BY MRS. MARY J., HOLMES Author of " Ttmpest and Sunshine" " Meadow Brook? Horn* tUad * the Hillisde" " The English Orphan*," "Maggie Miller -ctt^ etc. NEW YORK HURST & COMPANY PUBLISHERS. DOEA DEANE, OB, THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. CHAPTER L DORA AND HEB MOTHER, POOR little Dora Deane ! How utterly wretched and desolate she was, as she crouched before the scanty fire, and tried to warm the little bit of worn- out flannel, with which to wrap her mother's feet ; and how hard she tried to force back the tears which would burst forth afresh whenever she looked upon that pale, sick mother, and thought how soon she would be gone ! It was a small, low, scantily furnished room, high up in the third story of a crazy old building, which Dora called her home, and its one small window looked out on naught save the roofs and spires of the great city whose dull, monotonous roar was almost the only sound to which she had ever listened. 01 the country, with its bright green grass, its sweet wild flowers, its running brooks, and its shady trees, she knew but little, for only once had she looked oa all these things, and then her heart wag very sad, for 3 O,4>i- o47; 4 DORA DEANE, OR, f the bright green grass was hroken, and the sweet wild flowers were trampled down, that a grave might be made in the dark, moist earth for her father, who had died in early manhood, leaving his wife and only child to battle with the selfish world as best they could. Since that time, life had been long and dreary to the poor widow, whose hours were well- nigh ended, for ere to-morrow's sun was risen, she would have a better home than that dreary, cheerless room, while Dora, at the early age of twelve, would be an orphan. It was a cold December night, the last one of the year, and the wintry wind, which swept howling past the curtainless window, seemed to take a sadder tone, as if in pity for the little girl who knelt upon the hearthstone, and with the dim firelight flickering over her tear-stained face, prayed that she, too, might die, and not be left alone. " It will be so lonely so cold without my mother I " he murmured. " Oh, let me go with her ; I cannot live alone." " Dora, my darling," came faintly from the rude conch, and in an instant the child was at her mother's fide. Winding her arms fondly about the neck of her daughter, and pushing the soft auburn hair from off her fair, open brow, Mrs. Deane gazed long and earnestly upon her face. *' Yes, you are like me," she said at last, " and I am glad that it is so, for it may be Sarah will lov you better when she sees in yon a look like one who once called her sister. And should lid ever re- turn " She paused, while her mind went back to the years long ago to the old yellow farmhouse among the New England bilk to the gray-haired man, who THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. f had adopted her as his own when she was written fatherless to the dark-eyed girl, sometimes kind, and sometimes overbearing, whom she had called her sister, though there was no tie of blood between them. Then she thought of the red house just across the way, and of the three brothers, Nathaniel, Rich- ard, and John. Very softly she repeated the name of the latter, seeming to see him again as he was on the day when, with the wreath of white apple blossoms upon her brow, she sat on the mossy bank and listened to his low spoken words of love. Again she was out in the pale starlight, and heard the autumn wind go moaning through the locust trees as Nathaniel, the strange, eccentric, woman-hating Nathaniel, but just returned from the seas, told her how madly he had loved her, and how the knowledge that she belonged to another would drive him from his fatherland forever that in the burning clime of India he would make gold his idol, forgetting, if it were possible, the mother who had Dome him I Then she recalled the angry scorn with which her adopted sister had received the news of her engage- ment with John, and how the conviction was at last forced upon her that Sarah herself had loved him in secret, and that in a fit of desperation she had given her hand to the rather inefficient Richard, ever after treating her rival with a cool reserve, which now came back to her with painful distinctness. " But she will love my little Dora for John's sake, if not for mine/' she thought, at last ; and then, as if she had all the time been speaking to her daugh- ter, she continued, " And you must be very dutiful to your aunt, and kind to your cousins, fulfilling their slightest wishes." Looking up quickly, Dora asked, "Have you Written to Aunt Sarah r Does she say I can come P * 6 DORA DEANE, OR, " The letter is written, and Mrs. Gannis will send it as soon as I am dead/' answered Mrs. Deane. " I am sure she will give you a home. I told her there was no alternative but the almshouse ; then, after a pause, she added : " I wrote to your uncle Nathaniel some months ago, when I knew that I must die. It is time for his reply, but I bade him direct to Sarah, as I did not then think to see the winter snow." " Did you tell him of me ? " eagerly asked Dora, on whom the name of Uncle Nathaniel, or " Uncle Nat," as he was more familiarly called, produced a more pleasant impression than did that of her aunt Sarah. " Yes, answered the mother, " it was of you that I wrote, commending you to his care, should he return to America. And if you ever meet him, Dora, tell him that on my dying bed I thought of him with affection that my mind wandered back to the years of long ago, when I was young, and ask him, for the sake of one he called his brother, and for her who grieves that ever she caused him a moment's pain, to care for you, their orphan child." Then followed many words of love, which were very precious to Dora in the weary years which fol- lowed that sad night ; and then, for a time, there was silence in that little room, broken only by the sound of the wailing tempest. The old year was going out on the wings of a fearful storm, and as the driving sleet beat against the casement, while the drifting snow found entrance through more than one wide crevice and fell upon her pillow, the dying woman murmured, " Lie up closer to me, Dora, I am growing very cold." Alas ! 