consciousness now forced upon her 
 that he could no longer be to her as he had once been ; that they 
 could never meet on the same footing on which they had parted ; 
 that he was a man of the world now, with new relations, new 
 cares, new interests; and that she had been deceiving herself, 
 and laboring under a fond delusion, in cherishing the belief 
 that in their case the laws of nature would be suspended, and 
 time have no power to alter or modify the nature and extent of 
 their mutual affection. There was something in the very cir 
 cumstance of her first meeting him in company with Isabel 
 Clinton which tended to impress her with this conviction. 
 Isabel, of all people, one so essentially worldly, and with whom 
 she had so little sympathy or congeniality ! True, she was the 
 daughter of Willie s early and generous employer, now the sen 
 ior partner in the mercantile house to which he belonged, and 
 would not only be likely to form his acquaintance, but would 
 have an undoubted claim to every polite attention he might have 
 it in his power to pay her ; but still Gertrude could not but feel 
 a greater sense of estrangement, a chilling presentiment of sor 
 row, from seeing him thus familiarly associated with one who 
 had invariably treated her with scorn and incivility. 
 
 There was but one thing for her to do, however; to call up 
 all her self-command, bring pride even to her aid, and endeavor, 
 in any event, to behave with serenity and composure. The 
 very fear that one keen and searching pair of eyes had already 
 penetrated her secret so far as to discover that she was afflicted 
 in some form or other served to put her still more upon her 
 guard; and she therefore compelled herself to enter the room 
 where Emily was awaiting her, bid her a cheerful "good-morn 
 ing," and assist, as usual, in the completion of her toilet. Her 
 face still bore indications of recent tears ; but that Emily could not 
 see, and by breakfast time even they were effectually removed. 
 
 Now, again, new trials awaited her ; for Dr. Jeremy, accord 
 ing to his promise, had, after recovering the missing cane, gone 
 to meet her in the direction agreed upon, and finding her false 
 to her appointment, and nowhere to be found among the grounds, 
 was full of inquiries as to the path she had taken, and her rea 
 sons for giving him the slip. 
 
 Now, for the first time, she recollected the doctor s promise 
 to rejoin her, and the stipulation that she should proceed in 
 the path she was then following ; but having, until these ques- 
 
348 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 tions were put to her, quite forgotten the old gentleman, she 
 was unprepared for a reply, blushed, and became very much 
 confused. The truth was that when Gertrude heard Mr. Phil 
 lips approaching in the direction she should have taken, she, 
 in her eagerness to avoid meeting any one, took the contrary 
 path to that she had been pursuing, and after he joined her, 
 retraced her steps to the hotel in the same way she had come, 
 consequently eluding the search of the doctor. 
 
 But before she could plead any excuse, Netta Gryseworth 
 came running up, evidently full of pleasantry and fun, and lean 
 ing over Gertrude s shoulder, said, in a whisper loud enough to 
 be heard by all the little circle, who were being delayed on their 
 way to breakfast by the doctor s demand for an explanation, 
 " Gertrude, my dear, such affecting partings ought to be private. 
 I wonder you allow them to take place directly at the doorstep." 
 ,This remark did not lessen Gertrude s discomfiture, which 
 became extreme on Dr. Jeremy s catching Netta by the arm as 
 she was about to run off, and insisting upon knowing her mean 
 ing, declaring that he already had suspicions of Gertrude, and 
 wanted to know who she had been walking with. 
 
 " 0, a certain tall young beau of hers, who stood gazing after 
 her when she left him, until I began to fear the cruel creature 
 had turned him into stone. What did you do to the poor man, 
 Gertrude 1 " 
 
 " Nothing," replied Gertrude. "He saved me from being 
 thrown down by the little rail-car, and afterwards walked home 
 with me." 
 
 Gertrude answered seriously; she could have laughed and 
 joked with Netta at any other time, but now her heart was too 
 heavy. The doctor did not perceive her growing agitation, 
 however, and pushed the matter still further. 
 
 "Quite romantic! imminent danger! providential rescue! 
 tete-a-tete walk home, carefully avoiding the old doctor, who 
 might prove an interruption ! I understand ! " 
 
 Poor Gertrude, blushing scarlet and pitiably distressed, tried 
 to offer some explanation, and stammered out, with a faltering 
 voice, that she did not notice she did n t remember. 
 
 Ellen Gryseworth gave her a scrutinizing glance, Emily an 
 anxious one, and Netta, half pitying, half enjoying her confusion, 
 dragged her off towards the breakfast hall, saying, "Never mind, 
 Gertrude; it s no such dreadful thing, after all." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 349 
 
 She made a pretence of eating breakfast, but could not con 
 ceal her want of appetite, and was glad, when Emily had fin 
 ished her light repast, to accompany her to their own room, 
 where after relating circumstantially her escape from accident, 
 and Mr. Phillips s agency in that escape, she was permitted by 
 her apparently satisfied hearer to sit down quietly and read aloud 
 to her in a book lent them by that gentleman, to whom, how 
 ever, owing to unfriendly fortune, no opportunity had ever yet 
 occurred of introducing Ernily. 
 
 The whole morning passed away, and nothing was heard from 
 Willie. Every time a servant passed through the entry, Ger 
 trude was on the tiptoe of expectation ; and on occasion of a tap 
 at the door, such as occurred several times before dinner, she 
 trembled so that she could hardly lift the latch. There was no 
 summons to the parlor, however, and by noon the feverish ex 
 citement of alternate expectation and disappointment had brought 
 a deep flush into her face, and she experienced, what was very 
 unusual, symptoms of a severe headache. Conscious, however, 
 of the wrong construction which would be sure to be put upon 
 her conduct, if upon any plea whatever she on this day absented 
 herself from the dinner table, she made the effort to dress with 
 as much care as usual ; and as she passed up the hall to her seat, 
 it was not strange that, though suffering herself, the rich glov? 
 that mantled her cheeks, and the brilliancy which excitement 
 had given to her dark eyes, attracted the notice of others beside 
 Mr. Phillips, who, seated at some distance, continued, during 
 the short time that he remained at the table, to observe her 
 attentively. 
 
350 THE LAMFLIGHTEB 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 O er the wrung heart, from midnight s breathless sky, 
 Lone looks the pity of the Eternal Eye. 
 
 NEW TIMON. 
 
 WHEN Gertrude went to her room after dinner, which she 
 did as soon as she had seen Eniily comfortably established in 
 the drawing-room in conversation with Madam Gryseworth, she 
 found there a beautiful bouquet of the choicest flowers, which 
 the chamber-maid assured her she had been commissioned to 
 deliver to herself. She rightly imagined the source from whence 
 they came, divined at once the motives of kindness and sympa 
 thy which had prompted the donor of so sweet and acceptable 
 a gift, and felt that, if she must accept pity from any quarter, 
 Mr. Phillips was one from whom she could more easily bear to 
 receive it than from almost any other. 
 
 Notwithstanding Netta s intimations, she did not for a mo 
 ment suspect that any other motives than those of kindness and 
 compassion had instigated the offering of the beautiful flowers. 
 Nor had she reason to do so; Mr. Phillips s manner towards her 
 was rather fatherly than lover-like, and though she began to 
 look upon him as a valuable friend, that was the only light in 
 which she had ever thought of viewing him, or believed that 
 he ever regarded her. She placed the flowers in water, returned 
 to the parlor, and constrained herself to talk on indifferent sub 
 jects, until she was happily relieved by the breaking up of their 
 circle, part to ride on horseback, part to take a drive, and the 
 rest a nap. Among these last was Gertrude, who availed her 
 self of her headache as an excuse to Emily for this unwonted 
 indulgence. But she could not sleep, and the day wore wea 
 rily on. 
 
 Evening came at last, and with it an urgent invitation to 
 Gertrude to accompany Dr. Gryseworth, his daughters, and the 
 Petrancourts to a concert to be given at the United States 
 Hotel. This she declined doing, and persisted in her refusal, 
 in spite of every endeavor to shake her resolution. She felt 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 351 
 
 that it would be impossible for her to undergo another such 
 encounter as that of the morning, she should be sure to be 
 tray herself; and now that the whole day had passed, and Wil 
 lie had made no attempt to see her, she felt that she would not, 
 for the world, put herself in his way, arid run the risk of being 
 discovered and recognized by him in a crowded concert room. 
 No, she would wait; she should see him soon, at the latest, 
 and under the present circumstances she should not know how 
 to meet him ; she would preserve her incognito a little longer. 
 
 So they all went without her, and many others from their 
 hotel ; and the parlor, being half deserted, was very quiet, a 
 great relief to Gertrude s aching head and troubled mind. Later 
 in the evening, an elderly man, a clergyman, had been intro 
 duced to Emily, and was talking with her; Madam Gryseworth 
 and Dr. Jeremy were entertaining each other, Mrs. Jeremy was 
 nodding, and Gertrude, believing that she should not be missed, 
 was gliding out of the room to go and sit awhile by herself in 
 the moonlight, when she met Mr. Phillips in the hall. 
 
 " What are you here all alone for ? " asked he. " Why did n t 
 you go to the concert ? " 
 
 "I have a headache." 
 
 * I saw you had at dinner. Is it no better ? " 
 
 "No. I believe not." 
 
 " Come and walk with me on the piazza a little while. It 
 will do you good." 
 
 She went; and he talked very entertainingly to her, told 
 her a great many amusing anecdotes, succeeded in making her 
 smile, and even laugh, and seemed very much pleased at having 
 done so. He related many amusing things he had seen and 
 heard since he had been staying at Saratoga in the character of 
 a spectator, and ended by asking her if she did n t think it was 
 a heartless show. 
 
 The question took Gertrude by surprise. She asked his 
 meaning. 
 
 "Don t you think there is something very ridiculous in so 
 many thousand people coming here to enjoy themselves 1 " 
 
 "I don t know," answered Gertrude; "but it has not seemed 
 so to me. I think it s an excellent thing for those who do 
 enjoy themselves." 
 
 "And how many do " 
 
 "The greater part, I suppose." 
 
352 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "Pshaw! no, they don t. More than half go away misera 
 ble, and nearly all the rest dissatisfied." 
 
 "Do you think so? Now, I thought the charm of the place 
 was seeing so many happy faces; they have nearly all looked 
 happy to me." 
 
 "0, that s all on the surface, and if you ll notice, those 
 who look happy one day are wretched enough the next. Yours 
 was one of the happy faces yesterday, but it is n t to-day, my 
 poor child." 
 
 Then, perceiving that his remark caused the hand which 
 rested on his arm to tremble, while the eyes which had been 
 attentively raised to his suddenly fell, and hid themselves under 
 their long lashes, he continued: "However, we will trust soon 
 to see it as bright as ever. But they should not have brought 
 you here. Catskill Mountain was a fitter place for your lively 
 imagination and reflecting mind; a sensitive nature should not 
 be exposed to all the shafts of malice, envy, and ill-will it is 
 sure to encounter in one of these crowded resorts of selfish, base, 
 and cruel humanity." 
 
 " ! " exclaimed Gertrude, at once comprehending that Mr. 
 Phillips suspected her to be smarting under some neglect, feel 
 ing of wounded pride, or perhaps serious injury; "you speak 
 harshly ; all are not selfish, all are not unkind. " 
 
 "Ah ! you are young, and full of faith; trust whom you can, 
 and as long as you can. /trust no one." 
 
 "No one! Is there none, then, in the whole world whom 
 you love and confide in ? " 
 
 "Scarcely; certainly not more than one. Whom should I 
 trust ? " 
 
 "The good, the pure, the truly great." 
 
 " And who are they 1 How shall we distinguish them 1 I 
 tell you, my young friend, that in my experience and it has 
 been rich, ay, very rich, " and he set his teeth and spoke 
 with bitterness, " the so-called good, the honorable, the up 
 right man, has proved but the varnished hypocrite, the highly 
 finished and polished sinner. Yes," continued he, his voice 
 growing deeper, his manner more excited as he spoke, " I can 
 think of one, a respectable man, one of your first men, yes, and 
 a church member, whose hardness, injustice, and cruelty made 
 my life what it has been a desert, a blank or worse than that , 
 and I can think of another, an old, rough, intemperate sailor, 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 353 
 
 over whose head a day never passed that he did not take the 
 name of his God in vain, who had, nevertheless, at the bottom 
 of his heart a drop of such pure, unsullied essence of virtue as 
 could not be distilled from the souls of ten thousand of your 
 polished rogues. Which, then, shall I trust, the good, re 
 ligious men, or the low, profane, and abject ones? " 
 
 "Trust in goodness, wherever it be found," answered Ger 
 trude. "But, 0, trust all, rather than none." 
 
 "Your world, your religion, draws a closer line." 
 
 "Call it not my world, or my religion," said Gertrude. "I 
 know of no such line. I know of no religion but that of the 
 heart. Christ died for us all alike, and since few souls are so 
 sunk in sin that they do not retain some spark of virtue and 
 truth, who shall say in how many a light will at last spring up, 
 by aid of which they may find their way to God 1 " 
 
 "You are a good child, and full of hope and charity," said 
 Mr. Phillips, pressing her arm closely to his side. "I will try 
 and have faith in you. But, see ! our friends have returned 
 from the concert. Let us go and meet them." 
 
 They had had a delightful time ; Alboni had excelled herself 
 and they were so sorry Gertrude did not go. "But perhaps," 
 whispered Netta, "you have enjoyed yourself more at home." 
 She half repented of the sly intimation, even before the words 
 had escaped her; for Gertrude, as she stood leaning unconcern 
 edly upon Mr. Phillips s arm, looked so innocent of confusion 
 or embarrassment, that her very manner refuted Netta s sus 
 picions. 
 
 "Miss Clinton was there," continued Netta, "and looked 
 beautifully. She had a crowd of gentlemen about her; but 
 did n t you notice " (and she turned to Mrs. Petrancourt) "that 
 one seemed to meet with such marked favor that I wonder the 
 rest were not discouraged. I mean that tall, handsome young 
 man, who waited upon her into the hall, and went out soon after. 
 She devoted herself to him while he stayed." 
 
 "It was the same one, was it not," asked Ellen, "who after 
 wards, towards the close of the concert, came in and stood lean 
 ing against the wall for some minutes ? " 
 
 "Yes," answered Netta; "but he only waited for Alboni to 
 finish singing, and then approaching Miss Clinton, leaned over 
 and whispered a word or two in her ear. After that she got 
 up, left her seat, and they both went off, rather to the mortifi- 
 
354 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 cation of the other gentlemen. I noticed them pass by the 
 window where we sat, and walk across the grounds together." 
 
 "Yes, just in the midst of that beautiful piece from Lucia," 
 said Ellen. "How could they go away ? " 
 
 "O, it is not strange, under the circumstances," said Mr. 
 Petrancourt, "that Miss Clinton should prefer a walk with Mr. 
 Sullivan to the best music in the world." 
 
 " Why ? " asked Netta. "Is he very agreeable ? Is he sup 
 posed to be the favored one ? " 
 
 "I should think there was no doubt of it," answered Mr. 
 Petrancourt. "I believe it is generally thought to be an en 
 gagement. He was in Paris with them during the spring, and 
 they all came home in the same steamer. Everybody knows it 
 is the wish of Mr. Clinton s heart, and Miss Isabel makes no 
 secret of her preference." 
 
 "0, certainly," interposed Mrs. Petrancourt; "it is an un 
 derstood thing. I heard it spoken of by two or three persons 
 this evening." 
 
 What became of Gertrude all this time? Could she, who 
 for six years had nursed the fond idea that to Willie she was, 
 and should still continue to be, all in all, could she stand 
 patiently by, and hear him thus disposed of and given to an 
 other ? 
 
 She did do it ; not consciously, however, for her head swam 
 round, and she would have fallen but for the firm support of 
 Mr. Phillips, who held her arm so tightly that though he felt, 
 the rest could not see, how she trembled. Fortunately, too, 
 none but he thought of noticing her blanched face ; and as she 
 stood somewhat in the shadow, he alone, fully aware of her 
 agitation, was watching the strained and eager eyes, the parted 
 and rigid lips, the death-like pallor of her countenance. 
 
 Standing there with her heart beating like a heavy drum, and 
 almost believing herself in a horrid dream, she listened atten 
 tively, heard and comprehended every word. She could not, 
 however, have spoken or moved for her life, and in an instant 
 more accident might have betrayed her excited and almost 
 alarming condition. But Mr. Phillips acted, spoke, and moved 
 for her, and she was spared an exposure from which her deli 
 cate and sensitive spirit would have shrunk indeed. 
 
 "Mr. Sullivan! " said he. Ah! a fine fellow; I know him. 
 Miss Gertrude, I must tell you an anecdote about that young 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 355 
 
 man ; " and moving forward in the direction in which they had 
 been walking when they met the party from the concert, he 
 made as if they were still intending to prolong their promenade 
 a promenade, however, in which he was the only walker, for 
 Gertrude was literally borne upon his arm, until the rest of the 
 company, who started at the same moment for the parlor, were 
 hid within its shelter, and he and his companion were left the 
 sole occupants of that portion of the piazza. 
 
 Until then he proceeded with his story, and went so far as 
 to relate that he and Mr. Sullivan were, a few years previous, 
 travelling together across an Arabian desert, when the latter 
 proved of signal service in saving him from a sudden attack by 
 a wandering tribe of Bedouins. By the time he had thus opened 
 his narration, he perceived that all danger of observation was 
 passed, and hesitated not to stop abruptly, and without ceremony 
 or apology place her in an arm-chair which stood conveniently 
 near. "Sit here," said he, "while I go and bring you a glass 
 of water." He then wrapped her mantle tightly about her, 
 and walked quickly away. 
 
 0, how Gertrude thanked him in her heart for thus consid 
 erately leaving her, and giving her time to recover herself ! It 
 was the most judicious thing he could have done, and the 
 kindest. He saw that she would not faint, and knew that left 
 alone she would soon rally her powers; perhaps be deceived by 
 the idea that even he was only half aware of her agitation, and 
 wholly ignorant of its cause. 
 
 He was gone some minutes, and when he returned she was 
 perfectly calm. She tasted the water, but he did not urge her 
 to drink it; he knew she did not require it. "I have kept you 
 out too long," said he; "come, you had better go in now." 
 
 She rose ; he put her arm once more through his, guided her 
 feeble steps to a window which opened into hers and Emily s 
 room, and then, pausing a moment, said in a meaning tone, at 
 the same time enforcing his words by the fixed glance of his 
 piercing eye, " You exhort me, Miss Gertrude, to have faith in 
 everybody; but I bid you, all inexperienced as you are, to 
 beware lest you believe too much. Where you have good foun 
 dation for confidence, abide by it, if you can, firmly and bravely ; 
 but trust nothing which you have not fairly tested, and espe 
 cially, rest assured that the idle gossip of a place like this is 
 utterly unworthy of credit. Good-night." 
 
356 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 What an utter revulsion of feeling these words occasioned 
 Gertrude ! They came to her with all the force of a prophecy, 
 and struck deep into her heart. Was there not wisdom in the 
 stranger s counsel? It was true, she thought, that he spoke 
 merely such simple axioms as a long experience of the world 
 might dictate ; but how forcible, in her case, was their applica 
 tion ! Had not she, blindly yielding to her gloomy presenti 
 ments and fears, been willing to lend a too ready ear to the 
 whisperings of her own jealous imagination, and a too credulous 
 one to the idle reports of others, while in reality she had proved 
 a traitor to a more noble trust 1 Who, during the many years 
 she had known him, could have proved himself more worthy 
 of confidence than Willie? Had he not, from his boyhood, 
 been exemplary in every virtue, superior to every meanness and 
 every form of vice ? Had he not in his early youth forsaken all 
 that he held most dear, to toil and labor beneath an Indian 
 sun, that he might provide comforts and luxuries for those 
 whose support he eagerly took upon himself ? Had he not ever 
 proved honorable, high-minded, sincere, and warm of heart? 
 Above all, had he not been imbued from his infancy with the 
 highest and purest of Christian principles ? 
 
 He had, indeed, been all this; and while Gertrude called it 
 to mind, and dwelt upon each phase of his consistent course, 
 she could not fail to remember, too, that Willie, whether as the 
 generous, kind-hearted boy, the adventurous, energetic youth, 
 the successful, respected, yet sorrow-tried man, had ever mani 
 fested towards herself the same deep, ardent, enthusiastic 
 attachment. The love which he had shown for her in her child 
 hood, and during that period when, though still a child, she 
 labored under the full-grown care and sorrow entailed upon 
 her by Uncle True s sickness and death, had seemed to grow 
 and deepen in every successive day, month, and year of their 
 separation. 
 
 During their long and regular correspondence, no letter had 
 come from Willie that did not breathe the same spirit of devoted 
 affection for Gertrude, an exclusive affection, in which there 
 could be no rivalship. All his thoughts of home and future 
 happy days were inseparably associated with her ; and although 
 Mrs. Sullivan, with that instinctive reserve which was one of 
 her characteristics, never broached the subject to Gertrude, her 
 whole treatment of the latter sufficiently evinced that to her 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 357 
 
 mind the event of her future union with her son was a thing 
 certain. The bold declaration on Willie s part, conveyed in 
 the letter received by Gertrude soon after his mother s death, 
 that his hopes, his prayers, his labors, were now all for her, 
 was not a more convincing proof of the tender light in which he 
 regarded her than all their previous intercourse had been. 
 
 Should Gertrude, then, distrust him? Should she at once 
 set aside all past evidences of his worth, and give ready cre 
 dence to his prompt desertion of his early friend? No! she 
 resolved immediately to banish the unworthy thought, to cher 
 ish still the firm belief that some explanation would shortly 
 offer itself, which would yet satisfy her aching heart. Until 
 then, she would trust him; bravely and firmly too would she 
 trust, for her confidence was not without foundation. 
 
 As she made this heroic resolve, she lifted up her drooping 
 head and gazed out into the night. The moon had gone down, 
 and the sky was studded with stars, bright, clear, and beautiful. 
 Gertrude loved a starry night. It invigorated and strengthened 
 her ; and now, as she looked up, directly above her head stood 
 the star she so much loved, the star which she had once fondly 
 fancied it was Uncle True s blessed privilege to light for her. 
 And as in times long past these heavenly lights had spoken of 
 comfort to her soul, she seemed now to hear ringing in her ears 
 the familiar saying of the dear old man, " Cheer up, birdie, for 
 I m of the pinion twill all come out right at last." 
 
 Gertrude continued through the short remainder of the even 
 ing in an elevated frame of mind, which might almost be termed 
 joyful; and thus sustained, she was able to go back to the 
 drawing-room for Emily, say good-night to her friends with a 
 cheerful voice, and before midnight she sought her pillow and 
 went quietly to sleep. 
 
 This composed state of mind, however, was partly the result 
 of strong excitement, and therefore could not last. The next 
 morning found her once more yielding to depressed spirits, and 
 the effort which she made to rise, dress, and go to breakfast 
 was almost mechanical. She excused herself from her custom 
 ary walk with the doctor, for to that she felt quite unequal. 
 Her first wish was to leave Saratoga ; she longed to go home, to 
 be in a quiet place, where so many eyes would not be upon her ; 
 and when the doctor came in with the letters which had arrived 
 by the early mail, she looked at them so eagerly that he ob- 
 
358 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 served it, and said smilingly, "None for you, Gerty; but one 
 for Emily, which is the next best thing, I suppose." 
 
 To Gertrude this was the very best thing, for it was a long- 
 expected letter from Mr. Graham, which would probably men 
 tion the time of his return from abroad, and consequently deter 
 mine the continuance of her own and Emily s visit at Saratoga. 
 
 To their astonishment, he had already arrived in New York, 
 and desired them to join him there the following day. Ger 
 trude could hardly conceal her satisfaction, which was, however, 
 if noticed by her friends, merely attributed to the pleasure she 
 probably felt at the return of Mr. and Mrs. Graham; and 
 Emily, realJy delighted at the prospect of so soon meeting her 
 father, to whom she was fondly attached, was eager to com 
 mence preparations for leaving. 
 
 They therefore retired to their own room, and Gertrude s 
 time until dinner was fully occupied in the business of packing. 
 Throughout the whole of the previous day she had been anx 
 iously hoping that Willie would make his appearance at their 
 hotel; now, on the contrary, she as earnestly dreaded such an 
 event. To meet him in so public a manner, too, as must here 
 be inevitable, would, under her present state of feelings, be in 
 supportable ; she would infinitely prefer to be in Boston when he 
 should first see and recognize her ; and if she tormented herself 
 yesterday with the fear that he would not come, the dread that 
 he might do so was a still greater cause of distress to her to-day. 
 
 She was therefore relieved when, after dinner, Mr. Phillips 
 kindly proposed a drive to the lake. Dr. Gryseworth and one 
 of his daughters had, he assured Gertrude, agreed to take seats 
 in a carriage which he had provided, and he hoped she would 
 not refuse to occupy the fourth. As it was an hour when 
 Emily would not require her presence, and she would thus be 
 sure to avoid Willie, she gladly consented to the arrangement. 
 
 They had been at the lake nearly an hour. Dr. Gryseworth 
 and his daughter Ellen had been persuaded by a party whom 
 they met there to engage in bowling. Mr. Phillips and Ger 
 trude had declined taking part, but stood for some time looking 
 on. The day, however, being warm, and the air in the build 
 ing uncomfortably close, they had gone outside and seated them 
 selves on a bench at a little distance, to wait until the game 
 was concluded. As they sat thus, surveying the beautiful 
 sheet of water, now rosy red with the rays of the descending 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 359 
 
 sun, a couple approached and took up a position near them. 
 Mr. Phillips was quite screened from their observation by the 
 trunk of a huge tree, and Gertrude sufficiently so to be unno 
 ticed, though the sudden paleness which overspread her face as 
 they drew near was so marked as clearly to indicate that she 
 saw and recognized William Sullivan and Isabel Clinton. The 
 words which they spoke, also, fell distinctly upon her ear. 
 
 " Shall I, then, be so much missed ? " asked Isabel, looking 
 earnestly in the face of her companion, who, with a serious 
 air, was gazing out upon the water. 
 
 " Missed ! " replied he, turning towards her, and speaking in 
 a slightly reproachful voice. " How can it be otherwise ? Who 
 can supply your place ? " 
 
 "But it will be only two days." 
 
 "A short time, under ordinary circumstances," said Willie, 
 " but an eternity " He here checked himself, and made a 
 sudden motion to proceed on their walk. 
 
 Isabel followed him, saying, "But you will wait here until 
 my return ? " 
 
 He again turned to reply, and this time the reproachful look 
 which overspread his features was visible to Gertrude, as he 
 said with great earnestness, " Certainly ; can you doubt it ? " 
 
 The strange, fixed, unnatural expression which took posses 
 sion of Gertrude s countenance as she listened to this conver 
 sation, to her so deeply fraught with meaning, was fearful to 
 witness. 
 
 " Gertrude ! " exclaimed Mr. Phillips, after watching her for 
 a moment. "Gertrude, for heaven s sake, do not look so! 
 Speak, Gertrude ! What is the matter 1 " 
 
 But she did not turn her eyes, did not move a feature of that 
 stony face; she evidently did not hear him. He took her 
 hand. It was cold as marble. His face now wore an appear 
 ance of distress almost equal to her own; great tears rushed 
 to his eyes, and rolled down his cheeks. Once he stretched 
 forth his arms, as if he would gladly clasp her to his bosom and 
 soothe her like a little child, but with evident effort he re 
 pressed the emotion. "Gertrude," said he, at length, leaning 
 forward and fixing his eyes full upon hers, "what have these 
 people done to you ? Why do you care for them ? If that young 
 man has injured you, the rascal ! he shall answer for it ! " 
 and he sprung to his feet. 
 
360 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 The words and the action brought Gertrude to herself. "No! 
 no ! " said she, " he is not that. I am better now. Do not speak 
 of it; don t tell," and she looked anxiously in the direction of 
 the bowling-alley. "I am a great deal better." And to his 
 astonishment, for the fearful, rigid look upon her face had 
 frightened him, she rose with perfect composure, and pro 
 posed going home. 
 
 He accompanied her silently, and before they were halfway 
 up the hill where they had left the carriage, they were over 
 taken by the rest of their party, and in a few moments were 
 driving towards Saratoga. 
 
 During the whole drive and the evening which followed Ger 
 trude preserved this same rigid, unnatural composure. Once 
 or twice before they reached the hotel Dr. Gryse worth asked 
 her if she felt ill, and Mr. Phillips turned many an anxious 
 glance towards her. The very tones of her voice were con 
 strained, so much so that Emily, on her reaching the house, 
 inquired at once, " What is the matter, my dear child 1 " 
 
 But she declared herself quite well, and went through all the 
 duties and proprieties of the evening, bidding farewell to many 
 of her friends, and when she parted from the Gryseworths ar 
 ranging to see them again in the morning. 
 
 To the careless eye, Emily was the more troubled of the two, 
 for Emily could not be deceived, and reflected back, in her 
 whole demeanor, the better concealed sufferings of Gertrude. 
 Gertrude neither knew at the time, nor could afterwards recall, 
 one half of the occurrences of that evening. She never could 
 understand what it was that sustained her, and enabled her, 
 half unconsciously, to perform her part in them. How she so 
 successfully concealed the misery she was enduring she never 
 could comprehend or explain. She remembered it only as if it 
 had all been a dream. 
 
 Not until the still hours of the night, when Emily appeared 
 to be soundly sleeping by her side, did she venture for an in 
 stant to loosen the iron bands of restraint which she had im 
 posed upon herself; but then, the barrier removed, the pent-up 
 torrent of her grief burst forth without check or hindrance. 
 She rose from her bed, and burying her face in the cushions of 
 a low couch, which stood near the window, gave herself up to 
 blessed tears, every drop of which was a relief to her aching 
 Boul. Since her early childhood she had never indulged so long 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 361 
 
 and unrestrained a fit of weeping ; and the heaving of her chest, 
 and the deep sobs she uttered, proved the depth of her agony. 
 All other sorrows had found her in a great degree fortified and 
 prepared, armed with religious trust and encouraged by a holy 
 hope ; but beneath this sudden and unlooked-for blow she bent, 
 staggered, and shrunk, as the sapling of a summer s growth 
 heaves and trembles beneath the wintry blast. 
 
 That Willie was faithless to his first love she could not now 
 feel a shadow of doubt; and with this conviction she realized 
 that the prop and stay of her life had fallen. Uncle True and 
 Mrs. Sullivan were both her benefactors, and Emily was still 
 a dear and steadfast friend ; but all of these had been more or 
 less dependent upon Gertrude, and although she could ever re 
 pose in the assurance of their love, two had long before they 
 passed away come to lean wholly upon her youthful arm, and 
 the other, the last one left, not only trusted to her to guide her 
 uncertain steps, but those steps were evidently now tending 
 downwards to the grave. 
 
 Upon whom, then, should Gertrude lean? To whom should 
 she look as the staff of her young and inexperienced life ? To 
 whom could she, with confidence, turn for counsel, protection, 
 support, and love ? To whom but Willie 1 And Willie had 
 given his heart to another, and Gertrude would soon be left 
 alone ! 
 
 No wonder, then, that she wept as the broken-hearted weep; 
 wept until the fountain of her tears was dry, and she felt her 
 self sick, faint, and exhausted. And now she rose, approached 
 the window, flung back from her forehead the heavy folds of 
 her long hair, leaned out, and from the breath of the cool night 
 breeze drank in a refreshing influence. Her soul grew calmer, 
 as with her eyes fixed upon the bright lights which shone so 
 sweetly and calmly down, she seemed to commune with holy 
 things. Once more they seemed to compassionate her, and as in 
 the days of her lonely childhood, to whisper, " Gerty ! Gerty ! 
 poor little Gerty!" 
 
 Softened and touched by their pitying glance, she gradually 
 sunk upon her knees; her uplifted face, her clasped hands, the 
 sweet expression of resignation now gradually creeping over her 
 countenance, all gave evidence that, as on the occasion of her 
 first silent prayer to the then unknown God, her now enlight 
 ened soul was holding deep communion with its Maker, and 
 
362 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 once more her spirit was uttering the simple words, f Here am 
 I, Lord!" 
 
 0, blessed religion which can sustain the heart in such an 
 hour as this ! 0, blessed faith and trust, which, when earthly 
 support fails us, and our strongest earthly stay proves but a 
 rope of sand, lifts the soul above all other need, and clasps it 
 to the bosom of its God ! 
 
 And now a gentle hand is laid upon her head. She turns 
 and sees Emily, whom she had believed to be asleep, but from 
 whom anxiety had effectually banished slumber, and who, with 
 fears redoubled by the sobs which Gertrude could not wholly 
 repress, is standing by her side. 
 
 "Gertrude," said she in a grieved tone, "are you in trouble, 
 and did you seek to hide it from me ? Do not turn from me, 
 Gertrude ! " and throwing her arms around her, she drew her 
 head close to her bosom, and whispered, "Tell me all, my dar 
 ling ! What is the matter with my poor child ? " 
 
 And Gertrude unburdened her heart to Emily, disclosing to 
 her attentive ear the confession of the only secret she had ever 
 kept from her ; and Emily wept as she listened, and when Ger 
 trude had finished she pressed her again and again to her heart, 
 exclaiming as she did so, with an excitement of tone and man 
 ner which Gertrude had never before witnessed in the usually 
 calm and placid blind girl, "Strange, strange, that you, too, 
 should be thus doomed! Gertrude, my darling, we may 
 well weep together; but still, believe me, your sorrow is far 
 less bitter than mine ! " 
 
 And then, in the darkness of that midnight hour was Ger 
 trude s confidence rewarded by the revelation of that tale of 
 grief and woe which twenty years before had blighted Emily s 
 youth, and which, notwithstanding the flight of time, was still 
 vivid to her recollection, casting over her life a dark shadow, 
 of which her blindness was but a single feature. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 353 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 When, lo ! arrayed in robes of light, 
 
 A nymph celestial came ; 
 She cleared the mists that dimmed my sight 
 
 Religion was her name. 
 She proved the chastisement divine, 
 
 And bade me kiss the rod ; 
 She taught this rebel heart of mine 
 
 Submission to its God. 
 
 HANNAH MORE. 
 
 "I WAS younger than you, Gertrude," said she, "when my 
 trial came, and hardly the same person in any respect that I 
 have heen since you first knew me. You are aware, perhaps, 
 that my mother died when I was too young to retain any recol 
 lection of her; hut my father soon married again, and in this 
 step-parent, whom I remember with as much tenderness as if 
 she had heen my own mother, I found a love and care which 
 fully compensated for my loss. I can recall her now as she 
 looked towards the latter part of her life, a tall, delicate, 
 feeble woman, with a very sweet but rather sad face. She 
 was a widow when my father married her, and had one son, 
 who became at once my sole companion, the partner of all my 
 youthful pleasures. You told me, many years ago, that I could 
 not imagine how much you loved Willie, and I was then on 
 the point of confiding to you a part of my early history, and 
 convincing you that my own experience might well have taught 
 me how to understand such a love; but I checked myself, for 
 you were too young then to be burdened with the knowledge 
 of so sad a story as mine, and I kept silent. How dear my 
 young playmate became to me, no words can express. The 
 office which each filled, the influence which each of us exerted 
 upon the other, was such as to create mutual dependence; for 
 though his was the leading spirit, the strong and determined 
 will, and I was ever submissive to a rule which to my easily 
 influenced nature was never irksome, there was one respect in 
 which my bold young protector and ruler ever looked to me for 
 
364 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 aid and support. It was to act as mediator between him and 
 my father; for while the boy was almost an idol to his mother, 
 he was ever treated with coldness and distrust by my father, 
 who never understood or appreciated his many noble qualities, 
 but seemed always to regard him with an eye of suspicion and 
 dislike. To my supplicating looks and entreating words, how- 
 ever, he ever lent a willing ear, and all my eloquence was sure 
 to be at the service of my companion when he had a favor to 
 obtain or an excuse to plead. 
 
