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 time by the Governor and 
 
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 Attorney-General and the Trustees ^
 
 THE HOLCOMBE&: 
 
 A STORY OF VIRGINIA HOME-LIFE. 
 
 BY 
 
 ?86 *l'AJOi 
 
 MARY TUCKER MAGTLL 
 
 "Then give me back the times when I myself was forming; when 
 a fountain of crowded lays sprang freshly and unbrokenly forth ; 
 when mists veiled the world before me the bud still promised 
 miracles; when I gathered the thousand flowers which profusely 
 filled the dales ! I had nothing, and yet enough the longing after 
 truth, the pleasure in delusion! Give me back those impulses un- 
 tamed the deep pain-fraught happiness, the energy of hate, tho 
 might of love give me back my youth !" GOETHE'S FAUST. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
 
 1871.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
 
 SRLF 
 URL 
 
 TO 
 
 VIRGINIA, 
 
 MY NATIVE STATE, 
 
 This first effort of my pen 
 
 ft 
 
 |s rcspcctfullg dedicated. 
 
 If it should prove successful in 
 
 rescuing from the grave of oblivion 
 
 the memory of her time-honored instituti'/ns, 
 
 as they existed in the palmiest days 
 
 of her prosperity, before she was 
 
 scarred and seamed by the 
 
 touch of misfortune, 
 
 the laborer will 
 
 have received 
 
 her hire. 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 IT is not my design, in the following pages, to enter 
 tbe arena in defense of departed institutions, or to pro- 
 voke political animosities. I have, on the contrary, chosen 
 that period in the history of my State when these discus- 
 sions had but little place in family interests. In short, it 
 has been my endeavor to present to the world a faithful 
 picture of a Virginia home as it was before the late war. 
 
 This period has been chosen particularly, also, because, 
 so far as I know, it is a field yet untrodden by the nov- 
 elist, though full of interest, as presenting to our view 
 Virginia in her palmiest days, as she was when she first 
 bared her bosom to the sword, and opened her gates to 
 present her sacred soil as the battle-field of the war. 
 
 It is the more important that these times should not 
 pass unrecorded, because, owing to the stirring events 
 which so immediately follow them, there is danger of 
 their sinking to a grave " unhonored and unknown." 
 And then, too, when we remember that the most largely 
 circulated pictures of life in our Southern States are taken 
 from " Uncle Tom's Cabin-," and like libels upon our 
 people, it ought to be sufficient to arouse the slumbering 
 genius of the South to arise and assert her claims to a 
 position in the nation as a refined, hospitable, cultivated, 
 and benevolent people. 
 
 Whilst in these pages I have carefully avoided positive 
 personalities, yet have I earnestly tried to present truth- 
 
 1* (v)
 
 vi PREFACE. 
 
 fully the ruling characteristics of Virginians. Though 
 no one will be able to blush with indignation at being 
 impertinently dragged before the public, with all of their 
 sacred family affairs, yet the Holcombes do exist, and 
 have ever existed, in our homes through the length and 
 breadth of Virginia. 
 
 I say I have avoided personalities, and yet I plead 
 guilty, so far as that humble race is concerned who have 
 been so intimately connected with our domestic relations 
 for centuries. With regard to them, I will say, that each 
 portrait has been drawn from nature, that great fountain- 
 head of truth. Each one who has found a niche in my 
 gallery of family portraits lives as distinctly in my mem- 
 ory as if seen but yesterday. I have even retained their 
 peculiarities of expression, as essentially necessary to a 
 faithful portraiture of their characters. 
 
 The work has been a pleasant one to me, since it has 
 served to recall to my mind those tenderly-remembered 
 days before poverty came to grind, or war and bloodshed 
 to desolate, our homes. My next task will be less con- 
 genial, as I propose, should the public desire a further 
 acquaintance with the family, to whom it has been my 
 pleasure to introduce them, to continue their history 
 through a less prosperous, though more exciting, period 
 of their lives. 
 
 Until then I make my adieu. 
 
 MARY TUCKER MAQILL.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I AGE 
 
 Margaret Holeombe introduces Herself ..... 9 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 Jean Murray introduces Herself ....... IS 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 Rose Hill and its Inmates. Jean's Diary ..... 21 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 Margaret's First Impressions ....... 30 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 " Mary Holeombe, Ladies and Gentlemen" ..... 35 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 Letter from Jean to her Brother ....... 41 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 A Family Gathering ......... 51 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 Jean's Diary. A Christmas Morning ...... 50 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 An Old Virginia Christmas Dinner ...... 69 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 A Family Consultation, and what came of it . . . . 83 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 School 97 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 George AVashington revived ........ 104 
 
 (vii)
 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Harvest . , 108 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 The Picnic 
 
 114 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 The Angel of Death 
 
 . 129 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 Margaret leaves Home 
 
 . 138 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 Jean's Diary. Two Years' Gap filled up .... 
 
 . 147 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 An Important Arrival 
 
 . 150 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 The Family Circle . 
 
 . 158 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 Preparations for a Feast 
 
 . 166 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 Miss Holcombe's Debut 
 
 . 185 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 The Tournament 198 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 Asking Papa 217 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 Dr. Burton ' 227 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 The Devil helps his Own. A Funeral 241 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 Fortune Favors the Brave 256 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 A Night Visitor 271 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 288
 
 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 A STORY OF VIRGINIA HOME-LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MARGARET HOLCOMBE INTRODUCES HERSELF. 
 
 October 12th. To-day I begin ray new diary, and, as a 
 preparation, I have been looking over the old ones. How 
 glad I am that my precious mother taught me to keep 
 one from the time I was a little child ! It is so pleasant 
 to me now to be able to turn over the leaves of my Jife 
 almost back to the days of pothooks and hangers, judging 
 from the hieroglyphics displayed in my first essays, and 
 the fearful tortures the English etymology suffered in my 
 hands. Parts of it are almost as interesting as a diary I 
 read of somewhere, consisting of such thrilling facts as 
 these : " Got up this morning and washed my face and 
 hands ;" and next, " Got up this morning and only washed 
 my face ;" but still, it is interesting to me. Now, how well 
 I remember my feelings as I made this entry, in letters, 
 by-the-by, which stare me out of countenance : " I have 
 had a grate sorrow to-day. I fell down and broke my 
 dear Julia's hed." Julia was my big, ugly dolly, over 
 which I was as true a mourner as " Rachel weeping for 
 her children." Well ! well I I have made a great step 
 
 (9)
 
 10 THE IIOLCOMBES. 
 
 since then. I can hardly realize I am the same person. 
 I was eight years old at that time, and to-day I am fifteen. 
 Then I was crying over the loss of my doll, but since 
 then I have mourned over my precious mother : all I re- 
 tain of her are two sweet pictures, one on canvas, but 
 the sweetest and best in my heart, for what can I not 
 remember of her? Her loving heart, her beauty, her 
 noble gentleness, so far above the commonplace meekness 
 you see allied to a lower type of humanity, of whom you 
 hear persons say, " She is so sweet! so lovely! so gentle !" 
 and you look, and see a little white-faced, meek-browed 
 being, spiritless as a mouse. What credit does she deserve 
 for being meek, I should like to know ? 
 
 I saw such a one in church some weeks ago. She is 
 a young lady, visiting at Mrs. Campbell's, I think, a 
 Miss Murray. I could not help contrasting her with my 
 own mother, with her noble expanse of brow overshadow- 
 ing those brown eyes so full of life, fire, and character, 
 and the gentleness which comes from a chastened spirit. 
 That is what I want to have. I was so busy drawing 
 this contrast from the face of Miss Murray that, I am 
 afraid, I was a little rude in staring; and was only re- 
 called to myself by her blushing face. My own mother 
 would not have allowed herself to be put out of counte- 
 nance by so slight a matter, but is any one like her? 
 Shall I ever be? Papa says I look like her; but that is 
 not my greatest wish. I want, it is true, to be her " very 
 image in fair face," but I \vant more. I want her mind, 
 her heart, her spirit: I want to be like her in all things. 
 I am going to make her my beau-ideal. I remember 
 saying this to her once; and she said so gravely and 
 sweetly, " My Margie, would you close your shutters and 
 read by a tallow-candle, when you could have the glorious 
 light of God's sun ? Why choose me as your model
 
 MARGARET HOLCOMBE INTRODUCES HERSELF. 11 
 
 when you can aim so much higher ?" Well, that of 
 course is true; but I do not think it can be any harm to 
 choose an earthly possible aim, rather than one so far 
 beyond me as our Saviour is. Certainly I shall be satis- 
 fied if I am only like her. 
 
 What a comfort a diary is ! I can go to mine, and tell 
 it everything as if it was really a friend. Since mamma 
 died it is the only confidential friend I have had. Papa 
 is so much away, and seems, besides, so much preoccupied : 
 and I always feel afraid that my little cares and troubles 
 would make him smile, though they are as great to me 
 as older persons' are to them. I think it would be a good 
 thing if grown people could realize that. If I ever have 
 children and I suppose I shall I will remember this, 
 and encourage them to tell me everything: that will be 
 like mamma. 
 
 If I only had a sister ! I mean older than myself, or 
 near my age. Now Mary is twelve, it is true ; but, good- 
 ness, she is more of a boy than a girl, and would rather 
 any time go hunting with John, or play dolls with Lilias, 
 than to listen to me ! Then there is Mrs. Bascombe : sup- 
 pose I should try to make a confidante of her, " Angels 
 and ministers of grace, defend us !" I did try it once ; 
 but she only said, in her stiff way, " My dear, it is a very 
 bad plan to imagine miseries. The sentimental enthusi- 
 asms of girls of your age are generally very silly." So, 
 poor snail that 1 am, I crawl back into my shell, and only 
 confide in my diary. If I am silly, no one knows it, and 
 this dear friend never rebuffs me. I like silent friends. 
 I like to have all the talking to myself, when I am in a 
 talking mood. So this is my birthday ! Yes, Miss 
 Margaret Holcombe is fifteen years old to-day ! Papa 
 looked quite grave over the fact. I suppose he does not 
 quite like having a daughter fifteen years old, when he
 
 12 THE HO L COMBES. 
 
 looks so young. But men that marry at twenty-one must 
 expect some such inconvenience before they get to be 
 forty. I often wish I could have seen papa and mamma 
 when they were married: they must have been so young 
 and handsome. Just think, mamma was only three 
 years older than I am ! Well, I think that is old enough. 
 If a girl's character is not formed at eighteen, it never 
 will be. Certainly, I expect to feel as old as the hills by 
 that time; but I have more experience than most girls, 
 having charge of the family since mamma's death. Not 
 the charge exactly, but I sit at the head of the table and 
 pour out tea. Mrs. Bascombe and Mammy do the rest 
 pretty much, but still the eldest daughter has to be more 
 womanly under the circumstances. I think it would be 
 better if papa would give me more authority over the 
 children, now that I am fifteen ; I am sure I would be 
 prudent and careful ; and Mary wants some one to de- 
 velop her ; she is a dreadful tomboy. It would be right 
 hard to bring John and herself into measures, I know, 
 because they do not seem at all to realize how old I am 
 growing, and think themselves as good as I am ; and 
 poor little Lilias no one wants to manage, she must 
 always do as she pleases. I will ask papa about this at 
 once. If he will only have confidence in me, and help me, 
 I am sure I can do very well even with John and Mary. 
 October 13th. I could not write any more, dear diary, 
 yester.day, because I was so miserable, and I had to take 
 it out in a good cry. One feels so much better after a 
 good cry, when they have a great trouble, though I am 
 not very sure I did yesterday, for my head ached and my 
 eyes smarted so that I could do nothing but go to sleep. 
 Fortunately, my troubles never keep me awake, as some 
 people's do. I have tried sometimes to stay awake and 
 cry over them, but sleep always comes in spite of me.
 
 MARGARET IIOLCOMBE INTRODUCES HERSELF. 13 
 
 Well, to begin at the beginning : I was so in earnest 
 in the idea of helping the children, now I am growing 
 so old, that I put you away in a hurry, thinking that 
 I would soon return to you, and with your help would 
 make my plans for future action. I did not run, be- 
 cause I am trying to get over the habit of romping 
 through the house, but I walked very quickly into papa's 
 study, and found him writing something which he put 
 hastily aside when I came into the room, and met me, as 
 he always does, with a smile of welcome. 
 
 " Papa," I said, "I want to talk to you about some- 
 thing very important." 
 
 " Well, daughter, that suits my mood exactly. You 
 are growing so old now that I shall expect something 
 very important, of course, trivial matters cease to in- 
 terest young ladies of fifteen." And he drew me down 
 upon his knee, and pushed back the hair from my face. 
 I always know when he does that, he is thinking of my 
 mother, and noting the likeness I bear to her. 
 
 " But, papa," I said, " I am not joking. I do not want 
 you to laugh at the idea of my being fifteen. I ought to 
 think seriously about it. My own mother was only three 
 years older when she was married." 
 
 " Indeed !" laughed papa, most provokingly, turning 
 up my face to his. " Does this big wheel turn in that 
 direction? No, Margie, I think you are too young." 
 
 " Papa, papa, indeed you are unkind !" cried I, while I 
 felt the tears rush to my eyes. " I do not mean any 
 such nonsense. I have never seen the man yet I want 
 to marry." This I said in a very dignified way, because I 
 was hurt that he should laugh at me all the time as if I 
 had been one of the little children. 
 
 It had its effect, for seeing me so in earnest he too 
 grew grave, and, putting his arm about me, said, 
 
 2
 
 14 THE UOLCOMBES. 
 
 " Well, daughter, let me hear what it is ; I am sorry 
 I laughed at you." 
 
 " I came to ask you, papa, now I am growing so much 
 older and more womanly, to let me take more care of, 
 and authority over, the children ; they want some one to 
 look after them, and I do not think Mrs. Bascombe has 
 quite the right plan about it, and they are growing too 
 old to be willing to submit to Mammy, so I think no 
 one would care so much about it as I should, if you will 
 only give me the authority. I might have a difficulty 
 with John and Mary at first, but I know it would all 
 come right in time." 
 
 Here I changed my position so as to get a view of 
 papa's face ; it was very grave and thoughtful, with a 
 shade of troubled embarrassment upon it. He did not 
 speak for full a minute, and then with a manner so full 
 of all I saw in his face that I caught the infection, and 
 felt a shadow of the great trouble which was to come 
 upon me. 
 
 " It is true, as you say, my little girl," he said ; " I 
 have felt for a long time that some influence was want- 
 ing to supply to my children what they have lost. Mrs. 
 Bascombe does the best she can ; but that is little. I 
 do the best I can ; but that does not at all touch the evil. 
 I see my children, with grief, growing up with many 
 lackings, over which their mother would grieve. Your 
 ideas are kind and worthy of you, dear. I love you for 
 them ; but you are too young. I could not, if I wished 
 it, endow you with sufficient authority to govern your 
 sister and brother so nearly your own age. Nor would 
 I, if I could, burden your heart, so young, with such 
 cares. Your influence may do much with them ; and I do 
 trust much to it in the making them what they ought to 
 be, but it must be by example more than by precept,
 
 MARGARET IIOLCOMBE INTRODUCES HERSELF. 15 
 
 Margie. Learn to rule your own spirit, and then they 
 will respect and admire your mother in you. You give 
 me an opportunity, my child, which I have long wanted, 
 but did not know how to make, to confide to you some 
 engagements I have entered into in which you, in com- 
 mon with my other children, are deeply interested." 
 
 " Oh, papa," I said, my face burning with excitement, 
 " I know what it is, and I am so glad : you are going to 
 send Mrs. Bascombe away and get a new governess." 
 
 "Margie," he said, as if he were nerving himself to 
 some great trial, " I am going to send Mrs. Bascombe 
 away, and I am going to bring one here whom, I trust, 
 you will all love and honor ; and who, I am sure, on her 
 part, will do everything she can to win and keep your 
 love and confidence, as she has mine. She comes, not as 
 a governess, but as my wife." 
 
 It was dawning upon me all the time he spoke, but I 
 cast the hated light away. And when the last dreadful 
 word was spoken, and I knew it was true, I tore myself 
 from his arms, and casting myself down upon the floor, 
 wept with passionate and angry grief. 
 
 With great gentleness he raised me up, saying, "My 
 child, my darling child, you grieve me bitterly by this." 
 
 But I was not to be comforted in this way. I told 
 him that I did not, could not, love him ; that he insulted 
 the memory of my mother by putting any one in her 
 place ; that I only wanted to go away somewhere and 
 take the children, and leave him and his " old wife ;" that 
 we never would forget mamma. 
 
 " Nor have I forgotten her, dear," he said, so sadly that 
 in the midst of my frenzy I could not help a feeling of 
 tenderness coming in. And when I looked at him, through 
 my blinding tears, he looked as he did the night mamma 
 died, so pale and sad. A thought came into my mind
 
 16 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 that perhaps he did not marry because he loved, but for 
 the sake of his children. So I crept within his arras 
 again, and, kissing him, said, " Papa, forgive me ; I do 
 love you; it was very wicked in me to say such words. 
 You cannot forget my precious mother, you cannot 
 love another woman as you did her. Don't bring her 
 here. Indeed, I can take care of the children." 
 
 " Mai'gie," he said, "you are mistaken; God has so 
 constituted the human heart that the love for one cannot 
 drive out the love for another. And while I shall never 
 forget your dear mother, and all she was to me for twelve 
 years, I do love the woman I shall make my wife with a 
 deep, earnest devotion. I do not marry a slave, to be 
 subject to my will and do my work with no return, but 
 I take Jean Murray into my innermost heart along with 
 your dead mother, and shall cherish her there until death 
 us do part." 
 
 "Well, papa," I answered, "you had better send me 
 away, for my whole soul rises against it, and I feel as if 
 it would kill me to see any woman in my mother's place. 
 She shall never have a welcome from me." 
 
 " Margaret," my father had never spoken so sternly to 
 me before, and even in the midst of my excitement my 
 spirit quailed before him, "you fill me with forebodings 
 for your future. I insist upon your speaking to me with 
 proper respect, and upon your treating my wife, when- 
 ever I chose to bring her here, as the mistress of my 
 house, the head of my home, and one whom I have con- 
 sidered worthy to share my heart with your dead mother's 
 memory." And before I had recovered sufficiently to 
 answer him he had left the room. And now I am per- 
 fectly miserable. I have to admire papa, even in this ; 
 he is right, and I am wrong. But still I hate this woman, 
 this Jean Murray, who is to take my mamma's place To
 
 MARGARET HOLCOMBE INTRODUCES HERSELF. 17 
 
 think of its being the very woman with whom I was 
 contrasting mamma in church that Sunday ! I do not 
 blame papa, but I hate her and her sneaking, underhand 
 ways, which have entrapped him into marrying her. I 
 know this is all wrong, but I am in that mood this even- 
 ing when I like to do wrong ; because if I do right I 
 will have to forget mamma and love Jean Murray. And 
 then, there is another trial. I called the children last night, 
 and, with many tears, told them. Mary looked grave 
 for an instant, and then said, in that old-fashioned way 
 she has sometimes, " Well, Margie, I think it is the best 
 thing that could happen to us children, to have some one 
 to look after us, we are so neglected ;" and John, who 
 always agrees with Mary, said he thought it w r ould be 
 "good fun to have a new mamma," "and he hoped she 
 would make plenty of nice cakes." Senseless animal ! 
 to think of cakes at such a time ! Even little Lilias won- 
 dered if she would undress her and rock her "up and 
 down" as mamma used to do. 
 
 Well, it is a great comfort to me to be miserable, if it 
 is by myself. The only person who seems disposed to 
 condole with me is old Aunt Elsie ; but of course I cannot 
 let a servant speak to me of papa's faults. So when she 
 came to my room and commenced groaning in her way, 
 " Poor missus ! poor children ! Well, honey, all men is 
 alike," I answered, quite fiercely, " Aunt Elsie, you must 
 not speak so of papa, he is not like any other man in the 
 world ; he has a perfect right to bring who he pleases to 
 his own house." And then I wondered at myself. 
 
 I saw papa last night at tea, and thought my swollen 
 eyes and suffering face would have touched his heart and 
 made him repent his harsh words ; but he was just as 
 usual, except paler and more quiet perhaps, and after tea 
 advised me to go to bed as the best cure for my headache. 
 
 2*
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 JEAN MURRAY INTRODUCES HERSELF. 
 
 November \th. I sit down to-night, diary in hand, to 
 make my last entry in my maiden life. I have some- 
 what the feeling which I would have by the bedside of 
 a friend who was on the verge of an unknown eternity ; 
 for, let us think of life as we will, whether a "moment's 
 space," or the drifting of a cloud across the sky, it is very 
 important; the moment's space may be fifty or sixty 
 years, and the cloud may drift into blacker darkness, or 
 be first gilded with the light from God's sun and then 
 lost in the full effulgence of brightness ; but be this as it 
 may, we all want our lives to be happy and useful, and I do 
 not suppose that there is any time in a woman's life which 
 is more interesting to her than her marriage. An un- 
 thinking girl may dash into the new existence with all 
 the gloss of bridal happiness upon her, without a thought 
 of the future, or at least without a recognition of inevitable 
 troubles in store for her. But it is not so with me ; in 
 the first place, my sober twenty-four years place me be- 
 yond the reckless enthusiasms of early girlhood. I know 
 that no life is all gladness, and then again I know that 
 whilst "my lines have fallen in pleasant places" in some 
 respects, yet in others I will inevitably encounter many 
 trials, to meet which I have no positive knowledge to 
 guide me. I feel like a man wandering in the dark in 
 the midst of pitfalls and precipices ; but, thank God, it is 
 not so ; I have a hand outstretched, I have a comforting 
 (18)
 
 JEAN MURRAY INTRODUCES HERSELF. 19 
 
 promise that as my "day so shall my strength be." To 
 Him I commit my way ; He has guided me so far, aiid will 
 to the end. 
 
 I am glad Mr. Holcombe has been so perfectly candid 
 with me. He does not promise me a garden of thornless 
 roses, he only promises to do what he can to eradicate 
 the prickles. I can see him now, as he stood in the glow 
 of the firelight, some weeks ago, with the gaslight over 
 his head, saying, "Now, Jean, I do not wish at all to 
 deceive you. I feel that I am asking a great deal of you 
 when I ask you to become my wife, because it is not me 
 alone you marry, but four children, and not four angels, 
 either. I think there is more than an ordinary amount 
 of human nature in my progeny ; and of late years, since 
 I lost their mother, the good seeds have been rather 
 choked out by weeds, though there are qualities in the 
 soil of each which will reward the toil expended in the 
 cultivation. I cannot tell you, dear, of the hope with 
 which I look forward to your firm, gentle influence upon 
 them, they want it so badly." A vague fear filled my 
 heart, and I said, " Is it for that you asked me to marry 
 you, Mr. Holcombe ? I could not be a faithful mother to 
 your children with no reward but your cold approbation." 
 
 I shall never forget the bright smile which broke over 
 his face as he knelt down on the carpet before me and 
 took both my hands in his, and, looking into my eyes, 
 said, 
 
 "Ah, Jean ! Jean ! it glads my very soul to catch 
 glimpses of your heart sometimes; you are so very shy of 
 letting me see into its depths. Why, little woman, you 
 are right next the core of my heart. And although I 
 could never have loved a woman who I did not think 
 would be a mother to my children, I do love this one, 
 with the fullest confidence that she will meet my most
 
 20 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 ardent desires in every respect ; but not without some 
 self-reproach, because I am laying my burdens on her 
 slender shoulders." Well, it is pleasant to be loved, even 
 if it does bring cares along with it; and, God helping me, 
 I will do my duty to him and his, looking for help to the 
 fountain of all strength. 
 
 There is one thing that ought to be a guide to me in 
 my new duties, and that is, that I know so well what an 
 uncomfortable stepmother is. The troubles which made 
 me an alien from my father's house shall be a lesson to 
 me in my ne\v home, a lesson learned in England and 
 profited by in America. 
 
 This makes me remember the longing I have for my 
 family ties hi "this hour of iny happiness. If my father 
 could only lay his hand upor* i'iy head and bid me " God 
 speed," or Robert could be at my side, it would be a com- 
 fort; but I must be content with what good I can get, 
 and love my husband all the more that I have so few to 
 love.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ROSE HILL AND ITS INMATES JEAN'S DIARY. 
 
 December 12th. Nearly a month has elapsed since I 
 last opened my diary, but a month so full of interesting 
 events that I feel as if it h^d been a lifetime. I can 
 scarce realize that I am the-js^ine person I was one month 
 ago. I stood then on the.ibrink of an unknown world, 
 doubting, fearing, wondering,-^ 
 
 "But the silence was unbroken, 
 And the darkness gave no token." 
 
 JSTow how differently I feel from the little, sober-looking 
 bride, in her sober, gray dress, who heard the " dust to 
 dust, and ashes to ashes " of her maiden life pronounced, 
 on that sunny fall morning, in the little church, just one 
 mouth ago! I suppose every woman remembers her 
 marriage with peculiar feelings. If it turns out happily, 
 she dwells with a tender smile, and eyes that look back 
 far into the past, at the emotions awakened at the time ; 
 remembers the strong arm which supported her through 
 it, and the manly strength of the heart upon which she 
 has leaned ever since, to her it was the development of 
 life, the door opened into a happy futurity. But if the 
 life begun at marriage turns out unhappily, she thinks of 
 the shiver which passed over her at what she regards 
 now as the funeral of her life of careless maidenhood, an 
 
 (21)
 
 22 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 impulse to leap back from the untried future into the tried 
 past. 
 
 I do not know what sensations I shall retain longest, 
 but I now remember the agitation, solemnity, a great 
 deal of hope not unmixed with fear, and a sensation such 
 as I have heard that a drowning person experiences, a 
 concentration of all the events of life into one moment, 
 like the Giaour, 
 
 "When in one moment o'er his soul 
 Winters of memory seem to roll." 
 
 I seemed to be taking leave of my childhood for the 
 first time, my plays with my brother and cousins, my 
 mother's death and all of its consequent troubles, yet 
 through all of these thoughts I did not lose one word 
 of what the minister said ; it seemed distinct, clear, and 
 impressive as a voice from heaven ; then it was over, 
 and I was no longer myself, or belonging to myself, but 
 more valued and valuable than I had ever been before. 
 Next followed that journey for which we made no plans, 
 but only went where our will carried us. It was made 
 up of sparkling cataracts, journeys over mountains, lodg- 
 ings even in the midst of the clouds, calm sails on quiet 
 waters, rests at peaceful farm-houses, in the midst of the 
 loveliness of nature, and every now and then a dip into 
 society, planting friendships for future cultivation, in all 
 of which we were as happy as any other two people ever 
 were, and grew to know each other better each day. But 
 the time came when this holiday-life must end, and we 
 turned our faces homeward. For me this brought a pang, 
 because, first, it recalled all my nervous dread of my 
 future, and because, for the first time in our married life, 
 my husband and I felt differently. He was returning to 
 his home and his children, secure of a welcome ; I was a
 
 ROSE HILL AND ITS INMATES. 23 
 
 stranger, and in all probability an unwelcome one ; and 
 yet I was not without pleasurable excitement. It is a 
 pleasure to have a home to go to, when one has been a 
 waif, a stray leaf, tossed about by winds from every 
 quarter. 
 
 Rose Hill, the home of the Holcombes for generations 
 past, is situated in the midst of the mountains of the 
 Blue Ridge. The house is comparatively modern, but 
 the place is known through the whole country as one of 
 those old Virginian estates, passing from father to son" 
 with almost the regularity of entail. The negroes have 
 all been born on the place, and have a hereditary attach- 
 ment to their masters. It struck me as so strange before 
 I came here to hear Mr. Holcombe speaking of his 
 " Mammy." I never could help laughing at it. " Yes," 
 he said, one day, when I was amusing myself at his ex- 
 pense, "you may laugh at me, but you will have to pay 
 her the most profound respect. She is a perfect lady, I 
 can tell you, and a highly-honored inmate of my house- 
 hold. Why, she is a link between us and the past ; she 
 has nursed all the children of the two last generations, 
 and played with our grandmothers, and has paid the 
 last offices to the dead of the family for the last forty-five 
 years." 
 
 " Why, how old is she ?" 
 
 "Well, no one knows exactly, but, putting together 
 some facts, we judge she must be nearly seventy ; but she 
 is a hale, hearty old w r oman yet, and I hope will live to 
 teach us what old times were for many years to come." 
 
 " But," I said, " I should think it very disagreeable to 
 have an old negress thinking herself so much better than 
 any one else, and to have to make a fuss over her all the 
 time." 
 
 " Why, my dear Jean, you cannot imagine a more
 
 24 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 perfect servant in everything than she is. She recognizes 
 her position entirely ; the smallest nursling is miss or 
 master ; nor does she feel humiliated by it. It is a strange 
 combination of the perfect lady and the perfect servant. 
 Just wait until you see her." 
 
 The town of C is about two miles from Rose Hill, 
 
 and here the carriage met us. It is a new one, bought 
 for the young bride, though 1 do not at all realize that I 
 am she. The driver and footman came up, showing their 
 white teeth by way of welcome ; and here too I was 
 introduced to my young son. He was first discovered 
 by his father skulking in the distance, and greeted with, 
 " Why, old fellow, what are you doing out there, hiding 
 from your father? Come here, I have something to show 
 you, a present I have brought for you." But Master 
 John did not seem to appreciate the gift, whatever it 
 might be, and still stood off shyly, with his fingers in his 
 mouth. 
 
 "What! You won't come? Well, that is a strange 
 state of things : a boy refuses to kiss his father, when he 
 has been away more than a month. Unnatural son ! Ah, 
 ' sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless 
 child!' Well, if the mountain will not come to Moham- 
 med, Mohammed must go to the mountain." And so, 
 after a little struggle, my son was presented to me with 
 a very red face, upon a very small portion of the cheek 
 of which I imprinted my maternal kiss, as the rest was 
 hidden in his hands. I think my poor husband was very 
 much mortified at this little episode, as he said to me, as 
 we got in the carriage out of hearing of the child, who 
 preferred to ride with the driver, 
 
 " Ah, little woman, you see how we all want you. A 
 man makes a poor out of bringing up a parcel of children
 
 ROSE HILL AND ITS INMATES. 25 
 
 without help. I have tried to do my best, but you see 
 how it is." 
 
 I tried to reassure him by saying that I did not think 
 boys ten years old were ever very remarkable for their 
 manners, and I had no doubt we would get on finely after 
 awhile. The ride home through the woods was a beau- 
 tiful one. Nature had certainly favored us in bestowing 
 a lovely day. The sun was near its setting, and seemed 
 to enjoy the play of hide-and-seek with us through the 
 openings in the trees, now shooting a beam into our very 
 faces, and then darting off to hide in the thickets. At 
 last, the road leading us through the woods into the open 
 country, we came at once into full view of the grand 
 old place. I clasped my hands in delight at the beauty 
 of the scene. 
 
 Surely the old Holcombes must have had an eye for 
 the beautiful in selecting the site of their home. I have 
 never seen a place with so many natural advantages. 
 The grove, out of which we had just driven, fronted the 
 house, and now, for a space of about three hundred yards, 
 spreads a perfectly level lawn, around which, in a circle, 
 runs the carriage-road. The lawn stops abruptly at the 
 foot of a hill, which is terraced in three separate falls, 
 each of which is ascended by steps of smooth gray 
 stone. At the top of the third terrace, upon a sort of 
 table-land, in the midst of noble old forest-trees, oak, 
 chestnut, elm, and locust, stands the house, which, from 
 its proportions, position, etc., might have passed for some 
 olden castle, with its white walls gleaming. As we ap- 
 proached it, the setting sun crowned it with a halo of 
 glory, and the windows, from attic to basement, caught its 
 rays, and sparkled as though a bonfire had been kindled 
 within to do us honor ; while in the distance the gorgeous 
 flood of crimson and gold impurpled the background of 
 
 3
 
 26 THE HOLGOMBES. 
 
 mountains, which reared their monstrous forms, peak 
 after peak, as far as the eye could reach. 
 
 Several persons were visible as we approached : one 
 slight, girlish figure stood at the top of the first terrace, 
 with her hand shading her eyes ; another, as soon as the 
 carriage drove out of the grove, started off like an arrow 
 from the bow in our direction ; while dusky forms were 
 seen either appearing or disappearing hastily in every 
 direction. It was like the moving figures in a panorama, 
 only more full of life. 
 
 Almost before I had time to ask who she was, the 
 fleet-footed little girl who was running towards us, im- 
 patiently pushing past the footman who was opening 
 the carriage-door, clambered into the carriage, and then 
 threw herself into her father's arms, exclaiming, " Oh, I 
 thought you were never coming, papa !" And this was 
 Mary, as I found from my husband's greeting, a slender 
 sprite of a child, with dark eyes, and hair that rippled 
 and glittered in the light. I am glad that in these late 
 years the prejudice against red hair has worn away. I 
 believe Eugene Sue and the Empress of France are to 
 be thanked for it. To me it was always unreasonable. 
 I remember once seeing a head of red hair (not dark 
 auburn, but genuine red hair) pass under a gaslight; it 
 was at a wedding in a church, and as the magnificent- 
 looking woman with these rippling waves passed where 
 the flood of light fell upon it, I never shall forget the 
 effect; it looked, indeed, like burnished copper glowing 
 almost to red-heat. I have looked ever since for a sight 
 like that, and never found it until that fairy-like little 
 figure came flying down the road with those golden locks 
 floating in the wind, with her cheeks glowing from the 
 exercise and her eyes dancing with delight; she was a 
 picture well worth looking upon.
 
 ROSE HILL AND ITS INMATES. 2T 
 
 " Why, you crazy jade, why did you not wait for us 
 at home and welcome us in a becoming manner?" 
 
 " Oh, papa, you know I never can wait. It was so 
 long, and I thought you were never coming, and when 
 I saw the carriage coming out of the grove I was off 
 before I well knew what I was doing " 
 
 " And now tell me," said her father, " if you know 
 who this is sitting by 'my side ?" 
 
 The bright face was turned to me, and as the cold 
 little hands crept into mine, she whispered " Mamma." 
 It was very sweetly done, and I already felt my heart 
 warm and melt as I drew her to me and imprinted my 
 first kiss upon her lips. 
 
 The introduction was just over when the carriage 
 drew up to the foot of the terraced walk. The slight 
 figure I had first remarked in the distance now came 
 forward, and submitted to, rather than received, an em- 
 brace from my husband, and then gave me the coldest 
 greeting I had ever received, the heart just warmed by 
 Mary's lips froze to its center ; and yet there is some- 
 thing interesting, while it repulses, in the irregular features 
 and sallow complexion of Margaret Holcombe. She 
 looks to me as if she were putting a constraint upon her- 
 self all the time, as if there was a fount of deep feeling 
 under this cold exterior which could be warmed into life. 
 My mind goes back ten years, and I see jnst such a wel- 
 come given. I remember now the image of my dead 
 mother which rose up between me and the lips of the 
 woman I then kissed and greeted as mother. I forgive 
 Margaret on the spot, and pray God that I may never 
 give these children of my husband such cause to curse 
 the day I enter their father's house as that woman gave 
 me. 
 
 The last introduction was received beside the glowing
 
 28 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 fire in the sitting-room, where two soft little arms stole 
 around my neck as I knelt before a helpless little figure 
 swathed in bright-colored flannels, above which appeared 
 a little flaxen head with spiritual face; it was baby Lilias, 
 the darling of the household, who is cherished with 
 the tenderer care because the hand of God is laid heavily 
 upon her. A fall in her infancy has left her a helpless 
 charge upon her friends, but such a charge as none would 
 shrink from. I trust that I, too, may be permitted to 
 smooth her pathway through life. I feel very hopeful in 
 my home, there is so much to make me happy, and such 
 ample room for a life of usefulness as well as of happi- 
 ness. I have seen the old Mammy too, a stately figure, 
 with a bright cotton turban, and a white handkerchief 
 pinned across her breast. I was met by a low curtsy, 
 and a respectful " Welcome, mistress," which might have 
 graced a parlor. I was a little annoyed by the grinning 
 faces which met me at every turn, but one word from this 
 old queen dispersed the crowd. 
 
 " Begone, you darkies ! Dat the way you shows your 
 manners to your new mistress ? G'long at once !" And a 
 scampering followed, which cleared the halls pretty soon. 
 
 She then led the way to my room. And then I real- 
 ized what a great lady I had become, to be lodged in this 
 lovely apartment, with its crimson hangings, rich ma- 
 hogany furniture, and the luxurious bed with its tempting 
 white draperies, over which the bright fire on the hearth 
 threw a cheerful glow. 
 
 Surely, Jean Holcombe, " your lines are fallen to you 
 in pleasant places." Mrs. Bascombe is a pretty old lady, 
 part housekeeper and part teacher ; she seems a model of 
 good temper, but not one, I should judge, to fill the place 
 of governess to such a family as this. Her dignity is so 
 completely a creature of the moment, that it is, if one may
 
 ROSE HILL AND ITS INMATES. 29 
 
 so express it, a stiff impulse ; and I judge that she has 
 been too much a subject of amusement with the children 
 to have much influence over them. Mr. Holcombe says 
 I shall keep her as an assistant in the housekeeping ; and 
 he has employed a tutor for the children, who will arrive 
 the first of January. A teacher of music comes out from 
 
 C every other day, and they seem to have so much 
 
 talent for music that their performance is beyond medi- 
 ocrity, though I have no idea that it is due to any 
 especial diligence. 
 
 Well, I have before me now the materials for my life's 
 work. I thank God I have only to do my duty and leave 
 results to Him ! I am glad I do not look upon it in the 
 light of a trial, neither altogether of a pleasure, but a 
 wholesome mixture of the two. I see my difficulties, 
 and I see the way out of them to be a straightforward, 
 gentle firmness, and a great reliance for guidance on an 
 arm which is stronger than mine. 
 
 3*
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 MARGARET'S FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 
 
 December 13th. The long-dreaded event has actually 
 taken place. I have lived to see my dear mamma's place 
 filled in this house by one so different; and no one seems 
 to do anything but rejoice, except myself. For the last 
 month everything has been a note of preparation ; the 
 whole house torn to pieces. Painters and upholsterers 
 at every turn, new carriage, new furniture, new paint- 
 ings, everything new and beautiful for the new bride. 
 Surely it seems to me that what was good enough for 
 my mamma might have answered for Jean Murray. 
 
 The children provoke me so ; they seem altogether 
 delighted with this new toy; but children all live in the 
 present ; I sometimes wish I could too. I wonder how 
 mamma would like me to act ! I am sure, if she can sec 
 us, she would not like to think that we had all forgotten 
 her, and allowed her to be supplanted in our hearts, as 
 well as in papa's, and our home. No ! I must be true 
 to her in spite of everything. Yes ; in spite even of the 
 loss of dear papa's affection, which I see will be the con- 
 sequence. The evening he came I saw, as he got out of 
 the carriage, that he was so anxious to see how I would 
 conduct m) 7 self ; and it seems to me this perverse spirit, 
 which has possession of me, made me as cold as a stone 
 to him first, and then to his wife. Now, surely, there 
 was no necessity for that, I ought to have been affection- 
 (30)
 
 MARGARET'S FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 31 
 
 ate to him ; but, oh ! to see him that way with a wife 
 beside him, just seemed to bring mamma up out of her 
 grave, she rose up before me as plainly as in life. I know 
 Mrs. Holcombe saw it all, she was looking so happy 
 when the carriage drove up, and she turned quite pale ; 
 but papa turned away from me, and put his arm around 
 her and led her in, and in another moment, I have no 
 doubt, she forgot my existence. And, oh ! her childish 
 delight with everything, Mary herself could not have 
 been more demonstrative ; I think it is so undignified to 
 express so much. It was, " Oh, how beautiful ! how 
 bright ! how lovely ! how kind ! how comfortable !" at 
 every step. And there was even old Mammy, deceitful 
 old thing, bowing and scraping and doing the honors, 
 and papa looking as if she was the most enchanting thing 
 that ever had lived, and the children dancing round, 
 even Lilias chirping her delight from her cha-ir, until I 
 was sick of it all, and ran off to indulge in a few tears in 
 my own room. 
 
 When I went down to tea, there were more aggrava- 
 tions : in the first place, there she sat at the head of the 
 table, trying to look diffident, and as if she was not old 
 enough to have poured out tea any number of years, and 
 papa, with not a ray of recollection of the past in his face, 
 looking perfectly happy. It made me sick, but no one 
 cared if I was, no one even saw that my eyes were red. 
 It is a great misfortune to have such keen sensibilities, one 
 suffers so much less when they can forget. Once during tea 
 she turned to me and said, with such a would-be sweet 
 air, " I suppose, Margaret, I have you to thank for the 
 arrangement of my beautiful room ; it does you great 
 credit." I said, "You are mistaken, madam; I have not 
 even seen it. I suppose Mrs. Bascombe and Mammy did 
 it." I felt papa's eyes on me reproachfully, but I did not
 
 32 THE 110 L COMBES. 
 
 look that way, and no one said anything more. Of course 
 she thinks I am very rude, but I was obliged to be truthful, 
 and besides, I do not think she ought to have expected 
 me to fix for her. She must think I am quite destitute 
 of feeling. 
 
 I think she has a great deal of taste in dress, everything 
 she wears is of such soft, pretty colors. This morning she 
 came out, looking really pretty, in a flowing, white Cash- 
 mere morning-dress, with blue trimmings. Never mind, 
 my lady, by the time you have to come out and go down 
 to the dairy, and skim the cream and attend to the butter, 
 and see the chickens fed, etc., you will get out of your 
 white Cashmere and blue trimmings. It does me good to 
 think of the time when a calico wrapper and white apron 
 will be more suitable. Never mind, when I am married 
 I shall not marry a farmer, to be a slave to his negroes. 
 I will marry a lawyer and live in town. And I am going 
 to have beautiful clothes, I think crimson will suit me 
 better than blue, I have so little color. I wish I was 
 beautiful ! I would rather be beautiful than anything 
 else. What difference does it make about a woman's 
 having sense, every one admires the pretty ones most ? 
 Never mind, maybe I will be like the ugly duck, and turn 
 out a swan at last. 
 
 I had a chance of making her feel badly once again 
 to-day. Mary came running in with a writing-desk, 
 crying, " Oh, Margie, just look what mamma has brought 
 you ! just the very thing you wanted." I said, " Take it 
 back, Mary, and tell your mamma I would rather not take 
 it ; she had better give it to you." I did not find the satis- 
 faction in this that I expected, because I did want the 
 writing-desk dreadfully, and really could have cried when 
 I saw Mary with it afterwards ; and then, too, they 
 brought a quantity of delicious-looking candy; but I would
 
 MARGARET'S FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 33 
 
 not touch it. Now, if I have a weakness in the world it 
 is for candy, particularly sugar-almonds, and it required a 
 great deal of self-denial not to take some ; but of course I 
 should despise myself if I could be inconsistent or submit 
 to a bribe. But, oh ! I would give anything if papa would 
 only show me some attention, if he would only see how 
 I suffer ; but he does not. To be sure, be kisses as usual, 
 but there is a constraint about him, and it makes me very 
 miserable ; but of course I cannot give up. I heard them 
 talking to-day about the arrangements for us. Papa is 
 going to employ a tutor, and Mrs. Bascombe is to be de- 
 posed, but retained as an assistant for this new angel who 
 has just come down from heaven into our midst. My 
 poor mamma never had an assistant, she had to do every- 
 thing herself; but she was worth two such as this one. 
 I tell you, a woman had better hold on to her life if she 
 don't want to be forgotten. 
 
 She remonstrated a little about having any one to help 
 her; but papa said, "You know, dear, you are not 
 accustomed to our Virginia country-life, and you would 
 be lost in the maze of things to be done. One day would 
 settle you, I think. By the time Aunt Peggy has run 
 after the food for the chickens, and Bob has been to see 
 if he must kill that calf, and Sucky to ' git out the clof to 
 mek dem boys' cloths,' and Mammy to suggest that you 
 go down and see what ails Chloe's baby, and I put in 
 my tongue about having my dinner ready in time, and 
 
 the children " but she put her hand over his mouth, 
 
 and laughed so gleefully that I almost forgot, and joined 
 her. Papa is so funny, he can talk so exactly like each 
 one of the servants ; but I was determined not to be 
 surprised again, so I got up and went out, and left the 
 young people to have their play out, though I should 
 really have enjoyed hearing papa talk longer. I believe I
 
 34 THE HO L COMBES. 
 
 would think she was right sweet if she was not what 
 she is. 
 
 We are going to have quite a round of gayety, I 
 believe, in honor of the bride. I wonder they are not all 
 ashamed of themselves, they used to pretend to be so 
 devoted to mamma. Carriages have been rolling up all 
 
 day. It seems to me that the whole of C must have 
 
 called. Mrs. Campbell, I expected that, then the 
 Grahams, the Tuckers, the Clarkes, the Dandridges, etc. 
 
 I did not know there were so many carriages in C -. 
 
 I looked as miserable as I could, until I heard that hate- 
 ful Sarah Clarke whisper, " Did you ever see such an ill- 
 tempered face? I think it is well Mrs. Holcombe did 
 not see her before she accepted the position ; it might 
 have altered matters." After that I went up-stairs, and 
 stayed by myself until Mammy brought me some cake 
 and cordial. I did not ask who sent it, as I wanted it so 
 much ; and if she had, I could not have eaten it, of 
 course. It is rather a melancholy thought that I am to 
 live this way all my life ; but it is not my fault. I can- 
 not ever be very certain what mamma would wish. At 
 any rate, I have begun this way, and I must keep on. 
 So it is no use to torment myself about the right and 
 wrong of it. I was born under an unlucky star, and so 
 will always be miserable ; and I might as well make up 
 my mind to it.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " MARY HOLCOMfiE, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN." 
 
 December 15th. Mamma wants me to keep a diary. 
 She says it will improve me in every respect. She says 
 that a diary is not meant for anybody to see but myself; 
 that it is a turning my heart inside out. She says that I 
 must put into my diary everything I think ; and, if I am 
 very particular never to put anything I do not really 
 think, it will help me to be true to myself, because I 
 would not like to put anything down in writing as my 
 real feeling, and then talk another way. I don't know how 
 to say it exactly; but she made it very plain to me that 
 if I was true to myself I would be true to everybody 
 else, and a diary is to be a help to me. I told her I 
 did not know how to begin ; and she says she thinks I 
 might talk a little about myself as far back as I remem- 
 ber ; that it will be interesting to me, hereafter, to read 
 over what I did and thought when I was a little child. I 
 have not had a very interesting childhood, except mam- 
 ma's death. I never was very ill, that I remember. Nobody 
 was ever very unkind to me, though Mrs. Bascombe did 
 use to scold Johnny and me right much sometimes when 
 we would go off to the woods and play instead of getting 
 our lessons; but I don't think reading these kind of 
 things would be very interesting to me when I get a 
 woman, as it would only make me remember that I had 
 not been a very good child, which would not be pleasant. 
 I think I should like to write a little about mamma's 
 
 (35)
 
 36 THE HO L COMBES. 
 
 death. I shall always remember that, though, without 
 any help from anything. It happened three years ago, 
 and I was such a little tiling, which I suppose is the 
 reason I did not know it w.as going to happen, for she 
 had been sick for a long time. I did not know anything 
 much about death, though I saw that little baby of Aunt 
 Holly's die down at the cabins ; but it just looked to me 
 as if it was asleep. 
 
 Well, I used to take mamma's breakfast to her every 
 morning, and Johnny and I would sit by her while she 
 ate it. I saw how pale and thin she was growing, and 
 how her pretty rings would slip backward and forward 
 on her hand, and then she could not get up out of bed at 
 all. And then that night that Mammy came and woke 
 us up out of our sleep and took us into her room, and she 
 was lying there so pale, with her eyes so big and bright, 
 and papa was holding her up on his arm, and Margie was 
 sobbing and crying by the bed, and all the servants were 
 crying, too. I did not know what it all meant at first, 
 until she said, so low we could hardly hear, " My little 
 children, you will soon have no mother ; God is going 
 to take me to heaven to live with Him ; you must all be 
 good children and try and meet me there, and don't 
 forget to be good, obedient children to your father, and 
 love and take care of our clear little Lilias." Then she 
 kissed us all, and Johnny and myself cried so that we had 
 to be taken out and put to bed, and Mammy told us in 
 the morning that mamma was dead ; and when we saw 
 her she was lying so still, with flowers in her white hand ; 
 but I did not feel as if it was my mamma, and was afraid 
 to touch her, and we never have seen her since. 
 
 After that Mrs. Bascombe came to take care of us and 
 teach us ; but it was not like mamma did. Papa says 
 Johnny and I have been running wild, and I expect we
 
 "MARY HOLCOMBE, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN." 37 
 
 have. I know I wish I was a boy, it is such a trouble 
 to be a girl, and have to have skirts hanging round you 
 all the time ; I never can go out with Johnny without 
 tearing something, and once I was very much hurt by 
 my dress catching on the limb of a tree and throwing me 
 down. Mrs. Bascombe says it was a mercy I was not 
 killed, and all the fault of these skirts. I used to beg 
 Mammy to let me wear Johnny's pants sometimes; but 
 she was very much shocked and said it was unlady-like, 
 and the Bible said I must not do it, so I suppose I shall 
 have to keep a girl to the end of my life. 
 
 I don't think it will be so hard now I have a new 
 mamma. I like to stay in the house better, and so does 
 Johnny, though he would not speak to her at first ; but he 
 loves her now very much. When Margie told me first 
 that papa was going to bring home a new mamma for us, 
 I don't think I was very glad, it seemed so dreadful to 
 have two mammas ; but then I thought how much we all 
 needed some one to take care of us, and I thought papa 
 would not do it if it was not best ; and then he told us 
 how sweet she was, and how she would love us all, and 
 so I liked it before she came, and now I love her dearly. 
 
 But, oh ! Margie behaves so badly, I think ; she won't 
 have anything to do with her, -just stays in her own 
 room all the time. And the day after she came, when 
 I took her a beautiful new writing-desk mamma had 
 brought her, she said, so crossly, " She would not have it ; 
 I might take it back and tell her to give it to me." I did 
 not like to go back, it seemed so ungrateful in Margie ; 
 but at last I had to do it, and tell her what she said. I 
 saw the tears come into her eyes ; and papa, who was in 
 there, was very angry, and said he must speak to Margie 
 about the way she was behaving; but mamma caught 
 him by the arm /and said, " Dear, for my sake, don't do 
 
 4
 
 38 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 it; leave her alone, she will get over it after awhile : she 
 is suffering now you may depend upon it, poor child ; all 
 will come right after awhile." And he kissed her and said 
 she was the blessing of his life, then she gave the 
 writing-desk to me, and I am writing on it now. 
 
 I wish Margie would not do so, she looks so unhappy, 
 and mamma tried so to make us happy, it is the only 
 thing which keeps us from being so. She sits at the table 
 and never speaks a word, and will not even eat what 
 mamma is helping to. I can see that papa is so angry 
 sometimes ; but his promise to mamma keeps him from 
 speaking. 
 
 We are to have a gentleman teacher the first of next 
 month, and I am to begin Latin with Johnny, and Eddy 
 and George Holcombe arc to come here to school. They 
 are to come with their father and mother at Christmas. 
 Papa is determined to have a family meeting ; I know it 
 is just to show mamma to them all, he is so proud of 
 her, we will have a nice time I know. 
 
 Mamma is so kind to little Lilias, she has had her little 
 bed put in her room, and every night she undresses her 
 and rocks her in her lap. Lilias remembered that mamma 
 used to do that, and asked her if she would. I am sure 
 if our dear mamma can see us from her home in heaven, 
 she is glad that her poor little children have some one 
 to take care of and love them. 
 
 It was funny to see how shy Johnny was at first ; if 
 mamma spoke to him his face would get red, and he 
 would look as if he wanted to run away ; but since she 
 gave him the pretty-colored ball and the candy he liked 
 to stay with her. I don't mean he liked her for what she 
 gives him, exactly, but that certainly did begin it. 
 
 Mammy likes mamma, too; she said at first, when 
 she heard papa was going to be married, she was sorry ;
 
 "MARY HOLCOMBE, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN." 39 
 
 but now she knows " the Lord sent her here to take care 
 of Miss Catherine's children." Manima is from the North 
 of England, and that is the way her name comes to be 
 Jean. She was named after her Scottish grandmother. 
 I wish, some of these days, she would tell me some- 
 thing about her life over there. I wonder if the little 
 children play with doll-babies as they do over in this 
 country, I reckon not, though, way over in England. I 
 don't expect they ever heard of doll-babies. 
 
 I think mamma is very good ; she went down on Sun- 
 day to the negro quarters and read to the people. I went 
 with her, and she did look so pretty and nice in her soft, 
 blue dress, and with her pretty light hair, among the 
 black people. They looked blacker, and she looked 
 whiter, than usual ; they sang one of their hymns for her, 
 and she looked right scared when they holloed out so 
 loud ; it sounded like they were going to take the top off 
 of the cabin ; and then Uncle Armstead prayed and the 
 people cried, and I was scared too. After that mamma 
 and I came away, and she said so seriously, as if she had 
 been thinking of it before she spoke, " And yet the spirit 
 of God may be as truly there as within marble walls." I 
 asked her what she thought of the way they did, and she 
 said, " It seems very strange to me, dear, because I never 
 saw anything of the kind before ; but I shall get used to 
 it after awhile ; some things puzzle me very much." She 
 did not tell me what they were, though I longed to ask. 
 
 Well, I have written a long piece in my diary, and I 
 have forgotten to divide the days as I write. I com- 
 menced December 15th, and this is December 20th, so I 
 have been five days. I think I will like it very much, 
 though I find it so hard to say what I want. Mamma 
 says I need language and this will help me to acquire it. 
 Margie has been keeping a diary for four or five years ;
 
 40 THE HO L COMBES. 
 
 but she is a great deal smarter than I am. I wish I knew 
 what she writes about. I am so glad next week my 
 aunts, uncles, and cousins will be here. I think mamma 
 is not altogether glad, she is a little afraid. I do not 
 wonder ; it must be dreadful to have a parcel of people 
 you never saw come to look at you and see if they like you. 
 I am afraid I should run off in the woods with Johnny 
 and hide; that is the way we used to do when we knew 
 Mrs. Bascombe was going to scold us.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LETTER FROIVJ JEAN TO HER BROTHER. 
 
 " ROSE HILL, Dec. 20th. 
 
 "DEAR ROBERT, I have been intending to write to you 
 ever since rny arrival in my new borne, but have been 
 too much engaged with my introduction to my new 
 duties, and becoming acquainted not only with the mem- 
 bers of my own household, but my neighbors, among whom 
 I shall .find, I think, some very pleasant acquaintances. 
 
 " I only wish, dear Robert, you could be here with me, 
 even with my husband by my side. I want some of my 
 own kindred. Just to think, since Aunt Jean's death, 
 there is not a drop of my blood in the veins of any 
 human being on this side of the Atlantic. I am sorry I 
 said that, on my own account. It is a strange, sad view 
 of the case, which never struck me so forcibly as at this 
 moment, and such floods of loneliness rush upon me 
 that they threaten to overwhelm me. In the midst of 
 husband, children, and friends, I am utterly alone ; and 
 though I would not exchange my lot with any human 
 being in the world, I am as happy as I can be, and have 
 so much to be thankful for, yet there is a void, an 
 aching want ; it is as if the hands of my heart were 
 stretching across the barriers of time and space, and I 
 cry out for some link to my childhood, some one to whom 
 I could say, 'Do you remember?' 
 