'twas the chill of death ; but Dora did not know it, and again on the hearthstone before the fast dviuq coals she knelt, trying to warm the bit of flan- THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. f Bel, on which her burning tears fell like^rain, whea through the empty wood-box she sought in vain for chip or bark with which to increase the scanty fire. " But I will no* -V 1 ker," she softly whispered, when satisfied that ner search was vain, and wrap- ping the flannel around the icy feet, she untied the long-sleeved apron which covered her own naked arms, and laying it over her mother's shoulders, tucked in the thin bedclothes ; and then, herself all shivering and benumbed, she sat down to wait and watch, singing softly a familiar hymn, which had sometimes lulled her mother into a quiet sleep. At last, as her little round white arms grew purple with the cold, she moved nearer to the bedside, and winding them lovingly around her mother's neck, laid her head upon the pillow and fell asleep. And to the angels, who were hovering near, waiting to bear their sister spirit home, there was given charge concerning the little girl, so that she did not freeze, though she sat there the livelong night, calmly sleep- ing the sweet sleep of childhood, while the mother at her side slept the long, eternal sleep of death 1 CHAPTEB IL THB FIRST AND LAST NEW YEAB*8 CALL. IT was New Year's morning, and over the great city lay the deep, untrodden snow, so soon to be trampled down by thousands of busy feet. Cheer- ful fires were kindled in many a luxurious home of the rich, and " Happy New Year" was echoed from lip to lip, as if on that day there were no aching hearts no garrets where the biting cold looked in 8 DORA DEANE, OR, n pinching poverty and suffering old age no low, dark room where Dor and her pale, dead mother lay, while over them the angels Kept their tireless watch till human aid should come. But one there was who did not forget one about whose house was gathered every elegance which fashion could dictate or money procure ; and now, as she sat at her bountifully-furnished breakfast table sipping her fragrant chocolate, she thought of the poor widow, Dora's mother, for whom her charity had been so- licited the day before, by a woman who lived in the same block of buildings with Mrs. Deane. " Brother," she said, glancing towards a young man who, before the glowing grate, was reading the morning paper, " suppose you make your first call with me ? * " Certainly," he answered ; " and it will probably oe in some dreary attic or dark, damp basement ; but it is well, I suppose, to begin the New Year by remembering the poor." Half an hour later, and the crazy stairs which led to the chamber of death were creaking to the tread of the lady and her brother, the latter of whom knocked loudly for admission. Keceiving no answer from within, they at last raised the latch and entered. The fire had long since gone out, and the night wind, as it poured down the chimney, had scattered the cold ashes over the hearth and out upon the floor. Piles of snow lay on the window sill, and a tumbler in which some water had been left standing, was broken in pieces. All this the young man saw at ft glance, but when his eye fell upon the bed, he started back, for there was no mistaking the rigid, stony expression of the upturned face, which lay there so white and motionless. " Bat the child the child," he exclaimed, advano- THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 9 fng forward " can she, too, be dead I " and he laid his warm hand gently on Dora's brow. The touch aroused her, and starting up, she looked around for a moment bewildered ; but when at last she turned towards her mother, the dread reality was forced upon her, and in bitter tones she cried, " Mother's dead, mother's dead, and I am all alone t Oh ! mother, mother, come back again to me 1" The young man's heart was touched, and taking the child's little red hands in his, he rubbed them gently, trying to soothe her grief ; while his sister, summoning the inmates from the adjoining room, gave orders that the body should receive the neces- sary attention ; then, learning as much as was pos- sible of Dora's history, and assuring her that she should be provided for until her aunt came, she went away, promising to return next morning and be pres- ent at the humble funeral. That evening, as Dora sat weeping by the coffin in which her mother lay, a beautiful young girl, with eyes of deepest blue, and locks of golden hair, smiled a joyous welcome to him whose first New Year's call had been in the chamber of death, and whose last was to her, the petted child of fashion. " I had almost given you up, and was just going to cry," she said, laying her little snownake of a hand upon the one which that morning had chafed the small, stiff fingers of Dora Deane, and which now tenderly pressed those of Ella Grey as the young man answered, " I have not felt like going out to- day, for my first call saddened me ; " and then, with his arm around the fairy form of Ella, his affianced bride, he told her of the cold, dreary room, of the mother colder still, and of the noble little girl, who had divested herself of her own clothing, that her mother might be warm. IO DORA DEANE, OR, Ella Grey had heard of such scenes before had cried over them in books ; but the idea that she could do anything to relieve the poor, had never en- tered her mind. It is true, she had once given-a party dress to a starving woman, and a pound of candy to a ragged boy who had asked for aid, but here her charity ended ; so, though she seemed to listen with interest to the sad story, her mind was wandering elsewhere, and when her companion ceased, she merely said, " Romantic, wasn't it. " There was a look of disappointment on the young man's face, which was quickly observed by Ella, who attributed it to its right source, and hastened to ask numberless questions about Dora "How old was she ? Did he think her pretty, and hadn't she better go to the funeral the next day and bring her home for a waiting-maid ? she wanted one sadly, and from the description, the orphan girl would just suit." " No, Ella,'* answered her lover ; " the child is going to live in the country with some relatives, and will be much better off there." " The country," repeated