 "That my father s sternness towards her son was a great 
 cause of unhappiness to our mother, I can have no doubt; for 
 I well remember the anxiety with which she strove to conceal 
 his faults and misdemeanors, and the frequent occasions on 
 which she herself instructed me how to propitiate the parent, 
 who, for my sake would often forgive the boy, whose bold, 
 adventurous, independent disposition was continually bringing 
 him into collision with one of whose severity, when displeased, 
 you have yourself had some opportunity to judge. My step 
 mother had been extremely poor in her widowhood, and her 
 child, having inherited nothing which he could call his own, 
 was wholly dependent upon my father s bounty. This was a 
 stinging cause of mortification and trial to the pride of which 
 even as a boy he had an unusual share; and often have I seen 
 him chafed and irritated at the reception of favors which he 
 well understood were far from being awarded by a paternal hand; 
 my father, in the mean time, who did not understand this feel 
 ing, mentally accusing him of gross ingratitude. 
 
 "As long as our mother was spared to us we lived in com 
 parative harmony; but at last, when I was just sixteen years 
 old, she was stricken with sudden illness, and died. Well do 
 I remember, the last night of her life, her calling me to the 
 bedside, and saying, in a solemn voice, Emily, my dying prayer 
 is that you will be a guardian angel to my boy ! God forgive 
 me," ejaculated the now tearful blind girl, "if I have been 
 faithless to the trust ! " 
 
 "He of whom I am telling you (for Emily carefully forbore 
 to mention his name) was then about eighteen. He had lately 
 become a clerk in my father s counting-room, much against his 
 will, for he earnestly desired a collegiate education; but my 
 father was determined, and at his mother s and my persuasion 
 he was induced to submit. My step-mother s death knit the 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 365 
 
 tie "between her son and myself more closely than ever. He 
 still continued an inmate of our house, and we passed all the 
 time that he could be spared from the office in the enjoyment 
 of each other s society ; for my father was much from home, 
 and when there, usually shut himself up in his library, leaving 
 us to entertain each other. I was then a school-girl, fond of 
 books, and an excellent student. How often, when you have 
 spoken of the assistance Willie was to you in your studies, have 
 I been reminded of the time when I, too, received similar en 
 couragement and aid from my own youthful companion and 
 friend, who was ever ready to exert hand and brain in my be 
 half! We were not invariably happy, however. Often did 
 r?iy father s face wear that stern expression which I most dreaded 
 to see; while the excited, disturbed, and occasionally angry 
 countenance of his step-son denoted plainly that some storm 
 had occurred, probably at the counting-room, of which I had 
 no knowledge, except from its after effects. My office of me 
 diator, too, was suspended, from the fact that the difficulties 
 which arose were usually concerning some real or supposed 
 neglect or mismanagement of business matters on the part of the 
 young and inexperienced clerk ; a species of faults with which 
 my father, a most thorough merchant and exact accountant, had 
 very little patience, and to which the careless and unbusiness 
 like delinquent was exceedingly prone. Matters went on thus 
 for about six months, when it suddenly became evident that my 
 father had either been powerfully influenced by insinuations 
 from some foreign quarter, or had himself suddenly conceived 
 a new and alarming idea. He is, as you are aware, a plain 
 man, honest and straightforward in his purposes, whatever they 
 may be ; and even if it occurred to him to manoeuvre, incapable 
 of carrying out successfully, or with tact, any species of artifice. 
 Our eyes could not therefore long be closed to the fact that he 
 was resolved to put an immediate check upon the freedom of 
 intercourse which had hitherto subsisted between the two youth 
 ful inmates of his house; to forward which purpose he imme 
 diately introduced into the family, in the position of house 
 keeper, Mrs. Ellis, who has continued with us ever since. The 
 almost constant presence of this stranger, together with the sud 
 den interference of my father with such of our long-established 
 customs as favored his step-son s familiar intimacy with me, 
 sufficiently proved his intention to uproot and destroy, if pos- 
 
366 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 sible, the closeness of our friendship. Nor was it surprising, 
 considering the circumstance that I had already reached the 
 period of womanhood, and the attachment between us could no 
 longer be considered a childish one, while any other might be 
 expected to draw forth my father s disapproval, since his wife s 
 idolized son was as far as ever from being a favorite with him. 
 
 "My distress at these proceedings was only equalled by the 
 indignation of my companion in suffering, whom no previous 
 conduct on my father s part had ever angered as this did; nor 
 did the scheme succeed in separating him from me; for while 
 he on every possible occasion avoided the presence of that spy 
 (as he termed Mrs. Ellis), his inventive genius continually con 
 trived opportunities of seeing and conversing with me in her 
 absence, a course of behavior calculated to give still greater 
 coloring to my father s suspicions. 
 
 " I am convinced that he was mainly actuated to this course 
 by a deep sense of unkindness and injustice, and a desire to 
 manifest his independence of what he considered unwarrantable 
 tyranny ; nor have I reason to believe that the idea of romance 
 or even future marriage with myself entered at all into his cal 
 culations; and I, who at that time knew or at least was influ 
 enced by no higher law than his will, lent myself unhesitatingly 
 to a species of petty deception, to elude the vigilance which 
 would have kept us apart. My father, however, as is frequently 
 the case with people of his unsocial temperament and apparent 
 obtuseness of observation, saw more of our manoeuvring than 
 we were aware of, and imagined far more than ever in reality 
 existed. He watched us carefully, and, contrary to his usual 
 course of proceeding, forbore for a time any interference. I 
 have since been led to think that he designed to wean us from 
 each other in a less unnatural manner than that which he had 
 at first attempted, by availing himself of the earliest opportu 
 nity to transfer his step-son to a situation connected with his 
 own mercantile establishment, either in a foreign country or a 
 distant part of our own ; and forbore, until his plans were ripe, 
 to distress and grieve me by giving way to the feelings of an 
 noyance and displeasure which were burning within him, for 
 he was, and had ever been, as kind and indulgent toward his 
 undeserving child as was consistent with a due maintenance of 
 his authority. 
 
 " Before such a course could be carried out, however, circum- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 367 
 
 stances occurred, and suspicions became aroused, which de 
 stroyed one of their victims, and plunged the other " 
 
 Here Emily s voice failed her. She laid her head upon Ger 
 trude s shoulder, and sobbed bitterly. 
 
 "Do not try to tell me the rest, dear Emily," said Gertrude. 
 "It is enough for me to know that you are so unhappy. Do 
 not make yourself wretched by dwelling, for my sake, upon 
 sorrows that are past." 
 
 "Past!" replied Emily, recovering her voice, and wiping 
 away her tears; "no, they are never past; it is only because I 
 am so little wont to speak of them that they overcome me now. 
 Nor am I unhappy, Gertrude. It is but rarely that my peace 
 is shaken; nor would I now allow my weak nerves to be un 
 strung by imparting to another the secrets of that never to be 
 forgotten time of trial, were it not that, since you know so well 
 how harmoniously and sweetly my life is passing on to its great 
 and eternal awakening, I desire to prove to my darling child 
 the power of that heavenly faith which has turned my darkness 
 into marvellous light, and made afflictions such as mine the 
 blessed harbingers of final joy. 
 
 "But I have not much more to tell, and that shall be in as 
 few words as possible." 
 
 She then went on, in a firm though low and suppressed voice : 
 
 "I was suddenly taken ill with a fever. Mrs. Ellis, whom 
 I had always treated with coldness, and often with disdain (for 
 you must remember I was a spoiled child), nursed me by night 
 and day with a care and devotion which I had no right to ex 
 pect at her hands ; and under her watchful attendance and the 
 skilful treatment of our good Dr. Jeremy (even then the family 
 physician), I began, after some weeks, to recover. One day, 
 when I was sufficiently well to be up and dressed for several 
 hours at a time, I went for change of air and scene into my 
 father s library, the room next my own, and there quite alone 
 lay half reclining upon the sofa. Mrs. Ellis had gone to at 
 tend to household duties, but before she left me, she brought 
 from the adjoining chamber and placed within my reach a small 
 table, upon which were arranged various phials, glasses, etc., 
 and among them everything which I could possibly require be 
 fore her return. It was towards the latter part of an afternoon 
 in June, and I lay watching the approach of sunset from an 
 opposite window. I was oppressed with a sad sense of lone- 
 
368 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 liness, for during the past six weeks I had enjoyed no society 
 but that of my nurse, together with periodical visits from my 
 father; and felt therefore no common satisfaction and pleasure 
 when my most congenial but now nearly forbidden associate 
 unexpectedly entered the room. He had not seen me since my 
 illness, and after this unusually protracted and painful separa 
 tion our meeting was proportionately tender and affectionate. 
 He had, with all the fire of a hot and ungoverned temper, a 
 woman s depth of feeling, warmth of heart, and sympathizing 
 sweetness of manner. Well do I remember the expression of 
 his noble face, the manly tones of his voice, as seated beside 
 me on the wide couch, he bathed the temples of my aching 
 head with cologne, which he took from the table near by, at 
 the same time expressing again and again his joy at once more 
 seeing me. 
 
 " How long we had sat thus I cannot tell, but the twilight 
 was deepening in the room, when we were suddenly interrupted 
 by my father, who entered abruptly, came towards us with 
 hasty steps, but stopping short when within a yard or two, 
 folded his arms and confronted his step-son with such a look 
 of angry contempt as I had never before seen upon his face. 
 The latter rose and stood before him with a glance of proud 
 defiance, and then ensued a scene which I have neither the 
 wish nor the power to describe. 
 
 "It is sufficient to say that in the double accusation which 
 my excited parent now brought against the object of his wrath, 
 he urged the fact of his seeking (as he expressed it), by mean, 
 base, and contemptible artifice, to win the affections, and with 
 them the expected fortune of his only child, as a secondary and 
 pardonable crime, compared with his deeper, darker, and but 
 just detected guilt of forgery, forgery of a large amount, and 
 upon his benefactor s name. 
 
 "To this day, so far as I know," said Emily with feeling, 
 " that charge remains uncontradicted : but I did not then, I do 
 not now, and I never can believe it. Whatever were his faults 
 (and his impetuous temper betrayed him into many), of this 
 dark crime (though I have not even his own word in attesta 
 tion) I dare pronounce him innocent. 
 
 " You cannot wonder, Gertrude, that in my feeble and inva 
 lid condition I was hardly capable of realizing at the time, far 
 less of retaining any distinct recollection of, the circumstances 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 369 
 
 that followed my father s words. A few dim pictures, how 
 ever, the last my poor eyes ever beheld, are still engraved upon 
 my memory, and visible to my imagination. My father stood 
 with his back to the light, and from the first moment of his 
 entering the room I never saw his face again; but the counte 
 nance of the other, the object of his accusation, illumined as 
 it was by the last rays of the golden sunset, stands ever in the 
 foreground of my recollection. His head was thrown proudly 
 back; conscious but injured innocence proclaimed itself in his 
 clear, calm eye, which shrunk not from the closest scrutiny; 
 his hand was clenched, as if he were vainly striving to repress 
 the passion which proclaimed itself in the compressed lips, the 
 set teeth, the deep and angry indignation which overspread his 
 face. He did not speak, apparently he could not command 
 voice to do so; but my father continued to upbraid him, in 
 language, no doubt, cutting and severe, though I remember not 
 a word of it. It was fearful to watch the working of the young 
 man s face, while he stood there listening to taunts and endur 
 ing reproaches which were no doubt believed by him who ut 
 tered them to be just and merited, but which wrought the youth 
 to a degree of frenzy which it was terrible indeed to witness. 
 Suddenly he took one step forward, slowly lifting the clenched 
 hand which had hitherto hung at his side. I know not whether 
 he might then have intended to call Heaven to witness his in 
 nocence of the crime with which he was charged, or whether 
 he might have designed to strike my father; for I sprang from 
 my seat prepared to rush between them, and implore them, for 
 my sake, to desist; but my strength failed me, and with a 
 shriek I sunk back in a fainting fit. 
 
 " 0, the horror of my awakening ! How shall I find words 
 to tell it? and yet I must! Listen, Gertrude. He the 
 poor, ruined boy sprung to help me; and maddened by in 
 justice, he knew not what he did. Heaven is my witness, I 
 never blamed him; and if in my agony I uttered words that 
 seemed like a reproach, it was because I, too, was frantic, and 
 knew not what I said ! " 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Gertrude ; " he did not " 
 "No, no! he did not he did not put out my eyes!" ex 
 claimed Emily ; " it was an accident. He reached forward for 
 the cologne which he had just had in his hand. There were 
 several bottles, and in his haste he seized one containing a power- 
 
370 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 ful acid which Mrs. Ellis had found occasion to use in my sick 
 room. It had & heavy glass stopper, and he his hand was 
 unsteady, and he spilt it all " 
 
 " On your eyes 1 " shrieked Gertrude. 
 
 Emily bowed her head. 
 
 "0, poor Emily!" cried Gertrude, "and wretched, wretched 
 young man ! " 
 
 "Wretched indeed!" ejaculated Emily. "Bestow all your 
 pity on him, Gertrude, for his was the harder fate of the two." 
 
 "O Emily! how intense must have been the pain you en 
 dured ! How could you suffer so, and live ? " 
 
 "Do you mean the pain from my eyes? That was severe 
 indeed, but the- mental agony was worse ! " 
 
 "What became of him?" said Gertrude. "What did Mr. 
 Graham do?" 
 
 "I cannot give you any exact account of what followed. I 
 was in no state to know anything of my father s treatment of 
 his step-son. You can imagine it, however. He banished him 
 from his sight and knowledge forever; and it is easy to believe 
 it was with no added gentleness, since he had now, beside the 
 other crimes imputed to him, been the unhappy cause of his 
 daughter s blindness." 
 
 " And did you never hear from him again ? " 
 
 "Yes. Through the good doctor, who alone knew all the 
 circumstances, I learned after a long interval of suspense 
 that he had sailed for South America; and in the hope of once 
 more communicating with the poor exile, and assuring him of 
 my continued love, I rallied from the wretched state of sick 
 ness, fever, and blindness, into which I had fallen; the doctor 
 had even some expectation of restoring sight to my eyes, which 
 were in a much more hopeful condition. Several months passed 
 away, and my kind friend, who was most diligent and persever 
 ing in his inquiries, having at length learned the actual resi 
 dence and address of the ill-fated youth, I was commencing, 
 through the aid of Mrs. Ellis (whom pity had now wholly won 
 to my service), a letter of love, and an entreaty for bis return, 
 when a fatal seal was put to all my earthly hopes. He died, 
 in a foreign land, alone, unnursed, untended, and uncared for; 
 he died of that inhospitable southern disease, which takes the 
 stranger for its victim ; and I, on hearing the news of it, sunk 
 back into a more pitiable malady ; and alas for the encourage- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 371 
 
 ment the good doctor had held out of my gradual restoration to 
 sight ! I wept all his hopes away ! " 
 
 Emily paused. Gertrude put her arms around her, and they 
 clung closely to each other; grief and sorrow made the union 
 between them dearer than ever. 
 
 "I was then, Gertrude," continued Emily, "a child of the 
 world, eager for worldly pleasures, and ignorant of any other. 
 For a time, therefore, I dwelt in utter darkness, the darkness 
 of despair. I began, too, again to feel my bodily strength re 
 stored, and to look forward to a useless and miserable life. You 
 can form no idea of the utter wretchedness in which my, days 
 were passed. Often have I since reproached myself for the 
 misery I must have caused my poor father, who though he 
 never spoke of it, was, I am sure, deeply pained by the recol 
 lection of the terrible scenes we had lately gone through, and. 
 who would, I am convinced, have given worlds to restore the 
 past. 
 
 "But at last there came a dawn to my seemingly everlasting 
 night. It came in the shape of a minister of Christ, our own 
 dear Mr. Arnold, who opened the eyes of my understanding, 
 lit the lamp of religion in my now softened soul, taught me the 
 way to peace, and led my feeble steps into that blessed rest 
 which even on earth remaineth to the people of God. 
 
 "In the eyes of the world, I am still the unfortunate blind 
 girl one who, by her sad fate, is cut off from every enjoyment ; 
 but so great is the awakening I have experienced, that to me it 
 is far otherwise; and I am ready to exclaim, like him who 
 in old time experienced his Saviour s healing power, * Once I 
 was blind, but now I see ! 
 
 Gertrude half forgot her own troubles while listening to Em 
 ily s sad story; and when the latter laid her hand upon her 
 head, and prayed that she, too, might be fitted for a patient en 
 durance of trial, and be made stronger and better thereby, she 
 felt her heart penetrated with that deep love and trust which 
 seldom come to us except in the hour of sorrow, and prove 
 that it is through suffering only we are made perfect. 
 
372 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 But in that hour of agony the maid 
 Deserted not herself ; her very dread 
 Had calmed her ; and her heart 
 Knew the whole horror, and its only part. 
 
 SODTHBY. 
 
 As Mr. Graham had expressed in his letter the intention of 
 being at the steamboat wharf in New York to meet his daugh 
 ter and Gertrude on their arrival, Dr. Jeremy thought it unne 
 cessary for him to accompany his charges further than Albany, 
 where he could see them safely on their way, and then proceed 
 to Boston with his wife over the Western Railroad; Mrs. Jer 
 emy being now impatient to return home, and having, more 
 over, no disposition to revisit the great metropolis of New York 
 during the warm weather. 
 
 "Good-by, Gerty," said the doctor, as he bade them farewell 
 on the deck of one of the Hudson River boats. "I m afraid 
 you ve lost your heart in Saratoga; you don t look quite so 
 bright as you did when we first arrived there. It can t have 
 strayed far, however, I think, in such a place as that; so be 
 sure and find it before I see you in Boston." 
 
 He had hardly gone, and it wanted a few minutes only of 
 the time for the boat to start, when a gay group of fashionables 
 made their appearance, talking and laughing too loud, as it 
 seemed to Gertrude, to be well bred; and conspicuous among 
 them was Miss Clinton, whose companions were evidently mak 
 ing her the subject of a great deal of wit and pleasantry, by 
 which, although she feigned to be teased and half offended, her 
 smiling, blushing face gave evidence that she felt flattered and 
 pleased. At length, the significant gestures of some of the 
 party, and a half-smothered hush-h! gave intimation of the ap 
 proach of some one who must not overhear their remarks ; and 
 presently William Sullivan, with a travelling bag in his hand, 
 a heavy shawl thrown over one arm, and his countenance grave, 
 as if he had not quite recovered from the chagrin of the pre 
 vious evening, appeared in sight, passed Gertrude, whose veil 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 372 
 
 was drawn over her face, and joined Isabel, placing his burden 
 on a chair which stood near. 
 
 He had hardly commenced speaking to Miss Clinton, how 
 ever, before the violent ringing of the bell gave notice to all 
 but the passengers to quit the boat, and he was compelled to 
 make a hasty movement to depart. As he did so, he drew a 
 step nearer Gertrude, a step further from her whom he was ad 
 dressing, and the former plainly distinguished the closing words 
 of his remark : " Then, if you will do your best to return on 
 Thursday, I will try not to be impatient in the mean time." 
 
 A moment more, and the boat was on its way ; not, however, 
 until a tall figure, who reached the landing just as she started, 
 had, to the horror of the spectators, daringly leaped the gap 
 that already divided her from the shore ; after which, he sought 
 the gentleman s saloon, threw himself upon a couch, drew a 
 book from his pocket, and commenced reading. 
 
 As soon as the boat was fairly under way, and quiet pre 
 vailed in their neighborhood, Emily spoke softly to Gertrude, 
 and said, 
 
 "Didn t I just now hear Isabel Clinton s voice?" 
 
 "She is here," replied Gertrude, "on the opposite side of 
 the deck, but sitting with her back towards us." 
 
 "Didn t she see us?" 
 
 " I believe she did," answered Gertrude. " She stood looking 
 this way while her party were arranging their seats." 
 
 "And then chose one which commanded a different view?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Perhaps she is going to New York to meet Mrs. Graham." 
 
 "Very possible," replied Gertrude. "I didn t think of it 
 before." 
 
 There was then quite a pause. Emily appeared to be en 
 gaged in thought. Presently she asked, in the softest of whis 
 pers,*" Who was the gentleman who came and spoke to her just 
 before the boat started ? " 
 
 "Willie," was the tremulous response. 
 
 Emily pressed Gertrude s hand, and was silent. She, too, 
 had overheard his farewell remark, and felt its significance. 
 
 Several hours passed away, and they had proceeded some dis 
 tance down the river ; for the motion of the boat was rapid 
 too rapid, as it seemed to Gertrude, for safety. At first occu 
 pied by her own thoughts, and unable to enjoy the beautiful 
 
374 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 scenery, which a few weeks previously had caused her such 
 keen delight, she had sat, inattentive to all around, gazing down 
 into the deep blue water, and communing with her own heart. 
 Gradually, however, she was led to observe several circum 
 stances, which excited so much curiosity, and finally so much 
 alarm, that, effectually aroused from the train of reflections she 
 had been indulging, she had leisure only to take into view her 
 own and Emily s present situation, and its probable conse 
 quences. 
 
 Several times, since they left Albany, had the boat in which 
 they were passengers passed and repassed another of similar 
 size, construction, and speed, likewise responsibly charged with 
 busy, living freight, and bound in the same direction. Occa 
 sionally, during their headlong and reckless course, the conti 
 guity of the two boats was such as to excite the serious alarm 
 of one sex and the unmeasured censure of the other. The 
 rumor began to be circulated that they were racing, and racing 
 desperately. Some few, regardless of danger, and entering 
 upon the interest of the chase with an insane and foolish excite 
 ment, watched with pleased eagerness the mad career of rival 
 ambition; but by far the majority of the company, including 
 all persons of reason and sense, looked on in indignation and 
 fear. The usual stopping-places on the river were either reck 
 lessly passed by, or only paused at, while with indecent haste 
 passengers were shuffled backwards and forwards, at the risk of 
 life and limb, their baggage (or somebody s else) unceremoni 
 ously flung after them, the panting, snorting engine in the mean 
 time bellowing with rage at the check thus unwillingly imposed 
 upon its freedom. Towards noon the fever of agitation had 
 reached its height, and could not be wholly quieted even by the 
 assurance from headquarters that there was no danger. 
 
 Gertrude sat with her hand locked in Emily s, anxiously 
 watching every indication of terror, and endeavoring to judge 
 from the countenances and words of her most intelligent look 
 ing fellow travellers the actual degree of their insecurity. Em 
 ily, shut out from the sight of all that was going on, but 
 rendered, through her acute hearing, vividly conscious of the 
 prevailing alarm, was perfectly calm, though very pale, and 
 from time to time questioned Gertrude concerning the vicinity 
 of the other boat, a collision with which was the principal cause 
 of fear. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 375 
 
 At length their boat for a few moments distanced its competi 
 tor, the assurance of perfect safety was impressively asserted, 
 anxiety began to be relieved, and most of the passengers being 
 restored to their wonted composure, the various parties scat 
 tered about the deck resumed their newspapers or their con 
 versation. The gay group to which Isabel Clinton belonged, 
 several of whom had been the victims of nervous agitation 
 and trembling, seemed reassured, and began once more to talk 
 and laugh merrily. Emily, however, still looked pallid and, as 
 Gertrude fancied, a little faint. "Let us go below, Emily," 
 said she ; " it appears now to be very quiet and safe. There 
 are sofas in the ladies cabin, where you can lie down ; and we 
 can both get a glass of water." 
 
 Emily assented, and in a few minutes was comfortably reclin 
 ing in a corner of the saloon, where she and Gertrude remained 
 undisturbed until dinner time. They did not go to the dinner 
 table; it was not their intention from the first, and, after the 
 agitation of the morning, was far from being desirable. So 
 they stayed quietly where they were, while the greater part of 
 the passengers crowded from every part of the boat, to invigo 
 rate themselves, after their fright, by the enjoyment of a com 
 fortable meal; which they had reason to expect, as the racing 
 appeared to have ceased, and everything was orderly and peace 
 able. 
 
 Gertrude opened her travelling-basket, and took out the 
 package which contained their luncheon. It was not one of 
 those luncheons which careful mothers provide for their travel 
 ling families, choice in its material, and tempting in its arrange 
 ment, but consisted merely of such dry morsels as had been 
 hastily collected and put up at their hotel in Albany, by Dr. 
 Jeremy s direction. Gertrude looked from the little withered 
 slices of tongue and stale bread to the veteran sponge cakes 
 which completed the assortment, and was hesitating which she 
 could most conscientiously recommend to Emily, when a civil- 
 looking waiter appeared, bearing a huge tray of refreshments, 
 which he placed upon a table close by, at the same time turning 
 to Gertrude, and asking if there was anything else he could 
 serve her with. 
 
 "This is not for us," said Gertrude. "You have made a 
 mistake. " 
 
 "No mistake," replied the man. "Orders was for de blind 
 
376 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 lady and hansum young miss. I only beys orders. Any ting 
 f urder, miss ? " 
 
 Gertrude dismissed the man with the assurance that they 
 wanted nothing more, and then, turning to Emily, asked, with 
 an attempt at cheerfulness, what they should do with this 
 Aladdin-like repast. 
 
 "Eat it, my dear, if you can," said Emily. "It is no doubt 
 meant for us." 
 
 " But to whom are we indebted for it ? " 
 
 "To my blindness and your beauty, I suppose," said Em 
 ily, smiling. She then continued, with wonderful simplicity, 
 "Perhaps the chief steward, or master of ceremonies, took pity 
 on our inability to come to dinner, and so sent the dinner to 
 us. At any rate, my child, you must eat it before it is cold." 
 
 "I! " said Gertrude, conscious of her utter want of appetite, 
 "I am not hungry; but I will select a nice bit for you." 
 
 The sable waiter, when he came to remove the dishes, really 
 looked sad to see how little they had eaten. Gertrude drew 
 out her purse, and after bestowing a fee upon the man, inquired 
 whom she should pay for the meal. 
 
 "Pay, miss!" said the man, grinning. "Bless my stars! de 
 gentleman pays for all ! " 
 
 "Who? What gentleman?" asked Gertrude, in surprise. 
 
 But before the man could give her any reply, another white- 
 aproned individual appeared, and beckoned to his fellow waiter, 
 who thereupon snatched up his tray and trotted off, bending 
 beneath its weight, and leaving Gertrude and Emily to wonder 
 who the benevolent gentleman might be. 
 
 They finally came to the conclusion that this unexpected at 
 tention was due to the thoughtfulness of Dr. Jeremy, who must 
 have given orders to that effect before he left the boat; and 
 great was the unmerited praise and the undeserved gratitude 
 which the doctor received that day, for an act of considerate 
 politeness of which the old gentleman, with all his kindness of 
 heart, would never have dreamed. 
 
 Dinner concluded, Emily again lay down, advised Gertrude 
 to do the same, and supposing that her advice was being fol 
 lowed, slept for an hour ; while her companion sat by, watching 
 the peaceful slumber of her friend, and carefully and noiselessly 
 brushing away every fly that threatened to disturb a repose 
 much needed by Miss Graham, who could, in her feeble state 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 377 
 
 of health, ill afford to spare the rest she had been deprived of 
 for one or two previous nights. 
 
 " What time is it 1 " asked she, on awaking. 
 
 "Nearly a quarter past three," replied Gertrude, glancing 
 at her watch (a beautiful gift from a class of her former 
 pupils). 
 
 Emily started up. "We can t be far from New York," said 
 she ; " where are we now ? " 
 
 "I don t know exactly," replied Gertrude; "I think we 
 i must be near the Palisades ; if you will stay here, I will go and 
 see." She passed across the saloon, and was about ascending 
 the staircase, when she was startled and alarmed by a rushing 
 sound, mingled with the hurried tread of feet. She kept on, 
 however, though once or twice jostled by persons with fright 
 ened faces, who crowded past and pressed forward to learn the 
 cause of the commotion. She had just gained the head of the 
 stairway, and was looking fearfully round her, when a man 
 rushed past, gasping for breath, his face of an ashen paleness, 
 and shrieking the horrid word of alarm fire fire ! 
 
 A second more, and a scene of dismay and confusion ensued 
 too terrible for description. Shrieks rose upon the air, groans 
 and cries of despair burst forth from hearts that were breaking 
 with fear for others, or maddened at the certainty of their own 
 destruction. Each called upon each for help, when all were 
 alike helpless. Those who had never prayed before poured out 
 their souls in the fervent ejaculation, "O, my God!" Many 
 a brain reeled in that time of darkness and peril. Many a brave 
 spirit sickened and sunk under the tearfulness of the hour. 
 
 Gertrude straightened her slight figure, and with her dark 
 eyes almost starting from their sockets, gazed around her upon 
 every side. All was alike tumult; but the destroyer was as 
 yet discernible in one direction only. Towards the centre of 
 the boat, where the machinery, heated to the last degree, had 
 fired the parched and inflammable vessel, a huge volume of 
 flame was already visible, darting out its fiery fangs, and caus 
 ing the stoutest hearts to shrink and crouch in horror. She 
 gave but one glance; then bounded down the stairs, bent solely 
 on rejoining Emily. But she was arrested at the very onset. 
 One step only had she taken when she felt herself encircled by 
 a pair of powerful arms, and a movement made to again rush 
 with her upon deck; while a familiar voice gasped forth the 
 
378 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 words, "Gertrude, my child! my own darling! Be quiet 
 be quiet ! I will save you ! " 
 
 Well might he urge her to be quiet, for she was struggling 
 madly. "No, no!" shouted she; "Emily! Emily! Let me 
 die ! let me die ! but I must find Emily ! " 
 
 "Where is she? " asked Mr. Phillips; for it was he. 
 
 "There, there," pointed Gertrude, " in the cabin. Let 
 me go ! let me go ! " 
 
 He cast one look around him ; then said, in a firm tone, " Be 
 calm, my child ! I can save you both ; follow me closely ! " 
 
 With a leap he cleared the staircase, and rushed into the 
 cabin. In the farthest corner knelt Emily, her head thrown 
 back, her hands clasped, and her face like the face of an angel. 
 
 Gertrude .and Mr. Phillips were by her side in an instant. 
 He stooped to lift her in his arms, Gertrude at the same time 
 exclaiming, " Come, Emily, come ! He will save us ! " 
 
 But Emily resisted. " Leave me, Gertrude leave me, and 
 save yourselves ! ! " said she, looking imploringly in the face 
 of the stranger, leave me, and save my child. " Ere the words 
 had left her lips, however, she was borne halfway across the 
 saloon, Gertrude following closely. 
 
 " If we can cross to the bows of the boat, we are safe ! " said 
 Mr. Phillips in a husky voice. 
 
 To do so, however, proved impossible. The whole centre of 
 the boat was now one sheet of flame. " Good Heavens ! " ex 
 claimed he, " we are too late ! we must go back ! " 
 
 A moment more, and they had with much difficulty regained 
 the long saloon. And now the boat, which as soon as the fire 
 was discovered, had been turned towards the shore, struck upon 
 the rocks and parted in the middle. Her bows were conse 
 quently brought near to the land ; near enough to almost insure 
 the safety of such persons as were at that part of the vessel. 
 But, alas for those near the stern! which was far out in the 
 river, while the breeze which blew fresh from the shore fostered 
 and spread the devouring flame in the very direction to place 
 those who yet clung to the broken fragment between two equally 
 fatal elements. 
 
 Mr. Phillips s first thought, on gaining the saloon, was to 
 beat down a window sash, spring upon the guards, and drag 
 Emily and Gertrude after him. Some ropes hung upon the 
 guards; he seized one, and with the ease and skill of an old 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 379 
 
 sailor made it fast to the boat ; then turned to Gertrude, who 
 stood firm and unwavering by his side. 
 
 "Gertrude," said he, speaking distinctly and steadily, "I 
 shall swim to the shore with Emily. If the fire comes too 
 near, cling to the guards ; as a last chance, hold on to the rope. 
 Keep your veil flying; I shall return." 
 
 " No, no ! " cried Emily. " Gertrude, go first ! " 
 
 " Hush, Emily ! " exclaimed Gertrude ; "we shall both be 
 saved. " 
 
 "Cling to my shoulder in the water, Emily," said Mr. Phil 
 lips, utterly regardless of her protestations. He took her once 
 more in his arms ; there was a splash, and they were gone. At 
 the same instant Gertrude was seized from behind. She turned, 
 and found herself grasped by Isabel Clinton, who, kneeling 
 upon the platform, and frantic with terror, was clinging so 
 closely to her as utterly to disable them both ; at the same time 
 shrieking in pitiable tones, "0 Gertrude! Gertrude! save 
 me!" 
 
 Gertrude tried to lift her up, but she was immovable ; and 
 without making the slightest effort to help herself, was madly 
 winding Gertrude s thick travelling-dress around her person, 
 as if for a protection from the flames; while ever, as they 
 darted forth new and nearer lightnings, the frightened girl 
 would cling more wildly to her companion in danger, at the 
 same time praying, with piercing shrieks, that she would help 
 and save her. 
 
 But so long as Gertrude stood thus imprisoned and restrained 
 by the arms which were clasped entirely around her she was 
 powerless to do anything for her own or Isabel s salvation. 
 She looked forth in the direction Mr. Phillips had taken, and 
 to her joy she saw him returning. He had deposited Emily 
 on board a boat, which was fortunately at hand, and was now 
 approaching to claim another burden. At the same instant, a 
 volume of flame swept so near the spot where the two girls were 
 stationed, that Gertrude, who was standing upright, felt the 
 scorching heat, and both were almost suffocated with smoke. 
 
 And now a new and heroic resolution took possession of the 
 mind of Gertrude. One of them could be saved, for Mr. Phil 
 lips was within a few rods of the wreck. It should be Isabel ! 
 She had called on her for protection, and it should not be de 
 nied her ! Moreover, Willie loved Isabel. Willie would weep 
 
380 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 for her loss, and that must not be. He would not weep for 
 Gertrude at least not much ; and if one must die, it should 
 be she. 
 
 With Gertrude, to resolve was to do. "Isabel," said she in 
 a tone of such severity as one might employ towards a refrac 
 tory child, with whom, as in this instance, milder remonstrances 
 had failed, "Isabel, do you hear me 1 ? Stand up on your feet; 
 do as I tell you, and you shall be saved. Do you hear me, 
 Isabel?" 
 
 She heard, shuddered, but did not move. 
 
 Gertrude stooped down, and forcibly wrenching apart the 
 hands which were convulsively clenched, said, with a sternness 
 which necessity alone extorted from her, " Isabel, if you do as 
 I tell you, you will be on shore in five minutes, safe and well ; 
 but if you stay there behaving like a foolish child, we shall 
 both be burnt to death. For mercy s sake, get up quickly and 
 listen to me ! " 
 
 Isabel rose, fixed her eyes upon Gertrude s calm, steadfast 
 face, and said in a moaning tone, "What must I do? I will 
 try." 
 