 " My husband, in his tender kindness and watchfulness, 
 sees all this, and feels for me. He unites with me in 
 
 4* ( 41 )
 
 42 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 earnest entreaty, that you will come to see me. If you 
 only would ; and, oh! if I could hope that father would 
 come too, that I should ever see him again ! It was a 
 cruel necessity which banished me from my home, though 
 I would not have it different. And you will smile when 
 I tell you that the reason I have for being willing to look 
 upon my sufferings as a blessing in disguise is, that if I 
 had remained at ' Glen Burnie' I should never have 
 seen Mr. Holcombe. Don't be alarmed, I am not going to 
 be sentimental. 
 
 "I know you want to know how I am situated, etc. 
 Well, my home is beautiful, but not at all like ' Glen 
 Burnie.' My early associations are of lovely valleys, 
 murmuring streams, and plays under sheltering hills. 
 But now I have gone up into the clouds. I seem to over- 
 look everything. The place is perfectly beautiful. Mr. 
 Holcombe's first wife must have been a person of a great 
 deal of taste, as the grounds are laid off beautifully. 
 Mr. Holcombe himself takes the greatest pride in it. I 
 tell him that I believe the strongest feeling of his nature 
 is for this home. But he says no, wife and children 
 come first, then Rose Hill. Have you ever tried to 
 imagine, Robert, your little Jean acting mamma to four 
 children? I cannot tell you how well I do it, but I wish 
 you would come and give me the testimony of an eye- 
 witness. Strange to say, they have their places in my 
 heart already. 
 
 " Margaret, the eldest, is fifteen. I do not know her so 
 well as the others, she is more shy with me, does not 
 reconcile herself to my being here so readily. I suppose 
 because she is older and has a more vivid recollection of 
 her own mother. She is not pretty, and yet there is a 
 strange interest about her. Her face is full of intellect, 
 hidden feeling, and undeveloped sentiment. She gives vent
 
 LETTER FROM JEAN TO HER BROTHER. 43 
 
 to it now with all the exaggeration of her years ; but as 
 time rolls on and separates in her mind the true from the 
 false, the real from the seeming, when she is able to 
 define clearly to herself what her real sentiments and 
 feelings are, she will develop into no ordinary woman. 
 This I learn from her face, for I have had very little inter- 
 course with her, and have not yet been able to break the 
 barrier of ice which surrounds her whenever I approach, 
 or attempt to approach, the citadel of her heart. 
 
 "Mary, the second, is a bright, beautiful little sprite, 
 an Adrienne de Cardoville in appearance, an untamed, 
 but not untamable, gazelle-like child, full of warm feelings 
 and fine impulses, and very much devoted to ' mamma.' 
 
 " John, my only' son, is decidedly a diamond in the 
 rough. You would call him a cub. I say he is like most 
 boys of ten I have seen, who think more of animal grati- 
 fication than anything else, and the road to whose heart 
 lies straight through their stomachs ; he has good material 
 to work upon, and plenty of will and energy, a perfect 
 boy in taste and feeling, even to the feeling of superiority 
 to our sex. 
 
 "But Lilias, the little flower hanging on a broken 
 stalk, has taken the tenderest hold on my heart. She 
 will never walk, Robert, owing to an injury to her spine, 
 caused by a fall. She is often a great sufferer, though 
 they tell me for months she seems well ; languor, how- 
 ever, she suffers from always, and she is utterly depend- 
 ent upon the tenderness of those around her ; a cross 
 word spoken even to another makes her so tremulous 
 that she has to be soothed into quietness again. The 
 night I got here I bad her in my arms, and she whispered, 
 ' Will you undress me, and rock me, as my own mamma 
 used to do ?' No one heard her, and I established myself 
 as head nurse at once ; and truly it has been a labor of
 
 44 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 love. I unswathe the poor feeble little frame every night, 
 and with the pale little cheek close against my heart, I 
 sing to her lullabies our mother used to sing to us. And 
 in that hour she always seems to come back and sit with 
 me there; it is almost my sweetest hour during the day. 
 Of course, all remonstrate against my taking this duty 
 upon myself, but I would not resign it to any one in the 
 world. 
 
 " The most important person in the family, not excepting 
 Mr. Holcombe, I think, is the old Mammy. I believe her 
 name is Judy, though she is never called anything but 
 ' Mammy.' 
 
 " Imagine a very ugly old woman yes, she is certainly, 
 though I should not like to say so to' Mr. Holcombe, and 
 I really believe the children think she is beautiful with 
 the blackest face you ever saw, surmounted by a turban 
 of bright-colored cotton. A dress of striped linse\'- 
 woolsey, with a check apron, and a white cotton handker- 
 chief pinned across her breast. Mr. H. says she has 
 nursed the past two generations, and played with our 
 grandmothers ; and certainly Ihey do reward her for it. 
 She only does what she pleases, which is to rub the silver 
 and darn the stockings, and occasionally to do up a piece 
 of lace or muslin. But if there is a spell of sickness in 
 the family, she is never known to sleep. Of course, he 
 says, she must, but it is sitting by the bedside of the 
 patient. No office is beyond her there. She takes the 
 whole duties upon herself. When Mr. Holcombe's 
 mother died, one of her last requests was that, when 
 Mammy's time came, she should have a neat coffin, and 
 a hearse, and be carried to the grave by the children she 
 has been so faithful to. He says she was delighted, as 
 there is nothing they think so much of as a 'pretty 
 burying.' Their habits in this respect, by-the-by, are
 
 LETTER FROM JEAN TO HER BROTHER. 45 
 
 very funny. My maid, on Sunday last, asked permission 
 to go to the funeral of her father, \vho had been dead 
 sixteen years ! They seem to keep these little last offices 
 until there is a danger of their forgetting their friends, 
 and then call them back to memory by having the 
 funeral. Is it not strange? But what strikes me is the 
 numbers there are about the house. Think of having six 
 women for a family of eight or nine people, and that is 
 besides the washerwoman and trie cook ! I have my 
 maid, who is to do nothing but my pleasure. Lilias has 
 her nurse, who is always at hand, either sitting by her 
 with her work or pushing her chair. Margaret and Mary 
 have their maid ; and then there is another who cleans 
 the house generally ; and a little girl to run on errands ; 
 and, besides, there is a man in the dining-room, with a 
 boy to help him. 
 
 "Will I ever get used to these black people? They 
 are a continual source of wonder to me. The grown ones 
 are bad enough, but the children are worse. They look 
 like monkeys. They have all the characteristics of the 
 negro race unmodified. I wonder if it is mentioned as a 
 fact in their natural history that their features do not 
 grow after six years of age ; for it seems to me the lips, 
 noses, and eyes of the children of that age have attained 
 their full size, and gradually afterward the body grows up 
 to them. It seems so dreadful for them to be slaves, 
 worth so much money apiece, as if money could buy a 
 human soul. But, after all, the fault does not lie with 
 this generation, but with those who put them here. We 
 have just to accept and submit to the fearful responsibility 
 imposed upon us by our forefathers ; there seems no other 
 way out of the difficulty. To free them now, of course, 
 would be impossible : such a number of ignorant, help- 
 less wretches, thrown upon our country in a condition of
 
 46 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 freedom, would be a curse to both races. It seems to me 
 that, from the present state of things, the master is a, 
 greater sufferer than the servant, here, in Virginia, at 
 any rate. Now, Mr. Holcombe has over fifty men, 
 women, and children. The men do the hardest work in 
 the fields ; the women the lighter services, and the cook- 
 ing, washing, and sewing for the 'hands;' while the 
 children, until they are about twelve years old, are useless 
 and expensive appendages, having to be supported with- 
 out bringing any profit into the concern. I have been 
 surprised to see how comfortably they are provided 
 for. Their cabins, though rough, are perfectly weather- 
 tight and comfortable : the fireplaces almost the width 
 of the end of the houses, and the wide chimneys admit- 
 ting floods of light all around. It is a scene for a painter 
 to go into one of these places, and see the multitudes 
 of children seated inside of the fireplaces upon benches 
 put along the sides, and there the little woolly-heads nod 
 and bob until it is a wonder they are not burned up. But 
 oh, Robert, the wood ! You see them bringing entire 
 uncut logs for these fireplaces ; and a good fire consists 
 of a moderate sized wood-pile. 
 
 " I had an amusing incident last Sunday. I asked Mr. 
 Holcombe if no one ever read to them. He said his 
 mother used to, and his wife also, when she was well 
 enough ; and I think he was very much pleased when I 
 said I would follow in their footsteps. So, accompanied by 
 Johnny and Mary, I sallied forth to the negro quarters, 
 where my services were to be held, notice having been 
 issued to that effect and the dining-bell rung to assemble 
 the congregation. I was to officiate in Uncle Armstead's 
 cabin, being one of the largest, and he, being a sort of 
 preacher, was to assist at the services. 
 
 "I am sure no stage -panic was ever more fright-
 
 LETTER FROM JEAN TO HER BROTHER. 47 
 
 ful than mine when I went into the midst of my con- 
 venticle. The room was crowded with men, women, and 
 children, of all ages, sizes, and colors, varying from the 
 light mulatto to the deepest ebony. Then the dressing! 
 One young girl, as black as the ace of spades, was dressed 
 in muslin as white as the snow on the ground, with low 
 neck and short sleeves. Each one seemed to have hon- 
 ored the occasion with all the finery in her possession. 
 As I went to my seat, which was fixed for me at one 
 end of the room, I could hear from all sides, ' God bless 
 her I' ' Our pretty young mistis,' ' Don't she look sweet?' 
 etc. etc. At first I thought I should have to play coward 
 and run away ; but at last I found courage to proceed, 
 and asked Uncle Armstead if they would sing. Oh, Ro- 
 bert, if you could have heard that singing ! It frightened 
 me so in its first burst that I thought I would never rally. 
 Uncle Armstead would first repeat, in a rapid sing-song 
 tone, 'When I can read my titel cZare,' and, running from 
 the last word directly back to the first, he would lead the 
 whole choir in singing it, and then, with great rapidity, 
 take up the second line, 
 
 'To manshuns in the skies.' 
 
 It was all indescribable, to see them rock themselves 
 backward and forward, roll up their eyes until you could 
 see nothing but the whites, and in tones in which the 
 nasal decidedly predominated, follow their leader. There 
 were two figures among the women who particularly 
 attracted my attention : one, a tall, raw-boned speci- 
 men of the race, whose voice was like the sound of a 
 Scotch bagpipe, or the buzzing of twenty hives of bees ; 
 it certainly had the merit of volume and eccentricity. I 
 never heard its like before, and do not care if I never do 
 again. She was dressed in all the colors of the rainbow, 
 but red predominated, prevailing in the head-handkerchief
 
 48 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 and shawl, on which she seemed to pride herself particu- 
 larly. She had, too, a voluminous white pocket-hand- 
 kerchief, the possession of which article of dress accounted 
 probably for her being easily moved to tears during the 
 reading and prayer which followed, in which the hand- 
 kerchief was called in requisition very frequently. This 
 person I learned, in answer to a whispered inquiry of 
 Mary, was Aunt Milly, and the other was Aunt Elsie. 
 She must have seen her threescore years and ten, as it 
 is impossible to conceive an older face than she wore ; 
 the skin had shriveled away from the negro features, 
 leaving them hideously prominent, and she gave a dread- 
 ful accompaniment of groans to the entire services. What 
 annoyed me with both of these demonstrative hearers 
 was that they made the air wail with their dismal sounds 
 at the most touchingly-comforting passages. They seemed 
 in such distress that I purposely chose this style ; but 
 they refused to be comforted, and wept and groaned until 
 I did not know what to do. 
 
 "At last my duties were over, and I asked Uncle Arm- 
 stead to close with a prayer. Oh, Robert, the singing 
 was wonderful, but nothing to that prayer ! His voice 
 must have reached half a mile ; he had collected trite and 
 familiar passages, not only from the Psalms, but from 
 church prayers, and some, I cannot tell where he got 
 them. These he strung together, with very little con- 
 nection and not much meaning. He prayed for all the 
 white people, his master, and then came my turn. ' God 
 in mercy bress our dear young mistis, who is a ministering 
 to us this day, that she may see herself as she is a stand- 
 ing on the prickly precipices of hell.' 
 
 "I must have smiled if I had not been on my knees ; but 
 it was a proper lesson in humility for me. Here I thought 
 that I was going to be looked upon in the light of a saint,
 
 LETTER FROM JEAN TO HER BROTHER. 49 
 
 and in what a position did I find myself! I confess I was 
 mortified. You ought to have heard Mr. Holcombe laugh 
 when I told him. I thought he would never stop. 
 'Why,' he said, 'Jean, old Armstead thought he was 
 paying you the greatest compliment. The expression had 
 struck him as an eloquent touch from some admired 
 prayer, and he laid it at your feet. He never thought of 
 its full meaning.' And then he began to laugh again until 
 I too joined him with hearty good will. So ended my first 
 services in public. I certainly shall never forget the ex- 
 perience ; but it has done me good. It may be that God 
 is as truly present to those poor creatures, with all their 
 ignorance and simplicity, as in the marble temple where 
 Dives and the Pharisee go to pray ; and when we get 
 to heaven some of us may find Uncle Armstead, and 
 Aunt Milly, and Elsie, with a place nearer to God's 
 throne than ourselves, and we may feel honored to have 
 a seat even a little below them ; certainly, though, one has 
 a missionary field in such a place as this. May it not be 
 that this was the end which God intended in placing the 
 cursed descendants of Ham in this situation, that they too 
 might receive the good news of salvation in this their land 
 of bondage ? 
 
 "Mr. Holcombe says he has studied colonization with a 
 view to his own negroes, and if he could have seen any 
 way of bettering their condition he would have sent them 
 to Liberia long ago, as he should consider himself much 
 better off without them ; but all inquiries tended to con- 
 firm the fact that nine-tenths of those thus colonized have 
 gone back to barbarism. So he cares for them to the best 
 of his ability until the Almighty sees fit to lift the burden 
 from his shoulders. He has never bought or sold one, 
 and, like Abraham in the Scriptures, has had all he has 
 born on his own land. 
 
 5
 
 50 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 " Well, dear Robert, I have written you a long letter, 
 and have not told you half I had to say. My life is so 
 full now that I have no lack of material with which to fill 
 my letters. We are to have a family gathering here, next 
 week, for the purpose of introducing me to my new friends 
 and relations. I desire it and dread it, I don't know 
 which most ; but if they are only like my husband I know 
 I will love them. 
 
 " I only wish you were here. I am afraid I shall feel 
 more alone than ever. 
 
 " Give more love to my dear father than the space I leave 
 would hold, and remember me kindly to his wife. I can 
 feel for her now more than of old, because ' a fellow-feel- 
 ing makes us wondrous kind ;' but I hope I will never 
 be the means of exiling one of my husband's children from 
 his roof. 
 
 " Believe me, dear, darling brother, your devoted sister, 
 
 "JEAN HOLCOMBE."
 
 CHAPTER ~I-I. 
 
 A FAMILY GATHERING. 
 
 IT is a beautiful custom which sets apart one day in the 
 year on which the whole world may rejoice in the advent 
 of the Saviour of mankind ; a day redeemed from the 
 cold and gloom of the winter season, like the hope which 
 his coming sheds upon, what would without it be, the 
 midnight darkness of our lives. 
 
 And God himself seems to set his sanction upon it by 
 implanting in each heart an added feeling of gladness. 
 Dark indeed must be the home which does not brighten 
 at the approach of Christmas, and empty indeed must be 
 the purse which cannot gild the day with a token of re- 
 membrance. / 
 
 These festival days in a family circle keep the torch of 
 brotherly love burning brightly, they link us to our 
 childhood ; and it is a touchingly tender sight to see the 
 remaining members of a family circle of the passing 
 generation men and women meeting together to spend 
 another Christmas under the old homestead, throwing 
 aside the cares and toils of working every-day life, and 
 living over again the days gone by, with smiles which 
 would be merry but for the gleam of sadness in them, 
 the tribute which memory pays to the full and filling 
 heads of grain which have gone down beneath the reapers' 
 scythes. 
 
 Such a family gathering we will witness in a Virginia 
 
 (51)
 
 52 THE HOL COMBES. 
 
 home, in the midst of the hoary heads of the old Blue 
 Ridge Mountains. 
 
 Like the woman in the Bible who lost her piece of sil- 
 ver, when it was found " called her friends and neighbors 
 together to rejoice that she had found the piece which 
 was lost," so Mr. Holcombe, thanking God for the new 
 blessing which had come to his heart and home, called 
 his friends together to be glad with him ; and the little 
 wife and mother, so happy in her new relations, feeling 
 that upon her rested the happiness of so many, grew 
 lighter under the pleasant burden, and tasked herself to 
 remember what could add to the pleasure of each one. 
 Morning, noon, and night, the busy brain and hands 
 were at work devising and executing. With Mrs. Bas- 
 cornbe's help, the larder groaned under the abundant 
 preparations. t Mrs. Leslie, Mrs. Randolph, and old 
 cookery-books of renown were the ruling literature of the 
 day. Jean saw herself developing into a distinguished 
 Virginia housewife. Her ambition in this department was 
 wonderful. The most impossible dishes were attempted 
 with brilliant success. The parlor and chamber were 
 deserted during the day for the storeroom and kitchen, 
 and if Mr. Holcombe wanted to see his wife he had to 
 look for her there, and find her a devotee to cooking, 
 false to him, and utterly enamored of her new successes. 
 
 " Jean, come up-stairs and talk to me, it is so tire- 
 some in you to spend your whole time down in this hole." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Holcombe, just taste this jelly 1 Is it not 
 perfectly delicious ? And see the icing on this cake. 
 Mammy did it, ain't she a treasure ? and Mrs. Bas- 
 eombe is making the most delicious " 
 
 " I don't care what Mrs. Bascombe and Mammy do ; 
 but you are to come up-stairs with me. I might just as 
 well have married a cook at once. Dolly is much better
 
 A FAMILY GATHERING. 53 
 
 at it than you will ever be, and I would rather she would 
 cook my dinners." 
 
 " You cross old thing ! Never mind, you can't do 
 without me, anyhow," was the happy, exulting answer, 
 as she was borne off bodily up-stairs, to the great glee 
 of servants and children. 
 
 These were merry times for all, but particularly for 
 the little ones, who, contrasting the season with those 
 which had preceded it, when they, a little motherless 
 brood, clustered around the empty hearth, with no one to 
 lead them in their mirth, were now wild with delight at 
 the preparations made for their happiness. There were 
 sly glimpses into the closet up in " mamma's" room, and 
 the wonderful visions of beauty caught through the half- 
 open door furnished conjecture enough for happiness, 
 which came in floods to all but one brooding heart, nurs- 
 ing in silence a morbid sickness of the soul, jealously 
 putting away happiness with one hand whilst she 
 grasped at her shadowy sorrow with the other, consti- 
 tuting in her home the " skeleton in the closet," the " fly 
 in the apothecary's ointment ;" in the midst of their 
 pleasures, causing an uncomfortable feeling in the hearts 
 of each, a vague longing to do something to banish the 
 cloud. 
 
 Many times would Mr. Holcombe have spoken plainly 
 to her of her wantonness in thus trifling with her life ; 
 but the timid, gentle little Jean held him back, because 
 she feared being the cause of disagreement between father 
 and daughter, and would not have herself rudely thrust 
 into the heart of her husband's child. She trusted that 
 as " the continual dropping of water weareth away the 
 hard stone," so her constant acts of kindness and forbear- 
 ance would at last have the desired effect; and, with her 
 cheerfulness of temper, she saw herself, in the future, 
 
 5*
 
 54 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 rewarded for her endurance of this hard trial, by seeing 
 this child, in whom, in spite of herself, she felt so deep 
 an interest, taking her place too in the domestic circle, 
 and, by her graces aad accomplishments, filling up the 
 vacuum her present mood created. 
 
 This was well meant, but mistaken kindness. It is 
 never best to heal over a wound on the top, while below, 
 the festering cancer spreads and deepens for lack of an 
 outlet. A few words of kind and gentle firmness, a 
 probing it to the bottom, might have healed what at first 
 was so slight a hurt ; but each day increased it, and 
 built up the barrier between herself and her family 
 higher, and the unhappiness, which at first was more 
 the wayward jealousy of a child, the sentimental nursing 
 of an idea, common at her age, now began to have sub- 
 stance ; for, by her own act, she had cut herself off from 
 the members of her household, and had no place in her 
 father's home. But even she, though in a much less 
 degree, felt pleasant anticipations at the approach of 
 Christmas, because she, too, would welcome with pleas- 
 ure the arrival of her uncles, aunts, and young cousins ; 
 it promised some variety in the enforced monotony of her 
 life. 
 
 Accordingly, on the day before Christmas, after the 
 carriages and wagons and everything had been started to 
 the depot for the travelers, she crept down into the par- 
 lor with a brighter look upon her face than she had worn 
 for a long time ; and Mr. Holcombc, heralding it as a good 
 sign, greeted her with his old tone of hearty affection. 
 Her face brightened anew under the familiar tones, and 
 with some of her old impulse she returned his caresses, 
 and, for a time, was almost like herself, and looked around 
 with surprise and pleasure at the adornments of the room, 
 the festoons of evergreen interspersed with the red ber-
 
 A FAMILY GATHERING. 55 
 
 ries of the holly, and the bouquets of scarlet sage and 
 bright chrysanthemum. A great deal of taste had been 
 displayed in the entire arrangement of the two parlors ; 
 and as Mary and John eagerly recounted how busy they 
 had been, helping mamma, and how Uncle Bob had taken 
 the wagon out to the woods and brought back such beau- 
 tiful evergreens, a pang of regret that she had missed it 
 all made her wince, and brought back the moody cloud to 
 her face, which was quickly dispersed, however, as the 
 sound of carriage-wheels broke upon their ears, and the 
 whole party adjourned hastily to the piazza to welcome 
 the travelers.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 JEAN'S DIARY A CHRISTMAS MORNING. 
 
 December 26//i. This has certainly been the very hap- 
 piest and merriest season of my life. I wish I could be 
 inspired for the nonce that I might transcribe my account 
 of it in such graphic terms that it might always be re- 
 called to my mind with the vividness of the present im- 
 pression. 
 
 These people are so different from any I have ever 
 been accustomed to. I thought Mr. Ilolcombe possessed 
 his heartiness of manner as a peculiarity, a special gift, 
 but I find I was mistaken; it seems to be a family trait. 
 Now" imagine my astonishment when my husband said 
 " Here is my wife, George,"; and I had just prepared my 
 sweetest smile, and made up my mind to surrender at 
 discretion if he insisted upon meeting me with a brotherly 
 salute, to find myself fairly taken into his arms, and 
 embraced with the same enthusiasm as if he recognized 
 in me a sister to the manner born from whom he had been 
 separated for many years ; and he had scarcely released 
 me with burning cheeks, before I was handed over to a 
 dear little lady, my sister Annie, Mrs. Mason, who 
 welcomed me with "Well, my dear, now it is my time ; 
 we won't allow George the monopoly." And then came 
 Mrs. Randolph (Mary), quite young looking, with the 
 remains of considerable beauty. And her husband, a 
 handsome man, but decidedly more formal than the rest 
 (56)
 
 JEAN'S DIARYA CHRISTMAS MORNING. 5f 
 
 of the family ; then came claimant after claimant for 
 " Aunt Jean ! Aunt Jean !" until the poor little woman felt 
 perfectly bewildered and soon saw nothing but a crowd 
 of figures all bleared together. From this I was rescued 
 by a soft hand which I afterwards found to belong to 
 C\'nthia Marshall, my, sister Annie's youngest daughter, 
 who is married to a young lawyer of Richmond, and is the 
 triumphant possessor of the only baby in the party; be- 
 sides, there is Mary Mason, a fine, bright-looking woman, 
 about my own age I should judge; Ellen Randolph, about 
 the age of Margaret, and two sons of Mr. George Hoi- 
 combe. What a party to be introduced to all at once I 
 But, thanks to their kindness, in half an hour I knew 
 them all, and loved them, too. My two sisters attracted 
 me particularly ; they seemed to see at a glance the 
 embarrassment of my position, and kind, motherly sister 
 Annie was by my side, with my hand -in hers, talking 
 about " the boys," meaning, as I soon found, her brothers, 
 as if they had been children. She is much the eldest 
 of the family, and more like a mother than a sister to 
 the others ; then sister Mary, with her pretty young 
 face, looking more like the sister thun the mother of her 
 pretty young daughter. 
 
 Brother George is younger than my husband, and 
 somewhat like him, but not so good looking in my opin- 
 ion ; they all think him a great genius. He is the lite- 
 rary man of the family, and writes beautifully ! I confess 
 to being a little afraid of him, both because I know he 
 will think me so very stupid, and because he looks to me 
 as if he was going to tease me all the time, as he does 
 the others ; but I suppose he feels sorry for me, and 
 spares me. I told Mr. Holcombe, privately, that I was 
 very glad he was not a genius ; at which he seemed, or 
 rather pretended, to be vastly offended, and protested that
 
 58 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 he had laid claims successfully to the character all his 
 life, and now saw himself suddenly stripped of his hard- 
 won honors by his own wife ; and think of his telling on 
 me at the table, and demanding the sympathy of his 
 family ! It was too bad. I almost felt like crying. 
 
 Cynthia Marshall is a bright, happy little thing. She 
 is so distressed that her husband could not come, proud 
 young matron that she is, she thinks everything incom- 
 plete without him. 
 
 " Have you learned to manage Uncle Ned yet, Aunt 
 Jean?" she said, as we sat together after tea. I dis- 
 claimed any such intention. 
 
 " Pshaw !" said she, laughing, " I don't believe that ; 
 every woman tries it, and most of them succeed. Men 
 are so easily fooled : a little extra petting, and the day is 
 carried. Now my husband is so sweet-tempered I have 
 a very small field for the exercise of my prowess. He 
 has but one weakness in the world, and that is lard." 
 
 There was a general laugh, and cries for an explana- 
 tion ; so Cynthia took the floor. 
 
 " Everybody that has kept house at all knows how 
 quickly lard goes it just seems to melt; particularly in 
 winter, when so much is used in cooking. Well, I don't 
 know what Charles thinks I do with it; but he certainly 
 crumples up his forehead and looks very black when I 
 tell him ' the lard is out ;' and I am so much afraid of 
 the consequences that now I watch the firkin with the 
 greatest anxiety, and scrape the sides very diligently, 
 before I admit to myself that it is out. And then comes 
 the breaking it to Charles, I assure you, mamma, it takes 
 me a whole day to prepare for it. I dress my room up 
 in the most attractive manner, put a white counterpane 
 on the bed and my ruffled pillow-cases, have the bright- 
 est sort of fire kindled on the hearth, flare open all the
 
 JUAN'S DIARY A CHRISTMAS MORNING. 59 
 
 window-shutters, because, like all men, he delights in a 
 glare of light ; then I have the most tempting dinner pre- 
 pared, with his favorite dessert (he is a perfect baby 
 about sweet things), I get out the best china and silver, 
 and my company table-cloth and napkins ; when all is 
 exactly right, I dress myself in my most becoming dress, 
 with blue ribbons generally, because blue is his color ; 
 and, after surveying myself in the glass, with the same 
 pride and confidence with which a general would view a 
 well-disciplined army, I find myself prepared for action. 
 As soon as I hear his step in the street, I rush to meet 
 him with my brightest smile of welcome, don't let him 
 wait one moment for his dinner, listen in the most inter- 
 ested manner to his dull details of business, what the 
 judge said, what this witness said, and that witness 
 said, all ending in how he ought to have gained his case 
 and how he did not ; but I comfort him until the crumples 
 are all smoothed out of his forehead, and then wile him 
 up-stairs, get his slippers for him, make him lie down 
 while I comb his head; and after I have wound him up 
 to the seventh heaven of delight, I whisper in his ear, 
 'Oh, honey, the lard is out!' He sees through all 
 my manoeuvres then, but he has not the heart to scold, 
 so he laughs his merriest laugh, and says, 'By George, 
 Cynthia, it does go quickly !' But he is getting so 
 smart now I will have to fall on some other plan ; 
 for whenever he comes home and finds me a little fixed 
 up, he throws up his hands, and says, ' You need not tell 
 me, my dear I know the lard is out !' But baby is wait- 
 ing to be put to bed ; -so, Aunt Jean, I leave you to digest 
 my matrimonial experiences for your own benefit." And 
 off she ran, leaving a great laugh behind her at her story. 
 Her mother says she is as happy as she can be, though 
 Charles is by no means rich, and Cynthia has to exercise
 
 60 THE HOL COMBES. 
 
 very close economy in her domestic arrangements; but it 
 does not seem to trouble her at all. She takes life very 
 easily, and thinks herself the most fortunate woman in 
 the world. 
 
 Christmas morning had scarcely dawned before I was 
 wakened by the shouts of the children in the hall, as 
 they went from door to door, calling " Christmas-gift," 
 and compelling Somuus to vacate his throne long before 
 his abdication was legally due. In an instant I was on 
 my feet, dressing myself, eager to be ready for their first 
 summons to me ; this I did in spite of Mr. Holcombe's 
 remonstrances, who grumbled, sleepily, that I was no- 
 thing more than a child myself; and indeed I can't think 
 I was, either. I am sure no one of the children felt a 
 keener relish than I did for the fun. It seemed such a 
 change in my lonely, cheerless life. I felt as if I had 
 just begun to live in earnest; and I am going to take 
 every enjoyment which God sends me with as much youth 
 and zest as I can. Indeed, it has been resolved in a 
 family conclave, the night before, that we should all put 
 off our years like old garments for the holiday, and 
 resume our childhood. Brother George said he intended 
 to ignore all of his } r ears but twelve, and chose the 
 longest and biggest stocking to hang up for himself, 
 insisting upon our following his example, until the table 
 was piled with the well-filled garments. I heard bis 
 voice, with the others, approaching my door, and hurried 
 my preparations for their reception. Little Lilias was 
 by this time awake, and as much excited as I was, and 
 whilst I was dressing had been giving me an animated 
 description of a visit St. Nicholas had paid her during 
 the night; and as a proof of the reality of the apparition 
 she drew out her well-filled stocking from under her 
 pillow.
 
 JEAN'S DIARY A CHRISTMAS MORNING. 61 
 
 Just then I opened my door to join the rioters, and 
 found a crowd of revelers collected outside, foremost 
 among which was a burly figure dressed to represent 
 St. Nicholas, with his long white hair and beard, fur 
 cap and coat, and long snow-boots, with a pack slung 
 over his shoulder, from which protruded the legs and 
 feet of numberless stockings (it had been decided that 
 the gifts should be reserved for the Christmas-tree at 
 night). My appearance was greeted with a huzza. And 
 St. Nicholas, handing over to me a long-legged stocking, 
 chanted, in brother George's voice, 
 
 "Here's a Christinas greeting for Madam Jean, 
 The presiding fairy of the scene." 
 
 A renewed shout applauded the impromptu couplet, 
 and St. Nicholas in stentorian tones demanded, "Ned 
 and Lilias Holcombe at my hands." An eager response 
 from Lilias was the answer. And through the half-open 
 door the little flaxen head was seen pushed forward as 
 far as her helplessness would allow. 
 
 "Ah ! ha ! here she is ! 1 knew she would be ready. 
 St. Nicholas left her stocking under her head last night. 
 But who is that lazy hulk who dares to try even to sleep 
 on such a morning as this, when Christmas comes but 
 once a year ?" And at once be pounced upon my luckless 
 husband, who, still intent upon his morning nap, had 
 covered up head and ears in a vain attempt to shut out 
 the merry sounds. 
 
 "And here's my greeting for lazy Ned, 
 Who spends Christmas morning lying in bed," 
 
 said the incorrigible St. Nicholas, shaking the recumbent 
 figure with a hearty good will. 
 
 " Oh, George, will you have done ? Will nothing ever 
 make a man of you ?" was the unappreciative response, as 
 
 G
 
 62 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 a tousled head appeared from beneath the bedclothes 
 and looked around at the crowd in sleepy surprise. 
 
 " Will anything ever make a boy of you ?" retorted 
 George. " Who wants to be a man when he can be a boy, 
 I wonder ? I dare anybody to call me such names on 
 Christmas-day! I am just twelve years old, and very 
 young of my age. Pelt him, boys ! He is fair game." 
 
 Instantly the whole tribe was on him, until he cried for 
 mercy. Sisters Annie and Mary had joined the group 
 by this time, and Cynthia, with baby in her arms, crow- 
 ing and laughing in as full enjoyment of the scene as her 
 elders, even she had her little red sock in her hands, 
 which she was sucking with great enjoyment. 
 
 At last, in self-defense, Mr. Holcombe had to promise 
 to get up, if his room was vacated, as he declared this 
 French style of receiving visitors in his bedroom, though 
 it might suit the ladies, was not to his taste. 
 
 St. Nicholas then led off his party to the negro quarters, 
 and, after calling nurse to take Lilias into the next room 
 and dress her, I donned my india-rubber shoes and wraps 
 and followed them. I never shall forget the scene. The 
 ground was covered with snow, which glittered under 
 the beams of the sun, and through the unbroken mass 
 tramped these Christmas revelers, their feet crunching 
 through the icy surface at each step. And heading the 
 party was St. Nicholas, looking more than ever in charac- 
 ter with the scene. Their numbers were swelled as they 
 went along, and cabin after cabin poured out its contri- 
 bution to the procession, and " Christmas-gift, marster !" 
 " Christmas-gift, mistis!" resounded on all sides, mingled 
 with exclamations of amazement and wonder as they 
 caught sight of the long white beard and hair of St. 
 Nicholas, with his pack thrown over his shoulders. 
 
 " Who's dat ole marster dar ? It mus' be Christmas
 
 JEAN'S DIARY A CHRISTMAS MORNING. 63 
 
 eomin', sho nuf. Well ! well ! I do bleve it is Mars' 
 George ! It's jist like him. I knowed him jes as soon as 
 I seed his eye ! Christmas-gift, Mars' George !" And 
 the showers of sugar-plums, which followed the appeal, 
 established the identity of "Mars' George" completely. 
 It was too laughable to see the little woolly-heads bob- 
 bing up and clown on the white snow in search of the 
 missing sugar-plums. At last Mammy's house was 
 reached, and we found the old lady, with her best turban 
 and apron on, ready to welcome us, while through the 
 half-open door we caught the hospitable gleam of a real 
 Christmas fire. Mammy looked more than ever as if she 
 was concentrating the entire dignity of her master's family 
 in her person. Her appearance was picturesque, if not 
 handsome, as she welcomed us with her lowest curtsy, 
 and insisted upon our coming in. 
 
 "Come in, my dear children, to the fire. You will, 
 every one of you, cotch cold, and den you will have to 
 have old Mammy to uus you. But who is dat ? Lord, 
 ef it ain't Mars' George ! Bless your heart, honey, what 
 a figure you dus make of yoursef !" 
 
 No one felt disposed to decline the hospitable invita- 
 tion, as the biting northwest wind made the glow of the 
 tire very tempting. And in another moment we were 
 standing around the bright, blazing hearth. A coffeepot 
 was at our feet, and the steaming contents were soon 
 presented to us, Brother George and myself being 
 honored with cups of fine French china, the remains of 
 an old set, as she informed us, which her old mistress 
 used to have, and which she had given to her. And 
 while we enjoyed the delicious beverage, the old woman 
 went from one to another of the party, feeling our feet, 
 to see if we had suffered from the expedition ; and Brother 
 George spent the time, to their mutual enjoyment, in re-
 
 64 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 calling other scenes of which this Christmas reminded 
 him ; while she stood behiud his chair, laughing at his 
 humorous recollections, and no entreaties could induce 
 her to be seated "while the white people was there." 
 
 " Law, Mammy," said he, " how this reminds me of the 
 times I used to come down here and eat your breakfast 
 for you after I had finished my own at the house ! I 
 always liked yours the best." 
 
 " Yes, honey, so you did ; but there never was a nigger 
 on your father's place that did not have enough and to 
 spare. And I never lost nothin' by it. You was sure to 
 bring me somethin' before the day was out. There never 
 was a stingy one of the name. And your mother, law ! 
 she would have give' the last mouthful she had to keep 
 anybody from bein' hungry." 
 
 " Yes, so she would, Mammy ; but she used to make 
 everybody stand about." 
 
 " Of course ! And so she ought. Darkies must be kep' 
 in their places. There wasn't never no marster no mis- 
 tis any better than mine. But I would jest like to see 
 the nigger that would be darse to give one of them a 
 word of imperence. And all the children was jest like 
 'em. Why, law ! Miss Ann, don't I remember the time 
 that you seed Dolly going out to the wood-pile, when the 
 snow was on the ground, in her bare feet, and you sot 
 down and took off your own shoes and made her put them 
 on. But it wasn't that Dolly didn't have any shoes, but 
 she had left them down at the cabins, 'cause the children 
 never likes to wear they shoes." 
 
 " Well, Mammy," said George, winking at me as an 
 intimation that he was drawing her out, "have you got 
 any free negroes round here now ?" 
 
 "No, thank the Lord, Mars' George; they ain't many 
 of that trash about now ; dey ain't no better den poor
 
 JEAN'S DIARY A CHRISTMAS MORNING. 65 
 
 white folks. I ain't got no use for 'em nohow. Give me 
 a darky what has been brought up by the quality." 
 
 " Why, Mammy, Ned and myself want to give you 
 freedom. Would you not like to be free ?" 
 
 " Free ! What I do with free ? I been b'long to white 
 folks all my life, and I will die b'longst to 'em. Niggers 
 don' kuo' how to take kere v of theyselves nohow." 
 
 " But, Mammy, there is a fine country you can go to 
 across the ocean, which belongs to black people Liberia. 
 I expect they would make you a queen over there." 
 
 " I tell you what, Mars' George, nigger is a very big 
 fool, but not that big, and the niggers in your Library 
 can get somebody else for they queen. I ain't never going 
 where I won't see none but black faces. I ain't overly- 
 fond of niggers nohow." 
 
 "No, indeed, old lady," said George, as we all rose to 
 go ; " and we wouldn't let you go either. The children 
 you have nursed are going to take care of you as long as 
 God lets us; and then we will put a white stone over 
 your grave, with writing on it, to tell how faithful you 
 were to us all. Good-by, Mammy ; make haste and 
 come up to the house ; I want to drink your health to- 
 day." 
 
 And "Good-by, Mammy, good-by, Mammy," was 
 echoed through the crowd, until we lost sight of the old 
 figure standing in the door, looking after us, with her 
 eyes full of tears, while the rest of her face smiled her 
 adieus. 
 
 Breakfast as a breakfast was rather a failure this morn- 
 ing, as the young people had dived into their stockings, 
 and looked upon Dolly's flaky rolls and omelets with an 
 expression of disgust born of satiety ; and even the older 
 people were too full of talk of old times and present plans 
 
 6*
 
 66 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 to take much interest in so prosaic a matter as the morn- 
 ing meal presented. 
 
 The Christmas-tree was to be arranged during the 
 morning, and the two sisters, Mary Mason, Cynthia, and 
 myself formed ourselves into a committee of arrange- 
 ments; Margaret and Ellen were invited to come with 
 us, but the former refused, haughtily, and Ellen, after 
 casting a longing look at our party, followed her. 
 
 The children were made perfectly happy by a whisper 
 from me, that I had had a tree set up in the wash-house for 
 the little negroes, and they were to have the entire re- 
 sponsibility of that, as I had arranged everything for it 
 on a large ironing-table in the room. 
 
 Off they went, Mary, with the key in her hand, heading 
 the party ; and I do not think that even their own tree 
 gave them the pleasure which this did. 
 
 In the mean time we grown children adjourned to the 
 library, which is at one end of the suite of apartments, 
 of which the two parlors form the center, and the large 
 dining-room the other end. Here we found a beautifully- 
 shaped tree fixed in the middle of the room ; its base 
 formed of a large box, which was entirely concealed by 
 moss-covered rocks. Upon a table beside the tree each 
 member of the family had deposited their gifts ; and, as 
 each one was to surprise everybody else, each gift was 
 wrapped in white paper, with the direction upon it; 
 besides these there were various ornaments for the tree, 
 cut out of gilt paper, and a number of colored wax 
 candles. 
 
 The only children admitted were the baby, who rolled 
 about in good-humored content on a sheepskin spread on 
 the floor, and Lilias, whose chair was placed by the fire, 
 where she could be amused by what was going on. Every 
 one seemed to throw over them a veil of mystery ; and
 
 JEAN'S DIARY A CHRISTMAS MORNING. 61 
 
 Cynthia amused us very much by her droll guesses at 
 the contents of the various packages. 
 
 " Gracious, Aunt Jean ! I am jealous of you. I never 
 saw anything like the packages I have tied up for you. 
 I tell you the Holcombes are trying to make a good im- 
 pression on you. I Only hope they will be able to keep 
 it up. Ah, at last I see something directed to Cynthia 
 Marshall; I was afraid she was forgotten. Let me see; 
 
 it feels like " but she was deprived of any further 
 
 opportunity of finding out by having the package taken 
 possession of by Mary, who tied it far out of her reach 
 at the top of the tree. 
 
 " Cousin Cynthia, is there anything for me ?" said 
 Lilias, from her easy-chair. 
 
 " I should think so, Dame Lilias ; at least a dozen ad- 
 ditions to your family. How many babies have you 
 now?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know ; but there is still room for more. 
 I have not had any new ones for nearly a year, and it is 
 time for me to have r editions, ain't it?" 
 
 " Well, I think once a year ought to satisfy any rea- 
 sonable woman. And here is a long package for Baby 
 Annie. Gracious ! I do believe I am going to be a grand- 
 mother. I hope it is made of digestible materials, for 
 she will swallow it whole before it is a day older, won't 
 you, Baby ?" 
 
 Baby laughed, and showed her two little white pegs 
 by way of an assurance that her appetite was fully 
 whetted. 
 
 " Oh, Jean," said sister Mary, " I wish you could 
 have known my mother. She was the greatest hand at 
 a Christmas frolic. I have known her, after she was an 
 old woman, indeed, up to the time of her death, dress 
 herself up to represent St. Nicholas and astonish the
 
 68 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 children, and she always would have all of her descend- 
 ants under her roof once a year. We all had to come 
 when she told us. I tell you, sister Annie, we will- 
 never have any one to care as much for us again ; there 
 is no love like mother-love after all, and she did more for 
 the enjoyment of the children than anybody else will 
 ever do, unless her mantle falls on Jean, here. I am 
 glad that the Lady of Rose Hill promises to be a Lady 
 Bountiful. This is more like our old family gatherings 
 than any we have had since mother's death." 
 
 And so the morning passed : in a mingling of gay and 
 quiet talk, interspersed with such sketches of the charac- 
 ters of those who were gone as formed pleasant intro- 
 ductions to me. At last our work was done, and we 
 stood off and surveyed it with perfect satisfaction, and I 
 felt as if I could hardly wait until the evening to see its 
 full results.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AN OLD VIRGINIA CHRISTMAS DINNER. 
 
 IT does not seem to be much the fashion in Virginia 
 either to give or accept invitations for dinner on Christ- 
 mas-day ; it is essentially a family festival, with which 
 the stranger does not intermeddle, so that we had no 
 invited guests for the day ; but this fact did not prevent 
 a good deal of anxiety on my part about the success of 
 my dinner, and my other duties and pleasures were inter- 
 spersed with frequent runs down into the pantry and 
 kitchen to see how everything was getting on; each turn, 
 however, convinced me more and more that matters were 
 in the hands of abler administrators than. I could ever be, 
 and I could only look around and admire. There were 
 huge pyramids of cake, looking like mountains of snow; 
 and the sparkling jelly, shaking its amber sides in the 
 white foam of cream ; Charlotte-russe ; blanc-mange ; 
 mince-pies, etc. I was just flattering myself that I was 
 quite successfully hiding my ignorance with regard to the 
 modus operandi of these things, when I espied a queer- 
 looking dish, made up of about a dozen hen's-eggs in the 
 midst of preserved lemon-peel, cut to imitate straw. 
 
 " Yery pretty," thought I ; " but, goodness, who wants 
 to eat boiled eggs at dessert ?" So I very humbly ven- 
 tured to say, " Mammy, are the eggs boiled hard or soft ?" 
 She looked at me for a minute, and then burst into a 
 hearty laugh, and said, 
 
 (69)
 
 70 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 " Why, law, missus, where is you been livin' that you 
 don't know about hen's-nests? Why, them ain't real 
 eggs, them's ' blank niong' hardened in egg-shells." 
 
 I felt very much like the king of England who puzzled 
 his stupid brain to find how the apple got into the dump- 
 ling ; but I was too much crestfallen to ask any more 
 questions, and retired up-stairs, feeling that I had lost 
 caste with the directors of the lower regions, at any 
 rate. 
 
 At last dinner was announced by Robin, and I thought 
 I had never seen anything so beautiful as the table 
 stretched from one end to the other of the long room, 
 with its rich array of silver and china, set out so taste- 
 fully on the cloth of the finest damask, which fairly glis- 
 tened in its snowy whiteness, whilst the sun, peeping 
 through the half-closed shutters, threw a thousand rays 
 of refracted light through the cut-glass decanters and 
 tumblers. 
 
 I suppose I shall see many such dinners if I live in 
 Virginia much longer, but certainly this was the very 
 best I had ever seen up to that time. It was none of 
 your French affairs where the food is brought in by piece- 
 meal, and you are forced, for politeness' sake, to make a 
 gourmand of yourself by eating long after your appetite 
 is satisfied ; here everything was set on the table at once, 
 and surely it was enough for a regiment, the immense 
 saddles of venison and mutton, the huge turkeys, ducks, 
 etc., for it would take a week to describe it all. I 
 would have been appalled at the waste if Mr. Holcombe 
 had not told me that on Christmas-day every servant on 
 the place had a piece of the Christmas dinner, so it must 
 needs be a bountiful one. The sweetest incident of the 
 day, in my opinion, occurred just after the first course 
 had been removed. I was beginning to wonder what
 
 AN OLD VIRGINIA CHRISTMAS DINNER. fl 
 
 was the cause of the little pause in tbe operations, and 
 why George and Harry Holcolmbe and Ellen Randolph 
 had left the table, when the folding-doors opening into 
 the parlor were thrown back, and the three absentees 
 stood in the vacuum, and the sweetest childish voices I 
 ever heard sang the following verses, written, as I after- 
 wards learned, by my brother George : 
 
 WELCOME TO THE BRIDE. 
 
 " Then welcome, thrice welcome we bid thee, sweet lady, 
 To the land of the loved one who sits by thy side, 
 
 To the halls where his gathering clansmen are ready 
 To cheer with their welcome the bonnie young bride. 
 
 "Here are sisters and brothers, and kinsfolk and friends, 
 No tless leal and true-hearted and honest than thine, 
 
 Whose soothing caresses can make you amends 
 For those yet more dear whose loss you repine. 
 
 "Though fair be the fields where in childhood you've played, 
 And though bright be the skies of your dear native land, 
 
 Yet our mountains and valleys are also arrayed 
 In nature's rare beauties with liberal hand. 
 
 " Then welcome, thrice welcome we bid thee, sweet bride, 
 Let affection's kind offering thy spirit beguile; 
 
 Forget for a moment who sits by thy side, 
 
 And your minstrels reward with your beautiful smile." 
 
 How sweet! how kind! to welcome the stranger thus, 
 I was thinking, and then memory traveled back, back 
 through the long years, many a mile away across the 
 ocean, to my old home. But I no longer felt like a 
 stranger in a strange land. These warm-hearted people 
 had taken me to their hearts, and mine responded warmly 
 to the greeting. I was roused by George's voice, saying, 
 laughingly, " Why, Jean, little sister, I did not mean to 
 make you cry." And then I became conscious, for the first 
 time, that my tears were falling rapidly. 
 
 " It is but a shower in the sunshine, which is more of a
 
 72 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 smile than a tear. Brother George," said I, driving away 
 the drops, " this is truly the sweetest surprise I could 
 have had." 
 
 Next followed the Christmas toasts, to which each one 
 of the family was expected to contribute a mite. Mr. 
 Holcombe's was the first, delivered with a great deal of 
 feeling, all, of course, standing around the table " To 
 the memory of our parents. May their descendants emu- 
 late their virtues, so that in their turn their children may 
 ' rise up and call them blessed.' " 
 
 Mr. Randolph. " To Virginia, the mother of states- 
 men. May we, her children, live worthy of her name, 
 that like the mother of the Gracchi, when asked for her 
 jewels, she may be able to point to her sons." 
 
 Robin had been dispatched for Mammy, who now en- 
 tered and stood behind brother George's chair; he gave 
 " Our dear old Mammy, whose fostering care was over 
 us in our infancy and youth, and whose tender faithful- 
 ness has soothed the dying hours of so many of our 
 loved ones. May she long be spared to be a blessing to 
 us all and to teach the present generation that a faithful 
 servant can well be an honored friend." 
 
 Sister Mary. " To the stranger within our gates. 
 May the mantle of her predecessors descend upon her, 
 and like them, may she live in the memory of the children 
 of her generation as the great heart and bountiful hand of 
 their childhood." 
 
 Sister Annie. " Whilst we are enjoying these bless- 
 ings, may we none of us forget whence they all come ; 
 and let us also remember that our great rejoicing on this 
 natal day is over the gift of God to the world in the 
 person of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord." 
 
 Ellen Randolph. " Many happy returns of the season. 
 May each one find us wiser, better, and happier."
 
 AN OLD VIRGINIA CHRISTMAS DINNER. 73 
 
 Cynthia Marshall. " My husband ! whom everybody 
 else forgets. May I never sit down to another Christmas 
 dinner without him." 
 
 Margaret. " My mother's memory. May she ever live 
 in the hearts of her children." 
 
 George Holcombe, Jr. " To Christmas-day. Here- 
 after may we be blessed with two such seasons in the 
 year instead of one." 
 
 Mary Mason. " Rose Hill, the kindly roof which 
 always extends a hospitable welcome to us all. May it 
 ever live in our memories as the scene of our happiest 
 days." 
 
 Harry Holcombe. " To the absent members of our 
 circle: though absent in the body, may they be present in 
 the spirit at this our Christmas gathering." 
 
 Mary Holcombe. " To mamma. ' Her children rise up 
 and call her blessed. Her husband also ; and he praiseth 
 her.' 
 
 Johnny. " To this good dinner. May we never have 
 a worse, and always have the teeth to eat it." 
 
 Jean. " To the Holcombe clan. May their loving 
 kindness to the stranger be returned sevenfold into their 
 own bosoms in time of need." 
 
 Lilias. "To you all, ladies and gentlemen." 
 
 I have not attempted to describe the scene as sentiment 
 after sentiment was given out. Such an April day, made 
 up of clouds and sunshine, I have witnessed. Johnny's 
 essay probably excited as much merriment as any other ; 
 particularly when the explanation was given that he had 
 been a perfect martyr to toothache for some time past, 
 and was even now "holding his jaw." 
 
 But I must not linger too long over this part of my 
 story, for the door is thrown open, and I cannot suppress 
 a scream as Robin makes his appearance in a blaze of 
 
 7
 
 74 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 blue flame. One moment shows me that he is bearing- in 
 liis hands the enormous plum-pudding, and the fire which 
 so alarmed me is only licking up the French brandy 
 with which it had been saturated. 
 
 The dessert was beautiful and beautifully served : and 
 I sat by, receiving the compliments on the success of the 
 dinner, with the preparation of which I had had so little 
 to do. I could not resist whispering to sister Annie the 
 account of my faux pas about the hen's-nest. She laughed 
 very much, and kindly relieved my curiosity about how 
 the blanc-mange got into the shells. 
 
 The eggs are broken very little at one end, and the 
 contents discharged through the hole. The blanc-mange 
 finds its ingress in the same way; and when it is hard- 
 ened, the shells are taken off, and the pretty mould is laid 
 in its nest of candied lemon-peel. 
 
 I wonder if I will ever be a good housekeeper ? I am 
 going to try, because I cannot always expect to have 
 Mammy and Mrs. Bascombe to do everything for me. 
 
 But at last the dinner is over, and we all adjourn to 
 our rooms to rest awhile before the enjoyments of the 
 evening commence. 
 
 "Why, Jean," said Mr. Holcombe, following me into 
 my room, "my little wife has won golden opinions from 
 all sorts of people, and what did you think of it all ? 
 Ain't Christmas a grand time in our Virginian mount- 
 ains?" 
 
 " Yes," said I ; " and if all the people in the world 
 were like you dear Holcombes, I would not cai'e to go to 
 heaven." 
 
 "Well, little woman, you see the sunny side of us now. 
 We are pretty much lite other people, only possibly a 
 little more buoyant and light-hearted ; but we have oui 1 
 troubles too. But ain't George a glorious old fellow ?"
 
 AN OLD VIRGINIA CHRISTMAS DINNER. 75 
 
 "Indeed he is; and that ' Welcome to the Bride' was 
 the sweetest thing I ever heard. How beautifully those 
 children sing!" 
 
 "Yes, they begin almost before they can talk, all ot 
 them. George and his wife both sing: and they hear 
 music from the time they are born. I think that, probably, 
 has a great deal to do with it." 
 
 "What kind of person is his wife?" 
 
 " As different from him as you can well imagine two 
 people to be. She is the most quiet, gentle person you 
 ever saw. Very tall, fair, with a soft voice and perfectly 
 placid countenance. George teases her all the time. And 
 she takes it so calmly that you would think that he 
 could find no enjoyment in it, but he does. She is very 
 proud of him, and, I suppose, devoted to him ; bnt she 
 never shows it to any human being. She has what is 
 always styled 'one of your enviable tempers;' and I sup- 
 pose it is, though I confess to liking a little more mercury. 
 Now, I know a diminutive piece of humanity who hardly 
 needs language, because you have only to look into her 
 face to read all she feels at once. Now, tell me the truth, 
 little woman, did you cry or laugh most to-day ?" 
 
 "Well," she answered, "I could with great propriety 
 ask you the same question ; for I saw your tears more 
 than once, and you are an older soldier than I am." 
 
 " Well, I plead guilty," said Mr. Holcombe ; " the fact 
 is, a smile and a tear lie very near together sometimes. 
 And such seasons always bring back father and mother 
 so vividly, but not painfully. I would not have missed 
 this Christmas here for anything : it has been the very 
 best introduction you could have had to the ' Holcombe 
 clan.' "
 
 76 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 MARY'S DIARY. 
 
 December 21th But I think of all the merry 
 
 times of this Christmas the two Christmas-trees were the 
 best. Mamma said that we children might fix the tree 
 for the people while they fixed the one for the " white 
 folks." So off we ran to the wash-house and found a 
 great big tree in the middle of the floor, and a table by it 
 piled up with all sorts of things. There were all the 
 things Lilias and myself have been working on for the 
 last ten days. The bright-colored tarlatan bags filled 
 with candy, with the names of each one of the people on 
 them. Bachelor pin-cushions, little flannel needle-books, 
 little doll-babies, bags of colored marbles, balls, hand- 
 kerchiefs, cravats, ribbons, etc. Ob, the laugh we had 
 over the collection : and then the fun we had putting them 
 up on the tree ! Harry Holcombe said he knew there 
 was not another tree in the whole world which bore at 
 the same time head-handkerchiefs and bachelor pin- 
 cushions, oranges and apples ; but it certainly did look 
 pretty when it was done, with Uncle Armstead's red 
 comforter on the top branch, and Mammy's new turban 
 just below it, and the doll-babies sticking their heads 
 out between the green twigs in every direction. We 
 wanted to put wax candles on the tree, but mamma said 
 we had better not, because there was so much combusti- 
 bles about it that she was afraid of fire, so we put a row 
 of candles on the mantel-piece behind it. 
 