Ella. " / would rather freeze in New York than to live in the dismal country." Again the shadow came over the gentleman's brow, as he said, "Do you indeed object so much to a home in the country ? " Ella knew just wnat he wanted her to say ; so she answered, " Oh, no, I can be happy anywhere with you, but do please let me spend just one winter in the city after " Here she paused, while the bright blushes broke over her childish face. She could not say, even to torn, " after we are married," so he said it for her, drawing her closer to his side, and forgetting Dora THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. II Deane, as he painted the joyous future when Ella would be all his own. Eleven o'clock sounded from more than one high tower, and at each stroke poor Dora Deane moaned in anguish, thinking to herself, " Last night at this time she was here." Eleven o'clock, said Ella Grey's diamond set watch, and pushing back her wavy hair, the young man kissed her rosy cheek, and bade her a fond good-night. As lie reached the door, she called him back, while she asked him the name of the little girl who had so excited his sympathy. " I do not know," he answered. " Strange that I forgot to inquire. But no matter. We shall never meet again ; " and feeling sure that what he said was true he walked away. CHAPTER IIL DORA'S RELATIVES. THERE hundred miles to the westward, and the storm, which, on New Year's eve, swept so furiously over all parts of the State, was perceptible only in the dull, gray clouds which obscured the wintry sky, shutting out the glimmering starlight, and apparently making still brighter the many cheerful lights which shone forth from the handsome dwellings in the village of Dunwood. Still the night was intensely cold, and, as Mrs. Sarah Deane, in accordance with her daughter Eugenia's request, added a fresh bit of coal to the already well-filled stove, she sighed in- voluntarily, wishing the weather would abate, for the winter's store of fuel was already half gone, and the contents of her parse were far too scanty to meet ta DORA DEANB, OR, the necessity of her household, and at the same time minister to the wants of her extravagant daughters. " Bat I can economize in one way," she said, half alond, and crossing the room she turned down the astral lamp which was burning brightly upon the table. " Don't, pray mother, make it darker than a dun- geon 1 " petulantly exclaimed Eugenia, herself turn- ing back the lamp. " I do like to have rooms light enough to see one's self ; " and glancing complacently at the reflection of her handsome face, in the mirror opposite, she resumed her former lounging attitude upon the sofa. Mrs. Deane sighed again, but she had long since ceased to oppose the imperious Eugenia, who was to all intents and purposes the mistress of the house, and who oftentimes led her mother and weaker- minded sister into the commission of acts from which they would otherwise have shrunk. Possessed of a large share of romance, Eugenia had given to their B'ace the name of *' Locust Groove ; " and as Mrs. eane managed to keep up a kind of outside show by practising the most pinching economy in every- thing pertaining to the actual comfort of ner family, they were looked upon as being quite wealthy and aristocratic by those who saw nothing of their inner life who knew nothing of the many shifts and turns in the kitchen to save money for the decoration of the parlors, or of the frequent meager meals eaten from the pantry shelf, in order to make amends for the numerous dinner and evening parties which Eugenia and Alice insisted upon giving, and which their frequent visits to their friends rendered necessary. Extensive servant-hire was of course too expensive, and, as both Eugenia and Alice affected the utmost oont tuipt for anything like work t their mother toiled THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. IJ in the kitchen from morning until night, assisted only by a young girl, whose mother constantly threat* ened to take her away, unless her wages were in- creased, a thing which seemed impossible. It was jnst after this woman's weekly visit, and in the midst of preparations for a large dinner party, that Mrs. Deane received her sister's letter, to which there was added a postscript, in a strange hand- writing, saying she was dead. There was a moisture m Mrs. Deane's eyes as she read the touching lines : and leaning her heated forehead against the cool window pane, she, too, thought of the years gone by of the gentle girl, the companion of her child- hood, who had never given her an unkind word of him the only man she had ever loved and Dora was their child Fanny's child and John's. " Yes," she said, half aloud, " I will give her a home," but anon there came stealing over her the old bitterness of feeling, which she had cherished since she knew that Fanny was preferred to herself, and then the evil of her nature whispered, " No, I will not receive their child. We can hardly manage to live now, and it is not my duty to incur an ad- ditional expense. Dora must stay where she is, and if I do not answer the letter, she will naturally sup- pose I never received it." Thus deciding the matter, she crushed the letter into her pocket and went back to her work ; bat there was an added weight upon her spirits, white continually ringing in her ears were the words, " Care for John's child and mine." " If I could only make her of any use to me," she said at last, and then as her eye fell upon Bridget, whose stay with her was BO uncertain, the dark thought entered her mind, " Why could not Dora fill her place P It would l 14 DORA DEANE, OR, A great saving, and of course the child must expect to work." Still, reason as she would, Mrs. Deane could not at once bring herself to the point of making a menial of one who was every way her equal ; neither could she decide to pass the letter by unnoticed ; so for the present she strove to dismiss the subject, which was not broached to her daughters until the evening on which we first introduced them to our readers. Then taking her seat by the brightly burning lamp, she drew the letter from her pocket and read it aloud, while Alice drummed an occasional note upon the piano and Eugenia beat a tattoo upon the carpet with her delicate French