 " Do you see that person swimming this way ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " He will come to this spot. Hold fast to that piece of rope 
 and I will let you gradually down to the water. But, stay ! " 
 and snatching the deep blue veil from her own head, she tied 
 it round the neck and flung it over the fair hair of Isabel. 
 Mr. Phillips was within a rod or two. "Now, Isabel, now!" 
 exclaimed Gertrude, " or you will be too late ! " Isabel took 
 the rope between her hands, but shrunk back, appalled at the 
 sight of the water. One more hot burst of fire, however, which 
 issued forth through the window, gave her renewed courage to 
 brave a mere seeming danger; and aided by Gertrude, who 
 helped her over the guards, she allowed herself to be let down 
 to the water s edge. Mr. Phillips was fortunately just in time 
 to receive her, for she was so utterly exhaused with fear that 
 she could not have clung long to the rope. Gertrude had no 
 opportunity to follow them with her eye; her own situation, 
 it may well be believed, was now all engrossing. The flames 
 nad reached her. She could hardly breathe, so enveloped was 
 she in clouds of dark smoke, which had more than once been 
 relieved by streaks of fire, which had darted out within a foot 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 381 
 
 of her. She could hesitate no longer. She seized the piece of 
 rope, now left vacant by Isabel, who was rapidly approaching 
 a place of safety, and grasping it with all her might, leaped 
 over the side of the fast- consuming vessel. How long her 
 strength would have enabled her thus to cling, how long the 
 guards, as yet unapproached by the fire, would have continued 
 a sure support for the cable, there was no opportunity to 
 test; for just as her feet touched the cold surface of the river, 
 the huge wheel, which was but a little distance from where she 
 hung, gave one sudden, expiring revolution, sounding like a 
 death dirge through the water, which came foaming and dash 
 ing up against the side of the boat, and as it swept away again, 
 bore with it the light form of Gertrude. 
 
382 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 T is Reason s part 
 To govern and to guard the heart ; 
 To lull, the wayward soul to rest, 
 When hopes and fears distract the breast. 
 
 COTTON. 
 
 LET us now revisit calmer scenes, and turn our eyes towards 
 the quiet, familiar country seat of Mr. Graham. 
 
 The old gentleman himself, wearied with travels and society 
 but little congenial to his years, is pacing up and down his gar 
 den walks, stopping now and then to observe the growth of 
 some favorite tree, or the overgrowth of some petted shrub, 
 whose neglected, drooping twigs call for the master s pruning 
 hand; his contented, satisfied countenance denoting plainly 
 enough how rejoiced he is to find himself once more in his 
 cherished homestead. Perhaps he would not like to acknow 
 ledge it, but it is nevertheless a fact that no small part of his 
 satisfaction arises from the circumstance that the repose and 
 seclusion of his household is rendered complete and secure by 
 the temporary absence of its bustling, excitable mistress, whom 
 he has left behind him in New York. There is something 
 pleasant, too, in being able to indulge his imagination so far as 
 almost to deceive himself into the belief that the good old times 
 have come back again when he was his own master ; for to tell 
 the truth, Mrs. Graham takes advantage of his years and grow 
 ing infirmities, and rules him with wonderful tact. 
 
 Emily and Gertrude, too, are closely associated with those 
 good old times ; and it adds greatly to the delusion of his fancy 
 to dwell upon the certainty that they are both in the house, 
 and that he shall see them at dinner; a cosy, comfortable din 
 ner, at which Mrs. Ellis will preside with her wonted formality 
 and precision, and which no noisy, intruding upstarts will ven 
 ture to interrupt or disturb. 
 
 Yes, Gertrude is there, as well as the rest, saved (she hardly 
 knew how) from the watery grave that threatened and almost 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 383 
 
 engulfed her, and established once more in the peaceful, vener 
 able spot, now the dearest to her on earth. 
 
 When with some difficulty restored to the consciousness 
 which had utterly forsaken her in the protracted struggle be 
 tween death and life, she was informed that she had been found 
 and picked up by some humane individuals, who had hastily 
 pushed a boat from the shore, and aided in the rescue of the 
 sufferers ; that she was clinging to a chair, which she had prob 
 ably grasped when washed away by the sudden rushing of the 
 water, and that her situation was such that, a moment more, 
 and it would have been impossible to save her from the flames, 
 close to which she was drifting. 
 
 But of all this she had herself no recollection. From the 
 moment when she committed her light weight to the frail ten 
 ure of the rope, until she opened her eyes in a quiet spot, 
 and saw Emily leaning anxiously over the bed upon which she 
 lay, all had been a blank to her senses. A few hours from the 
 time of the terrible catastrophe brought Mr. Graham to the 
 scene, and the next day restored all three in safety to the long- 
 deserted old mansion house in D . 
 
 This respectable, venerable habitation and its adjoining 
 grounds wore nearly the same aspect as when they met the 
 admiring eyes of Gerty on the first visit that she made Miss 
 Graham in her early childhood, that long-expected and keenly 
 enjoyed visit, which proved a lasting topic for her youthful 
 enthusiasm to dwell upon. 
 
 The great elm-trees, casting their deep shade upon the green 
 and velvety lawn in front ; the neat, smooth gravel walk, which 
 led to the doorstep, and then wound off in separate directions 
 into the mass of embowered shrubbery on the right, and the 
 peach orchard on the left; the old arbor, with its luxuriant 
 growth of woodbine ; the large summer-house, with its knotted, 
 untrimmed, rustic pillars; the little fish pond and fountain; 
 and especially the flower garden, during the last season nearly 
 restored, by Gertrude s true friend George, to its original ap 
 pearance, when under her superintendence, all had the same 
 friendly, familiar look as during the first happy summers, when 
 Emily, sitting in her garden chair beneath the wide-spreading 
 tulip-tree, listened with delight to the cheerful voice, the merry 
 laugh, and the light step of the joyous little gardener, who, as 
 she moved about in her favorite element among the flowers, 
 
384 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 seemed to her affectionate, loving blind friend the sweetest Flora 
 of them all. 
 
 Now and then a stray robin, the last of the numerous throng 
 that had flocked to the cherry feast and departed long ago, came 
 hopping across the paths, and over the neatly trimmed box, 
 lifting his head, and looking about him with an air that seemed 
 to say, "It is time for me, too, to be off." A family of squir 
 rels, on the other hand, old pets of Gertrude s, whom she loved 
 to watch as they played in the willow-tree opposite her window, 
 were just gathering in their harvest, and were busily journeying 
 up and down, each with a nut in its mouth (for there were nut- 
 trees in that garden, and quiet corners, such as squirrels love). 
 Last year they did not come, at least, they did not stay, 
 for Mrs. Graham and her new gardener voted them a nuisance ; 
 but this year they had had it all their own way, and were lay 
 ing up rich stores for the coming winter. 
 
 The old house itself had a look of contentment and repose. 
 The hall door stood wide open. Mr. Graham s arm-chair was 
 in its usual place; Gertrude s birds, of which Mrs. Ellis had 
 taken excellent care, were hopping about on the slender perches 
 of the great Indian cage which hung on the wide piazza. The 
 old house dog lay stretched in the sun, sure that nobody would 
 molest him. Plenty of flowers once more graced the parlor, 
 and all was very still, very quiet, and very comfortable; and 
 Mr. Graham thought so, as he came up the steps, patted the 
 dog, whistled to the birds, sat down in the arm-chair, and took 
 the morning paper from the hand of the neat housemaid, who 
 came bringing it across the hall. 
 
 The dear old place was the dear old place still. Time seemed 
 only to lend it additional grace, to give it an air of greater 
 peace, seclusion, and repose. 
 
 But how is it with the inmates ? 
 
 Mr. Graham, as we have already hinted, has been having 
 new experiences; and although some features of his character 
 are too closely inwrought to be ever wholly eradicated, he is, 
 in many respects, a changed man. The time had once been 
 when he would have resisted courageously every innovation 
 upon his domestic prejudices and comforts; but old age and ill 
 health had somewhat broken his spirit and subdued his hith 
 erto invincible will. Just at this crisis, too, he united his for 
 tunes with one who had sufficient energy of purpose, combined 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 385 
 
 with just enough good nature and tact, to gain her point on 
 every occasion when she thought it material to do so. She in 
 dulged him, to be sure, in his favorite hobbies, allowed him to 
 continue in the fond belief that his sway (when he chose to ex 
 ercise it) was indisputable, and yet contrived to decide herself 
 in all important matters, and had at last driven him to such 
 extremity that he had taken it for his maxim to get what com 
 fort he could, and let things take their course. 
 
 No wonder, therefore, that he looked forward to a few weeks 
 of old-fashioned enjoyment much as a schoolboy does to his 
 vacation. 
 
 Emily is sitting in her own room, carelessly clad in a loose 
 wrapper. She is paler than ever, and her face has an anxious, 
 troubled expression. Every time the door opens, she starts, 
 trembles, a sudden flush overspreads her face, and twice already 
 during the morning she has suddenly burst into tears. Every 
 exertion, even that of dressing, seems a labor to her; she can 
 not listen to Gertrude s reading, but will constantly interrupt 
 her, to ask questions concerning the burning boat, her own and 
 others rescue, and every circumstance connected with the terri 
 ble scene of agony and death. Her nervous system is evidently 
 fearfully shattered, and Gertrude looks at her and weeps, and 
 wonders to see how her wonted calmness and composure have 
 forsaken her. 
 
 They have been together since breakfast, but Emily will 
 not allow Gertrude to stay with her any longer. She must go 
 away and walk, or at least change the scene. She may come 
 back in an hour and help her dress for dinner, a ceremony 
 which Miss Graham will by no means omit, her chief desire 
 seeming to be to maintain the appearance of health and happi 
 ness in the presence of her father. Gertrude feels that Emily 
 is in earnest, that she really wishes to be left alone ; and be 
 lieving that, for the first time, her presence even is burdensome, 
 she retires to her own room, leaving Emily to bow her head 
 upon her hands, and for the third time utter a few hysterical 
 sobs. 
 
 Gertrude is immediately followed by Mrs. Ellis, who shuts 
 the door, seats herself, and with a manner of her own, alone 
 sufficient to excite alarm, adds to the poor girl s fear and dis 
 tress by declaiming at length upon the dreadful effect the recol 
 lection of that shocking accident is having upon poor Emily. 
 
386 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "She *s completely upset," is the housekeeper s closing remark, 
 "and if she don t begin to get better in a day or two, I don t 
 hesitate to say there s no knowing what the consequences may 
 be. Emily is feeble, and not fit to travel; I wish, for my part, 
 she had stayed at home. I don t approve of travelling, espe 
 cially in these shocking dangerous times." 
 
 Fortunately for poor Gertrude, Mrs. Ellis is at length sum 
 moned to the kitchen, and she is left to reflect upon the strange 
 circumstances of the last few days, days fraught to her with 
 matter of thought for years, if so long a time had been allowed 
 her. A moment, however, and she is again interrupted. The 
 housemaid who carried Mr. Graham his paper has something 
 for her, too. A letter ! With a trembling hand she receives 
 it, scarcely daring to look at the writing or postmark. Her 
 first thought is of Willie ; but before she could indulge either 
 a hope or a fear on that score the illusion is dispelled, for though 
 the postmark is New York, and he might be there, the hand 
 writing is wholly strange. Another idea, of scarcely less mo 
 ment, flashes into her mind, and hardly able to breathe from 
 the violence of the emotions by which she is oppressed, she 
 breaks the seal and reads : 
 
 MY DARLING GERTRUDE, My much-loved child, for such 
 you indeed are, though a father s agony of fear and despair alone 
 wrung from me the words that claimed you. It was no madness 
 that, in the dark hour of danger, compelled me to clasp you to 
 my heart and call you mine. A dozen times before had I been 
 seized by the same emotion, and as often had it been subdued 
 and smothered. And even now I would crush the promptings 
 of nature, and depart and weep my poor life away alone ; but the 
 voice within me has spoken once, and cannot again be silenced. 
 Had I seen you happy, gay, and light hearted, I would not have 
 asked to share your joy, far less would I have cast a shadow 
 on your path; but you are sad and troubled, my poor child, 
 and your grief unites the tie between us closer than that of 
 kindred, and makes you a thousand times my daughter; for 
 I am a wretched, weary man, and know how to feel for others 7 
 woe. 
 
 You have a kind and a gentle heart, my child. You have 
 wept once for the stranger s sorrows, will you now refuse to 
 pity, if you cannot love, the solitary parent, who, with a break- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 387 
 
 ing heart and a trembling hand, writes the ill-fated word that 
 dooms him, perhaps, to the hatred and contempt of the only 
 being on earth with whom he can claim the fellowship of a 
 natural tie 1 Twice before have I striven to utter it, and lay 
 ing down my pen, have shrunk from the cruel task. But hard 
 as it is to speak, I find it harder to still the beating of my rest 
 less heart; therefore listen to me, though it may be for the last 
 time. Is there one being on earth whom you shudder to think 
 of 1 Is there one associated only in your mind with deeds of 
 darkness and of shame? Is there one name which you have 
 from your childhood learned to abhor and hate; and in propor 
 tion as you love your best friend, have you been taught to 
 shrink from and despise her worst enemy ? It cannot be other 
 wise. Ah ! I tremble to think how my child will recoil from 
 her father when she learns the secret, so long preserved, so sor 
 rowfully revealed, that he is 
 
 PHILIP AMORY! 
 
 As Gertrude looked up when she had finished reading this 
 strange and unintelligible letter, her countenance expressed only 
 complete bewilderment; her, eyes glistened with great tears, 
 her face was flushed with wonder and excitement, but she was 
 evidently at a total loss to account for the meaning of the stran 
 ger s words. 
 
 She sat for an instant wildly gazing into vacancy, then 
 springing suddenly up with the letter grasped in one hand, ran 
 across the entry towards Emily s room, to share with her the 
 wonderful contents, and eagerly ask her opinion of their hidden 
 meaning. She stopped, however, when her hand was on the 
 door-lock. Emily was already ill, the victim of agitation and 
 excitement ; it would not do to distress or even disturb her ; and 
 retreating to her own room as hastily as she had come, Gertrude 
 once more sat down, to reperuse the singular words, and en 
 deavor to find some clue to the mystery. 
 
 That Mr. Phillips and the letter writer were identical she at 
 once perceived. It was no slight impression that his exclama 
 tion and conduct during the time of their imminent danger on 
 board the boat had left upon the mind of Gertrude. During 
 the three days that had succeeded the accident, the words "My 
 child ! my own darling ! " had been continually ringing in her 
 ears and haunting her imagination. Now the blissful idea 
 
388 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 would flash upon her that the nohle, disinterested stranger, who 
 had risked his life so daringly in her own and Emily s cause, 
 might indeed be her father; and every fibre of her being had 
 thrilled at the thought, while her head grew dizzy and confused 
 with the strong sensation of hope that agitated and almost over 
 whelmed her brain. Then again, she had repulsed the idea, as 
 suggesting only the height of impossibility and folly, and had 
 compelled herself to take a more rational and probable view of 
 the matter, and believe that the stranger s words and conduct 
 were merely the result of powerful and overwhelming excite 
 ment, or possibly the indications of a somewhat disordered and 
 unsettled imagination, a supposition which much of his pre 
 vious behavior seemed to warrant. 
 
 Her first inquiries, on recovering consciousness, had been for 
 the preserver of Emily and Isabel, but he had disappeared ; no 
 trace of him could be obtained, and Mr. Graham soon arriving 
 and hurrying them from the neighborhood, she had been reluc 
 tantly compelled to abandon the hope of seeing him again, and 
 was consequently left entirely to her own vague and unsatisfac 
 tory conjectures. 
 
 The same motives which now induced her to forbear consult- i 
 ing Emily concerning the mysterious epistle had hitherto pre 
 vented her from imparting the secret of Mr. Phillips a inexpli 
 cable language and manner ; but she had dwelt upon them none 
 the less, and day and night had silently pondered, not only 
 upon recent events, but on the entire demeanor of this strange 
 man towards her, ever since the earliest moment of their ac 
 quaintance. 
 
 The first perusal of the letter served only to excite and alarm 
 her. It neither called forth distinct ideas and impressions, nor 
 added life and coloring to those she had already formed. 
 
 But as she sat for more than an hour gazing upon the page, 
 which she read and re-read until it was blistered and blotted 
 with the great tears that fell upon it, the varying expression of 
 her face denoted the emotions that, one after another, possessed 
 her; and which, at last, snatching a sheet of paper, she com 
 mitted to writing with a feverish rapidity that betrayed how 
 deeply, almost fearfully, her whole being, heart, mind, and 
 body, bent and staggered beneath the weight of contending 
 hopes, anxieties, warmly enkindled affections, and gloomy up 
 starting fears. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 389 
 
 MY DEAR, DEAR FATHER, If I may dare to believe that 
 you are so, and if not that, my best of friends, how shall I 
 write to you, and what shall I say, since all your words are a 
 mystery ! Father ! blessed word ! O, that my noble friend 
 were indeed my father ! Yet tell me, tell me, how can this be ? 
 Alas ! I feel a sad presentiment that the bright dream is all an 
 illusion, an error. I never before remember to have heard the 
 name of Philip Amory. My sweet, pure, and gentle Emily has 
 taught me to love all the world; and hatred and contempt are 
 foreign to her nature and, I trust, to my own. Moreover, she 
 has not an enemy in the wide world ; never had, or could have. 
 One might as well war with an angel of Heaven as with a crea 
 ture so holy and lovely as she. 
 
 Nor bid me think of yourself as a man of sin and crime. It 
 cannot be. It would be wronging a noble nature to believe 
 it, and I say again it cannot be. Gladly would I trust myself 
 to repose on the bosom of such a parent; gladly would I hail 
 the sweet duty of consoling the sorrows of one so self-sacri 
 ficing, so kind, so generous ; whose life has been so freely offered 
 for me, and for others whose existence was dearer to me than 
 my own. When you took me in your arms and called me your 
 child, your darling child, I fancied that the excitement of that 
 dreadful scene had for the moment disturbed your mind and 
 brain so far as to invest me with a false identity, perhaps 
 confound my image with that of some loved and absent one. 
 I now believe that it was no sudden madness, but rather that I 
 have been all along mistaken for another, whose glad office it 
 may perhaps be to cheer a father s saddened life, while I re 
 main unrecognized, unsought, the fatherless, motherless one 
 I am accustomed to consider myself. If you have lost a daugh 
 ter, God grant she may be restored to you, to love you as I 
 would do, were I so blessed as to be that daughter ! And I, 
 consider me not a stranger ; let me be your child in heart ; 
 let me love, pray, and weep for you ; let me pour out my soul 
 in thankfulness for the kind care and sympathy you have al 
 ready given me. And yet, though I disclaim it all, and dare 
 not, yes, dare not dwell for a moment on the thought that you 
 are otherwise than deceived in believing me your child, my 
 heart leaps up in spite of me, and I tremble and almost cease 
 to breathe as there flashes upon me the possibility, the blissful, 
 God-given hope ! No, no ! I will not think it, lest I could 
 
390 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 not bear to have it crushed ! 0, what am I writing ? I know 
 not. I cannot endure the suspense long; write quickly, or 
 come to me, my father, for I will call you so once, though 
 perhaps never again. 
 
 GERTRUDE. 
 
 Mr. Phillips or rather Mr. Amory, for we will call him 
 by his true name had either forgotten or neglected to men 
 tion his address. Gertrude did not observe this circumstance 
 until she had folded and was preparing to direct her letter. 
 She then recollected the unfortunate omission, and for a mo 
 ment experienced a severe pang in the thought that her com 
 munication would never reach him. She was reassured, how 
 ever, on examining the postmark, which was evidently New 
 York, to which place she unhesitatingly addressed her missive ; 
 and then, unwilling to trust it to other hands, tied on her bon 
 net, caught up a veil with which to protect and conceal her 
 agitated face, and hastened to deposit the letter herself in the 
 village post-office. 
 
 To persons of an excitable and imaginative temperament there 
 is perhaps no greater or more painful state of trial than that 
 occasioned by severe and long-continued suspense. When we 
 know precisely what we have to bear, we can usually call to 
 our aid the needed strength and submission; but a more than 
 ordinary patience and forbearance is necessary to enable us 
 calmly and tranquilly to await the approach of an important 
 crisis, big with events the nature of which we can have no 
 means of foreseeing, but which will inevitably exercise an all- 
 controlling influence upon the life. One moment hope usurps 
 the mastery, and promises a happy issue; we smile, breathe 
 freely, and banish care and anxiety ; but an instant more, and 
 some word, look, or even thought changes the whole current 
 of our feelings, clouds take the place of smiles, the chest heaves 
 with a sudden oppression, fear starts up like a nightmare, and 
 in proportion as we have cherished a confident joy are we 
 plunged into the torture of doubt or the agony of despair. 
 
 Gertrude s case seemed a peculiarly trying one. She had 
 been, already, for a week past struggling with a degree of sus 
 pense and anxiety which agitated her almost beyond endurance ; 
 and now a new occasion of uncertainty and mystery had arisen, 
 involving in its issues an almost equal amount of self-question- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTEB 391 
 
 ing and torture. It seemed almost beyond the power of so 
 young, so sensitive, and so inexperienced a girl to rally such 
 self-command as would enable her to control her emotions, dis 
 guise them from observation, and compel herself to endure alone 
 and in silence this cruel dispensation of her destiny. 
 
 But she did do it, and bravely, too. Whether the greatness 
 of the emergency called forth, as it ever does in a true-hearted 
 woman, a proportionate greatness of spirit; whether the compli 
 cation of her web of destiny compelled her, with closed hands 
 and a submissive will, to cease all efforts for its disentangle 
 ment, or whether, with that humble trust, which ever grew 
 more deep and ardent as the sense of her own helplessness 
 pressed upon her, she turned for help to Him whose strength is 
 made perfect in weakness, it is certain that, as she took her 
 way towards home after depositing the letter in the postmaster s 
 hand, the firmness of her step, the calm uplifting of her eye, 
 gave token that she that moment conceived a brave resolve, a 
 resolve which, during the two days that intervened ere she re 
 ceived the expected reply, never for one moment deserted her. 
 
 And it was this. She would endeavor to suspend for the 
 present those vain conjectures, that fruitless weighing of prob 
 abilities, which served only to harass her mircl, puzzle her un 
 derstanding, and destroy her peace; she would ponder no more 
 on matters which concerned herself, but with a desperate effort 
 turn all her mental and all her physical energy into some other 
 and more disinterested channel, and patiently wait until the 
 cloud which hung over her fate should be dissipated by the light 
 of truth, and explanation triumph over mystery. 
 
 She was herself surprised, afterwards, when she called to 
 mind and brought up in long array the numerous household, 
 domestic, and friendly duties which she almost unconsciously 
 accomplished in those few days during which she was wrestling 
 with thoughts that were ever struggling to be uppermost, and 
 were only kept down by a force of will that was almost exhaust 
 ing. 
 
 She dusted and rearranged every book in Mr. Graham s ex 
 tensive library ; unpacked and put in their appropriate places 
 every article of her own and Emily s long-scattered wardrobe; 
 aided Mrs. Ellis in her labors to restore order to the china closet 
 and the linen press; and many other neglected or long-post 
 poned duties now found a time for their fulfilment. 
 
392 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 In these praiseworthy efforts to drive away such reflections 
 as were fatal to her peace, and employ her hands, at least, if 
 not her heart, in such services as might promote the comfort 
 and well-being of others, let us leave her for the present. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 393 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 Thou neither dost persuade me to seek wealth 
 For empire s sake, nor empire to affect 
 For glory s sake, by all thy argument. 
 
 MlLTOW. 
 
 IN a well-furnished private parlor of one of those first-class 
 hotels in which New York city abounds, Philip Amory sat 
 alone. It was evening. The window curtains were drawn, the 
 gas lamps burning brightly, bringing out the gorgeous colors of 
 the gayly tinted carpet and draperies, and giving a cheerful 
 glow to the room, the comfortable appearance of which con 
 trasted strongly with the pale countenance and desponding atti 
 tude of its solitary inmate, who, with his head bowed upon his 
 hands, leaned upon a table in the centre of the apartment. 
 
 He had sat for nearly an hour in precisely the same position, 
 without once moving or looking up. With his left hand, upon 
 which his forehead rested, he had thrust back the wavy masses 
 of his silvered hair, as if their light weight were too oppressive 
 for his heated brow ; and the occasional movement of his fin 
 gers, as they were slowly passed to and fro beneath the graceful 
 curls, alone gave evidence that he had not fallen asleep. 
 
 Suddenly he started up, straightened his commanding figure 
 to its full height, and slowly commenced pacing the room. A 
 light knock at the door arrested his measured steps ; a look of 
 nervous agitation and annoyance overspread his countenance; 
 he again flung himself into his chair, and in reply to the ser 
 vant s announcing "a gentleman, sir," was preparing to say, "I 
 cannot be interrupted," but it was too late; the visitor had 
 already advanced within the door, which the waiter quietly 
 closed and retreated. 
 
 The newcomer a young man stepped quickly and eagerly 
 forward, but checked himself, somewhat abashed at the unex 
 pected coldness of the reception he met from his host, who rose 
 slowly and deliberately to meet his guest, while the cloud upon 
 his countenance and the frigid manner in which he touched the 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 young man s cordially offered hand seemed to jnpty that the 
 latter s presence was unwelcome. 
 
 "Excuse me, Mr. Phillips," said William Sullivan, for it 
 was he who had thus unintentionally forced an entrance to the 
 secluded man. "I am afraid my visit is an intrusion." 
 
 "Do not speak of it," replied Mr. Amory. <% I beg you will 
 be seated ; " and he politely handed a chair. 
 
 Willie availed himself of the offered seat no further than to 
 lean lightly upon it with one hand, while he still remained 
 standing. "You are changed, sir," continued he, "since I last 
 saw you." 
 
 "Changed! Yes, I am," returned the other absently. 
 
 " Your health, I fear, is not " 
 
 "My health is excellent," said Mr. Amory, interrupting his 
 unfinished remark. Then seeming for the first time to realize 
 the necessity of exerting himself, in order to sustain the con 
 versation, he added, "It is a long time, sir, since we met. I 
 have not yet forgotten the debt I owe you for your timely in 
 terference between me and Ali, that Arab traitor, with his ras 
 cally army of Bedouin rogues." 
 
 "Do not name it, sir," replied Willie. "Our meeting was 
 fortunate indeed; but the benefit was as mutual as the danger 
 to which we were alike exposed." 
 
 "I cannot think so. You seemed to have a most excellent 
 understanding with your own party of guides and attendants, 
 Arabs though they were." 
 
 "True; I have had some experience in Eastern travel, and 
 usually know how to manage these inflammable spirits of the 
 desert. But at the time I joined you I was myself entering 
 the neighborhood of hostile tribes, and might soon have found 
 our party overawed, but for the advantage of having joined 
 forces with yourself." 
 
 " You set but a modest value upon your conciliatory powers, 
 my young man. To you, who are so well acquainted with the 
 facts in the case, I can hardly claim the merit of frankness for 
 the acknowledgment that it was only my own hot temper and 
 stubborn will which exposed us both to the imminent danger 
 which you were fortunately able to avert. No, no ! you must 
 not deprive me of the satisfaction of once more expressing my 
 gratitude for your invaluable aid." 
 
 "You are making my visit, sir," said Willie, smiling, "the 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 395 
 
 very reverse of what it was intended to be. I did not come 
 here this evening to receive, but, to the best of my ability, to 
 render thanks." 
 
 " For what, sir ? " asked Mr. Amory abruptly, almost roughly. 
 " You owe me nothing ! " 
 
 " The friends of Isabella Clinton, sir, owe you a debt of grati 
 tude which it will be impossible for them ever to repay." 
 
 "You are mistaken, Mr. Sullivan; I have done nothing 
 which places that young lady s friends under a particle of obli 
 gation to me." 
 
 "Did you not save her life? " 
 
 "Yes; but nothing was further from my intention." 
 
 Willie smiled. "It could have been no accident, I think, 
 which led you to risk your own life to rescue a fellow passenger. " 
 
 "It was no accident, indeed, which led to Miss Clinton s 
 safety from destruction. I am convinced of that. But you 
 must not thank me : it is due to another than myself that she 
 does not now sleep in death." 
 
 " May I ask to whom you refer ? Your words are myste 
 rious. " 
 
 " I refer to a dear and noble girl whom I swam to that burn 
 ing wreck to save. Her veil had been agreed upon as a signal 
 between us. That veil, carefully thrown over the head of Miss 
 Clinton, whom I found clinging to the spot assigned to to 
 her whom I was seeking, deceived me, and I bore in safety to 
 the shore the burden which I had ignorantly seized from the > 
 gaping waters, leaving my own darling, who had offered her 
 life as a sacrifice, to " 
 
 " ! not to die ! " exclaimed Willie. 
 
 "No; to be saved by a miracle. Go thank her for Miss 
 Clinton s life." 
 
 "I thank God," said Willie with fervor, "that the horrors 
 of such scenes of destruction are half redeemed by heroism like 
 that." 
 
 The hitherto stern countenance of Mr. Amory softened as 
 he listened to the young man s enthusiastic outburst of admira 
 tion at Gertrude s noble self-devotion. 
 
 " Who is she 1 Where is she ? " continued Willie. t 
 
 "Ask me not! " replied Mr. Amory, with a gesture of impa 
 tience. " I cannot tell you, if I would. I have not seen her 
 since that ill-fated day." 
 
396 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 His manner, even more than his words, seemed to intimate 
 an unwillingness to enter into any further explanation regard 
 ing Isabel s rescue, and Willie, perceiving it, stood for a mo 
 ment silent and irresolute. Then, advancing a step nearer, he 
 said, 
 
 "Though you so utterly disclaim, Mr. Phillips, any partici 
 pation in Miss Clinton s happy escape, I feel that my errand 
 here would be but imperfectly fulfilled if I should fail to de 
 liver the message which I bring to one who was, at least, the 
 final means, if not the original cause of her safety. Mr. Clin 
 ton, the young lady s father, desired me to tell you that, in 
 saving the life of his only surviving child, the last of seven, all 
 of whom but herself were doomed to an early death, you have 
 prolonged his own days, and rendered him grateful to that de 
 gree which words on his part are powerless to express; but 
 that, as long as his feeble life is spared, he shall never cease to 
 bless your name, and pray to Heaven for its choicest gifts upon 
 you and those who dwell next your heart." 
 
 There was a slight moisture in the clear, penetrating eye of 
 Mr. Amory, but a bland and courteous smile upon his lip, as 
 he said, in reply to Willie s words, 
 
 "All this from Mr. Clinton! Very gentlemanly, and equally 
 sincere, I doubt not; but you surely do not mean to thank me 
 wholly in his name, my young friend. Have you nothing to 
 say for your own sake 1 " 
 
 Willie looked surprised at the question, but replied unhesi 
 tatingly, "Certainly, sir; as one of a large circle of acquaint 
 ances and friends, whom Miss Clinton honors with her regard, 
 you may rest assured that my admiration and gratitude for your 
 disinterested exertions are unbounded; and not only on her 
 account, but on that of every other whom you had the noble 
 satisfaction of rescuing from a most terrific form of death and 
 destruction. " 
 
 "Am I to understand, by your words, that you speak only 
 as a friend of humanity, and that you felt no deep personal in 
 terest in any of my fellow passengers 1 " 
 
 " I was unacquainted with nearly all of them. Miss Clinton 
 was the only one whom I had known for any greater length of 
 time than during two or three days of Saratoga intercourse ; but 
 I should certainly have felt deeply grieved at her death, since 
 I was in the habit of meeting her familiarly in her childhood, 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 397 
 
 have lately been continually in her society, and am aware that 
 her father, my respected partner, an old and invaluable friend, 
 who is now much enfeebled in health, could hardly have sur 
 vived so severe a shock as the loss, under such harrowing cir 
 cumstances, of an only child, whom he almost idolizes." 
 
 "You speak very coolly, Mr. Sullivan. Are you aware that 
 the prevailing belief gives you credit for feeling more than a 
 mere friendly interest in Miss Clinton ? " 
 
 The gradual dilating of Willie s large gray eyes, as he fixed 
 them inquiringly upon Mr. Amory, the half -scrutinizing, half- 
 astonished expression which crept over his face, as he deliber 
 ately seated himself in the chair, which, until then, he had not 
 occupied, were sufficient evidence of the effect of the question 
 so unexpectedly put to him. 
 
 "Sir," said he, "I either misunderstood you, or the prevail 
 ing belief is a most mistaken one." 
 
 " Then you never before heard of your own engagement ? " 
 
 "Never, I assure you. Is it possible that so idle a report 
 has obtained an extensive circulation among Miss Clinton s 
 friends ? " 
 
 " Sufficiently extensive for me, a mere spectator of Saratoga 
 life, to hear it not only whispered from ear to ear, but openly 
 proclaimed as a fact worthy of credit." 
 
 "I am exceedingly surprised and vexed at what you tell me," 
 said Willie, looking really disturbed and chagrined. "Nonsen 
 sical and false as such a rumor is, it will very naturally, if it 
 should reach Miss Clinton, be a source of indignation and an 
 noyance to her; and it is on that account, far more than my 
 own, that I regret the circumstances which have probably given 
 rise to it." 
 
 "Do you refer to considerations of delicacy on the lady s 
 part, or have you the modesty to believe that her pride would 
 be wounded by having her name thus coupled with that of her 
 father s junior partner, a young man hitherto unknown to fash 
 ionable circles? But, excuse me; perhaps I am stepping on 
 dangerous ground, and your own pride may shrink from the 
 frankness of my speech." 
 
 "By no means, sir; you wrong me if you believe my pride 
 to be of such a nature. But, in answer to your question, I 
 have not only reference to both the motives you name, but to 
 many others, when I assert my opinion of the resentment Miss 
 
398 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 Clinton would probably cherish, if the foolish and unwarranted 
 remarks you mention should chance to reach her ears." 
 
 "Mr. Sullivan," said Mr. Amory, drawing his chair nearer 
 to Willie s, and speaking in a tone of great interest, "are you 
 sure you are not standing in your own light? Are you aware 
 that undue modesty, coupled with false and overstrained no 
 tions of refinement, has before now stood in the way of many a 
 man s good fortune, and is likely to interfere largely with your 
 own ? " 
 
 " How so, sir ? You speak in riddles, and I am ignorant of 
 your meaning." 
 
 "Handsome young fellows, like you," continued Mr. Amory, 
 " can, I know, often command almost any amount of property 
 for the asking ; but many such chances rarely occur to one indi 
 vidual ; and the world will laugh at you, if you waste so fair an 
 opportunity as that which you now enjoy." 
 
 " Opportunity for what ? You surely do not mean to advise 
 me " 
 
 " I do, though. I am older than you are, and I know some 
 thing of the world. A fortune is not made in a day, nor is 
 money a thing to be despised. Mr. Clinton s life is, I dare 
 say, enfeebled and almost worn out in toiling after that wealth 
 which will soon be the inheritance of his daughter. She is 
 young, beautiful, and the pride of that high circle in which she 
 moves. Both father and daughter smile upon you. You need 
 not look disconcerted ; I speak as between friends, and you know 
 the truth of that which strangers have observed, and which I 
 have frequently heard mentioned as beyond doubt. Why, then, 
 do you hesitate ? I trust you are not deterred from taking ad 
 vantage of your position by any -romantic and chivalrous sense 
 of inferiority on your part, or unworthiness to obtain so fair a 
 prize. " 
 
 "Mr. Phillips," said Willie with hesitation and evident em 
 barrassment, "the comments of mere casual acquaintances, such 
 as the greater part of those with whom Miss Clinton associated 
 in Saratoga, are not in the least to be depended upon. The 
 peculiar relations in which I stand towards Mr. Clinton have 
 been such as of late to draw me into constant intercourse both 
 with himself and his daughter. He is almost entirely without 
 relatives, has scarcely any trustworthy friend at command, and 
 therefore appears, perhaps, to the world more favorably disposed 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 399 
 
 towards me than would be found to be the case should I aspire to 
 his daughter s hand. The lady herself, too, has so many admirers, 
 that it would be the height of vanity in me to believe " 
 
 "Pooh, pooh!" exclaimed Mr. Phillips, springing from his 
 chair, and, as he commenced pacing the room, clapping the 
 young man heartily upon the shoulder, "tell that, Sullivan, to 
 a greater novice, a more unsophisticated individual than I am ! 
 It is very becoming in you to say so; but (though I hate to 
 flatter) a few slight reminders will hardly harm a youth who 
 has such a very low opinion of his own merits. Pray, who 
 was the gentleman for whose society Miss Clinton was, a few 
 nights since, so ready to forego the music of Alboni, the bril 
 liancy of the well-lighted and crowded hall, and the smiles and 
 compliments of a whole train of adorers ? With whom, I say, 
 did she, in comparison with all this, prefer a quiet moonlight 
 walk in the garden of the United States Hotel ? " 
 
 Willie hesitated a moment, while endeavoring to rally his 
 recollection; then, as if the circumstance and its consequences 
 had just flashed upon him, he exclaimed, "I remember! That, 
 then, was one of the causes of suspicion. I was, on that occa 
 sion, a messenger merely, to summon Miss Isabel to the bed 
 side of her father, by whom I had been anxiously watching 
 for hours, and who, on awakening from a long-protracted and 
 almost lethargic sleep, which had excited the alarm of the phy 
 sician, inquired for his daughter with such eagerness that I did 
 not hesitate to interrupt the pleasure of the evening, and call 
 her to the post of duty, which awaited her in the cottage occu 
 pied by Mr. Clinton, at the further extremity of the grounds, 
 to which I accompanied her by moonlight." 
 