 And then, when everything was lighted up, and we 
 opened the doors and let all the people in, it was too 
 good. Everybody on the place was there, from old 
 Mammy and Uncle Bob to Chloe's baby ; all dressed in 
 their new winter suits, and looking so nice. They had 
 none of them ever seen a Christmas-tree before ; and I
 
 AN OLD VIRGINIA CHRISTMAS DINNER. 77 
 
 don't know what they could have thought of it, but they 
 certainly were pleased : nobody could think anything else 
 tha looked at them ; their eyes were as big as moons, 
 and their teeth as white as the palings around the 
 garden. 
 
 And when Harry and George and Johnny mounted up 
 and took down the things, and called out their names, they 
 must have heard them laugh in the house, and you heard 
 all over the room, " Thank ye, marster. I knowed you 
 wouldn't forgit me, marster." 
 
 Aunt Annie said we could understand now what the 
 Bible meant by "it is more blessed to give than to re- 
 ceive," because we enjoyed this part more even than our 
 own tree, which was really so much more beautiful. 
 
 After the tree was stripped, I told all the people that 
 papa said Sam and Ned might get their banjo and fiddle, 
 and all of them could have a dance in the wash-house. 
 So off they went, and soon tables, tree, and everything 
 were cleared away, and I ran off to tell mamma, because 
 she was so anxious to see them dance. She looked 
 through the door opening into the kitchen, because she 
 was afraid she would embarrass them if she went in the 
 room. She says it was like a picture. There was Sam 
 with his banjo, and Ned with his violin, playing in front 
 of the fire, while Jim and Bill stood on the hearth by 
 them, clapping to the tune, and Sandy had his bones. 
 Mamma thinks the clapping is very .wonderful, the time 
 is so perfect; and they beat themselves on their breasts, 
 knees, feet, sides, and the back of their hands without 
 getting out once. You could tell the tune without any 
 instrument to help ; and mamma thinks the dancing is so 
 much prettier than white people's dancing, because they 
 arc so free in their movements, so active; and when they 
 dance up to each other, with their arms akimbo, and then 
 
 7*
 
 78 THE HO LOOMS ES. 
 
 cross over and go down in a line, and stop and shuffle, it 
 is certainly pretty. But mamma had to laugh at Rachel : 
 she jumps up and down, and then round in a ring, all 
 the time, and looks so awfully solemn, it is like she was 
 at a funeral. 
 
 Mamma and Cousin Cynthia Marshall stayed there a 
 long time, but at last we all had to go in to tea, and after 
 tea we had our tree. But I am too tired to write about 
 that now. I will have to do it to-morrow. 
 
 December 28th. We knew the time had come for our 
 tree when Robin came in and lowered all the lights, and 
 then the folding-doors were opened, and there was the 
 great big tree with wax lights, twinkling from one end 
 to the other, and no end of covnucopiae and bundles 
 wrapped in white paper ; and there stood Uncle George 
 in his white beard and fur cap, with a long stick in his 
 hand. He stepped forward as the door opened, and re- 
 peated the following verses in a very loud voice : 
 
 "At this his own season St. Nicholas coines, 
 
 To give you a merry greeting; 
 He has left the gay towns and luxurious homes 
 
 To attend this family meeting. 
 
 " Dull Care is bidden to quit us with haste, 
 
 Nor deem himself one of this party; 
 While Business withdraws, showing thus his good taste, 
 
 And leaves us to merriment hearty. 
 
 " In times that arc old, St. Nick, you are told, 
 
 Always appeared with a pack, 
 Which was stuffed just as full as it ever could hold 
 
 With knick-knacks, and strapped on his back. 
 
 "But in these times we call later, so travelers say, 
 
 In a land far over the ocean, 
 They've discovered a tree, which each Christmas-day 
 
 Hangs loaded with many a notion.
 
 AN OLD VIRGINIA CHRISTMAS DINNER. 79 
 
 " A root of this plant I contrived to procure you, 
 And have watered and nursed it with care; 
 
 Its results are apparent, you see them before you, 
 Come forward and claim its fruits rare." 
 
 And then we all went in the other room while Uncle 
 George took off the packages with his stick and handed 
 them to each of us. Everybody found just what they 
 wanted, and everybody looked as happy as possible. 
 Mamma had more, of course, than any one else, because 
 she is the bride and the newcomer, but we all got beau- 
 tiful presents. 
 
 Mamma gave Lilias such a beautiful little work-box, 
 with the tiniest little scissors and thimble, and every- 
 thing she could want in it, and papa gave her the Rollo 
 Series, or, as she calls it, her "Rollo serious." 
 
 And John has "Tales of a Grandfather," and a splendid 
 knife, and some gardening-tools. 
 
 Margie has a pretty little watch from papa, and I a 
 pair of bracelets, and mamma gave me Sir Walter 
 Scott's Novels, beautifully bound. Uncle George gave 
 Margie and myself an album apiece, with some verses in 
 them, as a dedication, he says. I don't know exactly 
 what that is, but the verses are very pretty. Margie's 
 are these : 
 
 " Go, pretty book, 
 
 And when upon thy snowy page 
 My fair shall look, 
 
 Tell her whose love I would engage 
 That to my partial eye she seems to be 
 More pure and spotless, pretty book, than thee ! 
 
 " Tell her, when treasures rare, 
 
 Fair volume, in thy page shall meet, 
 That then I will compare 
 
 To her own mind thy tessellated sheet, 
 Where taste and heavenly poesy combine 
 T<> n.nke mosaic of this page of thine.
 
 80 THE HO LOOMS ES. 
 
 " Or tell her that I send 
 
 An empty casket to her care, 
 And bid my friend 
 
 Store it unstintingly with jewels rare, 
 Culled by young Fancy from the heaps that lie 
 In the full treasures of fair Poesy. 
 
 "Or let me liken thee 
 
 To the smooth surface of a lake, 
 In which we love to see 
 
 The stars of heaven reflected back. 
 When night unrolls to the enchanted eye 
 The spangled curtain of the dark-blue sky. 
 
 " Above the rest resplendent, 
 
 The bard of Avon's nameless star 
 Shines lord of the ascendent, 
 
 And shoots his blazing meteors far; 
 While next great Milton's sapphire rays 
 Pour on the eye the bright empyrean blaze. 
 
 "But, ah ! the attempt were vain 
 
 To number all the starry host 
 That in her splendid train 
 
 Bright-eyed Poesy can boast, 
 
 These glimmering faintly, while with powerful ray 
 Those shoot abroad as genial as the day. 
 
 " Disdain not yet the beam 
 
 That Genius scatters from his glittering car, 
 Although it may not gleam 
 
 From Byron's sun or Moore's bright morning star, 
 But, gathering all their rich and varied dyes, 
 Shine like a rainbow in the vernal skies." 
 
 The verses in mine were called 
 
 AN ALBUM A FEAST. 
 
 "An Album should be like a ladies' feast, 
 Where many sweet and dainty dishes meet, 
 
 And, from the greatest even to the least, 
 The guest expects to find each dish a treat.
 
 AN OLD VIRGINIA CHRISTMAS DINNER. 81 
 
 " Then let me, Mary, as a friend advise 
 
 What kind of dishes you should here prepare; 
 But first I'll bid you, if you would be wise, 
 
 Be sure to choose your cooks with special care. 
 Admit, I pray you, men of taste alone, 
 
 Whose haut gout teaches to select with skill, 
 And with discernment season what's their own 
 
 With spices, Attic salt, or what you will. 
 
 " The cooks selected, be it next your care 
 The viands suited to the board to choose, 
 
 To cater for your guests the tempting fare 
 Fastidious appetites will not refuse. 
 
 And, first, as tongue's excluded from the table, 
 Why, you must try to make it up with brains, 
 
 With brains of living bards, if you are able: 
 
 If not why, then, of those whose deathless strains, 
 Breathed from abroad, have reached our distant plains. 
 
 " Some folks there .are and such you often see, 
 Who, poor and proud, or stingy (fie upon it!), 
 
 Serve up hot water, and miscall it tea, 
 And give soup maigre in a washy sonnet. 
 
 Another offers you a hollow puff 
 
 Of empty praise it was not worth his pains ; 
 
 This gives acrostic kisses, wretched stuff! 
 
 That turns the stomach with his puling strains, 
 Or cudgels mazy nonsense from his barren brains. 
 
 ".Others there are who fain would see a part 
 
 Of your fair pages with religion graced, 
 Nor think the aspirations of the heart 
 
 Wedged in with trifles are at all misplaced. 
 I think not so ! Religion's sacred lore 
 
 To her own holy books should be confined ; 
 Her sovereign balm, that every ill can cure, 
 
 That cleansed the leper and restored the blind, 
 
 Is not for albums more than feasts designed. 
 
 " Let no untutored scullion undertake 
 
 Tp serve your board, to bake your household bread, 
 
 To make your pasties that one's teeth will break, 
 And sodden puddings, heavier than lead, 
 In form and substance like the dunce's head ;
 
 82 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 But men who of fair Avon's stately swan 
 Are well content to make a standing dish, 
 
 Who draw their nectar ever and anon 
 
 From Milton's sacred fount, nor better wish 
 Than from Lord Byron's piscary to fish." 
 
 I don't understand mine as well as Margie's. It seems 
 to me it would do as well for a cookery book as an 
 album, all about puddings and fish and cooks, etc. I 
 didn't like not to look pleased when Uncle George was 
 so kind as to write it for me ; but I can't help being sorry 
 he put that kind of poetry in my album, it looks as if 
 he thought I was so fond of eating. I feel like putting 
 my book away, and not letting any one see it. I wonder 
 if he did mean I liked eating too much ? I hope not.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A FAMILY CONSULTATION, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 IT was the day after Christmas, and Mr. Holcombe 
 had proposed an adjournment to the library after break- 
 fast. The invitation was accepted by several of the older 
 members of the party, including Mr. George Holcombe 7 
 Mr. and Mrs. Randolph, and Mrs. Mason. 
 
 The gentlemen lighted their cigars, and lounged in 
 what we must confess to be true Virginia style, with 
 their chairs tilted back, and their knees considerably 
 higher than the laws of grace would demand ; while the 
 ladies each had her work or knitting at hand, and Robin 
 piled the andirons with huge sticks of hickory-wood, 
 which sparkled and cracked in the most convivial and 
 chatty manner. 
 
 "Look here, Ned," said Mr. George Holcombe, turning 
 to his brother, " what is the difficulty with Margaret ? 
 She does not look or act like herself. I hardly know the 
 child. It has been worrying me ever since I came." 
 
 The blood rose to Mr. Holcombe's cheek, showing that 
 the subject touched upon was very near to his heart, and 
 could only be stirred delicately. He did not reply for a 
 minute, and then it was in rather a low tone. 
 
 " The fact is, I have been debating with myself whether 
 it would not be better to consult you all about that very 
 matter, which is a great trouble to me ; but I don't much 
 like to talk to any one about my own child." 
 
 "I don't think you ought to feel that way about us, 
 Ned," said Mr. George Holcombe. " I don't think there 
 
 (83)
 
 84 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 is any great difference between one's own children and 
 those of one's brother and sisters. I am leaving my 
 two boys with you, old fellow, believing this from my 
 heart." 
 
 ''Well, the fact is, "Margaret has never become recon- 
 ciled to my marriage. She undertook to oppose it violently 
 at first, which I was not very much surprised at ; but I 
 confess I did expect that after after the change took 
 place, and she knew how much I had acted for the happi- 
 ness of all parties, her good sense would lead her to 
 rejoice in it. But I have been disappointed. She has 
 preserved this moody, uncompromising manner through- 
 out. I don't think she has ever voluntarily spoken to 
 
 Jean, and, when forced to do so, has Well, it had 
 
 better not have been done at all." 
 
 " Yes, I have observed it ever since our arrival," said 
 Mrs. Mason, " and grieved over it. I think she is the 
 victim of a morbid idea, which, if not cured, may do her 
 and all of you great harm." 
 
 "And have you never spoken to her on the subject ?" 
 said Mrs. Randolph, turning to Mr. Holcombe, in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " No, I am sorry to say, I have not since I first broke 
 to her the news of my intentions. The scene then was 
 so painful that I did not care to repeat it. It is true, I 
 have been near it more than once, when her manner to 
 my wife was unbearable almost. But Jean is so opposed 
 to my saying anything, and, indeed, has exacted from me 
 a sort of promise that I will leave the cure to time." 
 
 " Kindly meant, but unwise, you may depend upon it," 
 said Mrs. Mason ; " the disease is growing worse instead 
 of better ; each day increases the evil. Of course, she 
 has no tangible ground of complaint. 1 have never seen 
 any one occupy the position of stepmother more grace-
 
 A FAMILY CONSULTATION, ETC. 85 
 
 fully than Jean does. Their own mother could not do 
 more." 
 
 Mr. Holcombe reached out his hand, and, with a smile, 
 pressed that of his sister in his own. It was a slight 
 action, but showed his sensitiveness to anything which 
 concerned his wife. 
 
 " Thank you, Annie. I don't know how anybody can 
 resist her ; but Margaret does most successfully. The 
 fact is, Jean is the more sensitive on the subject, because 
 she suffered misery from a harsh stepmother herself. 
 She never told me very much about it ; but I am sure it 
 was her positive unkindness which caused her to accept 
 her old aunt's invitation to come over here and make her 
 home with her; which she did nearly nine years ago. 
 And she lived with her up to the time of her death, which 
 happened about two years since. Mrs. McDonald left 
 her a very ample support, and her father and brother 
 were anxious for her to return home. She would proba- 
 bly have done so in the end, but I made other arrange- 
 ments for her. These circumstances of her life make her 
 of course more sensitive than she would otherwise be 
 about her position here. And she becomes so nervously 
 anxious every time she thinks I am going to speak to 
 Margaret that I really could not do it: and I should not 
 be surprised if she had endured more even than I know." 
 
 "Well, Ned," said Mr. George Holcombe, bluntly, "I 
 don't think any man has a right to allow his wife to be 
 insulted even by his child ; and if I were in your place, 
 Miss Margaret should either behave herself or I would 
 send her out of the house." 
 
 "Oh, George," said Mrs. Randolph, "don't talk so 
 harshly. There is no one in this world so indulgent as 
 you are, or who allow their children to walk over them 
 
 8
 
 86 THE nOLCOMBES. 
 
 more completely than you do. I know it is all talk, but 
 I don't like to bear it." 
 
 Here the laugh turned on Mr. George, who was not at 
 all remarkable for the good discipline of his household. 
 A laugh in which he, too, joined. 
 
 " But I would not be surprised if to send Margaret 
 away for a time would be the true solution of the diffi- 
 culty," said Mrs. Mason. " I think the danger to her is 
 greater than to Jean if she grows morbid and reserved 
 and nurses this idea; but if she goes away to school, you 
 may depend upon it, she will think of her home very 
 differently. I think Jean feels naturally on the subject ; 
 and I have a good deal of sympathy with Margaret too. 
 She was very much devoted to her mother; and it is 
 naturally a trial to see her place filled. I think a great 
 deal of patience ought to be exercised towards her." 
 
 And this idea would undoubtedly have been carried 
 into effect if it had not been for the interposition of Jean, 
 who opposed it with all the vehemence of her nature. 
 It was agonizing to her to think of Margaret being ban- 
 ished from her home on her account. It seemed her own 
 story over again; and she wept as bitterly as if she her- 
 self had acted the harsh stepmother, bringing discord 
 into her husband's house, and scattering his children. So 
 the plan was abandoned. 
 
 Mrs. Mason spoke to Margaret tenderly of her duty, 
 but with no apparent effect. She looked stern in her 
 composure, but only said, softly, 
 
 ' It is impossible for any one to judge for me, aunty; 
 I am obliged to do what I think right, no matter what 
 the consequences may be. Meanwhile I forgive you; I 
 know you have acted for the best." 
 
 "Bless the child!" said Mrs. Mason, as Margaret left 
 the room after having imprinted her kiss of unasked for-
 
 A FAMILY CONSULTATION, ETC. 8f 
 
 giveness on her cheek. "I don't want any forgiveness; 
 I don't understand what she means. She seems to have 
 built up a wall of fancied duty and fenced herself in with 
 self-approbation, until she imagines all the world is wrong 
 and she alone right. Well, well, when young people get 
 to that pass they have to be left to their heavenly Father's 
 unerring discipline ; He will bring it all right at last if it 
 is through much tribulation." 
 
 Monday morning saw the dispersion of the happy 
 party at Rose Hill. Everybody was sorry to go. Mr. 
 George Holcombe declared himself perfectly demoralized 
 and unfit for any useful employment. 
 
 " You must make Ned bring you to see us, Jean, "said 
 he, as he took leave of Mrs. Holcombe. " I want you to 
 know my wife ; she is a great deal too good for me, and 
 I only wonder she was ever willing to take charge of 
 such a scapegrace as I am ; but come and judge for your- 
 self. She is such a perfect Mrs. Micawber that she never 
 can get away from home. We cannot promise you such 
 a welcome as you have given us, but we will try. The 
 fact is there is something in the air of old Rose Hill 
 which makes it different from any other place in the 
 world to me." 
 
 Mrs. Mason, Mrs. Randolph, and Cynthia were equally 
 urgent for her to return their visit, and so they went 
 off, leaving the whole party standing in the wide porch 
 waving their adieus ; and, as the carriage drove into the 
 grove, Cynthia stuck baby out of the window, upside- 
 down, as her final farewell. 
 
 For some days after their departure everything was 
 dull enough. Jean went very hard to work with her 
 lessons in housekeeping, while Margie confined herself 
 more than ever to her own room. Mary tried to while 
 away the time by reading her new books ; and Lilias,
 
 88 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 surrounded by her innumerable family, diligently em- 
 ployed herself with her new work-box, which she pro- 
 nounced " certainly the most dispensable thing she had 
 ever had." 
 
 The boys meanwhile lived out of doors, snow-balling, 
 rabbit-snaring, and squirrel-hunting, and all looked for- 
 ward to the advent of the new teacher as some relief 
 from present stagnation. 
 
 Mr. Holcombe was probably the greatest sufferer from 
 the vacuum which the departure created, as a gentleman 
 farmer in Virginia does not have very full employment, 
 particularly during the winter season ; so he engaged his 
 time in debating with himself what course he had better 
 pursue with regard to Margaret, and fully decided that 
 matters should not stand still any longer. 
 
 An opportunity for bringing matters to a crisis was 
 afforded him about a week after the dispersion of the 
 family party. 
 
 They were assembled at the breakfast-table one morn- 
 ing when Mr. Holcombe said, 
 
 " I received a letter from Mr. Williams this morning ; 
 he will be here to-morrow. So now, Mr John, you may 
 prepare yourself for action. I shall expect him to be 
 very strict with all of you." 
 
 " Indeed," said Margaret, in her loftiest style, " I hope, 
 papa, you do not expect me to make an obedient pupil. 
 I am afraid you will be disappointed if you do." 
 
 "I certainly do, my daughter," he said; "and I hope 
 you will always be too much of a lady to force any great 
 exercise of authority from a gentleman teacher." 
 
 " He will be apt to fail if he tries it, papa," she said, 
 with the most perfect calmness. " I certainly never 
 intend to submit to any one in the world but you." 
 
 " I don't think you are very remarkable for your sub-
 
 A FAMILY CONSULTATION, ETC. 89 
 
 mission to nie, young lady," he said, very sternly; "but 
 I insist upon some additions to your list of sovereigns, 
 myself and to whomsoever I choose to delegate my 
 authority; your mamma first and then your teacher." 
 
 She bent her eyes on her plate, and her cheek paled 
 slightly ; but she said, daringly, 
 
 " I have no mamma, sir." 
 
 " Leave the table, Margaret, and go to your own room." 
 
 She got up and left with the same stolid look upon 
 her, and the children, with awe-struck faces, soon fol- 
 lowed, and Mr. Holcombe was left alone with his wife, 
 whose tearful eyes showed how much she felt the insult. 
 He put his arm about her and said, 
 
 " My darling wife, I want you to release me from the 
 promise I made you some time ago ; I must talk to that 
 wayward child, and see if something cannot be done; this 
 state of affairs is getting beyond endurance." 
 
 " Oh, my dear husband, please don't ; let us try a little 
 longer," was the answer, as she clasped his hands nerv- 
 ously, and her voice took a tone of passionate entreaty. 
 
 "Jean, this is almost childish in you; there, forgive 
 me, dear, I did not mean to be harsh ; but you get your- 
 self into a state of nervous agitation about this matter 
 which is unnecessary and unlike you. Margaret is 
 nothing more nor less than a willful child, who, because 
 she has been crossed, is indulging her temper at the ex- 
 pense of the happiness of the entire household ; and I 
 cannot stand it any longer: you must see yourself that 
 our present course is unproductive of good to any one of 
 the parties concerned. Instead of improving, she is grow- 
 ing more and more insolent; and in a few days we will 
 have a stranger added to our family circle, who will draw 
 most unpleasant inferences from the evident condition of 
 affairs." 
 
 8*
 
 90 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Holcombe," sobbed Jean, "I ought not to 
 have married you. I might have remembered that step- 
 mothers are never welcome. You should have told me 
 of Margaret's opposition." 
 
 " And do you think you would have been justified in 
 refusing me because of Margaret's opposition ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I never would have married you in the world." 
 
 "I am sorry, Jean," and Mr. Holcombe's voice as- 
 sumed a grieved tone, " that I made the happiness of my 
 life at the expense of yours ; but it is too late to think of 
 that now, we must patch up this place in our domestic 
 affairs before the rent is made worse. I shall speak to 
 Margaret this morning, with or without your consent. I 
 have listened to your timidity long enough, and now I 
 must act according to my own judgment." 
 
 " Betsey," to a servant who had just entered the room, 
 "go up-stairs and tell your Miss Margaret I want to 
 speak to her in my study." And kissing his wife very 
 tenderly, he left her to keep his appointment. 
 
 Jean had not offered any further opposition after she 
 found it would be useless ; and, indeed, if she could have 
 reasoned at all on the subject, she would have found her- 
 self agreeing with him ; but it was a matter of feeling 
 and not of reason, she hated to be canvassed even by her 
 husband and his child, whose judgment she knew would 
 be so unfavorable. 
 
 In the mean time Mr. Holcombe waited in his study 
 for the interview with his daughter; but he waited in 
 vain. Presently a knock at the door, and Betsey ap- 
 peared. Miss Margaret begged to be excused, she was so 
 busy this morning. This was indeed passing the point 
 where endurance ceased to be a virtue ; he was a most 
 indulgent man to his children, but had always received 
 from them, hitherto, the respect due to his relations with
 
 A FAMILY CONSULTATION, ETC. 91 
 
 them, and the angry blood flamed in his face at this cool 
 disregard of his wishes. 
 
 " Is she in her room ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Then I will see her there. You need not wait." 
 
 And he strode by the woman, and mounted the broad 
 staircase with quick, determined strides. Without the 
 ceremony of knocking, he opened the door. The refrac- 
 tory young lady was seated before the fire, a little pale it 
 is true, but not otherwise discomposed. 
 
 " Margaret, did you understand that I wished to speak 
 to you in my study ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; and I told Betsey to say that I hoped you 
 would excuse me, as I was very much occupied this 
 morning." 
 
 He glanced at her idle hands, and said, 
 
 " And pray, Miss Holcombe, what were you doing that 
 was more important than attention to my wishes ?" 
 
 She cast down her eyes for a moment, and a half smile, 
 partly of daring and partly of embarrassment, discomposed 
 her lips ; but she said nothing. 
 
 "I do not wonder," Mr. Holcombe continued, and his 
 voice shook with anger, "that you hesitate to acknowl- 
 edge the subterfuge to which you resorted in order to 
 avoid an explanation with me ; an explanation, let me 
 tell you, which I do not intend shall be longer deferred." 
 
 The bright black eyes were raised at once, and she 
 said, very coolly, 
 
 " And who, sir, is to blame that I fear to meet my 
 father ?" 
 
 Her composure exasperated him ; and this tone of in- 
 jured innocence threw him off his guard he felt he was 
 losing ground. 
 
 "Surely," he said, "you cannot ask such a question
 
 92 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 for information ? I return it to you, and demand a candid 
 and truthful answer. Who is to blame ?" 
 
 The long, slender fingers interlaced themselves, and the 
 nails seemed almost buried in the tender flesh in the in- 
 tensity of the clasp ; but there was no answer. Mr. 
 Holcombe eyed her keenly for a moment, then went on : 
 
 " You refuse to answer me, then I will tell you. For 
 nearly three months now you have failed, utterly failed, 
 in every filial duty. You have alienated yourself from 
 the family circle and from our hearts. My first-born 
 child, from whom I expected so much in the way of in- 
 fluence over the younger children, you have set them 
 an example I pray God from the bottom of my heart they 
 may never follow. You have done everything to bring 
 discord into our household, failing in that, you have 
 succeeded in administering a drop of unhappiness to each 
 one of us ; and to yourself more than all. And why has 
 all this been done ? what excuse do you offer for it ?" 
 
 She would have answered; but he put up his hand and 
 stopped her. 
 
 " Because I refused to allow you to dictate to me my 
 course in life ; because, forsooth, I chose, in opposition to 
 your wishes, to take what happiness and good God in his 
 bounty vouchsafed to me ; because I placed at the head 
 of my house one in every way worthy to fill the position, 
 and in the choice of whom I was influenced scarcely less 
 by a consideration for the happiness of my children than 
 my own." 
 
 A scarcely perceptible smile of incredulity broke the 
 stillness of the obstinate face, it provoked him sorely. 
 
 " I know the excuse you make to yourself is reverence 
 for the memory of your mother. Foolish child and do 
 you imagine for an instant that an angel in heaven is 
 moved by the petty jealousies which torment us here?
 
 A FAMILY CONSULTATION, ETC. 93 
 
 or has her nature, which was eminently unselfish, so 
 changed in heaven as to cause her a pang because I can 
 be happy again, and her poor little children have />ome 
 one to take care of and love them ?" 
 
 " I could have done it as well, papa." 
 
 He had spoken with so much passion himself that the 
 cool response which met him added fuel to the flame, and 
 he replied, with bitterness, 
 
 " Your self-appreciation must be high indeed, to lead 
 to the expression of an opinion so replete with vanity 
 and conceit as this last; but I do not agree with you. 
 One so utterly wanting in self-discipline as yourself could 
 never be a safe guide to any one. I am thankful that 
 your sisters and brother are not dependent upon you. I 
 trust them with perfect confidence to the mother who so 
 kindly consented to take the charge of them." 
 
 " Yes, sir," and at last the tears flowed, and the voice 
 became tremulous, " and I alone am left to remember my 
 mother; except for me her memory would die entirely: 
 even her own children have forgotten her." 
 
 " Foolish child ! these heroics are utterly out of place, 
 they exhaust my hard-tried patience. You imagine two 
 conflicting duties, and make yourself a martyr to an idea. 
 You feed your foolish heart in solitude until you build up 
 a false strength for resistance to the real call of right and 
 happiness. But let me tell you, Margaret, if an angel in 
 heaven can know unhappiness, if our dead friends are 
 permitted to watch over us from their home in the skies, 
 your mother grieves over you this day, and if she could 
 speak to you would advise you very differently from' your 
 present course." 
 
 If he had only taken her to his heart then, as a mother 
 would have done in like circumstances, all might have 
 been well ; for, for the moment, the barriers of pride were
 
 94 THE HOL COMBES. 
 
 broken down. But he was a man, and a man too, deeply 
 incensed, and did not choose to open his arms to her until 
 she acknowledged her wrong. And so the soft place in 
 the strong young heart grew hard again as she said, 
 coldly, 
 
 " Papa, it is useless for you and me to argue this point. 
 I am very sorry, but we can never agree, and I cannot 
 command my heart any more than you can. I acknowl- 
 edge I was wrong in what I said this morning, consid- 
 eration for myself and for you will keep me from offending 
 in that quarter, and I suppose you have aright to direct 
 my actions in other things, so I will do what you bid me 
 if it does not come in conflict with my truthfulness." 
 
 Mr. Holcombe saw that he had lost ground, but very 
 dimly guessed how; she was in some way master of the 
 field, which he could not regain, so he had only to make 
 the best of what liberty she allowed him. 
 
 He said, " I insist, then, Margaret, that you no longer 
 absent yourself from the family, and that your conduct to 
 me and your my wife, be perfectly respectful and cour- 
 teous, if you cannot make it affectionate, and that the 
 gentleman whom I have employed as your teacher shall 
 never have cause to complain that you act with regard to 
 him other than a ' perfect lady ;' more than this I cannot 
 ask, since it includes all that a high-bred woman and a 
 Christian can do. I leave you, Margaret, to your own 
 conscience and your God. Your present course is a sore 
 disappointment to me; I had many hopes centered in 
 you." 
 
 Again the tears dropped from under the drooping lids, 
 but she made no reply. 
 
 With a deep sigh, Mr. Holcombe turned away. Was 
 there ever a greater failure than he had made ? Were 
 not matters even worse than before ? Perhaps, after all,
 
 A FAMILY CONSULTATION-, ETC. 95 
 
 Jean was right, and the cure of the evil had better have 
 been left to time. Actually that calm manner of hers, 
 so unlike the impulsive, passionate child she had always 
 been, had left him with an uncomfortable feeling of being 
 himself in the wrong. It was this feeling which impelled 
 him to turn back again and say, 
 
 "Margaret, of what do you complain? what do you 
 wish ? help me to unravel this vexed skein." 
 
 The answer might have been frozen before it reached 
 him, it brought such a chill with it. 
 
 " Thank you, papa, I shall do very well, I expect. I 
 have nothing to ask, that time has passed." 
 
 And so he went, disappointed, grieved, wondering what 
 had so suddenly developed this mere child into a woman. 
 
 As the door closed, two arms were reached forward for an 
 instant, as if to stay him. But no voice came. And throw- 
 ing herself on the bed, Margaret cried herself to sleep. 
 
 Meantime Mr. Holcombe repaired to the library, and 
 finding his wife alone, said, "Jean, what is to be done 
 with a girl of fifteen who, after behaving as badly as a 
 child of six could do, suddenly, to your surprise, assumes 
 the bearing of an injured woman, and leaves you, in 
 spite of your convictions to the contrary, with an uncom- 
 fortable feeling that you have in some way been to blame ?" 
 
 Jean could not help smiling at the evident beaten look 
 he bore, but would not say, " I told you so." 
 
 He recounted his interview with Margaret, and said, 
 " I know I did not manage it at all well, but I was so 
 angry at her refusal to come to me in the beginning, and 
 then her expression of calm forbearance threw me off my 
 guard, and I let her get the better of me from the first. I 
 declare it is too provoking to think of the martyr look 
 she assumed when she announced her intention of obey- 
 ing my ' behests' as a matter of duty. I certainly ought
 
 96 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 to have conquered her before I left, but I did not, but beat 
 an ignominious retreat, leaving her complete mistress of 
 the field. May be you were right, little woman, at last, 
 and I had better have let the matter alone." 
 
 "Certainly the way it stands now does not promise much 
 comfort for any of the parties concerned," was the quiet 
 answer, "and I am afraid I cannot do much to help you." 
 
 " I believe now it would be best to send her away to 
 school," said Mr. Holcombe. But the nervous flush 
 which mounted to his wife's face stopped him ; and he 
 had learned by this last experiment to distrust his own 
 convictions, and did not insist upon his view of the case. 
 
 Margaret slept heavily until dinner-time, and then went 
 down, feeling utterly stupefied by the exhausted passion, in 
 the first place, and then by the long sleep. So the meal 
 passed without any very decided exhibition of what her 
 own role would embrace ; at which all parties were dis- 
 appointed, as Mr. Holcombe had some curiosity to see 
 what he was to expect. There was rather an elaborate 
 attention to any expressed wish of his, but, except this, 
 there was no indication of what her proposed course 
 would be. Jean was beginning to watch the contest be- 
 tween these two with an interest not unmixed with 
 amusement; and she could not but see that this wrong- 
 headed, spirited girl was more than a match for her 
 easy-tempered, indulgent father, whose chivalrous ideas 
 reduced him to tortures of self-humiliation by having to 
 use harsh words to a female, even though she was his 
 own child, and one who sadly wanted a firm spirit to 
 discipline hers. 
 
 She did not dare to ask herself what was to be the end of 
 all this, but, Micawber-like, contented herself with watch- 
 ing the domestic horizon, hoping that something would 
 turn up to prevent the denouement she so much dreaded.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 SCHOOL. 
 
 MR. WILLIAMS arrived the next day, and was soon 
 installed in his new duties. He was the son of an old 
 friend of the Holcombes, and brought with him the rec- 
 ommendation, which always carries weight with a Vir- 
 ginian, that he was born a gentleman. 
 
 I am aware that we have been much laughed at about 
 this idiosyncrasy, and admit that it is often carried to an 
 unfortunate and ridiculous extent; but I do not think 
 that the heritage of a good, great name can be surpassed. 
 And though it may be true, and doubtless is, that as 
 high-minded, honorable gentlemen have risen from the 
 lower ranks of life as can be found connected with any 
 of the most highly-esteemed families in the country, yet 
 it must be that the pride of birth, and a name which can 
 be traced back for generation upon generation without 
 its bearing the shadow of a stain upon its fair escutcheon, 
 has something ennobling in it : it must act as a soul-tonic 
 in the time of sore temptation. 
 
 Be this as it may, Mr. Williams's birth carried a recom- 
 mendation to Mr. Holcombe, and his appearance increased 
 the favorable consideration. He was a gentleman in 
 person and manners. He had chosen the profession of 
 teaching, as he frankly confessed, because the wheel of 
 fortune had gone round, and he was not yet able to get 
 his profession. In the mean time, he was very glad to 
 find himself so pleasantly situated, and commenced his 
 duties with considerable zest in consequence. 
 
 9 (9T)
 
 98 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 A room in the yard had been fitted up as a schoolroom, 
 and the Holcombes, and one or two children^of some poor 
 neighbors, constituted the school. Most families have 
 their peculiar characteristics ; and that of the Holcombes 
 seemed to be great activity of mind and body. They 
 were wide-awake children, as Mr. Williams found, much 
 to his gratification, and not at all hard to teach, though 
 most of them were very backward ; for, as Margaret ex- 
 pressed it, " Mrs. Bascombe had untaught them for two 
 years." 
 
 Poor old lady ! She was much more in her element 
 making pies and cakes in the storeroom than teaching 
 the young ideas to shoot in the schoolroom. 
 
 Mrs. Holcombe petitioned that Lilias might be left 
 under her care. And as she was too delicate to allow 
 her education a place of first importance, it was easily 
 decided to leave her to "mamma" for the present; and 
 she proved a great source of interest and entertainment 
 to her. Often, too, she was too unwell to do more than lie 
 still in her little crib and listen either to reading or sing- 
 ing, generally the former, as her mind, more active 
 than her body, drank in with avidity whatever food was 
 presented to it. 
 
 Her chair was so arranged that, when she wished it, 
 a kind of circular shelf could be fastened to the two arms, 
 and so she could have her playthings or work placed 
 within her reach ; and here she would sit day after day 
 with her " family," consisting of eight doll-babies of vari- 
 ous sizes, for all of whom she had names, and of whom 
 she spoke as familiarly as if they were real personages. 
 She had an amusing way of making them responsible for 
 her own misdeeds. 
 
 Jean bad left her one day to prepare her lessons, and 
 returned to find her absorbed in her work-box, with her
 
 SCHOOL. 99 
 
 books closed beside her; before she could begin to re- 
 prove, the winning little face was raised to hers, and 
 laughing in her most seductive way, she said, 
 
 " Mamma, Nelly is a very bad girl to-day; she will not 
 get that Gogafry lesson, all I can do. She says she 
 would so much rather sew ; and Betty has not learned 
 one word of her nullification. I don't know what to do 
 with these children." 
 
 " Why, that is a very bad state of affairs, little mamma," 
 was the answer; "but we must never give up to them, 
 must we ? regular habits for little girls, you know." 
 
 "Yes, that is a fact, mamma; but holiday once in 
 awhile does everybody good, and it is a good thing for 
 Xelly to learn to sew, too ; suppose we indulge them for 
 this day, ' all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,' 
 you know." 
 
 " Yes ; but I remember, too, that ' all play and no work 
 makes him a mere toy,' so we had better put the work- 
 box out of reach, so that Nelly and Betty won't be 
 tempted to forget duty for pleasure." 
 
 This was as much management as the gentle, timid, 
 little invalid ever required. So Jean's task was easy. 
 
 In the schoolroom, Mr. Williams soon found an interest 
 in his bright pupils. Margaret and George attracted him 
 particularly, being further advanced, and both ambitious. 
 George was the steadiest worker, but Margaret the 
 quickest mind. She was apt to flag and become dis- 
 couraged, however, and her teacher soon found the spur 
 which would rouse her, and used it to his own advantage. 
 At first she took a great dislike to Latin, and positively 
 declined to prepare the lessons. Mr. Williams, to her 
 surprise, seemed to chime in with her ideas without diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 " I do not see much use in your studying it," he said.
 
 100 THE UOLCOMBES. 
 
 " Why not ?" she asked. 
 
 " Oh, well, you know a woman does not require the 
 intelligence a man does." 
 
 "I don't agree with you," she said, indignantly. 
 
 " Don't you ? Oh, I beg your pardon, I thought you 
 did." 
 
 " No, I don't ; I believe a woman is just as capable of 
 learning everything as a man is." 
 
 The only answer was a slight shrug of the shoulders 
 and an incredulous lifting of the eyebrows, as if polite- 
 ness alone prevented the advance of strong arguments on 
 the other side. 
 
 "I wish you would talk, Mr. Williams, and not look in 
 that provoking way." 
 
 " Well, Miss Holcombe, a woman generally Gnds more 
 use for her needle than her Latin. Do you know how 
 to sew ?" 
 
 "I don't see that the two things conflict; and I know 
 I can learn Latin as well as George." 
 
 This was the point he wished to reach, so he dropped 
 the conversation, and never had any difficulty with Miss 
 Holconibe's Latin lessons afterwards. 
 
 Nor did she find herself so out of place under a teacher 
 as she expected ; it is true, her lofty spirit sometimes 
 came in contact with his, but he always seemed to know 
 by instinct the best way out of the difficulty without any 
 departure from his usual courtesy ; and generally suc- 
 ceeded in managing her without her finding it out. 
 
 The discipline was good for her in every way. And 
 she at last fell into a more natural manner in the house- 
 hold ; the winter evenings around the bright wood fires, 
 where George and herself either worked out their exam- 
 ples together, or she played chess with Mr. Williams, 
 were very pleasant, though there was still a cloud be-
 
 SCHOOL. 101 
 
 tween herself and the older members of the family. Her 
 submission to her father's wishes were often little less 
 than an impertinence. And if she held any intercourse 
 with Mrs. Holcombe, she was sure to leave a sting behind 
 her; but in spite of all this, everything went on much 
 better than could have been expected ; and spring opened 
 upon the family of Rose Hill more peacefully than the 
 stormy winter promised. 
 
 Mary and John labored up the ladder of learning in 
 company with Harry Holcombe, finding it rather stupid 
 work, and John felt inclined to change his amo, arnas, 
 amat, into odior, oderis, odetur. 
 
 One of Mr. Williams's accomplishments was reading, 
 which he did with rare expression and beauty; and the 
 long evenings were enlivened by the congenial company 
 of Dickens, Shakspeare, and many lesser lights. So that 
 Jean Holcombe always looked back upon this first winter 
 of her married life as the happiest, though as we have 
 seen it was not free from care. 
 
 Hunting was a famous amusement with the boys at 
 Rose Hill, and often Mr. Williams would accompany 
 them. Sometimes, too, they would go off swimming. 
 Every holiday was spent in this way, and Mr. Williams 
 gained their love and confidence by always making one 
 of the party, and enjoyed the expeditions as much as they 
 did. 
 
 "'Mr. Holcombe," said Jean, one day, "it always 
 frightens me so to see the boys going off with their guns, 
 or to go to the water, they are so rash. Suppose some of 
 them should get hurt." 
 
 " Well, Jean," he said, " these are risks boys must run. 
 They have to learn to take care of themselves and other 
 people too ; it would never do to keep them out of danger 
 all the time, it would make perfect milksops of them, and 
 
 9*
 
 102 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 the time may come when they will need all the hardi- 
 hood and nerve their present lives can give." 
 
 " Yes, I know all that, but I am never easy when I 
 see them go off on these expeditions. I always expect 
 to see one of them brought home by the others. I thiuk 
 it would be better if they would learn to swim first." 
 
 " Learn to swirn first 1" exclaimed Mr. Holcombc, 
 laughing, "in a wash-tub, I suppose. You women are 
 all alike ; I never saw one of you that did not make some 
 such mistake as that. My mother, who was as strong- 
 minded a woman as ever lived, told us one day that she 
 positively forbade our going into the water at all until 
 we learned to swim, and it was not until we laughed that 
 the absurdity of the proposition struck her." 
 
 Jean joined in the laugh against herself, and said, 
 
 " Well, I am glad to be in such good company as your 
 mother, at any rate. You are sure not to think anything 
 she does very foolish." 
 
 " But there," said Mr. Holcombe, looking towards the 
 woods, " I think I hear their voices now." 
 
 It was a habit of the boys, whenever they left home 
 for the day, to stop at a large tree at the end of the lawn, 
 which they called their sunset tree, because from there 
 the view of the sunset was always most beautiful, and 
 here they sang their sunset song. It was a custom they 
 had taken from their fathers, who had told them of how 
 they used to go down to this spot for the same purpose. 
 
 The hunting or swimming was always hurried over 
 then, in order not to lose their meeting at their sunset 
 tree, and their arrival was heralded to their friends at the 
 house by their voices singing their evening song, which 
 had been written by their grandfather so many years 
 ago. 
 
 AS Mr. Holcombe spoke, the clear voices rang through
 
 SCHOOL. 103 
 
 the evening air. And both Jean and himself went out 
 into the porch so as to hear them more distinctly. 
 
 Their voices blended beautifully, and they could dis- 
 tinguish Mr.- Williams's deep notes, mingled with the 
 more childish tones of the boys, and even at the distance 
 at which they were the words were easily distinguished. 
 
 THE SCHOOLBOYS' EVENING- SONG. 
 
 " Come, come, coine, come to the sunset tree, 
 
 The day is past and gone, 
 The schoolboy now is free, 
 
 And his daily tasks are done. 
 The twilight star to heaven, 
 
 The summer dew to flowers, 
 And a holiday is given 
 
 To us by the evening hours. 
 
 " Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet is the hour of play 
 
 To the boy let loose from school, 
 After delving all the day 
 
 At some puzzling grammar rule. 
 Oh, then, how sweet to all 
 
 Are the triumphs of the race, 
 And the merry game at ball, 
 
 And the turf our resting-place ! 
 
 Then come, come, come. 
 
 " Light, light, light, light are our spirits now, 
 
 While bounding o'er the green, 
 And our friends assembled near 
 
 Enjoy the lively scene. 
 And when our games are o'er, 
 
 And the hour is past for play, 
 Then, sitting at the door, 
 
 We'll sing our roundelay. 
 
 Then come, come, como."
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON REVIVED. 
 
 " PAPA," said John, running into the library one morn- 
 ing in early spring, where Mr. Holcombe was lying at 
 ease on the lounge with a book in hand reading aloud to 
 his wife, who sat at her work by his side, " do you re- 
 member the young pear-tree you set out last spring ?" 
 
 " What, the one at the end of the walk ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Of course I do; what of it? I saw it yesterday; 
 those grafts are doing remarkably well." 
 
 "Well, papa," John had commenced his interview 
 with a very beaming face, but this had given place to an 
 expression of doubt and uncertainty, which induced Mr. 
 Holcombe to lay down the book he was reading and to 
 repeat with an increased appearance of interest : 
 
 " Well, what of it, my son ?'' 
 
 " Papa, I I somebody has cut it down." 
 
 ' Somebody has cut down my young seckel pear-tree !" 
 ejaculated Mr. Holcombe, in astonishment, getting up 
 from the lounge and standing before the child. " What 
 do you mean, John ?" 
 
 The tears began to roll over Master John's cheeks ; 
 but he made no answer. 
 
 " Well, this is the strangest thing I ever knew. I 
 must get at the bottom of the mystery. What do you 
 know about this, John ? That you are in some way con- 
 cerned in it I see, of course ; but how I cannot imagine. 
 Do you know who did it?" 
 (104)
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON REVIVED. 105 
 
 " Yes, sir," sobbed John. 
 
 " Well, tell me. Of course I shall be very angry; but 
 you need not be so much frightened. I am no ogre." 
 
 " Papa, I did it." 
 
 " You cut down my pear-tree I" said Mr. Holcombe, in 
 profound astonishment. " In the name of all that is rea- 
 sonable what could have induced you to do such a thing?" 
 
 " You told me " 
 
 " I told you," and Mr. Holcombe drew a long breath 
 expressive of suppressed impatience, " I told you to cut 
 down my pear-tree ! Well, either you or I have lost 
 our senses. For goodness' sake, stop that crying, you 
 great baby, you, and tell me what you mean !" 
 
 " Stop a minute, Mr. Holcombe, you frighten the child," 
 whispered Jean. " Come here, Johnny ; tell us all about 
 it now, I know you have not meant to do wrong." 
 
 Her gentleness calmed the sobs in a minute, though it 
 was still with considerable difficulty that he managed to 
 say, 
 
 "You know you told me I must always tell the 
 truth." 
 
 " Of course I did," said Jean, holding his face towards 
 her so as to keep from him the view of Mr. Holcombe's 
 impatient movements as he put his hands in his pockets 
 and strode up and down the room. 
 
 "And papa said that it was when he was talking 
 to us about Uncle Randolph's Christmas toast, about the 
 great men of Virginia ; and he said we must try and be 
 like them." 
 
 A smothered ejaculation from Mr. Holcombe, " Heaven 
 grant me patience ! But what have the great men of Vir- 
 ginia to do with my pear-tree ?" was very near upsetting 
 John again; but a few more words of encouragement, 
 and he said,
 
 106 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 "And I was trying but George "Washington's father 
 said he was willing to lose the cherry-tree because he told 
 the truth !" 
 
 This was too much, and Jean put her hands over her 
 face and shook with laughter. Mr. Holcombe had not 
 caught the low-voiced explanation, and looked from one 
 to the other with amazement. 
 
 " There, go out, John," said Jean, wiping the tears 
 from her eyes, " I will explain to papa ; it is all right." 
 
 And, as the door closed upon him, she gave full vent 
 to her amusement, in which Mr. Holcombe joined most 
 heartily when he understood that George Washington 
 and his successful raid upon his father's cherry-tree had 
 been John's guiding star. "But how I must have disap- 
 pointed him !" said he, at last. " Instead of acting the 
 proper and moral papa, like old Mr. Washington, of whom, 
 by-the-by, they make a perfect old prig, I almost fright- 
 ened the life out of him. Well, I would willingly lose 
 the pear-tree for the sake of the good joke ; it will last 
 John for a lifetime. I must write to George about it. 
 I wish I could tell him and hear him laugh." 
 
 "But do pray go after John now and comfort him," 
 said Jetm. " But, Mr. Holcombe," as he was leaving the 
 room, " I of course you know more about the children 
 than I do ; but, if you would only not go too far in the 
 opposite direction, explain to him about things, don't let 
 him think you esteem it a privilege to lose your tree." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Holcombe, " I am going to act old 
 Mr. Washington to perfection. ' Poor Johnny,' I am 
 
 going to say, ' my son, I would rather have lost' But 
 
 I am afraid I cannot be as effective wnthout the big white 
 cravat and shorts." 
 
 " Pshaw, Mr. Holcombe ! Don't do so. I really think 
 it is right serious; you may do the child an injury," said
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON REVIVED. 107 
 
 Jean. " I never saw such people as you are. I believe a 
 good joke would reconcile you to anything, and you fly 
 from one extreme to the other." 
 
 "Yes, that is a fact, Mrs. Jean; but I am going to 
 make it all right now. . I'll take his knife away from him 
 as a punishment, and tell him. that I know he did it for 
 the best, but I hope he won't do it again." And he left 
 the room laughing, leaving her still with a slight feeling 
 of uneasiness, and not a little wonder how he ever man- 
 aged to bring his children up as well as he had done. 
 
 The fact of the matter is men are not fond of that kind 
 of business, and if they can find any excuse for shuffling 
 off the trouble and responsibility, they are very apt to 
 do it. 
 
 John appeared at dinner in a very composed state of 
 mind ; peace was evidently made, and without the loss 
 of the knife, as Jean observed, and privately determined 
 to impress the lesson on the young man herself. 
 
 But John did not escape so easily as she thought. The 
 two boys, George and Harry, got hold of the story, and 
 called him George Washington ever afterwards.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 HARVEST. 
 
 " JEAN, you know next week my wheat will be ready 
 to cut, and you will have any quantity to do for harvest." 
 
 Jean laid down her work, and looked up at her husband 
 in surprise. She had never thought of her having any 
 duties to perform at harvest. 
 
 " Oh, yes," he said, laughing at her bewilderment. " I 
 expect you to go out in the field and help to bind up. 
 You will make a splendid Ruth." 
 
 " Of course, I know you arc laughing now," she said ; 
 " but what is to be done, really ?" 
 
 " Why, you have to prepare the greatest quantity of 
 pies, and cakes too, I expect. The hands all must be fed 
 up during harvest." 
 
 " You don't make the women go in these hot suns, do 
 you ?" she asked. 
 
 "Well, Jean, I give you leave to keep them at home, 
 if they want to stay. I assure you, harvest is a perfect 
 jubilee. I have to make the women take turns to stay 
 in and cook. Even the children are crazy to go." 
 
 "Well, I should think it would kill them to be out in 
 the broiling sun all day." 
 
 " It is hardly fair to judge them by yourself, Jean. In 
 the first place, a negro from his nature can stand more 
 heat than ten white people. I assure you, I have seen 
 Rachel wrap herself up in a double blanket, and lie 
 down in front of a fire which would roast an ox, and 
 sleep like an infant cradled on its mother's breast. And 
 (108)
 
 HARVEST. 109 
 
 then they, of course, from their position and lives, are 
 inured to hardships, it is obliged to be so. I could not 
 keep them all like ladies and gentlemen ; and what you 
 consider a hardship they look upon as the greatest 
 pleasure." 
 
 " I would like to see them at work," said Jean. " Would 
 that be possible ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ; when they get to the fields near the house, 
 you can go out ; or you can ride out with me any time. 
 You will be very much interested, it is a pretty sight. 
 How many of the women about the house can you 
 spare?" 
 
 " Will they want to go, too ? I never thought of that," 
 she said. 
 
 "Of course, they will all want to go; but that don't 
 make any difference. You will have to keep enough to 
 do the work ; but I suppose you can spare one or two. 
 The fact is, the wheat is very ripe, and I am anxious to 
 have as many hands as possible, so as to get through 
 soon, while the -fine weather lasts." 
 
 Jean thought that at least two-thirds of the house- 
 servants could be spared ; but she found that was out of 
 the question. Nanny must stay with Lilias, and two 
 other maids ; and Robin, of course, would have to stay 
 in the dining-room, since Mr. Holconibe could not stand 
 a woman round the table. 
 
 The weighty matter was at last settled, and harvest 
 commenced. 
 
 It is a trying time to all housekeepers, though less so, 
 probably, in an old Virginia household, where there are 
 so many supernumeraries in the way of servants. But 
 even Jean felt the inconvenience. The carriage could 
 not be gotten out, because the driver was in the field ; 
 the dinner in the house was delayed, because the hands 
 
 10
 
 110 THE IIOL COMBES. 
 
 must be provided first; the weeds were permitted to 
 show themselves in the beautiful garden, because Sandy 
 was harvesting. And thus, in many little ways, she was 
 constantly reminded that harvest was progressing ; and 
 often, too, she would hear the voices in the distance sing- 
 ing their harvest songs to the music of the swift-moving 
 cradles. They had commenced at the farthest extremity 
 of the farm, and worked in towards the house ; so that 
 it was not until the end of the week that Mr. Holcombe 
 announced that they were near enough for the ladies to 
 visit them. Jean preferred to walk, as she was too timid 
 about riding to venture. So, in company with the whole 
 family, she started out one bright afternoon, about an 
 hour before sunset. The voices of the singers grew 
 louder and harsher on the ear as they progressed, and 
 presently they came in full view of the whole party. 
 Certainly it was a beautiful sight. There were about 
 thirty hands altogether, of all ages and sizes. The men 
 displaying the bone and sinew of their muscular forms to 
 the greatest advantage in the movement of the cradle, 
 while the women in their blue cotton dresses, with 
 uncouth-looking head-dresses surmounting their craniums, 
 formed picturesque additions to the scene. Each cradler 
 had two binders; and the rapidity of their movements 
 Jean thought wonderful. The golden grain was swept- 
 by the unerring scythe ; the wide sweep of the arm baring 
 an incredible space at each throw, so that the beauti- 
 ful field, which, at their coming, had nodded a welcome 
 with its million of heads, soon showed for a great dis- 
 tance before them nothing but the short stubble, forming 
 a groundwork for the richly-piled sheaves which dotted 
 it from one end to the other. 
 
 "Look, mamma, here comes Aunt Ailsie to speak to 
 you," said Mary, as a queer-looking old figure appeared
 
 HARVEST. 11 J 
 
 in a short cotton dress, which displayed to disadvan- 
 tage the coarse shoes and not too neat-looking 1 hose, 
 while the hood of faded gingham, which sheltered her 
 from the beams of the sun, failed to improve the negro 
 features of the withered old face. 
 
 "Why, Aunt Ailsie, are you here, too?" said Jean, in 
 surprise. " I thought you were too old for the harvest- 
 field !" 
 
 " No, mistis, thank the Lord ! I is been in the harvis- 
 field all my life, and I hopes to die in it while the Lord 
 spares me." 
 
 " Well, how do you stand it, old woman ? Ain't you 
 tired ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, mistis, but I'm still spyarin', tumblin' 
 over the clods on pleadin' groun', thank the Lord!" 
 This medley of congratulations was almost too much for 
 Jean's gravity, and the boys laughed outright. 
 
 " There seems to be a fine crop this year," said Jean, 
 for want of a better remark. 
 
 "Yes, mistis, He dun sont a 'bundant harvis to 'rich 
 He land. Thank Him for it !" 
 
 But the conversation was brought to a sudden stop by 
 the old woman's catching sight of several woolly-headed 
 urchins making a raid upon her tin bucket of provisions, 
 which she had hidden under a sheaf of wheat ; and she 
 made a dash at the depredators, leaving the "white 
 people" to laugh at their leisure. 
 
 Mr. Holcombe now rode up for a moment to speak to 
 them ; and when Jean told him of their interview with 
 Ailsie, he said, laughing, 
 
 " Unfortunately, Jean, those pious-talking ones are not 
 always the best; they take it out in talking. When I 
 hear one of my negroes descanting eloquently on the 
 subject of his religious experience, I always keep my eyes
 
 112 THE nOLCOMBES. 
 
 about me. There used to be an old woman named 
 Hetty, and my mother always said, when she would 
 bring the yarn in, which she had been spinning, to have 
 it weighed, she always knew, if Hetty's mood was par- 
 ticularly pious, that the yarn was a hank short." 
 