slipper. . " Of course she won't come/' said Alice, as her mother finished reading. " It was preposterous in Aunt Fanny to propose such a thing 1 " and she glanced towards Eugenia for approbation of what she had said. Eugenia's quick, active mind had already looked at the subject in all its bearings, and in like manner with her mother she saw how Dora's presence there would be a benefit ; so to Alice's remark she replied : " It will sound well for us to have a cousin in the poorJiouse, won't it ? For my part, I propose that she comes, and then be made to earn her own living. We can dismiss Bridget, who is only two years older than Dora, and we shall thus avoid quarreling reg- nlarly with her vixenish mother, besides saving a iollar every week " " So make a drudge of Dora," interrupted Alice. " Better leave her in the poorhouse at once." " Nobody intends to make a drudge of her," re- torted Eugenia. "Mother works in the kitchen, and I wonder if it will hurt Dora to help her Every girl ought to learn to work \ " THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 1% " Except Eugenia Deane," suggested Alice, laugh ing, to think how little her sister's practise accorded with her theory. At this point in the conversation, Bridget entered, bringing a letter which bore the India post-mark, together with the unmistakable handwriting of Na- thaniel Deane 1 " A letter from Uncle "Nat, as I live I " exclaimed Eugenia. " What is going to happen ? He hasn't written before in years. I do wish I knew when he expected to quit this mundane sphere, and how much of his money he intends leaving me 1 " By this time Mrs. Deane had broken the seal, ut- tering an exclamation of surprise as a check for $500 fell into her lap. "Five hundred dollars!" screamed Eugenia, catching up the check and examining it closely, to see that there was no mistake. " The old miser has really opened his heart. Now, we'll have some genuine silver forks for our best company, so we shan't be in constant terror lest some one should dis- cover that they are only plated. I'll buy that set of vearls at Mercer's, too, and, Alice, you and I will nave some new furs. I'd go to Rochester to-morrow, if it were not Sunday. What shall we get for you, mother ? A web of cloth, or an ounce of sewing silk ? " and the heartless girl turned towards her mother, whose face was white as ashes, as she said faintly : " The money is not ours. It is Dora's to be used for her benefit." " Not ours ! What do you mean I It can't be true I" cried Eugenia, snatching the letter, and reading therein a confirmation of her mother's words. After a slight apology for his long silence, TJncle Nat had spoken of Fanny's letter, saying he supposed be most be dead ere this, and that Dora was prob- 16 DORA DEAKB, OR, ably living with her aunt, as it was quite natural she should do. Then he expressed his willingness to de- fray all the expense which she might be, adding that though he should never see her, as he was resolved to spend his days in India, he still wished to think of her as an educated and accomplished woman. " Accompanying this letter, he wrote, " is a check for $500, to be used for Dora's beneh't. Next year I will make another remittance, increasing the allov- emce as she grows older. I have more money than I need, and I know of no one on whom I would sooner expend it than the child of Fanny Moore." " Spiteful old fool I " muttered Eugenia, " I could relieve him of any superfluous dimes he may possess." But even Eugenia, heartless as she was, felt hum- bled and subdued for a moment, as she read the lat- ter part of her uncle's letter, from which we give the following extract : " I am thinking, to-day, of the past, Sarah, and I grow a very child again as I recall the dreary years which have gone over my head, since last I trod the shores of my fatherland. You, Sarah, know much of my^ history. You know that I was awkward, ec- centric, nncouth, and many years older than my handsomer, more highly gifted brother; and yet with all this fearful odds against me, you know that I ventured to love the gentle, fair-haired Fanny, your adopted sister. Yon know this, I say, but you do not Know how madly, how passionately such as I can lovedid love ; nor how the memory of Fanny's ringing laugh, and the thought of the sunny smile, with which I knew she would welcome me home again, cheered me on my homeward voyage, when in the long night-watches I paced the vessel's deck, while tne stars looked coldly down upon me, and there was no sound to break the deep stillneaa, save THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. If the heavy swell of the sea. At the village inn where I stopped for a moment ere going to my father's house, I first heard that her hand was plighted to an- other, and in my wild frenzy, I swore that my rival, whoever it might be, should die ! " It was my youngest brother he, who, on the sad night when our mother died, had laid his baby head upon my bosom, and wept himself to sleep he whose infant steps I had guided, bearing him often in my arms, lest he should ' dash his foot against a stone.' And his life I had sworn to take, for had he not come between me and the only object I had ever loved ? There was no one stirring about the house, for it was night, and the family had retired. But the door was unfastened, and I knew the way up- stairs-. I found him, as I had expected, in our old room, and all alone ; for Richard was away. Had he been there, it should make no difference, I said, but he was absent, and John was calmly sleeping with his face upturned to the soft moonlight which came in through the open window. I had not seen him for two long years, and now there was about him a look so much like that of my dead mother when she lay in her coffin bed, that the demon in my heart was softened, and I seemed to hear her dying words again, ' I can trust you, Nathaniel ; and to your pro- tection, as to a second mother, I commit my little boy.' "The little boy, whose curls were golden then, was now a brown-haired man my brother the son of my angel mother, whose spirit, in that dark hour of my temptation, glided into the silent room, and stood between me and her youngest born, so that ho was not harmed, and / was saved from the curse of a brother's blood. " ' Lead as not