 Mr. Amory almost laughed outright, cast upon Willie, for 
 the first time, that look of sweet benignity which, though rare, 
 well became his fine countenance, and exclaimed, " So much for 
 watering-place gossip! I believe I must forbear speaking of 
 any further evidences of a tender interest manifested by either 
 of you. But, these things apart, and there is every reason to 
 believe, my dear Sullivan, that though the young lady s heart 
 be still, like her fortune, in the united keeping of herself and 
 her father, there is nothing easier than for you to win and claim 
 them both. You are a rising young man, and possess business 
 talent, indispensable, I hear, to the elder party. If, with your 
 handsome face, figure, and accomplishments, you cannot render 
 
400 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 yourself equally so to the younger, there is no one to blame but 
 yourself." 
 
 Willie laughed. "If I had that object in view, I know of 
 no one to whom I would so soon come for encouragement as to 
 you, sir; but the flattering prospect you hold out is quite 
 wasted upon me." 
 
 "Not if you are the man I think you," replied Mr. Amory. 
 "I cannot believe you will be such a fool (I beg your pardon 
 for using so strong a term) as to allow yourself to be blinded to 
 the opportunity you see held out before you of making that 
 appearance in society, and taking that stand in life, to which 
 your birth, your education, and your personal qualities entitle 
 you. Your father was a respectable clergyman (always an hon 
 orable profession); you enjoyed and profited by every advan 
 tage in your youth, and have done yourself such credit in 
 India as would enable you, with plenty of capital at command, 
 to take the lead in a few years among mercantile men. All this, 
 indeed, might not, probably would not, give you an opportunity 
 to mingle freely and at once in the highest ranks of our aristo 
 cracy ; but a union with Miss Clinton would entitle you imme 
 diately to such a position as years of assiduous effort could hardly 
 win, and you would find yourself at twenty-five at the highest 
 point in every respect to which you could possibly aspire ; nor 
 have you, I will venture to say, lived for six years, utterly de 
 prived of female society, without becoming proportionately sus 
 ceptible to such uncommon grace and beauty as Miss Clinton s. 
 
 "A man just returned from a long residence abroad is usually 
 thought to be an easy prey to the charms of the first of his fair 
 countrywomen into whose society he may chance to be thrown ; 
 and it can scarcely then be wondered at if you are subdued by 
 such winning attractions as are rarely to be met with in this 
 land of beautiful women. Nor can it be possible that you have 
 for six years toiled beneath an Indian sun without learning to 
 appreciate, as it deserves, the unlooked-for but happy and hon 
 orable termination of your toils, the easily attained rest from 
 labor, whose crowning blessing will be the possession of your 
 beautiful bride." 
 
 A moment s pause ensued, during which Mr. Amory sat watch 
 ing the countenance of Willie, while he awaited his reply. He 
 was not kept long in ignorance of the effect his glowing picture 
 had produced. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 401 
 
 "Mr. Phillips," said Willie, speaking with prompt decision, 
 and a nervous energy which proved how heartfelt were the 
 words he uttered, " I have not, indeed, spent many of the best 
 years of my life toiling beneath a burning sun, and in a pro 
 tracted exile from all that I held most dear, without being sus 
 tained and encouraged by high hopes, aims, and aspirations. But 
 you misjudge me greatly, if you believe that the ambition that 
 has hitherto spurred me on can find its gratification in those 
 rewards which you have so vividly presented to my imagination. 
 No, sir ! believe me, though these advantages may seem beyond 
 the grasp of most men, I aspire to something higher yet, and 
 should think my best endeavors wasted indeed, if my hopes and 
 wishes tended not to a still more glorious good." 
 
 "And to what quarter do you look for the fulfilment of such 
 flattering prospects ? " asked Mr. Amory in an ironical tone of 
 voice. 
 
 "Not to the gay circles of fashion," replied Willie, "nor yet 
 to that moneyed aristocracy which awards to each man his posi 
 tion in life. I do not depreciate an honorable standing in the 
 eyes of my fellow-men; I am not blind to the advantages of 
 wealth, or insensible to the claims of grace and beauty ; but these 
 were not the things for which I left my home, and it is not to 
 claim them that I have now returned. Young as I am, I have 
 lived long enough, and seen enough of trial, to lay to heart the 
 belief that the only blessings worth striving for are something 
 more enduring, more satisfying, than doubtful honors, preca 
 rious wealth, or fleeting smiles." 
 
 "To what, then, may I ask, do you look forward?" 
 
 "To a home, and that, not so much for myself though I 
 have long pined for such a rest as for another, with whom I 
 hope to share it. A year since," and Willie s lip trembled, 
 his voice shook with emotion, as he spoke, "and there were 
 others, beside that dear one whose image now entirely fills my 
 heart, whom I had fondly hoped, and should deeply have re 
 joiced, to see reaping the fruits of my exertions. But we were 
 not permitted to meet again ; and now, but pardon me, sir ; 
 I did not mean to intrude upon you my private affairs." 
 
 "Go on," said Mr. Amory; "go on; I deserve some degree 
 of confidence, in return for the disinterested advice I have been 
 giving you. Speak to me as to an old friend; I am much in 
 terested in what you say." 
 
402 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 " It is long since I have spoken freely of myself, " said Willie ; 
 " but frankness is natural to me, and since you profess a desire 
 to learn something of my aim in life, I know of no motive I 
 have for reserve or concealment. But my position, sir, even as 
 a child, was singular; and you must excuse me if I refer to it 
 for a moment. I could not have been more than twelve or 
 fourteen years of age when I began to realize the necessity 
 which rested upon me. My widowed mother and her aged 
 father were the only relatives, almost the only friends, I knew. 
 One was feeble, delicate, and quite unequal to active exertion; 
 the other was old and poor, being wholly dependent upon the 
 small salary he received for officiating as sexton of a neighbor 
 ing church. You are aware, for I have mentioned it in our 
 earlier acquaintance abroad, that in spite of these circumstances, 
 they maintained me for several years in comfort and decency, 
 and gave me an excellent education. 
 
 "At an age when kites and marbles are wont to be all-en 
 grossing I became possessed with an earnest desire to relieve 
 my mother and grandfather of a part of their burden of care and 
 labor; and with this purpose in view sought and obtained a 
 situation, in which I was well treated and well paid, and which 
 I retained until the death of my excellent master. Then, for 
 a time, I felt bitterly the want of employment, became despond 
 ing and unhappy; a state of mind which was fostered by con 
 stant association with one of so melancholy and despairing a 
 temperament as my grandfather, who, having met with great 
 disappointment in life, held out no encouragement to me, but 
 was forever hinting at the probability of my utterly failing in 
 every scheme for success and advancement. 
 
 "I bitterly regretted, at the time, the depressing influence 
 of the old man s innuendoes; but I have since thought they 
 answered a good purpose ; for nothing so urged me on to ever- in 
 creasing efforts as the indomitable desire to prove the mistaken 
 nature of his gloomy predictions, and few things have given me 
 more satisfaction than the assurances I have frequently received 
 during the few past years that he came at last to a full convic 
 tion that my prosperity was established beyond a doubt, and 
 that one of his ill-fated family was destined to escape the trials 
 and evils of poverty. 
 
 "My mother was a quiet, gentle woman, small in person, 
 with great simplicity and some reserve of manner. She loved 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 403 
 
 me like her own soul; she taught me everything I know of 
 goodness; there is no sacrifice I would not have made for her 
 happiness. I would have died to save her life ; but we shall 
 never meet again in this world, and I I am learning to be 
 resigned ! 
 
 " For these two, and one other, whom I shall speak of pre 
 sently, I was ready to go away, and strive and suffer, and be 
 patient. The opportunity came, and I embraced it. And soon 
 one great object of my ambition was won. I was able to earn 
 a competency for myself and for them. In the course of time, 
 luxuries even were within my means, and I had begun to look 
 forward to a not very distant day when my long-looked-for re 
 turn should render our happiness perfect and complete. I little 
 thought, then, that the sad tidings of my grandfather s death 
 were on their way, and the news of my mother s slow but 
 equally sure decline so soon to follow. 
 
 " It is true, however, they are both gone ; and I should now 
 be so solitary as almost to long to follow them, but for one 
 other, whose love will bind me to earth so long as she is spared. " 
 
 "And she? " exclaimed Mr. Amory, with an eagerness which 
 Willie, engrossed with his own thoughts, did not observe. 
 
 "Is a young girl," continued Willie, "without family, wealth, 
 or beauty ; but with a spirit so elevated as to make her great, 
 a heart so noble as to make her rich, a soul so pure as to make 
 her beautiful." 
 
 Mr. Amory s attitude of fixed attention, his evident waiting 
 to hear more, emboldened Willie to speak still further. 
 
 "There lived in the same house which my grandfather occu 
 pied an old man, a city lamplighter. He was poor, poorer even 
 than we were, but I will venture to say there never was a bet 
 ter or a kinder-hearted person in the world. One evening, when 
 engaged in his round of duty, he picked up and brought home 
 a little ragged child, whom a cruel woman had just thrust into 
 the street to perish with cold, or die a more lingering death in 
 the almshouse ; for nothing but such devoted care as she re 
 ceived from my mother and Uncle True (so we always called 
 our old friend) could have saved the feeble, half-starved creature 
 from the consequences of long-continued exposure and ill-treat 
 ment. Through their unwearied watching and efforts she was 
 spared, to repay in after years all, and more than all, the love 
 bestowed upon her. She was at that time miserably thin and 
 
404 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 attenuated, sallow, and extremely plain in her appearance, be 
 sides being possessed of a violent temper, which she had never 
 been taught to restrain, and a stubbornness of will, which un 
 doubtedly resulted from her having long lived in opposition to 
 all the world. 
 
 "All this, however, did not repel Uncle True, under whose 
 loving influence new and hitherto undeveloped virtues and ca 
 pacities soon began to manifest themselves. In the atmosphere 
 of love in which she now lived, she soon became a changed be 
 ing; and when, in addition to the example and precepts taught 
 her at home, a divine light was shed upon her life by one who, 
 herself sitting in darkness, casts a halo forth from her own spirit 
 to illumine those of all who are blessed with her presence, she 
 became, what she has ever since been, a being to love and trust 
 for a lifetime. For myself, there were no bounds to the affec 
 tion I soon came to cherish for the little girl, to whom I was 
 first attracted by compassion merely. 
 
 " We were constantly together ; we had no thoughts, no stud 
 ies, no pleasures, sorrows, or interests that were not shared. 
 I was her teacher, her protector, the partner of all her childish 
 amusements; and she, on her part, was by turns an advising, 
 consoling, sympathizing, and encouraging friend. In this latter 
 character she was indispensable to me, for she had a hopeful 
 nature, and a buoyancy of spirit which often imparted itself to 
 me. I well remember when my kind employer died, and I was 
 plunged in boyish grief and despair, the confidence and energy 
 with which she, then very young, inspired me. The relation 
 between her and Uncle True was beautiful. Boy as I was, I 
 could not but view with admiration the old man s devoted love 
 for the adopted darling of his latter years (his birdie, as he 
 always called her), and the deep and grateful affection which 
 she bore him in return. 
 
 "During the first few years she was wholly dependent upon 
 him, and seemed only a fond, affectionate child; but a time 
 came, at last, when the case was reversed, and the old man, 
 stricken with disease, became infirm and helpless. It was then 
 that the beauty of her woman s nature shone forth triumphant; 
 and, 0, how gently, child as she was, she guided his steps as 
 he descended to the grave ! Often have I gone to his room at 
 midnight, fearing lest he might be in need of care which she, 
 in her youth and inexperience, would be unable to render; ant! 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 405 
 
 never shall I forget the little figure, seated calmly by his bed 
 side, at an hour when many of her years would be shrinking 
 from fears conjured up by the night and the darkness, with a 
 lamp dimly burning on a table before her, and she herself, with 
 his hand in hers, sweetly soothing his wakefulness by her lov 
 ing words, or with her eyes bent upon her little Bible, reading 
 to him holy lessons. 
 
 "But all her care could not prolong his life; and shortly 
 before I went to India he died, blessing God for the peace 
 imparted to him through his gentle nurse. 
 
 "It was my task to soothe our little Gerty s sorrows, and do 
 what I could to comfort her; an office which, before I left the 
 country, I was rejoiced to transfer to the willing hands of the 
 excellent blind lady who had long befriended both her and 
 Uncle True. Before I went away, I solemnly committed to 
 Gerty, who had in one instance proved herself both willing and 
 able, the care of my mother and grandfather. She promised to 
 be faithful to the trust; and nobly was that promise kept. In 
 spite of the unkindness and deep displeasure of Mr. Graham 
 (the blind lady s father), upon whose bounty she had for a long 
 time been dependent, she devoted herself heart and hand to the 
 fulfilment of duties which in her eyes were sacred and holy. 
 In spite of suffering, labor, watching, and privation, she volun 
 tarily forsook ease and pleasure, and spent day and night in the 
 patient service of friends whom she loved with a greater love 
 than a daughter s, for it was that of a saint. 
 
 "With all my earnestness of purpose, I could never have 
 done half that she did; I might have loved as much, but none 
 but a woman s heart could have conceived and planned, none 
 but a woman s hand could have patiently executed, the deeds 
 that Gertrude wrought. She was more than a sister to me be 
 fore; she was my constant correspondent, my dearest friend; 
 now she is bound to me by ties that are not of earth nor of 
 time." 
 
406 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 And opportunity I here have had 
 
 To try thee, sift thee, and confess have found thee 
 
 Proof against all temptation. 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 "CERTAINLY," said Mr. Amory, who had waited patiently 
 for the conclusion of Willie s story, "I can well understand 
 that. A man of a generous spirit could hardly fail to cherish 
 a deep and lasting gratitude for one who devoted herself so dis 
 interestedly to a trying and toilsome attendance upon the last 
 hours of beloved friends, to whose wants he himself was pre 
 vented from ministering ; and the warmth with which you eulo 
 gize this girl does you credit, Sullivan. She must, too, be a 
 young person of great excellence, to have fulfilled so faithfully 
 and well a promise of such remote date that it would probably 
 have been ignored by a less disinterested friend. But do not 
 let any enthusiastic sense of honor induce you to sacrifice your 
 self on the shrine of gratitude. 
 
 "I shall find it hard to believe that a young man who has 
 had the ambition to mark out, and the energy to pursue, such 
 a course on the road to fortune as you have thus far success 
 fully followed, can, in his sober senses, have made a serious 
 resolve to unite himself and his prospects with an insignificant 
 little playmate, of unacknowledged birth, without beauty or 
 fortune, unless there is already a standing engagement, by 
 which he is unwillingly bound, or he allows himself to be drawn 
 on to matrimony by the belief that the highest compliment he 
 can pay (namely, the offer of himself) will alone cancel the 
 immense obligations under which he labors. May I ask if you 
 are already shackled by promises ? " 
 
 "I am not," replied Willie. 
 
 "Then listen to me a moment. My motives are friendly 
 when I beg you not to act rashly in a matter which will affect 
 the happiness of your whole life ; and to hear with patience, 
 too, if you can," for Willie already gave symptoms of restless 
 ness "the few words which I have to say on the subject. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 407 
 
 "You are much mistaken, my young friend, if you believe 
 that the happiness of Gerty, as you call her (a very ugly name, 
 by the way), can be insured, any more than your own, by an 
 ill-assorted union, of which you will both find occasion to re 
 pent. You have not seen her for six years ; think, then, of 
 all that has happened in the mean time, and beware how you 
 act with precipitation. 
 
 " You have all this time been living abroad, engaged in ac 
 tive life, growing in knowledge of the world and its various 
 phases of society. In India, to be sure, you witnessed a mode 
 of life wholly different from that which prevails with us or in 
 European cities; but the independence, both of character and 
 manner, which you there acquired, fitted you admirably for the 
 polished sphere of Parisian life, to which you were so suddenly 
 introduced, and in which, I may say without flattery, you met 
 with such marked success. 
 
 "Notwithstanding the privilege you enjoyed of being pre 
 sented in polite circles as the friend of a man so well known 
 and so much respected as Mr. Clinton, you cannot have been 
 insensible to the marked attentions bestowed upon you by 
 American residents abroad, or unaware of the advantage you 
 enjoyed, on your return home, from having been known as the 
 object of such favor. Though not so fortunate as to meet you 
 in Paris, I was there at the same time with yourself, and had 
 some opportunity of being acquainted with facts which I am 
 sure you would have too much modesty to acknowledge. 
 
 " That you were not wholly devoid of taste for choice society 
 it is easy to infer ; since, otherwise, you would never have been 
 able to render yourself an ornament to it, or even maintain a 
 place within its precincts. It is also equally evident that your 
 pride must have been flattered, and your views in life somewhat 
 biassed, by the favorable reception you have met, both abroad 
 and at home, not only from your own sex, but especially from 
 the young, fair, and beautiful women who have honored you 
 with their smiles, and among whom she whose name the crowd 
 already associates with your own stands preeminent. 
 
 " When I think of all this, and of those pecuniary hopes you 
 may so reasonably indulge, and on which I have already dilated, 
 and then imagine you suddenly flinging all these aside, to chiv 
 alrously throw yourself at the feet of your mother s little nurse, 
 I confess I find it impossible to keep silent, and avoid remind- 
 
408 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 ing you of the reaction that must come, the disappointment 
 that must ensue, on finding yourself at once and forever shut 
 out from participation in pleasures which have been within your 
 reach, and voluntarily discarded. 
 
 " You must remember that much of the consideration which 
 is paid to a young bachelor of growing prospects ceases to be 
 awarded to him after marriage, and is never extended to his 
 bride, unless she be chosen from the select circles to which he 
 aspires. This unportioned orphan, with whom you propose to 
 share your fate, this little patient schoolmistress " 
 
 " I did not tell you she had ever been a teacher ! " exclaimed 
 Willie, stopping short in his walk up and down the room, which 
 latterly he had been, in his turn, pacing impatiently, while he 
 listened to Mr. Amory s words. "I did not tell you anything 
 of the sort ! How did you know it ? " 
 
 Mr. Amory, who by his negligence had thus betrayed more 
 knowledge than he had been supposed to possess, hesitated a 
 moment, but quickly recovering himself, answered, with appar 
 ent frankness, 
 
 " To tell the truth, Sullivan, I have seen the girl, in com 
 pany with an old doctor." 
 
 " Dr. Jeremy ? " asked Willie quickly. 
 
 "The same." 
 
 " When did you see her ? How did it happen ? " 
 
 "Do not question me!" said Mr. Amory petulantly, as if 
 the matter were of little consequence, and he did not choose to 
 be interrogated. " I happened to see the old gentleman in the 
 course of my travels, and this Gertrude Flint was with him. 
 He told me a few facts concerning her nothing to her dis 
 advantage, however; in warning you against a misalliance, I 
 speak only in general terms." 
 
 Willie looked at Mr. Amory in a half -scrutinizing, half-won 
 dering manner, and appeared on the point of persisting in his 
 attempt to learn further particulars; but Mr. Amory, taking 
 up the thread of his previous conversation, went on, without 
 giving him a chance to speak. 
 
 "This Gerty, as I was saying, Sullivan, will be a dead weight 
 upon your hands, a constant drawback to all your efforts for 
 the attainment of fashionable society, in which it is hardly to 
 be expected she can be exactly fitted to shine. You yourself 
 pronounce her to be without wealth or beauty; of her family 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 409 
 
 you know nothing, and have certainly little reason to expect 
 that, if discovered, it would do her any credit. I believe, then, 
 that I only speak from the dictates of common sense, when I 
 bid you beware how you make, in the disposal of yourself, such 
 a very unequal bargain." 
 
 "I am very willing to believe, sir," said Willie, resuming 
 his seat and settling himself into a composed attitude, "that 
 the arguments you have so powerfully brought to bear upon a 
 question most important to my welfare are grounded upon calm 
 reasoning, and a disinterested desire to promote my prosperity. 
 I confess you are the last man, judging from our short, but, for 
 the length of time, intimate acquaintance, from whom I should 
 have expected such advice ; for I had believed you so independ 
 ent of the opinion and so indifferent to the applause of the 
 world, that they would weigh but little with you in forming 
 estimates for the guidance of others. 
 
 " Still, though your suggestions have failed to influence or in 
 the least degree change my sentiments or intentions, I fully ap 
 preciate and thank you for the sincerity and earnestness with 
 which you have sought to mould my judgment by your own, 
 and will reply to your arguments with such frankness as will, 
 I think, persuade you that, so far from following the impulses 
 of a blind enthusiasm, to plunge with haste and precipitation 
 into a course of action hereafter to be deplored, I am actuated 
 by feelings which reason approves, and which have already 
 stood the test of experience. 
 
 " You speak truly when you impute to me a natural taste for 
 good society; a taste which poverty, and the retirement in 
 which my boyhood was passed, gave me little opportunity to 
 manifest, but which had, nevertheless, no small influence in 
 determining my aims and ambition in life. The fine houses, 
 equipages, and clothes of the rich had far less charm to my 
 fancy than the high-bred ease, refinement, and elegance of man 
 ner which distinguished some few of their owners who chanced 
 to come under my observation ; and much as I desired the at 
 tainment of wealth for the sake of its own intrinsic advantages, 
 and the means it would afford of contributing to the comfort 
 and happiness of others, it would have seemed to me divested 
 of half its value should it fail to secure to its possessor a free 
 admittance to the polite and polished circles upon which I 
 looked with admiring eyes. 
 
410 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 "I needed not, therefore, the social deprivations I expe 
 rienced in India to prepare me to enter with eager zest into the 
 excitement and pleasure of Parisian life, to which, through the 
 kindness and partiality of Mr. Clinton, I obtained, as you are, 
 it seems, aware, a free and immediate introduction. 
 
 "It is true I was summoned thither at a time when my spir 
 its had been for months struggling with the depression occa 
 sioned by sad news from home, and had not, therefore, the 
 least disposition to avail myself of Mr. Clinton s politeness; 
 but the feebleness of his health, and his inability to enter 
 largely into the gayeties of the place, compelled me continually 
 to offer myself as an escort to his daughter, who, fond of so 
 ciety and reluctant to submit to any exclusion from it, inva 
 riably accepted my services, thus drawing me into the very 
 whirl and vortex of fashionable life; in which, I confess, I 
 soon found much to flatter, bewilder, and intoxicate. I could 
 not be insensible to the privileges so unexpectedly accorded to 
 me; nor could my vanity be wholly proof against the assaults 
 made upon it. Nor was my manliness of character alone at 
 stake. My position in fashionable circles threw other and 
 more serious temptations in my way. The soundness of prin 
 ciple and simplicity of habit implanted in me from childhood, 
 and hitherto preserved intact, soon found themselves at stake. 
 I had withstood every kind of gross temptation, but my new 
 and refined associates now presented it to me in that more sub 
 tle form which often proves a snare to those over whom, had 
 it come without disguise, it would have no power. The wine- 
 cup could never have enticed me to the coarse and disgusting 
 scenes of drunken revelry ; but held in the hands of the pol 
 ished gentlemen, who had but a moment before been the re 
 cipients of popular favor and women s smiles, it sparkled with 
 a richer lustre, and its bitter dregs were forgotten. The pro 
 fessed gamester, the well-known rogue, would in vain have 
 sought me for an accomplice; but I was not equally on my 
 guard against the danger which awaited me from other and un 
 expected quarters ; for how could I believe that my friends, Mr. 
 Clinton s friends, the ornaments of the sphere in which they 
 moved, would unfairly win my money, involve me in entangle 
 ments, and lead me on to ruin ? I almost wonder, as I look 
 back upon the few first weeks of my residence in Paris, that I 
 did not finally fall a victim to some one of the numerous snares 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 411 
 
 that were on every side spread for my destruction, and into 
 which my social disposition, my fearless and, at the same time, 
 unsophisticated nature rendered me especially prone to fall. 
 Nothing, I am persuaded, but the recollection of my pure- 
 minded and watchful mother, whose recent death had given 
 new freshness and life to the memory of her many warning 
 counsels, at the time they were bestowed deemed by me un 
 necessary, but now, in the moment of danger, springing up and 
 arming themselves with a solemn meaning, nothing but the 
 consciousness of her gentle spirit ever hovering around my path, 
 saddened by my conflicts, rejoicing in my triumphs, could ever 
 have given me courage and perseverance to resist, shun, and 
 finally escape altogether the pitfalls into which my unwary 
 steps would have plunged me. 
 
 "These darker evils, however, successfully combated and sub 
 dued, there were others of scarcely less magnitude awaiting me, 
 and in which much of my future well-being and usefulness were 
 involved. In the unvaried round of pleasure in which my days, 
 and nights even, were frequently passed, there was much to 
 gratify my self-love, foster my ambition, and annihilate every 
 worthier emotion. And here, believe me, my safety lay in my 
 success. Had I approached the outskirts of fashionable life, 
 and been compelled to linger with longing eyes at the threshold, 
 I might even now be loitering there a deceived spectator of joys 
 which it was not permitted to me to enter and share, or, hav 
 ing gained a partial entrance, be eagerly employed in pushing 
 my way onward. 
 
 " Admitted, however, at once into the very arcana of a sphere 
 I was eager to penetrate, my eyes were soon opened to the vain, 
 hollow, and worthless nature of the bauble Fashion. Not that 
 I did not meet within its courts the grace, wit, talent, and re 
 finement which I had hoped to find there, or that these were 
 invariably accompanied by other and less attractive qualities. 
 No ; I truly believe there is no class which cannot boast of its 
 heroes and heroines, and that there are within the walks of 
 fashionable life men and women who would grace a wilderness. 
 Nor do I despise forms and ceremonies which are becoming in 
 themselves, and conducive to elegance and good breeding. As 
 long as one class is distinguished by education and refined man 
 ners, and another is marked by ignorance and vulgarity, there 
 should, and there must, in the nature of things, be a dividing 
 
412 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 line between the two, which neither, perhaps, would desire to 
 overstep. 
 
 " But this barrier is not Fashion, which, both abroad and at 
 home, oftentimes excludes the former, and gives free admittance 
 to the latter; and if I presume to adopt a higher standard, it is 
 because I have had so close an acquaintance with that already 
 set up, that I can judge how little it is to be trusted." 
 
 "You are young," said Mr. Amory, "to be such a philoso 
 pher. Many a man has turned away with disgust from an aris 
 tocracy into which he could himself gain no admittance; but 
 few renounce it voluntarily." 
 
 "Few, perhaps," replied Willie, "few young men, at least, 
 have such opportunities as I have had to penetrate its secrets. 
 I trust I may say without treachery, since I speak in general 
 terms only, that I have seen more ignorance, more ill breeding, 
 more meanness, and more immorality in the so-called aristo 
 cracy of our country than I should have believed it possible 
 would be tolerated there. I have frequently known instances 
 in which the most accomplished gentleman, or the most beauti 
 ful lady, of a gay circle, has given evidence of unpardonable 
 want of information on the most common topics. I have seen 
 elegant evening assemblies disgraced by a degree of rudeness 
 and incivility which reflected as little credit on the taste as on 
 the feelings. I have seen the profuse and lavish expenditure 
 of to-day atoned for by a selfish and despicable parsimony on 
 the morrow ; and I have seen a want of principle exhibited by 
 persons of both sexes, which proves that a high position on 
 earth is no security against such contamination of the soul as 
 must wholly unfit it for an exalted place hereafter. " 
 
 "I have witnessed no less myself," said Mr. Amory; "but 
 my experiences have not been like those of other men, and my 
 sight has been sharpened by circumstances. I am still aston 
 ished that you should have been awake to these facts." 
 
 "I was not at first," answered Willie. "It was only grad 
 ually that I recovered from the dazzling, blinding effect which 
 the glitter and show of Fashion imposed upon the clearness of 
 my perceptions. My suspicions of its falsehood and vanity 
 were based upon instances of selfishness, folly, and cold-heart- 
 edness which, one after another, came to my knowledge. I 
 could relate to you the thousand mean deceits, the contempti 
 ble rivalries, the gross neglect of sacred duties, which came 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 413 
 
 under my immediate observation; but I will not betray the se 
 crets of individuals or weary you with their recital. 
 
 "Especially was I astonished at the effect of an uninterrupted 
 pursuit of pleasure upon the sensibilities, the tempers, and the 
 domestic affections of women. Though bearing within my 
 heart an image of female goodness and purity, this sweet remem 
 brance, this living ideal, might possibly have been driven from 
 its throne, and supplanted by some one of the lovely faces which 
 at first bewildered me by their beauty, had these last been the 
 index to souls of equal perfection. There may be I have 
 no doubt that there are noble and excellent women moving 
 in the highest walks of life, whose beauty, grace, and other 
 outward adornments are less admirable than their own high 
 natures; but among those with whom I became familiarly ac 
 quainted there was not one who could in the least compare with 
 her who was continually present to my memory, who is still, 
 and ever must be, a model to her sex. 
 
 " It is no wonder that others failed to come up to my concep 
 tion of all that is lovely in woman, since the character of Ger 
 trude Flint was the standard by which each in my mind was 
 measured. How could I help contrasting the folly, the world- 
 liness, and the cold-heartedness around me with the cultivated 
 mind, the self-sacrificing and affectionate disposition, of one 
 who possesses every quality that can adorn life, whether at 
 home or abroad ? You have indeed failed to convince me that 
 Gertrude can in any way be a drawback or disadvantage to the 
 man who shall be so fortunate as to call her his. For my own 
 part, I desire no better, no more truly aristocratic position in 
 life, than that to which she is so well entitled, and to which 
 she would be one of the brightest ornaments, the aristocracy 
 of true refinement, knowledge, grace, and beauty. You talk 
 to me of wealth. Gertrude has no money in her purse, but her 
 soul is the pure gold, tried in the furnace of sorrow and afflic 
 tion, and thence come forth bright and unalloyed. You speak 
 of family and an honorable birth. She has no family, and her 
 birth is shrouded in mystery ; but the blood that courses in her 
 veins would never disgrace the race from which she sprung, 
 and every throb of her unselfish heart allies her to all that is 
 noble. 
 
 "You are eloquent on the subject of beauty. When I parted 
 from Gertrude, she was, in all but character, a mere child, being 
 
414 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 only twelve or thirteen years of age. Though much altered 
 and improved since the time when she first came among us, I 
 scarcely think she could have been said to possess much of what 
 the world calls beauty. For myself, it was a matter of which 
 I seldom thought or cared; and had I been less indifferent on 
 the subject, she was so dear to me that I should have been ut 
 terly unable to form an impartial judgment of her claims in this 
 respect. 
 
 "I well remember, however, the indignation I once felt at 
 hearing a fellow clerk, who had accidentally met her in one of 
 our walks, sneeringly contrast her personal appearance with that 
 of our mutual employer s handsome daughter, the same Miss 
 Clinton of whom we have been speaking ; and the proportionate 
 rapture with which I listened to the excellent teacher, Miss 
 Browne, when on a certain occasion, being present at a school 
 examination, I overheard her commenting to a lady upon Ger 
 trude s wonderful promise in person as well as in mind. Whether 
 the first part of this promise has been fulfilled, I have no means 
 of judging; but as I recall her dignified and graceful little fig 
 ure, her large, intelligent, sparkling eyes, the glow of feeling 
 that lit up her whole countenance, and the peaceful, almost 
 majestic expression which purity of soul imparted to her yet 
 childish features, she stands forth to my remembrance the em 
 bodiment of all that I hold most dear. 
 
 "Six years may have outwardly changed her much; but they 
 cannot have robbed her of what I prize the most. She has 
 charms over which time can have no power, a grace that is a 
 gift of Heaven, a beauty that is eternal. Could I ask for more ? 
 
 "Do not believe, then," continued he, after a short pause, 
 "that my fidelity to my early playmate is an emotion of grati 
 tude merely ; it is true I owe her much, far more than I can 
 ever repay ; but the honest warmth of my affection for the noble 
 girl springs from the truest love of a purity of character and 
 singleness of heart which I have never seen equalled. 
 
 " What is there in the wearisome and foolish walks of Fash 
 ion, the glitter and show of wealth, the homage of an idle 
 crowd, that could so fill my heart, elevate my spirit, and in 
 spire my exertions as the thought of a peaceful, happy home, 
 blessed by a presiding spirit so formed for confidence, love, 
 and a communion that time can never dissolve, and eternity 
 will but render more secure and unbroken ( " 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 415 
 
 " And she whom you love so well ? are you sure " asked 
 Mr. Phillips, speaking with visible effort, and faltering ere he 
 had completed his sentence. 
 
 "No," answered Willie, anticipating the question. "I know 
 what you would ask. I am not sure. I have no reason to in 
 dulge the hopes I have been dwelling upon so fondly ; but I do 
 not regret having spoken with such openness and candor; for 
 should she grieve my heart by her coldness, I should still be 
 proud to have loved her. Until this time, ever since I gained 
 my native land, I have been shackled by duties, which, sacred 
 as they were, have chafed a spirit longing for freedom to follow 
 its own impulses. In this visit to you, sir," and as he spoke 
 he rose to depart, "I have fulfilled the last obligation imposed 
 upon me by my excellent friend, and to-morrow I shall be at 
 liberty to go where duty alone prevented me from at once has 
 tening." 
 
 He offered his hand to Mr. Amory, who grasped it with a 
 cordiality very different from the feeble greeting he had given 
 him on his entrance. "Good-by," said he. "You carry with 
 you my best wishes for a success which you seem to have so 
 much at heart; but some day or other I feel sure you will be 
 reminded of all I have said to you this evening." 
 
 " Strange man ! " thought Willie, as he walked towards his 
 own hotel. "How warmly he shook my hand at parting! and 
 with what a friendly manner he bade me farewell, notwith 
 standing the coldness of the reception he gave me, and the per 
 tinacity with which, throughout my whole visit, I rejected his 
 opinions and repelled his advice ! " 
 
416 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTER XLV 
 
 Yet t is a weary task to school the heart, 
 Ere years of griefs have tamed its fiery spirit 
 Into that still and passive fortitude 
 Which is but learned from suffering. 
 
 HEMANS. 
 
 "Miss GERTRUDE," said Mrs. Prime, opening the parlor 
 door, putting her head cautiously in, looking round, and then 
 advancing with a stealthy pace, like that of a favorite family 
 cat which is venturing to step a little beyond its usual limits, 
 "my! how busy you are! Lor s sakes alive, if you ain t 
 rippin up them great curtains of Mis Graham s for the wash! 
 I would n t be botherin with em, Miss Gertrude; she won t be 
 here for this fortnight, and Mis Ellis will have time enough." 
 