 But as the sun was looking his last just before bidding 
 the world good-night, the whole party turned their faces 
 homewards. As they made their way through the woods 
 which lay between them and the house, Margaret and 
 Mary, accompanied by the three boys, made the grove 
 vocal with their imitations of the music of the reapers : 
 
 "Where now are good Brother Danel ? 
 Way over in de Promis' Lan'. 
 
 "He got cotch in de den of lions, 
 Way over in de Promis' Lan'. 
 
 "Where now is Medrach and Bednigo? 
 Way over in de Promis' Lan'. 
 
 " They went fru de fiery furnace, 
 Way over in de Promis' Lan'." 
 
 "It seems to me," said Mr. Williams, "that one of the 
 shining lights is neglected in that memorial. " 
 
 ' Oh, no, Mr. Williams," said George, " they make a 
 cunning combination of Shadrach and Meshach, making 
 it Medrach ; their metre would not allow a further con- 
 cession to history." 
 
 "Oh, mamma," said Mary, "look at Aunt Milly! 
 Don't she look handsome?" 
 
 She certainly looked picturesque as she stood on the 
 brow of the hill, her tall figure clearly defined against 
 the sky, and her voice coming to them mellowed by dis- 
 tance, crying, "Come, come, come." 
 
 " She is calling the cows," said John ; and there, way 
 off across the meadow, they came at her bidding, one 
 after another, making a pretty feature in the landscape as
 
 HARVEST. 113 
 
 their graceful forms blended with the softened hues of 
 twilight. 
 
 It was decided to go home by the " cuppin," a " nick- 
 name," John said, " for cow-pen." So they turned off 
 into the green meadow^ and reached the brow of the hill 
 just as the three milkmaids were emptying their first 
 buckets of the foaming white fluid into the large tubs. 
 
 The cows stood patiently within an inclosure made of 
 rails, while the calves ma-a-ed discontentedly on the out- 
 side, a useless expenditure of eloquence on the subject 
 of their defrauded rights, which their master, man, failed 
 to recognize. 
 
 The scene was as new to Jean as the harvest-field had 
 been, and she was very much amused to hear the milk- 
 maids talking to the animals, as if they really understood 
 them. 
 
 "You Bet! stan' roun' here! Don't you hear me? 
 I ain't goin' to take none of your ars !" 
 
 " I see you, old Wbitey ! You is jest gittin' ready to 
 kick dis here bucket over, en as sho as you dus, you will 
 git it, now min', I tell you." 
 
 At last, much to their gratification, the work of spoil- 
 ing was over, and the calves were let in to their mothers, 
 to take the remnant of the feast, which, after the long 
 waiting, was most joyfully received. 
 
 " What are they going to do now ?" said Jean, as she 
 saw the women lifting up the tubs. " Surely they never 
 can carry those things on their heads ;" but she found 
 her mistake as, rising up under their burdens, and 
 placing one hand on the hip, while in the other they car- 
 ried a full bucket, off they went, singing at the top of 
 their voices, the tubs poised gracefully, and the burden- 
 bearers looking as much at ease as if they carried no 
 weight at all. 
 
 10*
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE PICNIC. 
 
 THE regular vacation at Rose Hill was arranged for 
 the winter, though, during the hottest part of the sum- 
 mer, extempore holidays were allowed in order to recruit 
 the exhausted energies of teacher and pupils. 
 
 One was proposed soon after harvest, as Mr. Williams 
 had not been very well, and required a relaxation. 
 
 " Suppose we make up an expedition to Hawk's Nest," 
 Margaret proposed ; " Mr. Williams has never been there, 
 and we can all go and see the sunset, it is worth a ride 
 of twenty miles." 
 
 The proposition was unanimously carried, and taken 
 to the Upper House ; which, instead of vetoing it, 
 further suggested that sunrise was as well worth seeing 
 as sunset, and that they had better get up a picnic party 
 which would last two days. 
 
 Now Mr. Holcombe had a farm just at the foot of the 
 mountain, and it was at this time without a tenant, what 
 if they took possession of the house for a few days for 
 the variety of the thing 1 
 
 This plan was of course delightful, though Jean de- 
 clared herself unable to go, as Lilias, who had suffered 
 much from the warm weather, was more unwell than 
 usual, and could not of course leave the comforts of home. 
 Mr. Holcombe immediately announced his intention of 
 remaining also, though with characteristic determination 
 not to acknowledge danger of trouble, he said he knew
 
 THE PICNIC. H5 
 
 there was nothing' the matter with Lily more than she 
 suffered from every summer. 
 
 Mrs. Bascombe, with Rachel and Ned as assistants, 
 were dispatched on Wednesday with everything neces- 
 sary for the comfort of the party, though one of the great 
 enjoyments was to consist in the absence of the luxuries 
 of home. 
 
 Thursday proved as bright a day as any one could 
 wish, and a trip to Europe could scarce have claimed 
 more abundant preparations : there was an extensive sup- 
 ply of worsted-work, etc. for the girls, and guns and fish- 
 ing-tackle for the boys ; books enough for a party twice 
 the size of theirs, to last them twice as long ; besides 
 chessmen, backgammon, and every variety of game. It 
 was determined to stay until Saturday evening. 
 
 Uncle Bob made his appearance with his inevitable 
 cart, which presented a strange medley when it was all 
 packed to start. 
 
 "Who dares to take a slate?" said Harry Holcombe, 
 holding up one to public scorn, which he had just fer- 
 reted out from the loose baggage. " I don't care whose 
 it is, it ain't fair to take anything belonging to school." 
 
 " It is mine, Harry ; give it to me," said Mary. 
 
 " And what upon the earth do you want with it ? you 
 are not generally such an enthusiastic mathematician." 
 
 ''I wanted," said Mary, blushing, "to learn to draw, 
 and thought I would begin on a slate." 
 
 The laugh was too general for Mary's comfort, at the 
 idea of drawing from nature on a slate. 
 
 "Never mind how much they laugh, Mary," said Mr. 
 Williams, "it shows their ignorance. I could tell them 
 of a celebrated sculptor whose talent was discovered by 
 a figure he drew on the top of a firkin of lard ; but it is 
 just as well for you to leave the slate at home, as Harry's
 
 116 THE IIOLCOMBES. 
 
 feelings are so sensitive. I have everything 1 you will 
 want in ray portfolio, and I may be able to help you too." 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! thank you !" was the eager response, 
 as Snowflake (so she had named her pony) was brought 
 to the door, and her father came forward to help her up. 
 
 " Why, you are not more than a snowflake yourself," 
 he said, as she sprang into her seat with scarce any help 
 from him. "If you don't take care of this young lady, 
 Mr. Williams, she will go up on the wings of the first 
 wind which comes along higher than the old woman who 
 was tossed up in a blanket." 
 
 Margie was already mounted on Brown Bess, and 
 never showed to such advantage as in her present posi- 
 tion, with her lithe, young figure set off by the tight- 
 fitting riding-dress of some black material, and the broad- 
 brimmed hat tied down under the chin. She was perfect 
 mistress of her horse, and as she patted the arched neck, 
 the pleased movement of its pretty head showed the 
 touch to be a familiar one. 
 
 Mr. Williams bestrode black Festus, Mr. Holcombe's 
 fine Arabian, and the boys were mounted on the refuse 
 of the stable. George having chosen a scrubby, rusty- 
 looking mule, whose antics caused no little amusement to 
 the party, and Harry and John mounted on one horse, and 
 were to take turns in holding the reins. 
 
 " Good-by !" "good-by!" resounded from all sides. 
 
 " A good riddance of bad rubbish !" called out Mr. 
 Holcombe as they rode off. 
 
 "Good-by, Uncle Ned," said George. "Bucephalus 
 presents his compliments." And he touched his steed be- 
 hind, which sent his heels high in the air, by way of a 
 farewell greeting. 
 
 Mr. Holcombe and Jean stood watching the happy 
 party as they rode into the grove.
 
 THE PICNIC. 117 
 
 " They are certainly a merry set," said he. "I won- 
 der if time is going to let them stay so all their lives. It 
 seems right hard to think of their growing old and dying 
 careworn." 
 
 " Yes," said she, " if life was everything ; but " 
 
 "Ah, well, don't let us get on such doleful subjects. 
 I am never going to look forward. I believe we will all 
 do as they do in the story-books, live in peace, and 
 die in a pot of grease." 
 
 A ride of three or four miles brought the picnickers to 
 the little white cottage, built almost under the mountain, 
 and there stood Mrs. Bascombe in the door to welcome 
 them. 
 
 There was a long porch in the front of the house, from 
 which you entered two rooms : one, the kitchen, where 
 Mrs. Bascombe, with Rachel to help her, superintended 
 ovens of various sizes, with glowing coals on the top and 
 underneath, before a fire of huge logs, such primitive 
 modes of cooking being necessary owing to the transient 
 nature of the settlement; the other room (the largest 
 of the two) served as dining-room, parlor, etc. It now 
 presented a very seductive appearance to the hungry 
 equestrians, in spite of its lack of furniture, for in the 
 center of the room was spread the supper-table, made 
 attractive by the beautiful white cloth, blue India china, 
 and highly-polished silver, whilst in the center, the 
 tempting pat of yellow butter, with its crystal lump of 
 ice on the top, gave a promise of good cheer at the even 
 ing meal. 
 
 A flight of stairs landed in the room, and Mary at 
 once proposed to Margaret an inspection of the entire 
 establishment. So the two lady hostesses disappeared ; 
 their merry laughter soon drew the rest of the party 
 after them, and they found the upper floor to consist of
 
 118 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 four tiny bedrooms, with beds spread on the floor, and 
 boxes fixed in the corners, covered with white draperies, 
 to answer the purpose of wasbstands and dressing-tables. 
 
 " I speak for this room," said Harry, rolling himself 
 over the bed in the largest room. " The rest of you have 
 my permission to do as you please." 
 
 " Y*ou have fairly Won it, Harry," said Margaret, " as 
 no one wants it after you have rolled over it. But 
 don't flatter yourself that you are to have it alone. 
 George and John occupy it with you. This one is Mrs. 
 Bascombe's, that Mr. Williams's, and Mary and myself 
 will take this, at the head of the stairs." 
 
 " Good gracious, Margie !" said John, " sleep in the 
 bed with those two boys ! Why, Harry kicks, and George 
 has an uncomfortable way of throwing his arms about." 
 
 "And I think," said George, in comic dismay, "that 
 I shall forsake the populous assembly and repose on the 
 porch." 
 
 " Do," responded Harry ; " and if you are cold, just 
 shut the front gate." 
 
 Mr. Williams settled matters by offering disconsolate 
 John an asylum in his room. 
 
 Just then the odor of steaming coffee reached them, 
 and they descended the stairs to find the dainty meal 
 prepared for them, and Mrs. Bascombe was duly compli- 
 mented on the masterly manner in which she had met 
 the emergency. 
 
 Mary declared the bread and butter to be the best she 
 bad ever tasted, and the "broiled chickens met with uni- 
 versal approbation. 
 
 The evening proved too warm to stay in-doors, so the 
 whole party adjourned to the green outside the house, 
 and lounged contentedly on the grass, whilst the moon 
 beamed upon them complacently.
 
 THE PICNIC. 119 
 
 " Did you ever see anything so beautiful as this moon ?" 
 said Mary. 
 
 " That shows the greatest ingratitude for past favors, 
 Mary," said George. "It is just as bright every full 
 moon as it is now. It seerns a pity to me that we always 
 have to be denied something. The moon, for instance, is 
 such a jealous jade she will not countenance a rival, she 
 puts out the stars every time she shows her face. It 
 would be so much prettier if we could have all together." 
 
 " They did at the siege of Corinth," said Margaret; "at 
 least Byron says so. By-the-by, Mr. Williams, is not that 
 passage open to criticism ?" 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 Margaret repeated : 
 
 "'Tis midnight on the mountains brown; 
 The cold round moon shines deeply down ; 
 Blue roll the waters, blue the sky 
 Spreads like an ocean hung on high, 
 Bespangled with those isles of light, 
 So wildly, spiritually bright. 
 Who ever gazed upon their shining 
 And turned to earth without repining, 
 Nor wished for wings to flee away 
 And mix with their eternal ray ?" 
 
 " Well, no," said Mr. Williams, when she stopped ; " at 
 least it would be hypercritical to raise such an objection. 
 Except when the moon is at its full, stars can be seen : 
 and even to-night you can see them dimly." 
 
 " Yes, but not ' wildly, spiritually bright.' And he does 
 say the ' round moon.' Now the moon is never round 
 but when it is full." 
 
 Mr. Williams laughed. " You are a young critic, Miss 
 Margaret, and if Byron could only hear you he would 
 give you a niche in his ' English Bards and Scotch Re- 
 viewers.' "
 
 120 THE HOL COMBES. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Williams?" asked Mary. 
 
 " You know at the commencement of B}Ton's career 
 he wrote some poems called ' Hours of Idleness,' and 
 though there are some of the pieces which have merit, 
 taken as a whole, they are not worthy of his genius. The 
 ' Edinburgh Review' was a magazine published at that 
 time, and it took up these poems most savagely. Among 
 other things it said, I remember, the poesy of this 
 young lord belongs to the class which neither gods nor 
 men are said to permit. Fortunately, he says he is but 
 an intruder into the groves of Parnassus. He never 
 lived in a garret like a thoroughbred poet. Moreover, he 
 expects no profit from his poems, and whether they suc- 
 ceed or not, it is highly improbable, from his situation 
 and pursuits, that he will again condescend to become an 
 author. So I suppose we are well off to have got so 
 much from a man of his station, who does not live in a 
 garret, but has the sway of Newstead Abbey. So I say 
 let us be thankful, and bid God bless the giver, nor look 
 a gift horse in the mouth. 
 
 " Ityron's most dignified course would have been silence 
 under such gross injustice, which would have recoiled 
 upon the heads of the perpetrators. But there was too 
 much littleness in the man for any such course as that. 
 For the rasping, after all, he had afterwards cause to be 
 thankful, as it roused his slumbering genius, and gave 
 him his rank among the great lights of the age. 
 
 " He wrote his 'English Bards and Scotch Reviewers,' 
 which is probably the wittiest, most caustic, and vigorous 
 satire which has ever been written in the English lan- 
 guage. But in the virulence of his temper he forgot to 
 discriminate, and friends and foes went down alike under 
 the relentless scythe of his satirical pen. I believe he 
 was sorry for this afterwards, but it could not be recalled.
 
 THE PICNIC. 121 
 
 I would not advise you, however, young people, to culti- 
 vate an admiration for Byron. He was a bad man though 
 a great genius; and I do not think the style of his 
 writings healthy or profitable." 
 
 Margaret felt herself blushing. She was just at the 
 Byron age; and, as Mr. Williams spoke, felt conscious 
 that the perusal of his works had had the effect of strength- 
 ening her in the indulgence of the moody, melancholy 
 temper which had of late possessed her. 
 
 As their trip to the mountain-top was fixed for very 
 early the next morning, it was decided to disperse about 
 nine o'clock, which they did, and the whole party were 
 soon asleep. The last sound which fell on Margie's 
 sleepy ear was from Mary, saying, 
 
 " I believe I will always sleep on a pallet, it is so 
 pleasant to feel that you can't fall out of bed, ain't it, 
 Margie?" 
 
 As there was no response as an encouragement to 
 further conversation, Mary joined her sister in the land 
 of dreams. 
 
 " Goodness ! how funny it seems to be waked up this 
 early !" said Margaret, rubbing her eyes, as Rachel at 
 last succeeded in making them understand that the whole 
 party would be waiting for them, and the sun would be 
 up before them if they did not make haste. It did not 
 take them very long to make their toilets ; but when they 
 got down-stairs, they found Mr. Williams leaning over 
 the gate, and the boys rolling restlessly on the grass, 
 awaiting their arrival ; and John pronounced them 
 "humbugs" because they took so long to dress. 
 
 They started forward, up the steep sides of the mount- 
 ain, all for a race to the goal which was nearly half a 
 mile off. In her eager enjoyment, Margaret almost for- 
 
 11
 
 122 THE 110 L COMBES. 
 
 got her mature fifteen years; but recalled to herself, she 
 assumed her expression of dignified consciousness, and 
 fell back ; and Mr. Williams and herself followed the 
 others at a slower pace, though always in view of them. 
 
 It was a sight worth seeing, those country girls and 
 boys, with the agility almost of Highlanders, making 
 such speed up the precipitous side of the mountain, now 
 clinging to a tree or shoot, or holding on to a rock, or 
 planting the foot more firmly on the slippery path. Mary 
 was so light and active that she reminded Mr. Williams of 
 the fleet-footed antelope springing from rock to rock. She 
 outstripped even the hardy boys ; and when Margaret and 
 Mr. Williams were still far below them, they saw Mary 
 standing on the topmost verge of a high rock which crowned 
 the pealc, waving her hat to proclaim her triumph. 
 
 " Stand still a minute, Mary, 1 ' called out Mr. Williams, 
 " and I will draw your likeness !" And hurrying past 
 Margaret, he said, "I would not miss that chance for a 
 scene on any account." 
 
 Mary, highly pleased at the idea of having her picture 
 taken, stood like a statue, while the artist got out his 
 drawing materials, and commenced rapidly to sketch the 
 pretty child with the glowing cheeks and laughing eyes, 
 and that wealth of beautiful hair. Just then the sun, 
 rising above the horizon, tinged with his earliest beams 
 the figure on the rocky peak, tinted the bright hair like 
 threads of gold, and lighted up the whole scene with magi- 
 cal beauty. How the young artist wished for the pencil 
 of a Rubens that he might do justice to his subject ; and 
 how often, in after-years, did the memory of that beautiful, 
 fairy-like child come back to him as she stood there, look- 
 ing down upon him with her coronet of gold sparkling in 
 the beams of the rising sun ! 
 
 He had made but a rough sketch, but it was enough to
 
 THE PICNIC. 123 
 
 guide him. Mary exclaimed, with an artlessness which 
 made them all smile, 
 
 " Ah, me, how pretty ! And it looks like me, too !" 
 
 "Why, Mary, what a piece of vanity!" said Margaret, 
 in a shocked tone of voice which brought the crimson to 
 Mary's face. 
 
 " Indeed ! indeed ! I did not mean I did not say I 
 Pshaw ! I meant the drawing was pretty 1" 
 
 " We all know what you meant, my child," said Mr. Wil- 
 liams. " As I told your sister, last night, she is rather 
 hypercritical. Let her confine herself to assailable people, 
 like Byron and others, and not send the arrows of her criti- 
 cism towards such harmless objects as you and myself." 
 
 "It seems to me," said Margaret, her eyes flashing 
 upon him, " that you are making a rather lame attempt, 
 Mr. Williams, to get up an edition of ' English Bards and 
 Scotch Reviewers' for my chastisement. I am much 
 obliged to you." 
 
 "Excuse me, Miss Holcombe. I did not mean to be 
 rude ; but I could not bear that you should suggest a 
 consciousness to your sister, whose perfect freedom from 
 it, or assumption of any kind, is her greatest charm." 
 
 He had spoken in a low tone, so that Mary might not 
 catch his explanation ; but Margaret was not appeased. 
 
 " You mean, I suppose, to insinuate, Mr. Williams, that 
 I possess the qualities which you esteem her for lacking?" 
 
 He did not speak for an instant, but seeing her waiting 
 still for an answer, he said, 
 
 " I did not say so, nor do I think it could be fairly in- 
 ferred from what I did say. I have no right to pronounce 
 judgment upon you, nor will I consent to be forced 
 into it." 
 
 Margaret turned on her heel and walked away, her 
 love of approbation was very strong, and she felt keenly
 
 124 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 the implied reproof in Mr. Williams's words ; but it did 
 not do her the good it might have done, it only made her 
 angry, and her uncandid comment upon the whole was, that 
 Mary's beauty had turned her sober teacher's brain, and 
 made him view everything she did in an exaggerated light; 
 and then the old cry came back, "Oh, that I were beautiful !" 
 
 Breakfast was ready for them when they reached the 
 cottage ; but everybody was tired, and Margaret's brow 
 had not yet smoothed, so it did not possess the charm of 
 the supper the night before. 
 
 Each one was to follow the bent of his inclinations for 
 the day. And the boys got out guns and fishing-tackle 
 to provide their family with food, as they pompously 
 announced ; Mr. Williams was not well enough to accom- 
 pany them, so he decided to remain behind, and as a 
 proffer of peace proposed a game of chess with Miss Hoi- 
 combe. The young lady in question declined, however, 
 and went off into the grove to write letters. So Mary 
 claimed his promise to teach her to draw. The morning 
 was whiled away very quietly, reading soon superseding 
 drawing and writing ; at length, however, Mary becoming 
 tired of her inertia started off on a tour of inspection. 
 Some little time was spent in stud} T ing natural history by 
 observing the birds and insects, and she was just wonder- 
 ing where Mr. Williams was that she might consult him 
 about some of her discoveries, when her eye caught sight 
 of a sapling. It was the work of a minute to pull it 
 down and mount it, and her delight knew no bounds 
 when she found herself flying up and down in the soft 
 breeze ; the amusement suited her admirably. 
 
 There was an observer of her motions hidden from 
 view by some undergrowth about ten yards off, and lay- 
 ing down his book he amused himself watching the 
 feathery-looking little figure in her light draperies flitting
 
 THE PICNIC. 125 
 
 up and down before his eyes ; he felt impelled to join 
 her and be a boy again, so vividly did the scene recall 
 the days of his childhood. Just then, however, the crunch- 
 ing of the dry leaves announced the approach of another 
 outsider, and he heard, without seeing-, Margaret's tone 
 of grave reproof and shocked propriety. 
 
 " Oh, Mary ! I declare I never saw such a tomboy 
 as you are. You forget how old you are, my child. Why, 
 if any one were to see you they would be perfectly 
 shocked at your appearance. Suppose Mr. Williams were 
 to come up now ?" 
 
 " I wish he would," said Mary, without slackening her 
 pace ; " I think he would like a ride himself, it is perfectly 
 splendid, a great deal better than horseback." 
 
 " How in the world did you ever get up there ?" said 
 Margaret. 
 
 " Oh, nothing easier ; you see it is so thin I just pulled it 
 down to the ground and held on to it until I mounted. No one 
 is about, Margie ; just try it, you don't know how nice it is." 
 
 Margie laughed ; she was child enough to like the fun, 
 though not quite willing to lay herself open to the charge 
 of inconsistency. As Mary seemed to have forgotten her 
 expressed disapprobation, however, perhaps it had made 
 no impression upon her. 
 
 " I have half a mind to try," she said. " Where is Mr. 
 Williams ?" 
 
 " I think he must have gone to the house. I'll watch 
 and listen, no one shall catch you." 
 
 A little longer struggle between the child and woman 
 in the girl, and the child conquered. Mary got off, and 
 obligingly held the steed down very low while her sister 
 mounted, secretly exultant that now her frailties must 
 meet with some leniency since the dignified young lady 
 of fifteen was transgressing. 
 
 11*
 
 126 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 In another minute Margaret was flying away in as full 
 enjoyment as Mary's bad been, and the recumbent figure 
 among the trees, very much amused at the whole scene, 
 was trying to roll himself farther out of sight, so that he 
 might make his way to the house. To him they were 
 merely two children at play, but he well knew that Mar- 
 garet's wrath would be dire if he was caught, so his most 
 earnest desire was to make his escape. 
 
 The very efforts he made, however, defeated his object ; 
 as the fair equestrienne made a higher flight than usual 
 she caught sight of a moving mass among the bushes. 
 
 In an instant Mary's riderless steed sprang back to its 
 position, and Margaret only managed to ejaculate " A 
 man !" and buried her face in her hands. Mr. Williams, 
 finding that he was discovered, came forward, not very 
 much disconcerted ; and Mary threw herself on the 
 ground and laughed so that she could not speak. 
 
 "Forgive me, Miss Holcombe," said Mr. Williams, "it 
 seems I am in bad luck to-day; this is twice I have 
 fallen under your displeasure." The words were peni- 
 tent, but there was a tone in the voice which revealed 
 to her the fact that if he dared he would join Mary in 
 her laugh on the grass. 
 
 Her answer was indignant in the extreme : " Mr. Wil- 
 liams, I scarcely expected to find you occupying the po- 
 sition of a spy. I thought you were a gentleman, at any 
 rate. I shall let papa know as soon as I go home to 
 whom he has intrusted us." 
 
 "I shall save you the trouble, my dear young lady," 
 he said, his voice betraying none of the feeling which 
 showed itself in his face. "I shall tell him myself; no 
 doubt he will be very much amused at the whole inci- 
 dent." 
 
 The idea of being placed in the ludicrous position she
 
 THE PICNIC. 127 
 
 knew his story must put her was too much ; words failed 
 her and she burst into tears. 
 
 Mr. Williams, like all men, and particularly young 
 men, had a dread of hysterics, and, besides, he was 
 really sorry to see her so distressed ; so, going up to her 
 and speaking very gently, he said, 
 
 " You asked me this morning if I thought you pos- 
 sessed the qualities of which I pronounced Mary so 
 free. I will answer that question now by telling you 
 why I was interested in the little scene I have just 
 witnessed. I had not this morning quite made up my 
 mind what I thought, and I lay there a little while since 
 dissecting your character. Shall I tell you what I found ?" 
 He took silence for consent and went on : "I saw you 
 making a great mistake, I said to myself. Oh, why will 
 she not see that genuine childhood is the most beautiful 
 thing in the world, and that she loses the best part of 
 her life by assuming the airs and rights of a woman ? 
 
 " To my surprise, however, in a moment I found that 
 the child-nature was there, though in abeyance ; and I 
 watched with all the interest of a philosopher to find 
 which nature was predominant, and almost felt a triumph 
 when I found the real Miss Holcombe without the dis- 
 guise she chooses to assume. I have so high an opinion 
 of you in many respects that I have not been able to 
 reconcile myself to what I must consider as a blemish in 
 your character. Take my advice and don't thwart na- 
 ture. She is more lovely in her operations than art will 
 ever be." 
 
 He turned and walked hastily down the path leading 
 to the house, rightly judging, if he gave her an oppor- 
 tunity to reply, pride, not quite conquered, might impel 
 her to say something for which they would both be sorry ; 
 and he knew that if she were left alone her better self
 
 128 THE IIOLCOMBES. 
 
 would conquer. When he had walked about three or 
 four yards from the girls, he turned and beckoned Mary 
 to follow him. 
 
 The result proved his conduct wise, as Margaret ap- 
 peared at the dinner-table with a softened manner, the 
 traces of tears not yet obliterated. 
 
 The rest of the visit was delightfully spent in various 
 amusements, and nothing else happened to mar the pleas- 
 ure of the prolonged picnic, and the party returned home 
 with many regrets that another happy time was past. 
 
 They found everything as usual at Rose Hill, except 
 that Lilias still appeared listless and languid. She 
 wanted to hear all about the trip, but was so wearied 
 before they got through that they had to stop. Her con- 
 dition was beginning to excite some apprehension in Mrs. 
 Holcombe, though no one else seemed to observe any- 
 thing peculiar.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE ANGEL OP DEATH. 
 
 " MR. HOLCOMBE," called Jean, as he started off on 
 Festus the next morning, " I wish you would ask Dr. 
 Campbell to come and see Lilias." 
 
 Mr. Holcombe turned quickly in his saddle and said, 
 "What is the matter? There don't seem to me to be 
 anything but debility, caused by this miserably warm 
 weather." 
 
 " No, that is all ; but still I feel uneasy. Perhaps 
 she needs some tonic." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I dare say she does. I will call and tell the 
 doctor ; but, Jean, for goodness' sake, don't be so gloomy. 
 You are a perfect Jeremiah. I have seen her this way 
 before, and I know it is only a little lassitude. She will 
 be well in a few days." 
 
 Jean smiled at him as he rode off, but could not adopt 
 his idea. She went back to the room and looked at the 
 little face almost as white and delicate as the gown which 
 she wore, and she felt sure that there must be real ground 
 for anxiety. Here she had two months more of warm 
 weather still, and already so reduced ; and yet no one 
 seemed to see it but herself. The fact was the child had 
 always been so much of an invalid that the rest of the 
 family had become accustomed to it, and did not remark 
 the great change which had taken place in a short time, 
 and then, too, she never complained ; indeed, she hardly 
 
 (129)
 
 130 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 seemed to have the strength to do so, but lay all day 
 long like a blighted lily dying in the glaring sun. 
 
 "Betsy and Nelly" and the other members of her 
 " family" lay all around, and she would look at them with 
 her old tender smile without the old gladness. Even 
 the pretty work-box was laid aside " until cool weather 
 comes." 
 
 Jean read and sung to her, and Margie and Mary did 
 the same, and the boys would come in with their burst 
 of joyous health ; but nothing seemed much to rouse her 
 from the apathy into which she had fallen. Every one 
 said, " Oh, she is always so during the heat of the sum- 
 mer months." And so matters had been allowed to pro- 
 gress. That morning Jean had called in old Mammy; 
 and as soon as she saw her she said, " You had better 
 send for the doctor, Miss Jean ; she is a very sick child ; 
 don't mind what Mars' Ned say; he never will look at 
 trouble till it corne ; she ain't never been so low down 
 as this before." 
 
 Dr. Campbell had been the family physician of the. 
 Holcombes for the past thirty years : and his arrival was 
 always hailed by the children as an era in their lives. 
 Accordingly, when his sober old gray was seen coming 
 out of the grove, on this morning, at least three witnesses 
 announced the fact at Mrs. Holcombe's door ; and even 
 the sick child roused up to some appearance of interest 
 when the old gentleman made his appearance. 
 
 "Why, what's the matter with Dame Lilias, hey?" 
 said he, kissing the white little face which smiled up at 
 him from the pillow. "At your old tricks, I perceive. 
 Young woman, what hurts you ?" 
 
 "There is nothing the matter with me, doctor; I feel 
 right well." 
 
 " You do ; then why don't you get up ?"
 
 THE ANGEL OF DEATH. 13i 
 
 " Well, I will to-morrow, but it is so warm to-day. I 
 like to lie here and have Nanny to fan me." 
 
 " Ah, poor little puss ! do you eat anything ?" 
 
 " Yes, sometimes." 
 
 And this was all. And, after ordering strong tonics 
 and perfect rest, he said " Good-by." 
 
 " Will you come to-morrow, doctor ?" said the child. 
 
 " Oh, yes, if you want me." And as he raised up from 
 kissing her farewell, Jean saw the moisture in his eyes. 
 
 She followed him out of the room, and said, anxiously, 
 
 " Doctor, is there anything serious ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, madam; everything is serious with a little 
 atom of mortality like that, with not the life of a flea in 
 it. There is nothing to build on." 
 
 " Oh, doctor," and the tears came into her eyes, 
 " she will not die, will she ?" 
 
 " God only knows that, madam. If a cool rain were 
 to come up she might recuperate, and she may yield to 
 the tonics ; but no one can tell. But there must be some 
 revival, and soon, for her blood flows but slowly now." 
 
 " Cannot something be done, doctor ?" And the trem- 
 bling hands beat the air as if the sense of helplessness 
 was too great in the presence of such danger. 
 
 " Oh, yes, madam. Let her be perfectly still ; and 
 don't try to rouse her too vigorously. Rest is the best 
 thing for her. No matter if she does not notice. things, 
 it is want of strength which causes it ; and the strength 
 she has will be best recruited by perfect quiet. She has 
 no disease." 
 
 There is no sickness so trying to the nurse as that in 
 which there is nothing to be done but to sit and watch. 
 So long as the hands are busy, the heart finds relief; but 
 to sit motionless, and see the pulsation flowing feebler 
 each hour, is dreary work.
 
 132 THE II OL COMBES. 
 
 At first the tonics raised the pulse, and light came 
 back into the blue eyes ; but it was only the feeble flicker 
 of the little rushlight which, it soon became apparent to 
 all, would, before long, die out. 
 
 Mr. Holcombe was hard to convince on the subject, 
 as he determinedly put conviction from him, and would 
 sit beside her; and, whenever she waked, try to make 
 her laugh. The most he could ever gain, however, was 
 one of her soft, feeble smiles. 
 
 One night Jean and himself sat beside the little crib 
 on one side, and Margie and Mary knelt on the other, 
 while Mammy sat at a little distance ; 'Nanny (her nurse) 
 having fallen asleep from exhaustion. 
 
 The blue eyes were opened, and looked around in sur- 
 prise at so many gathered about her bed. The expression 
 of the face was so different from what it had been for 
 some time past that Mr. Holcombe, turning to his wife, 
 said, smiling, 
 
 " There now, Jean, she is better ; just see how bright 
 she is !" 
 
 Old Mammy spoke. " Oh, Mars' Ned, so is the candle 
 when it jumps up out of the socket jes before it goes 
 out." 
 
 He turned around on her almost angrily. 
 
 " What do you mean, Mammy ? The child is evidently 
 better, ain't you, my darling ?" Stooping over her. 
 
 " I don't know ;" and the little hand, trembling with 
 weakness, went up to her head. "Am I very sick, papa? 
 What does it mean ? What are you all crying for ?" And 
 the blue eyes searched each face keenly. 
 
 "You have been very ill, my darling baby," said he, 
 in vain striving to control the quiver in his voice as he 
 spoke. " We have been very miserable, but you feel 
 better now. Tell papa, Lilias, you feel better." And the
 
 THE ANGEL OF DEATH. 133 
 
 strong man broke down over the agony in the tones of 
 his own voice. 
 
 " I did not know I was sick : I only feel tired. Mar- 
 gie, what are you and Mary doing here ?" She was 
 evidently becoming confused, and the girls withdrew to a 
 little distance ; but the anxious eyes were still wide open, 
 restless, dissatisfied. At last she said, 
 
 "Mamma, come here." And as she knelt beside her, 
 the little arms crept around her neck, and she whis- 
 pered, 
 
 " Am I going to die ?" 
 
 " You would not be afraid, Lilias, would you ?" was 
 the evasive answer. 
 
 " I don't know : tell me about it." 
 
 " You know you would go to heaven to be with 
 Jesus." 
 
 " Say ' Suffer little children.'" 
 
 "Yes, He said 'Suffer little children to come unto me 
 and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of 
 heaven.' " 
 
 " I don't want to go by myself," and the clasp of the 
 arms became tighter, " I am afraid." 
 
 " Listen, Lilias ! Don't you remember in your pretty 
 book about the shepherd in the mountains, and the pic- 
 ture you thought so pretty, where he takes up the little 
 lambs and carries them over the rocks ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, you are one of the little lambs, and Jesus is 
 the kind shepherd, He will take you safely to the end of 
 your journey." 
 
 " Are you coming, too?" 
 
 "After awhile, darling, when God is ready for me." 
 
 "And papa?" 
 
 12
 
 134 TUB HOLCOMBES. 
 
 Jean moved aside and made room for him close beside 
 her. 
 
 " Papa, are you coming, too ?" 
 
 "Oh, Lilias, stay with me! I don't know, my child." 
 
 "You must come, papa. I would stay if I could, but 
 God wants me." 
 
 "Lilias," said Jean again, in her low, trembling voice, 
 " do you remember, baby, in the same story of the shep- 
 herd, that sometimes, when the old sheep would stray 
 away from him, he took the little lamb in his arms, and then 
 the old sheep would follow without any more trouble ?" 
 
 " Yes." And the eyes looked full of interest. 
 
 "Now, maybe when the Good Shepherd takes our little 
 lamb we will follow Him in the same way." 
 
 " Yes, all must come. Papa, Margie, Mary, and John, 
 all come soon." She was very tired now, and they 
 gave her a tablespoonful of brandy, and Mr. Holcombe 
 sent off for Dr. Campbell. 
 
 The bright eyes commenced their wanderings again. 
 
 " Where is Mamie ?" 
 
 "Here, darling." And Mary stooped over and kissed 
 her. 
 
 "Mamie, take care of my family ; don't let them get all 
 broke up." 
 
 The promise was given. " And," continued the fail- 
 ing voice, " Margie can have my work-box, and John my 
 Hollo Serious, and mamma, you let Mammy have my 
 chair, and give Nanny my ring, that is all I have got." 
 This was said at intervals as her strength would allow ; 
 then a long silence before she spoke again. 
 
 "Mamma, will I walk when I get there ?" 
 
 " Yes, darling, you will leave this poor, little, suffering 
 body behind you, and your spirit will be as bright and 
 joyous as any other, you will be very happy."
 
 THE ANGEL OF DEATH. 135 
 
 " Will I know anybody there ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ; your mamnia, about whom we have talked 
 so often, and so many dear friends who died before you 
 were born." 
 
 " Is that the ' Happy' land, far, far away,' mamma?" 
 
 " Yes, darling ; but not so far away now. I think you 
 are nearing the river." 
 
 "What river, mamma?" And the voice grew alarmed. 
 
 " Never mind, dearie ; it is a very shallow stream for 
 you, the Shepherd will take you over." And she was 
 quieted. 
 
 " Is Margie there, mamma ?" 
 
 Margie herself answered her. " Yes, darling, what 
 do you want ?" 
 
 " Sing, Margie, ' There is a Happy Land." 
 
 The voices of the two girls rose sweetly in the quiet 
 of the room. The white lids closed over the violet eyes, 
 and, when they opened, they saw " another land than 
 ours." 
 
 When Dr. Campbell arrived he found them all gathered 
 around the little lifeless form, while Jean was trying to con- 
 vince Mr. Holcombe that she was gone. There is always 
 something painfully striking in the contrast between the 
 sobs and grief of bereaved friends around the dead and 
 the marble stillness of the corpse. So thought the doctor 
 as he entered the chamber of death, there she lay with 
 a smile on her parted lips like a child who had just 
 dropped to sleep ; while the sobs and cries of the chil- 
 dren and servants sounded noisily through the room, 
 and Mr. Holcombe tried in vain to command silence, in- 
 sisting that it would wake the little slumberer. As Dr. 
 Campbell entered, he said, 
 
 " Oh, doctor, I am glad you are here, you can assure 
 these poor frightened children that she is only sleeping."
 
 136 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 And he tried in vain to maintain his composure by in- 
 sisting upon this point. The doctor came forward, took 
 the limp little hand in his, laid his other hand next the 
 still heart, raised the closed lids of the now sightless 
 orbs, and put his finger into the mouth. It reminded 
 Jean of the old scene in the prophet's chamber, where 
 the dead son of the house lay upon the bed, and the old 
 prophet bent above the corpse, " But there was no sound 
 nor hearing." 
 
 Turning to the bereaved father, and laying his hand 
 on his shoulder, he said, " Be comforted, Edward, ' she is 
 where the wicked cease from troubling,' your little, 
 weary one is at rest." And the sobs which had been 
 suspended during the examination broke out again. 
 While the little sleeper lay, regardless of the confusion, 
 with the happy smile upon her lips. 
 
 " She has learned the song they sing 
 
 Whom Jesus has made free ; 
 And tho glorious walls of heaven still ring 
 
 With her new-born melody," 
 
 said Jean, as she kissed the white brow of the little 
 sleeper ; and, taking her husband by the arm, persuaded 
 him to go with her out of the room. 
 
 Brother George and sister Annie came to them as soon 
 as they heard of the trouble, how different from the last 
 gathering beneath the Rose Hill roof ! 
 
 "It is better to go to the house of mourning than to 
 the house of feasting," said good sister Annie, as Jean 
 spoke of the contrast ; " some of the sweetest seasons of 
 communion with my Saviour have been after the death 
 of my most precious friends. He always makes up our 
 losses to us by giving us more and more of himself, 
 there need never be a vacuum in the heart." 
 
 They stayed until the little empty casket was laid away
 
 THE ANGEL OF DEATH. 137 
 
 in its silent resting-place, then returned to their homes. 
 Before he left, Mr. George Holcombe handed his brother 
 the following lines: 
 
 "Say, have they spring in heaven, as we on earth, 
 That tender buds should be demanded there, 
 
 That, from your flow'rets of terrestrial birth, 
 One all acknowledged lovely, sweet, and rare 
 
 Should thus be called, and softly borne away 
 
 To ope its petals in celestial day? 
 
 " You have one flow'ret less, and He one more, 
 
 But yours must know the cold, the blight, the storm, 
 
 His shall be nurtured where no tempests roar, 
 No change nor death may touch the gentle form 
 
 Then do not grieve, when more to you are given, 
 
 To offer up one bud to bloom in heaven. 
 
 "Was she the loveliest? Give the best to Him. 
 
 Was she the dearest? Fittest for the skies. 
 Was she the purest ? Never more may dim 
 
 Sin with its taint the lustre of her eyes. 
 Was she the best-beloved, the fond, the true ? 
 Then give the best-beloved, it is His due." 
 
 12*
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MARGARET LEAVES HOME. 
 
 PERHAPS no member of the family felt the vacuum 
 created by the death of Lilias more constantly than did 
 Jean. 
 
 She had been so much with her, and was such a care 
 upon her, that for weeks she felt perfectly lost. Her 
 occupation was gone. And when the little crib was put 
 away, out of sight, and the familiar clothing was no 
 longer seen, she began to realize, for the first time, that 
 "the child was not." 
 
 They laid her beside her mother in the family burying- 
 ground, and the childi'en used to keep the grave covered 
 with fresh flowers until the frosts of winter stripped the 
 bushes. 
 
 It is an easy thing to say, " Oh, she is so much better 
 off!" and so they all know. But grief is a selfish thing, 
 and is apt to dwell more on the empty chair in the house- 
 hold than the shining spirit in heaven. 
 
 Mr. Holcombe, impulsive and sanguine in tempera- 
 ment, suffered, as such people always suffer, very in- 
 tensely. As old Mammy expressed it, " He took trouble 
 monsus hard." 
 
 He could not, for a long time, hear her name mentioned. 
 But Jean said to him one day, 
 
 " My dear husband, I do not know how you can bear 
 to let the name of our little one die out of the household. 
 (138)
 
 MARGARET LEAVES HOME. 139 
 
 Let us keep that alive, at any rate. I love to think and 
 talk of her pretty ways and her quaint sayings. They 
 recur to me all the time, and if you will only for awhile 
 put a constraint upon yourself, I am sure you will find 
 comfort in it." 
 
 He did make the effort, with success, and it became no 
 uncommon thing to hear constantly in the household, 
 "As our dear little Lilias said." It is true, the smile 
 which accompanied the recollection was often sad, and 
 accompanied by a tear; but after awhile her humorous 
 sayings became quite household words. But it takes a 
 long time for a wound such as that to be healed. And 
 the children were more subdued in their enjoyments, 
 and showed conclusively that little Lilias was not for- 
 gotten. 
 
 During the fall, the question of sending Margaret 
 away to school was often discussed, and since there was 
 no longer open war between herself and the other mem- 
 bers of the family, and she was old enough to claim 
 greater advantages than a home school afforded, Jean 
 ceased to oppose the move. So that obstacle being re- 
 moved, the arrangement was soon decided upon. 
 
 At the first mention of the plan, Margaret positively 
 refused to listen to it, but when she heard that the school 
 fixed upon was the same which Ellen Randolph attended, 
 she soon become reconciled, and, with the pliability of 
 youth, grew enamored of the idea, and would at last 
 have been much disappointed if the decision had been 
 reversed. 
 
 There was an excitement, too, in getting ready, which 
 was very pleasant to Margaret. All the seamstresses on 
 the place were busy in her service, and the shopping ex- 
 peditions to C altogether made her forget the pain 
 
 of parting with home and home friends.
 
 140 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 Imagination was busy building castles which time 
 would surely destroy. She could not help, however, some 
 little uneasiness about her standing at school. And her 
 pride and ambition led her to improve every moment of 
 time under Mr. Williams, until he was astonished at her 
 progress. 
 
 The day before she left was spent in roving over all 
 of her old haunts her grotto in the grove, over which 
 the ivy she had planted was spreading so beautifully. 
 Here she sat a long time with her head on her hand, and 
 here she first felt that she was giving up much in leaving 
 her happy home, for it was happy in spite of her self- 
 made sorrows ; of late, too, habit had accustomed, if it 
 had not reconciled, her to the existing state of things. 
 Lilias's death-bed, with the low-voiced comforter at its 
 side, had made a great impression upon her; and while 
 it humbled her proud spirit to think that, there, she had 
 been obliged to give up the first place by the side of the 
 dying child, at the same time she had more than once 
 asked herself if Lilias had died the year before, who 
 would have been there to guide the trembling little feet 
 heavenward. Even her father had never given these 
 things the position they should have occupied in his 
 thoughts, and she how could she have pointed to a 
 path she had never herself trod ? And her heart, always 
 candid and truthful to itself, acknowledged the good 
 which had come out of what to her at first seemed such 
 unmitigated evil. 
 
 If she had only followed the impulse, which for one 
 moment seized her, to confess all this where the acknow- 
 ledgment was due, how much of suffering and sin would 
 have been spared her ! But that pride to which Margaret 
 Holcombe was a prisoner utterly refused to allow her to 
 make any humiliating concessions.
 
 MARGARET LEAVES HOME. HI 
 
 "What! go and humble myself before her and say, 'I 
 have been a wicked, bad girl ; I am so sorry, please for- 
 give me !' That I can never do." 
 
 "But," said her better nature, "to think of being re- 
 lieved from this load of self-reproach, of being able to go 
 away leaving nothing but love behind you, and then the 
 nobility of acknowledging a fault, of making reparation 
 to one you have so grievously injured !" 
 
 "Ab, yes," whispered Pride, "and to have yourself 
 held up to your brother and sister as a warning against 
 ill-doing and its consequences." And Pride exulted over 
 another conquest. 
 
 "I am going away so soon now it is not worth while 
 to change my manner ; but when I return I will show 
 her, without saying anything about it, that my feelings 
 have all changed." 
 
 This she considered quite a concession, and her self- 
 approbation rose at what she looked upon as a self-con- 
 quest. " Yes, she would write to papa and send her love 
 to her; that will gratify him so much, and it will show 
 him that I think myself wrong without having to say it." 
 
 The rustic grotto in which she sat, and which was her 
 favorite resort, was formed of immense blocks of lime- 
 stone rock, partly a natural formation, but with some 
 assistance from art ; it extended around three sides, leav- 
 ing a space in the center about nine feet square, which 
 was surrounded by stone seats, while the green grass 
 formed a soft, pretty carpet for the floor. A chance acorn 
 had buried itself somewhere amid these old rocks, and 
 from it had sprung a tree which spread its wide branches 
 over the place, forming a beautiful and appropriate roof, 
 while the evergreen ivy was fast cementing the frag- 
 ments of the rocks together with its resistless fingers. 
 
 The tears came into Margaret's eyes as she stood in
 
 142 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 front of this beautiful arbor, and thought how long it 
 would be before she would see it again. 
 
 Her next visit was to the negro quarters, to tell the 
 servants all good-by; and she finished her course at 
 Mammy's cabin, where she received the usual warm 
 welcome. 
 
 " So you is goin' away to-morrow, my child?" 
 
 " Yes, Mammy, I suppose so ; my heart begins to fail 
 me." 
 
 " Of course it do, my dear ; and I kinnot say I sees 
 the good of it." 
 
 " Well, Mammy, I can learn so much more at school, 
 not only books but music." 
 
 "Why, law, honey, it do seem to me that, smart as 
 you is, you ought to ha' learnt all that is in the books 
 by this time." 
 
 Margaret laughed at Mammy's limited idea of the 
 progress of literature, but she did not attempt the task 
 of enlightenment ; only said, 
 
 "Well, papa wants me to go." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; and he knows what he is about. It is all 
 right. Don't you want to read your old Mammy a 
 chapter in the Bible before you goes?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed. Where is the book ?" 
 
 It was brought from an ample chest in the corner, 
 carefully wrapped in a white cloth ; and Margie heard, 
 with exemplary patience, the oft-told story of how " old 
 marster" give this Bible to her mother, and she left it to 
 her. 
 
 She opened at random, and read from the gospels the 
 teachings of the Saviour ; and as her eye caught the 
 passage " Suffer little children to come unto me, and 
 forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven," 
 the image of a white-robed little figure rose before her ;
 
 MARGARET LEAVES HOME. 143 
 
 and she heard again the soft voice saying, " Say, ' Suffer 
 little children.'" 
 
 She closed the book hastily, and burying her face in 
 Mammy's lap, burst into tears. 
 
 "Yes, my dear child," said the old woman, patting the 
 head which lay in her lap, " I knowed you was thinking 
 about that dear baby. Well, she wouldn't change with 
 us. He is took her in his arms, and carried her over the 
 river; and, Miss Margaret, don't forgit, when you goes 
 to that furrin school, that she told you to come along 
 after her. She will be lookin' out fur you, 'long of your 
 ma " 
 
 As it is not our purpose to follow Margaret through 
 her two years of school-life, we will close her present 
 history with her first letters home, one written the day 
 after her father left her, under the subduing influence of 
 home-sickness ; also one written one week later. 
 
 "WOODBINE, November 14, 1856. 
 
 "My DEAREST FATHER, After a night of agony, I have 
 risen before any one else to write to you. I cannot tell 
 you how miserable I am. I know I never will get used 
 to being here, where everything is so different from home. 
 I feel as if it would kill me to rise up and lie down to 
 the sound of a bell as big as a church-bell, to run here 
 and run there, to be in time to the minute, to dress by 
 candlelight, and study with my eyes full of sleep. Papa, 
 let me come home. I know I have not been the daughter 
 I ought to have been ; but, indeed, I want to begin now. 
 Mr. Williams is a first-rate teacher, and I know I shall 
 do very well with him ; and I will try niy best to im- 
 prove in my music. 
 
 "Oh, papa, suppose any of you should die while I am 
 away, and I not get home in time ! I laid awake all night
 
 144 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 imagining the cars running off the track, and killing you on 
 your way home. Do write at once and tell me you are safe. 
 
 " Everybody is very kind, but I am very unhappy. 
 Ellen Randolph tries to comfort me by telling me that 
 everybody feels so at first, that she hugged her trunk for 
 three days because it looked like home. But I know I 
 never shall get over it : and I do hope you will write at 
 once, telling me to come. I will not unpack my trunk 
 until I hear from you. 
 
 " Tell George that I am not as backward as I expected, 
 and when I come back I will study harder than ever. 
 
 " Tell Mary that I think constantly of our dear bright 
 room. When I look at this great barn, with a bed in 
 every corner, and then to dress and undress before all 
 these strangers, I never can stand it. Suppose you let 
 me ask if I can have a room to myself. It is all so 
 different from what I expected. And then, too, it makes 
 me feel so strange, for everybody to know each other so 
 well but me ; even Ellen seems farther off than she ever 
 was before, because she has so many friends, and I have 
 only her. 
 
 " The teachers are as kind as they can be, and promised 
 to excuse me from school to-day, because they felt sorry 
 for me, I suppose. But they will have to keep on ex- 
 cusing me if it is for that, as I know I never will get any 
 better. 
 
 " But I must stop, dear, dear papa, in time for the 
 mail, as I want to get an answer as soon as I can. Oh, 
 how I wish I could go in my letter ! 
 
 " Give my love to everybody. Don't forget, everybody ; 
 grown people, children, and servants, I love them all. 
 May God spare us all to meet again in health and safety, 
 is my earnest prayer. 
 
 " Devotedly your daughter, 
 
 "MARGARET.
 
 MARGARET LEAVES HOME. 145 
 
 "P. S. I am so sorry for everything I have ever said 
 to you that was wrong and impertinent. Please forgive 
 me." 
 
 "WOODBINE, November 22d. 
 
 "MY DEAR PAPA, Your letter has just reached me, and 
 I hasten to answer it. I was very glad to hear that you 
 had such a pleasant trip home. You will think me very 
 silly, I dare say, when I tell you that I was right nerv- 
 ous about you for a little while. I agree with you that 
 it would be very foolish to come home now after making 
 a start at school. Indeed, I feel that my advantages are 
 so great here, that I would not be willing to resign them 
 even to go back to dear old Rose Hill. 
 
 "I must have written you quite a homesick epistle, 
 judging from your answer. I hardly know what I said, 
 as I wrote in a great hurry. 
 
 " The teachers are so sweet and kind, I love them all ; 
 and the girls, especially my room-mates, are lovely. I 
 did not like being in the room with so many at first, but 
 I don't object now. You get so well acquainted with a 
 girl by staying in the same room with her. 
 
 " I think I am going on very well with my music, I 
 practice two hours a day. To-day I commenced my sing- 
 ing-lessons, and I am happy to say Mr. Branger thinks 
 I have a very good voice. I am thoroughly interested 
 in all my studies, dear papa, and like the school as well 
 as I could like any place away from home. 
 
 " It seemed so strange to me, at first, to hear a great 
 big bell all the time. But I am used to it now, and don't 
 object to it. It rings every forty minutes through the 
 day. And the minute the first sound reaches us there is 
 a stir through the whole house, every class changes, 
 and all of the pianos change their occupants. It is right 
 
 13
 
 146 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 funny how we have to hurry to get to our places in 
 time. 
 
 " Well, dear papa, it is time for me to go to study 
 hour, so I must stop. Ellen sends her love to everybody. 
 Give mine to each member of the household, and believe 
 me your devoted child, 
 
 " MARGARET HOLCOMBE."
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 JEAN'S DIARY. TWO YEARS' GAP FILLED UP. 
 
 July 1st. I can hardly believe that nearly two years 
 have passed away since I last made an entry in my diary. 
 But one does not have much time with so much to do as 
 I have. Since Mrs. Bascombe left, it keeps me pretty 
 busy. 
 
 I find upon looking back that the last time I wrote 
 in this book I recorded the account of dear little Lilias's 
 death, whose place in our hearts can never be filled, 
 though the precious gift our Father gave us some months 
 after has been the greatest comfort to us. Though we 
 mourn the loss of our dear little one, we have learned to 
 bless the kind hand which drew her so gently and pain- 
 lessly from our grasp, and now shelters her so safely in 
 his bosom, having stripped her sweet spirit of its robe 
 of suffering mortality, leaving it at liberty to soar in its 
 joyous freedom through the realms of bliss. 
 
 And has not her loss been blessed to us, too, in be- 
 ing the means of leading my precious husband to his 
 Saviour? I can never forget the long struggle he endured, 
 and how he could never lose the impression of the little 
 hand beckoning to him, and the tender voice saying, " You 
 must come, too, papa." 
 
 And now how changed he is ! and how happy ! He 
 has lost that restless fear of trouble which he used to 
 have, which led him to put aside everything which seemed 
 
 (147)
 
 148 THE HO L COMBES. 
 
 to threaten it. He Las learned to see the rod, and Him 
 who sends it. 
 
 Yes, I shall always think of that dear child as such 
 a blessing to me in her life and death, she was so quaintly 
 amusing in everything she said and did. She filled up 
 so much of my life in that first year of my marriage, and 
 then in dying she brought such a blessing to our house- 
 hold. Blessed little angel, it used to be hard to see why 
 she should have been born, just to suffer and die, but it 
 is easy to see the "why" in it all now. 
 
 And I cannot help hoping Mary is a Christian too, 
 though she has never joined any church. She is so par- 
 ticular about her religious duties, and then her Sunday- 
 school. All last winter how she used to go down all 
 weathers to teach the servants ! I do not think she could 
 be so self-denying and exemplary were it not that she 
 has some religious principle in her heart. God grant 
 that it may be so. 
 
 I think John has improved very much too ; he is cer- 
 tainly a fine, brave boy, with a great many faults, but so 
 many good qualities. I can hardly realize that he is the 
 same child that met me at the depot the happy old day 
 I first came to Rose Hill, or that cut down the pear-tree, 
 to be like George Washington. This last is still a stand- 
 ing joke against him. I shall always think Mr. Williams 
 did John a great deal of good. I am glad he is coming 
 to see us this summer ; I do like him so much. He al- 
 ways seems as one of the family, being here, I suppose, 
 at the time Lilias was taken from us, and feeling so much 
 with us. Those are ties one never breaks. Death breaks 
 a great many, but makes almost as many. 
 