into temptation/ came back to me, 1 8 DORA DEANE, OR, just as I liad said it kneeling at my mother's side ; and covering my face with my hands, I thanked God, who had kept me from so great a sin. Bending low, I whispered in his ear his name, and in a moment hia arms were around my neck, while he welcomed me back to the home, which, he said, was not home without me. And then, when the moon had gone down, and the stars shone too faintly to reveal his blushes, he told me the story of his happiness, to which I listened, while the great drops of sweat rolled down my face and moistened the pillow on which my head was resting. " But why linger over those days of anguish, which made me an old man before my time ? I knew I could not stand by and see her wedded to another neither could I look upon her after she was another's wife ; so, one night, when the autumn days were come, I asked her to go with me out beneath the locust trees, which skirted my father's yard. It was there I had seen her for the first time, and it was there I would take my final leave. Of the particulars of that interview I remember but little, for I was terribly excited. We never met again, for ere the morrow's daylight dawned, I had left my home for- ever " Then followed a few more words concerning Dora, with a request that she should write to him, as he would thus be able to judge something of her char- acter ; and there the letter ended. For a time there was silence, which was broken at last by Eugenia, whose active mind had already come to a decision. Dora would live with them, of course- it was best that she should, and there was no longer need for dismissing Bridget. The five hundred dol- lars obviated that necessity, and it was theirs, too - theirs by wa,v of remuneration for giving Dora a THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 19 home theirs to spend as they pleased. And she still intended to have the furs, the pearls, and the silver forks, just the same as though the money had been a special gift to her ! " Suppose Uncle Nat should happen, to <;om0 home, and Dora should tell him ? " suggested Alice, who did not so readily fall iii with her sister's views. "He'll never do that in the world," returned Eugenia. " And even if he should, Dora will have nothing to tell, for she is not supposed to know of the money. If we feed, clothe, and educate her, it is all we are required to do." " But would that be exactly just ? " faintly inter- posed Mrs. Deane, whose perceptions of right and wrong were not quite so blunted as those of her daughter, who, in answer to her question, proceeded to advance many good reasons why Dora, for a time at least, should be kept in ignorance of the fact that her uncle supported her, and not her aunt. " We can manage her better if she thinks she is dependent upon us. And then, as she grows older, she will not be continually asking what has become of the money, which, as I understand the matter, is really ours, and not hers." Still, Mrs. Deane was not quite convinced, but he knew how useless it would be to argue the point ; BO she said nothing, except to ask how Dora was to get there, as she could not come alone. " I have it," answered Eugenia. ie could repair, when the day's toil was done, but jfilla would not hear of housekeeping. To be sure, it would be very pleasant to keep up a grand estab- lishment and give splendid dinner-parties, but she kaew that Howard, with his peculiar notions, would expect her to do just as his " dear, fussy old mother did," and that, she wouldn't for a moment think of, for the really " did not know the names of one-half the queer-looking things in the kitchen." " She will improve as she grows older she ia very young yet, but little more than eighteen/' thought Mr. Hastings ; and his heart softened towards her, as he iemembered the kind of training she had re- ceived from her mother, who was a pure slave of fashion, and would have deemed her daughters degraded had they possessed any knowledge of work. And still, when the aristocratic Howard Hastings had sued for Ella's hand, she felt honored, notwith- standing that both his mother and sister were known to be well . killed in everything pertaining to what she called '* drudgery." To remove his wife from her mother^ influence, and at the same time pro THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 37 long her life, for she was really very delicatej was Mr. Hasting's aim ; and as he had always fancied a home in the country, he at last purchased Hose Hill farm in spite of Ella's tears, and the frowns of her mother, who declared it impossible for her daughter to live without society, and pronounced all country people "rough, ignorant and vulgar." All this Ella believed, and though she was far too amiable and sweet-tempered to be really angry, she came very near sulking all the way from New 1'ork to Dunwpod. But when at the depot, she met the new carriage and horses which had been purchased expressly for herself, she was somewhat mollified and telling her husband " he was the best man in tho world," she took the reins in her own little soft, white hands, and laughed aloud as she saw how the spirited creatures obeyed her slightest wish. From the par- lor windows of Locust Grove, Eugenia and her sister looked out upon the strangers, pronouncing Mr. Hastings the most elegant-looking man they had ever seen, while his wife, the girlish Ella, was thought far too pale to be very beautiful. Near the gate at the entrance to Rose Hill, was a clear limpid stream, where the school-children often played, and where they were now assembled. A little apart from the rest, seated upon a mossy bank, with her bare feet in the running water, and her rich, auburn hair shading her brown cheeks, was Dora Deane, not dreaming this time, but watching so in- tently a race between tAVO of her companions, that she did not gee the carriage until it was directly opposite. Then, guessing who its occupants were she started up, coloring crimson as she saw the lady's eyes fixed upon her, and felt sure she was th^ subject of remark. ' Loot, Howard," said Ella. " I suppose that ii 38 DORA DEANE, OR, what you call a rural sight a barefoot girl, with a burnt face and huge sunbonnet ? " Ere Mr. Hastings could reply, Dora, wishing to redeem her character, which