 "O, I have nothing else to do, Mrs. Prime; it s no trouble." 
 Then, looking up pleasantly at the old cook, she added, "It 
 seems very cosy for us all to be at home again, doesn t it? " 
 
 "It seems beautiful!" answered Mrs. Prime with emphasis; 
 "and I hope there s no harm in sayin it I can t help 
 thinkin how nice it would be if we could all live on jist as 
 we are now, without no more intrusions. " 
 
 Gertrude smiled and said, "Everything looks as it used to 
 in old times, when I first came here. I was quite a child then," 
 continued she, with a sigh. 
 
 " Gracious me ! What are you now ? " said Mrs. Prime. 
 "For mercy s sake, Miss Gertrude, don t you begin to think 
 about growin old! There s nothing like feeling young to keep 
 young. There s Miss Patty Pace, now " 
 
 "I have been meaning to ask after her," exclaimed Gertrude, 
 resuming her scissors, and commencing to rip another window 
 curtain. " Is she alive and well yet ? " 
 
 " She ! " replied Mrs. Prime ; " lor, she won t never die ! Old 
 women like her, that feels themselves young gals, allers live 
 forever; but I came a purpose to speak to you about her. The 
 baker s boy that fetched the loaves this mornin brought an ai- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 41 7 
 
 rant from her, and she wants to see you the first chance she can 
 get; but I wouldn t hurry, either, about goin there, or any 
 where, Miss Gertrude, till I got rested; for I believe you ain t 
 well, you look so spent and kind o tired out." 
 
 "Did she wish to see me? "asked Gertrude. "Poor old 
 thing! I 11 go and see her this very afternoon; and you need n t 
 feel anxious about me, Mrs. Prime, I am quite well. " 
 
 And Gertrude went. It was now her second day of suspense ; 
 and this, like every other motive for action, was eagerly hailed. 
 She found Miss Patty nearly bent double with rheumatism, 
 dressed with less than her usual care, and crouching over a 
 miserable fire, built of a few chips and shavings. She appeared, 
 however, to be in tolerable spirits, and hailed Gertrude s en 
 trance by a cordial greeting. 
 
 The curiosity for which she was always remarkable seemed to 
 have increased rather than diminished with the infirmities of 
 age. Innumerable were the questions she put to Gertrude re 
 garding her own personal experiences during the past year, and 
 the movements of the circles in which she had been living. She 
 showed a special interest in Saratoga life, the latest fashions 
 exhibited there, and the opportunities which the place afforded 
 for forming advantageous matrimonial connections. 
 
 "So you have not yet chosen a companion," said she, after 
 Gertrude had patiently and good-naturedly responded to all 
 her queries. "That is a circumstance to be regretted. Not," 
 continued she, with a little smirk and a slight wave of the hand, 
 "that it is ever too late in life for one to meditate the conjugal 
 tie, which is often assumed with advantage by persons of fifty 
 or more ; and certainly you, who are still in the bloom of your 
 days, need not despair of a youthful swain. However, exist 
 ence, I may say, is twofold when it is shared with a congenial 
 partner ; and I had hoped that before now, Miss Gertrude, both 
 you and myself would have formed such an alliance. Experi 
 ence prompts me, when I declare the protection of the matri 
 monial union one of its greatest advantages." 
 
 "I hope you have not suffered from the want of it," said 
 Gertrude. 
 
 " I have, Miss Gertrude, suffered incalculably. Let me im 
 press upon you, however, that the keenest pangs have been those 
 of the sensibilities ; yes, the sensibilities, the finest part of 
 our nature and that which will least bear wounding." 
 
418 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 " I am sorry to hear that you have been thus grieved, " said 
 Gertrude. "I should have supposed that, living quite alone, 
 you might have been spared this trial." 
 
 "0, Miss Gertrude ! " exclaimed the old lady, lifting up both 
 hands, and speaking in such a pitiable tone as would have ex 
 cited the compassion of her listener if it had been one grain less 
 ridiculous, " O, that I had wings of a dove, wherewith to flee 
 away from my kindred! I fondly thought to have distanced 
 them, but within the last revolving year they have discovered 
 my retreat, and I can no longer elude their vigilance. Hardly 
 can I recover from the shock of one visitation, made, as I am 
 convinced, for the sole purpose of taking an inventory of my 
 possessions, and measuring the length of my days, before the 
 vultures are again seen hovering round my dwelling. But," 
 exclaimed the old lady, raising her voice and inwardly chuck 
 ling as she spoke, " they shall fall into their own snare ; for I 
 will dupe every one of them yet ! " 
 
 "I was not aware that you had any relations, " said Gertrude; 
 "and it seems they are such only in name." 
 
 "Name!" said Miss Pace emphatically. "I am animated 
 with gladness at the thought that they are not honored with a 
 cognomen which not one of them is worthy to bear. No, they 
 pass by a different name; a name as plebeian as their own 
 coarse souls. There are three of them, who stand to each other 
 in a fraternal relation, and all are alike hateful to me. One, a 
 contemptible coxcomb, comes here to overawe me with his pre 
 sence, which he conceives to be imposing; calls me aunt 
 aunt; thus testifying by his speech to a consanguinity which 
 he blindly fancies makes him nearer akin to my property ! " 
 The old lady, excited to wrath, almost shrieked the last word. 
 "And the other two," continued she, with equal heat, "are 
 beggars! always were always will be let em be, I m 
 glad of it ! 
 
 "You hear me, Miss Gertrude; you are a young lady of quick 
 comprehension, and I avail myself of your contiguity which, 
 although you deny the charge, may shortly be interrupted by 
 some eager lover to request at your hands a favor, such as I 
 little thought once I should ever feel compelled to seek. I want 
 you I sent for you to write," Miss Patty lowered her voice 
 to a whisper, "the last will and testament of Miss Patty Pace." 
 
 The poor woman s trembling voice evidenced a deep compas- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 419 
 
 sion for herself, which Gertrude could not help sharing ; and 
 she expressed a willingness to comply with her wishes as far as 
 was in her power, at the same time declaring her utter ignorance 
 of all the forms of law. 
 
 To Gertrude s astonishment, Miss Patty announced her own 
 perfect acquaintance with all the legal knowledge which the case 
 demanded; and in so complete and faultless a manner did she 
 dictate the words of the important instrument that, being after 
 wards properly witnessed, signed, and sealed, it was found at 
 the end of a few months at which time Miss Patty was called 
 upon to give up her earthly trust free from imperfection and 
 flaw, and proved a satisfactory direction for the disposal of the 
 inheritance. 
 
 It may be as well to state here, however, that he who was 
 pronounced sole heir to her really valuable property never availed 
 himself of the bequest otherwise than to make a careful be 
 stowal of it among the most needy and worthy of her relatives. 
 Notwithstanding the protestations of several respectable individ 
 uals who were present at the attestation of the document, all 
 of whom pronounced Miss Patty sane and collected to her last 
 moments, he never would believe that a sound mind could have 
 made so wild and erratic a disposal of the hardly earned and 
 carefully preserved savings of years. 
 
 This sole inheritor of her estates was William Sullivan, the 
 knight of the rosy countenance; and the same chivalrous spirit 
 which won Miss Patty s virgin heart and gained for him her 
 lasting favor prompted him to disclaim and utterly refuse the 
 acceptance of a reward so wholly disproportioned to the slight 
 service he had rendered the old lady. 
 
 Though he could not fail to be amused, he was, nevertheless, 
 deeply touched by the preamble to the will, in which Miss 
 Patty set forth in a most characteristic manner the feelings and 
 motives which had influenced her in the choice of an heir to 
 her possessions. 
 
 " A gentlewoman, of advanced years, who has clung to life 
 and its hopes, and in spite of many vexatious vicissitudes feels 
 something loath to depart, has been forcibly reminded by her 
 relations that ere another smiling springtime she may have a 
 call to join the deceased line of Paces, a family which will, 
 on her departure, here become extinct. With the most polite 
 of courtesies, and a passing wave of the hand. Miss Patty ac- 
 
420 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 knowledges the forethought of her relations of the other branch, 
 in reminding her, before it be too late, of the propriety of 
 naming the individual for whose benefit it is her desire to make 
 a testamentary provision. 
 
 " She has looked about the world, viewed all her fellows in 
 the glass of memory, and made her final election. The youth 
 himself the most gallant young gentleman of his day will 
 open his eyes in astonishment, and declare, Madam, I know 
 you not ! But, sir, Miss Patty, old, ugly, and infirm, has a 
 heart which feels as keenly as it did in youth. She has not 
 forgotten she means now to signify, by her last deeds, how 
 vividly she remembers the rosy-cheeked youth who once raised 
 her from the frosty earth, took her withered hand, placed it 
 within his vigorous young arm, and with sunny smiles and 
 cheering words escorted the rheumatic old woman to a refuge 
 from the wintry elements. Miss Patty has a natural love of 
 courtesy, and the deference offered by gay and beautiful youth 
 to helpless and despised old age has touched a sensitive chord. 
 Miss Patty it is no secret has some little hoarded treasures ; 
 and since she cannot be on the spot to superintend their expen 
 diture, she has, after some struggles, resolved to secure them 
 from pollution by awarding these savings of years to one pos 
 sessed of such true gentility as Master William Sullivan, confi 
 dently assured that he will never disgrace the former owner of 
 the property, or permit her wealth to flow into vulgar channels." 
 
 Then followed an inventory of the estate, a most remark 
 able estate, consisting of odds and ends of everything; and 
 finally a carefully and legally worded document, assigning the 
 whole of the strange medley, without legacies or incumbrances, 
 to the sole use and disposal of the appointed heir. 
 
 Gertrude found it no easy task to gather and transfix in 
 writing the exact idea which the old woman s rambling dicta 
 tion was intended to convey; and it was two or three hours 
 before the manuscript was completed, and the patient and dili 
 gent scribe permitted to depart. 
 
 The sky was overcast, and a drizzling rain beginning to fall, 
 as she commenced walking towards home ; but the distance was 
 not great, and the only damage she* sustained was a slight damp 
 ness to her garments. Emily perceived it at once, however. 
 "Your dress is quite wet," said she. "You must go and sit 
 by the parlor fire. I shall not go down until tea time, but 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 421 
 
 father is there, and will be glad of your company ; he has been 
 alone all the afternoon." 
 
 Gertrude found Mr. Graham sitting in front of a pleasant 
 wood-fire, half dozing, half reading. She took a book and a 
 low chair and joined him. Finding the heat too great, how 
 ever, she soon retreated to a sofa at the opposite side of the 
 room. 
 
 Hardly had she done so when there was a ring at the front 
 doorbell. The housemaid, who was passing by the door, opened 
 it, and immediately ushered in a visitor. 
 
 It was Willie ! 
 
 Gertrude rose, but trembling from head to foot, so that she 
 dared not trust herself to take a step forward. Willie advanced 
 into the centre of the room, then looked at Gertrude, bowed, 
 hesitated, and said, " Miss Flint ! is she here ? " 
 
 The color rushed into Gertrude s face. She attempted to 
 speak, but failed. 
 
 It was not necessary. The blush was enough. Willie re 
 cognized her, and starting forward, eagerly seized her hand. 
 
 " Gerty ! is it possible 1 " 
 
 The perfect naturalness and ease of his manner, the warmth 
 and earnestness with which he took and retained her hand, re 
 assured the agitated girl. The spell seemed partially removed. 
 For a moment he became in her eyes the Willie of old, her dear 
 friend and playmate, and she found voice to exclaim, "0 
 Willie ! you have come at last ! I am so glad to see you ! " 
 
 The sound of their voices disturbed Mr. Graham, who had 
 fallen into a nap, from which the ringing of the doorbell and 
 the entrance of a strange step had failed to arouse him. He 
 turned round in his easy-chair, then rose. Willie dropped Ger 
 trude s hand and stepped towards him. "Mr. Sullivan," said 
 Gertrude, with a feeble attempt at a suitable introduction. 
 
 They shook hands, and then all three sat down. 
 
 And now all Gertrude s embarrassment returned. It is not 
 unfrequently the case that when the best of friends meet after 
 a long separation they salute or embrace each other, and then, 
 notwithstanding the weight of matter pressing on the mind of 
 each, sufficient, perhaps, to furnish subjects of conversation 
 for weeks to come, nothing of importance presents itself at 
 once, and a pause ensues which is finally filled up by some most 
 trivial and unimportant question concerning the journey of the 
 
422 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 newly arrived party, or the safety of his baggage. But to these 
 latter questions, or any of a similar nature, Gertrude required 
 no answer. She had seen Willie before; she was aware of his 
 arrival ; knew even the steamer in which he had come, but was 
 anxious to conceal from him this knowledge. She could not 
 tell him, since he seemed so ignorant of the fact himself, that 
 they had met before ; and it may well be imagined that she was 
 at an utter loss what to do or say under the circumstances. Her 
 embarrassment soon communicated itself to Willie; and Mr. 
 Graham s presence, which was a restraint to both, made matters 
 worse. 
 
 Willie, however, first broke the momentary silence. "I should 
 hardly have known you, Gertrude. I did not know you. 
 How " 
 
 "How did you come?" asked Mr. Graham abruptly, appar 
 ently unconscious that he was interrupting Willie s remark. 
 
 "In the Europa," replied Willie. "She got into New York 
 about a week ago." 
 
 "Out here, I meant," said Mr. Graham rather stiffly. "Did 
 you come out in the coach 1 " 
 
 "0, excuse me, sir," rejoined Willie; "I misunderstood 
 you. No, I drove out from Boston in a chaise." 
 
 " Did any one take your horse ? " 
 
 "I fastened him in front of the house." 
 
 Willie glanced out of the window (it was now nearly dusk) 
 to see that the animal was still where he had left him. Mr. 
 Graham settled himself in his easy-chair, and looked into the 
 fire. There was another pause, more painful than the first. 
 
 "You are changed too," said Gertrude at last, in reply to 
 Willie s unfinished comment. Then, fearing he might feel hurt 
 at what he must know to be true in more ways than one, the 
 color, which had retreated, mounted once more to her cheeks. 
 
 He did not seem to feel hurt, however, but replied, "Yes } 
 an Eastern climate makes great changes; but I think I can 
 hardly have altered more than you have. Why, only think, 
 Gerty, you were a child when I went away ! I suppose I must 
 have known I should have found you a young lady, but I begin 
 to think I never fully realized it." 
 
 " When did you leave Calcutta ? " 
 
 " The latter part of February. I passed the spring months in 
 Paris." 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 423 
 
 "You did not write," said Gertrude in a faltering voice. 
 
 "No, I was expecting to come across by every steamer, and 
 wanted to surprise you." 
 
 Conscious that she had probably seemed far less surprised 
 than he expected, she looked confused, but replied, " I was dis 
 appointed about the letters, but I am very glad to see you again, 
 Willie." 
 
 "You can t be so glad as I am," said he, lowering his voice, 
 and looking at her with great tenderness. " You seem more and 
 more like yourself to me every minute that I see you. I begin 
 to think, however, that I ought to have written, and told you 
 I was coming." 
 
 Gertrude smiled. Willie s manner was so unchanged, his 
 words so affectionate, that it seemed unkind to doubt his friend 
 liness, although to his undivided love she felt she could have 
 no claim. 
 
 "No," said she, "I like surprises. Don t you remember I 
 always did ? " 
 
 "Remember? Certainly," replied he; "I have never for 
 gotten anything that you liked." 
 
 Just at this moment Gertrude s birds, whose cage hung in 
 the window at which Willie sat, commenced a little twittering 
 noise which they always made just at night. He looked up. 
 "Your birds," said Gertrude, "the birds you sent me." 
 
 " Are they all alive and well ? " asked he. 
 
 "Yes, all of them." 
 
 " You have been a kind mistress to the little things. They 
 are very tender." 
 
 "I am very fond of them." 
 
 " You take such care of those you love, dear Gerty, that you 
 are sure to preserve their lives as long as may be." 
 
 His tone, still more than his words, betrayed the deep mean 
 ing with which he spoke. Gertrude was silent. 
 
 "Is Miss Graham well? " asked Willie. 
 
 Gertrude related, in reply, that her nerves had been recently 
 much disturbed by the terrible experiences through which she 
 had passed; and this led to the subject of the recent disaster,- 
 at which Gertrude forbore to mention her having been herself 
 present. 
 
 Willie spoke with feeling of the sad catastrophe, and with 
 severity of the reckless carelessness which had been the cause 
 
424 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 of it ; and ended by remarking that he had valued friends on 
 board the boat, but was unaware that Miss Graham, whom he 
 loved for Gertrude s sake, was among them. 
 
 Conversation between Gertrude and Willie had by this time 
 assumed a footing of ease, and something of their former famil 
 iarity. The latter had taken a seat near her, on the sofa, that 
 they might talk more unrestrainedly; for although Mr. Gra 
 ham might have dropped asleep again for anything they knew 
 to the contrary, it was not easy wholly to forget his presence. 
 There were many subjects, however, on which it would have 
 seemed natural for them to speak had not Gertrude purposely 
 avoided them. The causes of Willie s sudden return, his prob 
 able stay, his future plans in life, and especially his reasons 
 for having postponed his visit to herself until he had been in 
 the country more than a week, all these were inquiries which 
 even ordinary interest and curiosity would have suggested; but 
 to Gertrude they all lay under embargo. She neither felt pre 
 pared to receive nor willing to force his confidence on matters 
 which must inevitably be influenced by his engagement with 
 Miss Clinton, and therefore preserved utter silence on these 
 topics, even taking pains to avoid them. And Willie, deeply 
 grieved at this strange want of sympathy on her part, forbore 
 to thrust upon her notice these seemingly forgotten or neglected 
 circumstances. 
 
 They talked of Calcutta life, of Parisian novelties, of Ger 
 trude s school-keeping, and many other things, but spoke not 
 a word of matters which lay nearest the hearts of both. At 
 length a servant appeared at the door, and not observing that 
 there was company, announced tea. Mr. Graham rose and 
 stood with his back to the fire. Willie rose also and prepared 
 to take leave, Mr. Graham with frigid civility invited him to 
 remain, and Gertrude hesitated not to urge him to do so; but 
 he declined with such decision that the latter understood plainly 
 that he perceived and felt the neglect with which Mr. Graham 
 had treated him and his visit. In addition to the fact that the 
 old gentleman disliked young men as a class, and that Willie 
 had intruded upon the rare and sacred privacy in which he was 
 indulging, there was the bitter and still rankling recollection 
 that Gertrude had once forsaken himself and Emily (for so he, 
 in his own mind, styled her conscientious choice between con 
 flicting duties) for the very family of which their visitor was 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 425 
 
 the only remaining member; a recollection which did not tend 
 to soften or conciliate the easily prejudiced and obstinate-minded 
 man. 
 
 Gertrude accompanied Willie to the door. The rain had 
 ceased, but the wind whistled across the piazza. It seemed to 
 be growing cold. Willie buttoned his coat, while he promised 
 to see Gertrude on the following day. 
 
 "You have no overcoat," said she; "the night is chilly, and 
 you are accustomed to a hot climate. You had better take 
 this shawl ; " and she took from the hat-tree a heavy Scotch 
 plaid, which always hung there to be used on occasions like the 
 present. 
 
 He thanked her and threw it over his arm ; then taking both 
 her hands in his, looked her steadily in the face for a moment, 
 as if he would fain have spoken. Seeing, however, that she 
 shrank from his mild and affectionate gaze, he dropped her 
 hands, and with a troubled expression bade her good-night, and 
 ran down the doorsteps. 
 
 Gertrude stood with the handle of the door in her hand un 
 til she heard the sound of his horse s hoofs as he drove down 
 the road; then hastily shutting it, ran and hid herself in her 
 own room. Well as she had borne up during the longed-for 
 and yet much-dreaded meeting, calmly and naturally as she had 
 sustained her part, her courage all forsook her now, and in look 
 ing forward to days, weeks, and months of frequent intercourse, 
 she felt that the most trying part of the struggle was yet to come. 
 
 Had Willie been wholly changed, had he seemed the thought 
 less worldling, the fashionable man of society, the cold-hearted 
 devotee of business or of gain, in one of which characters she 
 had lately half fancied he would appear, had he greeted her 
 with chilling formality, with heartless indifference, or with awk 
 ward restraint, she might, while she despised, pitied, or blamed, 
 have learned to love him less. But he had come back as he 
 went, open-hearted, generous, manly, and affectionate. He had 
 manifested the same unaffected warmth of feeling, the same 
 thoughtful tenderness, he had ever shown. In short, he was 
 the Willie she had thought of, dreamed of, imagined, and loved. 
 It was evident that in giving his heart to another he had never 
 wholly forgotten her ; while he loved Isabel, he would still feel 
 a friendly, almost a brotherly regard for Gertrude. More than 
 that it had never occurred to him to bestow. 
 
426 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 And she must school herself to the cruel task of seeing him 
 day by day, hearing the story of his love for another, and wish 
 ing him all joy, as a sister might do a kind and affectionate 
 brother. She must learn to subdue the love whose depth and 
 intensity she had scarcely known until now, and mould it into 
 friendship. As she thought of all this she found it impossible 
 to still the wildly beating waves that swelled against her aching, 
 throbbing heart. She threw herself upon the bed, buried her 
 face in pillows, and wept. 
 
 Presently there was a light tap at her door. Believing it to 
 be a summons to the tea table she said, without rising, "Jane, 
 is that you ? I do not wish for any supper. " 
 
 "It isn t that, miss," said the girl; "but I have brought 
 you a letter." 
 
 Gertrude sprung up and opened the door. 
 
 "A little boy handed it to me and then ran off as fast as he 
 could," said the girl, placing a package in her hand. "He 
 told me to give it to you straight away." 
 
 "Bring me a light," said Gertrude. 
 
 The girl went for a lamp, Gertrude in the mean time en 
 deavoring to judge what a package of such unusual size and 
 thickness could contain. She thought it impossible that any 
 letter could so soon arrive from Mr. Amory. The next morn 
 ing was the earliest time at which she had expected one. Who, 
 then, could it be from ? And while she was wondering, Jane 
 brought a lamp, by the light of which she at once detected his 
 handwriting; and breaking the seal she drew from the envelope 
 several closely written pages, whose contents she perused with 
 all the eagerness and excitement which the weight, import, and 
 intense interest of the subject might well demand. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 427 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI 
 
 There are swift hours in life, strong, rushing hours, 
 That do the work of tempests in their might ! 
 
 HEMANS. 
 
 IT ran as follows : 
 
 MY DAUGHTER, My loving, tender-hearted girl. Now 
 that your own words encourage me with the assurance that my 
 worst fear was unfounded (the fear that my name was already 
 blasted to your young ears and your father doomed by your 
 young heart to infamy), now that I can appeal to you as to 
 an impartial witness, I will disclose the story of my life ; and 
 while I prove to you your parentage, will hope that my unpreju 
 diced child, at least, will believe, love, and trust her father, 
 in spite of a world s injustice. 
 
 I will conceal nothing. I will plunge at once into those dis 
 closures which I most dread to utter, and trust to after expla 
 nation to palliate the darkness of my tale. 
 
 Mr. Graham is my step-father, and my blessed mother, long 
 since dead, was in all but the tie of nature a true mother to 
 Emily. Thus allied, however, to those whom you love best, 
 I am parted from them by a heavy curse; for not only was 
 mine the ill-fated hand (0, hate me not yet, Gertrude !) which 
 locked poor Emily up in darkness, but in addition to that horrid 
 deed, I stand accused in the eyes of my fellow-men of another 
 crime, deep, dark, and disgraceful. And yet, though living 
 under a ban, wandering up and down the world a doomed and 
 a broken-hearted man, I am innocent as a child of all inten 
 tional wrong, as you will learn if you can trust to the truth of 
 the tale I am about to tell. 
 
 Nature gave and education fostered in me a rebellious spirit. 
 I was the idol of my invalid mother, who though she loved me 
 with a love for which I bless her memory had not the energy 
 to tame and subdue the passionate and wilful nature of her boy. 
 Though ungoverned, however, I was neither cruelly nor viciously 
 disposed; and though my sway at home and among my school- 
 
428 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 fellows was alike indisputable, I made many friends, and not a 
 single enemy. But a sudden check was at length put to my 
 freedom. My mother married, and I soon came to feel, and 
 feel bitterly, the check which her husband, Mr. Graham, was 
 likely to impose upon my boyish independence. Had he treated 
 me with kindness, had he won my affection (which he might 
 easily have done, for my sensitive and impassioned nature dis 
 posed me to every tender and grateful emotion), it is impossi 
 ble to measure the influence he might have had in moulding 
 my yet unformed character. 
 
 But the reverse was the case. His behavior towards me was 
 that of chilling coldness and reserve. He repelled with scorn 
 the first advance on my part, which led me, at my mother s in 
 stigation, to address him by the paternal title, an offence of 
 which I never again was guilty. And yet, while he seemed to 
 ignore the relationship, he assumed its privileges and authority, 
 thus wounding my feelings and my pride, and exciting a spirit 
 of rebellious opposition to his commands. 
 
 Two things served to embitter my sentiments and strengthen 
 my growing dislike for my overbearing step-father. One was 
 the consciousness of my utter dependence upon his bounty ; the 
 other, a hint, which I received through the mistaken kindness 
 of a domestic who had always known the family, that Mr. Gra 
 ham s dislike to me had its origin in an old enmity between 
 himself and my own father, an honorable and high-minded 
 man, whom it was ever my greatest pride to be told that I re 
 sembled. 
 
 Great, however, as was the warfare in my heart, power rested 
 with Mr. Graham ; for I was yet but a child, and necessarily 
 subject to government. Nor could I be deaf to my mother s 
 entreaties that, for her sake, I would learn submission. It 
 was only occasionally, therefore, when I had been, as I con 
 sidered, most unjustly thwarted, that I broke forth into direct 
 rebellion ; and even then there were influences ever at work to 
 preserve at least outward harmony in our household. Thus 
 years passed on, and though I did not learn to love Mr. Gra 
 ham more, the force of habit, the intense interest afforded by 
 my studies, and a growing capability of self-control rendered 
 my mode of life far less obnoxious to me than it had once been. 
 
 There was one great compensation for my trials, and that 
 was the love I cherished for Emily, who responded to it with 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 429 
 
 equal warmth on her part. It was not because she stood be 
 tween me and her father, a mediator and a friend; it was not 
 because she submitted patiently to my dictation, and aided me 
 in all my plans. It was because our natures were made for each 
 other, and as they grew and expanded, were bound together by 
 ties which a rude hand only could snap and rend asunder. I 
 pause not to dwell upon the tenderness and depth of this affec 
 tion; it is enough to say that it became the life of my life. 
 
 At length my mother died. I was at that time sorely 
 against my will employed in Mr. Graham s counting-house, 
 and still continued an inmate of his family. And now, without 
 excuse or even warning, my step-father commenced a course of 
 policy as unwise as it was cruel ; and so irritating to my pride, 
 so torturing to my feelings, and so maddening to my hot nature, 
 that it excited and angered me almost to frenzy. He tried to 
 rob me of the only thing that sweetened and blessed my exist 
 ence, the love of Emily. I will not here recount the motives 
 I imputed to him, nor the means he employed. It is sufficient 
 to say that they were such as to change my former dislike into 
 bitter hatred, my unwilling obedience to his will into open and 
 deliberate opposition. 
 
 Instead of submitting to what I considered his tyrannical 
 interference, I sought Emily s society on all occasions, and 
 persuaded the gentle girl to lend herself to my schemes for 
 thwarting her father s purposes. I did not speak to her of 
 love; I did not seek to bind her to me by promises; I hinted 
 not at marriage; a sense of honor forbade it. But with a boy 
 ish independence, which I have since feared was the height of 
 folly and imprudence, I sought every occasion, even in her 
 father s presence, to manifest my determination to maintain that 
 constant freedom and familiarity of intercourse which had been 
 the growth of circumstances, and could not, without force, be 
 restrained. 
 
 At length Emily was taken ill, and for six weeks I was de 
 barred her presence. As soon as she was sufficiently recov 
 ered to leave her room I constantly sought and at last obtained 
 an opportunity to see and speak with her. We had been to 
 gether in the library more than an hour when Mr. Graham 
 suddenly entered, and came towards us with a face whose harsh 
 ness and severity I shall not soon forget. I did not heed an 
 interruption, for the probable consequences of which I believed 
 
430 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 myself prepared. I was little prepared, however, for the nature 
 of the attack actually made upon me. 
 
 That he would accuse me of disobedience to wishes which 
 he had hinted in every possible way, and even intimate more 
 plainly than before his resolve to place barriers between Emily 
 and myself, I fully expected, and was ready with my replies; 
 but when he burst forth with a torrent of unqualified and un- 
 gentlemanly abuse, when he stormed and raved, imputing to 
 me mean, selfish, and contemptible motives, which had never 
 for a moment influenced me, or even occurred to my mind, 
 I was struck dumb with surprise, impatience, and anger. 
 
 But this was not all. It was then, in the presence of the 
 pure-minded girl whom I worshipped, that he charged me with 
 a dark and horrid crime, the crime of forgery, asserting 
 my guilt as recently discovered, but positive and undoubted. 
 My spirit had raged before, now it was on fire. I lifted my 
 hand and clenched my fist. What I would have done I know 
 not. Whether I should have found words to assert my inno 
 cence, fling back the lie, and refute a charge as unexpected as 
 it was false, or whether, my voice failing me from passion, 
 I should have swept Mr. Graham from my path, perhaps felled 
 him to the floor, while I strode away to rally my calmness in 
 the open air, I cannot now conjecture ; for a wild shriek from 
 Emily recalled me to myself, and turning, I saw her fall faint 
 ing upon the sofa. 
 
 Forgetting everything then but the apparently dying con 
 dition into which the horror of the scene had thrown her, I 
 sprang forward to her relief. There was a table beside her, 
 and some bottles upon it. I hastily snatched what I believed 
 to be a simple restorative, and in my agitation emptied the 
 contents of the phial in her face. I know not what the exact 
 character of the mixture could have been ; but it matters not, 
 its effect was too awfully evident. The deed was done, the 
 fatal deed, and mine was the hand that did it ! 
 
 Brought suddenly to consciousness by the intolerable torture 
 that succeeded, the poor girl sprung screaming from the sofa, 
 flung her arms wildly above her head, rushed in a frantic man 
 ner through the room, and finally crouched in a corner. I fol 
 lowed, in an agony scarce less than her own; but she repelled 
 me with her hands, at the same time uttering piercing shrieks. 
 Mr. Graham, who for an instant had looked like one paralyzed 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 431 
 
 by the scene, now rushed forward like a madman. Instead of 
 aiding me in my efforts to lift poor Emily from the floor, and 
 so far from compassionating my situation, which was only less 
 pitiable than hers, he, with a fierceness redoubled at my being, 
 as he considered, the sole cause of the disaster, attacked me 
 with a storm of jeering taunts and cruel reproaches, declaring 
 that I had killed his child. With words like these, which are 
 still ringing in my ears, he drove me from the room and the 
 house ; a repulsion which I, overpowered by the misery of con 
 trition and remorse, had neither the wish nor the strength to 
 resist. 
 
 0, the terrible night and day that succeeded! I can give 
 you no idea how they were passed. I wandered out into the 
 country, spent the whole night walking beneath the open sky, 
 endeavoring to collect my thoughts and compose my mind, and 
 still morning found me with a fevered pulse and excited brain. 
 With the returning light, however, I began to realize the ne 
 cessity of forming some future plan of action. 
 
 Emily s sad situation, and my intense anxiety to learn the 
 worst effects of the fatal accident, gave me the strongest motives 
 for hastening, with the earliest morning, either openly or by 
 stealth, to Mr. Graham s house. Everything also which I 
 possessed all my money, consisting merely of the residue of 
 my last quarter s allowance, my clothing, and a few valuable 
 gifts from my mother was in the chamber which I had there 
 occupied. There seemed, therefore, to be no other course for 
 me than to return thither once more, at least; and having thus 
 resolved, I retraced my steps to the city, determined, if it were 
 necessary in order to gain the desired particulars concerning 
 Emily, to meet her father face to face. As I drew near the 
 house, however, I hesitated, and dared not proceed. Mr. Gra 
 ham had exhausted upon me already every angry word, had 
 threatened even deeds of violence, should I ever again cross his 
 threshold ; and I feared to trust my own fiery spirit to a col 
 lision in which I might be led on to an open resistance of the 
 man whom I had already sufficiently injured. 
 
 In the terrible work I had but yesterday done, a work 
 of whose fatal effect I had even then a gloomy foreshadowing, 
 I had blighted the existence of his worshipped child, and 
 drawn a dark pall over his dearest hopes. It was enough. I 
 would not, for worlds, be guilty of the added sin of lifting my 
 
432 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 hand against the man who, unjust as he had been towards an 
 innocent youth, had met a retaliation far, far too severe. 
 
 Still, I knew his wrath to be unmitigated, was well aware 
 of his power to excite my hot nature to frenzy, and resolved to 
 beware how I crossed his path. Meet him I must to refute 
 the false charges he had brought against me; but not within 
 the walls of his dwelling, the home of his suffering daughter. 
 In the counting-house, where the crime of forgery was said to 
 have been committed, and in the presence of my fellow clerks, 
 I would publicly deny the deed, and dare him to its proof. 
 But first I must either see or hear from Emily ; before I met 
 the father at all I must learn the exact nature and extent of 
 the wrong I had done him in the person of his child. For this, 
 however, I must wait until, under cover of the next night s 
 darkness, I could enter the house unperceived. 
 
 So I wandered about all day in torment, without tasting or 
 even desiring food or rest, the thought of my poor, darling, 
 tortured Emily ever present to my wretched thoughts. The 
 hours seemed interminable. I remember that day of suspense 
 as if it had been a whole year of misery. But night came at 
 last; cloudy, and the air thickened with a heavy fog, which, 
 as I approached the street where Mr. Graham lived, enveloped 
 the neighborhood, and concealed the house until I was directly 
 opposite to it. I shuddered at the sight of the physician s 
 chaise standing before the door; for I knew that Dr. Jeremy 
 had closed his visits to Emily more than a week previously, 
 and must have been summoned to attend her since the accident. 
 Finding him there, and thinking it probable Mr. Graham was 
 also in the house at this hour, I forbore to enter, but stood 
 effectually concealed by the cloud of mist, and watching my 
 opportunity. 
 
 Once or twice Mrs. Ellis, the housekeeper, passed up and 
 down the staircase, as I could distinctly see through the side 
 lights of the door, which afforded me a full view of the entry- 
 way ; and presently Dr. Jeremy descended slowly, followed by 
 Mr. Graham. The doctor would have passed hastily out; but 
 Mr. Graham detained him, to question him regarding his pa 
 tient, as I judged from the deep anxiety depicted on my step 
 father s countenance, while, with one hand resting on the shoul 
 der of this old friend of the family, he sought to read his opinion 
 in his face. The doctor s back was towards me, and I could 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 433 
 
 only judge of his replies by the effect they produced on the 
 questioner, whose haggard, worn appearance became more fear 
 fully distressed at every syllable that fell from the honest and 
 truthful lips of the medical man, whose words were oracles to 
 all who knew his skill. 
 
 I needed, therefore, no further testimony to force upon me 
 the conviction that Emily s fate was sealed; and as I looked 
 with pity upon the afflicted parent, and shudderingly thought 
 how immediate had been my agency in the work of destruction, 
 I felt that the unhappy father could not curse me more bitterly 
 than I cursed myself. Deeply, however, as I mourned, and 
 have never ceased to repent, my share in the exciting of that 
 storm wherein the poor girl had been so cruelly shipwrecked, I 
 could not forget the part that Mr. Graham had borne in the 
 transaction, or forgive the wicked injustice and insults which 
 had so unnerved and unmanned me as to render my hand a fit 
 instrument only of ruin; and as, immediately after the doctor s 
 departure, I watched my step-father also come down the steps 
 and walk away, and saw, by a street lamp, that the look of pain 
 had passed from his face, giving place to his usual composed, 
 self-complacent, and arrogant expression, and understood, by the 
 loud and measured manner in which he struck his cane upon 
 the pavement, that he was far from sharing my humble, peni 
 tent mood, I ceased to waste upon him a compassion which he 
 seemed so little to require or deserve ; and pitying myself only, 
 I looked upon his stern face with a soul which cherished for 
 him no other sentiment than that of unmitigated hatred. 
 