 The idea of Margaret's coming home a young lady 
 this summer ! It seems very strange. I wish I was 
 not so much afraid of it ; but my life has been so quiet
 
 JEAN'S DIARY. 149 
 
 since she has been at school that I fear any change. 
 When she has been here at her vacations I have seen but 
 little of her. It seems to me, however, that she is pretty 
 much the same, with so many fine qualities and so many 
 blemishes. 
 
 " In thinking over all which has taken place in these 
 past three years, 1 feel as if there had been more crowded 
 into them than into the whole of my past life: my mar- 
 riage, my introduction to my home, that delightful Christ- 
 mas, our precious baby's death, so soon followed by my 
 father's, my darling's birth, Robert's promise to visit me, 
 upon which I am living now, and the blessed change in 
 my husband. I feel as if I must say, " How shall I mag- 
 nify the Lord for all his goodness to me?" 
 
 It has been a blessing, too, that baby has always 
 been so good. He has never been sick a day since his 
 birth, and consequently so little trouble, though, I sup- 
 pose, if I did not have dear old Mammy to help me, I 
 would find the difference. But I can just pack him off 
 to her cabin, and I know he will be taken such good 
 care of. Dear old lady ! she is not often able to come 
 up to the house now, and I feel as if I could never do 
 enough for her. I trust God will spare her for many 
 years to come. I do not know what any of us would do 
 without her ; but she is getting so feeble I feel very 
 uneasy about her. 
 
 13*
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 AN IMPORTANT ARRIVAL. 
 
 IT was on a warm morning in July when the air, seem- 
 ingly languid from the intensity of the heat, refused to 
 stir even the leaves upon the trees. A strange lull 
 rested upon nature. The oak-tree overshadowing Mar- 
 garet's grotto might have been painted on canvas, for 
 all the motion it showed. The ivy has clambered and 
 climbed until the outside of the rocks is one mass of 
 dark, green leaves ; and the resistless fingers are putting 
 their fibery touch on the old tree, which, strong as it 
 looks, has no power to resist its soft and gradual encroach- 
 ment. 
 
 Beneath the green roof upon the grassy carpet stands 
 a young girl. The first glance shows us an old acquaint- 
 ance. It is Margaret Holcombe ! But the old longing 
 is satisfied : " the ugly duck has become a swan ;" so 
 changed, and yet the same 1 There is the same lithe 
 figure, but now so magnificently proportioned, from the 
 falling shoulders and rounded waist to the arched instep 
 of the slender foot ; tall, above the ordinary height of 
 woman; the flowing robe of the softest white muslin 
 falls in waving lines from the waist, and disposes its 
 superfluous length upon the ground, while the white arm 
 and neck show purely through the thin texture. 
 
 The face is less changed than the figure ; there are the 
 same irregular features. But what matters the wide 
 mouth when the lips are full and rosy, which at each 
 (150)
 
 AN IMPORTANT ARRIVAL. 151 
 
 motion disclose glimpses of the perfect teeth ? Even the 
 forehead, much too low for perfect beauty, is redeemed 
 by the elevated coronet of raven hair which rears itself 
 above it. The sallow complexion has given place to 
 blood of the richest hue, a complexion coming and 
 going with every variation of feeling, like the shifting 
 hues of the sky, no minute the same. 
 
 Beautiful! high-born! accomplished! and wealthy ! 
 what more can be asked for? Yet, what means the dis- 
 satisfied expression about the mouth ? The old longing 
 has been gratified only to give place to another. She has 
 not found happiness yet. She would have deeply re- 
 sented it, if any one had told her that it was dissatisfac- 
 tion with herself which gathered the brow together in a 
 wrinkle, which so often made her shun society and seek 
 solitude. 
 
 I said she was standing at the opening of her grotto, 
 with the green branches above her head, the green carpet 
 beneath her feet, and the old gray rocks in the back- 
 ground. She had risen at the sound of a footstep, a 
 gentleman a stranger advanced towards her, hat in 
 hand. There was something in Margaret Holcombe's 
 appearance which would take the hat off of any man's 
 head, be he gentleman or boor. But this was a gentle- 
 man without mistake, in spite of the travel-worn appear- 
 ance of the whole person, the dusty clothes, the heavy 
 boots. 
 
 " Pardon me, madam, but am I in the road to Mr. 
 Holcombe's ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; the house is but a step from here. I am 
 just returning; I will show you the way." 
 
 The shrewd eye turned upon her, consciousness 
 brought the blood to her cheek. 
 
 " You are Miss Holcombe, I suppose ?"
 
 152 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 The haughty head scarce nodded an assent. He felt 
 that he had taken a liberty, and hastened to apologize. 
 
 " Pardon me ; but I cannot feel that you are a stranger. 
 I have heard so often, through ray sister, of you." 
 
 "Ah, indeed!" Some one of her school-mates she 
 supposed. 
 
 But here they came in sight of the house ; and the 
 exclamations of admiration of the scene prevented all 
 other conversation until they reached the door! 
 
 " Walk in," said Margaret. " Shall I call papa ?" 
 
 But before an answer could be given, a cry " Robert ! 
 Robert !" broke upon them, and Jean was locked in her 
 brother's arms. 
 
 No thirsty traveler at the sight of a stream of water, 
 no starving man at the sight of a feast, could have felt 
 more satisfying happiness than did this sister at the sight 
 of her long-wished-for brother. It was the moment so 
 ardently looked for, and the fruition was so full. Mr. 
 Holcombe soon came in, and gave his glad welcome to 
 the traveler; then Mary and John, all rejoicing with 
 "mamma;" next the wee toddling boy Master Ned, 
 Junior, claimed acquaintance with his new uncle. 
 
 " Well, Jean," said Mr. Holcombe, " are you going to 
 keep Robert here all day ? Let him wash his face, at any 
 rate. We won't let him leave us for a long time now 
 we have him, so you will have time enough to sec him. 
 Ah, Robert, she will ' kill the fatted calf now !" 
 
 " I am no prodigal son, though, I want you to under- 
 stand," said Robert, as he got up to go to his room. 
 
 "Well, it don't make any difference," said Mr. Hol- 
 combe; "we like you just as much as if you were." 
 
 Margaret was completely taken by surprise. She had 
 never even heard of Jean's brother; but she could not 
 help sympathizing deeply with them both. And when
 
 AN IMPORTANT ARRIVAL. 153 
 
 Robert turned towards his fair guide in leaving the 
 room, her eyes were moist and her face radiant with 
 feeling. 
 
 There was so much for the brother and sister to talk 
 about that they were 'not seen again until dinner-time. 
 Mary took the keys, and insisted that there was no 
 necessity for Jean going down-stairs at all, nor was 
 there. The servants were too anxious to do everything 
 for the newcomer, and the young housekeeper felt her 
 responsibility too deeply to go wrong. 
 
 Meanwhile, in the library sat Mr. Murray and Jean 
 Holcombe. He occupied an easy-chair, and she sat at 
 his feet looking up and listening to him. As they sit 
 there, we are struck with the contrast between the two. 
 He being as far above the average height of man as she 
 was below the ordinary height of woman. They were both 
 Saxon, in their fair complexion and light hair ; but he 
 might have been one of those old conquerors of the Britons 
 who lived before men were dwarfed and stunted by 
 wealth and luxury. No one would ever have thought 
 of calling him handsome ; indeed, his face would have 
 been pronounced homely but for the strength in it. 
 There was a powerful irregularity in every lineament, 
 and I believe nature is apt so to assert herself as the 
 towering mountain with its frowning cliffs, " where the 
 clouds stop to repose themselves in passing by," its 
 turbulent streams and rocky crags convey an idea of 
 strength so much greater than the smiling plain, where 
 the glassy stream glides so quietly. 
 
 So in man, strength of character and strength of mind 
 is apt to show itself in strongly-marked, irregular features. 
 
 Robert Murray looked every day of his nine-and- 
 twenty years: he had not led a life of luxurious ease. 
 After Jean left England, he too found it impossible to
 
 154 THE HOLCOMBES, 
 
 remain, though he had never, so long as his father lived, 
 called any other spot home ; but after he grew to man- 
 hood his love of change and adventure led him far away 
 from the scenes of his childhood. 
 
 He studied for two years in the universities of Ger- 
 many : dipping deeply into their metaphysical investi- 
 gations and mythical theories, he became tainted with 
 skepticism, if not infidelity; leaving there, with mind 
 and heart bewildered, he determined to travel on foot 
 through Switzerland and Italy, and by constant contact 
 with nature strive to throw off the apathy which pos- 
 sessed him after his years of hard study. He stood by 
 the Lake of Como, but its peaceful quiet had not the 
 charm for him which more rugged scenes possessed, his 
 home was among the Cheviot Hills, and all of his tastes 
 were for mountain scenery. So he determined to follow 
 in the footsteps of two of the greatest generals of history, 
 and cross the Alps, taking his first glimpse of the fair 
 plains of Italy from its summit, this he did. And as 
 he stood on the rocky boulder, which is all that remains 
 of the wonderful bridge which Hannibal built, with the 
 turbulent stream dashing with mad fury at his feet, and 
 defying the touch of man, while the chasm above his 
 head was spanned by the wonderful skill of the great 
 Napoleon ; here, in the presence of this greatest work 
 of art, and with nature in her unequaled strength all 
 around him, how puny did man seem ! And there it seemed 
 to him that the God of nature showed himself to him in 
 all his power, causing him in the humility of his soul to 
 exclaim, "What is man that Thou art mindful of him, 
 and the son of man that Thou visiteth him !" 
 
 It was this life which had given such vigor to his 
 frame, and it was this view of God in his works of nature 
 and providence which had given strength to his soul.
 
 AN IMPORTANT ARRIVAL. 155 
 
 But as he sat there in that pleasant room, with its shady, 
 green blinds, against which the waving boughs outside 
 cast their shadows, with that confiding face looking into 
 his, and the old familiar touch of her arm resting on his 
 knee, he was nothing but a boy after all, they were 
 living over their past together. 
 
 " And, Robert," said Jean, " tell me of my father again. 
 Did he seem to want to see me very much?" 
 
 " Of course he did," was the answer. " I think if he 
 had lived much longer, in spite of the madam, he would 
 have made a pilgrimage to your shrine with me." 
 
 Jean's eyes filled with tears. " And was he happy, 
 Robert?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; she was always good to him, loved him 
 indeed. It was that very feeling which made her dislike 
 us, she could not bear that anything should come be- 
 tween them, not even his children ; she nursed him very 
 faithfully, and I never saw greater grief than hers at his 
 death. I forgave her everything then." 
 
 "Yes," said Jean, " and so do I from my heart, it is 
 so much easier to forgive everything with you by my 
 side, Robert, it has been such a sore trial to be separated 
 from you." 
 
 " I know it, dear," he said, laying his hand on her 
 head; " but you have certainly had a great deal to com- 
 fort you. I never saw a more interesting family from 
 Ned, Senior, to Ned, Junior." 
 
 " Yes ; I think so, too ; you met Margaret at the grotto 
 in the grove, did you not? I hope she was kind." 
 
 He laughed. " 0-h, yes; but I see you think there was 
 cause for apprehension ; well, we can pardon her queening 
 it a little, it suits her so well. She is the most regal- 
 looking woman I ever saw ; but I should think she 
 would blot you out entirely, my small sister."
 
 156 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 " Oh, she does ; though she tolerates me now, at first 
 it was dreadful ; but she is a girl of warm feelings and 
 generous impulses. I have seen her tried more than once." 
 
 " Well, I hope so. I confess my taste lies in another 
 line from her, though I love to look at her; she has the 
 finest face I ever saw. I should think she would excite 
 a good deal of admiration." 
 
 " You know," said Jean, " she is just from school, has 
 not been home more than a few days. I have no doubt 
 she will, she is very intellectual." 
 
 "Pshaw!" said Mr. Murray, "that is of very small 
 value; she is very beautiful, that is her strongest point." 
 
 " I don't think she is, Robert ; she has but two good 
 features, her eyes and nose." 
 
 " Which leaves mouth and brow ; but I am not at all 
 disposed to criticise : I have not seen enough of her for 
 that; but I am artist enough to see that she is un- 
 doubtedly a beautiful woman." 
 
 " I don't think she cares for admiration at all." 
 
 " Don't she ? Well, Jean, I would be willing to lay a 
 wager that when she once sees her power she will be as 
 insatiable as Alexander or Nero, who wished all Rome 
 had one neck that he might be saved the trouble of kill- 
 ing them by piecemeal." 
 
 " I think you do her injustice, Robert. She is not the 
 kind of girl to enjoy those things." 
 
 "My dear sister," said Mr. Murray, "it may seem like 
 vanity on my part, but actually I believe I know your 
 sex better than you do." 
 
 " That may well be," said Jean, laughing. " I know 
 myself, and a few others, and there it ends. Your 
 acquaintance is more extensive." 
 
 " Yes ; and I have never met with more than one or 
 two women, who possessed beauty, who would not use 
 it as a weapon of offense and defense ; and if I am any
 
 AN IMPORTANT ARRIVAL. 157 
 
 judge at all, this fair daughter of your husband's is a 
 genuine daughter of Eve." 
 
 "Have you two people talked yourselves out yet?" 
 said Mr. Holcorabe, entering with Eddy in his arms. " I 
 have exercised the greatest self-denial in keeping out of 
 here all the morning, because I was not wanted. This 
 wife of mine, Robert, has behaved herself so well in all 
 these years that I am glad she is rewarded at last by a 
 sight of you." 
 
 " I didn't know where you were," said Jean ; " we 
 wanted you here with us." 
 
 "No, I know your deceitful ways, and that you would 
 pretend to want me, so I made for the woods ; and came 
 back just now to find this boy crying, as if he thought he 
 was an orphan." 
 
 "I think you must have taken good care of this sister 
 of mine, sir. She certainly looks very well and young." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; we don't grow old up in these mountains ; 
 and besides, I think Jean has the gift of perpetual youth." 
 
 Mr. Holcombe drew up a chair to the party, and Eddy 
 took an early opportunity of transferring himself to his 
 mother's knees, from which position of security he was 
 gazing at his new uncle with that wide-awake expression 
 which babies assume on first meeting a stranger. 
 
 Mr. Murray tried all sorts of blandishments and bribes 
 to induce him to come to him ; but the big gold watch 
 and the enticing smile were equally inefficacious. He 
 clung more closely to his mother at every attempt to 
 entice him from the familiar resting-place. 
 
 " You will have to wait awhile, Uncle Robert," said 
 Jean ; " Master Eddy is rather shy ; but when he once 
 gets acquainted he will be sociable enough, I promise you. 
 But here is Robin come to announce dinner." And they 
 all adjourned to the dining-room. 
 
 14
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE FAMILY CIRCLE. 
 
 FOR some weeks after the events narrated in my last 
 chapter, the usual quiet life at Rose Hill was exchanged 
 for gayeties of various kinds. In the first place, the 
 
 whole neighborhood, including the town of C , turned 
 
 out to acknowledge the debut of Miss Holcombe. It was 
 so long since there had been a grown daughter in the 
 family ; and the former reputation of the place as a gay 
 rendezvous excited to an extravagant pitch the expecta- 
 tions of the younger part of the community, who were 
 full of anticipations of a renewal of the "good old times" 
 they had heard their parents talk so much about at Rose 
 Hill. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Murray and Margaret, notwithstand- 
 ing his uncomplimentary views of her character on the 
 first day of his arrival at Rose Hill, progressed rapidly 
 towards a friendship. She could not help admiring his 
 magnificent physique, and the wonderful completeness of 
 the entire man, strength of body, mind, and will char- 
 acterizing all of his actions; even his voice contributed 
 to the impression : every tone was a deep bass-note full 
 of music. It was one evening that Margaret sauntered 
 into the parlor in the twilight, and finding the room 
 deserted, seated herself at the piano, and commenced 
 singing that air which seems never to grow old, or if it 
 does, ever retains all the sweetness of its earliest youth, 
 "Bonnie Annie Laurie." Her voice was plaintive, and, 
 (158)
 
 THE FAMILY CIRCLE. 159 
 
 at the same time, powerful ; but on this evening she was 
 singing for herself aloue ; the tones were subdued and 
 soft as a nightingale's, and her thoughts floated away on 
 the wings of her own music to her school-days, the old 
 play-room where they used to meet in the evening to join 
 in the merry dance or the gay romp, and where she so 
 often acted as the musician for the others. How often 
 she had sung " Annie Laurie" for that simple little audi- 
 ence ! Well, those times were past, never to return, nor, 
 with all her pleasant recollections of them, did she wish 
 it. She was very happy now; and felt, too, that her life 
 was untying the tangled skein of her character, that, 
 after awhile, the thread would run smoothly and evenly. 
 Suddenly she became half conscious of a step in the 
 room ; but before she could turn around a tone like the 
 deep notes of an organ accompanied her voice. 
 
 "And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
 I'd lay me down and dee." 
 
 She knew it could belong but to one person in the 
 world, and that one. was Robert Murray. It was no 
 longer a low warble which her voice sent forth : lifted up 
 and carried on by the strong swelling wave of those 
 magnificent tones, hers gave forth their full power, and 
 the whole house was filled with the delicious harmony. 
 The pleasant discovery of the mutual accomplishment was 
 a surprise to them both, and after that it became a regular 
 habit to practice together, generally in the twilight, or 
 after tea, while the rest of the family sat together on the 
 long portico, where the moon shone brightest, and caught 
 the delicious strains through the open doors and windows. 
 
 Nor was this the only amusement they enjoyed together : 
 there were long rides on horseback. She took him to see 
 all the fine views in the neighborhood, and received in
 
 . 
 
 160 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 return his graphic pictures of scenes in Switzerland and 
 Italy. 
 
 This was probably the happiest time of Margaret Hoi- 
 combe's life ; her face lost the restless look of dissatisfac- 
 tion, and the family looked on with surprise at her happy 
 gayety ; her temper lost its irritability, and she seemed 
 to be returning to the demonstrative impulse of her early 
 childhood. Mr. Holcombe looked at her with delight, 
 and all his fears for her melted away, she was develop- 
 ing so beautifully, her rich gifts and sparkling qualities 
 combining to form a rare character. 
 
 Jean had taken her brother to call on Mammy as soon 
 as he arrived. And although he did not feel sure that he 
 would ever get used to the constant presence of this 
 " queer" people, he became much interested in their sim- 
 ple lives, and happy ignorance of anything beyond what 
 those lives contained. 
 
 Mary came in one day very much amused from a visit 
 to Mammy, and informed Mr. Murray that Mammy pro- 
 nounced him "A fine well-growed young man." 
 
 " I am much obliged to her," said he, laughing. "Tell 
 her that I am a mere baby in my own country. We be- 
 long to the Brobdignags." 
 
 "I shall take care not to tell her that," said Mary, "as 
 I shall have to explain what Brobdignags are." 
 
 "And you can't do it, hey?" said Mr. Murray. 
 
 "Oh, yes, of course I know," said she, indignantly; 
 " but as to going through Gulliver's Travels for Mammy's 
 benefit, I could not think of it. I never could under- 
 stand, anyhow, why such absurd stories should be so 
 highly thought of." 
 
 "No. I don't suppose you have ever taken the satiri- 
 cal view of the book." 
 
 " The satirical view ?" said she, inquiringly. 

 
 THE FAMILY CIRCLE. 161 
 
 "Yes, it is intended as a great satire upon pigmies 
 who think themselves the head of civilization and every- 
 thing else, and big men who have nothing but their big- 
 ness to recommend thpm." 
 
 Mary did not look as if she quite understood yet, but 
 would not ask any more questions. 
 
 Mr. Murray was in that favorite sitting-room of the 
 family, the library, and had been reading occasional items 
 from the " Baltimore Sun" for the edification of Jean and 
 Margie, who sat at the window engaged in some bits of 
 feminine work. Margaret's consisted of bright-colored 
 worsteds, as fresh looking as the pretty morning toilet 
 she presented, while Jean's was a dress for Eddy. 
 
 "I do think," said Mr. Murray, "that a larger number 
 of literary outrages are perpetrated over the dead than 
 in any other way. I have read this paper now every day 
 since I came to this country, and I have not seen more 
 than one or two copies which has not been adorned with 
 such twaddle as this : 
 
 ' Dearest Lizzie, thou hast left us, 
 
 We thy loss most deeply feel, 
 But 'tis God who has bereft us, 
 
 He can all our sorrows heal.'" 
 
 
 
 "Why, that is one of their best," said Margaret, laughing. 
 
 " Oh, we can stand it once," said Mr. Murray ; " but to 
 have it repeated every day is more than human nature 
 can endure." 
 
 "It is easy enough not to read it, ^1 should think," 
 said Jean, laughing. 
 
 " Not so easy as you think. There is a fascination 
 which draws my eyes back, in spite of myself." 
 
 " Talking of obituaries," said Margaret, " reminds me 
 of a tombstone over a grave near Woodbine, where I 
 went to school. The verse on the stone was this : 
 
 14*
 
 162 THE 1IOLCOMBES. 
 
 ' Come, blooming youth, as you pass by, 
 Pray on these lines do cast an eye ; 
 For once I bloomed as well as thee, 
 Prepare for death and follow me.' 
 
 One of the girls wrote below it, 
 
 'To follow you I'll not consent, 
 Until I learn which road you went.' " 
 
 " But," said Mary, " I don't think that is as funny as 
 
 'Here lies Jane Bent, 
 
 Who kicked up her heels and away she went.' " 
 
 "I remember," said Mr. Murray, when the laugh had 
 subsided a little over the unfortunate Jane's epitaph, 
 " hearing of an amusing story a long time ago. There 
 was a death in a little town in Germany of a composer 
 of music, and his disconsolate widow erected a monu- 
 ment to his memory and put, as the inscription, upon it, 
 ' He has gone where alone his works are excelled.' A 
 very pretty tribute every one said, and the simplicity as 
 well as the beauty of the thought was somewhat talked 
 about. About this time a maker of brimstone-matches 
 died, and his ambitious widow, not to be outdone, also 
 erected a monument with the inscription, ' He has gone 
 where alone his works are excelled.' " 
 
 " Here is my contribution to these valuable literary 
 collections," said Jean, producing a slip of paper from 
 her work-box. " I tore it out of a newspaper the other 
 day: 'To the memory of Sarah, youngest daughter of 
 John and Ellen Smith, aged six months and one day. 
 
 " ' Sweet baby, 'twas hard to give thee up and see thee 
 die, though your angel-face I never beheld till hidden 
 'neath the coffin-lid. 
 
 " ' We have laid you at the foot of thy sweet little 
 brother, who lies there a sleeping six years ago. My
 
 THE FAMILY CIRCLE. 163 
 
 word is to the parents and all the friends : Prepare to 
 meet thy God.'" 
 
 " This is really making light of a GRAVE subject," said 
 Mr. Murray ; " but it is very amusing to go through some 
 of those old graveyards in England. Some of the mon- 
 uments give a regular history of the survivors. I re- 
 member one in Cambridge, erected to the memory of 
 some earl or other I have forgotten his name who 
 died worth, the inscription goes on to say, '100,000. 
 
 His daughter married Lord , whose fortune amounts 
 
 to 50,000.' And then another, which marked the rest- 
 ing-place of a tallow-chandler, and stated, for the benefit 
 of all who wanted to know, that his widow carried on 
 his business at his old stand, mentioning the address." 
 
 "I don't think," said Margaret, "when I die I want 
 anything put over me, because I don't like the idea of 
 people, a hundred years hence, laughing over the inscrip- 
 tion on my grave ; and times change so that what would 
 seem perfectly proper now may be very absurd to them." 
 
 " Well," said Mary, " Margie, I don't think it is worth 
 while for you to make your final arrangements yet ; but we 
 will try and be as brief as possible with your inscription, 
 though I don't care a cent about a hundred years hence. 
 If I can afford any amusement to my great-great-grand- 
 children, I am unselfish enough to be very glad." 
 
 " Does it never occur to you," said Mr. Murray, " to 
 remember of how really little importance the body is ? I 
 have just been looking at you two as you sit here talk- 
 ing so calmly about ' a hundred years hence,' and looking 
 all the time so blooming that it is hard to connect the 
 idea of death with you. Of how much more importance 
 does it become us to inquire where our souls will be ' a 
 hundred years hence.' ' : 
 
 This was giving a more serious turn to the subject than
 
 164 THE FAMILY CIRCLE. 
 
 any of them had expected ; and Margaret looked up in 
 surprise. She had never thought of Mr. Murray as a 
 Christian; she liked him as an agreeable, intelligent 
 man ; but this was a new view of him, and one she did 
 not altogether like, as it seemed to place a barrier to their 
 friendship; and then, too, she said to herself, "I shall 
 always be afraid that he is going to take me up HI this 
 way." She said, in her petulant, restive way, " Mr. Murray, 
 I am disappointed to find you are that kind of person." 
 
 " What kind of person is that, Miss Holcombe ?" said 
 he, smiling. 
 
 " Oh, well, to force that subject into every conversation 
 and talk at people, it throws a damper over every gath- 
 ering. Now we were having such a pleasant time, and 
 you come with your uncomfortable suggestions, and 
 there is an end of it." 
 
 " Would it not be better, Miss Holcombe," he answered, 
 "if we so arranged matters as not to find these subjects 
 'uncomfortable'? They certainly ought not to be ex- 
 cluded from conversation, particularly when the tenor of 
 the conversation leads so naturally to it as it did to-day." 
 
 " 1 don't agree with you, Mr. Murray ; we were in 
 the midst of a conversation on amusing epitaphs." 
 
 " Yes, and you began to talk about the disposition you 
 wished made of your body. What more natural than 
 for me to speak of the disposition to be made of the soul, 
 so far more interesting, more important?" 
 
 His manner was so earnest and even tender that Mar- 
 garet was subdued by it ; and she made no reply, but bent 
 down lower over her work. Ho went on, 
 
 " You will excuse me for saying so ; but I cannot help 
 thinking that your very sensitiveness on the subject 
 shows that it is one which often intrudes itself upon you 
 in spite of yourself."
 
 THE FAMILY CIRCLE. 165 
 
 "Of course," she answered. "I suppose everybody 
 thinks of those things sometimes." 
 
 "Woe to those who never do !" he said. "To be let 
 alone of God is the greatest curse which can befall man. 
 God forbid that it should ever be said of any of us 
 ' Ephraim is joined to his idols, let him alone.' " 
 
 "Mr. Murray," said Mary, "why don't you study for 
 the ministry ? I should think you would make a splendid 
 pi-eacher." 
 
 " I don't know that," he said ; " but I should certainly 
 feel highly honored to be permitted to preach the gospel. 
 Maybe I will some of these days." And so the conver- 
 sation ended.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 PREPARATIONS FOR A FEAST. 
 
 " PAPA," said Margaret Holcombe, going into his study 
 one day, about the beginning of August, " I want to give 
 an entertainment." 
 
 Mr. Holcombe put aside his book, and, it must be con- 
 fessed, looked anything but pleased at the prospect. 
 
 " Now, papa," she continued, answering his look, for 
 he had not uttered a word, "I know when you were 
 young you used to like to go out and have company too ; 
 and grandma gave splendid parties, Aunt Mary has 
 told me of them. And now I am the only young lady, 
 and your first grown daughter. You ought to want to 
 launch me into society with eclat." 
 
 "Indeed, my child," he said gravely, "I have higher 
 aspirations than that for you. I do not know that launch- 
 ing you into society is by any means the best thing for 
 you." 
 
 "Papa," she said, "I don't believe any one ever be- 
 came a Christian by having those subjects hurled at their 
 heads all of the time. I just learn to think of religion 
 as a something which is to interfere with every pleasure 
 I have. It is very well for you, who have had your day, 
 to be willing to give up everything now ; but I have a 
 right to some enjoyment, and it is hard to have it all 
 spoiled for me." 
 
 " Why, my daughter, this is a very unnecessary tirade 
 you are giving. I have not said anything about interfer- 
 (166)
 
 PREPARATIONS FOR A FEAST. 167 
 
 ing with your pleasures. On the contrary, I want to do 
 everything to promote them. But you are mistaken, 
 Margie, in thinking that being a Christian would inter- 
 fere with any solid happiness. It would, on the contrary, 
 give a zest to all rational pleasures." 
 
 "I dare say ; but we may differ about what you call 
 ' rational pleasures,' " said Margaret. " I think a party 
 would be a very rational pleasure." 
 
 " I don't think there is anything irrational in it. I will 
 consult Jean about it. When do you want to have it ?" 
 
 " Oh, very soon. I want to return civilities. Ellen 
 Randolph and Mr. Williams come next week. Suppose 
 we have it as soon after that as possible." 
 
 "Very well," said Mr. Holcombe ; "if your mamma 
 chooses; of course her word is law in these matters. "v 
 
 She did not resent this declaration, as she would have 
 done two or three years before. She had happily become 
 accustomed to seeing the perfect deference he showed to 
 his wife's opinion in everything. Nor did she object to 
 it. Her heart had long ago acknowledged to itself its 
 errors, though her lips had not been equally candid. She 
 always felt a little embarrassment, engendered by a 
 sense of having committed a wrong ; and so the coldness 
 had never worn away. Her manner formed such a con- 
 trast to Mary's that it made her seem even colder than 
 she was in reality. 
 
 As might have been expected, Jean had no serious 
 opposition to make to the plan, though at first she insisted 
 that she could not be present, as her mourning dress, 
 which she still wore for her father, would excuse her 
 presence. But Mr. Holcombe declared that unless she 
 would herself matronize the party it should not take place. 
 And with her usual forgetfulness of self she consented. 
 
 Mr. Holcombe engaged the services of a man from the
 
 168 THE nOLCOMBES. 
 
 city to come up to Rose Hill and superintend the arrange- 
 ments ; as he said, if he " gave an entertainment, he was 
 determined it should be worthy of the place ; that no one 
 of the older guests should be able to say, ' But, ah, you 
 should just have seen the preparations which old Mrs. 
 Holcombe used to make.' " 
 
 Mr. Murray proved a valuable acquisition at this time. 
 He remembered seeing an illumination in Germany, which 
 suggested some ideas to him, and he proposed that they 
 should illuminate the grounds around the house. All 
 that was wanting was a little ingenuity, and he thought 
 he could supply this. 
 
 Mr. Williams and Ellen Randolph arrived early in the 
 week, and the library was given up to the " Lantern Com- 
 mittee," as they named themselves. The ladies always 
 came supplied with their work-boxes, and the gentlemen 
 with knives, while Nannie, now promoted to the posi- 
 tion of lady's-maid, stood at a table and did the pasting. 
 
 With the help of a few paints and colored tissue-paper 
 they managed to vary the hues of their lanterns, so as to 
 make a pretty variety. 
 
 They formed them into various shapes : tulips, lilies, 
 bluebells of Scotland, indeed, any flower of a cup shape; 
 then there were huge heads with staring eyes and grin- 
 ning teeth, and even rude attempts at statuary ; of course 
 there was many a failure recorded, which excited much 
 merriment. Mary proved the most efficient assistant 
 Mr. Murray had, and was constantly at his side, improv- 
 ing upon his suggestions, or in her turn making happy 
 ones for new devices, until he declared himself completely 
 thrown into the shade by her more tasteful efforts. 
 
 Mr. Williams seemed to enjoy his return to Rose Hill, 
 and declared the year he spent there to have been the 
 happiest of his life.
 
 PREPARATIONS FOR A FEAST. 169 
 
 " I think Avhen Master Eddy grows large enough to 
 learn his A. B C's/' said he, one day, " I shall petition 
 to come back and be permitted to try pedagoging a little 
 while ; that is, if my country can do without me by that 
 time, which privately I doubt." 
 
 "I suppose," said Margaret, "that like Mr. Weller 
 you find it a dreadful thing to be so 'sought arter?'" 
 
 " Well, not yet, Miss Hoi combe, not yet ; but I know 
 my merit cannot always remain unappreciated, and the 
 time must come soon, when I will be rewarded for my 
 long waiting. When I look at you young ladies, though, 
 and think that I had a hand in making you what you are, 
 I feel that teaching must be my forte." 
 
 "I should not think you would remember ine with 
 much pleasure, Mr. Williams," said Margaret, blushing. 
 " I certainly was the most disagreeable child." 
 
 " That is most too strong, Miss Margaret," was the 
 answer ; " but your difficulty was in not being a child at 
 all." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Williams," said Mary, " will you ever forget 
 the day Margie rode on the sapling, and you saw her ? 
 it was too funny." 
 
 It was curious to see how Mr. Williams watched her 
 face to see how much she would allow. She caught his 
 expression and laughed. 
 
 " I know what you are thinking, Mr. Williams ; and I 
 don't know that I do like to hear of that adventure even 
 now ; but I see you are dying to give your account of it 
 to the company, so I sacrifice- myself on the altar of 
 friendship." 
 
 Thus encouraged, he gave a very amusing account of 
 the adventure in the woods, and ended with, 
 
 " I tell you I had to argue my case powerfully to ob- 
 tain pardon. I wish I may ever be as effective before 
 
 15
 
 170 
 
 THE IIOLCOMBES. 
 
 the judge as I was when I was the criminal, ray client 
 will be fortunate." 
 
 "If you have truth on your side, as you had then, Mr. 
 Williams," said Margaret, "you will be, every word 
 you told me was true, and I knew it. Oh, how I did 
 hate myself after that! I think I used to have the most 
 humiliating views of myself after those attacks of arro- 
 gance. Actually, I have been afraid to go to bed some- 
 times because I had to meet myself face to face." 
 
 Mr. Murray turned around on her in surprise, it was 
 a new view of this proud-looking girl. He said, very 
 quietly, 
 
 " I should never have thought of you with such expe- 
 riences." 
 
 "And why?" said she, quickly. 
 
 " Well, I don't know, you don't look like it." 
 
 Her face flushed, and she answered, hotly, "I am 
 always so unfortunate as to convey the idea to every one 
 of being utterly wanting in humility." 
 
 It was very vexing for everybody to laugh, but very 
 natural, as she stood there with the implements of her 
 work in hand, and that proud young head thrown back. 
 
 Mr. Murray comprehended in a moment her sensitive- 
 ness, and said, " Well, it is true, Miss Holcombe, that 
 I never saw any one whose appearance and manners in- 
 dicated less of the quality named, and yet I cannot help 
 believing that it is latent in you somewhere." 
 
 " Latent means where it can't be seen, don't it, Mr. 
 Murray?" said John, mischievously. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Murray ; " unless there is some influ- 
 ence brought to bear which will cause it to escape." 
 
 " Well, we will hope for the influence," said John, " oil 
 Margie's account." 
 
 It showed considerable self-command in the young girl
 
 PREPARATIONS FOR A FEAST. 171 
 
 to be able to control herself; but she did, though her 
 flushed cheek and moist eye showed it required an effort, 
 to change the subject now became the prime object of 
 both gentlemen. 
 
 " Ho\v does the chess come on, Miss Margaret?" said 
 Mr. Williams. "I bet I could beat you now." 
 
 " I expect you could," said Margaret. " I have scarcely 
 played a game since we used to play together." 
 
 " By-the-by," put in Mr. Murray, "I met with a curi- 
 ous story about a game of chess, connected with an old 
 German ruin in the Black Forest, it was told me by a 
 German countrywoman. And if you have any taste for 
 the weird and horrible, I will tell it to you." 
 
 There was a general clamor for the story, and Mr. 
 Murray began : 
 
 " As I was passing through the forests of Germany I 
 come upon a curious-looking ruin of what must have 
 been a large building, it bore the marks of having been 
 destroyed by fire, and the wild, desolate appearance of 
 the surroundings excited my curiosity to know its history. 
 I stopped for the night at a tavern, only a few miles off, 
 and finding my landlady very talkative, I asked for some 
 information relative to it. 
 
 " I saw at once that I had touched upon a favorite 
 topic, as she squared herself round, and, with great ani- 
 mation, told me the following story. But I have the 
 manuscript." 
 
 He went out of the room a moment, and returned and 
 read the following : 
 
 "The castle of Guelhelm," she said, " was an old ram- 
 bling building, which had been in the family of that 
 name for centuries. In the time of my grandmother" 
 (for I shall quote her own words) "the old baron died 
 without heirs, and an Italian count, named Castorella,
 
 172 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 came and took possession of it. He was an old man, and 
 liis fierce black eyes excited the fears of the people around 
 in the neighborhood, and then, too, stories began to be 
 told of his strange behavior, until at last people believed 
 he was wrong about the head, and were more afraid of 
 him than ever. And he lived almost alone, up in the old 
 castle, except every now and then my grandfather used 
 to go up to pay him the rent for his land, and he says 
 he was always glad to get away, that the place was so 
 desolate. But he never was permitted to leave without 
 playing a game of chess, of which he was passionately 
 fond. 
 
 " Matters went on thus for years, the old wolf leav- 
 ing his den every now and then, and absenting himself 
 for a month or two, and then returning wilder and stran- 
 ger than ever. At last he told my grandfather one day, 
 over their game of chess, that he was going to bring a 
 wife home, and wanted to engage a number of servants, 
 as he did not intend to lead the life he had been doing. 
 Nothing could surpass the astonishment of the people at 
 the idea of his being married, and you may be sure it 
 was a difficult thing to get any one to take the place of 
 servant at the castle. But the love of money will over- 
 come almost any fears, and so they found enough to fill 
 the different offices in the household. My grandfather's 
 youngest daughter, Gretchen, was engaged as lady's-maid. 
 
 "But if the astonishment was great at the idea of his 
 bringing a wife home, it was much greater when she 
 made her appearance. She was a young girl of about 
 eighteen, with soft, melancholy, black eyes, and Gretchen 
 says she could see her shrink away whenever he came 
 near her, though she tried very hard to keep him from 
 seeing it. 
 
 " Well, her life must have been a very dreadful one.
 
 PREPARATIONS FOR A FEAST. 173 
 
 At first he used to invite company to see them, but he 
 was so jealous of her if she spoke to any one else that 
 her life was miserable. And he treated the visitors so 
 badly that they never cared to return, and at last, but for 
 the servants, she would have been perfectly alone with 
 her dreadful lord. Gretchen says she used to walk about 
 within the walls which inclosed the grounds, and even 
 then he would watch her from a turret-chamber where 
 he spent most of his time. 
 
 " He used to make her play chess with him, and she 
 always let him win, because it kept him in better humor. 
 It used to make my aunt so sorry to see her growing 
 thinner and paler, pining away like a bird in a cage, and 
 all the time his eyes got fiercer and his manner wilder, 
 and she could see the look of terror in her face every 
 time he came into the room. 
 
 "Well, one day as Gretchen sat in a little antechamber, 
 next my lady's parlor, the lord having gone to the woods, 
 for a wonder, one of the servants ushered in a young 
 man, and when the lady saw him, she fainted away, and 
 Gretchen came in to recover her. She found the young 
 man holding her in his arms, and kissing her and calling 
 her all sorts of pretty names, and there she lay, not 
 knowing anything, as white as the snow. At last Gret- 
 chen persuaded him to lay her down on a lounge in the 
 room, and in a few minutes she opened her eyes and 
 looked around her so wildly, and when she saw who was 
 bending over her, she burst out crying, and said some- 
 thing to him that Gretchen could not understand, as it 
 was in a foreign tongue ; but she knew she was begging 
 him to go awav before her husband came back. He tried 
 
 / 
 
 to persuade her to let him stay, but she was in such 
 agony, and even pushed him away from her, that he got 
 up to obey her. But as ill luck would have it, just as he 
 
 15*
 
 174 THE IIOLCOMBES. 
 
 turned towards the door the old lord opened it. Gretchen. 
 said she never will forget the look of his face as he saw 
 the stranger there, she thought he must have lost his 
 senses from passion at once. It was in vain that ray lady 
 tried to explain that her cousin from her own country had 
 come to see her. He knew better than that, and raved 
 like a madman, then drove him out of the house. Sud- 
 denly he grew calm, but looked like he was thinking how 
 he could get him in his hands again." 
 
 John here interrupted the speaker to ask what sort of 
 an expression that was. 
 
 " I don't know," said Mr. Murray ; " I only give you 
 her own words. I am not responsible for her errors of 
 rhetoric. 
 
 "At last he disappeared, and the poor lady cried herself 
 to sleep. Gretchen sat by her fanning her all the even- 
 ing. At last she heard the old lord calling up the ser- 
 vants. She crept to the door and found him dismissing 
 them one by one ; she did not know what to make of it, 
 and as the lady still slept she was afraid to leave her to 
 see ; so there she stayed until she heard the last one 
 leave, and knew her lady and herself were alone in the 
 house with the crazy lord. Presently she heard him hur- 
 rying along the hall, and he opened the door with a crash, 
 which waked the lady and brought her standing on her 
 feet. 
 
 " 'Ha ! ha!' he said, laughing his dreadful mad laugh ; 
 'you wanted a lover, did you? Well, you shall have 
 him ; I will keep him safe.' 
 
 "She clasped her hands and threw herself at his feet. 
 He only laughed at her and said ' he thought he was 
 coming to my lady's bower, where I sent Heinrich after 
 him with a message from you ; and when he came and 
 waited he found the old man was too cunning for him,
 
 PREPARATIONS FOR A FEAST. 175 
 
 and locks and bars would hold him safe enough.' And 
 then he would laugh until the old walls rung again. Oh, 
 how she lay there on the floor and wept and bewailed 
 herself in her agony ! 
 
 " Gretchen had remained a quiet spectator all this time, 
 thinking what she could do to help her lady. She thought 
 now if she could only get out of the room she might 
 give the alarm and rescue not only her mistress but the 
 young man, if he were indeed a prisoner. But then the 
 danger of moving, as she did not think he had observed 
 her yet. At last she determined to try, and crept along 
 behind him to the door, though it went to her heart to 
 leave her mistress alone in the hands of this man, no 
 better than a wolf; but it was the only thing she could 
 do. Just as she got her hand on the handle of the door, 
 however, the madman turned around and rushed at her. 
 Seizing her by the arm, he dragged her across the hall and 
 threw her into his own bedroom, locking the door on her. 
 She examined all of the windows and doors, but there 
 was no place that a rat could have crept out, and there 
 she had to stay, every now and then hearing that awful 
 mad laugh ; and once, as she listened at the door, she 
 heard her mistress cry for ' Help ! help!' as she seemed 
 to be dragged up, up, as high as the turret-chamber. 
 She shook the door violently, but it was no use. Again 
 she rushed to the window, but it was all as still as the 
 grave. The servants were too glad to be paid off and 
 dismissed to linger about longer than they could help. 
 She looked eagerly at all the windows of the castle. At 
 last she caught sight of a human face across the court 
 at a window almost facing hers ; it was the unfortunate 
 young man. She tried for a long time to catch his eye, 
 but in vain. At last she bethought her of the old lord's 
 dressing-gown of bright red, which she waved backwards
 
 176 THE IIOLCOMBES. 
 
 and forwards before the window. He saw it; that was 
 a little accomplished, but so little ! She tried to open 
 her window in vain ; it was fastened down with strong iron 
 bolts. She saw a like effort on his part, and a like failure. 
 What was to be done ? Nothing but watch and wait. 
 
 "After she had been thus shut up for about two hours, 
 she was startled by hearing that mad laugh again ; at 
 first faint, then louder and louder, coming clown the tur- 
 ret stair. My aunt said she never forgot the terror of 
 that moment. What had happened ? The poor lady 
 alone in the hands of that dreadful man ! The laugh 
 came nearer ; she thought he was coming to the door of 
 the room where she was ; her heart stood still ; but he 
 turned off, and again the laugh grew faint, though it did 
 not now come from above ; he was going in the direction 
 of the other wing. Involuntarily she again flew to the 
 window ; there was the face of the young stranger still. 
 She tried to signal to him that danger was approaching, 
 but he only looked puzzled ; but some sound evidently 
 attracted him ; he turned away from the window. Oh, 
 how she strained her eyes to see what was going on ! 
 but in vain. Once she saw a white face for a moment 
 against the window-pane, a hand thrown up as if to 
 make some sign to her, and that was all. 
 
 " Gretchen threw herself on the ground and shrieked 
 aloud. Then a mortal terror seized her ; but no escape, 
 no escape ! to be mewed up like a rat in a hole ! dread- 
 ful ! But again the fearful sound echoed through those 
 long corridors ; it approached more closely now, the 
 steps were heavier, and ever and anon there was a sound 
 as if something brushed heavily against the wall in pass- 
 ing. Again she thought the steps were coming towards 
 her door, and again she was mistaken ; they went upward, 
 upward.
 
 PREPARATIONS FOR A FEAST. Iff 
 
 " Ob, if she only knew what was going on ! Anything 
 was better than this suspense. She felt as if it would 
 be a relief even if the dreaded madman would come and 
 tell her what he had done. She had hardly brought her 
 mind to this when it seemed as if she was to be gratified, 
 for she heard him descending the stairs. 
 
 " Now, Gretchen was a shrewd girl, and the danger she 
 was in sharpened her wits. In one moment it flashed into 
 her mind that she had certainly to fight for her own life, 
 and perhaps for the others. Of course she had no strength 
 to oppose a madman, so she resorted to stratagem. 
 
 " She picked up a book, and took her seat as quietly as 
 she could, hoping that the sight of her sitting so might 
 calm him, since she had often heard that mad people, 
 like wild animals, can sometimes be managed by a quiet 
 eye. So, there she sat, the footsteps came up the 
 passage, a key was inserted in the key-hole. She fixed 
 her eyes on the door, and when the old lord poked his 
 head in, he met those quiet eyes ; the expression of 
 ferocity in his was near undoing her. But life was too 
 precious to be abandoned willingly. She saw him try 
 to withdraw his gaze, but could not; the calm eyes 
 fastened him. lie came towards her ; she did not retreat 
 an inch, but stood firmly, waiting his coming. 
 
 " ' Ha, my pretty Gretchen ! you here ? I had forgotten 
 
 i you.' And he stretched out his arms to clasp her. One 
 
 motion of fear now and all would hav.e been over ; but 
 
 the brave girl stood still and looked at him, and said as 
 
 naturally as she could, 
 
 " ' Where is my lady, sir?' 
 
 " The extended arms dropped at his side. She gathered 
 courage from this sign of success. 
 
 " ' Your lady ! Ah, she has merry company to-nighfr. 
 She does not want vou or me !'
 
 H8 THE IIOLCOMBES. 
 
 " Her blood ran cold in her veins. What did he mean ? 
 She dared not ask : but managed to say, quietly, 
 
 " ' Indeed ! Ah, then, if she is satisfied we need not be 
 unhappy. Who is with her ?' 
 
 " Again that laugh mocking ! weird ! terrible ! 
 
 " ' Oh, she has her gay young lover by her side. She 
 does not want more. She played her game of chess for 
 him and won him ; and now she has him ! ha ! ha ! 
 ha! ha!' 
 
 " Without his seeming conscious what she was doing, or 
 without taking her eyes off of him, she put out her hands 
 and gently thrust him into a chair, and sat down facing 
 him. Her only hope was to keep this control over him 
 until weariness overtook him, and then to get on the 
 other side of the door, the key was on the outside. And 
 there she sat, never moving, her eyes on his. She felt, 
 rather than saw, the sun fading away ; its light creeping 
 over the floor. Now it touched her shoulder, now it was 
 gone. Would she ever see it again ? Twilight was 
 coming on. She could not stay in the dark with him, 
 that was impossible. She remembered a flint and a taper 
 on the table beside her. Could she find it ? She reached 
 out her hand. The fiery eyes opposite burned into hers, 
 and watched her motions. She simply said, ' It is get- 
 ting dark, we had better light the taper.' How she did 
 it she never knew ; but done it was, and the fearful vigil 
 was still unbroken. At last she saw the lids of those 
 burning coals closing. It was gradual, interrupted, but 
 he slept. She waited without motion until she saw that 
 the slumber was real, and then, moving softly, gained 
 the door. It was unfastened, but creaked as she opened 
 it. She saw the wild head turn, and spring upward ; 
 but she was on the outside, and the great key turned in 
 the lock.
 
 PREPARATIONS FOR A FEAST. 179 
 
 " She heard him beating upon the door, but knew he 
 was safe enough now. 
 
 " She flew up the stairs and reached the turret-chamber. 
 It was locked. She shook the door ; a shriek answered 
 her: it was her lady's voice. 'For God's sake, my dear 
 lady, tell me, are you safe ?' 
 
 " ' Oh, Gretchen,' wailed the voice, ' open the door !' 
 
 '"In a minute, niy lady. Don't fear, you are safe !' 
 And down she flew again, past the door where the beat- 
 ing still continued, down to the kitchen, seized an axe, and 
 up the stairs two steps at a time until she again reached 
 the chamber. Gretchen was a stout lass, and now she 
 worked with a will, battering at the heavy door, every 
 now and then stopping to say some word of encourage- 
 ment to the poor lady inside. At laat the lock gave way, 
 and the door flew open ; and the lady threw herself into 
 her arms, crying, ' Gretchen ! Gretchen !' and, without 
 turning round, pointed behind her. The sight which met 
 her eye she never forgot. There was no light in the 
 room except what the moon threw on the floor ; and 
 there, in its light, lay the body of the young man \vith 
 its white, dead face upward. 
 
 " ' Take me away, Gretchen ! dear Gretchen !' cried 
 the lady. Nor had she any wish to linger. Down those 
 long stairs, through the long corridor, by the door where 
 they heard the gnashing and shrieking of the enraged 
 animal she had caged, she dragged the unfortunate lady, 
 lingering only for a minute to get a mantle to throw 
 around her, and then out into the moonlight. 
 
 " The poor lady was perfectly passive in her hands, 
 seeming not to know what she did, and to care less ; every 
 now and then her hand would go up to her face, as if to 
 shut out some sight; but, except this, she showed no 
 signs of consciousness.
 
 180 THE HOL COMBES. 
 
 " Great was the surprise of my grandfather and grand- 
 mother when Gretchen made her appearance dragging, 
 rather than leading, the beautiful lady of the castle. She 
 explained as well as she could what had happened, and a 
 number of the men started off to the castle to secure the 
 madman ; but before they got half way there the way 
 was lighted by the flames from the building shooting out 
 in every direction. 
 
 "It was supposed that the old lord set it on fire with 
 the taper Gretchen had left lighted on the table. Certain 
 it is he perished in the flames, along with the body of his 
 unfortunate victim. 
 
 "It was a long time before the lady of the castle i - e- 
 covered her reason : she had a fever of the brain, and it 
 was pitiful to hear her begging Gretchen to take her 
 away ; then she would fix her eyes on a particular spot, 
 and move her fingers, and call out ' check,' ' check,' ' check- 
 mate;' and when she said checkmate, she would fall back 
 and scream that she had won ! she had won ! She had 
 a way too of looking behind her, and then, as if she saw 
 something dreadful, would jerk her head round again and 
 say, ' Oh, if he only would shut his eyes !' 
 
 " This state of things lasted for many, many weeks ; 
 but at last the fever left her, they thought she might re- 
 cover, but she faded away. 
 
 " The night before she died she told Gretchen her 
 story, and asked her to bury her in the village church- 
 yard, and put 'Helen 1 on the stone. 
 
 " Her story was this : Her father was an Italian, whose 
 noble name was all his wealth. She had lived all her 
 life in an old chateau, and the only companion in her 
 solitude was her cousin, Paulus Paola. As was to have 
 been expected, they became attached to each other, and 
 grew up with the idea that they would one day be mar-
 
 PREPARATIONS FOR A FEAST. 181 
 
 ried. She talked so prettily of their life together ; how 
 they wandered about the old woods, or studied or read 
 together ; how he, being the eldest, taught her every- 
 thing she knew. Every now and then her father would 
 go to Rome and be absent some time, and from one of 
 these expeditions he brought back the Count of Casto- 
 rella ; but his arrival did not trouble Paulus and herself 
 much, until her father took it into his head that Paulus 
 must go to Rome to study with some of the masters 
 there ; of course this was a trial to them, but Paulus was 
 devoted to painting, and delighted to be able to improve 
 himself in the art ; but his greatest pleasure in the pros- 
 pect held out to him was, that he would be able to claim 
 her for his wife as soon as he returned. 
 
 " Imagine her horror, though, when the day after his 
 departure her father bade her prepare to receive this old 
 count as her future husband. Of what avail was it that 
 she wept and prayed ? it was determined upon before 
 Paulus left. And what could she do, poor lamb, in the 
 hands of two determined men ? So she was married, and 
 brought over to this melancholy old castle in the depths of 
 the forest ; and she never heard of Paulus again until that 
 dreadful day when he appeared so suddenly before her. 
 He told her that he stayed in Rome six months, and then 
 returned, expecting to find her. What was his astonish- 
 ment to learn that she had been married nearly five, and 
 gone no one knew whither. And her father refused to 
 give him any satisfaction, except that she had married 
 the Count of Castorella, and was gone where he would 
 never find her. Wild with grief he started out, and after 
 incredible difficulties succeeded in tracing her. 
 
 " She also told Gretchen what happened to her after 
 she was imprisoned in the room of the old count. She 
 said that when she saw him drag her out of the room 
 
 16
 
 182 THE UOLCOMBES. 
 
 she bethought her of a way through the antechamber by 
 which she could reach the outer court, and, perhaps, send 
 help to both Gretchen and Paulus; and she had actually 
 almost reached the outer door, when she heard his steps 
 behind her. He seized her, exclaiming that he knew she 
 was only trying to make her escape to join her lover ; 
 and, after dragging her back to her own room, and taunt- 
 ing her with her misery, he exclaimed that he would 
 have her safe enough, and, seizing her by the arm, he 
 tried to drag her towards the door, but she threw herself 
 on her knees and plead for ' mercy,'' but she might as 
 well have spoken to the winds, and his only answer to 
 her appeals was that mad laugh. She thought of nothing 
 less than a violent death, when he caught her around the 
 waist, and, lifting her from the ground, carried her from 
 the room ; then it was that she uttered that wild cry for 
 'Help!' 'help!' which Gretchen had heard. 
 
 " She was surprised to find herself borne upward, until 
 the turret-chamber, that favorite resort of his, occurred 
 to her. All the way up those stairs she wept and plead 
 with him ; it only excited his mad mirth. She thought 
 he would put her up there and let her starve to death, 
 and no one would ever hear of it. At last they reached 
 the door ; he opened it, and, throwing her upon a bed, 
 he said, with a horrible imprecation, ' Now you are safe ! 
 now you are safe!' After gibing at and tormenting her 
 for some time, he proposed a game of chess, and said he, 
 
 " ' By way of interesting you in the game, suppose we 
 play for some stake. What say you ? This gay, young 
 lover this kind cousin ; if you beat me he is yours ; if 
 I beat you be is mine.' She looked at him for an instant ; 
 his eye was less wild ; there was an appearance of sanity, 
 at any rate, and so the dreadful game began, her excite- 
 ment becoming so intense as she went on that she felt as
 
 PREPARATIONS FOR A FEAST. 183 
 
 if she was smothering-. She could see him watching her 
 with his fiendish eyes, but she did not care, the terrible 
 stake for which she played absorbed all feeling ; her 
 trembling hand moved with caution from one piece to 
 another, and at last she threw herself back in her chair 
 
 
 
 and buried her face in her hands. The game was won ! 
 she had saved him ! 
 