she was sure she had lost by having been caught with her feet in the brook, darted forward and opening the gate, held it for them to pass. " Shall I give her some money ? " softly whispered Ella, feeling for her purse. " Hush-sh 1 " answered Mr. Hastings, for he knew that money would be an insult to Dora, who felt more than repaid by the pleasant smile he gave her as he said, " Thank you, miss/' "I have seen a face like his before," thought Dora, as she walked slowly down the road, while the carriage kept on its way, and soon carried Ella to her new home. Not to be pleased with Rose Hill was impossible, and as the young wife's eye fell upon the handsome building, with its cool, vine-wreathed piazza upon the shaded walks, the sparkling fountains and the thousands of roses which were now in full bloom, she almost cried with delight, even forgetting, for a time, that she was in the " horrid country." But she was ere long reminded of the fact by Mrs. Leah, who told of the " crowds of gaping people," who had been up to see the house. With a deprecating glance at the village where the " gaping people " were supposed to live, Ella drew nearer to her husband, expressing a wish that the good folks of Dunwood would confine their calls to the house and grounds, and not be troubling her. But in this she was des- tined to be disappointed, for the inhabitants of Dunwood were friendly, social people, who knew no good reason why they should not be on terms of equal- ity with the little lady of Hose Hill ; and one after- THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 39 noon, about a week after her arrival at Dunwood, she was told that some ladies were waiting for her in the parlor. "Dear me ! Sophy/' said she, while a frown for an instant clouded her pretty face, " tell them I'm not at home." " But I just told them you were/' answered Sophy> adding that " the ladies were well-dressed and fine- looking," and suggesting that her young mistress should wear down something more appropriate than the soiled white muslin wrapper in which she had lounged all day, because ' ' it was not worth her while to dress, when there was no one but her Imsband to see her." This, however, Ella refused to do. " It was good enough for country folks/' she said, as she rather reluctantly descended to the parlor, where her first glance at her visitors made her half regret that she had not followed Sophy's advice. Mrs. Judge Howell and her daughter-in-law were refined, culti- vated women, and ere Ella had conversed with them five minutes, she felt that if there was between them any point of inferiority, it rested with herself, and not with them. They had traveled much, both in the Old and New World ; and though their home was in Boston, they spent almost every summer in Dunwood, which Mrs. Howell pronounced a most delightful village, assuring Ella that she could not well avoid being happy and contented. Very won deringly the large childish blue eyes went up to the face of Mrs. Howell, who, interpreting aright their expression, casually remarked that when she was young, she fell into the foolish error of thinking there could be nobody outside the walls of a city. " But the experience of sixty years has changed my mind materially," said she, " for I have met quit* 4O DORA DEANE, OR, as many refined and cultivated people in the country as in the city." This was a new idea to Ella, and the next visitors, who came in just after Mrs. Howell left, were obliged to wait while she made quite an elaborate toilet. " Oh, Ella, how much better you are looking than you were airhour or two since," exclaimed Mr. Hast- ings, who entered the chamber just as his wife was leaving it. "There's company in the parlor/' answered Ella, tripping lightly away, while her husband walked on into the dressing-room, \vhere he stepped first over a pair of slippers, then over a muslin wrapper, and next over a towel, which Ella in her haste had left upon the floor, her usual place for everything. This time the visitors proved to be Eugenia and Alice, with the first of whom the impulsive Ella was perfectly delighted, she was so refined, so genteel, so richly dressed, and assumed withal such a patro- nizing air, that the shortsighted Ella felt rather overawed, particularly when she spoke of her "uncle in India," with whom she was " such a favorite/* During their stay, servants were introduced as a topic of conversation, and on that subject Eugenia was quite as much at home as Mrs. Hastings, des- canting at large upon the many annoyances one was compelled to endure, both from the " ignorance and impertinence of hired help." Once or twice, too, the words " my waiting-maid " escaped her lips, and when at last she took her leave, she had the satisfac- tion of knowing that Mrs. Hastings was duly im- pressed with a sense of her importance. " Such charming people I never expected to find in the country, and so elegantly dressed too," thought Ella, as from her window she watched them walk- ing slowly down the long avenue. That silk of Misa THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 41 Engeniate could not have cost less than two dollar* a yard, and her hands, too, were as soft and white a mine. They must be wealthy those Deanes : X wonder if they ever give any par ties. " And then, as she remembered sundry gossamei fabrics which were dignified by the title of party dresses, and which, with many tears, she had folded away as something she should never need in the country, she exclaimed aloud, " Why, can't / have * party here as well as at home ? The house is a great deal larger than the long narrow thing on which mama prides herself so much. And then it will be such fun to show off before the country people, who, of course, are not all as refined as the Deanes. I'll speak to Howard about it immediately." " Speak to me about what ? " asked Mr. Hastings, who had entered the parlor in time to hear the last words of his wife. Very briefly Ella stated to him her plan of giving a large party as soon as a sufficient number of the village people had called. "You know you wish me to be sociable with them," she continued, as she saw the slightly comical expression of her husband's face ; " and how can I do it better than by inviting them to my house ? " " I am perfectly