 Do not shrink from me, Gertrude, as you read this frank 
 confession of my passionate and, at that moment, deeply stirred 
 nature. You know not, perhaps, what it is to hate ; but have 
 you ever been tried as I was 1 
 
 As Mr. Graham turned the corner of the street, I approached 
 his house, drew forth a pass-key of my own, by means of which 
 I opened the door, and went in. It was perfectly quiet within, 
 and no person was to be seen in any of the lower rooms. I then 
 passed noiselessly upstairs, and entered a little chamber at the 
 head of the passage which communicated with Emily s room. 
 I waited here a long time, hearing no sound and seeing no one. 
 At length, fearing that Mr. Graham would shortly return, I 
 determined to ascend to my own room, which was in the next 
 story, collect my money, and a few articles of value, which I 
 
434 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 was unwilling to leave behind, and then make my way to the 
 kitchen, and gain what news I could of Emily from Mrs. Prime, 
 the cook, a kind-hearted woman, who would, I felt sure, befriend 
 me. 
 
 The first part of my object was accomplished, and I had 
 descended the back staircase to gain Mrs. Prime s premises when 
 I suddenly encountered Mrs. Ellis coming from the kitchen, 
 with a bowl of gruel in her hand. This woman was a recent 
 addition to the household, introduced there a few weeks before 
 as a spy upon my actions, and intolerable to me on that account. 
 She was well acquainted with all the particulars of the accident, 
 and had been a witness to my expulsion from the house. She 
 stopped short on seeing me, gave a slight scream, dropped the 
 bowl of gruel, and prepared to make her escape, as if from a wild 
 beast, which I doubt not that I resembled, since wretchedness, 
 fasting, suffering, and desperation must all have been depicted 
 in my features. 
 
 I placed myself in her path, and compelled her to stop and 
 listen to me. But before my eager questions could find utter 
 ance, an outburst from her confirmed my worst fears. 
 
 "Let me go! 7 she exclaimed. "You villain! you will be 
 putting my eyes out next ! " 
 
 " Where is Emily ? " I cried. " Let me see her ! " 
 
 " See her ! " replied she. " You horrid wretch ! No ! she has 
 suffered enough from you. She is satisfied herself now ; so let 
 her alone." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " shouted I, shaking the housekeeper 
 violently by the shoulder, for her words seared my very soul, 
 and I was frantic. 
 
 "Mean?" continued she. "I mean that Emily will never 
 see anybody again ; and if she had a thousand eyes, you are the 
 last person upon whom she would wish to look ! " 
 
 "Does Emily hate me, too ? " burst from me then, in the form 
 of a soliloquy rather than a question. 
 
 The reply was ready, however. "Hate you? Yes, more 
 than that ; she cannot find words that are bad enough for you ! 
 She mutters even in her pain, cruel ! wicked ! and so on. 
 She even shudders at the sound of your name; and we are all 
 forbidden to speak it in her presence." 
 
 I waited to hear no more, but turning, rushed out of the 
 house. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 435 
 
 That moment was the crisis of my life. The thunderbolt 
 had fallen upon and crushed me. My hopes, my happiness, my 
 fortune, my good name, had gone before; but one solitary light 
 had until now glimmered in the darkness. It was Emily s love. 
 I had trusted in that, that only. It had passed away, and with 
 it my youth, my faith, my hope of heaven. I was a blank on 
 the earth, and cared not whither I went, or what became of me. 
 
 From that moment I ceased to be myself. Then fell upon 
 me the cloud in which I have ever since been shrouded, and 
 under the shadow of which you have seen and known me. In 
 that instant the blight had come, under the gnawing influence of 
 which my happy laugh changed to the bitter smile ; my frank 
 and pleasant speech to tones of ill-concealed irony and sarcasm; 
 my hair became prematurely gray, my features sharp and often 
 times severe; my fellow-men, to whom it had been my noblest 
 hope to prove some day a benefactor, were henceforth the armed 
 hosts of antagonists, with whom I would wage endless war ; and 
 the God whom I had worshipped, whom I had believed in, as a 
 just and faithful friend and avenger, who was He? where 
 was He 1 and why did He not right my cause ? What direful 
 and premeditated deed of darkness had I been guilty of, that He 
 should thus desert me 1 Alas ! greatest of all misfortunes, 
 I lost my faith in Heaven ! 
 
 I know not what direction I took on leaving Mr. Graham s 
 house. I have no recollection of any of the streets through which 
 I passed, though doubtless they were all familiar ; but I paused 
 not until, having reached the end of a wharf, I found myself 
 gazing down into the deep water, longing to take one mad leap, 
 and lose myself in everlasting oblivion! 
 
 But for this final blow, beneath which my manhood had fallen, 
 I would have cherished my life at least until I could vindicate its 
 fair fame ; I would never have left a blackened memory for men 
 to dwell upon, and for Emily to weep over. But now what cared 
 I for my fellow-men 1 And Emily she had ceased to love, 
 and would not mourn; and I longed for nothingness and the 
 grave. 
 
 There are moments in human life when a word, a look, or a 
 thought may weigh down the balance in the scales of fate, and 
 decide a destiny. 
 
 So was it with me now. I was incapable of forming any 
 plan for myself; but accident, as it were, decided for me. I 
 
436 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 was startled from the apathy into which I had fallen by the sud 
 den splashing of oars in the water beneath, and in a moment a 
 little boat was moored to a pier within a rod of the spot where 
 I stood. At the same instant I heard quick footsteps on the 
 wharf, and turning, saw by the light of the moon, which was just 
 appearing from behind a heavy cloud, a stout, sea-faring man, 
 with a heavy pea jacket under one arm and an old-fashioned 
 carpet-bag in his left hand. He had a ruddy, good-humored face, 
 and as he approached, and was about to pass me and leap into 
 the boat, where two sailors, with their oars dipped and ready 
 for motion, were awaiting him, he slapped me heartily on the 
 shoulder and exclaimed, " Well, my fine fellow, will you ship 
 with us ? " 
 
 I answered as readily in the affirmative ; and with one look 
 in my face, and a glance at my dress, which seemed to assure 
 him of my station in life, and probable ability to make compen 
 sation for the passage, he said in a laughing tone, "In with you, 
 then!" 
 
 To his astonishment, for he had scarcely believed me in 
 earnest, I sprang into the boat, and in a few moments was on 
 board of a fine bark, bound I knew not whither. 
 
 The vessel s destination proved to be Rio Janeiro; a fact 
 which I did not learn, however, till we had been two or three 
 days at sea, and to which, even then, I felt wholly indifferent. 
 There was one other passenger besides myself, the captain s 
 daughter, Lucy Grey, whom, during the first week, I scarcely 
 noticed, but who appeared to be as much at home, whether in 
 the cabin or on deck, as if she had passed her whole life at sea. 
 I might perhaps have made the entire passage without giving 
 another thought to this young girl, half child, half woman, had 
 not my strange and mysterious behavior led her to conduct in 
 a manner which at first surprised, and finally interested me. 
 My wild and excited countenance, my constant restlessness, 
 avoidance of food, and apparent indifference to everything that 
 went on about me, excited her wonder and sympathy to the ut 
 most. She at first believed me partially deranged, and treated 
 me accordingly. She would take a seat on deck directly opposite 
 mine, look in my face for an hour, either ignorant or regardless 
 of my observing her, and then walk away with a heavy sigh. 
 Occasionally she would come and offer me some little delicacy, 
 begging that I would try and eat; and as, touched by her kind- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 437 
 
 ness, I took food more readily from her hand than any other, 
 these little attentions became at last habitual. As my manners 
 and looks grew calmer, however, and I settled into a melancholy, 
 which, though equally deep, was less fearful than the feverish 
 torment under which I had labored, she became proportionately 
 reserved ; and when, at last, I began to appear somewhat like my 
 fellow-men, went regularly to the table, and, instead of pacing 
 the deck all night, spent a part of it, at least, quietly in my 
 stateroom, Lucy absented herself wholly from that part of the 
 vessel where I passed the greater portion of the day, and I sel 
 dom exchanged a word with her, unless I purposely sought her 
 society. 
 
 We experienced much stormy weather, however, which drove 
 me to the cabin, where she usually sat on the transom, reading, 
 or watching the troubled waves; and as the voyage was very 
 long, we were necessarily thrown much in each other s way, es 
 pecially as Captain Grey, the same individual who had invited 
 me to ship with him, and who seemed still to take an interest 
 in my welfare, good-naturedly encouraged an intercourse by 
 which he probably hoped I might be won from a state of melan 
 choly that seemed to astonish and grieve the jolly shipmaster 
 almost as much as it did his kind-hearted, sensitive child. 
 
 Lucy s shyness, therefore, wore gradually away, and before 
 our tedious passage was completed I ceased to be a restraint upon 
 her. She talked freely with, or rather to me ; for while, not 
 withstanding her occasional intimations of curiosity, I maintained 
 a rigid silence concerning my own past experiences, of which I 
 could scarcely endure to think, much less to speak, she exerted 
 herself freely for my entertainment, and related, with simple 
 frankness, almost every circumstance of her past life. Some 
 times I listened attentively; sometimes, absorbed in my own 
 painful reflections, I would be deaf to her voice, and forgetful 
 of her presence. In the latter case, I would often observe, how 
 ever, that she had suddenly ceased speaking, and starting from 
 my reverie, and looking quickly up, would find her eyes fixed 
 upon me so reproachfully that, rallying my self-command, I 
 would endeavor to appear, and not unfrequently really became, 
 seriously interested in the artless narratives of my little enter 
 tainer. She told me that until she was fourteen years old she 
 lived with her mother in a little cottage on Cape Cod, their home 
 being only occasionally enlivened by the return of her father 
 
438 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 from his long absences at sea. They would then usually make 
 a visit to the city where his vessel lay, pass a few weeks in un 
 interrupted enjoyment, and at length return home to mourn the 
 departure of the cheerful, light-hearted sea captain, and patiently 
 count the weeks and months until he would come back again. 
 
 She told me how her mother died at last; how bitterly she 
 mourned her loss ; and how her father wept when he came home 
 and heard the news ; how she had lived on shipboard ever since, 
 and how sad and lonely she felt in time of storms, when, the 
 master at his post of duty, she sat alone in the cabin, listening 
 to the roar of the winds and waves. 
 
 Tears would come into her eyes when she spoke of these 
 things, and I would look upon her with pity, as one whom sorrow 
 made my sister. Trial, however, had not yet robbed her of an 
 elastic, buoyant spirit ; and when, five minutes after the com 
 pletion of some eloquent little tale of early grief, the captain 
 would approach unseen, and surprise her by a sudden joke, ex 
 clamation, or sly piece of mischief, thus provoking her to retal 
 iate, she was always ready and alert for a war of wits, a laughing 
 frolic, or even a game of romps. Her sorrow forgotten and her 
 tears dried up, her merry voice and her playful words would 
 delight her father, and the cabin or the deck would ring with 
 his joyous peals of laughter; while I, shrinking from a mirth 
 and gayety sadly at variance with my own unhappiness, and the 
 sound of which was discordant to my sensitive nerves, would 
 retire to brood over miseries for which it was hopeless to expect 
 sympathy, which could not be shared, and with which I must 
 dwell alone. 
 
 Such a misanthrope had my misfortunes made me that the 
 sportive raillery between the captain and his merry daughter, 
 and the musical laugh with which she would respond to the 
 occasional witticisms of one or two old and privileged sailors, 
 grated upon my ears like something scarce less than personal 
 injuries; nor could I have believed it possible that one so little 
 able as Lucy to comprehend the depth of my sufferings could 
 feel any sincere compassion for them, had I not once or twice 
 been touched to see how her innocent mirth would give place to 
 sudden gravity and sadness of countenance, if she chanced un 
 expectedly to encounter my woe-begone face, rendered doubly 
 gloomy when contrasted with the gayety of herself and her com 
 panions. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 439 
 
 But I must not linger too long upon the details of our life 
 on shipboard; for I have to relate events which occupied many 
 years, and must confine myself, as far as possible, to a concise 
 statement of facts. I must forbear giving any account of a ter 
 rific gale that we encountered, during which, for two days and 
 a night, poor Lucy was half frantic with fear, while I, careless 
 of outward discomforts and indifferent to personal danger, was 
 afforded an opportunity to requite her kindness by such protec 
 tion and encouragement as I was able to render. But this, and 
 various other incidents of the voyage, all bore a part in inspir 
 ing her with a degree of confidence in me which, by the time 
 we arrived in port, was put to a severe and somewhat embar 
 rassing test. 
 
440 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTER XL VII 
 
 Do not spurn me 
 
 In my prayer ! 
 For this wandering, ever longer, evermore, 
 
 Hath overworn me, 
 And I know not on what shore 
 I may rest from my despair. E. B. BROWNING. 
 
 CAPTAIN OBEY died. We were within a week s sail of our 
 destination when he was taken ill, and three days before we 
 were safely anchored in the harbor of Rio he breathed his last. 
 I shared with Lucy the office of ministering to the suffering 
 man, closed his eyes at last, and carried the fainting girl in 
 my arms to another part of the vessel. With kind words and 
 persuasions I restored her to her senses; and then, as the full 
 consciousness of her desolation rushed upon her, she sunk at 
 once into a state of hopeless despondency, more painful to wit 
 ness than her previous condition of utter insensibility. Cap 
 tain Grey had made no provision for his daughter; indeed, it 
 would have been impossible for him to do so, as the state of his 
 affairs afterwards proved. Well might the poor girl lament her 
 sad fate ! for she was without a relative in the world, penniless, 
 and approaching a strange shore which afforded no refuge to the 
 orphan. We buried her father in the sea; and that sad office 
 fulfilled, I sought Lucy and endeavored, as I had several times 
 tried to do without success, to arouse her to a sense of her situ 
 ation, and advise with her concerning the future ; for we were 
 now so near our port that in a few hours we might be compelled 
 to leave the vessel and seek quarters in the city. She listened 
 to me without replying. 
 
 At length I hinted at the necessity of my leaving her, and 
 begged to know if she had any plans for the future. She an 
 swered me only by a burst of tears. 
 
 I expressed the deepest sympathy for her grief and begged 
 her not to weep. 
 
 And then, with many sobs, and interrupting herself by fre- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 441 
 
 quent outbreaks and exclamations of vehement sorrow, she threw 
 herself upon my compassion, and with unaffected simplicity and 
 childlike artlessness entreated me not to leave, or, as she termed 
 it, to desert her. She reminded me that she was all alone in 
 the world ; that the moment she stepped foot on shore she should 
 be in a land of strangers; and appealing to my mercy, besought 
 me not to forsake and leave her to die alone. 
 
 What could I do ? I had nothing on earth to live for. We 
 were both alike orphaned and desolate. There was but one point 
 of difference. I could work and protect her ; she could do neither 
 for herself. It would be something for me to live for; and for 
 her, though but a refuge of poverty and want, it was better than 
 the exposure and suffering that must otherwise await her. I told 
 her plainly how little I had to offer ; that my heart even was 
 crushed and broken ; but that I was ready to labor in her be 
 half, to guard her from danger, to pity, and perhaps, in time, 
 learn to love her. 
 
 The unsophisticated girl had never thought of marriage ; she 
 had sought the protection of a friend, not a husband; but I ex 
 plained to her that the latter tie only would obviate the neces 
 sity of our parting; and in the humility of sorrow she finally 
 accepted my unflattering offer. 
 
 The only confidant to our sudden engagement, the only wit 
 ness of the marriage, which, within a few hours, ensued, was a 
 veteran mariner, an old, weather-beaten sailor, who had known 
 and loved Lucy from her childhood, and whose name will be, 
 perhaps, familiar to you, Ben Grant. He accompanied us on 
 shore, and to the church, which was our first destination. He 
 followed us to the humble lodgings with which we contrived for 
 the present to be contented, and devoted himself to Lucy with 
 self-sacrificing but in one instance, alas ! (as you will soon learn) 
 with mistaken and fatal zeal. 
 
 After much difficulty I obtained employment from a man in 
 whom I accidentally recognized an old and valued friend of my 
 father. He had been in Rio several years, was actively engaged 
 in trade, and willingly employed me as clerk, occasionally dis 
 patching me from home to transact business at a distance. My 
 duties being regular and profitable, we were soon not only raised 
 above want, but I was enabled to place my young wife in a 
 situation that insured comfort, if not luxury. 
 
 The sweetness of her disposition, the cheerfulness with which 
 
442 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 she endured privation, the earnestness with which she strove to 
 make me happy, were not without effect. I perseveringly rallied 
 from my gloom; I succeeded in banishing the frown from my 
 brow ; and the premature wrinkles, which her little hand would 
 softly sweep away, finally ceased to return. The few months 
 that I passed with your mother, Gertrude, form a sweet episode 
 in the memory of my stormy life. I came to love her much 
 not as I loved Emily ; that could not be expected, but, as 
 the solitary flower that bloomed on the grave of all my early 
 hopes, she cast a fragrance round my path ; and her child is not 
 more dear to me because a part of myself than as the memento 
 of the cherished blossom, snatched hastily from my hand and 
 rudely crushed. 
 
 About two months after your birth, my child, and before 
 your eyes had ever learned to brighten at the sight of your fa 
 ther, who was necessarily much from home, the business in 
 which I was engaged called me, in the capacity of an agent, to 
 a station at some distance from Rio. I had been absent nearly 
 a month, had extended my journey beyond my original inten 
 tions, and had written regularly to Lucy informing her of all 
 my movements (though I have since believed that the letters 
 never reached her), when the neighborhood in which I was 
 stationed became infected with a fatal malaria. For the sake 
 of my family I took every measure to ward off contagion, but 
 failed. I was seized with the terrible fever, and lay for weeks 
 at the point of death. I was cruelly neglected during my ill 
 ness ; for I had no friends near me and my slender purse held 
 out little inducement for mercenary service; but my sufferings 
 and forebodings on account of Lucy and yourself were far greater 
 than any which I endured from my bodily torments, although 
 the latter were great indeed. I conjured up every fear that 
 the imagination could conceive ; but nothing, alas ! which could 
 compare with the reality that awaited me, when, after an almost 
 interminable illness, I made my way, destitute, ragged, and 
 emaciated, back to Rio. I sought my former home. It was 
 deserted, and I was warned to flee from its vicinity, as the fear 
 ful disease of which I had already been the prey had nearly 
 depopulated that and the neighboring streets. I made every 
 inquiry, but could obtain no intelligence of my wife and child. 
 I hastened to the horrible charnel-house where, during the rag 
 ing of the pestilence, the unrecognized dead were exposed; but 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 443 
 
 among the disfigured and mouldering remains it was impossible 
 to distinguish friends from strangers. I lingered about the city 
 for weeks, in hopes to gain some information concerning Lucy ; 
 but could find no one who had ever heard of her. All day I 
 wandered about the streets and on the wharves, the latter 
 being places which Ben Grant (in whose faithful charge I had 
 left your mother and yourself) was in the habit of frequenting, 
 but not a syllable could I learn of any persons that answered 
 my description. 
 
 My first thought had been that they would naturally seek 
 my employer, to learn, if possible, the cause of my prolonged 
 absence; and on finding my home empty, I had hastened in 
 search of him. But he, too, had, within a recent period, fallen 
 a victim to the prevailing distemper. His place of business 
 was closed and the establishment broken up. I prolonged my 
 search and continued my inquiries until hope died within me. 
 I was assured that scarce an inmate of the fatal neighborhood 
 where I had left my family had escaped the withering blast; 
 and convinced, finally, that my fate was still pursuing me with 
 an unmitigated wrath, of which this last blow was but a single 
 expression that I might have foreseen and expected, I madly 
 agreed to work my passage in the first vessel which promised 
 me an escape from scenes so fraught with harrowing recollections. 
 
 And now commenced in truth that course of wretched wan 
 dering, which, knowing neither pause nor cessation, has made 
 up the sum of my existence. With varied ends in view, fol 
 lowing strongly contrasted employments, and with fluctuating 
 fortune, I have travelled over the world. My feet have trodden 
 almost every land; I have sailed upon every sea, and breathed 
 the air of every clime. I am familiar with the city and the 
 wilderness, the civilized man and the savage. I have learned 
 the sad lesson that peace is nowhere, and friendship for the most 
 part but a name. If I have taught myself to hate, shun, and 
 despise humanity, it is because I know it well. 
 
 Once, during my wanderings, I visited the home of my boy 
 hood. Unseen and unknown I trod familiar ground, and gazed 
 on familiar though time-worn faces. I stood at the window 
 of Mr. Graham s library ; saw the contented, happy countenance 
 of Emily, happy in her blindness and her forgetfulness of 
 the past. A young girl sat near the fire, endeavoring to read 
 by its flickering light. I knew not then what gave such a 
 
444 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 charm to her thoughtful features, nor why my eyes dwelt upon 
 them with a rare pleasure; for there was no voice to proclaim 
 to the father s heart that he looked on the face of his child. 
 I am not sure that the strong impulse which prompted me then 
 to enter, acknowledge my identity, and beg Emily to speak to 
 me a word of forgiveness, might not have prevailed over the 
 dread of her displeasure; but Mr. Graham at the moment made 
 his appearance, cold and implacable as ever ; I looked upon him 
 an instant, then fled from the house, and the next day departed 
 for other lands. 
 
 Although, in the various labors which I was compelled to 
 undertake, to earn for myself a decent maintenance, I had more 
 than once met with such success as to give me temporary inde 
 pendence, and enable me to indulge myself in expensive travel 
 ling, I had never amassed a fortune ; indeed, I had not cared to 
 do so, since I had no use for money, except to employ it in the 
 gratification of my immediate wants. Accident, however, at 
 last thrust upon me a wealth which I could scarcely be said to 
 have sought. 
 
 After a year spent in the wilderness of the west, amid ad 
 ventures the relation of which would seem to you almost incred 
 ible, I gradually continued my retreat across the country, and 
 after encountering innumerable hardships in a solitary journey, 
 which had in it no other object than the indulgence of my va 
 grant habits, I found myself in that land which has recently 
 been termed the land of promise, but which has proved to many 
 a greedy emigrant a land of falsehood and deceit. For me, how 
 ever, who sought it not, it showered gold. I was among the 
 earliest discoverers of its treasure vaults, one of the most 
 successful, though the least laborious, of the seekers after gain. 
 Nor was it merely, or, indeed, chiefly, at the mines that fortune 
 favored me. With the first results of my labors I chanced to 
 purchase an immense tract of land, little dreaming at the time 
 that those desert acres were destined to become the streets and 
 squares of a great and prosperous city. 
 
 So it was, however; and without effort, almost without my 
 own knowledge, I achieved the greatness which springs from 
 untold wealth. 
 
 But this was not all. The blessed accident which led me 
 to this golden land was the means of disclosing a pearl of price s 
 a treasure in comparison with which California and all its mine? 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTEE 445 
 
 shrink to my mind into insignificance. You know how the war- 
 cry went forth to all lands, and men of every name and nation 
 brought their arms to the field of fortune. Famine came next, 
 with disease and death in its train; and many a man, hurrying 
 on to reap the golden harvest, fell by the wayside, without once 
 seeing the waving of the yellow grain. 
 
 Half scorning the greedy rabble, I could not refuse, in this 
 my time of prosperity, to minister to the wants of such as fell 
 in my way; and now, for once, my humanity found its own 
 reward. 
 
 A miserable, ragged, half-starved, and apparently dying man 
 crept to the door of my tent (for these were the primitive days, 
 when that land afforded no better habitation), and asked in a 
 feeble voice for charity. I did not refuse to admit him into my 
 narrow domicile, and to the extent of my ability relieve his suf 
 fering condition. He proved to be the victim of want rather 
 than disease, and his hunger appeased, the savage brutality of 
 his coarse nature soon manifested itself in the dogged indiffer 
 ence with which he received a stranger s bounty, and the gross 
 ingratitude with which he abused my hospitality. A few days 
 sufficed to restore him to his full strength ; and then, anxious to 
 dismiss my visitor, whose conduct had already excited suspicions 
 of his good faith, I gave him warning that he must depart, at 
 the same time placing in his hands a sufficient amount of gold 
 to insure his support until he could reach the mines, which were 
 his professed destination. 
 
 He appeared dissatisfied, and begged permission to remain 
 until the next morning as the night was near, and he had no 
 shelter provided. To this I made no objection, little imagining 
 how base a serpent I was harboring. At midnight I was awak 
 ened from my light and easily disturbed sleep to find my lodger 
 busily engaged in rifling my property and preparing to take an 
 unceremonious leave of my dwelling. Nor did his villany end 
 here. Upon my seizing and charging him with the theft, he 
 snatched a weapon which lay near at hand and attempted the 
 life of his benefactor. I was prepared, however, to ward off the 
 stroke, and by means of my superior strength succeeded in a 
 few moments in subduing and mastering my desperate antag 
 onist. He now crouched at my feet in such abject and mean 
 submission as might have been expected from so contemptible 
 a knave. Well might he tremble with fear; for the lynch law 
 
446 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 was then in full force, and summary in its execution of justice 
 upon criminals like him. I should probably have handed the 
 traitor over to his fate, but ere I had time to do so, he by chance 
 held out to my cupidity a bribe so tempting that I forgot the 
 deservings of my knavish guest in the eagerness with which I 
 bartered his freedom as the price of its possession. 
 
 He freely emptied his pockets at my bidding, and restored 
 to me the gold, for the loss of which I never should have re 
 pined. As the base metal rolled at my feet, however, there 
 glittered among the coins a jewel as truly mine as any of the 
 rest, but which, as it met my sight, filled me with greater sur 
 prise and rapture than if it had been a new-fallen star. 
 
 It was a ring of peculiar design and workmanship, which had 
 once been the property of my father, and after his death had 
 been worn by my mother until the time of her marriage with 
 Mr. Graham, when it was transferred to myself. I had ever 
 prized it as a precious heirloom, and it was one of the few val 
 uables which I took with me when I fled from my step-father s 
 house. This ring, with a watch and some other trinkets, had 
 been left in the possession of Lucy when I parted with her at 
 Rio, and the sight of it once more seemed to me like a voice 
 from the grave. I eagerly sought to learn from my prisoner 
 the source whence it had been obtained, but he maintained an 
 obstinate silence. It was now my turn to plead, and at length 
 the promise of instant permission to depart, "unwhipped by 
 justice," at the conclusion of his tale, wrung from him a secret 
 fraught to me with vital interest. What I learned from him, 
 in disjointed and often incoherent phrases, I will relate to you 
 in few words. 
 
 This man was Stephen Grant, the son of my old friend Ben. 
 He had heard from his father s lips the story of your mother s 
 misfortunes; and the circumstance of a violent quarrel, which 
 arose between Ben and his vixen wife at the young stranger s 
 introduction to their household, impressed the tale upon his 
 recollection. From his account, it appeared that my long-con 
 tinued absence from Lucy, during the time of my illness, was 
 construed by her honest but distrustful counsellor and friend 
 into voluntary and cruel desertion. The poor girl, to whom 
 my early life was all a mystery which she had never shared, and 
 to whom much of my character and conduct was consequently 
 inexplicable, began soon to feel convinced of the correctness of 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 447 
 
 the old sailor s suspicions and fears. She had already applied 
 to my employer for information concerning me; but he, who 
 had heard of the pestilence to which I was exposed, and fully 
 believed me to be among the dead, forbore to distress her by a 
 communication of his belief, and replied to her questionings 
 with an obscurity which served to give new force to her hitherto 
 vague and uncertain surmises. She positively refused, however, 
 to leave our home; and clinging to the hope of my final return 
 thither, remained where I had left her until the terrible fever 
 began its ravages. Her small stock of money was by this time 
 consumed ; her strength both of mind and body gave way ; and 
 Ben, becoming every day more confident that the simple-hearted 
 Lucy had been betrayed and forsaken, persuaded her at last to 
 sell her furniture, and with the sum thus raised flee the infected 
 country before it should be too late. She sailed for Boston in 
 the same vessel in which Ben shipped before the mast ; and on 
 reaching that port her humble protector took her immediately 
 to the only home he had to offer. 
 
 There your mother s sad fate found a mournful termination, 
 and you, her infant child, were left to the mercy of the cruel 
 woman, who, but for her consciousness of guilt and her fear of 
 its betrayal, would doubtless have thrust you at once from the 
 miserable shelter her dwelling afforded. This guilt consisted 
 in a foul robbery committed by Nan and her already infamous 
 son upon your innocent and hapless mother, now rendered, 
 through her feebleness, an easy prey to their rapacity. The 
 fruits of this vile theft, however, were never participated in 
 by Nan, whose promising son so far exceeded her in duplicity 
 and craft that, having obtained possession of the jewels for the 
 alleged purpose of bartering them away, he reserved such as he 
 thought proper, and appropriated to his own use the proceeds 
 of the remainder. 
 
 The antique ring which I now hold in my possession, the 
 priceless relic of a mournful tragedy, would have shared the 
 fate of the rest but for its apparent worthlessness. To the 
 luckless Stephen, however, it proved at last a temporary salva 
 tion from the felon s doom which must finally await that har 
 dened sinner ; and to me ah ! to me it remains to be proved 
 whether the knowledge of the secrets to which it has been the 
 key will bless my future life, or darken it with a heavier curse ! 
 Notwithstanding the information thus gained, and the exciting 
 
448 THE LAMPLIGHTEE 
 
 idea to which it gave rise, that my child might be still living 
 and finally restored to me, I could not yet feel any security that 
 these daring hopes were not destined to he crushed in their in 
 fancy, and that my newly found treasure might not again elude 
 my eager search. To my inquiries concerning you, Gertrude, 
 Stephen, who had no longer any motives for concealing the 
 truth, declared his inability to acquaint me with any particulars 
 of a later period than the time of your residence with Trueman 
 Flint. He knew that the lamplighter had taken you to his 
 home, and was accidentally made aware, a few months later, of 
 your continuance in that place of refuge, from the old man s 
 being (to use my informant s expression) such a confounded 
 fool as to call upon his mother and voluntarily make compensa 
 tion for injury done to her windows in your outburst of child 
 ish revenge. 
 
 Further than this I could learn nothing; but it was enough 
 to inspire all my energies, and fill me with one desire only, 
 the recovery of my child. I hastened to Boston, had no diffi 
 culty in tracing your benefactor, and though he had been long 
 since dead, found many a truthful witness to his well-known 
 virtues. Nor, when 1 asked for his adopted child, did I find 
 her forgotten in the quarter of the city where she had passed 
 her childhood. More than one grateful voice was ready to re 
 spond to my questioning, and to proclaim the cause they had 
 to remember the girl who, having experienced the trials of pov 
 erty, made it both the duty and the pleasure of her prosperity 
 to administer to the wants of a neighborhood whose sufferings 
 she had aforetime both witnessed and shared. 
 
 But, alas ! to complete the sum of sad vicissitudes with which 
 my unhappy destiny was already crowded, at the very moment 
 when I was assured of my daughter s safety, and my ears were 
 drinking in the sweet praises that accompanied the mention of 
 her name, there fell upon me like a thunderbolt the startling 
 words, " She is now the adopted child of sweet Emily Graham, 
 the blind girl." 
 
 strange coincidence! righteous retribution! which, at 
 the very moment when I was picturing to myself the consumma 
 tion of my cherished hopes, crushed me once more beneath the 
 iron hand of a destiny that would not be cheated of its victim ! 
 
 My child, my only child, bound by the gratitude and love 
 of years to one in whose face I scarcely dared to look, lest my 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 449 
 
 soul should be withered by the expression of condemnation 
 which the consciousness of my presence would inspire ! 
 
 The seas and lands, which had hitherto divided us, seemed 
 not to my tortured fancy so insurmountable a barrier between 
 myself and my long-lost daughter as the dreadful reflection that 
 the only earthly being whose love I had hoped in time to win 
 had been reared from her infancy in a household where my very 
 name was a thing abhorred. 
 
 Stung to the quick by the harrowing thought that all my 
 prayers, entreaties, and explanations could never undo her early 
 impressions, and that all my labors and all my love could never 
 call forth other than a cold and formal recognition of my claims, 
 or, worse still, a feigned and hypocritical pretence of filial affec 
 tion, I half resolved to leave my child in ignorance of her birth, 
 and never seek to look upon her face, rather than subject her 
 to the terrible necessity of choosing between the friend whom 
 she loved and the father from whose crimes she had learned to 
 shrink with horror and dread. 
 
 After wrestling and struggling long with contending and war 
 ring emotions, I resolved to make one endeavor to see and re 
 cognize you, Gertrude, and at the same time guard myself from 
 discovery. I trusted (and, as it proved, not without reason) to 
 the immense change which time had wrought in my appearance, 
 to conceal me effectually from all eyes but those which had 
 known me intimately; and therefore approached Mr. Graham s 
 house without the slightest fear of betrayal. I found it empty, 
 and apparently deserted. 
 
 I now directed my steps to the well-remembered counting- 
 room, and here learned from a clerk (who was, as it proved, 
 but ill informed concerning the movements of his master s 
 family) that the whole household, including yourself, had been 
 passing the winter in Paris, and were at present at a German 
 watering-place. Without hesitation or further inquiry, I took 
 the steamer to Liverpool, and from thence hastened to Baden- 
 Baden, a trifling excursion in the eyes of a traveller of my 
 experience. 
 
 Without risking myself in the presence of my step-father, 
 I took an early opportunity to obtain an introduction to Mrs. 
 Graham, and thanks to her unreserved conversation, made my 
 self master of the fact that Emily and yourself were left in Bos* 
 ton, and were at that time under the care of Dr. Jeremy. 
 
450 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 It was on my return voyage, which was immediately under 
 taken, that I made the acquaintance of Dr. Gryseworth and hia 
 daughter, an acquaintance which accidentally proved of great 
 value in facilitating my intercourse with yourself. 
 
 Once more arrived in Boston, Dr. Jeremy s house also wore 
 a desolate appearance, and looked as if closed for the season. 
 There was a man, however, making some repairs about the door 
 steps, who informed me that the family were absent from town. 
 He was not himself aware of the direction they had taken; but 
 the servants were at home, and could no doubt acquaint me 
 with their route. Upon this, I boldly rung the doorbell. It 
 was answered by Mrs. Ellis, the woman who, nearly twenty 
 years before, had cruelly and unpityingly sounded in my ears 
 the death knell of all my hopes in life. I saw at once that my 
 incognito was secure, as she met my keen and piercing glance 
 without quailing, shrinking, or taking flight, as I fully expected 
 she would do at sight of the ghost of my former self. 
 
 She replied to my queries as coolly and collectedly as she 
 had probably done during the day to some dozen of the doctor s 
 disappointed patients, telling me that he had left that very 
 morning for New York, and would not be back for two or three 
 weeks. 
 
 Nothing could have been more favorable to my wishes than 
 the chance thus afforded of overtaking your party, and in the 
 character of a travelling companion introducing myself grad 
 ually to your notice. 
 
 You know how this purpose was effected; how, now in the 
 rear and now in advance, I nevertheless maintained a constant 
 proximity to your footsteps. To add one particle to the com 
 fort of yourself and Emily, to learn your plans, forestall your 
 wishes, secure to your use the best of rooms, and bribe to your 
 service the most devoted of attendants, I spared myself nei 
 ther pains, fatigue, trouble, nor expense. 
 