 " Long and loud laughed her mad husband. ' Ha ! 
 she played for and won him, and she should have him.' 
 And she could hear him, as he went down the steps, 
 repeating this over and over. 
 
 "She never knew how long a time passed before she 
 heard the heavy footsteps returning. Ah, how eagerly 
 she listened to hear if Paulus was with him ! But no, 
 only the one footstep coming up ; now stopping, as if 
 wearied, and now stumbling on again. At last the steps 
 paused before her door, the key was turned ; she saw the 
 dreadful burden he bore, and fainted. When she came 
 to herself, all was still ; she lay on the floor ; she tried 
 to collect her scattered senses, looked around her, and, 
 horror of horrors ! close beside her lay that dead face, 
 with the staring eyes ! She shrieked until her voice 
 sounded hoarse ; but of what avail was it ? No one would 
 hear her except her jailer ; even his presence, though, 
 would have been a relief. She called upon him, entreat- 
 ing him to come and kill her, as he had done Paulus. No 
 answer ! She had thrown herself as far off from the body 
 as she could ; but every now and then her fascinated 
 glance would return to that stolid face lying there in the 
 moonlight, ever looking upward. 
 
 " At last came Gretchen's flying footsteps, and theu 
 Gretchen's voice. 
 
 " She died the next day, said my hostess, and they 
 buried her in the burying-ground on the hill."
 
 184 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 " How horrible !" ejaculated all the company as he 
 ended. 
 
 " Yes, it is, indeed," said Mr. Murray. " I have no 
 fancy for such stories ; but I was tempted by your con- 
 versation on the subject of chess to give you this one." 
 
 " Do you suppose it is true ?" said Mary. 
 
 "In its main facts, yes," was the answer; "but I 
 would not vouch for the entire truth of any story which 
 has had half a century in which to grow."
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 MISS HOLCOMBE'S DEBUT. 
 
 AT last the preparations for the feast were over, and 
 the time arrived to which all looked forward with so 
 much pleasure. 
 
 The day proved a lovely one, and was passed by the 
 ladies in giving the finishing touches to the house, and 
 by the gentlemen in disposing to advantage the fanciful 
 lanterns and other ornaments for the grounds. Daylight 
 never gives much encouragement to this style of prepa- 
 ration, as the colors, unaided by the light of the candle 
 within, and in the face of day, look decidedly dingy; but 
 the pretty little refreshment-tables set about under the 
 trees, at each of which a waiter was stationed, were de- 
 cidedly tempting. Every place was opened which could 
 possibly be spared for the reception of visitors. 
 
 The invitations had been very general, and as it had 
 been a long time since so large an entertainment had 
 been given at Rose Hill, and all were anxious to make 
 the acquaintance of the young daughter of the house on 
 this her first entrance into society, it was expected that the 
 attendance would be almost as general as the invitations. 
 
 "Look here, papa," said Margaret, sailing into the 
 parlor where Mr. Holcombc was standing, with Mr. Mur- 
 ray, superintending the lighting of the rooms. 
 
 Her dress was, as usual, pure white, of some gossamer 
 material, which floated around her like the cloud in which 
 it is the fancy of painters to represent angels ; but it was 
 
 16* (185)
 
 186 THE IIOLCOMBES. 
 
 a very human face which smiled above this cloud. The 
 wax-lights with which the rooms were illuminated lent a 
 softened tone to the brilliant style of her beauty, while 
 the bright eyes sparkled and danced with the anticipated 
 pleasure. She wore no ornaments except a simple pearl 
 pin which had been her mother's, and one magnificent 
 white rose, which shone like a star in her jet-black hair. 
 
 Mr. Holcombe was standing with his back to her as she 
 came into the room, but turned at the sound of her voice. 
 At the first glimpse of her he put his hands over his eyes 
 as if dazzled, and then folding his arms around her said, 
 with considerable emotion, 
 
 " My darling child ! you arc startlingly like your 
 mother to-night; I can almost fancy that I am living 
 over the past again. God bless you, my child, and make 
 you like her in other respects than mere outward appear- 
 ance ; but I did not mean to give you so sober a greeting 
 on this your gala day ; you took me by surprise." 
 
 Mr. Murray now came forward and said, 
 
 " Now let me offer the greetings of the evening. I am 
 glad my rose met with sufficient approbation to give it so 
 honored a position." 
 
 " Yes, I was going to wear pearls in my hair, but de- 
 cided that I would favor nature for this one evening," said 
 Margaret, smiling and blushing. 
 
 " Don't say for this one evening, but always ; I am 
 glad you did not wear the pearls youth is too rich to 
 need foreign aid." 
 
 " Have the lanterns been lighted ?" asked Margaret. 
 
 " Yes indeed ; have you not seen them ? I expect 
 your visitors will imagine themselves transported to fairy- 
 land." 
 
 He gave her his arm as he spoke, and led the way to 
 the door. They met Mr. Williams in the hall, who in- 

 
 MISS HOLCOMBE'S D&BUT. 187 
 
 sisted that her first sight of the lawn must b.e from the 
 lower end, and playfully proposed blindfolding her. 
 
 She consented, and he tied a handkerchief over her 
 eyes, and thus reduced her to entire dependence upon her 
 companion. 
 
 "Oh, I feel so helpless!" she said, reaching out her 
 hands. " I don't like this ; I don't like to have to trust 
 entirely to anybody." 
 
 " That is doing yourself injustice, I am sure," said 
 Mr. Williams ; " you are no true woman if you are not 
 willing to trust." 
 
 She put up her hand to remove the bandage, but it was 
 taken possession of by a large one, in which her own felt 
 completely lost, and Mr. Murray's voice said, " Let me 
 take care of you ; you are not afraid to trust me, are 
 you ?" And without waiting for an answer he rested the 
 hand gently upon his arm, guiding her steps with the 
 greatest care, leaving Mr. Williams looking after them, 
 with a smile upon his face. 
 
 "What are you looking at, Mr. Williams ?" said Mary's 
 voice behind him. 
 
 "At you now, Miss Snowflake," was the answer; 
 " I am so glad you still have the good taste to cling 
 to your childhood. Stand away, and let me see you." 
 And, as she curtsied off, " Yes, you are very well worth 
 looking at, but I think I would rather see you in that 
 torn calico dress, with tousled hair, standing on the rock 
 at 'Hawk's Nest.' You were a very pretty little child; 
 it is a pity, though, that it was all expended at that early 
 age; pretty children seldom make pretty grown people," 
 said he, laughing down at her. 
 
 " I am much obliged to you, Mr. Williams," said Mary, 
 looking puzzled and vexed ; " but I don't think it is very 
 polite in you to talk so to me."
 
 188 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 " Well, you know, Mary, it would not be polite for 
 any one else ; but I am an old man to you ; I can take 
 those privileges which would be an impertinence in 
 another." 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't, though," said she ; " I don't 
 think it is at all pleasant to be told that you are ugly." 
 
 " Oh I" iu a shocked tone. " Excuse me, I never said 
 anything so dreadful ; I only want you to cultivate other 
 qualities, and not depend on such a fading flower as 
 beauty. And if you should happen to be pretty, now re- 
 member I am only supposing an improbable case, try 
 and not know it." 
 
 " I think if I have to try not to know it, there won't be 
 much reality in the ignorance," said Mary, laughing; " I 
 dare say it is not of very much importance in a long life- 
 time, but still no one likes to be disagreeable-looking ; and 
 I don't believe you think I am, either." And she ran off 
 into the parlors. 
 
 Meantime Margaret, with her guide, made their way 
 down through the yard to the terraces, she begging to 
 have her independence restored, and he enjoying seeing 
 her in this novel position too much to agree to any such 
 move. 
 
 "Indeed, Mr. Murray," said she, "I am afraid to ven- 
 ture down these steps ; I don't know anything about 
 your ability to take care of blind people. Just suppose 
 you should go mad, like old Lord Castorella, and -hurl me 
 to the bottom of this place. Let me take this handkerchief 
 off." 
 
 " You may, after awhile," he said, laughingly pre- 
 venting her purpose; "but for the present I have you in 
 possession, and don't intend to resign my privileges, I 
 may never have another chance." 
 
 " Mr. Murray," she said, hardly knowing whether to
 
 MISS HOL COMBE'S DEBUT. 189 
 
 be angry or not, " I never allow gentlemen to say what 
 I shall or sha'n't do, I generally do as I please." 
 
 " So I have perceived, Miss Holcombe ; so much the 
 worse for you, it is time you had some one to take you 
 in hand," was the imperturbable answer. He had drawn 
 her down to the top of the last flight of steps, as a gentle- 
 man started at the foot. Hearing footsteps, Margaret took 
 matters in her own hands, and drew off the bandage. 
 The stranger bowed and passed on. Nothing could ex- 
 ceed Margaret's vexation ; she let Mr. Murray see the 
 material of which she was made, blamed him without 
 stint for placing her in an absurd position. 
 
 He seemed annoyed about it himself, but laughed it 
 off, telling her that he should seek the gentleman as 
 soon as they returned and explain the little scene to him. 
 " The statement of the familiar relations in which I stand 
 to you is sufficient explanation," said he. 
 
 " I don't see why," she said, still indignantly. 
 
 " Well, as your stepmother's brother," was his answer. 
 
 " That does not bring us one step closer, I assure you," 
 she said, and was sorry the minute the words were out of 
 her mouth. 
 
 " Excuse me for advancing it as an argument on my 
 side, I am not ambitious of the honor of being your 
 uncle, I assure you," said he. 
 
 She tried to laugh, but he did not respond, and their 
 walk continued in perfect silence until they reached the 
 lower end of the lawn. The scene was indeed beautiful. 
 The house was illuminated from attic to basement, and 
 the thick trees immediately around were studded with 
 lights of all colors. On the lawn below, however, most 
 of the labor had been expended, the center of the circle 
 around which the carriage-road ran being fixed to repre- 
 sent a parterre ; there were huge tulips of gaudy colors
 
 190 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 rearing their heads by the pure lily and bright bluebell, 
 while the statuettes glowed prettily in every direction. 
 The whole thing was pronounced a success; and as the 
 carriages were heard rumbling in the distance, approach- 
 ing the house, they turned their feet homeward. Marga- 
 ret longed to tell him that she knew she had been rude, 
 but as usual her pride interfered, and she left him free to 
 resent an implied affront to his sister, at which he would 
 have laughed had he alone been concerned. 
 
 As soon as Mr. Murray returned to the house he 
 hunted up the stranger who had made so malapropos an 
 appearance on the steps, sought and obtained an intro- 
 duction, and made an explanatipn to him of the circum- 
 stances, which must, to a stranger, have been a little puz- 
 zling. 
 
 " Not at all," said the gentleman, laughing ; " I saw a 
 little romp going on between " 
 
 " You are mistaken, sir," said Mr. Murray, hotly ; 
 "there was nothing of the kind, I was only guiding 
 her to the end of the lawn, that she might see the lights 
 to better advantage." 
 
 " In what relation do you stand to the young lady ?" 
 said the stranger, meaningly. 
 
 Mr. Murray felt disposed to knock him down for his 
 insufferable impertinence, but he restrained himself, and 
 said, 
 
 " I do not know, sir, that the information is necessary 
 to my object in seeking this introduction ; I simply wished 
 to explain on the young lady's account. 
 
 " Ah, yes, yes ; all right. I suppose you would not 
 mind giving me an introduction, would you?" 
 
 But Mr. Murray was no longer by his side, he had 
 anticipated his request, and left before he should be called 
 upon to refuse, as he most undoubtedly should have done,
 
 MISS HOLCOMBE'S DEBUT. 191 
 
 as the man's manner to him was disagreeable in the ex- 
 treme. 
 
 He found himself beside Ellen Randolph, a sweet, gen- 
 tle little girl, too diffident to make acquaintances easily, 
 and with whom he had never advanced beyond a first in- 
 troduction. 
 
 He had not recovered from the vexation produced by 
 his last encounter, and as usual his face showed it, though 
 he tried to conceal it by assuming a careless manner. 
 
 " Why, Miss Randolph," he said, "what are you doing 
 way off in this corner ? Let me take you into the gay 
 world; you ought to know better how to take care of 
 yourself." And he offered his arm. 
 
 "I wonder," said she, diffidently, "if I am ever going 
 to get over this dreadful shamefacedness ? it is a positive 
 annoyance to me." 
 
 "Oh, yes," said he, gently; "I suppose most young 
 ladies of your age feel it, it is not expected that a rose 
 should burst into full bloom all at once ; the bud which 
 closes its leaves from the common gaze is, to my mind, 
 much sweeter." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Murray," she said, " for a pretty 
 compliment ; but it is very uncomfortable to be a bud, I 
 assure you. I have been looking forward to this party 
 with so much pleasure, and as soon as I get into the room 
 I feel perfectly out of place ; I am as stupid as an owl." 
 
 He laughed, and said, " I had a young friend once 
 who professed to be afflicted as you are, and she told me 
 that she often tried to guard against these spells of em- 
 barrassment by making up her mind what she would say 
 beforehand." 
 
 Ellen blushed and laughed, consciously. 
 
 "Ah, I see, Miss Randolph, that I turn a leaf in your 
 experience."
 
 192 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 His free, kind manner drew her out and encouraged 
 her, and she laughed almost as merrily as Mary would 
 have done. 
 
 " Tell me the candid truth," he said, bending down to 
 look into her face. 
 
 " Well, yes, I own it," she said ; " but nobody ever says 
 just what I expect, so I am thrown out in the beginning 
 and cannot find my place." 
 
 " Shall I give you a good rule to overcome this, better 
 than learning a lesson ?" said he, kindly. 
 
 "Please do." 
 
 " Well, look around and find some one who is in need 
 of help, perhaps suffering as you do, or in some other 
 way, and try to relieve them, and you will find your own 
 way infinitely smoother." 
 
 " You mean," said she, " that I must try and forget 
 myself?" 
 
 "Yes, exactly; you will pardon me, and understand 
 what I mean, I Ifnow, when I say that the feeling from 
 which you suffer is, after all, a little selfishness " 
 
 He doubted her understanding him, and feared he had 
 pained her when he saw the flush mount to her cheek ; 
 so he hastened to explain, 
 
 " Not selfishness in the objectionable sense of prefer- 
 ring ourselves to others, but in thinking of our own im- 
 perfections and indulging in the too earnest desire to 
 shine, it arises from a want of self-appreciation ; but 
 try my recipe. Your cousin does not seem to be annoyed 
 by any such self-torment, how well she graces her po- 
 sition 1" 
 
 They were standing opposite Margaret, who was doing 
 the honors to her guests with the most perfect ease. Just 
 then Ellen saw a look of vexation cross Mr. Murray's 
 face as a gentleman was introduced to her cousin by Mr. 
 Williams.
 
 MISS HOLCOMBE' S DEBUT. 193 
 
 " Miss Holcombe, let me present my friend, Dr. Bur- 
 ton." 
 
 " Who is he ?" said Ellen, under her breath. 
 
 " I don't know," he said, "but I don't like his manners 
 or appearance; I cannot" imagine how he found his way 
 here." 
 
 Dr. Burton leaned forward and said something to Mar- 
 garet, and Mr. Murray saw the blood rush to her face and 
 her eyes flash in his direction for an instant. He would 
 have given a great deal to know what had passed, but 
 could think of no way of finding out. 
 
 Jean came up, leaning on her husband's arm, and said, 
 " I have not seen you all the evening, Robert; where 
 have you been keeping yourself?" 
 
 " I have been taking care of this young lady for some 
 little time," he said, smiling at Ellen. " Mr. Holcombe, 
 who is that talking to your daughter ?" 
 
 Mr. Holcombe turned to look. " He is a stranger, but 
 has been very generally received by the good people of 
 
 C ; I don't know much about him. He was here last 
 
 winter, and this morning some one sent me a note asking 
 
 for an invitation for him, as he had arrived at C last 
 
 night ; of course I sent it." 
 
 Margaret had taken Dr. Burton's arm, and was going 
 out into the grounds with him. Mr. Murray had never 
 seen her so animated. 
 
 " Pshaw !" he said to himself, " what is the use of my 
 worrying about her? she is fully able to take care of 
 herself without any interference of mine." But it was no 
 use to argue, he did worry every time he saw them to- 
 gether, which was almost every time he saw her at all. 
 Her face was flushed and her eyes excited, and once or 
 twice he knew they were talking about him. He was ex- 
 ceedingly vexed and curious, and then vexed with himself 
 
 17
 
 194 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 for wasting a thought upon it ; but the fact is, Margaret 
 had interested him more than he had any idea, the variety 
 in her character gave him a constant desire to understand 
 her. That she did herself injustice, at all times, he could 
 plainly see, and that she only wanted some strong influ- 
 ence to develop her good qualities he could also guess; 
 her father was too yielding, too much afraid of provok- 
 ing her irritable temper to oppose her; and Jean's influ- 
 ence, which might have been of benefit, she had utterly 
 rejected. 
 
 It had occurred to him more than once, what if he 
 could be such a friend to her ? It would be worth try- 
 ing, at any rate. He was just beginning to hope that she 
 would learn to regard him in such a light when the un- 
 fortunate little encounter of this evening took place, and 
 now he saw a man whom he utterly distrusted apparently 
 obtaining an influence over her. 
 
 " Hallo, Murray ! what is the matter ?" said Mr. Wil- 
 liams. " You are not in party trim, man, you look as if 
 you had lost your best friend." 
 
 " Look here, Williams," was the answer, " who is that 
 man Burton ? I heard you introduce him as ' your friend* 
 to Miss Holcombe." 
 
 " Indeed I don't know, he is only my friend as of 
 course everybody is whom I meet in this house. I never 
 met him until to-night ; but why do you ask ?" 
 
 "Simply because I do not like the man at all." 
 
 Mr. Williams laughed meaningly, and said, " No, I 
 suppose not; I should not, either, under the circum- 
 stances." 
 
 Mr. Murray turned on him and said, " What do you 
 mean? I am utterly at a loss to understand you." 
 
 "Well, I sha'n't explain, I promise you." 
 
 " It is not possible," said Mr. Murray, reddening, "that
 
 MISS HOLCOMBE'S DEBUT. 195 
 
 you imagine for an instant that I ana interested in that 
 child?" 
 
 " Well, I confess I did have such an idea. She is no 
 longer a child," said Mr. Williams. 
 
 " Xonsense ; to me she is. She is not my style of a 
 woman, I assure you, though I feel interested in her on 
 account of her family." 
 
 " Please let me pass," said a voice. And they turned to 
 find Margaret Holcombe behind them. She was very pale, 
 but except that which might have been the effect of the 
 cool night air on her, for the gentlemen were standing in 
 the door of the hall, and she must have come up the steps 
 from the lawn the moment before, there was no sign of 
 discomposure about her. She bowed as she passed, in her 
 queenly way. 
 
 " How unfortunate !" said Mr Williams 
 
 " Exceedingly so, if she heard," said his companion. 
 
 " I am afraid there is no chance against that," said 
 Mr. Williams. " But stop, here she comes again." 
 
 She came back enveloped in a large white nubia, 
 which was wound around her head and neck. If she had 
 been pale before, it was certainly a thing of the past, she 
 never looked so brilliant, her cheeks were almost purple 
 with excessive bloom, and her eyes, as she again asked 
 permission to pass, were flashing with wounded pride, 
 but the voice was perfectly courteous and calm. They saw 
 her join some one on the steps and wander off in the 
 moonlight. 
 
 That moment was a revelation to Robert Murray. 
 He knew that Margaret Holcombe was the only woman 
 in the world for him ; that it was not the wayward, 
 proudly sensitive child who interested him, but the peer- 
 less woman, whom he must win for himself or be miser- 
 able.
 
 196 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 " Where is Margaret ?" said Mr. Holcombe, coming 
 up just then. " They want to announce supper, and can- 
 not do it until she is here to lead the way." 
 
 " She passed us just now," said Mr. Murray, " and went 
 in that direction," pointing through the shrubbery. 
 
 " Can't yon just step out there and call her for me ? I 
 have to go back to Jean." 
 
 He did not say it, but not for all the world would he 
 have gone after Margaret Holcombe then. 
 
 " I will see she gets your message," he said, and went 
 in pursuit of John, by whom he sent the message to his 
 sister. 
 
 And then he went to look for Mary to take her in to 
 supper, but he found he was too late, as she was already 
 dancing along on Mr. Williams's arm. He turned to 
 look for Ellen, but she, too, was provided for, and he had 
 to console himself with a poor little lady who had adorned 
 the corner, in which she stood, all the evening. Ellen 
 whispered to him as he passed her, 
 
 "I see Mr. Murray practices as well as preaches." 
 
 His next encounter was with Margaret and Dr. Burton ; 
 but they were laughing at some joke and did not seem to 
 see him. 
 
 He heard some one say to her, " Oh, Margaret, you 
 have lost your rose !" 
 
 "Have I ?" she exclaimed. " Well, it don't matter, I 
 can easily get another." 
 
 His companion tried to chirp agreeably to him, and he 
 made an equal effort to overcome his annoyance, but in 
 vain, for wherever, he looked there was Margaret, and 
 wherever she was he saw the source of his discom- 
 fort. 
 
 The supper was very brilliant, the pyramids of can- 
 died oranges and grapes, with the straw over them ; the
 
 MISS JTOL COMBE'S D&BUT. 197 
 
 beautiful white cakes ; the sparkling jelly ; indeed, every- 
 thing beautiful and tempting was found there, and the 
 company did ample justice to the preparations. 
 
 They soon began to disperse after supper, and Robert 
 Murray retired to his room, having learned a lesson which 
 all Germany and the Alps had never taught him.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE TOURNAMENT. 
 
 MOST men in Robert Murray's position would have (led 
 from the danger, but that course was foreign to his dis- 
 position. He conceived an idea strongly, and his iron 
 will never acknowledged impossibilities. 
 
 The idea of going away now, and leaving the woman 
 he loved to be carried off by a man utterly unworthy of 
 her, he never thought of; indeed, to leave her at all, even 
 to think of her as belonging to any one else, would be 
 impossible. He made no confidants, nor did he, like an 
 impulsive boy, rush madly forward into the heat of the 
 battle, but like a wary, experienced commander he sur- 
 veyed the field and bided his time. 
 
 He never avoided her, but he never sought her. It was 
 like death to him sometimes to see Burton lifting her into 
 her saddle and riding off with her; but he never inter- 
 fered. He felt safe so far ; he knew that though the im- 
 pulse of the moment might lend a fascination to his 
 attentions, that such a man as Burton could never satisfy 
 the cravings of Margaret Holcombe's nature. There was 
 one thing, however, which he did not know, and there- 
 fore could not take into consideration ; but I will not 
 anticipate. 
 
 Meanwhile Dr. Burton was a constant visitor at Rose 
 Hill, and Margaret seemed to encourage his visits ; but 
 her temper was more fitful and wayward than ever. Mr. 
 Williams returned home, and the household settled down 
 to its usual quiet sobriety. I say the household ; but 
 (198)
 
 THE TOURNAMENT. 199 
 
 there were exceptions to this rule. Invitations poured in 
 from all quarters upon Margaret, Ellen, and Mr. Murray; 
 entertainments were the order of the day ; scarce twenty- 
 four hours passed without the carriage or riding-horses 
 being ordered out. 
 
 Margaret engaged in everything with a zest which aston- 
 ished her friends, as her character had never indicated this 
 element. On the contrary, her love of solitude and rather 
 brooding temper led them to expect a different course ; 
 but now she was never satisfied unless she had something 
 in prospect. Her belleship was firmly established ; her 
 beauty and wit were the topic of conversation everywhere ; 
 but notwithstanding the fact that she was constantly in 
 requisition, that whenever she made her appearance in so- 
 ciety she was the center of an admiring crowd, who flat- 
 tered her vanity and laughed at her quick repartee, she felt 
 that she was not altogether popular. Her own sex were 
 disposed to search out and comment on the flaws in her 
 character, because she absorbed so much of the attention 
 of the other sex ; and the gentlemen had so many of them 
 winced under the arrows of her sarcastic tongue, that 
 although they still, like foolish moths, buzzed around the 
 dazzling light, it was always with a recollection that, 
 beautiful as it was, the flame could scorch and singe their 
 precious wings. 
 
 It was no wonder, then, that she often turned with a 
 feeling of relief to Dr. Burton, who never allowed him- 
 self to be rebuffed, and was always, no matter in what 
 temper he had last found his divfhity, ready to return to 
 the charge, with no vestige of recollection of -former 
 blows. Her general feeling with regard to this gentle- 
 man was contempt. A proud woman like Margaret 
 Holcombe is not apt to conceive a real liking for anything 
 mean-spirited in the other sex, and the imperturbable
 
 200 THE nOLCOMBES. 
 
 good nature and forbearance under such provocation as 
 she often afforded him made her utterly careless with re- 
 gard to her words and actions to him. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Murray watched her with the deepest 
 anxiety ; he saw that some wretchedness was tugging at 
 her heart, and that this reckless course of dissipation was 
 nothing but a cover for her real feelings ; he remem- 
 bered the day in the library, when she had spoken so 
 candidly of her hours of self-torture, and he wondered if 
 she were not now avoiding a meeting with herself face 
 to face! With regard to Dr. Burton, he often doubted 
 if it was not his duty to speak a word of warning to Mr. 
 Holcombe ; but then the feeling of delicacy engendered 
 by b's own position with regard to him kept him silent, 
 as he could not bear the idea of seeming to calumniate a 
 rival. 
 
 A rival the idea! Margaret Holcombe would have 
 curled her lip contemptuously at such a suggestion. The 
 cold, proud man, she believed he really disliked her ; or, 
 as he had said that night, he felt an interest in her on 
 "account of her family." 
 
 " More invitations !" exclaimed Mr. Holcombe, in comic 
 dismay, as he walked into the breakfast-room one morn- 
 ing early in September and threw a pile of envelopes on 
 the table. " There is no rest for the wicked ; and if that be 
 so, my poor horses must be the most wretched sinners 
 that ever lived. Where is it, Margaret?" for Margaret 
 had seized on her note and opened it. 
 
 " Oh, delightful !" was the answer. " Just hear." 
 
 " ' The gentlemen of C request the pleasure of your 
 
 presence in Clarke's Grove to a Tournament, on Tuesday 
 next, at three o'clock. 
 
 " ' Committee of Arrangements. William Marshall, 
 Charles Clarke, Henry Dandrrdge, John Tucker.' "
 
 THE TOURNAMENT. 201 
 
 And Margaret and Ellen both expressed unqualified de- 
 light that, at last, there was some prospect of a variety 
 in their amusements. 
 
 " Well," said Mary, her usually bright face clouding 
 over, " I wish I was grown, too, it is so dull to stay at 
 home all by myself." 
 
 " Never mind, Mary," said John, " we won't go into 
 such general society ; we will be more select, and have a 
 tournament all to ourselves, I will ride for you and you 
 for me, and then, you know, there is no danger of any bad 
 feeling." 
 
 "Much obliged to you, Johnny, "said Mary, laughing; 
 " but that is very dull work, I am too used to you, I 
 want somebody new to ride for me." 
 
 " Won't I answer your purpose, Miss Mary ?" said 
 Mr. Murray ; " or am I too big, and not new enough, 
 either?" 
 
 " Oh, no !" said Mary, clapping her hands, " that would 
 be splendid, if I could only go, and have you for my 
 knight ; I would give you a blue ribbon, my color, to tie 
 on your lance." 
 
 " Would you let her go if she had an invitation ?" said 
 Mr. Murray, turning to Mr. Holcombe. 
 
 "Well, I don't know; what do you say, mamma?" 
 
 .."Well," said Jean, smiling at Mary's eager face, "I 
 think for this once, as she goes away to school next 
 month ; but how can she go without an invitation ?" 
 
 " Oh, I will manage that," said Mr. Murray : " nothing 
 easier. I shall ride into C this morning to get ad- 
 mission to the knighthood, and of course they will be 
 delighted to send an invitation to this young lady. I 
 sha'n't ride unless I am permitted to ride for her." 
 
 In looking towards Mary his eyes fell on Margaret ; 
 her face was bent on her plate, while the blood looked as
 
 202 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 if it would burst from her cheeks. She raised her eyes 
 for a moment and caught his gaze fixed on her with a 
 puzzled expression ; the haughty head was thrown back 
 at once, and she said, " Oh, yes, of course Mary can 
 go ; she will make a splendid Queen of Love and 
 Beauty." 
 
 "And oh, Margie," said Mary, in childish delight, 
 " what must I wear?" 
 
 " Time enough for that important decision, Mary," said 
 Jean, " as it is still nearly a week off." 
 
 Mary's invitation was easily obtained, and Mr. Murray 
 returned with the honors of knighthood upon him. 
 
 The place where the tournament was to take place 
 
 was a beautiful grove a short distance from C ; it 
 
 seemed almost as if nature designed the spot for some 
 such use as that to which it was now dedicated. It was on 
 the edge of the woods, and the trees grew sparsely, 
 leaving a wide space of level ground, with the waving 
 branches forming an arch above it. 
 
 The scene was a beautiful one. Seats had been erected 
 for the spectators on one side, near enough to give a full 
 view of the sport, and the gallant knights, with their 
 fanciful dresses, clustered together at the end of the 
 ground, while the bright scarfs of the marshals flitted 
 around gayly as their wearers dashed about among the 
 trees. 
 
 The seats were crowded with bright-eyed damsels, 
 whose gay dresses and laughing voices added to the gen- 
 eral hilarity. 
 
 "Just look at Margaret Holcombe," whispered Jennie 
 Clarke to her neighbor, Annie Campbell ; " she is evi- 
 dently expecting to wear the crown to-night." 
 
 " She ought certainly to do it," was the quiet answer; 
 " there is no girl here who can compare with her. If I
 
 THE TOURNAMENT. 203 
 
 were chosen Queen, of which I have no idea, I should 
 abdicate in favor of the rightful sovereign, she is per- 
 fectly regal to-day." 
 
 And so she was, in her simple, white muslin dress 
 and rich, scarlet ribbons, with bright flowers in her hair, 
 Margaret Holcombe possessed that advantage for want 
 of which so many women of decided beauty throw away 
 their claims to it, she knew just what to wear and how 
 to wear it. As long as the season would allow, her dress 
 was pure white, because she knew that the contrast with 
 her dark hair and eyes and brilliant complexion made it 
 the most becoming for her. Exquisitely neat in every- 
 thing, whatever she put on was the purest, the smoothest, 
 and of the finest texture. No one ever saw Margaret 
 Holcombe with anything on with a flaw in it. Dainty in 
 all of her tastes, it became second nature to her to make 
 her dress perfect in its simplicity and purity, and perfect 
 in its adaptedncss to her style of beauty. 
 
 Mary used to say that she believed Margie could jump 
 over the house and come down without a wrinkle or a 
 tear in her dress, and if she sat still in the house hers 
 would be out of order in some way. 
 
 But the band begins to play, and the brilliant array of 
 knights rode through the lists, their mettled steeds pranc- 
 ing and curveting or restrained by the grinding bit to the 
 mincing gait of restricted freedom. They rode two and 
 two, and filing in front of the seats occupied by the ladies, 
 doffed their plumed caps and bowed low, with chivalrous 
 acknowledgment of the presence of youth and loveli- 
 ness. 
 
 They were a gallant company, most of them sons of 
 old Virginia, whose skill in the science of horsemanship 
 is so justly renowned. Foremost of the band rode a 
 kingly figure a Saul among his fellows! who bore
 
 204 THE HOLCOMDES. 
 
 upon his breastplate the white and red roses of England 
 prettily blended, and the blue of his shoulder-knot had its 
 counterpart in the ribbons which adorned the dress of 
 Mary Holcombe. It was the Knight of St. George ! And 
 happily had he chosen the name, for he wore well the 
 character of a Saxon knight, with his dress of blue and 
 silver and the long, white plume which drooped upon his 
 shoulder mingling with his magnificent beard. 
 
 Mary was wild with delight, clapped her hands and 
 laughed like the child she was. " Oh, Margie !" she said, 
 " my knight is the handsomest of any of them !" But 
 Margaret did not respond ; her eyes were fixed upon the 
 
 orator of the day, a young lawyer of C , Mr. Tucker, 
 
 who now stepped forward to deliver the charge to the 
 knights. 
 
 " Sir Knights," said he, " I have been appointed by you 
 to the pleasing duty of introducing you to the field upon 
 which you are about to exercise your prowess. The 
 knights of old, inured to hardship and danger, gladly 
 turned from the bloody battlefield to reap their reward at 
 the hands of the fair. You have no such stirring expe- 
 riences as theirs, thank God! and grant that you never 
 may have ; but nevertheless each one of you is daily 
 fighting the battle of life, in which, it is true, no blood is 
 shed, but in which heart and brain are deeply engaged. 
 From this field you turn aside, like true disciples of chiv- 
 alry, to do your devoirs at the shrine of Beauty, in a 
 cause, let me say, which always fires the heart and nerves 
 the arm of the brave. 
 
 " I see that each of you, in entering upon this contest 
 in imitation of the founders of chivalry, has assumed the 
 colors of the lady of his choice. Then let him remem- 
 ber that in so doing he assumes also a responsibility, for 
 her sovereignty in the Court of Love and Beauty rests
 
 THE TOURNAMENT. 205 
 
 upon his prowess, her eyes are upon him, with his suc- 
 cess or failure she stands or falls. 
 
 " I therefore charge you, Sir Knights, in the name of 
 chivalry, to be wary and watchful ; let your earnestness 
 in action attest your earnestness of purpose and your 
 sense of the importance of the task you have undertaken, 
 and I feel assured that your reward will be commensurate 
 with your effort, in the smile of approbation from the rosy 
 lips of her who shall wear your crown." 
 
 He bowed and retired, and the knights riding forward 
 in the same order in which they had advanced, turned at 
 the end of the ground and rode back again to the point 
 from which they started, exchanging, as they passed, 
 salutations with the ladies of their choice. 
 
 It might be remarked that three knights wore the scar- 
 let ribbon of the shade which adorned the dress of Mar- 
 garet Holcombe, the Knight of Rose Hill (Mr. Camp- 
 bell), the Knight of Virginia (Mr. Dandridge), and Brian 
 de Bois Guilbert (Dr. Burton) ; but, like Haman of old, 
 all of her honors were nothing so long as "Mordecai the 
 Jew sat at the king's gate." 
 
 " How does it happen," said Mr. Tucker, taking a seat 
 between Mary and herself, " that you have allowed this 
 small sister of yours to carry off the prize yonder, in the 
 person of the Knight of St. George ?" 
 
 The tone was very indifferent which answered, "Per- 
 haps I did not consider it a prize worth trying for." 
 
 Mr. Tucker laughed, and said, " Perhaps not ; but I 
 think you are a lady of too much taste to avow such an 
 opinion. I never saw a finer-looking man." 
 
 " I don't estimate my goods by weight," said she, " for- 
 tunately for you, Mr. Tucker ; I would rather have a small 
 diamond than a large pebble." 
 
 18
 
 206 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 "Hands off, now," said he, in pretended fright; "I 
 won't be handled without gloves." 
 
 " Why, you have nothing to complain of," said she, 
 laughing, " you are the small diamond." 
 
 "Ain't you ashamed of yourself, Margie ? you know 
 Mr. Murray is is splendid," said Mary. 
 
 " We will be able to judge now," said she coolly, as the 
 bugle sounded and the Herald called, 
 
 " The Knight of St. George, come into the court !" And 
 Black Festus, proudly arching his neck, moved forward, 
 while his rider, poising his lance, bent his eye keenly 
 upon the ring which hung midway of the lists. 
 
 "He stoops to conquer !" said Mr. Tucker, as the tall 
 figure bent forward in his saddle. 
 
 " He stoops to fail !" said Margaret, as he rode off 
 without the ring. The words were against him ; the tone 
 of disappointment which accompanied them betrayed her 
 sympathies. 
 
 " That is too bad !" said Mary. " Never mind ; I hope 
 no one else will take it, either." 
 
 " You dog in the manger 1" said Mr Tucker. 
 
 " The Knight of Ivanhoe, come into the court !" said 
 the Herald. 
 
 " Here comes my young brother," said Mr. Tucker, 
 " and he wears Miss Randolph's colors. Calm yourself, 
 Miss Ellen. There ! I knew he was good for it," as the 
 shouts and music from the band announced his triumph. 
 
 " Brian de Bois Guilbert, come into the court !" cried 
 the Herald. 
 
 "Now, Miss Holcombe, here conies the scarlet rib- 
 bons." And so each one of the knights rode in his turn 
 with varied success. After six rounds the contest lay 
 between the four most successful, the Knight of St.
 
 THE TOURNAMENT. 207 
 
 George, the Knight of Ivanhoe, the Knight of Rose Hill, 
 and the Knight of Brandon. 
 
 Mr. Murray had never failed after the first time, and 
 Mary was greatly excited. 
 
 " There, he has it again !" said she, clapping her hands. 
 " I almost feel the crown on my head." 
 
 This time the Knight of Brandon and the Knight of 
 Ivanhoe failed and were withdrawn, and the contest lay 
 between Archy Campbell and Mr. Murray. They were 
 so equally matched that no one could predict which 
 would bear off the highest honors. 
 
 Time after time they rode and carried off the ring, 
 until Mr. Tucker, becoming impatient of the delay, said, 
 " Those fellows have become so accustomed to taking that 
 ring they couldn't miss it if they were to try." But it 
 was differently determined by one of the parties con- 
 cerned. Robert Murray, tired of the long contest, and 
 in his heart of hearts preferring his defeat to his success, 
 determined to put an end to it, and as he rode up to- 
 wards the ring dug his spurs into the side of Black Fes- 
 tus with such force as to make him swerve to one side, 
 and the ring hung unharmed on the wire ; but the met- 
 tled animal, enraged and frightened, dashed off among 
 the trees at mad speed before his rider could regain full 
 command of him. 
 
 " Heavens! he will be killed !" said Mr. Tucker, as the 
 infuriated animal dashed on through the thick under- 
 growth. Mary hid her face in her hands, and the terrified 
 girls all around shrieked, cried, or fainted after the man- 
 ner of women. Mr. Tucker heard a sound beside him 
 like a person choking ; he turned around. Margaret Hpl- 
 combe had risen and stood beside him ; her face as white 
 as the dress she wore ; one hand pressed upon her heart, 
 and her head stretched forward in the direction of the
 
 208 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 mad equestrian, while her breath came in thick gasps 
 from her pallid lips. 
 
 "Safe! safe!" was echoed through the woods, and 
 Margaret Holcombe sank into her seat and the blood 
 rushed back to her cheeks. 
 
 " 'Tis only a pebble, Miss Holcombe," said Mr. Tucker, 
 turning to her and smiling. 
 
 Surely the pride must have been indomitable in the 
 girl's heart who could answer with such a cool, sarcastic 
 smile after such terrible agitation, 
 
 " 'Tis true, perhaps ; and yet one does not like to see 
 the useless waste of stones, even." 
 
 Mr. Tucker looked puzzled. She was an enigma to 
 him ; he could not pronounce her wanting in heart, be- 
 cause he had seen her face of agony. He said, 
 
 " You women are curious creatures, I can't find you 
 out. I don't know any more about you now than when 
 I began the study." 
 
 " I never knew one of your sex get on this subject be- 
 fore," said Margaret, " without quoting on us, 
 
 ' Oh, woman, in our hours of ease, 
 Uncertain, coy, and hard to please/ etc. 
 
 I am so glad you did not. I have a much better opinion 
 of you for the omission. I always cut an acquaintance 
 who quotes trite poetry on me, I can't stand it." 
 
 " You cut them sometimes without that grave offense," 
 said he, laughing. "Poor Burton! I pity him some- 
 times." 
 
 " Reserve your sympathies for a more worthy object, 
 Mr. Tucker. Dr. Burton wears a coat of mail no arrow 
 of mine will ever pierce." 
 
 "And what is that?" asked he. 
 
 " Imperturbable good temper ; he is a perfect example
 
 THE TOURNAMENT. 209 
 
 to some of you hot-heads. It is such a relief to get with 
 a person you can say what you choose to and feel per- 
 fectly confident that there is no danger of their getting 
 angry ; but the knight had better keep clear of me this 
 evening, I am keeping a sharpened arrow for him." 
 
 " Why, poor fellow ! you ought to sympathize with 
 him in his misfortune ; but his riding was absurd." And 
 Mr. Tucker laughed. 
 
 "Yes," said Margaret, " I hate to see any one attempt 
 a thing and fail ; he has no more idea of riding than if 
 he had never seen a horse. And the idea of placing him- 
 self in competition with these Virginia boys, who ride 
 like centaurs! And then, too, I confess, one does not like 
 to see their colors^ degraded. If he had worn any other 
 color I should not have minded half as much." 
 
 " Ah ! ha! there's where the shoe pinches, is it ?" said 
 her companion. " It was Miss Holcombe who was affected 
 by it, Miss Holcombe's pride was hurt." 
 
 " Of course," she said, throwing up her head and look- 
 ing like a full-mettled Arabian. " Miss Holcombe does not 
 deny her pride, she always hopes to keep herself above 
 disgrace of every kind." 
 
 Just then Mr. Murray rode into the lists unhurt, though 
 a good deal out of breath from his contest with Black 
 Festus. Every one crowded around him to congratulate 
 him upon his escape. It had indeed been a very narrow 
 one, as the mad animal carried him through the thick 
 woods, and his clothes in more than one place showed 
 where he had been violently brushed against the trees. 
 He may be pardoned if he glanced towards Margaret 
 Holcombe to see if she had felt even an ordinary amount 
 of anxiety for him in his danger. His thought had been 
 of her through the whole of it, but he could not think 
 
 18*
 
 210 THE UOL COMBES. 
 
 she had even heard of it, she looked so calm and uncon- 
 cerned as she jested with Mr. Tucker. Mary, on the 
 contrary, had not yet dried her tears, and more than one 
 of the young ladies prolonged their hysterics until his 
 arrival. 
 
 It was at once proposed that the last trial should be 
 taken over again ; but Mr. Murray would not hear of it, 
 and seemed irritated at the suggestion. So Margaret 
 Holcombe won the highest honors. 
 
 It was decided to adjourn to Dr. Campbell's, where an 
 entertainment had been prepared, and the coronation 
 would take place. 
 
 The doctor lived at the entrance to the town, in a large 
 brick house ; he had a good many children, and was al- 
 ways highly delighted to have his house full of young 
 people. He met them at the door with his hearty wel- 
 come, and was delighted to hear that " Archy" had won 
 the day, and, above all, had " shown such taste in the 
 selection of his queen," said he, bowing low to Marga- 
 ret with old-fashioned, courtly grace. 
 
 "That is as much as to say I would not have made a 
 good queen," said Jennie Clarke, pouting. 
 
 " Ah, Miss Jennie, I'll ride for you myself next time, 
 if the old lady will let me." And he led the way into 
 the parlors, where Mrs. Campbell and her daughter 
 waited to do the honors. The girls went to work to im- 
 provise a throne, bringing into requisition all the bright 
 draperies the establishment could afford. It consisted of 
 a platform made of some convenient pieces of furniture, 
 covered with a bright-green carpet, upon which was 
 placed the doctor's large arm-chair, which was covered 
 with crimson draperies, and green wreaths hung in every 
 direction. 
 
 At eight o'clock the four successful knights stepped in,
 
 THE TOURNAMENT. 211 
 
 each one with a wreath of flowers. Mr. Tucker rose, 
 aud taking from Archy Campbell his coronet formed of 
 scarlet verbenas, said, speaking- to Margaret, 
 
 " The Knight of Rose Hill bids me crown you, lady, 
 as Queen of Love and Beauty. My part is a meager 
 one, I can only place the crown upon your brow, where 
 nature has been beforehand with me in stamping the im- 
 press of sovereignty." 
 
 Margaret bowed her head, and he placed the beautiful 
 wreath upon her coronet of dark hair ; then turning to 
 Mr. Murray, he received from him a wreath of white rose- 
 buds, and said, 
 
 "It is fitting that the fair sister of our noble queen 
 should occupy the position nearest her person, and the 
 Knight of St. George presents this, the highest honor in 
 his gift, to Miss Mary Holcombe. Kneel, fair lady." 
 
 Mary, with a face of perfect happiness, knelt before 
 him, and rose up crowned with the simple flowerets. 
 
 The next was a wreath of green ivy-leaves, and receiv- 
 ing them, he said, 
 
 " The Knight of Brandon thus greets the lady of his 
 choice. Had fortune favored him she would have graced 
 the throne." 
 
 Here Jennie Clarke knelt and received her crown. 
 
 The next was a wreath of violets and heart's-ease. He 
 said, 
 
 " The modest violet has been appropriately chosen by 
 the Knight of Ivanhoe to deck the brow of Miss Ellen 
 Randolph. How well she deserves the compliment we 
 can all vouch who have seen her efforts to conceal herself, 
 until drawn into notice by her friends." 
 
 Then came the royal quadrille to the simple music of 
 the piano, and the evening progressed merrily. 
 
 " Ah, Miss Holcombe," said Dr. Burton, coming up to
 
 212 TI1E HOLCOMBES. 
 
 Margaret as she had just seated herself in a recess, out 
 of breath with dancing-, " at last I manage to get near to 
 you. I have not been able even to congratulate you upon 
 the success of the day, in which, as usual, your star was 
 the brightest." 
 
 " It is of not the smallest consequence," said she, ele- 
 vating her eyebrows; " I thought you had done so." 
 
 The doctor looked rather mortified. 
 
 " Or rather," he said, willing to give a complimentary 
 turn to her remark, "you know so well what I think that 
 you may well imagine what my speech would be." 
 
 She only bowed her head haughtily. 
 
 "But, ah," he continued, " if the honor had only been 
 mine to place that crown upon your head ! but, alas ! the 
 fates were against me." 
 
 " Say rather you were against yourself," said Mar- 
 garet, cm-ling her lip. " I believe you did not take the 
 ring once." 
 
 " No" was the answer ; " the fact is my horse was such 
 a miserable affair " 
 
 " That he furnishes you with an excuse for failure," 
 said the young lady, finishing his sentence. 
 
 " You think I needed one, I suppose ?" said he, making 
 rather a lame attempt to be amused. 
 
 " Indeed I do," said she ; " you remind mo of all sorts 
 of well, of all sorts of uncomplimentary things." 
 
 " What, for instance ?" said Dr. Burton. " Don't spare 
 me, you know I like to see you amused ;" but it must 
 be confessed he looked rather uncomfortable at the license 
 he had allowed. 
 
 " Well, since you want to hear, like a poor boy at a 
 frolic! a fish out of water !" And she felt like adding, like 
 a presumptuous fool who aspires to a position for which 
 he has no vocation.
 
 THE TOURNAMENT. 213 
 
 " You are hard on me, Miss Holcombe ; you should not 
 visit my misfortunes upon me." 
 
 " I only visit your folly upon you, Dr. Burton ; I would 
 not eat my breakfast if I did not think I could not do it 
 well; and besides, I was unfortunately concerned in your 
 failure, as you dragged my colors down with you." 
 
 " Forgive me, my dear Miss Holcombe," he said. 
 
 But she interrupted him with " Never mind append- 
 ing an adjective to my name, I don't like the habit." 
 
 "Excuse me," he said; "you are so very particular." 
 Then followed a long silence, in which Margaret's con- 
 science began to annoy her, it was one of those dreaded 
 controversies with herself. 
 
 " How rude I am !" she said to herself. " Here is 
 this poor little man who has disgraced himself in an 
 effort to honor me, and I add to his mortification by my 
 taunts, how mean that is ! I wonder any one should 
 like me." 
 
 The impulse led her to turn to her companion with the 
 most winning smile she could command and say, gently, 
 
 " Dr. Burton, I wonder you do not resent my rudeness 
 to you sometimes, you are a perfect miracle of patience 
 and forbearance. I don't know any one in the world who 
 would bear with me as you do." 
 
 " And can't you guess the reason, Miss Holcombe ?" 
 said the doctor, eagerly. 
 
 She knew what was coming now, but it was too late 
 to stop it. 
 
 " Because," he continued, interpreting her silence into 
 a permission to go on, "there is no one in the world 
 who cares for you as I do. I would rather suffer your 
 displeasure than absent myself from you. Oh, Miss 
 Holcombe, say, is there no reward in your heart for my 
 devotion ?"
 
 214 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 " I do not care for you except as a friend," said Mar- 
 garet, in a low voice. 
 
 " But that is a good foundation for a warmer feeling," 
 he said ; " I can wait for the rest." 
 
 Margaret Holcombe's manner was strangely cool as she 
 raised her eyes to his face and said, " You do not know 
 what you ask, Dr. Burton. I would make your life mis- 
 erable with my imperious temper, there is not the 
 shadow of a chance for happiness to any man who 
 marries me." And a tone of sadness entered her voice. 
 
 "Well, no matter; if I am willing to risk it, no one 
 has a right to object. I would make you happy, at any 
 rate, you should never have a wish ungratified." 
 
 "In short," she said, her lip curling again, "you are 
 acting Claude Melnotte to perfection ; but I am no de- 
 voted Pauline." 
 
 He did not seem to heed her sarcastic tone, but went 
 on, earnestly, 
 
 " Miss Holcombe, I know you better than you think : 
 you are very willful, and do not like to be thwarted. I 
 promise you, on my honor as a gentleman, I will never 
 interfere with your wishes in any way, but the aim of 
 my life shall bo to gratify you in everything." 
 
 She smiled, and was silent for some minutes ; and when 
 she spoke it was as if she recalled her thoughts from 
 some far-off region. She said, 
 
 " I would rather marry my master ; and failing that, I 
 suppose it is best to take my slave." And then chang- 
 ing her tone, she said, as she bent her eyes upon him, 
 
 " Dr. Burton, is it possible that, knowing me as you 
 do, and telling you candidly as I do, that I do not love 
 you; that I feel I should make you miserable; that 
 the only thing which could induce me to think of marry- 
 ing you would be that I know that I feel I can never
 
 THE TOURNAMENT. 215 
 
 be happy, because I am not the style (she said this as if 
 it was a quotation) of woman to win the only sort of man 
 who could make me happy ? Knowing this, if I married 
 you, it would be that I might have my own will in every- 
 thing. Are you still willing to marry me ?" 
 
 She would have given anything if he had said "No." 
 She almost thought he would at first ; but he had no such 
 idea, there was too much at stake for that. He an- 
 swered, passionately, 
 
 " Margaret Holcombe, knowing all this, I ask you to 
 become my wife. I will win you by my devotion, I do 
 not fear." 
 
 She put her hands over her eyes, as if to shut out the 
 light, or perhaps to hide from her view a noble figure 
 which just then entered the room, and sought her out 
 with his eyes. Perhaps if she had seen the shadow of 
 suffering which came into his face as he saw her com- 
 panion, she would not have said, as she did, in that low 
 tone, 
 
 " Well, take me, if you want me." 
 
 " Thank you ; ah, thank you !" was the answer. 
 
 Mary Holcombe had been asleep for some hours that 
 night, when, turning over suddenly, she caught sight of 
 Margaret sitting before the window with her head buried 
 in her hands. She had not undressed, and the wreath 
 of scarlet flowers, ail limp and fading, still adorned her 
 head. 
 
 " Why, Margie," she said, raising up, " what upon earth 
 arc you doing up this time of the night ?" 
 
 "I am coming now, Mary," said she, rising and keep- 
 ing her face turned from her sister. 
 
 She forgot the mirror which she faced, and which 
 showed Mary a tear-stained face and pallid cheeks. She 
 respected her evident wish to be unnoticed, and said no-
 
 216 TIIE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 thing more ; but her mind was so busy with what it could 
 be that could make her sister cry when she had just been 
 crowned Queen of Love and Beauty, that she did not 
 feel again like going to sleep, but lay there very quietly 
 until Margaret put out the light and took her place at her 
 side, and then she said, 
 
 " Margie, you forgot to say your prayers." 
 ''Never mind me, Mary, go to sleep, I can take care 
 of myself," was the answer ; but it suggested to her the 
 thought that she dared not kneel before God and ask Him 
 to prosper her in what she had that night undertaken. 
 
 And long after Mary had ceased to wonder at anything, 
 and lay dreaming happily at her side, did Margaret toss 
 and moan. Daylight was creeping in at the windows 
 before exhausted nature found repose.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 ASKING PAPA. 
 
 IT was during the progress of breakfast the next morn- 
 ing that Uncle Robin, answering a call at the door, 
 brought in a note to Mr. Holcombe, which that gentleman 
 turned over and over, looked at through and through, ex- 
 amined the seal, and at last wondered who in the world 
 it could be from. 
 
 " Papa," said John, laughing, " what is the reason peo- 
 ple always do that ? It would be so much easier to open 
 the letter at once, and see who it was from, than to guess 
 all over it that way." 
 
 " That's true, General," said Mr. Holcombe. "Well, 
 I have tried my way, I will try yours now." So he 
 broke the seal. Now Mr. Holcombe was, besides grow- 
 ing a little gray, beginning to hold his letters and books 
 at a considerable distance from him when he read, and in 
 the seclusion of his study he even used glasses, so that 
 it was some time before he made out the contents of his 
 note, and he interlarded his progress with exclamations 
 which considerably whetted the curiosity of the company 
 to know its contents. 
 
 " Well," he said, when he opened it, " what on the 
 earth does the fellow want with me ? ' Important busi- 
 ness !' I have none with him, that's certain. ' See me at 
 my earliest convenience.' My earliest pleasure would be 
 fifty years from now. Indeed, I would be rather pleased 
 never to see him again." 
 
 19 (21?)
 
 218 THE HOL COMBES. 
 
 " Mr. Holcombe," said his wife, laughing, " please re- 
 lieve our curiosity and tell us who your correspondent 
 is." 
 
 Mr. Holcombe read aloud : 
 
 " MY DEAR SIR, What time may I have a private 
 interview with you ? I have some important business to 
 consult with you about, and would be glad to see you at 
 your earliest convenience. 
 
 " Very respectfully, etc., 
 
 " WILLIAM BURTON." 
 
 " Well, I suppose there is no help for it." And he rose 
 to answer the note. 
 
 Any one who had glanced at Margaret Holcombe's 
 face as her father read this note, would have had no dif- 
 ficulty in guessing that in some way or other she was 
 concerned in its contents. There was one person at the 
 table who generally kept himself informed as to the 
 changes in its expression. This person glanced at her 
 now ; saw the blood rush in torrents over her entire 
 countenance, even down to where the neat little collar 
 clasped her throat, and then recede, leaving her as pale 
 as death. He thought for an instant she was going to 
 faint, but she did not. Exerting wonderful self-con- 
 trol, she recovered herself before any one noticed her ; 
 and, though she did not venture any remark, her silence 
 was not noticed except by Mr. Murray. His heart beat 
 painfully against his breast. In all the cause he had had 
 for anxiety in the past few weeks, now for the first time 
 .his courage failed him, he had trusted so implicitly to 
 the true nature somewhere hidden in Margaret Hol- 
 combe, which in a decisive moment must assert itself over 
 the vagaries of her willful temper. But this was going 
 further than he had ever imagined she could. Of course
 
 ASKING PAPA. 219 
 
 Dr. Burton must have her permission to seek this inter- 
 view, and but one inference could be drawn from her 
 having given it. He had been blind, but now it was no 
 longer possible to hide from himself the danger. He 
 went out from the dining-room, and, hastily snatching his 
 hat, walked rapidly away in the direction of the grove. 
 