 For much of the freedom with which I approached you, and 
 made myself an occasional member of your circle, I was in 
 debted to Emily s blindness; for I could not doubt that other 
 wise time and its changes would fail to conceal from her my 
 identity, and I should meet with a premature recognition. Nor, 
 until the final act of the drama, when death stared us all in the 
 face, and concealment became impossible, did I once trust my 
 voice to her hearing. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 451 
 
 How closely, during those few weeks, I watched and weighed 
 your every word and action, seeking even to read your thoughts 
 in your face, none can tell whose acuteness is not sharpened 
 and vivified by motives so all-engrossing as mine; and who can 
 measure the anguish of the fond father, who day by day learned 
 to worship his child with a more absorbing idolatry, and yet 
 dared not clasp her to his heart ! 
 
 Especially when I saw you the victim of grief and trouble 
 did I long to assert a claim to your confidence ; and more than 
 once my self-control would have given way but for the dread 
 inspired by the gentle Emily gentle to all but me. I could 
 not brook the thought that with my confession I should cease 
 to be the trusted friend, and become the abhorred parent. I 
 preferred to maintain my distant and unacknowledged guardian 
 ship of my child, rather than that she should behold in me the 
 dreaded tyrant who might tear her from the home from which 
 he had himself been driven, and the hearts which, though warm 
 with love for her, were ice and stone to him. 
 
 And so I kept silent; and sometimes present to your sight, 
 but still oftener hid from view, I hovered around your path, 
 until that dreadful day, which you will long remember, when, 
 everything forgotten but the safety of yourself and Emily, my 
 heart spoke out, and betrayed my secret. 
 
 And now you know all, my follies, misfortunes, sufferings, 
 and sins ! 
 
 Can you love me, Gertrude? It is all I ask. I seek not 
 to steal you from your present home to rob poor Emily of a 
 child whom she values perhaps as much as I. The only balm 
 my wounded spirit seeks is the simple, guileless confession that 
 you will at least try to love your father. 
 
 I have no hope in this world, and none, alas! beyond, but 
 in yourself. Could you feel my heart now beating against its 
 prison bars, you would realize, as I do, that unless soothed it 
 will burst ere long. Will you soothe it by your pity, my sweet, 
 my darling child? Will you bless it by your love? If so, 
 come, clasp your arms around me, and whisper to me words of 
 peace. Within sight of your window, in the old summer-house 
 at the end of the garden, with straining ear, I wait listening 
 for your footsteps. 
 
452 THE LAMPLIGHTEB 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII 
 
 Around her path a vision s glow is cast, 
 Back, back her lost one comes in hues of morn I 
 For her the gulf is filled, the dark night fled, 
 Whose mystery parts the living and the dead. 
 
 HEMAKS. 
 
 As Gertrude s eyes, after greedily devouring the manuscript, 
 fell upon its closing words, she sprang to her feet, and the next 
 instant her little room (the floor strewed with the scattered 
 sheets which had dropped from her lap as she rose) is left va 
 cant. She has flown down the staircase, escaped through the 
 hall door; and bounding over a lawn at the back of the house, 
 now wet with the evening dew, she approaches the summer- 
 house from the opposite entrance to that at which Mr. Amory, 
 with folded arms and a fixed countenance, is watching for her 
 coming. 
 
 So noiseless is her light step, that before he is conscious of 
 her presence she has thrown herself upon his bosom, and her 
 whole frame trembling with the vehemence of long-suppressed 
 and now uncontrolled agitation, she bursts into a torrent of pas 
 sionate tears, interrupted only by frequent sobs, so deep and so 
 exhausting that her father, with his arms folded tightly around 
 her, and clasping her so closely to his heart that she feels its 
 irregular beating, endeavors to still the tempest of her grief, 
 whispering softly, as to an infant, "Hush! hush, my child! 
 you frighten me ! " 
 
 And gradually soothed by his gentle caresses, her excitement 
 subsides, and she is able to lift her face to his, and smile upon 
 him through her tears. They stand thus for many minutes, 
 in a silence that speaks far more than words. Wrapped in the 
 folds of his heavy cloak to preserve her from the evening air, 
 and still encircled in his strong embrace, Gertrude feels that 
 their union of spirit is not less complete; while the long-ban 
 ished man, who for years has never felt the sweet influence of 
 a kindly smile, glows with a melting tenderness which harden 
 ing solitude has not had the power to subdue. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 453 
 
 Again and again the moon retires behind a cloud, and peeps 
 out to find them still in the attitude in which she saw them 
 last. At length, as she gains a broad and open expanse, and 
 looks clearly down, Mr. Amory, lifting his daughter s face, and 
 gazing into her glistening eyes, while he gently strokes the dis 
 ordered hair from her forehead, asks, in an accent of touching 
 appeal, "You will love me then?" 
 
 "0, I do ! I do ! " exclaimed Gertrude, sealing his lips with 
 kisses. 
 
 His hitherto unmoved countenance relaxes at this fervent as 
 surance. He bows his head upon her shoulder, and the strong 
 man weeps. 
 
 Not long, however. Her self-possession all restored at see 
 ing him thus overcome, Gertrude places her hand in his, and 
 startles him from his position by the firm and decided tone with 
 which she whispers, "Come!" 
 
 " Whither 1 " exclaims he, looking up in surprise. 
 
 "To Emily." 
 
 With a half shudder, and a mournful shake of the head, he 
 retreats, instead of advancing in the direction in which she 
 would lead him. "I cannot." 
 
 "But she waits for you. She, too, weeps and longs and 
 prays for your coming." 
 
 "Emily! you know not what you are saying, my child!" 
 
 "Indeed, indeed, my father, it is you who are deceived. 
 Emily does not hate you; she never did. She believed you 
 dead long ago; but your voice, though heard but once, has half 
 robbed her of her reason, so wholly, so entirely does she love 
 you still. Come, and she will tell you better than I can what 
 a wretched mistake has made martyrs of you both." 
 
 Emily, who had heard the voice of Willie Sullivan, as he 
 bade Gertrude farewell on the doorstep, and rightly conjectured 
 that it was he, forbore making any inquiries for the absent girl 
 at the tea table, and thinking it probable that she preferred to 
 remain undisturbed, retired to the sitting-room at the conclu 
 sion of the meal, where (as Mr. Graham sought the library) she 
 remained alone for more than an hour. 
 
 It was a delightful, social-looking room. The fire still 
 burned brightly, sending forth a ruddy glow, and (as the even 
 ing was unusually chilly for the season) rendering the tempera 
 ture of the great old-fashioned parlor highly agreeable. There 
 
454 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 were candles under the mirror, but they did not give light 
 enough to destroy the pleasant effect of the shadows which the 
 firelight made upon the wall and about the couch where Emily 
 was reclining. 
 
 The invalid girl, if we may call her such (for, in spite of ill 
 health, she still retained much of the freshness and all the love 
 liness of her girlhood), had, by chance, chosen such a position, 
 opposite to the cheerful blaze, that its flickering light played 
 about her face, and brought to view the rich and unwonted 
 bloom which inward excitement had called up in her usually 
 pale countenance. The exquisite and refined taste which al 
 ways made Emily s dress an index to the soft purity of her 
 character was never more strikingly developed than when she 
 wore, as on the present occasion, a flowing robe of white cash 
 mere, fastened at the waist with a silken girdle, and with full 
 drapery sleeves, whose lining and border of snowy silk could 
 only have been rivalled by the delicate hand and wrist which had 
 escaped from beneath their folds, and somewhat nervously played 
 with the heavy crimson fringe of a shawl, worn in the chilly 
 dining-room, and now thrown carelessly over the arm of the sofa. 
 
 Supporting herself upon her elbow, she sat with her head 
 bent forward, and as she watched the images reflected in the 
 glass of memory, one who knew her not, and was unaware of her 
 want of sight, might have believed that, looking forth from her 
 long, drooping eyelashes, she was tracing imaginary forms among 
 the shining embers, so intently was her face bent in that direction. 
 
 Occasionally, as the summer wind sighed among the branches 
 of the trees, causing them to beat lightly against the window- 
 pane, she would lift her head from the hand on which it rested, 
 and gracefully arching her slender throat, incline in a listening 
 attitude and then, as the trifling nature of the sound betrayed 
 itself, she would sink, with a low sigh, into her former some 
 what listless position. Once Mrs. Prime opened the door, 
 looked around the room in search of the housekeeper, and not 
 finding her, retreated across the passage, saying to herself, as 
 she did so, " Law ! dear sakes alive ! I wish she only had eyes 
 now, to see how like a picter she looks ! " 
 
 At length a low, quick bark from the house dog once more 
 attracted her attention, and in a moment steps were heard cross 
 ing the piazza. 
 
 Before they had gained the door, Emily was standing upright 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 455 
 
 straining her ear to catch the sound of every footfall ; and when 
 Gertrude and Mr. Amory entered, she looked more like a statue 
 than a living figure, as, with clasped hands, parted lips, and 
 one foot slightly advanced, she silently awaited their approach. 
 
 One glance at Emily s face, another at that of her agitated 
 father, and Gertrude was gone. She saw the completeness of 
 their mutual recognition, .and with instinctive delicacy forbore 
 to mar by her presence the sacredness of so holy an interview. 
 
 As the door closed upon her retreating figure, Emily parted 
 her clasped hands, stretched them forth into the dim vacancy, 
 and murmured "Philip!" 
 
 He seized them between both of his, and with one step for 
 ward, fell upon his knees. As he did so, the half-fainting girl 
 dropped upon the seat behind her. Mr. Amory bowed his 
 head upon the hands which, still held tightly between his own, 
 now rested on her lap; and hiding his face upon her slender 
 fingers, tremblingly uttered her name. 
 
 " The grave has given up its dead ! " exclaimed Emily. " My 
 God, I thank thee ! " and extricating her hands from his con 
 vulsive grasp, she flung her arms around his neck, rested her 
 head upon his bosom, and whispered, in a voice half choked 
 with emotion, "Philip! dear, dear Philip! am I dreaming, 
 or have you come back again ? " 
 
 The conventional rules, the enforced restrictions, which often 
 set limits to the outbursts of natural feeling, had no existence 
 for one so wholly the child of nature as Emily. She and Philip 
 had loved each other in their childhood; before that childhood 
 was fully past they had parted ; and as children they met again. 
 During the lapse of many years, in which, shut out from the 
 world, she had lived among the cherished memories of the past, 
 she had been safe from worldly contagion, and had retained all 
 the guileless simplicity of girlhood, all the freshness of her 
 springtime; and Philip, who had never willingly bound him 
 self by any ties save those imposed upon him by circumstance 
 and necessity, felt his boyhood come rushing upon him once 
 more as, with Emily s soft hand resting on his head, she blessed 
 Heaven for his safe return. She could not see how time had 
 silvered his hair, and sobered and shaded the face that she 
 loved. Whether he came in the shape of the fiery-eyed youth 
 that she saw him last, the middle-aged man, with hoary hair, 
 whose years the curious found it hard to determine, or the glo- 
 
456 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 rifled angel which she had pictured to herself in every dream of 
 heaven, it was all alike to one whose world was a world of 
 spirits. 
 
 And to him, as he beheld the face he had half dreaded to 
 encounter beaming with the holy light of sympathy and love, 
 the blind girl s countenance seemed encircled with a halo not 
 of earth. And, therefore, this union had in it less of earth 
 than heaven. Had they wakened on the other side the grave, 
 and soul met soul in that happy land where the long parted 
 meet, their rapture could scarcely have been more pure, their 
 happiness more unalloyed. 
 
 Not until, seated beside each other, with their hands still 
 fondly clasped, Philip had heard from Emily s lips the history 
 of her hopes, her fears, her prayers, and her despair, and she, 
 while listening to the sad incidents of his life, had dropped 
 upon the hand she held many a kiss and tear of sympathy, did 
 either fully realize the mercy, so long delayed, so fully accorded 
 now, which promised even on earth to crown their days. 
 
 Emily wept at the tale of Lucy s trials and her early death; 
 and when she learned that it was hers and Philip s child whom 
 she had taken to her heart, and fostered with the truest affec 
 tion, she sent up a silent prayer of gratitude that it had been 
 allotted to her apparently bereaved and darkened destiny to 
 fulfil so blest a mission. 
 
 "If I could love her more, dear Philip," exclaimed she while 
 the tears trickled down her cheeks, "I would do so, for your 
 sake, and that of her sweet, innocent, suffering mother." 
 
 "And you forgive me, then, Emily?" said Philip, as, both 
 having finished their sad recitals of the past, they gave them 
 selves up to the sweet reflection of their present joy. 
 
 "Forgive ? Philip! what have I to forgive ? " 
 
 "The deed that locked you in prison darkness," he mourn 
 fully replied. 
 
 " Philip ! " exclaimed Emily in a reproachful tone, " could 
 you for one moment believe that I attributed that to you ? 
 that I blamed you, for an instant, even in my secret thought 1 " 
 
 "Not willingly, I am sure, dear Emily. But, 0, you have 
 forgotten what / can never forget that in your time of an 
 guish, not only the obtruding thought, but the lip that gave 
 utterance to it, proclaimed how your soul refused to pity and 
 forgive the cruel hand that wrought you so much woe ! " 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 457 
 
 " You cruel, Philip ! Never, even in my wild frenzy, did I 
 so abuse and wrong you. If my unfilial heart sinfully railed 
 against the cruel injustice of my father, it was never guilty of 
 such treachery towards you." 
 
 " That fiendish woman lied, then, when she told me that you 
 shuddered at my very name 1 " 
 
 "If I shuddered, Philip, it was because my whole nature re 
 coiled at the thought of the wrong that you had sustained; and 
 0, believe me, if she gave you any other assurance than of my 
 continued love, it was because she labored under a sad and un 
 happy error." 
 
 "Good heavens! " ejaculated Philip. "How wickedly have 
 I been deceived ! " 
 
 "Not wickedly," replied Emily. "Mrs. Ellis, with all her 
 stern formality, was, in that instance, the victim of circum 
 stances. She was a stranger among us, and believed you other 
 than you were ; but had you seen her a few weeks later, sob 
 bing over her share in the unhappy transaction which drove you 
 to desperation, and as we then supposed to death, you would 
 have felt, as I did, that we had greatly misjudged her in re 
 turn, and that she carried a heart of flesh beneath a stony dis 
 guise. The bitterness of her grief astonished me at the time; 
 for I never until now had reason to suspect that it was mingled 
 with remorse at the recollection of her own harshness. Let us 
 forget, however, the sad events of the past, and trust that the 
 loving hand which has thus far shaped our course has but af 
 flicted us in mercy." 
 
 "In mercy!" exclaimed Philip. "What mercy does my 
 past experience give evidence of, or your life of everlasting dark 
 ness 1 Can you believe it a loving hand which made me the 
 ill-fated instrument, and you the lifelong sufferer, from one of 
 the dreariest misfortunes that can afflict humanity ? " 
 
 "Speak not of my blindness as a misfortune," answered Em 
 ily ; " I have long ceased to think it such. It is only through 
 the darkness of the night that we discern the lights of heaven, 
 and only when shut out from earth that we enter the gates of 
 Paradise. With eyes to see the wonderful working of nature 
 and nature s God, I nevertheless closed them to the evidences 
 of almighty love that were around me on every side. While 
 enjoying the beautiful and glorious gifts that were showered on 
 my pathway, I forgot to thank and praise the Giver; but with 
 
458 THE LAMPLIGHTEK 
 
 an ungrateful heart walked sinfully and selfishly on, little dream 
 ing of the beguiling and deceitful snares which entangle the 
 footsteps of youth. 
 
 "And therefore did He, who is ever over us for good, arrest 
 with fatherly hand the child who was wandering from the only 
 road that leads to peace ; and though the discipline of his chas 
 tening rod was sudden and severe, mercy still tempered justice. 
 From the tomb of my buried joys sprang hopes that will bloom 
 in immortality. From the clouds and the darkness broke forth 
 a glorious light. What was hidden from my outer sight be 
 came manifest to my awakened soul, and even on earth my 
 troubled spirit gained its eternal rest. Then grieve not, dear 
 Philip, over the fate that, in reality, is far from sad ; but re- 
 joice with me in the thought of that blessed and not far distant 
 awakening, when, with restored and beatified vision, I shall 
 stand before God s throne, in full view of that glorious Pre 
 sence, from which, but for the guiding light which has burst 
 upon my spirit through the veil of earthly darkness, I might 
 have been eternally shut out." 
 
 As Emily finished speaking, and Philip, gazing with awe 
 upon the rapt expression of her soul-illumined face, beheld the 
 triumph of an immortal mind, and pondered on the might, the 
 majesty, and power of the influence wrought by simple piety, 
 the door of the room opened abruptly, and Mr. Graham entered. 
 
 The sound of the well-known footstep disturbed the soar 
 ing thoughts of both, and the flush of excitement which had 
 mounted into Emily s cheeks subsided into more than her 
 wonted paleness, as Philip, rising slowly and deliberately from 
 his seat at her side, stood face to face with her father. 
 
 Mr. Graham approached with the puzzled and scrutinizing 
 air of one who finds himself called upon in the character of a 
 host to greet a visitor who, though an apparent stranger, may 
 possibly have claims to recognition, and glanced at his daughter 
 as if hoping she would relieve the awkwardness by an introduc 
 tion. But the agitated Emily maintained perfect silence, and 
 every feature of Philip s countenance remained immovable as 
 Mr. Graham slowly came forward. 
 
 He had advanced within one step of the spot where Philip 
 stood waiting to receive him, when, struck by the stern look 
 and attitude of the latter, he stopped short, gazed one moment 
 into the eagle eyes of his step-son, then staggered, grasped at 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 459 
 
 the mantelpiece, and would have fallen; but Philip, starting 
 forward, helped him to his arm-chair, which stood opposite to 
 the sofa. 
 
 And yet no word was spoken. At length Mr. Graham, who, 
 having fallen into the seat, sat still gazing into the face of Mr. 
 Amory, ejaculated, in a tone of wondering excitement, "Philip 
 Amory ! 0, my God ! " 
 
 "Yes, father," exclaimed Emily, suddenly rising and grasp 
 ing her father s arm. "It is Philip; he whom we have so 
 long believed among the dead restored to us in health and 
 safety ! " 
 
 Mr. Graham rose from his chair, and leaning heavily on Em 
 ily s shoulder, again approached Mr. Amory, who, with folded 
 arms, stood fixed as marble. His step tottered with a feeble 
 ness never before observable in the sturdy frame of the old man, 
 and the hand which he extended to Philip was marked by an 
 unusual tremulousness. 
 
 But Philip did not offer to receive the proffered hand, or 
 reply by word to the rejected salutation. 
 
 Mr. Graham turned towards Emily, and forgetting that this 
 neglect was shut from her sight, exclaimed half bitterly, half 
 sadly, "I cannot blame him! God knows I wronged the 
 boy!" 
 
 " Wronged him ! " cried Philip in a voice so deep as to be 
 almost fearful. "Yes, wronged him, indeed! Blighted his 
 life, crushed his youth, half broke his heart, and wholly blasted 
 his reputation ! " 
 
 "No," exclaimed Mr. Graham, who had quailed beneath these 
 accusations, until he reached the final one. "Not that, Philip! 
 not that ! I never harmed you there. I discovered my error 
 before I had doomed you to infamy in the eyes of one of your 
 fellow-men." 
 
 " You acknowledge, then, the error ? " 
 
 "I do, I do! I imputed to you the deed which proved to 
 have been accomplished through the agency of my most confi 
 dential clerk. I learned the truth almost immediately ; but too 
 late, alas ! to recall you. Then came the news of your death, 
 and I felt that the injury had been irreparable. But it was not 
 strange, Philip; you must allow that. Archer had been in my 
 employment more than twenty years. I had a right to believe 
 him trustworthy." 
 
460 THE LAMPLIGHTEB 
 
 " No ! 0, no ! " replied Philip. " It was nothing strange 
 that, a crime committed, you should have readily ascribed it to 
 me. You thought me capable only of evil." 
 
 "I was unjust, Philip," answered Mr. Graham, with an at 
 tempt to rally his dignity, " but I had some cause, I had some 
 cause. " 
 
 "Perhaps so," responded Philip; "I am willing to grant 
 that." 
 
 " Let us shake hands upon it, then, " said Mr. Graham, " and 
 endeavor to forget the past." 
 
 Philip did not again refuse to accede to this request, though 
 there was but little warmth or eagerness in the manner of his 
 compliance. 
 
 Mr. Graham, seeming now to think the matter quite ended, 
 looked relieved, and as if he had shaken off a burden which had 
 been weighing upon his conscience for years (for he had a con 
 science, though not a very tender one) ; and subsiding into his 
 arm-chair, begged to learn the particulars of Philip s experience 
 during the last twenty years. 
 
 The outline of the story was soon told, Mr. Graham listening 
 to it with attention, and inquiring into its particulars with an 
 interest which proved that, during a lengthened period of re 
 gret and remorse, his feelings had sensibly softened towards the 
 step-son with every memory of whom there had come to his 
 heart a pang of self-reproach. 
 
 Mr. Amory was unable to afford any satisfactory explanation 
 of the report of his own death, which had been confidently af 
 firmed by Dr. Jeremy s correspondent at Rio. Upon a com 
 parison of dates, however, it seemed probable that the doctor s 
 agent had obtained this information from Philip s employer, 
 who, for some weeks previous to his own death, had every rea 
 son to believe that the young man had perished of the infection 
 prevailing in the low and unhealthy region to which he had 
 been dispatched. 
 
 To Philip himself it was an almost equal matter of wonder 
 that his friends should ever have obtained knowledge of his 
 flight and destination. But this was more easily accounted for, 
 since the vessel in which he had embarked returned directly to 
 Boston, and there were among her crew and officers those who 
 had ample means of replying to the inquiries which the benevo 
 lent doctor had set on foot some months before, and which, 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 461 
 
 being accompanied by the offer of a liberal reward, had not yet 
 ceased to attract the attention of the public. 
 
 Notwithstanding the many strange and romantic incidents 
 which were unfolding themselves, none seemed to produce so 
 great an impression upon Mr. Graham s mind as the singular 
 circumstance that the child who had been reared under his roof, 
 and endeared herself to him, in spite of some clashing of inter 
 ests and opinions, should prove to be Philip s daughter. As 
 he left the room, at the conclusion of the tale, and again sought 
 the solitude of his library, he muttered to himself more than 
 once, " Singular coincidence ! Very singular! Very!" 
 
 Hardly had he departed before another door was timidly 
 opened, and Gertrude looked cautiously in. 
 
 Her father went quickly towards her, and passing his arm 
 around her waist, drew her towards Emily, and clasped them 
 both in a long and silent embrace. 
 
 "Philip," exclaimed Emily, "can you still doubt the mercy 
 and love which have spared us for such a meeting ? " 
 
 "0 Emily!" replied he, "I am deeply grateful. Teach me 
 how and where to bestow my tribute of praise." 
 
 On the hour of sweet communion which succeeded we for 
 bear to dwell, the silent rapture of Emily, the passionately 
 expressed joy of Philip, or the trusting, loving glances which 
 Gertrude cast upon both. 
 
 It was nearly midnight when Mr. Amory rose, and announced 
 his intention to depart. Emily, who had not thought of his 
 leaving the spot which she hoped he would now consider his 
 home, entreated him to remain; and Gertrude, with her eyes, 
 joined in the eager petition. But he persisted in his resolution 
 with a firmness and seriousness which proved how vain would 
 be the attempt to shake it. 
 
 "Philip," said Emily at length, laying her hand upon his 
 arm, "you have not yet forgiven my father." 
 
 She had divined his thoughts. He shrank under her re 
 proachful tones, and made no answer. 
 
 "But you will, dear Philip, you will," continued she in 
 a pleading voice. 
 
 He hesitated, then glanced at her once more, and replied, " I 
 will, dearest Emily, I will in time. " 
 
 When he had gone, Gertrude lingered a moment at the door, 
 to watch his retreating figure, just visible in the light of the 
 
462 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 waning moon; then returned to the parlor, drawing a long 
 breath and saying, " 0, what a day this has been ! " but checked 
 herself, at the sight of Emily, who, kneeling by the sofa, with 
 clasped hands, uplifted face, and with her white garments sweep 
 ing the floor, looked the very impersonation of purity and prayer. 
 Throwing one arm around her neck, Gertrude knelt on the 
 floor beside her, and together they sent up to the throne of God 
 the incense of thanksgiving and praise ! 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 463 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX 
 
 Thee have I loved, thou gentlest, from a child, 
 And borne thine image with me o er the sea, 
 Thy soft voice in my soul, speak 1 0, yet live for me ! 
 
 HEMANS. 
 
 WHEN Uncle True died, Mr. Cooper reverently buried his 
 old friend in the ancient graveyard which adjoined the church 
 where he had long officiated as sexton. It was a dilapidated 
 looking place, whose half-fallen and moss-grown stones pro 
 claimed its recent neglect and disuse. But long before the adja 
 cent and time-worn building gave place to a modern and more 
 imposing structure the hallowed remains of Uncle True had 
 found a quieter resting-place. 
 
 With that good taste and good feeling which, in latter days, 
 has dedicated to the sacred dead some of the fairest spots on 
 earth, a beautiful piece of undulating woodland in the neighbor 
 hood of Mr. Graham s country residence had been consecrated 
 as a rural cemetery, and in the loveliest nook of this sweet and 
 venerated spot the ashes of the good old lamplighter found their 
 final repose. 
 
 This lot of land, which had been purchased through Willie s 
 thoughtful liberality, selected by Gertrude, and by her made 
 fragrant and beautiful with summer rose and winter ivy, now 
 enclosed also the forms of Mr. Cooper and Mrs. Sullivan; and 
 over these three graves Gertrude had planted many a flower, 
 and watered it with her tears. Especially did she view it as a 
 sacred duty and privilege to mark the anniversary of the death 
 of each by a tribute of fresh garlands; and with this pious 
 purpose in view she left Mr. Graham s house one beautiful after 
 noon, about a week after the events took place which are nar 
 rated in the previous chapter. 
 
 She carried on her arm a basket, which contained her offer 
 ing of flowers; and as she had a long walk before her, started 
 at a rapid pace. Let us follow her, and briefly pursue the 
 train of thought which accompanied her on her way. 
 
464 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 She had left her father with Emily. She would not ask him 
 to join her in her walk, though he had once expressed a desire 
 to visit the grave of Uncle True; for he and Emily were talk 
 ing together so contentedly, it would have been a pity to dis 
 turb them; and for a few moments Gertrude s reflections were 
 engrossed by the thought of their calm and tranquil happiness. 
 She thought of herself, too, as associated with them both; of 
 the deep and long-tried love of Emily, and of the fond outpour 
 ings of affection daily and hourly lavished upon her by her 
 newly found parent, and felt that she could scarcely repay their 
 kindness by the devotion of a lifetime. 
 
 Now and then, as she dwelt in her musings upon the sweet 
 tie between herself and Emily, which had gained strength with 
 every succeeding year, and the equally close and kindred union 
 between father and child, which, though recent in its origin, 
 was scarcely capable of being more firmly cemented by time, her 
 thoughts would, in spite of herself, wander to that earlier 
 formed and not less tender friendship, now, alas ! sadly ruptured 
 and wounded, if not wholly uprooted and destroyed. She tried 
 to banish the remembrance of Willie s faithlessness and deser 
 tion, deeming it the part of an ungrateful spirit to mourn over 
 past hopes, regardless of the blessings that yet remained. She 
 tried to keep in mind the resolutions lately formed to forget the 
 most painful feature in her past life, and consecrate the remain 
 der of her days to the happiness of her father and Emily. 
 
 But it would not do. The obtruding and painful recollection 
 presented itself continually, notwithstanding her utmost efforts 
 to repress it, and at last, ceasing the struggle, she gave herself 
 up for the time to a deep and saddening reverie. 
 
 She had received two visits from Willie since the one already 
 mentioned ; but the second meeting had been in its character 
 very similar to the first, and on the succeeding occasion the con 
 straint had increased instead of diminishing. Several times 
 Willie had made an apparent effort to break through this un 
 natural barrier, and speak and act with the freedom of former 
 days; but a sudden blush, or sign of confusion and distress, on 
 Gertrude s part, deterred him from any further attempt to put 
 to flight the reserve and want of confidence which subsisted in 
 their intercourse. Again, Gertrude, who had resolved, previous 
 to his last visit, to meet him with the frankness and cordiality 
 which he might reasonably expect, smiled upon him affection- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 465 
 
 ately at his coming, and offered her hand with such sisterly 
 freedom, that he was emboldened to take and retain it in his 
 grasp, and was evidently on the point of unburdening his mind 
 of some weighty secret, when she turned abruptly away, took 
 up some trivial piece of work, and while she seemed wholly ab 
 sorbed in it, addressed to him an unimportant question, a 
 course of conduct which put to flight all his ideas, and discon 
 certed him for the remainder of his stay. 
 
 As Gertrude pondered the awkward and distressing results of 
 every visit he had made her, she half hoped he would discontinue 
 them altogether, believing that the feelings of both would be less 
 wounded by a total separation than by interviews which must 
 leave on the mind of each a still greater sense of estrangement. 
 
 Strange as it may seem, she had not yet acquainted him with 
 the event so deep in its interest to herself, the discovery of 
 her dearly loved father. Once she tried to speak of it, but 
 found herself so overcome, at the very idea of imparting to the 
 confidant of her childhood an experience of which she could 
 scarcely yet think without emotion, that she paused in the at 
 tempt, fearing that, should she, on any topic, give way to her 
 sensibilities, she should lose all restraint over her feelings, and 
 lay open her whole heart to Willie. 
 
 But there was one thing that distressed her more than all 
 others. In his first vain attempt to throw off all disguise, 
 Willie had more than intimated to her his own unhappiness ; 
 and ere she could find an opportunity to change the subject, and 
 repel a confidence for which she still felt herself unprepared, he 
 had gone so far as to speak mournfully of his future prospects 
 in life. 
 
 The only construction which Gertrude could give to this con 
 fession was that it had reference to his engagement with Isabel ; 
 and it gave rise at once to the suspicion that, infatuated by her 
 beauty, he had impulsively and heedlessly bound himself to one 
 who could never make him wholly happy. The little scenes to 
 which she had herself been a witness corroborated this idea, as, 
 on both occasions of her seeing the lovers and overhearing their 
 words, some cause of vexation seemed to exist on Willie s part. 
 
 "He loves her," thought Gertrude, "and is also bound to 
 her in honor ; but he sees already the want of harmony in their 
 natures. Poor Willie! It is impossible he should ever be 
 happy with Isabel." 
 
466 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 And Gertrude s sympathizing heart mourned not more deeply 
 over her own grief than over the disappointment that Willie 
 must be experiencing, if he had ever hoped to find peace in a 
 union with so overbearing, ill-humored, and unreasonable a girl. 
 
 Wholly occupied with these and similar musings, she walked 
 on with a pace of whose quickness she was scarcely herself 
 aware, and soon gained the shelter of the heavy pines which 
 bordered the entrance to the cemetery. Here she paused for a 
 moment to enjoy the refreshing breeze that played beneath the 
 branches ; and then passing through the gateway, entered a car 
 riage road at the right, and proceeded slowly up the gradual 
 ascent. The place, always quiet and peaceful, seemed unusu 
 ally still and secluded, and save the occasional carol of a bird 
 there was no sound to disturb the perfect silence and repose. 
 As Gertrude gazed upon the familiar beauties of those sacred 
 grounds, which had been her frequent resort during several 
 years, as she walked between beds of flowers, inhaled the 
 fragrant and balmy air, and felt the solemn appeal, the spiritual 
 breathings, that haunted the holy place, every emotion that 
 was not in harmony with the scene gradually took its flight, 
 and she experienced only that sensation of sweet and half -joyful 
 melancholy which was awakened by the thought of the happy 
 dead. 
 
 After a while, she left the broad road which she had been 
 following, and turned into a little by-path. This she pursued 
 for some distance; and then, again diverging through another 
 and still narrower foot-track, gained the shady and retired spot 
 which, partly from its remoteness to the public walks, and 
 partly from its own natural beauty, had attracted her attention 
 and recommended itself to her choice. It was situated on the 
 slope of a little hill; a huge rock protected it on one side from 
 the observation of the passer-by, and a fine old oak overshad 
 owed it upon the other. The iron enclosure, of simple work 
 manship, was nearly overgrown by the green ivy, which had 
 been planted there by Gertrude s hand, and the moss-grown 
 rock also was festooned by its graceful and clinging tendrils. 
 Upon a jutting piece of stone, directly beside the grave of Un 
 cle True, Gertrude seated herself, as was her wont, and after a 
 few moments of contemplation, during which she sat with her 
 elbow upon her knee and her head resting upon her hand, she 
 straightened her slight figure, sighed heavily, and then, lifting 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 467 
 
 the cover of her basket, emptied her flowers upon the grass, 
 and with skilful fingers commenced weaving a graceful chaplet, 
 which when completed she placed upon the grave at her feet. 
 With the remainder of the blossoms she strewed the other 
 mounds ; and then, drawing forth a pair of gardening gloves and 
 a little trowel, she employed herself for nearly an hour among 
 the flowers and vines with which she had embowered the spot. 
 
 Her work at last being finished, she again placed herself at 
 the foot of the old rock, removed her gloves, pushed back from 
 her forehead the simple but heavy braids of her hair, and ap 
 peared to be resting from her labors. 
 
 It was seven years that day since Uncle True died, but the 
 time had not yet come for Gertrude to forget the simple, kind 
 old man. Often did his pleasant smile and cheering words 
 come to her in her dreams; and both by day and night did the 
 image of him who had gladdened and blessed her childhood en 
 courage her to the imitation of his humble and patient virtue. 
 As she gazed upon the grassy mound that covered him, .and 
 scene after scene rose up before her in which that earliest friend 
 and herself had whiled away the happy hours, there came, to 
 embitter the otherwise cherished remembrance, the recollection 
 of that third and seldom absent one, who completed and made 
 perfect the memory of their fireside joys; and Gertrude, while 
 yielding to the inward reflection, unconsciously exclaimed aloud, 
 "0 Uncle True! you and I are not parted yet; but Willie is 
 not of us ! " 
 
 "O Gertrude," said a reproachful voice close at her side; 
 "is Willie to blame for that? 
 
 She started, turned, saw the object of her thoughts with his 
 mild sad eyes fixed inquiringly upon her, and without replying 
 to his question buried her face in her hands. 
 
 He threw himself upon the ground at her feet, and, as on the 
 occasion of their first childish interview, gently lifted her bowed 
 head from the hands upon which it had fallen, and compelled 
 her to look him in the face, saying at the same time in the 
 most imploring accents, " Tell me, Gerty, in pity tell me why 
 am I excluded from your sympathy ? " 
 
 But still she made no reply, except by the tears that coursed 
 down her cheeks. 
 
 "You make me miserable," continued he vehemently. 
 " What harve I done that you have so shut me out from your 
 
468 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 affection ? Why do you look so coldly upon me, and even 
 shrink from my sight ? " added he, as Gertrude, unable to en 
 dure his steadfast, searching look, turned her eyes in another 
 direction, and strove to free her hands from his grasp. 
 
 "I am not cold I do not mean to he," said she, her voice 
 half choked with emotion. 
 
 "0 Gertrude," replied he, relinquishing her hands, and turn 
 ing away, "I see you have wholly ceased to love me. I trem 
 bled when I first beheld you, so lovely, so beautiful, and so 
 beloved by all, and feared lest some fortunate rival had stolen 
 your heart from its boyish keeper. But even then I did not 
 dream that you would refuse me at least a brother s claim to 
 your affection." 
 
 "I will not," exclaimed Gertrude eagerly. "0 Willie, you 
 must not be angry with me ! Let me be your sister ! " 
 
 He smiled a most mournful smile. "I was right, then," 
 continued he; "you feared lest I should claim too much, and 
 discouraged my presumption by awarding me nothing. Be it 
 so. Perhaps your prudence was for the best; but, Gertrude, 
 it has made me heart-broken ! " 
 
 "Willie," exclaimed Gertrude with excitement, "do you 
 know how strangely you are speaking 1 " 
 
 " Strangely ? " responded Willie in a half-offended tone. " Is 
 it so strange that I should love you 1 Have I not for years 
 cherished the remembrance of our past affection, and looked 
 forward to our reunion as my only hope of happiness 1 Has not 
 this fond expectation inspired my labors, and cheered my toils, 
 and endeared to me my life, in spite of its bereavements 1 And 
 can you, in the very sight of these cold mounds, beneath which 
 lie buried all else that I held dear on earth, crush and destroy 
 without compassion this solitary but all engrossing " 
 
 "Willie," interrupted Gertrude, her calmness suddenly re 
 stored, and speaking in a kind but serious tone, "is it honor 
 able for you to address me thus ? Have you forgotten " 
 
 "No, I have not forgotten," exclaimed he vehemently. "I 
 have not forgotten that I have no right to distress or annoy you, 
 and I will do so no more. But, Gerty! my sister Gerty 
 (since all hope of a nearer tie is at an end), blame me not, and 
 wonder not, if I fail at present to perform a brother s part. I 
 cannot stay in this neighborhood. I cannot be the patient wit 
 ness of another s happiness. My services, my time, my life, 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 469 
 
 you may command, and in my far-distant home I will never 
 cease to pray that the husband you have chosen, whoever he 
 be, may prove himself worthy of my noble Gertrude, and love 
 her one half as well as I do ! " 
 
 "Willie," said Gertrude, "what madness is this? I am 
 bound by no such tie as you describe; but what shall I think 
 of your treachery to Isabel ? " 
 
 "To Isabel?" cried Willie, starting up, as if seized with a 
 new idea. " And has that silly rumor reached you t too 1 and 
 did you put faith in the falsehood 1 " 
 
 " Falsehood ! " exclaimed Gertrude, lifting her hitherto droop 
 ing eyelids, and casting upon him, through their wet lashes, a 
 look of earnest scrutiny. 
 
 Calmly returning a glance which he had neither avoided nor 
 quailed under, Willie responded unhesitatingly, and with a tone 
 of astonishment not unmingled with reproach, "Falsehood? 
 Yes. With the knowledge you have both of her and myself, 
 could you doubt its being such for a moment ? " 
 
 " Willie ! " cried Gertrude, " could I doubt the evidence 
 of my own eyes and ears? Had I trusted to less faithful wit 
 nesses, I might have been deceived. Do not attempt to conceal 
 from me the truth to which my own observation can testify. 
 Treat me with frankness, Willie! Indeed, indeed, I deserve 
 it at your hands ! " 
 
 " Frankness, Gertrude ! It is you only who are mysterious. 
 Could I lay my whole soul bare to your gaze, you would be 
 convinced of its truth, its perfect truth, to its first affection. 
 And as to Isabel Clinton, if it is to her that you have refer 
 ence, your eyes and your ears have both played you false, if " 
 
 " Willie ! Willie ! " exclaimed Gertrude, interrupting him, 
 "have you so soon forgotten your devotion to the belle jf Sara 
 toga ; your unwillingness to sanction her temporary absence from 
 your sight; the pain which the mere suggestion of the journey 
 caused you, and the fond impatience which threatened to ren 
 der those few days an eternity ? " 
 
 " Stop ! stop ! " cried Willie, a new light breaking in upon 
 him, "and tell me where you learned all this." 
 
 "In the very spot where you spoke and acted. Mr. Gra 
 ham s parlor did not witness our first meeting. In the public 
 promenade ground, on the shore of Saratoga Lake, and on board 
 the steamboat at Albany, did I both see and recognize you 
 
470 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 myself unknown. There, too, did your own words serve to 
 convince me of the truth of that which from other lips I had 
 refused to believe." 
 
 The sunshine which gilds the morning is scarcely more bright 
 and gladsome than the glow of rekindled hope which now ani 
 mated the face of Willie. 
 
 "Listen to me, Gertrude," said he in a fervent and almost 
 solemn tone, "and believe that in sight of my mother s grave, 
 and in the presence of that pure spirit (and he looked reverently 
 upward) who taught me the love of truth, I speak with such 
 sincerity and candor as are fitting for the ears of angels. I do 
 not question the accuracy with which you overheard my expos 
 tulations and entreaties on the subject of Miss Clinton s pro 
 posed journey, or the impatience I expressed at parting for her 
 speedy return. I will not pause either to inquire where the 
 object of all my thoughts could have been at the time, that, 
 notwithstanding the changes of years, she escaped my eager 
 eyes. Let me first clear myself of the imputation under which 
 I labor, and then there will be room for all further explana 
 tions. 
 
 "I did, indeed, feel deep pain at Miss Clinton s sudden de 
 parture for New York, under a pretext which ought not to have 
 weighed with her for a moment. I did indeed employ every 
 argument to dissuade her from her purpose; and when my elo 
 quence had failed to induce the abandonment of the scheme, I 
 availed myself of every suggestion and motive which might pos 
 sibly influence her to shorten her absence. Not because the 
 society of the selfish girl was essential, or even conducive, to 
 my own happiness, far from it, but because her excellent 
 father, who so worshipped and idolized his only child that he 
 would have thought no sacrifice too great by means of which he 
 could add one particle to her enjoyment, was, at that very time, 
 amid all the noise and discomfort of a crowded watering-place, 
 hovering between life and death, and I was disgusted at the 
 heartlessness which voluntarily left the fondest of parents de 
 prived of all female tending, to the charge of a hired nurse, 
 and an unskilful though willing youth like myself. That eter 
 nity might, in Miss Clinton s absence, set a seal to the life of 
 her father, was a thought which, in my indignation, I was on 
 the point of uttering ; but I checked myself, unwilling to inter- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 471 
 
 fere too far in a matter which came not within my rightful 
 province, and perhaps excite unnecessary alarm in Isabel. If 
 selfishness mingled at all in my views, dear Gerty, and made 
 me over-impatient for the return of the daughter to her post of 
 duty, it was that I might be released from almost constant at 
 tendance upon my invalid friend, and hasten to her from whom 
 I hoped such warmth of greeting as I was only too eager to be 
 stow. Can you wonder, then, that your reception struck cold 
 upon my throbbing heart ? " 
 
 "But you understand the cause of that coldness now," said 
 Gertrude, looking up at him through a rain of tears, which, like 
 a summer sun-shower, reflected itself in rainbow smiles upon 
 her happy countenance. "You know now why I dared not let 
 my heart speak out." 
 
 "And this was all, then?" cried Willie; "and you are free 
 and I may love you still ? " 
 
 " Free from all bonds, dear Willie, but those which you your 
 self clasped around me, and which have encircled me from my 
 childhood." 
 
 And now, with heart pressed to heart, they pour in each 
 other s ear the tale of a mutual affection, planted in infancy, 
 nourished in youth, fostered and strengthened amid separation 
 and absence, and perfected through trial, to bless and sanctify 
 every year of their after life. 
 
 " But, Gerty, " exclaimed Willie, as, confidence restored, they 
 sat side by side conversing freely of the past, "how could you 
 think for an instant that Isabel Clinton would have power to 
 displace you in my regard ? I was not guilty of so great an 
 injustice towards you ; for even when I believed myself sup 
 planted by another, I fancied that other some hero of such 
 shining qualities as could scarcely be surpassed." 
 
 "And who could surpass Isabel?" inquired Gerty. "Can 
 you wonder that I trembled for your allegiance, when I thought 
 of her beauty, her fashion, her family, and her wealth, and re 
 membered the forcible manner in which all these were presented 
 to your sight and knowledge?" 
 
 " But what are all these, Gerty, to one who knows her as we 
 do ? Do not a proud eye and a scornful lip destroy the effect 
 of beauty ? Can fashion excuse rudeness, or noble birth cover 
 natural deficiencies ? And as to money, what did I ever want 
 
472 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 of that, except to employ it for the happiness of yourself and 
 them 1 " and he glanced at the graves of his mother and grand 
 father. 
 
 " Willie ! You are so disinterested ! " 
 
 "Not in this case. Had Isabel possessed the beauty of a 
 Venus and the wisdom of a Minerva, I could not have forgotten 
 how little happiness there could be with one who, while devot 
 ing herself to the pursuit of pleasure, had become dead to nat 
 ural affections and indifferent to the holiest of duties. Could 
 I see her flee from the bedside of her father to engage in the 
 frivolities and drink in the flatteries of an idle crowd, or, 
 when unwillingly summoned thither, shrink from the toils and 
 the watchings imposed by his feebleness, and still imagine 
 that such a woman could bless and adorn a fireside ? Could I 
 fail to contrast her unfeeling neglect, ill-concealed petulance, 
 flagrant levity, and irreverence of spirit with the sweet and lov 
 ing devotion, the saintly patience, and the deep and fervent 
 piety of my own Gertrude ? I should have been false to my 
 self, as well as to you, dearest, if such traits of character as 
 Miss Clinton constantly evinced could have weakened my love 
 and admiration for yourself. And now, to see the little play 
 mate whose image I cherished so fondly matured into the lovely 
 and graceful woman, her sweet attractions crowned by so much 
 beauty as almost to place her beyond recognition, and still her 
 heart as much my own as ever ! Gerty, it is too much 
 happiness ! Would that I could impart a share of it to those 
 who loved us both so well ! " 
 
 And who can say that they did not share it 1 that the spirit 
 of Uncle True was not there, to witness the completion of his 
 many hopeful prophecies? that the old grandfather was not 
 there, to see all his doubts and fears giving place to joyful 
 certainties 1 and that the soul of the gentle mother, whose rapt 
 slumbers had, even in life, foreshadowed such a meeting, and 
 who, by the lessons she had given her child in his boyhood, 
 the warnings spoken to his later years, and the ministering guid 
 ance of her disembodied spirit, had fitted him for the struggle 
 with temptation, sustained him through its trials, and restored 
 him triumphant to the sweet friend of his infancy, who shall 
 say that, even now, she hovered not over them with parted 
 wings, realizing the joy prefigured in that dreamy vision which 
 pictured to her sight the union between the son and daughter 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 473 
 
 of her love, when the one, shielded by her fond care from every 
 danger, and snatched from the power of temptation, should be 
 restored to the arms of the other, who, by long and patient con 
 tinuance in well-doing, had earned so full a recompense, so all- 
 sufficient a reward ? 
 
474 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 CHAPTEE L 
 
 "Through night to light in every stage, 
 From childhood s morn to hoary age, 
 What shall illume the pilgrimage 
 By mortals trod ? 
 
 11 There is a pure and heavenly ray, 
 That brightest shines in darkest day, 
 When earthly beams are quenched for aye ; 
 T is lit by God." 
 
 THE sun was casting long shadows, and the sunset hour was 
 near when Gertrude and Willie rose to depart. They left the 
 cemetery by a different gateway, and in the opposite direction 
 to that by which Gertrude had entered. Here Willie found the 
 chaise in which he had come, though the horse had contrived to 
 loosen the bridle by which he was fastened ; had strayed to the 
 side of the road, eaten as much grass as he wished, or the place 
 afforded, and was now sniffing the air, looking up and down the 
 road, and, despairing of his master s return, seemed on the point 
 of taking his departure. 
 
 He was reclaimed, however, without difficulty, and as if glad 
 after his long rest to be again in motion, brought them in half 
 an hour to Mr. Graham s door. 
 
 As soon as they came in sight of the house, Gertrude, famil 
 iar with the customary ways of the family, perceived that some 
 thing unusual was going forward. Lamps were moving about 
 in every direction ; the front door stood wide open ; there was, 
 what she had never seen before, the blaze of a bright fire dis 
 cernible through the windows of the best chamber ; and as they 
 drew still nearer, she observed that the piazza was half covered 
 with trunks. 
 
 All these appearances, as she rightly conjectured, betokened 
 the arrival of Mrs. Graham, and possibly of other company. 
 She might, perhaps, have regretted the ill-timed coming of this 
 bustling lady, at the very moment when she was eager for a 
 quiet opportunity to present Willie to Emily and her father, 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 475 
 
 and communicate to them her own happiness; but if such a 
 thought presented itself, it vanished in a moment. Her joy 
 was too complete to be marred by so trifling a disappointment. 
 
 "Let us drive up the avenue, Willie," said she, "to the side 
 door, so that George may see us and take your horse to the 
 stable." 
 
 "No," said Willie, as he stopped opposite the front gate; 
 "I can t come in now there seems to be a house full of com 
 pany, and besides, I have an appointment in town at eight 
 o clock, and promised to be punctual." He glanced at his watch 
 as he spoke, and added, "It is near that already. I did not 
 think of its being so late ; but I shall see you to-morrow morn 
 ing, may I not ? " She looked her assent, and with a warm 
 grasp of the hand as he helped her from the chaise, and a 
 mutual smile of confidence and love, they separated. 
 
 He drove rapidly towards Boston, and she, opening the gate, 
 found herself in the arms of Fanny Bruce, who had been impa 
 tiently awaiting the departure of Willie to seize her dear Miss 
 Gertrude, and between tears and kisses pour out her congratu 
 lations and thanks for her happy escape from that horrid steam 
 boat; for this was the first time they had met since the acci 
 dent. 
 
 " Has Mrs. Graham come, Fanny ? " asked Gertrude as, the 
 first excitement of the meeting over, they walked up to the 
 house together. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, Mrs. Graham, and Kitty, and Isabel, and a 
 little girl, and a sick gentleman, Mr. Clinton, I believe ; and 
 another gentleman but he s gone. " 
 
 " Who has gone 1 " 
 
 "0, a tall, dignified-looking man, with black eyes, and a 
 beautiful face, and hair as white as if he were old and he 
 isn t old, either." 
 
 " And do you say he has gone ? " 
 
 "Yes; he didn t come with the rest. He was here when I 
 came, and he went away about an hour ago. I heard him tell 
 Miss Emily that he had agreed to meet a friend in Boston, but 
 perhaps he d come back this evening. I hope he will, Miss 
 Gertrude ; you ought to see him. " 
 
 They had now reached the house, and through the open door 
 Gertrude could plainly distinguish the loud tones of Mrs. Gra 
 ham s voice, proceeding from the parlor on the right. She 
 
476 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 was talking to her husband and Emily, and was just saying as 
 Gertrude entered, "0, it was the most awful thing I ever 
 heard of in my life! and to think, Emily, of your being on 
 board, and our Isabel! Poor child! she hasn t got her color 
 back yet, after her fright. And Gertrude Flint, too ! By the 
 way, they say Gertrude behaved very well. Where is the 
 child?" 
 
 Turning round, she now saw Gertrude, who was just enter 
 ing the room, and going towards her, she kissed her with con 
 siderable heartiness and sincerity; for Mrs. Graham, though 
 somewhat coarse and blunt, was not without good feelings when 
 the occasion was such as to awaken them. 
 
 Gertrude s entrance having served to interrupt the stream of 
 exclamatory remarks in which the excitable lady had been in 
 dulging for ten minutes or more, she now bethought herself of 
 the necessity of removing her bonnet and outside garments, a 
 part of which, being loosed from their fastenings, she had been 
 dragging after her about the floor. 
 
 " Well ! " exclaimed she, " I suppose I had better follow the 
 girls example, and go and get some of the dust off from me! 
 I m half buried, I believe ! But there, that s better than com 
 ing on in the horrid steamboat, last night, as my brother Clin 
 ton was so crazy as to propose. Where s Bridget? I want 
 her to take up some of my things." 
 
 "I will assist you," said Gertrude, taking up a little carpet 
 bag, throwing a scarf which had been stretching across the room 
 over her arm, and then following Mrs. Graham closely, in order 
 to support the heavy travelling shawl which was hanging half 
 off that lady s shoulders. At the first landing-place, however, 
 she found herself suddenly encircled in Kitty s warm embrace, 
 and laying down her burdens, gave herself up for a few moments 
 to the hugging and kissing that succeeded. 
 
 At the head of the staircase she met Isabel, wrapped in a 
 dressing-gown, with a large pitcher in her hand, and a most 
 discontented and dissatisfied expression of countenance. She 
 set the pitcher on the floor, however, and saluted Gertrude with 
 a good grace. "I m glad to see you alive," said she, "though 
 I can t look at you without shuddering, it reminds me so of 
 that dreadful day when we were in such frightful danger. How 
 lucky we were to be saved, when there were so many drowned! 
 I ve wondered, ever since, Gertrude, how you could be so 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 477 
 
 calm; I m sure I shouldn t have known what to do if you 
 had n t been there to suggest. But, 0, dear! don t let us speak 
 of it; it s a thing I can t bear to think of ! " and with a shud 
 der and shrug of the shoulders Isabel dismissed the subject and 
 called somewhat pettishly to Kitty, " Kitty, I thought you went 
 to get our pitcher filled ! " 
 
 Kitty, who, in obedience to a loud call and demand from her 
 aunt, had hastily run to her room, with the little travelling-bag 
 which Gertrude had dropped on the staircase, now came back 
 quite out of breath, saying, " I did ring the bell twice. Has n t 
 anybody come ? " 
 
 "No!" replied Belle; "and I should like to wash my face 
 and curl my hair before tea, if I could." 
 
 " Let me take the pitcher, " said Gertrude. " I am going down 
 stairs, and will send Jane up with the water." 
 
 "Thank you," said Belle rather feebly; while Kitty ex 
 claimed, "No, no, Gertrude; I ll go myself." 
 
 But it was too late ; Gertrude had gone. 
 
 Gertrude found Mrs. Ellis full of troubles and perplexities. 
 "Only think," said the astonished housekeeper, "of their com 
 ing, five of them, without the least warning in the world; and 
 here I ve nothing in the house fit for tea not a bit of rich 
 cake, not a scrap of cold ham! And of course, they re hungry 
 after their long journey, and will want something nice! " 
 
 "0, if they are very hungry, Mrs. Ellis, they can eat dried 
 beef, and fresh biscuit, and plain cake ; and if you will give me 
 the keys, I will get out the preserves and the best silver, and 
 see that the table is set properly." 
 
 Nothing was a trouble to Gertrude that night. Everything 
 that she touched went right. Jane caught her spirit, and be 
 came astonishingly active ; and when ttie really bountiful table 
 was spread, and Mrs. Ellis, after glancing around, and seeing 
 that all was as it should be, looked into the beaming eyes and 
 observed the glowing cheek and sunny smile of the happy girl, 
 she exclaimed, in her ignorance, " Good gracious, Gertrude ! any 
 body would think you were overjoyed to see all these folks back 
 again ! " 
 
 It wanted but a few moments to tea time, and Gertrude was 
 selecting fresh napkins from a drawer in the china-closet, when 
 Kitty Kay peeped in at the door, and finally entered, leading 
 by the hand a little girl neatly dressed in black. Her face 
 
478 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 was at first full of smiles; but the moment she attempted to 
 speak she burst into tears, and throwing her arms round Ger 
 trude s neck, whispered in her ear, "O Gertrude, I m so 
 happy ! I came to tell you ! " 
 
 "Happy?" replied Gertrude; "then you mustn t cry." 
 
 Upon this, Kitty laughed, and then cried again, and then 
 laughed once more, and in the intervals explained to Gertrude 
 that she was engaged, had been engaged a week, to the best 
 man in the world, and that the child she held by the hand 
 was his orphan niece, and just like a daughter to him. "And 
 only think," continued she, "it s all owing to you!" 
 
 " To me \ " said the astonished Gertrude. 
 
 "Yes; because I was so vain and silly, you know, and liked 
 folks that were not worth liking, and didn t care much for any 
 body s comfort but my own; and if you hadn t taught me to 
 be something better than that, and set me a good example, 
 which I ve tried to follow ever since, he never would have 
 thought of looking at me, much less loving me, and believing 
 I should be a fit mother for little Gracie, here," and she looked 
 down affectionately at the child, who was clinging fondly to 
 her. " He is a minister, Gertrude, and very good. Only think 
 of such a childish creature as I am being a minister s wife! " 
 
 The sympathy which Kitty came to claim was not denied 
 her, and Gertrude, with her own eyes brimming with tears, as 
 sured her of her full participation in her joy. 
 
 In the mean time, little Grace, who still clung to Kitty with 
 one hand, had gently inserted the other within that of Ger 
 trude, who, looking down upon her for the first time, recog 
 nized the child whom she had rescued from persecution in the 
 drawing-room at Saratoga. 
 
 Kitty was charmed with the coincidence, and Gertrude, as 
 she remarked the happy transformation which had already been 
 effected in the countenance and dress of the little girl who had 
 been so sadly in want of female superintendence, felt an added 
 conviction of the wisdom of the young clergyman s choice. 
 
 Kitty was eager to give Gertrude a description of her lover, 
 but a summons to the tea table compelled her to postpone all 
 further communications. 
 
 Mr. Graham s cheerful parlor had never looked so cheerful 
 as on that evening. The weather was mild, but a light fire, 
 which had been kindled on Mr. Clinton s account, did not ren- 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 479 
 
 der the room too warm. It had, however, driven the young 
 people into a remote corner, leaving the neighborhood of the 
 ti replace to Mrs. Graham and Emily, who occupied the sofa, 
 and Mr. Clinton and Mr. Graham, whose arm-chairs were placed 
 on the opposite side. 
 
 This arrangement enabled Mr. Graham to converse freely and 
 uninterruptedly with his guest upon some grave topic of inter 
 est, while his talkative wife entertained herself and Emily by 
 a recapitulation of her travels and adventures. On a table, at 
 the further extremity of the room, was placed a huge portfolio 
 of beautiful engravings, recently purchased and brought home 
 by Mr. Graham, and representing a series of European views. 
 Gertrude and Kitty were turning them carefully over; and lit 
 tle Grace, who was sitting in Kitty s lap, and Fanny, who was 
 leaning over Gertrude s shoulder, were listening eagerly to the 
 young ladies explanations and comments. 
 
 Occasionally Isabel, the only restless or unoccupied person 
 present, would lean over the table to glance at the likeness of 
 some familiar spot, and exclaim, "Kitty, there s the shop where 
 I bought my blue silk! " or, "Kitty, there s the waterfall that 
 we visited in company with the Russian officers ! " 
 
 While the assembled company were thus occupied the door 
 opened, and without any announcement Mr. Amory and William 
 Sullivan entered. 
 
 Had either made his appearance singly, he would have been 
 looked upon with astonishment by the majority of the company; 
 but coming, as they did, together, and with an apparently good 
 understanding existing between them, there was no countenance 
 present (save the children s) which expressed any emotion but 
 that of utter surprise. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Graham, however, were too much accustomed 
 to society to betray any further evidence of that sentiment than 
 was contained in a momentary glance, and rising, received their 
 visitors with due politeness and propriety. The former nodded 
 carelessly to Mr. Amory, whom he had seen in the morning, 
 presented him to Mr. Clinton (without, however, mentioning 
 the existing connection with himself), and was preparing to go 
 through the same ceremony to Mrs. Graham, but was saved the 
 trouble, as she had not forgotten the acquaintance formed at 
 Baden-Baden. 
 
 Willie s knowledge of the company also spared the necessity 
 
480 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 of introduction to all but Emily ; and that being accidentally 
 omitted, he gave an arch glance at Gertrude, and taking an of 
 fered seat near Isabel, entered into conversation with her; Mr. 
 Amory being in like manner engrossed by Mrs. Graham. 
 
 "Miss Gertrude," whispered Fanny, as soon as the inter 
 rupted composure of the party was once more restored, and 
 glancing at Willie as she spoke, "that s the gentleman you 
 were out driving with this afternoon. I know it is," contin 
 ued she, as she observed Gertrude change color, and endeavor 
 to hush her, while she looked anxiously round, as if fearful the 
 remark had been overheard; "is it Willie, Gertrude? is it 
 Mr. Sullivan?" 
 
 Gertrude became more and more embarrassed, while the mis 
 chievous Fanny continued to ply her with questions ; and Isabel, 
 who had jealously noticed that Willie s eyes wandered more 
 than once to the table, turned on her such a scrutinizing look 
 as rendered her confusion distressing. 
 
 Accident came to her relief, however. The housemaid, with 
 the evening paper, endeavored to open the door, against which 
 her chair was placed; thus giving her an opportunity to rise, 
 receive the paper, and at the same time an unimportant mes 
 sage. While she was thus engaged, Mr. Clinton left his chair, 
 with the feeble step of an invalid, crossed the room, addressed 
 a question in a low voice to Willie, and receiving an affirniatory 
 reply, took Isabel by the hand, and approaching Mr. Amory, 
 exclaimed, with deep emotion, " Sir, Mr. Sullivan tells me that 
 you are the person who saved the life of my daughter; and 
 here she is to thank you." 
 
 Mr. Amory rose and flung his arm over the shoulder and 
 around the waist of Gertrude, who was passing on her way to 
 hand the newspaper to Mr. Graham, and who, not having heard 
 the remark of Mr. Clinton, received the caress with a sweet 
 smile and an upturned face. "Here," said he, "Mr. Clinton, 
 is the person who saved the life of your daughter. It is true 
 that I swam with her to the shore; but it was under the mis 
 taken impression that I was bearing to a place of safety my own 
 darling child, whom I little suspected then of having voluntarily 
 relinquished to another her only apparent chance of rescue." 
 
 "Just like you, Gertrude! Just like you!" shouted Kitty 
 and Fanny in a breath, each struggling to obtain a foremost place 
 in the little circle that had gathered round her. 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 481 
 
 " My own noble Gertrude ! " whispered Emily, as, leaning 
 on Mr. Amory s arm, she pressed Gertrude s hand to her lips. 
 
 "0 Gertrude!" exclaimed Isabel, with tears in her eyes, "I 
 did n t know. I never thought " 
 
 "Your child? " cried Mrs. Graham s loud voice, interrupting 
 Isabel s unfinished exclamation. 
 
 " Yes, my child, thank God ! " said Mr. Amory reverently ; 
 "restored, at last, to her unworthy father, and you have no 
 secrets here, my darling ? " Gertrude shook her head, and 
 glanced at Willie, who now stood at her side "and gladly 
 bestowed by him upon her faithful and far more deserving 
 lover." And he placed her hand in Willie s. 
 
 There was a moment s pause. All were impressed with the 
 solemnity of the action. Then Mr. Graham came forward, 
 shook each of the young couple heartily by the hand, and pass 
 ing his sleeve hastily across his eyes sought his customary refuge 
 in the library. 
 
 "Gertrude," said Fanny, pulling Gertrude s dress to attract 
 her attention, and speaking in a loud whisper, "are you en 
 gaged ? are you engaged to him ? " 
 
 "Yes," whispered Gertrude, anxious, if possible, to gratify 
 Fanny s curiosity and silence her questioning. 
 
 "0! I m so glad! I m so glad !" shouted Fanny, dancing 
 round the room and flinging up her arms. 
 
 "And I m glad, too! " said Gracie, catching the tone of con 
 gratulation, and putting her mouth up to Gertrude for a kiss. 
 
 "And Jam glad," said Mr. Clinton, placing his hands upon 
 those of Willie and Gertrude, which were still clasped together, 
 " that the noble and self-sacrificing girl, whom I have no words 
 to thank, and no power to repay, has reaped a worthy reward in 
 the love of one of the few men with whom a fond father may 
 venture wholly to trust the happiness of his child. " 
 
 Exhausted by so much excitement, Mr. Clinton now com 
 plained of sudden faintness, and was assisted to his room by 
 Willie, who, after waiting to see him fully restored, returned 
 to receive the blessing of Emily upon his new hopes, and hear 
 with wonder and delight the circumstances which attended the 
 discovery of Gertrude s parentage. 
 
 For although it was an appointment to meet Mr. Amory 
 which had summoned him back to Boston, and he had in the 
 course of their interview acquainted him with the happy termi- 
 
482 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 nation of a lover s doubts, he had not, until the disclosure took 
 place in Mr. Graham s parlor, received in return the slightest 
 hint of the great surprise which awaited him. He had felt a 
 little astonishment at his friend s expressed desire to join him 
 at once in a visit to Mr. Graham s; but, on being informed that 
 he had made the acquaintance of Mrs. Graham in Germany, 
 he concluded that a desire to renew his intercourse with the 
 family, and possibly a slight curiosity to see the lady of his own 
 choice, were the only motives which had influenced him. 
 
 And now, amid retrospections of the past, thanksgiving for 
 the present, and hopes and aspirations for the future, the even 
 ing passed rapidly away. 
 
 " Come here, Gerty ! " said Willie ; " come to the window, 
 and see what a beautiful night it is." 
 
 It was indeed a glorious night. Snow lay on the ground. 
 The air was intensely cold without, as might be judged from 
 the quick movements of pedestrians, and the brilliant icicles 
 with which everything that had an edge was fringed. The 
 stars were glittering, too, as they never glitter except on the 
 most intense of winter nights. The moon was just peeping 
 above an old brown building, the same old corner building 
 which had been visible from the doorstep where Willie and 
 Gerty were wont to sit in their childhood, and from behind 
 which they had often watched the coming of that same round 
 moon. 
 
 Leaning on Willie s shoulder, Gertrude stood gazing until 
 the full circle was visible in a space of clear and cloudless ether. 
 Neither of them spoke, but their hearts throbbed with the same 
 emotion as they thought of the days that were past. 
 
 Just then the gas-man came quickly up the street, lit as by 
 an electric touch the bright burners that in close ranks lined 
 either sidewalk, and in a moment more was out of sight. 
 
 Gertrude sighed. "It was no such easy task for poor old 
 Uncle True," said she; "there have been great improvements 
 since his time." 
 
 " There have, indeed ! " said Willie, glancing round the well- 
 lit, warm, and pleasantly furnished parlor of his own and Ger 
 trude s home, and resting his eyes at last upon the beloved 
 one by his side, whose beaming face but reflected back his own 
 happiness, " such improvements, Gerty, as we only dreamt of 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 483 
 
 once. I wish the dear old man could be here to see and share 
 them ! " 
 
 A tear started to Gertrude s eye; but pressing Willie s arm, 
 she pointed reverently upward to a beautiful, bright star, just 
 breaking forth from a silvery film, which had hitherto half over 
 shadowed it, the star through which Gertrude had ever fancied 
 she could discern the smile of the kind old man. 
 
 "Dear Uncle True! " said she, "his lamp still burns brightly 
 in heaven, Willie ; and its light is not yet gone out on earth ! " 
 
 In a beautiful town about thirty miles from Boston, and on 
 the shore of one of those hill-embosomed ponds which would 
 be immortalized by the poet in a country less rich than ours 
 with such sheets of blue, transparent water, there stood a man 
 sion house of solid though ancient architecture. It had been 
 the property of Philip Amory s paternal grandparents, and the 
 early home arid sole inheritance of his father, who so cherished 
 the spot that it was only with great reluctance, and when driven 
 to the act by the spur of poverty, that he was induced to part 
 with the much- valued estate. 
 
 To reclaim the venerable homestead, repair and judiciously 
 modernize the house, and fertilize and adorn the grounds, wa& 
 a favorite scheme with Philip. His ample means now render 
 ing it practicable, he lost no time in putting it into execution, 
 and the spring after he returned from his wanderings saw the 
 work in a fair way to be speedily completed. 
 
 In the mean time, Gertrude s marriage had taken place, the 
 Grahams had removed to their house in town (which, out of 
 compliment to Isabel, who was passing the winter with her 
 aunt, was more than ever crowded with gay company), and the 
 bustling mistress was already projecting changes in her hus 
 band s country seat. 
 
 And Emily, who had parted with her greatest treasure, and 
 found herself in an atmosphere which was little in harmony 
 with her spirit, murmured not; but, contented with her lot, 
 neither dreamed of nor asked for outward change, until Philip 
 came to her one day, and taking her hand, said gently, 
 
 "This is no home for you, Emily. You are as much alone 
 os I in my solitary farmhouse. We loved each other in child 
 hood, our hearts became one in youth, and have continued so 
 until now. Why should we be longer parted? Your father 
 
484 THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 will not oppose our wishes; and will you, dearest, refuse to 
 bless and gladden the lonely life of your gray-haired lover ? " 
 
 But Emily shook her head, while she answered, with her 
 smile of ineffable sweetness, 
 
 "O, no, Philip! do not speak of it! Think of my frail 
 health and my helplessness ! " 
 
 "Your health, dear Emily, is improving. The roses are 
 already coming back to your cheeks; and for your helplessness, 
 what task can be so sweet to me as teaching you, through my 
 devotion, to forget it ? 0, do not send me away disappointed, 
 Emily ! A cruel fate divided us for years ; do not by your own 
 act prolong that separation! Believe me, a union with my 
 early love is my brightest, my only hope of happiness ! " 
 
 And she did not withdraw the hand which he held, but 
 yielded the other also to his fervent clasp. 
 
 "My only thought had been, dear Philip," said she, "that 
 ere this I should have been called to my Father s home; and 
 even now I feel many a warning that I cannot be very long for 
 earth; but while I stay, be it longer or shorter, it shall be as 
 you wish. No word of mine shall part hearts so truly one, and 
 your home shall be mine." 
 
 And when the grass turned green, and the flowers sent up 
 their fragrance, and the birds sang in the branches, and the 
 spring gales blew soft and made a gentle ripple on the water, 
 Emily came to live on the hillside with Philip. And Mrs. 
 Ellis came too, to superintend all things, and especially the 
 dairy, which became henceforth her pride. She had long since 
 tearfully implored, and easily obtained, the forgiveness of the 
 much- wronged Philip; and proved, by the humility of her vol 
 untary confession, that she was not without a woman s heart. 
 
 Mrs. Prime pleaded hard for the cook s situation at the farm; 
 but Emily kindly expostulated with her, saying, 
 
 " We cannot all leave my father, Mrs. Prime. Who would 
 see to his hot toast, and the fire in the library ? " and the good 
 old woman saw the matter in the right light, and submitted. 
 
 And is the long- wandering, much-suffering, and deeply sor 
 rowing exile happy now? He is; but his peace springs not 
 from his beautiful home, his wide possessions, and honorable 
 repute among his fellow-men, or even the love of the gentle 
 Emily. 
 
 All these are blessings that he well knows how to prize ; but 
 
THE LAMPLIGHTER 485 
 
 his world- tried soul has found a deeper anchor yet, a surer 
 refuge from the tempest and the storm; for through the power 
 of a living faith he has laid hold on eternal life. The blind 
 girl s prayers are answered; her last, best work is done; she 
 has cast a ray from her blessed spirit into his darkened soul; 
 and should her call to depart soon come, she will leave behind 
 one to follow in her footsteps, fulfil her charities, arid do good 
 on earth, until such time as he be summoned to join her again 
 in heaven. 
 
 As they go forth in the summer evening, to breathe the 
 balmy air, listen to the winged songster of the grove, and drink 
 in the refreshing influences of a summer sunset, all things speak 
 a holy peace to the new-born heart of him who has so long been 
 a man of sorrow. 
 
 As the sun sinks among gorgeous clouds, as the western light 
 grows dim, and the moon and the stars come forth in their sol 
 emn beauty, they utter a lesson to his awakened soul; and the 
 voice of nature around, and the still, small voice within, whis 
 per in gentlest, holiest accents, 
 
 "The sun shall be no more thy light by day; neither for 
 brightness shall the moon give light unto thee: but the Lord 
 shall be unto thee an everlasting light, and thy God thy glory. 
 
 "Thy sun shall no more go down, neither shall thy moon 
 withdraw itself: for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, 
 and the days of thy mourning shall be ended." 
 
 THE END. 
 
14 DAY USE 
 
 
GENERAL LIBRARY- U.C. BERKELEY 
 
 BOOD83SM13