 It is in the nature of men, even the best of them, to 
 value what is hard to gain, the unattainable is the object 
 of their greatest efforts. Now, if Robert Murray had 
 found Margaret a pliable, loving girl, ready to respond 
 to his earliest efforts to win her affections, in all proba- 
 bility his feeling would never have attained any great de- 
 gree of strength ; but the experience he had suffered since 
 he first obtained a sight of his heart, had caused this 
 feeling to gather intensity in proportion to the difficulties 
 he saw to the accomplishment of his desire. He flattered 
 himself that he could bear the disappointment for him- 
 self; but to see her so false to herself, to see her seal 
 the misery of her life by a union with one so utterly 
 unworthy of her, as he believed Burton to be, was hor- 
 rible. 
 
 It may be asked upon what he founded this opinion. 
 As our story has touched but meagerly on the doctor's 
 character, it must be confessed that Mr. Murray had a 
 prejudice against the gentleman to begin with, dating 
 from the night of the entertainment at Rose Hill, on ac- 
 count not only of his insolence to him, but because he 
 felt sure that he had made a representation to Margaret 
 during the evening which had produced the cloud between 
 them, which cloud everything since had tended to in- 
 crease. But this was not all : there was a cringing, un- 
 manly manner about the man, when with Margaret, which 
 disgusted him ; and once or twice he had caught a sinis- 
 ter expression about his eye when she would make one
 
 220 THE IIOLCOMBES. 
 
 of her quick retorts to him, which altogether belied his 
 manner, and convinced him that he was acting a part, for 
 a purpose. Margaret Holcombe was no despicable match 
 for any one, apart from her own attractions, and literally 
 nothing was known of Dr. Burton ; so what more prob- 
 able than that his addresses were paid to her dowry 
 rather than to herself. All of these thoughts plied 
 steadily through Mr. Murray's brain as he paced back- 
 ward and forward in the grove. The heart of this strong 
 man was heavy indeed. The situation was complicated. 
 His great hope was in Mr. Holcombe, whose pride of 
 birth and every other consideration would, he thought, 
 oblige him to withhold his consent, at least, until some- 
 thing could be learned about the gentleman ; and if this 
 were the case, it would give him more time to counteract 
 the plans of the gentleman, and " who knows but the 
 lady herself might recover her senses ?" And his hopes 
 revived. 
 
 He was aroused from his reverie by the sound of 
 horse's hoofs, and in a moment the figure of Dr. Burton 
 appeared, riding in his own ungraceful style on a gray 
 horse. He showed his white teeth as he passed, and was 
 soon out of sight. 
 
 We will now transfer ourselves to the library, where 
 Mr. Holcombe awaited his unwelcome visitor. It seems 
 strange that Mr. Holcombe had never feared this result 
 of Dr. Burton's constant visits ; but the fact is he had 
 never thought of his daughter as eligible for matrimony; 
 or if he had, his confidence in Margaret's pride was such 
 that the idea of her placing her affections upon a name- 
 less stranger was without the range of his conjectures ; 
 so that the expression which met the doctor when 
 Robin ushered him into the library was totally un- 
 suspicious of the object of his visit.
 
 ASKING PAPA. 221 
 
 This was rather unexpected to the gentleman, as he 
 thought that his attentions must have made themselves 
 understood in all quarters. He took his seat, fidgeted 
 around, looked contemplatively at the ceiling, and at last 
 said, 
 
 " Fine weather this, sir." And clapped his hands as if 
 in congratulation at having at least made a commence- 
 ment. 
 
 " Very," was the brief reply, as Mr. Holcombe sat 
 quietly waiting this important announcement. 
 
 " Planted your wheat yet, sir ?" 
 
 " I am sowiny it now, thank you." 
 
 A long silence followed this last essay, and again the 
 little man's eyes sought the ceiling. 
 
 Mr. Holcombe found this slow work, he would have 
 to assist. 
 
 " I understood from your note, sir, that I could help 
 you in some important business." 
 
 " Yes, yes, sir ; I do wish to consult you in fact 
 hm your rather Miss Holcombe permitted me to seek 
 you to seek this interview in order in short, sir, to 
 ask for your consent to her becoming my wife." 
 
 If the sky had fallen over them at that mpment Mr. 
 Holcombe could not have been more astonished. 
 
 " Margaret !" he ejaculated, " permitted you to seek me 
 for such a purpose ? Who are you, sir ?" 
 
 The tone was not complimentary, nor calculated to en- 
 courage a timid aspirant for matrimonial honors. He 
 answered, rather faintly, 
 
 " Who am I ? What do you mean, sir?" 
 
 " I mean, sir, to ask you to tell me what claim you 
 have to make for my daughter's hand," said Mr. Hol- 
 combe. 
 
 19*
 
 222 THE HO L COMBES. 
 
 "Her permission to ask you for it," said the doctor, 
 with some appearance of offended dignity. 
 
 " That is not sufficient, sir ; we do not give our daugh- 
 ters away in Virginia upon such slender claims as that. 
 I must know not only who you are, but who your parents 
 were. Had you the wealth of John Jacob Astor to back 
 your suit it would weigh nothing in your favor. Show 
 me that you are worthy in yourself, and that my daugh- 
 ter in going to you would not be degraded below the 
 station in life in which she has been brought up, and if I 
 find her happiness depends upon her marriage with you, 
 I will consider your proposition. Until then consider 
 yourself banished from Rose Hill. I shall command my 
 daughter to hold no intercourse with you." 
 
 The doctor's face was a study during this calm expo- 
 sition of Mr. Holcombe's intentions ; wrath, indecision, 
 and fear chased themselves over his countenance, and, 
 mingled with all, the necessity of concealing his feelings. 
 At last he managed to say, 
 
 " I am from Massachusetts, sir." 
 
 ' Which in itself is nothing in your favor," said Mr. 
 Holcombe, coolly. 
 
 " You speak, sir," said Dr. Burton, with temper, " as 
 if Massachusetts could not furnish as good gentlemen as 
 Virginia." 
 
 " I said nothing of the kind, sir ; but I must be assured 
 that Massachusetts has sent out the best man she has 
 before he can take Margaret Holcombe. I have seen 
 first-rate men in Massachusetts, but they, for the most 
 part, stay at home, or, emigrating to another State, bring 
 with them such credentials as will establish their claims 
 to be received as equals in the community in which they 
 make their residence. Perhaps Dr. Burton has such ? I 
 fim ready to consider them. In the mean time, I think it
 
 ASKING PAPA. 223 
 
 is useless for us to continue this conversation. I must 
 see my daughter before I speak any further on this sub- 
 ject, I feel sure that there must be some mistake." 
 
 After the first burst of surprise Mr. Holcombe's man- 
 ner had been perfectly cool and collected, and he now 
 bowed Dr. Burton out with all the calm politeness which 
 usually characterized his manner; but the moment his 
 back was turned he rang the bell with a vehemence which 
 startled the servants in the kitchen and brought an an- 
 swer to his summons at once. 
 
 " Go and tell your Miss Margaret I wish to speak to 
 her," said he to the boy who appeared at the door; and 
 then to his impatient spirit it seemed an hour before he 
 heard the light footstep coming slowly down the stairs; 
 and when Margaret Holcombe opened the door she found 
 him impatiently awaiting her on the threshold. 
 
 In an instant his heart was touched by her pallid face 
 and evident agitation, so different from Margaret's usual 
 demeanor. 
 
 " My dear child," he said, " what in the world does this 
 fellow Burton mean by saying that you have promised to 
 marry him ?" 
 
 " He speaks the truth, papa, I have given him such 
 a promise." 
 
 Mr. Holcombe almost groaned aloud. Margaret looked 
 up hastily, and said, 
 
 " Is there any reason for your objecting, papa ?" 
 
 " So much that I would rather see you laid in your 
 grave than that it should ever take place," said her father, 
 solemnly. 
 
 " Give me your reasons, sir." With the return of calm 
 her old defiant manner began to assert itself. 
 
 " In the first place, my daughter, you know nothing 
 about him. Suppose you were to marry him, and he
 
 224 THE IIOLCOMBES. 
 
 should take you into an entirely different sphere from that 
 in which you move, you would be miserable. Next, he 
 is not the person to make you happy, he is inferior to 
 you in every respect ; and you, of all women in the world, 
 should marry a man of strong- intellect and strong will. 
 You will be governed by one you love, and by that one 
 alone, and if you should be united to one for whom you 
 had not the most unbounded affection, I dread to think 
 what a wreck your life would be. I do not, my child, 
 make it a necessary proviso that your husband should 
 have wealth, you will always have enough to meet your 
 wants from your mother's property ; and besides, the 
 Holcombes, without despising wealth, have always placed 
 other things above its considerations. I hand down to 
 my children a name unsullied through its whole course 
 by anything which they would blush to know, an hon- 
 orable lineage, and I do desire that the stream may be 
 kept pure ; it is the one thing you owe your name." He 
 stopped and waited her answer. 
 
 " You speak, papa, as if you knew Dr. Burton to be 
 unworthy." 
 
 "No, I know nothing about him ; but I have told him 
 that before he enters this house again he must bring sat- 
 isfactory evidence that he is a worthy suitor for my 
 daughter, and that I should forbid your seeing him until 
 the matter was settled." 
 
 The proud head was thrown up and her eye flashed as 
 she said, " Did I understand you to say, sir, that I was 
 to be a prisoner, niy movements coerced ?" 
 
 "You know you did not, Margaret," he answered, in- 
 dignantly. "You are only under my commands that you 
 shall not allow Dr. Burton to seek you until he complies 
 with my requisitions. That is reasonable, and I shall 
 exact obedience."
 
 ASKING PAPA. 225 
 
 It was not often that Mr. Holcombe spoke so decidedly 
 to his children ; but when he did, they knew him to be in 
 earnest, and did not venture to disobey. But Margaret 
 said, excitedly, . 
 
 " Am I never to be considered out of leading-strings ? 
 If I married for nothing else, it would be that I might 
 be permitted to exercise the right of self-government." 
 
 Mr. Holcombe smiled as he said, "A new motive for 
 marrying, Margaret. The man is the head of the woman, 
 as Christ is the head of the church, is that your motive 
 in marrying Dr. Burton ?" 
 
 Margaret was seated before the large table which oc- 
 cupied the center of the room, with her face turned 
 towards her father ; her elbows rested on the green cover, 
 and she seemed to be exercising the greatest diligence in 
 tearing a piece of paper into even squares, which she 
 threw on the table. The only answer that she now gave 
 was a gesture of the hand, which let fly a perfect shower 
 of these little snowflakes. 
 
 " Because, let me tell you, young lady," continued Mr. 
 Holcombe, " I know my sex better than you do, and 
 whatever Dr. Burton may promise now, he will be sure 
 to exercise his prerogative after marriage ; and an obsti- 
 nate fool is worse than ten men who can give a reason." 
 
 "But he has promised, solemnly," said Margaret. 
 
 " Then he has lied solemnly," said her father, "and I 
 have a worse opinion of the man since I know it. He 
 tries to entrap you by flattering, what any fool might see 
 is your weak point, and in the attainment of his purpose 
 does not hesitate to make promises which he does not 
 mean to keep." 
 
 " You are unjust, papa. Dr. Burton is an honorable 
 gentleman, and I know it is best for me to marry him. I 
 am not calculated to make any one happy, and he is the
 
 226 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 only person I know who is willing to run the risk of mar- 
 rying me." 
 
 " What makes you think, Margaret, tha.t you are not 
 calculated to make any one happy ?" 
 
 "I never have," she answered ; " my unhappy temper 
 is always interfering. In order to be happy I must not 
 be so continually thwarted ; it keeps up the irritation in 
 me, and makes me miserable." And she burst into tears. 
 
 Mr. Holcombe was surprised ; indeed, Margaret had 
 surprised him all her life. She never did just the thing 
 he expected, and now her passionate tears were an enigma 
 to him. 
 
 " My precious child," he said, drawing her to him and 
 taking her on his knee, " and for this were you going to 
 throw away your life ? Depend upon it, what you want 
 is such a marriage as will make it a joy to you to sur- 
 render your will. The evil should be curtailed, and then 
 eradicated, not encouraged and strengthened. You think 
 it would make you happy never to be opposed, but you 
 are mistaken, you are too true a woman not to be mis- 
 erable when you know you are violating the most beau- 
 tiful prerogative of your sex." 
 
 " Which is submission to yours," said Margaret, laugh- 
 ing through her tears. 
 
 "Well, I didn't make it so, Margie," said he, glad to 
 see her natural once more ; " though I confess I would 
 rather belong to the ruling sex." 
 
 " Manlike," retorted Margaret.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 DR. BURTON, CONTINUED. 
 
 MATTERS went on quite smoothly for some days at 
 Rose Hill. Nothing more was seen of Dr. Burton, and 
 although Mr. Murray did not know what had happened, 
 he hoped much from his continued absence. Determined 
 not to allow himself to be defrauded again, he sought 
 Margaret more than he had done; supplied himself -with 
 a pile of new music, which he proposed their practicing ; 
 but he could not flatter himself that he progressed very 
 rapidly, as she was always embarrassed in his presence, 
 and once he was sure she avoided him. She was evi- 
 dently, too, nervous and anxious; a step would make her 
 start and send the blood to her cheek. 
 
 John and Mary started off to school, the first of Oc- 
 tober, their father accompanying them. Mary was almost 
 broken-hearted at leaving home and going among stran- 
 gers, though of course she Avas not without pleasing an- 
 ticipations of the pleasure in store for her in her new life. 
 Ellen Randolph also accompanied them as far as her 
 home. 
 
 It was on the evening after their departure, while Mr. 
 Murray and Margaret were engaged in practicing some 
 new music, that Dr. Burton walked into the room. His 
 approach had been so noiseless that even Margaret's sen- 
 sitive ears had not been startled by it, and he stood beside 
 her before she had any idea that he was near. She started 
 to her feet and said, 
 
 (22?)
 
 228 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 " Oh, Dr. Burton, how you frightened me !" And 
 truly there was a greater exhibition of excitement than 
 the occasion seemed to warrant. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "you evidently had no expectation 
 of seeing me." 
 
 " Of course not," she said ; " I thought you would wait 
 until papa returned." 
 
 Here Mr. Murray, feeling himself de trop, left the 
 room. He caught Margaret's eye as he opened the door, 
 and almost paused at its expression of earnest desire for 
 his presence ; but, as she said nothing, he went on. 
 
 " And why should I wait for Mr. Holcombe's return, 
 Miss Holcombe ? After the insults he heaped upon me 
 the other day one would imagine that I would not will- 
 ingly find myself under the same roof with him. Nothing 
 but your being here would ever have drawn me again ; 
 but, unfortunately to my misery, I am forced to return to 
 you." 
 
 "Not at all, Dr. Burton," said Margaret, stiffly; " I as- 
 sure you I did not consider you bound. My father did 
 not approve the step I took, and dissolved the relations 
 between us, and I of course submit to his determina- 
 tion." 
 
 "Margaret Holcombe has given up her lofty inde- 
 pendence of character, then, and subsided into the yield- 
 ing, submissive girl ? I wish I could congratulate her 
 upon the change." 
 
 Margaret's face flushed with indignation at his tone, 
 and she answered, with grave dignity, 
 
 " Dr. Burton would have cause to do so were the change 
 such as he supposes. Miss Holcombe desires nothing 
 better than to be able to give her submission where it is 
 rightly due, though she cannot yet felicitate herself upon 
 such a happy change in her disposition."
 
 DR. BURTON, CONTINUED. 229 
 
 Dr. Burton saw he had made an error, and could not 
 in a moment decide what would be his best course to re- 
 pair it ; flattery, however, he had always found potent. 
 
 " Forgive me," he said, with every appearance of can- 
 dor, " but you have stood so alone in my esteem for the 
 very qualities you possessed, in which most of your sex 
 are lacking, that I must regret any evidence of their 
 waning strength." 
 
 " What elements of character are they which have 
 elicited Dr. Burton's admiration?" 
 
 Unawed by her coolness, he answered, throwing as 
 much fervor into his tone as he could, 
 
 " Independence of action, strength of will, and firmness 
 of purpose." 
 
 He could see that at last he had made some impression, 
 and he continued, " And when the other night your prom- 
 ise was given me, I said to myself, Now my happiness is 
 secured, she, of all other women in the world, will not 
 allow herself to be swayed by the opinions of others. 
 Even when insulted by your father, my confidence in 
 you supported me, and enabled me to bear it with pa- 
 tience." 
 
 "Dr. Burton," said Margaret, "you have twice made 
 use of that expression, 'insulted by your father.' I would 
 like you to explain yourself; it is certainly a thing hard 
 for me to understand, that papa could have been guilty 
 of a rudeness to you for no greater offense than a high 
 appreciation of his daughter." 
 
 "Nevertheless it is so, Miss Holcombe; he asked me, 
 in the most contemptuous manner, ' Who are you, who 
 dares to aspire to my daughter's hand ?' And when I told 
 him that I was from Massachusetts, be said that was a 
 strong point against me, and intimated that a gentleman 
 of Massachusetts was beneath the notice of a Yirginian; 
 
 20
 
 230 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 and in the most galling manner told me he did not believe 
 my assertions of equality, and I must prove them. I 
 assure you, Miss Holcombe, if any other man than your 
 father had spoken so to me I should have knocked him 
 down." And the wrathful little man looked as if he would 
 like to make his words good at once. 
 
 " I am sorry," said Margaret, gently, feeling as if in 
 some way she would have to atone for the ill treatment 
 of the rest of the family. " Papa did not mean, I am sure, 
 to express himself so strongly; but he was taken by sur- 
 prise, and only intended to convey to you that you must 
 bring to him some evidence that that " 
 
 " That I was a gentleman," he said, finishing out the 
 sentence in which she had become hopelessly involved. 
 " I am not accustomed to have that questioned by any 
 one, so long as my behavior lays me open to no suspi- 
 cion I expect to be received as I always have been." 
 
 " You know we Virginians require something more," 
 said Margaret, smiling. 
 
 "Yes, because you think yourselves better than the rest 
 of the world?" he said, inquiringly. 
 
 " No, I don't know that ; but we are entitled to our 
 peculiarities just as another State, Massachusetts, for 
 instance." 
 
 " But we have no such peculiarities," said the doctor. 
 
 " Perhaps not," was the answer ; " but you have others 
 which are just as objectionable to us. I am sorry that 
 your feelings were hurt, though, in this house, and feel 
 sure that I should be authorized to apologize to you by 
 papa if he knew your interpretation of his words." 
 
 " Thank you, it is not necessary," said he ; " I would 
 endure that, and a great deal more, to win you. If I only 
 accomplish that, everything else will seem as nothing." 
 
 " That is an idea, Dr. Burton, which you had better
 
 DR. BURTON, CONTINUED. 231 
 
 give up at once. I told you the other day that I did not 
 love you, though I was willing to marry you for the most 
 selfish considerations ; but it would require a stronger 
 feeling than that to induce me to meet the opposition I 
 should have to encounter." 
 
 The doctor was nonplused, her change of mood was 
 inexplicable. The fact is, the carrying out of this scheme 
 of his had become absolutely necessary, there were 
 wants which were becoming more imperative than the 
 want of a wife, but in meeting which a wife could help 
 him. The immediate cause of his visit to Rose Hill just 
 now was some very important letters which had reached 
 him, containing severe threats if he did not at once 
 furnish satisfactory evidence that his affairs were on the 
 highroad to fortune ; and he found it necessary to hurry 
 matters, if possible. It was rather embarrassing, then, 
 to find his affairs so much out of gear. But one recourse 
 remained to him. He thought he had made a discovery 
 on the first night he met Margaret, which he might use 
 to advantage. But with how much care and circumspec- 
 tion must each step be taken ! He almost feared to be- 
 gin, but the case was desperate. 
 
 "Miss Holconibe," he said, fixing his eyes keenly upon 
 her, so as to note every change in her countenance, " I 
 fear there is an influence at work which is more powerful 
 than your father's commands." 
 
 Her startled eyes flashed upon him, for a second only, 
 but in that second he read the truth of his conjectures. 
 He must still be wary ; but much was accomplished by 
 those few words. As she did not answer, he went on, 
 
 " I have suspected this, my dear young lady, since the 
 first time I met you. Some chance words of of the person 
 concerned led me to think of it first, and ever since then 
 matters have gone to confirm my suspicions."
 
 232 THE IIOL COMBES. 
 
 He stopped now and waited for an answer. Of course 
 she must break the silence or confirm his doubts. 
 
 "What do you mean, Dr. Burton ?" she said, recover- 
 ing her composure with an effort. 
 
 "Ah, Miss Holcombe, it is a strange thing to say to 
 you, beautiful, young, accomplished, with everything to 
 win the heart ; but already you feel your life a failure be- 
 cause you suffer from an unrequited attachment." 
 
 He was startled at the flame of anger which met him 
 from those flashing eyes, as she said in loud tones, clear 
 as the sound of a clarion, 
 
 " Dr. Burton, what have I ever done that you venture 
 to take this liberty with me ? I am fallen, indeed, in my 
 own estimation, when my very presence does not protect 
 me from insolence." 
 
 Dr. Burton hid his face in his hands as he said, " Ah, 
 Miss Holcombe, how I suffer under your displeasure ! 
 How I had hoped that in the calm, peaceful lives I had 
 planned for us, this delicate subject might remain un- 
 touohed ! And now nothing but the hope that I might be 
 the humble means of promoting your happiness, though 
 you cast me off, induced me to brave your anger. But, my 
 dear young lady, can you not trust me ? Can you not 
 have confidence in me ? Surely the promise you gave 
 me but a few nights since was sufficient encouragement 
 for me to flatter myself that my position, as your friend, 
 was at least a high one." 
 
 Margaret was still silent, and when he looked up he 
 found her sitting opposite to him with a face as white as 
 the dead : with expressionless eyes, the lips moved, but 
 no sound came. He started up, and brought her from the 
 table a glass of water ; she took it mechanically, and 
 drank it without saying anything. 
 
 He went on : " My dear young lady, I did not know
 
 DR. BURTON, CONTINUED. 233 
 
 that the mere mention of this thing would be so dreadful ; 
 my reason for referring to it was that I thought I could 
 do some good by gently hinting the state of your feelings 
 to Mr. Murray, the mere suggestion, I am sure, would 
 be enough " 
 
 " Dr. Burton," said Margaret Holcombe, rising from 
 her chair, " leave the house ; I cannot stand this any 
 longer ! Leave my affairs alone ; I can manage them for 
 myself." She was a queen to the last, he acknowledged 
 that bitterly ; but he knew he had gained the day. He 
 knew that the fear which would hang over this proud 
 woman would be a nightmare until she had his promise 
 of silence. His tone was very humble as he said, 
 
 "And do you forbid my return ? I cannot give up 
 the hope of making you happy." He held out his hand ; 
 there was a moment's hesitation, and then hers was 
 extended. 
 
 Dr. Burton did two things on leaving the house : he 
 sang as he went through the grove, and he wrote a 
 facetious letter to his threatening correspondent, telling 
 him that he had reached that point in the affairs of men 
 where, it is said, the tide leads on to fortune ; and he need 
 have no fears, he would fully meet all of his obligations, 
 and, besides, show him the handsomest and proudest 
 wife Virginia ever produced. 
 
 Margaret fled up the stairs, locked herself in her own 
 room ; and when the servant went up to announce supper, 
 answered, through the door, that she did not want any ; 
 her head ached, and she would not be down during the 
 evening. 
 
 Nannie came afterwards with a light, but she declined 
 letting her in. 
 
 Had Margaret Holcombe been a Catholic, her impulse 
 would have led her to bury herself in a living death, 
 
 20*
 
 234 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 where the mind, in its endless journey around and around 
 the dull daily routine, feeds on itself for want of 
 other nutriment ; but having no such recourse, she lay 
 in a torpor of despair, until desperation made her reck- 
 less. What was her one life at last? Far better to sac- 
 rifice it than to submit to the humiliation which threat- 
 ened her. If she was miserable, and she knew she would 
 be, other people had been miserable before, other women 
 had lived through loveless marriages, and gone down to 
 their graves honored by all. Her very trials might 
 make her better: that might be the way she was to 
 become a Christian ; and then God would take her to 
 heaven, where, poor child, her best anticipation was the 
 meeting with the idol of her childhood her mother. She 
 could sob out her troubles on that gentle bosom. She 
 forgot the humanity that had to be put off, she forgot the 
 " no tears in heaven," she only thought of it as an ele- 
 vated earth, where she would meet her mother. 
 
 Poor child ! for, after all, she was nothing more than a 
 child. She always thought, in after-life, of this night 
 with a thrill of suffering, there was so much concen- 
 trated in those long, dreary hours, everything is so 
 much worse at night : one lies awake under a threatened 
 danger, and nerves and brain seem to combine with the 
 imagination to paint everything in its most exaggerated 
 colors, until the mind is terrified at the vividness of its 
 pictures. She heard Dr. Burton insinuating his suspicions 
 to Mr. Murray; saw his look of annoyance ; heard him 
 again say, " She is not the style of woman to please me." 
 All this was as vivid to her as if it had been real. Then 
 her plans for preventing the dreadful denouement were 
 endless, and most of them by the light of day would have 
 looked perfectly impracticable. But reason had no sway 
 in those dark hours, the slight frame tossed from side
 
 DR. BURTON, CONTINUED. 235 
 
 to side of the bed in weariness and discomfort. Would 
 daylight never come ? Oh, the dreary study of the ho- 
 rizon for the first streak of the god of day ! At last ! at 
 last ! a pale light begins to creep in at the windows, 
 the phantoms of night take their flight, and the figure on 
 the bed, from sheer exhaustion, falls into a heavy sleep. 
 For some hours she lay in a perfect torpor, it was kind 
 mother Nature interposing ; even dreams were forbidden 
 to visit her, the poor brain rested at last ; but the sun 
 would not be kept out. Darting one of his beams into 
 her face, and striving to get under the closed eyelids, he 
 broke the blessed rest. She started up, seemed trying 
 to collect her scattered thoughts. Oh, they are at work 
 again ! She sees the precipice once more, but with less of 
 the horror which the visions of the night had brought, 
 day was more the time for action than thought. For a 
 few moments she lay down again, face hidden in the pil- 
 low, and then slowly rose and commenced her toilet. 
 
 " Why, Margaret, are you sick ?" said Jean, as she took 
 her place at the breakfast-table, startled at the dark rims 
 around the eyes, and cheeks which had gone back to the 
 sallowness of their childhood. Mr. Murray looked at her 
 in alarm. 
 
 She tried to smile, and assure them that she was well, 
 but the effort brought the tears to her eyes, and she owned 
 to having a headache. 
 
 Ah, what a scapegoat the head is ! How it bears off 
 the sins of omission and commission ! Is one afflicted 
 with ennui, " it is a headache ;" does one want a conven- 
 ient excuse for indolence, " it is a headache ;" does the 
 heart ache to its core, ah ! how carefully is the secret to be 
 guarded, while the long-suffering head is made responsible ! 
 
 Jean suggested getting the carriage, a ride might do 
 her good.
 
 236 THE IIOLCOMBES. 
 
 No, she thought not, she only wanted quiet. And 
 yet when Mr. Murray announced his intention of riding 
 
 into C during the morning, she became eager in her 
 
 desire to practice some of their music together, until, 
 puzzled by her nervous earnestness, he gave up his pro- 
 jected trip. 
 
 " He had never seen her so brilliant or so unapproach- 
 able as she was that morning. The color had returned 
 to her cheeks, and now burned with feverish intensity ; 
 and once when their hands came in contact, in arranging 
 the music, he found they were as cold as ice. 
 
 "Miss Holcombe," he said, "you are evidently not 
 well, lie down ; indeed, you are not fit for this exer- 
 tion, your hands are cold as ice." And he took one of 
 them in his, as a brother might have done, though the 
 brotherly affection must have been very tender which 
 looked with the anxiety which he did as he urged his ad- 
 vice that she would lie down. 
 
 But no; she laughed as she said she was "too poor 
 company to seek solitude." 
 
 " Then, "proposed he, " go into the library, it is quiet 
 there, and I will read to you." 
 
 This proposition met with more favor, she would 
 have him safe then. So they adjourned to the library, and 
 he piled up the cushions, and she reclined upon them, while 
 he read and talked until the red spots paled in her cheeks 
 and a less anxious expression looked out from her eye. 
 
 " Mr. Murray," she said, interrupting him in his reading > 
 "if I should go to sleep, will you sit right where you are 
 till I awake? it quiets me to see you so still with the 
 book in your hand." 
 
 He smiled at the childish request, and said, laying his 
 cool hand on her head, " I would sit here for a week, poor 
 child, if it would give you one moment's pleasure."
 
 DR. BURTON, CONTINUED. 237 
 
 % 
 One moment she allowed herself to rest under that 
 
 soothing touch, and in that moment the thought came, 
 oh, how sweet it would be to die with that band upon 
 her brow ! But no,_she had to live first, and not betray 
 herself again, as she had already done. So she turned 
 her head restlessly away, and was soon asleep, turning 
 to him as her eyes closed to say, " Now, remember, you 
 promised." He smiled his acquiescence, and in a mo- 
 ment more she lost her consciousness. 
 
 Hour after hour passed, and still he sat there, book in 
 hand, but closed, for he had a volume of far greater interest 
 before him, he was trying to decipher the troubled lines 
 in the young face ; but in vain. He traced out all the 
 familiar lines in the features ; could tell just how those 
 brows elevated themselves to express sarcastic doubt ; 
 fitted expressions he had heard her use to the peculiar 
 turn of countenance he was imagining ; saw the grace- 
 ful head thrown back, it was such an hourly gesture 
 with her ; the very tones of her voice came back to him 
 so familiar, and he knew now how dear. 
 
 And then conjecture began to be busy again with her 
 evident distress. What was the influence that man Bur- 
 ton exercised over her ? If he only knew he would soon 
 put an end to it. And again he recalled, with a pleased 
 smile, how she had wanted him to stay at home, how 
 she had begged him not to leave her while she slept. 
 And Robert Murray was very young as he built his cas- 
 tles on this airy foundation ; but it was easy, happy 
 work, with that young face before him, and he by her 
 own request acting guardian over her. 
 
 Once she moved, and half opened her eyes, only re- 
 mained conscious long enough to smile at him, and mur- 
 mur, " Thank you." And sleep claimed her again. 
 
 " She must have been awake all night," said he to himself,
 
 238 THE IIOLCOMBES. 
 
 as he connected her appearance at breakfast with her pres- 
 ent heavy slumber. " What can it be ? what can it be ?" 
 
 Presently there was a knock at the door. No soft- 
 footed woman could have moved more lightly than did 
 this gigantic man ; the mouse in the wainscot did not 
 even pause in his gnawing, gnawing, and the sleeper re- 
 mained undisturbed as he softly unlatched the door, and, 
 with finger on lip to enjoin silence, received from the 
 messenger a note. 
 
 It was from C , and in a gentleman's hand. If 
 
 ever Robert Murray was tempted, dishonorably, to with- 
 hold property belonging to another, it was then, he knew 
 it was in some way connected with Margaret's uneasi- 
 ness; and as he held the delicate missive in his hand he 
 could almost have cursed the pen as an instrument of 
 more evil than good. 
 
 If he had known it was an answer to a note from her 
 sent off very early that morning, he would have been 
 still more puzzled and troubled ; but, at any rate, he de- 
 termined to make the letter he held an excuse for speak- 
 ing more plainly to her than he had ever yet done. This 
 determined upon, he sat quietly, keeping his vigil. 
 
 Morning had given place to noon, and noon was an 
 hour old before Margaret Holcombe opened her eyes. 
 She started up and said, 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Murray, how selfish in me to keep you here 
 all this time! How long have I slept?" 
 
 Mr. Murray looked at his watch, and said, "About three 
 hours. Are you better ?" 
 
 " Oh, so much I thank you ; my head feels quite clear. 
 I got nervous last night, and did not sleep. Has no one 
 been here since I laid down ?" There was a shade of 
 anxiety in the question which went to his heart. Now 
 he must put this half-won peace to flight.
 
 DR. BURTON, CONTINUED. 239 
 
 " Yes, Ned brought you this note." And he handed 
 her the little scented, sentimental-looking envelope, bear- 
 ing even on its face, he thought, a likeness to Burton. 
 
 She crumpled it in her hand, and was starting up to 
 go to her room, when he stopped her. 
 
 " Child," he said, taking her by the hands and putting 
 her back on the lounge, "read your letter there; I will 
 take my book across the room." And he went over to 
 the window, while she resumed her recumbent position. 
 
 What had become of the proud, willful girl ? She was 
 nothing more than a submissive child in the hands of this 
 man. She seemed to lose all disposition to resist, or 
 power of resistance ; and, stranger still, she did not dis- 
 like the manner he was assuming over her, it was a rest 
 to her troubled, tossed spirit for him to call her child, and 
 command her actions in that way. 
 
 Robert Murray turned around when the rattling of the 
 paper ceased, and found, as he had anticipated, the tran- 
 sient expression of peace gone, and the same goaded look 
 she had worn in the morning. 
 
 "Margaret," he said, "let me call you so forthisonce, 
 cannot you tell me what this trouble is which is tossing 
 your spirit about so terribly ? Let me help you." But 
 she waved him off, and tried to say he was mistaken, it 
 was nothing ; but the habit of truth was too strong, 
 she left her sentence unfinished. 
 
 " I do not want to pry impertinently into your con- 
 cerns," he said, "but believe me, no one in the world can 
 feel a greater desire to serve you, you are very dear to 
 me." 
 
 That was too much. Then, too, he suspected. Oh, ter- 
 rible, he was about to take pity on her! She sprang 
 from the lounge, and said, with an earnest, excited man- 
 ner,
 
 240 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 " Mr. Murray, I have been very imprudent ; don't mis- 
 interpret my desire to have you with me this morning, 
 I was nervous and sick, and hardly knew what I was 
 doing." And before he could detain her she was gone. 
 
 She had seen his intention then, and, meaning kindly, 
 had prevented the full avowal of his feelings. The dis- 
 appointment was great, but he could not yet feel that the 
 matter was settled. he could not and would not believe 
 that she could care seriously for Dr. Burton.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE DEVIL HELPS HIS OWN. A FUNERAL. 
 
 THE note Margaret Holcombe had written in the morn- 
 ing ran thus, it lacked an address at the beginning, but 
 was not less welcome for the omission : 
 
 " ROSE HILL, October 3d, 1S58. 
 
 "I have been a good deal annoyed in consequence of 
 your conduct yesterday evening, and write this morning 
 to beg that you will never mention your ridiculous sus- 
 picions to myself or any one else again. You have no 
 right to entertain them, and I have a right to command 
 your silence. 
 
 "MARGARET HOLCOMBE." 
 
 The answer returned was as follows : 
 
 " C , October 3d, 1858. 
 
 "Mr DEAREST Miss HOLCOMBE, Your note has been 
 this moment received, and I hasten to answer it. Don't 
 allow yourself to be troubled for an instant by my impru- 
 dent disclosures last night, I assure you I have deeply 
 repented speaking to you as I did. It never shall be re- 
 peated. Could I avoid it, your life should never know 
 one pang. I will do all I can to make you happy. When 
 may I see you ? 
 
 " Ever devotedly yours, 
 
 " WILLIAM BURTON. 
 
 " P.S. Trust me implicitly with your secret, and be- 
 lieve that I will only use it for what / regard as your 
 happiness. Yours, W. B." 
 
 21 (241)
 
 242 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 It is said that the devil helps his own, and surely he 
 must have helped in the concoction of this letter. Under 
 the guise of the greatest devotion Dr. Burton managed 
 to let Margaret know that at any time the dreaded reve- 
 lation might be made. Mr. Murray's words also increased 
 her distress. And she hid her face in her hands and actu- 
 ally groaned with shame at the idea of his suspecting her 
 miserable secret. 
 
 The fact is, to understand fully Margaret Holcombe's 
 self-torture during this time, one must comprehend her 
 proudly, sensitive nature ; when a thought, which cuts 
 like a knife, seems to present itself over and over again 
 with wanton cruelty, holding its victim like the malicious 
 spider does the buzzing fly, returning again and again 
 with its poisonous sting, and then retiring to gloat over 
 its agonies ; when, too, such a woman loses control over 
 her nerves, she succumbs more quickly than one less 
 highly strung to the touch of a dreaded evil. Then, 
 added to this, Margaret was no longer well, her body 
 was sympathizing keenly with her distress of mind. And 
 when her father came home he was shocked to see the 
 change in her. Upon inquiring the cause, he went at 
 
 once into C , and had an interview with Dr. Burton, 
 
 in which he told him, in his impulsive way, that after his 
 violation of his express stipulations that his status was 
 established, and did the whole of Massachusetts pour 
 down its credentials, he would still stand in the position he 
 now occupied, the rejected suitor to Margaret Holcombc. 
 
 Mr. Holcombe would not have flattered himself so com- 
 placently that the trouble was over if he could have seen 
 Dr. Burton's countenance after he left, with its expres- 
 sion of malicious triumph, as he brought down his fist 
 upon the table and said, as though answering an unseen 
 antagonist,
 
 THE DEVIL HELPS HIS OWN. A FUNERAL. 243 
 
 " Yes, with all your boasted Virginia aristocracy, my 
 lordly gentleman, I'll teach you the lesson that a Massa- 
 chusetts Yankee is more than a match for a Virginia aris- 
 tocrat. " 
 
 Meantime Mr. Murray kept a steady watch over the 
 unhappy girl ; but she as steadily avoided him, unless 
 
 she found that he had an intention of going into C , 
 
 and then every blandishment was put forth to prevent his 
 carrying out his purpose. Once or twice Margaret was 
 betrayed into an expression which almost persuaded him 
 that he might afford to hope for a return of his devotion ; 
 but this was always followed by such long seasons of 
 coldness and avoidance that he was completely non- 
 plused. 
 
 One day, near the middle of November, when the In- 
 dian summer that beautiful season in our climate had 
 thrown over all nature its misty veil, and was breathing 
 its balmiest breath as a farewell before consigning us to 
 the cold embrace of hoary winter, Mr. Murray was stand- 
 ing on the porch, which extended along the front of the 
 house, with that potent consolation, a cigar, in his mouth, 
 when Margaret Holcombe and Jean came out, evidently 
 prepared for some expedition. 
 
 " Where are you bound this beautiful day ?" said he, 
 throwing away what remained of " his consolation," and 
 coming towards them. 
 
 Jean explained briefly that Aunt Aggy had lost one of 
 her children, a boy of about six years old, and they 
 were going to the funeral. 
 
 " May I go with you ?" said he. " I was just consumed 
 by ennui, and wishing for a companion in my solitude, 
 when, lo ! in answer, as it were, to my invocation, you 
 two make your appearance." 
 
 The required permission was given, and before they
 
 244 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 had gone many steps Mr. Holcombe joined them, and, 
 putting Jean's arm in his, left Margaret to Mr. Murray. 
 Their way lay through the little settlement called the 
 Negro Quarters, and along the base of a hill to a clump 
 of trees, which almost merited the name of grove, where 
 the rude head-boards and unmistakable little hillocks, now 
 covered with dead leaves, which had not yet lost all of 
 the brilliant tints of autumn, marked the simple burying- 
 ground of the negroes. Here they had been laid for 
 three generations past, and two or three gray stones, of 
 unpretending appearance, proclaimed the extraordinary 
 faithfulness and attachment of the humble dead who lay 
 beneath. 
 
 The solemnity which always attaches itself to these 
 " cities of the dead," however lowly they be, subdued the 
 voices and checked the smiles of our pedestrians as they 
 entered its precincts. The noble old forest trees, with 
 their gnarled roots and bare branches, waved a requiem 
 above their heads, while the few leaves which had still 
 clung fondly to the parent from which they had sprung 
 in their fresh greenness, now fluttered one by one to their 
 feet, contributing, as their predecessors had done, to form 
 the funeral pall which covered the face of the ground. 
 
 As the procession in honor of the dead had not yet 
 made its appearance, Mr. Murray led Margaret to one of 
 the gray stones of which we have spoken, and read aloud 
 the inscription roughly cut in the rude surface: 
 
 "TO THE MEMORY OP 
 
 "AUNT DOLLY, 
 
 "Who died September 16th, 1840, aged 106 years, most 
 
 of which time was spent in faithful servitude 
 
 to the Holcombe family."
 
 THE DEVIL HELPS HIS OWN. A FUNERAL. 245 
 
 " One hundred and six years !" exclaimed Mr. Murray. 
 " What a pilgrimage !" 
 
 "Yes, "said Mr. Holcombe, who had just come up, 
 " one hundred and six years; and I assure you, at the 
 time of her death she was as active as Margie here. I 
 remember her appearance so well, she was a little, 
 tightly-made woman, with a brisk movement and a quick 
 manner of speaking. She always had her linsey-woolsey 
 dresses made in the fashion of seventy-five years ago, 
 with a tight jacket and a little, short skirt behind. 
 
 " She was the mother of our old Mammy ; indeed, al- 
 most all of the negroes on the place are descended from 
 her. We children used to delight in getting her to tell 
 us some of her experiences in the Revolutionary war, 
 and how she once saw ' Gineral Washington, when he 
 come to old marster's, after Mars' Cornwallis had to sur- 
 render.' And how, when she was a ' slip of a gal,' 
 though she must have been nearly thirty at the time, 
 ' she used to go with her old mistus to Jimtown, when 
 Governor Buckley used to have all the quality thar at 
 court.' 
 
 " But," added he, "I see the procession coming. I 
 want you to look at this stone before they get here." 
 And turning to one similar to that before which they had 
 been standing, he read : 
 
 " Sacred to the memory of WILLIAM, who died May 
 18th, 1836, aged seventy-six years. 
 
 "'Well done thou good and faithful servant.' 
 
 " This old fellow," continued Mr. Holcombe, " accompa- 
 nied my mother's brother to Canada in the last war, 
 where he fell fighting bravely at Lundy's Lane, and Wil- 
 liam bore his body off of the field and himself laid it in 
 
 21*
 
 246 THE HOLCOAIBES. 
 
 the grave ; and, when he returned, brought his watch and 
 purse with him." 
 
 Just here they were interrupted by the arrival of the 
 funeral procession. The coffin was made of rough deal 
 boards, and was borne by two men, while the parents fol- 
 lowed close behind. 
 
 The negro is an impulsive, affectionate creature, and 
 Mr. Murray was touched by the evident grief of these 
 children of nature. At any other time he would have 
 smiled at the rude attempt at mourning habiliments ; but 
 now he felt no desire to be amused, for the head, though 
 it was adorned by a bonnet of a fashion many years 
 back, was bowed with sincere sorrow, and the red hand- 
 kerchief, so little in unison with the rest of the dress, 
 wiped away genuine tears. 
 
 Uncle Armstead conducted the services. He was a 
 fine-looking old negro, with tall figure still unbent by age, 
 but whose long white beard gave him a venerable and 
 majestic appearance. 
 
 They joined with the group which assembled around 
 the grave, and the little coffin was lowered to its last 
 resting-place. After singing their own version of the 
 hymn, 
 
 "When those we love are snatched away," etc., 
 
 Uncle Armstead stepped in front of the others and said 
 (I give you his peculiar pronunciation, because I wish to 
 be perfectly truthful to nature), 
 
 " My dearly-beloved bredren : we is met here dis day 
 to commit to de dus' our deceas-sed brudcr. Dus' to dus' 
 en ashes to ashes, till de great resurrection day, when we 
 shell all arise white en pure en clean, like an angel of 
 God in heaven. 
 
 " But now, my dear bredren, let us not mourn for dis, 
 our deceas-sed fren, as dus sum others, 'cause our good
 
 THE DEVIL HELPS HIS OWN. A FUNERAL. 47 
 
 Marster is dun took him to hisself, to live wid Him fru 
 de endless ages of eternity ; en you kno', my dearly-be- 
 loved bredren, dit we is told what a happy home heaven 
 is, wid its golden streets en its golden harps forever a- 
 ringing, en whar they ain't no mo' sno' en rain, en no mo' 
 burnin' suns ; but whar it is always sweet en mile like to 
 a bright summer's day. So, my frens, dey is lef us an 
 essample dat we shell follow in dar steps. 
 
 " Now, my dearly-beloved bredren, our deceas-sed fren' 
 who lays here before us, doo he was young, was a very 
 good boy. Let us all try en do like he did, dit when de 
 time come de Marster will sen' our summons en fine us 
 ready. 
 
 " En now jes think of the change to little William 
 Henry. Yestiddy he was sick en suffrin', to-day he ain't 
 sick en suffrin' ; yestiddy he was crien' en weepin', to- 
 day he ain't crien' en weepin'; yestiddy he was sinful, 
 to-day he ain't sinful ; yestiddy he didn't know uuffin' 
 but how to eat and drink, to-day he know how to read 
 en rite en cipher. 
 
 " While 1 was a-sittin' by him yestiddy, he open his 
 eyes en look at me so pitiful-like, en den de Marster jes' 
 cum en call him, en he flopped his wings en flowed 
 away. 
 
 " I ain't got nuffin' more to say at present, my beloved 
 bredreu. Jim, you en Xed kin fill up de grave."* 
 
 Mr. Holcombe, and afterwards the whole party, went 
 up to speak to the mother and father; and Mr. Holcombe 
 told them in different, but not more sincere, language, of 
 the blessed exchange their child had made, and that after 
 the toils and cares of life were over they would go to 
 meet him at the right hand of God. 
 
 * Taken from one of their funeral discourses.
 
 248 THE HO LOOM RES. 
 
 " Yes, marster, yes, marster," was tlie answer. " I 
 knows all dat ; but it is hard to give up you chile ; but 
 de Lord's will be done." 
 
 As they walked away, Mr. Murray said to Mr, Hol- 
 conibe, " Don't you ever have to punish your servants ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Mr. Holcombe, " we arc obliged to be 
 a law unto ourselves. Of course there are many hard 
 characters among such numbers, and as a white criminal 
 would be punished by the laws of his country for steal- 
 ing, lying, and disobedience, so the masters punish for 
 like offenses." 
 
 " But I should think," said Mr. Murray, " that this al- 
 lowed great license to a bad-tempered, tyrannical mas- 
 ter." 
 
 " It does," was the answer, " it is too much of an un- 
 limited monarchy ; but so does the power allowed to a 
 husband over his wife, a father over his child. Because 
 a husband has been known to kill his wife, should you 
 argue that no man should be allowed to marry ?" 
 
 Mr. Murray laughed, and said he did not think it a case 
 exactly analogous. 
 
 " No, not exactly, I admit, but a good deal so. I say 
 that the institution has innumerable evils, but none so 
 great as to set this poor, helpless people free, perfectly 
 incapable, as they are, of self-government. We accept 
 the least of two evils, and keep them in their light bond- 
 age, rather than to set them free and seal their destruc- 
 tion. The Anglo-Saxon race would never permit them 
 to live on an equality with them, and they would cer- 
 tainly in the end be exterminated." 
 
 "We hear of a great many bad masters, though," said 
 Mr. Murray; "it seems dreadful for a bad man to have 
 the power over so many sentient beings." 
 
 " I agree with you, perfectly," was the answer ; " but I
 
 THE DEVIL HELPS HIS OWN. A FUNERAL. 249 
 
 also know that there would not be nearly so many bad 
 masters if there had been less legislation on the subject 
 of slavery ; if the feeling of irritation and bitterness were 
 not kept up by the interference which is continually going 
 on with our domestic concerns by the fanatics of the 
 North But here we are at home again. Uncle Arm- 
 stead is a fine preacher, ain't he ?" 
 
 " Rather rambling in his style," said Mr. Murray, 
 smiling; "but they seemed to understand him and to 
 appreciate his efforts." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; old Milly always has hysterics whenever 
 Armstead preaches." 
 
 Here Jean and himself went into the house, and Mar- 
 garet, turning to her companion, said, nervously, "Mr. 
 Murray, I want to speak to you, please, before we go 
 in." 
 
 He offered her his arm, and they continued their walk. 
 It was so seldom now that she did not avoid him that he 
 was surprised at her request. 
 
 They walked for some time in silence, and then she 
 said, timidly, 
 
 " Mr. Murray, I want you to do me a favor, and not ask 
 me any questions about it." 
 
 " These are hard conditions," he said, smiling, " but 
 the pleasure of being able to do you a favor is sufficient 
 reward for compliance." 
 
 " You are always so kind," she said, looking down. 
 
 "Ah, Margaret ," he began. 
 
 But she put up her hand, and looked annoyed. 
 
 " I am not going to say anything which will give you 
 pain," said he ; "I will promise you that ; do not avoid 
 me hereafter on that account. Let me be to you an 
 elder brother, and I will not seek to be more if it pains 
 you."
 
 250 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 She looked at him gratefully, with tears in her eyes, 
 and repeated, 
 
 " You are very kind ; but I wanted to ask you, please, 
 if you meet Dr. Burton at any time, don't have anything 
 to say to him." 
 
 Mr. Murray looked at her in surprise. Could that man 
 have excited her fears by threats towards him ? That 
 might be the solution of this mystery. 
 
 " Margaret," he said, " of course I have no reason to 
 have anything to say to Dr. Burton, he is not suffi- 
 ciently interesting to me to induce me to seek him out ; 
 but have you any objection to telling me if you appre- 
 hend danger to me from him ? I think, if that be the case, 
 you ought to let me know." 
 
 Her answer was quick and unhesitating. " Oh, no ! 
 of course not; you are not in the least danger from him ; 
 but still, I want you to promise me this; and likewise, if 
 you should get a note from him, you will not read it, 
 will you, Mr. Murray ?" And her eager face was raised 
 to his. 
 
 " Of course, my child," he said, smiling at her earnest- 
 ness. " You may make yourself perfectly easy, he shall 
 not nod his head to me across the street, if you do not 
 wish it. I am glad of the excuse not to let him speak to 
 me." 
 
 She drew a long sigh of relief, as if one burden were 
 off of her heart, and then was brighter and more like her- 
 self than she had been for a long time. 
 
 "All this is a mystery to me," he said, presently, "and 
 one which I would give a great deal to solve ; but I sup- 
 pose I must wait your pleasure in the matter. Now 
 don't begin to get excited about it, I am not going to 
 try to find out; I won't even want to know if you 
 don't wish it. But, my dear little sister, if you won't
 
 THE DEVIL HELPS HIS OWN. A FUNERAL. 251 
 
 let me help you, I wish you would let me point you to 
 the best source of help which any of us can have in 
 trouble." 
 
 She looked up to him, so longingly, so differently, 
 from what she had done a few weeks since, when he 
 broached the subject in her presence, and said, 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Murray, if I only could be made ready to 
 die, and just go to heaven now I" 
 
 He was so startled by the hopelessness of her tone 
 that he seized her hand as if to hold her back from the 
 grave, for which, though so young, she w r as longing. 
 
 She gently disengaged her hand, and w r ent on : "I have 
 felt in the last few weeks, for the first time in my life, 
 that I wanted to have a counselor and guide in my per- 
 plexities, for which there is no human aid, won't you 
 tell me what I must do, Mr. Murray ?'* 
 
 Was this, indeed, the proud Margaret Holcombe, this 
 gentle, teachable girl, asking so humbly for instruction ? 
 Yes, she had proved her own weakness and insufficiency. 
 All of her boasted strength was gone ; she was groping 
 about in the dark, and asking to be led. 
 
 Mr. Murray pointed her to the Saviour of sinners, 
 who alone could help her ; and all the time those deep, 
 earnest eyes were fixed on his face, drinking in the in- 
 struction. 
 
 They had extended their walk to the grove, and now 
 stood in front of "Margaret's Grotto." He turned to- 
 wards it and said, smiling, "And here I first saw you, 
 Margaret. I thought I had waked up a wood-nymph, as 
 you stood there looking at the dusty traveler coming 
 down the road." 
 
 She smiled sadly, and said, "I feel as if a lifetime had 
 passed since then ; life looks so differently." 
 
 "Ah, well, it will look differentlv again when this cloud
 
 252 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 has blown over. After awhile you. will wonder that you 
 let this mysterious secret, whatever it is, trouble you at 
 all." 
 
 Margaret shook her head. 
 
 Just then a step startled them both, and before they 
 had time to wonder what it was, Dr. Burton stood before 
 them. 
 
 " Miss Holcombe," he said, " please excuse my abrupt- 
 ness ; but I must speak to you for an instant." 
 
 Margaret turned frightfully pale, and clung so despe- 
 rately to Mr. Murray's arm that he thought she wished 
 him to refuse for her, so he said, 
 
 " Miss Holcombe is far from well, Dr. Burton, and can 
 have nothing very private to say to you. Whatever you 
 have to communicate can be done here, I am sure." 
 
 " Well, perhaps so," he said. " Have I your permis- 
 sion to speak in this gentleman's presence ?" he said, 
 turning to her. 
 
 " Oh, no ! no !" she answered, and then tried to laugh, 
 as she disengaged her hand from Mr. Murray's, and said 
 to him, in her gayest tone, " Excuse us, Mr. Murray, Dr. 
 Burton and myself have a little matter to talk about 
 which even you must not hear." 
 
 The flippancy of her tone hurt him more than anything 
 else, it was in such strong contrast to her face of dis- 
 tress and anxiety. 
 
 " Margaret," he said, " don't do it, your father does 
 not wish it ; throw off this influence, whatever it is. Let 
 me take the liberty of sending this gentleman about his 
 business." , 
 
 She hesitated, standing between the two. 
 
 " Do, Miss Holcombe," said Dr. Burton; "I arn ready 
 to lend my aid, you know, in accomplishing your happi- 
 ness. I am ready to speak this minute, if you wish it."
 
 THE DEVIL HELPS HIS OWN. A FUNERAL. 253 
 
 "No, I do not," she said, clasping her hands; then, 
 turning to Mr. Murray, said, 
 
 " Mr. Murray, don't misjudge me about this, indeed, I 
 am doing nothing wrong ; I will not be gone many min- 
 utes, please wait for me." 
 
 " Your pleasure is mine, Miss Holcombe," he answered, 
 coldly, walking away. 
 
 Dr. Burton offered Margaret his arm, but she declined 
 it, and said, haughtily, " Dr. Burton, this is too much ! 
 What do you mean by pursuing me in this way, when 
 you know my father has forbidden my speaking to 
 you?" 
 
 " Miss Holcombe," he said, " I was obliged to see you. 
 I wanted to know for myself if this terrible disappoint- 
 ment is sapping your life. The change in you is worse 
 than I anticipated, even. Ah, I entreat you let me speak, 
 I could do it without compromising you in the least." 
 
 "Dr. Burton," said Margaret, "I do not know what 
 your object is in this ; but that you have one I am well 
 convinced. Let me hear it at once ; perhaps I may be 
 able to bargain with you for my freedom. What do you 
 wish ?" 
 
 Her manner was stinging in its cold sarcasm. Oh, 
 how it made that man long for her possession, that he 
 might break that spirit to his will ! But there was too 
 much depending upon his success in this interview for 
 him to allow her to guess his real feelings. He had 
 prowled around Rose Hill constantly for two weeks, and 
 this was the first chance fortune had thrown in his way, 
 he could not lose it. Assuming a manner of the deepest 
 dejection, he said, 
 
 " This is the hardest trial of all. For weeks my every 
 thought has been of you, and of how I could minister to 
 your happiness, and now to be misunderstood and calum- 
 
 22
 
 254 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 niated ! I can stand this no longer ; farewell, Margaret 
 Holcombe ! You may find friends with more ability to 
 serve you, but none with a more honest purpose." 
 
 " Dr. Burton," she said, with one of her old fits of re- 
 pentance, " please forgive me ! I believe you do mean 
 kindly; but, indeed, I think you take a wrong way to 
 show it : the best thing you can do, is just to let me and 
 my affairs alone. My life will work itself out, not hap- 
 pily, perhaps, that, I think, I am not fitted for, but 
 with contentment. This is all, I believe." 
 
 " No, not all," he said, " I will write to you to-mor- 
 row, and make you my final proposition. I cannot stand 
 this state of things any longer." 
 
 "Very well," she said ; "but remember, though I may 
 receive your letter, I shall not answer it." 
 
 "Well, perhaps you may change your mind when you 
 get it." And before she could prevent him he seized her 
 hand and kissed it, and walked rapidly away ; and she 
 joined Mr. Murray, who coldly offered her his arm, and 
 silently walked by her side. She was the first to 
 speak, 
 
 " Mr. Murray, you do not know how to sustain your 
 character as a brother." 
 
 He felt the truth of her remark keenly ; he did not, 
 truly, where she was concerned. " Why, Miss Hol- 
 combe ?" 
 
 " In the first place, you call me Miss Holcombe, 
 brothers never do that; and then you do not trust me at 
 all. I know appearances are against me ; but won't you 
 rejoice with me when I tell you that everything is clear- 
 ing away ? I begin to see my way through my perplexi- 
 ties." And she looked up at him with so bright a face 
 that he was effectually won over by it. 
 
 " Well, "he answered, " if this unaccountable interview
 
 THE DEVIL HELPS HIS OWN. A FUNERAL. 255 
 
 produces that, I shall feel that it was lightly purchased 
 by the anxiety of the last few minutes. You know, I 
 suppose, that Dr. Burton has been forbidden by your 
 father to see you ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know it, and I don't ever expect to see him 
 again. After to-morrow I will try to be Margaret Hoi- 
 combe once more."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 FORTUNE FAVORS THE BRAVE. 
 
 " ROBERT," said Mr. Holcombe, meeting Margaret and 
 Mr. Murray as they returned home, "I shall have to leave 
 niy family in your charge again for a few days. I have 
 just received a letter from Richmond compelling my 
 presence there immediately, and to-morrow sees me on 
 my journey." 
 
 " Well, my dear sir, I think I can undertake the re- 
 sponsibility," said Mr. Murray, laughing; "I don't think 
 either Jean or your daughter here will give me a great 
 deal of trouble. Eddy is about the only difficult one of 
 the family to manage, and with old Mammy's help I will 
 even undertake him. How long will you be gone ?" 
 
 " Not more than a few days ; but it is a terrible bore 
 to have to go away from home. I believe I could live 
 my life out at Rose Hill, and never ask to go beyond. 
 But what is the matter, Margie?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing, papa, except I hate you to go away," 
 said she ; then added, laughing, " As Mrs. Toodles said 
 about the coffin, you are ' a convenient thing to have 
 about the house.' I believe I would rather go myself 
 than for you to." 
 
 " By-the-by," he said, " suppose you go with me, it will 
 do you good ; your Cousin Jennie will be so glad to see you." 
 
 " Oh, no, thank you, papa, I could not go now, I am 
 going in February to pay a longer visit there, and to 
 Williamsburg ; but I am not ready for a trip from home." 
 (256)
 
 FORTUNE FAVORS THE BRAVE. 257 
 
 " Miss Flora McFlimsey, I suppose," said he, pinching 
 her cheek. " I wish you would get your roses back again : 
 it worries me to see you so pale." 
 
 " Ah, well," she answered, " I will cultivate my gar- 
 den while you are gone, and will have a good supply by 
 the time you get back. I know I am going to get quite 
 well now." 
 
 She seemed so full of innocent gayety that her father 
 looked at her with delight, and replied, 
 
 " Very well ; I intrust you to this young gentleman, 
 and while this fine weather lasts you must resume your 
 rides on horseback ; that always does you good. Come 
 in, and let's have some music. Robert, did she ever 
 sing you that song written by my father : 
 
 " ' Oh, breathe me that air yet again ' ?" 
 
 " No, I do not think she ever did," said Mr. Murray. 
 
 "Well, it was written to a young friend of his, who 
 sang very beautifully. She lost her lover, and could not 
 be induced to resume her music, and this was an appeal 
 to her from my father. Come, Margie, let us have it." 
 
 They adjourned to the parlor, and Margaret, throwing 
 back her wraps, seated herself at the piano, and sang the 
 following verses, to the old tune of " Meet me by Moon- 
 light alone" : 
 
 " Oh, breathe me that air yet again, 
 
 So buoyant and lightsome and free; 
 It bounds like a roe o'er the plain, 
 It bounds like a bark o'er the sea. 
 I have heard the sad song of despair 
 
 From the lips of affection's sweet child, 
 And have wept from a being so fair 
 To hear accents so plaintive and mild. 
 
 Then breathe me that air yet again, 
 Then breathe me that air yet again. 
 22*
 
 258 THE 110 >Z COMBES. 
 
 "A Peri, that loved her, was near, 
 
 And caught the dear sufferer's sighs, 
 And whispered these notes in her ear, 
 
 And wiped the sad drops from her eyes. 
 And now her enlivening strains 
 
 Are buoyant and lightsome and free ; 
 They bound like the roe o'er the plains, 
 
 They bound like the bark o'er the sea. 
 
 Oh, breathe me that air yet again, 
 Oh, breathe me that air yet again. 
 
 "Oh, thy melody, woman, was given 
 
 To soothe the sad heart with its strains, 
 To lift the despondent to heaven, 
 
 While it leads him a captive in chains. 
 Sweet consoler of others, then why, 
 
 Since you lighten man's pilgrimage here, 
 Should your bosom e'er swell with a sigh, 
 
 Or your cheek be profaned by a tear? 
 
 Then breathe me that air yet again, 
 Then breathe me that air yet again." 
 
 "Beautiful!" exclaimed Mr. Murray, as she ended. " I 
 don't know which should have the highest praise, the 
 poet or the musician. That gift for writing poetry seems 
 to run in your family." 
 
 " Yes, but it never ran my way. I never could make 
 two lines rhyme in my life, and George can turn any 
 thought into pretty verse. I remember when 1 was a 
 young man in love, I used to sit with my face in my 
 hands for hours, trying to find proper rhymes for eyes, 
 lips, nose, and love, and when I found the words the 
 sense would not come ; for instance, eyes, flies ; lips, dips ; 
 nose, hose ; love, dove. It was the great trial of my 
 younger life. You need not laugh, Margie, it is a fact.' 
 For Margie and Mr. Murray were both laughing at his 
 youthful reminiscences. 
 
 "Ah, papa," said Margaret, "you do yourself injus-
 
 FORTUNE FAVORS THE BRAVE. 259 
 
 tice. I have mamma's album, with a piece in it from 
 you." 
 
 " No, indeed ; I assure you I had to go to George in 
 my difficulties, and he wrote it for me." 
 
 " Worse and worse," said Mr. Murray; " it is like get- 
 ting some one else to write your love-letters for you." 
 
 " Yes, it is a good deal like it, I confess," said Mr. 
 Holcombe ; " but in those days almost everbody wrote 
 poetry, or what went for it ; it was a common thing for 
 invitations to be written in poetry, and playful contro- 
 versies ; and it was really a serious trouble to me that I 
 could not. In this prosaic age it don't make any differ- 
 ence. But let's have some more music." And so the 
 evening passed. Jean joiued them after tea with her 
 work, and the bright log fire on the hearth threw a cheer- 
 ful gleam over the party. 
 
 " I declare," said Mr. Holcombe, as they rose to sep- 
 arate for the night, " I never did hate to leave home so 
 much before." Margie came behind him, and, putting her 
 arms around his neck, stooped down and kissed him. He 
 took her hands in his, and said, 
 
 " Remember, Robert, take good care of these treasures 
 of mine ; don't let any wolf get into my sheepfold. I 
 shall certainly be back by the end of the week." 
 
 Mr. Murray gave the required assurance, and good- 
 night was said all around. 
 
 Before she retired for the night, Margaret knelt hum- 
 bly by the side of her bed, and for the first time in her 
 life besought the divine guidance, and thanked God that 
 the clouds which had encompassed her were brightening; 
 then lying down she slept more quietly than she had done 
 for many weeks. 
 
 The next morning all was hurry and bustle. Mr. Hol- 
 combe was obliged to get to C very soon after break-
 
 260 THE IIOLCOMBES. 
 
 fast, and everybody about the bouse had to be engaged in 
 helping with his preparations. 
 
 The carriage was announced and the " good-bys" 
 said ; but after it had actually started Margaret ran down 
 the terraced walk, and, calling to the driver to stop, got 
 in, and, putting her arms about her father's neck, whis- 
 pered, 
 
 " You dear old papa, I could not let you go without 
 
 another kiss, and saying to you that ." And she hid 
 
 her face against his shoulder. "I hope you will forgive 
 me for everything I have done wrong to you, and that I 
 will try to be a better child to you in future." 
 
 He put his arm around her, and kissed her fondly, 
 while the tears stood in his eyes. In another moment 
 she was gone, but her father could not forget the little 
 scene. 
 
 " It is so like the child she has always been," said he, 
 smiling, to himself, "sinning and repenting, and willing 
 to make any confession, except in the one instance ; but 
 I trust that has all blown over now." 
 
 The cars were just whistling in the distance when he 
 drove up to the depot, so he had to hurry out of the car- 
 riage and run across to the track. As he stood there a 
 moment a man brushed past him, brushed so vehemently 
 past that he almost threw him forward ; and just as Mr. 
 Holcombe was about to ask the meaning of his appar- 
 ently intentional rudeness, turned around with a bow and 
 broad smile, "Ah, Mr. Holcombe, pardon me; I had no 
 idea you were going from home, be gone long, sir ?" 
 
 " No, sir, I will be back immediately," said Mr. Hol- 
 combe, stiffly, arid added, with considerable meaning, 
 "Meanwhile Mr. Murray has charge of my family." 
 
 Dr. Burton, for it was he, showed his white teeth again, 
 and there was no time for more, as Mr. Holcombe was
 
 FORTUNE FAVORS THE BRAVE. 261 
 
 obliged to take his place in the cars. Before they started, 
 however, he tore a leaf from his memorandum-book, and, 
 calling the footman, wrote hastily a line and told the man 
 to hand it to Mr. Murray as soon as he got home. It ran 
 thus : 
 
 " DEAR ROBERT, I have just encountered that fellow 
 Burton at the depot, and feel sure he rejoices in my ab- 
 sence. If he should dare to go to Rose Hill, you have 
 my authority to kick him out of the house. 
 
 "E. H." 
 
 There was an observer of his actions at a little dis- 
 tance ; and as the cars moved off the footman felt himself 
 tapped on the shoulder, and turned to encounter Dr. Bur- 
 ton's smiling face. 
 
 " My good fellow," he said, slipping a quarter into 
 Ned's hand, " Mr. Holcombe handed you a note for me, 
 did he ?" 
 
 " No, marster," said the man, holding out the note, 
 " 'tis for Mr, Murray." 
 
 " I think you are mistaken," he said, as he took the 
 little slip of paper without any direction, and, opening 
 it, glanced at its contents. " Ah, I see you are right, 
 he will write to me when he gets to his journey's end, I 
 suppose. Good-morning." And he went off smiling, and 
 rubbing his hands, up the street. 
 
 " He would have me kicked out of the house, would 
 he ? Much obliged to my good father-in-law. I shall 
 take care that he never enters mine. Well, this oppor- 
 tune journey assists my plans wonderfully, ' Fortune 
 favors the brave.'" And, still smiling to himself, he went 
 up the street towards his boarding-house. 
 
 Towards evening of the day that Mr. Holcombe left 
 for Richmond a letter was brought for " Miss Margaret
 
 262 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 Holcombe," from Dr. Burton. She was in her own room 
 at the time she received it, and, opening it, she read as 
 follows : 
 
 " C , November 14th, 1858. 
 
 " MY DEAR Miss HOLCOMBE, I told you in our brief 
 interview, on yesterday, that I would write you fully to- 
 day. I now seat myself to do so. 
 
 "I have felt for some time past that it was necessary 
 that some final decision should be arrived at with relation 
 to our affairs ; not only because it makes me unhappy to 
 be thus separated from the only woman who has ever 
 won my heart, but because your happiness, which is so 
 infinitely dearer to me than my own, is so deeply involved 
 in it; and I cannot bear that you should become the com- 
 mon topic for the gossips of society. You see, my dearest 
 young lady, I am as proudly sensitive for you as you are 
 for yourself; and when I hear it said (which I am forced 
 to say has been the case more than once) that ' Margaret 
 Holcombe is pining away, a poor victim to unrequited 
 affection ; that at last her haughty head is made to bow,' 
 I feel as you would, if you heard it yourself, angry, 
 pained, humiliated! and as if I would sacrifice anything 
 to be able to stop these impertinent tongues. But, alas ! 
 I am powerless without your connivance. 
 
 " In our two last interviews I have tried to tell you 
 this ; that I know it to be a fact, that your affairs were 
 
 at present furnishing the ' tea-drinkings' at C with 
 
 conjecture and excitement; but, for the life of me, I could 
 not see the pain I should cause. I am a very coward 
 where you are concerned ; so I determined to write it, 
 for, like a kind physician, I am willing to give pain to 
 save the life of my patient. 
 
 "Now, 'my dear Miss Holcombe, you know that there 
 is no wish so ardent in my heart as to call you my wife.
 
 FORTUNE FAVORS THE BRAVE. 263 
 
 I have told you that too often for you to have any doubts 
 of its truth ; and if you would only trust your happiness 
 to my keeping, I feel sure it would be secure. I repeat, 
 that I feel sure of this, in spite of the fact which I know 
 so well, that your heart is wholly devoted to another. 
 But what one of your sex does not succumb to kind- 
 ness ? Some of the happiest marriages I have ever seen 
 have been founded upon the wreck of an early affection. 
 And even if you should never love me with passionate 
 devotion, I would rather have your friendship and respect 
 than any other woman's love ; and I know 1 could win 
 and keep that. 
 
 " And now for the other side of the question, for I do 
 not unduly urge my own claims. I know, that although 
 I could give you a peaceful, quiet, nay, a happy life, yet 
 of course you would know a higher degree of delight 
 with the man to whom you have given your heart, and 
 who, I am sure, is a worthy object of your affection. 
 That he does not now love you I am afraid ; but that he 
 could help becoming attached to you when thrown daily 
 and hourly within your influence, I do not for an instant 
 credit. He looks upon you now as a mere child, and 
 upon himself too much as your uncle and protector to 
 allow a thought of a tenderer relation. But did he, for an 
 instant, suppose that the rich treasure of your heart was 
 at his feet, believe me, I know my sex well enough to 
 say with certainty, that his would respond instantly and 
 gladly. 
 
 " I confess that I do not see why you should let your 
 delicacy and pride come in here. You must know that 
 your secret is in the hands of one to whom your delicacy 
 is as dear as his own would be under like circumstances, 
 and who, by his manner of handling it, could accomplish 
 his full object without implicating you in the slightest
 
 264 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 degree. Can you not trust me, dearest friend ? And will 
 you not ? 
 
 " The two sides of the question are now open to you. 
 I have pondered both of them, deeply, seriously, and I 
 will tell you the positive conclusion to which I have 
 come. 
 
 " I may startle you, my dear Miss Holcombe, by seem- 
 ing to presume too much, by taking hold of both horns 
 of the dilemma with my own hands ; but I have never 
 been able, since the short time which elapsed in which I 
 had your promise to be my wife, quite to feel that I had 
 nothing to do with your fate, and I have determined to 
 act for you if you refuse to act for yourself. You must 
 either marry me, and so rescue yourself from the gossip- 
 ing tongues of C , or you must marry Mr. Murray, 
 
 which will effect the same result. 
 
 " Unhappily, with regard to me, your father is so pre- 
 judiced against me why, Heaven above only knows ! 
 that I may not hope for a consummation of my wishes 
 in the midst of your own family; but I have friends, to 
 whom I could take you at once. 
 
 " Now, listen to my first proposition : I will be at Rose 
 Hill to-night, between the hours of eleven and twelve, 
 with a suitable conveyance. If you will meet me, in a 
 few hours I will place you under the care of a lady who 
 will be to you a mother in every sense of the word, until 
 I can myself claim the full right to protect you. And 
 your father, you know, as well as I do, will forgive you 
 as soon as the matter is a fixed fact. 
 
 " But, on the other hand, if you cannot make up your 
 mind to take this step, and I confess that your loss in de- 
 cision of character of late leads me to fear this, I candidly 
 tell you that I will to-morrow let Mr. Murray know that 
 your heart is entirely devoted to him, and then I will
 
 FORTUNE FAVORS THE BRAVE. 265 
 
 disappear from the scene, as I do not think, dear as your 
 happiness is to me, that I could stand by and see it ac- 
 complished in that way. 
 
 " I think this is all I have to say to you at present. I 
 shall await you under the oak-tree, to the left of the house, 
 between the hours of eleven and twelve, either to take 
 charge or to take leave of you, whichever you please. 
 " I am, as I ever shall be, 
 
 "With the truest devotion, your friend, 
 
 " WILLIAM BURTON." 
 
 For a long time Margaret Holcombe sat with this 
 letter open upon her knee and her head leaning against 
 the back of her chair. One week ago, if it had been 
 received by her, in her reckless mood, in all probability 
 she would have thrown away her life upon an impulse ; 
 but to-day she was stronger, not in her own strength, 
 but in that to which she had committed herself. And 
 yet it was a fearful temptation to her, unknowing, as 
 she did, the character of the man with whom she had 
 to deal. "A quiet, peaceful life!" She did, indeed, long 
 for it. And then the other alternative. Well, there was 
 one thing, she could refuse to marry Mr. Murray, and 
 she would. It would be a life-long misery to feel that 
 she had been thrown at the head of the man she married ; 
 that pity was the strongest feeling in his heart. And again 
 her mind reverted to the unselfish devotion of Dr. Burton, 
 for it must be so. What did he have to gain ? Her for- 
 tune would be nothing to him, for he was far wealthier than 
 herself, he had been perfectly frank about that ! and his 
 lavish expenditure of money confirmed his statement; 
 and he was even willing to resign her to his rival, that 
 she might be happy. And her heart melted to him, and 
 
 23
 
 266 THE I10LCOMBES. 
 
 she almost felt that she could be happy with him, at least 
 she could reward him for his goodness by making him an 
 affectionate, self-denying wife. 
 
 The idea of noble self-denial is very attractive to such 
 a woman as Margaret Holcombe. There are times when 
 self-abnegation reaches such a degree with them that no 
 regard is paid to personal needs, they can resign any- 
 thing. It was such a mood as this which possessed her 
 this evening ; and if Dr. Burton could have looked into 
 her heart he would have gloated over his prospect of suc- 
 cess. But there was a power standing even then within 
 the innermost recesses of this young heart, and saying to 
 the waves of sin and sorrow which were dashing and 
 surging against her spirit with such wild fury, " Thus far 
 shalt thou come, and no farther, and here shall thy proud 
 waves be stayed." 
 
 "Mr. Murray," said Margaret Holcombe, as he took his 
 usual seat beside her at the piano in the twilight of the 
 same day, " do you believe in ever doing evil that good 
 may come?" 
 
 " Certainly not," he said; " the Bible expressly tells us 
 ' whose damnation is just.'" 
 
 "Well, Mr. Murray," she said, " if you had everything 
 to dread in pursuing the right course, if you knew you 
 would be miserable, humiliated, shamed, would you still 
 go in it?" 
 
 " Margaret," he said, and his voice grew very gentle as 
 he spoke, "is it not the very path our Saviour trod before 
 us ? Suppose He had shrunk away because of the shame, 
 the humiliation, the cursed death of the cross, oh, what 
 would be our hope to-day ? No, dear sister, I know not 
 what your trial may be, and cannot do much to help you ; 
 but take it to Him, He will bear it for you when it gets 
 too heavy for you to carry. God knows, I would will-
 
 FORTUNE FAVORS THE BRAVE. 267 
 
 ingly take the burden myself, if I could ; and oh, don't I 
 know by that He would also ? for He is gentle and pitiful, 
 and full of compassion. But I had hoped the trouble was 
 all gone, I thought you were to be the real Margaret 
 Holcorabe to-day." 
 
 " I fear that was a vain boast ; that Margaret Hoi- 
 combe is a thing of the past." And the long eyelashes 
 shaded the white cheek. " I am going through the deep 
 waters of temptation, now, Mr. Murray ; pray for me, 
 that I may be supported through them." + 
 
 His only answer was to repeat, " 'When thou passest 
 through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the 
 floods, they shall not overflow thee.' " 
 
 "Thank you," she said; "that is very sweet. Now 
 let us sing some of our songs." The thought passed over 
 her, with a chill, that it might be the last time. 
 
 " What a sighing note the wind has to-night," said she, 
 in one of the pauses in the music ; "it sounds so mourn- 
 fully !" 
 
 To change the sad currents of her thoughts, he said, 
 " I'll make it sing for you, and then it will soothe, instead 
 of making you sad." 
 
 " How?" said she, turning to him in surprise. 
 
 " Well, " was his smiling answer, "get me some sew- 
 iug-silk from that wonderful work-box of yours, and some 
 wax, and I will show you." 
 
 She ran off to get what he wanted, very much inter- 
 ested in his mysterious preparations. By the time she 
 came back he had supplied himself with two slender 
 sticks, around which he wrapped some threads of the silk, 
 very well waxed, and going to the window he inserted 
 the sticks between the two window-sashes, stretching 
 very tightly the threads of silk, and immediately a soft 
 musical note breathed through the room.
 
 268 THE IIOLCOMBES. 
 
 Margaret clapped her hands in delight. " I know," 
 she said, " it is the JEolian harp ; oh, how sweet, and so 
 simply made ! Now, as a reward for it, I am going to 
 read you a beautiful piece of poetry on the JBolian 
 harp." 
 
 " By Mrs. Hemans, I suppose?" said he. 
 
 " No, indeed, by that wonderful grandfather of mine, 
 though he quotes a verse from Mrs. Hemans at the be- 
 ginning." She brought from a table in the room an old, 
 brown leather-backed book, and, turning over the leaves, 
 found the poem, and was about to read it, when Robin 
 announced supper. 
 
 " A pleasure deferred is not a pleasure lost," said Mr. 
 Murray, as they went into the dining-room. "I insist 
 upon your reading to me after this important duty is 
 done." 
 
 She readily promised. And when they were all gathered 
 around the center-table, Jean, Mr. Murray, and herself, 
 after tea, with the bright light between them, and the 
 ^Eolian harp singing its plaintive song in the window, he 
 claimed her promise, and she read the following beautiful 
 lines, which are well worthy to be preserved as a gem of 
 poetry : 
 
 "APOSTROPHE OF THE ^OLIAN HARP TO THE WIND. 
 
 " ' AVind of the dark-blue mountains, 
 
 Thou dost but sweep my strings 
 Into wild gusts of mournfulness 
 
 With the rushing of thy wings.' 
 
 "When the gale is freshly blowing 
 
 My notes responsive swell, 
 And over music's power 
 
 Their triumphs seem to tell
 
 FORTUNE FAVORS THE BRAVE. 269 
 
 "But when the breeze is sighing 
 
 There comes a dying fall ; 
 Less, less indeed exulting, 
 
 But sweeter far than all ! 
 
 " It seems to tell of feelings, 
 
 And youthful pleasures fled ; 
 Of hopes and friends once cherished, 
 
 Now mingled with the dead. 
 
 "And oh, how sweetly touching 
 
 Is the sad and plaintive strain ! 
 Recalling former pleasures 
 
 That ne'er can live again. 
 
 "Once more thy breezes freshen 
 
 And sweep the jEolian strings; 
 And again their notes are swelling 
 
 With the rushing of thy wings. 
 
 "They seem to cheer the drooping, 
 
 To bid the wretched live; 
 And with their sounds ecstatic 
 
 His withering hopes revive. 
 
 "Alas ! and in life's drama, 
 
 Howe'er man plays his part, 
 Hope is forever breathing 
 
 On the lyre of theheart. 
 
 " Hope is forever touching 
 
 Some chord which vibrates there ; 
 While bitter disappointment 
 
 Mars the delusive air. 
 
 "Alternate joys and sorrows, 
 
 Obedient to her call, 
 Now breathe a strain exultant, 
 
 And now 'a dying fall.' 
 
 ''But how unlike the measures 
 
 Breathed from the jEolian string ! 
 These soothe the heart that's wounded, 
 
 Those plant a deeper sting. 
 
 23*
 
 270 THE IIOLCOMBES. 
 
 "Then, wind of the dark-blue mountains, 
 
 Still sweep my trembling strings 
 Into sweet strains of mournfulness, 
 
 With the flutter of thy wings." 
 
 "Exceedingly beautiful I" he exclaimed, when she had 
 finished, as he took the book from her hand. " What a 
 rare gift he had ! Do you inherit it at all ?" 
 
 " No ; I am afraid I could give almost as deplorable an 
 account of my efforts in that line as papa did. Now, 
 Mary scribbles all the time, though I don't think it 
 amounts to much." 
 
 "Oh, Margie," said Jean, "you are unjust. I think 
 she writes very sweetly, sometimes." 
 
 "Oh, yes, sweetly, I admit; but I have never seen 
 anything from her which was not mediocre, decidedly. 
 Now, anything mediocre is bad enough, but mediocre 
 poetry is execrable. Unless I could write like Mrs. 
 Hemans, or Mrs. Browning, I would not write at all."
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 A NIGHT VISITOR. 
 
 MRS. HOLCOMBE'S chamber and dressing-room occupied 
 one corner of the first floor in the house at Rose Hill, and 
 Margaret's room was directly above it. 
 
 It so happened on this night that her baby had not 
 been very well, and her slumber, always light, was broken 
 by his heavy breathing. She started up, as he stirred 
 uneasily, and was bending over his little crib,, when her 
 attention was caught by the sound of carriage-wheels, as 
 if some vehicle approached the house by the gravel-road, 
 which extended around the lawn. 
 
 Alarmed at the unusual sound, she sprang up, and, 
 throwing on dressing-gown and slippers, she flew into 
 the dressing-room, and, opening the window, pushed back 
 the shutters. Her first thought was of Mr. Holcombe, 
 whose absence from home of course increased her nerv- 
 ousness on his account. Drawing aside the white mus- 
 lin curtain which hung before the window, she gazed out 
 into the night, The moon was at its full, and the sky 
 was as clear as crystal, and she distinctly saw a vehicle 
 draw up at the foot of the walk, and a man spring out. 
 Very much alarmed, she was about to call out, when she 
 recognized Dr. Burton, as he cautiously approached the 
 house. At the same moment she heard Margaret's step 
 crossing the room above her head, and the creaking of 
 her shoes told her that, although it was so late, she had 
 
 (271)
 
 272 Till-: I10LCOMDES. 
 
 not yet undressed. The window above was cautiously 
 raised, and Jean heard him say, 
 
 "Arc you coming?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, "in a few minutes, have a 
 little patience." 
 
 Quick as lightning Jean flew up the stairs and into her 
 brother's room, rousing him with " Robert Murray, get 
 up, quickly, and save the honor of my husband's house ! 
 Margaret Holcombe is about to elope with Dr. Burton !" 
 And in a second she told him what had happened. " Go 
 down the back steps, through my room, out into the back 
 porch," she said; "don't come the front way, I will 
 keep her there. If she once gets out of the house, nothing- 
 will stop her!" And without giving him time to reply, 
 away she flew down the steps, and, taking the key from 
 the front door, rushed into her room and lighted the lamp. 
 She had hardly done so before she heard Margaret's foot 
 on the stair. Taking the light in her hand she walked 
 out into the hall, and confronted her, cloaked and hooded, 
 ready for her expedition. Yery much startled was she 
 at meeting the pale face of her stepmother, as she walked 
 towards her, waving her hand. 
 
 " Back ! back !" she said, " Margaret Holcombe, before 
 you bring disgrace upon your father's name by this mad 
 step." 
 
 All of Margaret's old spirit rose within her at this op- 
 position, and she said, coldly and calmly, though she was 
 white even to her lips, 
 
 "Let me pass, madam, I do not require your guar- 
 dianship." 
 
 Jean put her light down on the table, and stood firmly 
 before the angry girl. 
 
 " Margaret Holcombe," she said, " I have your father's 
 happiness in my hands, and I tell you, as your natural
 
 A NIGHT VISITOR. 273 
 
 guardian while he is away, that you shall not pass 
 through that door this night, to your destruction. You 
 are mad, and should be treated as such." 
 
 Margaret walked to the door, tried it, found it locked 
 and the key gone. This necessitated a pause, which 
 gave her a moment in which to recall her new-made 
 resolutions; and the recollection coming to her that she 
 might explain matters, she turned and said, 
 
 '' Mamma, you are unduly excited, believe me. What 
 do you imagine I want to do ?" 
 
 Jean heard the noise she had been listening for, the 
 turning of the knob of the door in her room. In another 
 moment all would be safe. Robert was already out in 
 the night. 
 
 " Margaret," she answered, " unfortunately, I can have 
 no doubt on the subject. I heard Dr. Burton ask you if 
 you were coming, and you answered ' Yes.' " 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 " You thought I was going to elope with him ?" 
 
 " Yes, what else ?" said Jean. 
 
 " Xo," she said, " I was going to tell him that I would 
 never see him again ; but" turning to the door " I hear 
 voices ! Who is talking to him ?" 
 
 "It is Robert," said Jean. 
 
 Margaret's frightened face turned toward her com- 
 panion, as she said, 
 
 " Does 'he, too, think " 
 
 There was no time to say more, the voices without 
 became louder, as if in altercation. 
 
 " For God's sake, mamma, open the door 1" said she, 
 clasping her hands. " Suppose anything should happen 
 to Mr. Murray !" 
 
 The idea of danger to Robert had not occurred to Jean 
 before ; but now she received it in its full force, and,
 
 274 THE HO L COMBES. 
 
 rushing into her room, came back with the key ; but 
 before it could be turned in the lock there was the report 
 of a pistol, a scuffle, a groan, and Margaret Holcombe 
 dropped upon her knees. Jean never knew how she 
 opened the door ; but she heard wheels grating over the 
 gravel as the vehicle moved rapidly away. And as she 
 flew down the steps she saw, lying on the grass, a dark 
 figure, with the moon shining on its white face. It was 
 Robert ! 
 
 Now Jean was a woman of great self-control on ordi- 
 nary occasions ; but when she saw this precious brother 
 lying there, to all appearance dead, life seemed to stand 
 still in her heart and veins. In an instant she knelt 
 beside the prostrate body, and shrieked forth her an- 
 guish. 
 
 " Let me pass, mamma," said a voice beside her, clear 
 and sharp in sound as an alarm-bell, and terrible in its 
 calmness ; " this is my right. What though I have 
 killed him by my folly, I loved him more than you or 
 any one else in the world could have done." And Mar- 
 garet Holcombe almost thrust Jean aside ; and, sitting 
 down on the grass, raised the still head upon her knee. 
 Then came a broken Avail. " Ah, he knows all now, 
 my darling ! my darling!" 
 
 Had her voice the power to wake the dead, or was it 
 an echo which repeated my darling ! my darling ! as the 
 blue eyes slowly unclosed and looked into her face with 
 such joy in their expression as man seldom experiences 
 more than once. Then strength failed her, and Margaret 
 Holcombe fell back and fainted. 
 
 But now the servants had caught the alarm, and came 
 running up to the scene of action. Robert Murray did 
 not again lose consciousness, and with some assistance 
 was able to walk into the house ; but Margaret, still in
 
 A NIGHT VISITOR. 275 
 
 that dead faint, was borne up to her room, and every 
 means used to recover her, but for a long time without 
 success. The doctor had been sent for at once, but before 
 he arrived Robert Murray told Jean of what had hap- 
 pened after her visit to his room. 
 
 He said that, although appearances were so sorely 
 against her, he never had the least doubt that they were 
 deceptive as regarded Margaret Holcombe ; that even in 
 her most reckless misery, he did not, for an instant, be 
 lieve that she could so far do violence to her character as 
 to consent to such a step as an elopement; but his con- 
 versation with her on the evening before convinced him 
 that the mystery which had seemed to pursue her for 
 some time past had reached its culminating point, and 
 the time had arrived for him to interfere, armed with the 
 authority vested in him by Mr. Holcombe*. So, following 
 Jean's directions, he crept quietly down through her 
 room, and so out into the night. Going around the build- 
 ing, he found Burton looking anxiously up at the house. 
 He was evidently a good deal startled to see him, and 
 made a step towards his vehicle, which waited for him ; 
 but, catching him by the arm, Mr. Murray demanded to 
 know what he was doing there at that time of the night. 
 
 " I am master of my own actions," said he, doggedly ; 
 " and shall not make myself accountable to you." 
 
 "You are not master of your own actions on these 
 premises," said Mr. Murray, calmly, " since the owner 
 has forbidden your appearance here, and has given me 
 full authority to expel you, forcibly, if need be." 
 
 " Yes," said Burton, maliciously ; " but there are 
 orders more potent under which I act, those of his 
 daughter." 
 
 "I believe that you lie, villainously," said Mr. Mur- 
 ray ; " but whether that be so or not, Miss Holcombe is
 
 276 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 under my care, and I shall not permit her to see you. 
 Now, you can go." 
 
 " Not at your bidding," said he, " I'll see you in h 11 
 first. I see your game, you wish to marry her your- 
 self." 
 
 "Whatever I wish," said Mr. Murray, "is not now a 
 point under discussion. I shall know how to choose my 
 confidants. Good-evening, sir." 
 
 An expression of baffled malignity passed over the 
 man's face, and, before Mr. Murray guessed his intention, 
 he had drawn a pistol, and, putting the point at his 
 breast, said, with a terrible oath, " Then you shall not 
 have her !" 
 
 Mr. Murray had only time to start a little to one side, 
 which saved his life, though he was perfectly insensible 
 until he heard Margaret's voice. 
 
 Jean longed to ask him if he had heard what she said, 
 but felt that it was a matter of delicacy with which she 
 could not intermeddle. 
 
 It was decided between them that Margaret's connec- 
 tion with the tragical affair must rest with them, and that, 
 to secure this the more effectually, it must never be known 
 that Burton was the perpetrator of the act. 
 
 " There is no fear," said Mr. Murray, " of his further 
 molestation ; take my word for it, he will disappear after 
 to-night, for he thinks he has killed me, and will make all 
 haste to escape the hands of justice. So we are freed 
 from that trouble." 
 
 When the doctor came, his first care was to examine 
 Mr. Murray's wounds, which Jean had bound up, to the 
 best of her ability, but which demanded instant atten- 
 tion. 
 
 "By George!" he said, "the rascal aimed at your 
 heart ! A very narrow escape! very narrow, indeed 1"
 
 A NIGHT VISITOR. 277 
 
 The movement Mr. Murray had made had thrown the 
 point of the pistol farther to the side, and given the ball 
 a slanting, instead of a direct, course ; it had grazed the 
 ribs, and gone through the fleshj' part of the arm, just 
 above the elbow, thus inflicting two severe flesh-wounds, 
 but with which, as there was no danger, Mr. Murray 
 was very glad to compromise. 
 
 The doctor, of course, was full of curiosity about the 
 affair, and his questions were rather embarrassing. 
 
 "Well, what kind of a looking man was he ?" 
 
 Mr. Murray gave a general description, which would 
 have covered the appearance of half the men in the 
 world. 
 
 " Would you know him again, if you saw him ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," was the answer, " I think I should, the 
 moon was so bright, I saw him distinctly." 
 
 "Ah, well, then, we may hope to catch him yet." And 
 then followed a long string of depredations which had 
 been committed in the neighborhood, which Jean inter- 
 rupted by proposing that the doctor should see Margaret, 
 as she still seemed to be suffering from the effects of the 
 fright. 
 
 "Fainted, did she ?'' said he, in surprise. "Why, I 
 had no idea Margie was one of the fainting kind ; but 
 women always will faint if they get a chance." 
 
 Jean explained that Margaret had not been well, which 
 accounted for her being more easily affected than she 
 would otherwise have been. 
 
 When they went into her room they found that she 
 had so far yielded to remedies as to open her eyes ; but, 
 further than that, she showed no consciousness. 
 
 " Strange !" said Dr. Campbell, as he felt her pulse and 
 examined the dilated pupil of her staring eye. " There 
 
 24
 
 278 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 is more the matter here than mere fainting, her brain is 
 interested." 
 
 Jean's heart beat quickly at the unexpected intelli- 
 gence. 
 
 He leaned over her and called, " Margaret, Margaret." 
 There was a movement of the eyes and a slight contrac- 
 tion of the brows at the familiar sound, but no answer. 
 
 He ordered a cool cloth laid on her head, and adminis- 
 tered an anodyne ; then, turning to Jean, he said, " I 
 may be able to tell better by the morning; but," lower- 
 ing his voice, " I think, at present, my dear madam, that 
 her symptoms are alarming. Everything depends upon 
 keeping her quiet and composed. Send for old Judy, 
 she is the best nurse in the world, and can live without 
 sleeping." So Mammy was sent for, and took up her 
 station beside the bedside of the patient. 
 
 When the doctor came in the morning, he found her 
 still in the same condition, with wide-open, staring eyes. 
 She had experienced no relief from the anodynes, though 
 she lay still, except occasionally a restless movement of 
 the head and the constant motion of the eyes, as they 
 searched each face, earnestly, intently. 
 
 The doctor advised that Mr. Holcombc should be tele- 
 graped instantly of her condition, and promised to attend 
 to it himself, upon his return to town. 
 
 " Halloo I" he said, going then into Mr. Murray's room, 
 "last night was a sort of Walpurgis night ; every place 
 seems to have had an adventure. Here the whole town 
 is in a state of excitement about the disappearance of 
 that fellow Burton ; or, at least, he has not yet returned. 
 It seems he hired a buggy at Long's livery-stable, and 
 told him to send for it to Marshall's Creek this morning, 
 and when the man who stays over the stables came out 
 at daybreak, here was the vehicle and horse standing
 
 A NIGHT VISITOR. 2T9 
 
 tied at the door, and the money for its hire wrapped up 
 on the seat of the buggy. And his landlady says she 
 heard him come in, about half-past twelve o'clock, and go 
 up to his room, and then return, and go out of the front 
 door again. And when she went up this morning, she 
 found a note from him, inclosing the money for his board, 
 in which he stated that he had been called away sud- 
 denly, and might not return. By-the-by," he exclaimed, 
 as if a new idea struck him, "what time did this fracas 
 take place here ?" 
 
 " I did not look at my watch," said Mr. Murray, eva- 
 sively. 
 
 " Is it possible that the two things could be taken in 
 connection ?" asked the doctor, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Oh, I should have known Dr. Burton," said Mr. Mur- 
 ray," so naturally, that the doctor was thrown off the 
 track, and said, 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course you would, of course you would ; 
 but how are your wounds this morning ?" 
 
 "I feel very little inconvenience from them," answered 
 Mr. Murray, "except a stiffness of the tendons of my 
 arm, and a want of strength, which I suppose is due to 
 loss of blood." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you lost a good deal ; but you are doing 
 very well, and have great cause to congratulate yourself 
 on your escape. I never saw one more narrow. I wish 
 the rascal could be found. I am afraid that poor child 
 up-stairs will not get off so easily as you are doing." 
 
 Mr. Murray turned to him in alarm. " You do not 
 mean Miss Holcombe, I hope, sir ?" For Jean had pur- 
 posely kept the account of her illness from him. 
 
 "Indeed I do," said the doctor; "I am afraid she is 
 going to be seriously ill. There is, evidently, some se- 
 vere tension of the brain, and the anodynes have had no
 
 280 THE IIOLCOMBES. 
 
 effect, as yet, she has not slept at all. I shall telegraph 
 for her father as soon as I get back to town. But, good- 
 morning, I shall return this evening again.' 
 
 Mr. Murray was infinitely shocked at the unexpected 
 intelligence, and Jean coming in just then, he announced 
 to her that he intended to get up and go himself to visit 
 the patient, as he must judge for himself of her con- 
 dition. 
 
 "Oh, Robert," remonstrated Jean, "there is no neces- 
 sity, you could do nothing if you went; Mammy is 
 there., and the doctor said, particularly, no one else must 
 go into the room. Besides, if she should recover her 
 senses, I do not think she would be pleased at all to see 
 you there." 
 
 "Perhaps not," said he, perfectly unmoved; "but I 
 shall go, nevertheless. As to there being any impropriety 
 in my going into Margaret Holcombe's room, that is non- 
 sense. You must know, after what passed last night, that 
 the tie between us two no longer rests on mere conven- 
 tional. She will be my wife as soon as I am permitted 
 to claim her, and this I shall take care is understood by 
 all who need know it. My place is certainly by her while 
 she is in danger." 
 
 In a few minutes after, he walked to the door of 
 Margaret's room, and, knocking softly, obtained admit- 
 tance. 
 
 Mammy looked somewhat shocked at this invasion of 
 her prerogatives ; but he said, gravely and quietly, 
 
 " It is necessary that you should understand my posi- 
 tion with regard to this young lady. First, her father 
 has committed her to my charge, and next, she will, God 
 willing, be my wife ; so my place is here." And the old 
 lady bowed her acknowledgments of his rights. 
 
 His calmness was almost overcome, however, when
 
 A NIGHT VISITOR. 281 
 
 those bright black eyes turned upon him with their rest- 
 less search ; but they stopped in his face. 
 
 " I do bleave," said the old woman, " dat she is found 
 what she been looking for." 
 
 It did seem so. For the first time the eyes rested, and 
 a look of quiet crept into their expression. 
 
 He reached out and laid his cool hand over their burn- 
 ing lids. They closed ; but when the pressure was re- 
 moved they opened again ; but she was decidedly more 
 quiet, keeping her eyes, whenever they were opened, on 
 his face, but never speaking an articulate word, though 
 the lips would move every now and then, as if the brain 
 was instructing the tongue ; but no sound came. 
 
 The doctor came in the evening again, and was sur- 
 prised to find Mr. Murray assuming the position of nurse ; 
 but he quietly explained his claims, and when he saw 
 that he was doing his patient good, he no longer ob- 
 jected. 
 
 The fact is, nature was asserting her rights terribly 
 upon this young girl. She had been defrauded too long 
 to bear it quietly, and for a weary time the ph} r sician 
 watched and waited without being able either to give or 
 receive much encouragement. 
 
 Mr. Holcombe was much shocked to find the telegram 
 awaiting him on his arrival in Richmond, and at once re- 
 turned home. How constantly his mind reverted, during 
 the journey, to her " good-by ;" and bis eyes overflowed 
 when he thought that perhaps it was the last word she 
 would ever speak to him. 
 
 Ah, the return home after a summons of this kind! 
 The tension upon the nerves seems to increase as the 
 distance lessens, until at last it amounts to perfect 
 agony. 
 
 Dr. Campbell met him at the depot, and, although 
 24*
 
 282 THE HOL COMBES. 
 
 there was not much hope in his account, it was something 
 that she was yet alive, and her case, though desperate, 
 not hopeless. 
 
 Jean met him at the door, and made him at once mas- 
 ter of the situation in full. He was prepared, therefore, 
 to find her self-appointed nurse at her bedside, adminis- 
 tering her medicines and nourishment with the tenderness 
 of a woman, and he looked on with wonder at the power 
 which this comparative stranger had over her. She was 
 restless and irritable with others, but a request from him 
 was seldom denied, and she would take nothing from any 
 other bauds. 
 
 It was a long, dreary time they had to watch, without 
 encouragement. Indian summer had ceased to flatter 
 with its balmy breath, and cold winter had come, with 
 its white finger clothing all nature in its snowy garb. And 
 still they dared not hope with any degree of confidence. 
 It was a sad Christmas. 
 
 She was no worse, was all the doctor could be induced 
 to say. Mr. Murray caught what rest he could during 
 her brief snatches of sleep, but was nearly always ready 
 to fill the vacuum for those restless eyes. 
 
 It was during one of these rare seasons that he lay 
 down on a couch in the next room, ordering that he 
 should be called if she waked, and fell into a sound sleep. 
 To his surprise, he found, upon waking, that several hours 
 had elapsed, and, rising hastily, went into the next room. 
 There she was, still sleeping, with the lips parted, and the 
 gentle breath coming softly between them. This con- 
 tinued for at least an hour longer, and then the eyes 
 opened, and, for the first time since her .sickness, he heard 
 the sound of her voice. 
 
 He was sitting behind her, so that the first face her 
 eyes rested upon was Mammy's.
 
 A NIGHT VISITOR. 283 
 
 " Where am I ?" she said, putting 1 up her trembling 
 hand. 
 
 " Here in your own room, my child," said she, without 
 expressihg any surprise. 
 
 The eyes closed for a minute, and then opened again. 
 
 " I can't remember anything." 
 
 " Don't try now. Here, take this," holding a spoon to 
 her, "and go to sleep again." But she put it aside, and 
 then Mr. Murray, thinking to enforce it, offered it to her. 
 She looked at him in the greatest surprise. The blood 
 mounted to her thin cheeks, and, trying to draw the cover 
 more closely over her, she said, without speaking to 
 him, 
 
 " Oh, Mammy, don't let him stay in here !" 
 
 She was thoroughly conscious now, he saw, and the 
 first result of the improvement was his banishment from 
 the sick-room. He did not remonstrate, because he knew 
 it would be of no use ; nor was he very much surprised 
 at it, because he had looked forward to a renewal of her 
 self-torture with a return of reason ; but it was, never- 
 theless, a great trial to him. He had been head-nurse so 
 long that he did not know, in the first place, what to do 
 with the idle time it left at his disposal ; and then, too, 
 he could not bear to think of any one else performing for 
 her those offices it had been so sad a pleasure to him to 
 perform during her illness. So he wandered about, look- 
 ing very disconsolate, nor did the accounts brought him 
 from the sick-room tend to console him very materially. 
 
 The patient progressed but slowly towards recovery, 
 and her state of depression tended to confirm the idea in 
 the minds of her nurses that some causes were operating 
 still upon her mind which retarded her recovery. Jean 
 had found Dr. Burton's last letter in her room when Mar- 
 garet was first taken sick, and, without reading it herself,
 
 284 TEE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 had handed it over to Mr. Holcombe upon his return. 
 This was at once a key to the mystery ; but how to meet 
 the present difficulty in her weak condition was perplex- 
 ing. Mr. Murray was confident that if he could only 
 have a personal interview with her, he could remove the 
 trouble ; but to manage this required considerable skill. 
 He wrote a letter to her, entreating that he might be 
 permitted to visit her; and Jean told him that, so far 
 from having a happy effect upon her, she was ill from 
 nervous excitement at what she considered an unprece- 
 dented impertinence on his part. Nor did she recover 
 from this for some days. 
 
 It ended in Dr. Campbell's being taken into their full 
 confidence, and he announced to her one day that her re- 
 moval from that room was absolutely necessary. It was 
 in vain that she wept, scolded, and entreated by turns, 
 the old doctor was inexorable ; so, making her toilet as 
 well as they could in her present weak condition, old 
 Mammy threw over her white wrapper a crimson flannel 
 dressing-gown, and Mr. Holcombe, taking her in his arms, 
 bore her, very tenderly, down to the library, and laid her 
 on the lounge. 
 
 Now, we have seen enough of Margaret Holcombe's 
 natural disposition to guess that this opposition to her 
 wishes was not borne with angelic patience ; but she had 
 no physical strength to oppose to the move, and so was 
 forced to submit, though with all the nervous irritability 
 attendant upon her weakness of body. She cried from 
 the time the preparations commenced until she was, as 
 we have related, laid upon the sofa in the library. 
 
 She could not help, however, feeling some enjoyment 
 in the cheerful aspect which this favorite sitting-room had 
 assumed for her welcome, the heavy dark-green curtains 
 falling in folds to the ground, the bright carpet, and
 
 A NIGHT VISITOR. 285 
 
 all the familiar books looking down upon her from their 
 niches in the shelves, filling her with a longing to be 
 well enough to resume her readings, and then the ruddy 
 glow of the bright fire over everything. She closed her 
 eyes with a feeling of comfort which she did not like to 
 acknowledge. Then, too, she had so dreaded encounter- 
 ing Mr. Murray if she left the sanctuary of her own 
 apartment; but there was no sign of him anywhere, so 
 she grew much more quiet; and Mr. Holcombe, getting a 
 book from the shelves, sat down at the head of the lounge, 
 with his cool hand upon her head, ready to attend to any 
 expressed want. Thus a feeling of peace and security 
 took the place of nervous irritation and apprehension, 
 and this, added to the unwonted exertion she had made, 
 with the fatigue consequent upon it, made her an easy 
 victim to the slumber which crept over her before she 
 was aware of it. 
 
 She slept soundly for a long time, and was only dimly 
 conscious of the closer drawing of the curtains, so as to 
 throw a deeper shade over the room, and the click of the 
 lock of the door ; but, before she could rouse herself to 
 see if her father was leaving her, the cool, soothing press- 
 ure was resumed on her head, and -she gave herself up 
 again, without further struggle, to the blessed slumber. 
 It must have been two hours before she stirred, and still 
 that patient nurse sat beside her, bending over, ever and 
 anon, to look into the face which still exhibited such sad 
 traces of her illness. And fervent were the aspirations 
 which went up from his full heart, that this precious life 
 was given to their prayers. 
 
 At last nature was resuscitated, and the repose was 
 broken. Half-raising her head, she said, before her eyes 
 became accustomed to the darkness, 
 
 " Oh, papa, what a nice long sleep I have had ! and
 
 286 THE I10LCOMBES. 
 
 you, dear, patient old nurse, have been sitting here all the 
 time." And she turned towards him to reward him by 
 a kiss ; but her purpose was changed when she found it 
 was not her papa, but Mr. Murray, who occupied the 
 chair at the head of her couch. 
 
 Indignation at the trick which had been played upon 
 her, and embarrassment in his presence under the oppress- 
 ive recollections which filled her mind, strove for the mas- 
 tery, and she buried her face in her hands and burst into 
 tears. 
 
 "Why, my darling, what is the matter?" said Mr. 
 Murray, leaning over her, and trying to take her hands 
 from her face. 
 
 She raised up, and said, angrily, " Mr. Murray, I can- 
 not imagine what can give you a claim to take such a 
 liberty with me, unless it be a recollection of the absurd 
 scene on that night, and I beg you will attribute it to ill- 
 ness, insanity, or any reasonable cause ; but, remember, 
 I do not choose that you should ever presume upon it." 
 
 " Margaret," said he, " it gives me a claim over you 
 that nothing in this world shall ever dissolve, thank God ! 
 Would you take from me the greatest happiness which 
 this life can afford me, the bliss of knowing that my de- 
 votion to you meets with a response ?" 
 
 There was no doubting the tone of feeling, the ex- 
 pression which beamed upon her from his eyes, as she 
 raised hers to his face. The hands he held ceased their 
 struggle for freedom, and the blessed conviction that he 
 loved her with all the fervor of his being, took possession 
 of her heart. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Murray," she said, in her surprise, " can this 
 be really so ?" 
 
 " It does but little credit to your discernment, Margie," 
 said he, smiling, " not to have made the discovery long
 
 A NIGHT VISITOR. 28 1 
 
 ago. I certainly tried every way in my power to let you 
 see it." 
 
 " Bat you said that I was not your style of woman, . 
 that you could never love me." 
 
 " That unlucky speech of mine 1" exclaimed Mr. Mur- 
 ray. " Yes, I said so, and at the time I believed it ; 
 but not half an hour after it was made I had a deeper 
 insight into my heart than I had ever been blessed with 
 before, and I knew then that the only woman I could ever 
 love was this one." And he stooped over her and kissed 
 her brow. " Do you believe me now, darling?" 
 
 " It seems almost too strange to believe it all at once," 
 she said ; " but oh, Mr. Murray, how much trouble might 
 have been saved if I had only known !" 
 
 " Don't let us murmur at the trouble," he said; " it has 
 worked out its own end, I expect. It has done us more 
 good than all happiness would have done. Let us take 
 the blessing which God gives us, and cherish it as the 
 best earthly gift of his hand, and, God willing, all the 
 trouble, as well as the bliss, which life has in store for us, 
 shall be shared together hereafter."
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 SPRING had again triumphed over gloomy winter, 
 and was rejoicing in her victory, decked in her freshest 
 green robes, when we look onr last at Rose Hill. But 
 what is it which gives the old place such an air of busy 
 preparation ? Perhaps only the spring upturning, which 
 is so important a time with Virginia housewives. But 
 no! as we come nearer now we see it must be some- 
 thing more, for around at one side of the house tiny white 
 tents dot the green grass, and again the colored lanterns 
 of fanciful patterns hang like luminous fruit of strange 
 species from the trees. Shall I whisper a word in the ear 
 of the reader, or does he already guess that once again 
 the doors of Rose Hill are thrown open to welcome 
 acquaintances, relations, and friends upon the occasion of 
 the bridal of the eldest daughter of the house ? 
 
 We recognize several old acquaintances among the 
 guests. There is kind Mrs. Mason and her daughters; 
 Mr. and Mrs. Randolph and theirs ; Mr. George, looking 
 almost festive enough for a Christmas occasion, and on 
 his arm leans a fair, graceful woman, whom he intro- 
 duces to everybody as "my wife;" then, in that tall 
 young man, with the groomsman's rosette on his shoulder, 
 we trace a likeness to fun-loving George ; and that great 
 boy there, whom they all call " General," can be no other 
 than John, who is perfectly charmed at the idea of being 
 a groomsman also. But here flits in a fairy little figure, 
 with long golden hair and dancing eyes, who summons 
 (288)
 
 CONCLUSION. 289 
 
 the bridal party into the closed parlor; and instantly there 
 is a cramming and jamming into the other room, and 
 expectation even fails to subdue the crowd into silence 
 until the folding-doors are thrown open, and a beautiful 
 tableau bursts suddenly upon the sight. 
 
 We have no difficulty, fortunately, in recognizing those 
 two central figures, we have become too well acquainted 
 with them during the progress of these pages to doubt 
 their indentity ; and surely they are a royal-looking 
 couple. He still holds his rank, head and shoulders above 
 his fellows, and, methinks, the noble head rears itself a 
 little prouder than usual for the burden which leans upon 
 his arm. He glances down once at that coronet of dark 
 hair, around which glimmer, like stars in the sky, the 
 pure wreath of orange-blossoms, over which the rich veil 
 of lace is thrown, which, falling in such ample folds, even 
 to the floor, envelops the whole of the graceful figure, and 
 through whose gossamer texture the pure shimmer of the 
 rich silk is seen. But the murmurs of the crowd cease 
 for an instant as the minister delivers his charge to the 
 married couple. Let us also hear what he says : 
 
 " God, in mercy to our race, smooths the rough path- 
 way of our lives, and lights up its dark places, with these 
 beautiful domestic relations, these endearing ties, where 
 two natures, fitting and blending into one, develop and 
 improve, each the other; and thus they attain to the 
 highest degree of earthly happiness and usefulness. And 
 if, as is the case with you, my friends, God has blessed 
 you with a still richer gift, even a sense of his con- 
 tinual presence and guidance, your happiness increases 
 through the endless ages of eternity. 
 
 " Hereafter your walk will be side by side, your hap- 
 piness dependent each upon the other. Your hearts are, 
 
 25 .
 
 290 THE HOLCOMBES. 
 
 even now, saying the one to the other, in the beautiful 
 poetry of Scripture, 
 
 " 'Whither thou goest, I will go ; where thou lodgest, I 
 will lodge : thy people shall be my people, and thy God 
 my God : where thou diest, will I die, and there will I 
 be buried : the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught 
 but death part me and thee.' "
 
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