willing for the party," answered Mr. Hastings, " but I do rather wonder what has so soon changed your mind." "Oh, nothing much," returned Ella, "only the people don't seem half as vulgar as mama said they would. I wish you could see Eugenia Deane. She s perfectly magnificent wears a diamond ring, Val- enciennes lace, and all that. Her mother is very wealthy, isn't she ? " " I nave never supposed so if you mean the widow Deane, who lives at the place called ' Locust 42 DORA DEANE, OR, Grove,' " answered Mr. Hastings ; and Ella con. tinned, " Yes, she is, I am sure, from the way Eugenia talked. They keep servants, I know, for she spoke of a waiting-maid. Then, too, they have an old bachelor uncle in India, with a million or more, and these two young ladies will undoubtedly inherit it all at his death." " Miss Deane must have been very communica tive," said Mr. Hastings, who , understood the world much better than his wife, and who readily guessed that Miss Eugenia had passed herself off for quite as much as she was. " It was perfectly natural for her to tell me what she did," answered Ella, " and I like her so much t I mean to drive over there soon, and take her out riding/' Here the conversation was interrupted by the ringing of the door-bell, and it was not again re- sumed until the Monday morning following, when, at the breakfast-table, Ella asked for the carriage to be sent round, as " she was going to call at Mrs. Deane's, and take the young ladies to ride." " But it is washing-day," suggested Mr. Hastings, wishing to tease his wife. "And nothing, I am told, mortifies a woman more than to be caught with her hair in papers, and her arms in the suds. So, if you value your friend Eugenia's feelings, you had better wait until to-morrow." "Suds, Howard! What do you mean?" asked the indignant Ella. " Eugenia Deane's hands never saw a wash-tub ! Why, they are almost as white as mine." And the little lady glanced rather admir- ingly at the small snowy fingers, whith handled so gracefully the heavy knife and fork of silver. " You have my permission to go," said Mr. Has- tings, " but I am inclined to think you'll have to THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 43 watt a long time for your friends to make their ap- pearance. Mentally resolving not to tell him if she did, Ella ran up to her room, where, leaving her morning dress in the middle of the floor, and donning a hand- some plaid silk, she descended again to the parlor, and suggested to her husband the propriety of bring- ing the young ladies home with her to dinner, al- leging, as one reason, that "there was no use ol having a silver dining set and nice things, unless there was somebody to see them/* " And am not / somebody ? " asked Mr. Has- tings, playfully winding his arm around the little creature, who answered, "Why, yes but mama never thought it worth her while always to have the lest tilings and fix up when there was no one to dinner but us and father ; and I don't think I need to be so particular as when I was Ella Grey and you were Mr. Hastings, for now I am your wife, and you are -" Here she paused, while she stooped down to caress a huge Newfoundland clog, which came bounding in. Then, remembering she had not finished her sentence, she added after a moment, " And you are only Howard !" Silenced, if not convinced, Mr. Hastings walked away, wondering if every husband, at the expiration of fifteen months, reached the enviable position of being " only Howard ! " Half an hour later, and Ella Hastings, having left orders with Mrs. Leah for a " company dinner/' was riding down the shaded avenue into the highway, where she bade the coachman drive in the direction of Locust Grove. DORA r>BANE,OR. CHAPTER VIL THE VISIT. THE plain though comfortable breakfast of drj toast, bated potatoes and black tea was over. This morning it had been eaten from the kitchen table ; for, as Mr. Hastings had surmised, it was washing day, and on such occasions, wishing to save work, Mrs. Deane would not suffer the dining-room to be occupied. To this arrangement the proud Eugenia submitted the more readily, as she knew that at this hour they were not liable to calls ; so she who had talked of her waiting-maid and wealthy uncle to Mrs. Hastings, sat down to breakfast with her waiting- maid eating her potatoes with a knife and cooling her tea in her saucer ; two points which in the parlor she loudly denounced as positive marks of ill breeding, but which in the kitchen, where there was no one to see her, she found vastly convenient ! Piles of soiled clothes were scattered over the floor, and from a tub standing near, a volume of steam was rising, almost hiding from view the form of Dora Deaue, whose round red arms were diving into the suds, while she to herselfvvas softly repeating the lesson in History, that day to be recited by her class, and which she had learned the Saturday night previous, well know- ing that Monday's duties would keep her from school the entire day. In the chamber above her long, straight hair plaited up in braids, so as to give it the wavy ap- pearance she had so much admired in Mrs. Hastings THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 45 her head enveloped in a black silk apron and her hands incased in buckskin gloves, was Eugenia, getting her room to rights, and complaining with every breath of her hard lot, in being thus obliged to exert herself on hot summer mornings. " Don't you wish you were rich as Mrs. Hastings ? * asked Alice, who chanced to come in. " That I do," returned Eugenia. " I have been uncomfortable and discontented ever since I called upon her, for I can't see why there should be such a difference. She has all the money, servants and dresses which she wants, besides the handsomest and most elegant man for a husband ; while I, Eugenia Deane, who am ten times smarter than she, and could appreciate these things so much better, am obliged to make all sorts of shifts, just to keep up appearances. But didn't I impress her with a sense of mj greatness /" she added, after a pause, and Alice rejoined," Particularly when you talked of your waiting-maid ! I don't see, Eugenia, how you dare do such things, for of course Mrs. Hastings will eventually know that you mean Dora." " I'm not so sure of that," returned Eugenia ; "and even if she does, I fancy I have tact enough to mooth it over with her, for she is not very deep." For a moment Alice regarded her sister intently, and then said/* I wonder from whom you take your character for deception." " I've dwelt upon that subject many a time my- self," answered Eugenia," and I have at last come to the conclusion that as father was not famous for sense of any kind, I must be a second and revised edition of mother but hark, don't you hear the roll of wheels ? " And springing up, she reached the window just as Mrs. Hastings alighted from her carriage which stood before the gate. 46 DORA DEANE, OR, " Great goodness ! " she exclaimed, " there's Mrs. Hastings coming here to call and / in this predica- ment. What shall I do ? " " Let her wait, of course, until we change our dresses," answered Alice, and rushing down the stairs, Eugenia bade Dora " show the lady into the parlor," adding, " and if she asks for me, say I am suffering from a severe headache, but you presume I will see her." Perfectly delighted at the idea of standing face to face with a person of whom she had heard so much- Dora removed her high-necked apron, and throwing it across the tub so that the sleeves trailed upon the floor, was hurrying away, when her foot becoming accidentally entangled in the apron, she fell headlong to the floor, bringing with her tub, suds, clothes and all ! To present herself in this drenched condition was impossible, and in a perfect tremor lest Mrs. Hastings should go away, Eugenia vibrated, brush in hand, between her own chamber and the head of the kitchen stairs, scolding Dora unmercifully in the one place, and pulling at the long braids of her hair in the other. At last, just as Mrs. Hastings was about despairing of being heard, and was beginning to think that pos- sibly her husband might be right and Eugenia in the suds after all, a chubby, brown-faced girl appeared, and after giving her a searching, curious glance, showed her into the parlor. "Are the young ladies at home?" asked Mrs. Hastings ; and Dora, who had never told a falsehood in her life, and had no intention of doing so now, replied that they were and would soon be down ; after which, with a low courtesy she went back to the scene of her late disaster, while Mrs. Hastings busied herself awhile by looking around the room THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 47 which, though small, was very handsomely fur- nished. At last, beginning to grow sleepy, she took up a book and succeeded in interesting herself so far as to nod quite approvingly, when the rustle of female garments aroused her, and in a moment Eugenia and Alice swept into the room. Both were tastefully dressed, while about Eugenia there was an air of languor befitting the severe headache, of which Mrs. Hastings was surprised to hear. "Then that girl didn't tell you as I bade her to do," said Eugenia ; adding, that " Mrs. Hastings must have thought her very rude to keep her so long waiting." But Mrs. Hastings was too good-natured to think anything, and, after a few commonplace remarks, she told the object of her call, saying, that " the fresh air would, undoubtedly, do Eugenia good." In this opinion the young lady fully concurred, and, half an hour later, she was slowly riding through the principal streets of Dunwood, wondering if her acquaintances did not envy her for being on such terms of intimacy with the fashionable Mrs. Hastings. Very politely were the young ladies received by Mr. Hastings, on their arrival at Rose Hill, and through- out the entire day their admiration, both for the place and its owner, increased, though Eugenia could not conceal from herself the fact, that she stood very touch in fear of the latter, whose keen black eyes seemed to read her very thoughts. How such a man came to marry Ella Grey, was to her a puzzle ; and if occasionally she harbored the thought that Eugenia Deane was far better suited to be the mistress of Howard Hastings's home than the childish creature he had chosen, she was only guilty of what had, in a similar manner, been done by more than one New 48 DORA DEANE, OR, York belle. Dinner being over, Ella led the way to an upper balcony, which opened from her chamber, and which was a cool, shaded spot. Scarcely were they seated, when remembering something she had left in the parlor, she went back for it, and, in re- turning, she ran up the stairs so swiftly that a sudden dizziness came over her, and with a low cry she fell half fainting into the arms of her husband, who bent tenderly over her, while Eugenia made many anxious inquiries as to what was the matter, arid if she were often thus affected. " Yes, often," answered Ella, who began to revive ; then, as the perspiration gathered thickly about the white lips, she pressed her blue-veined hand upon her side, and cried, " The pain the pain I It has come again. Country air won't do me any good. I shall die of consumption, just as mother said/' And as if she saw indeed the little grave, on which the next summer's sun would shine, she hid her face in her husband's bosom, and sobbed aloud. Instantly a dark thought flashed upon Eugenia a thought which even she would not harbor, and casting it aside, she drew nearer to the weeping Ella, striving by an increased tenderness of manner to atone for having dared to think of a time when the little willow chair on the balcony would be empty, and Howard Hastings free. Soon rallying, Ella feigned to smile at her discomposure, saying that " consumption had been preached to her so much that she always felt frightened at the slightest pain in her side," thoughtlessly adding, as she glanced at her husband, " I wonder if Howard would rniss me any, were 1 really to die." A dark shadow settled upon Mr. Hastings's face, but he made no reply ; and Eugenia, who was watching him, fancied she could read his thoughts ) THE BAST INDIA UNCLB. 49 but when they at last started for home, and she aair how tenderly he wrapped a warm shawl around hii delicate young wife, who insisted upon going with them, she felt that however frivolous and uncom- panionable Ella might be, she was Howard Hastings's wife, and, as such, he would love and cherish her to the last. By her window in the attio sat Dora Deane, poring over to-morrow's lessons ; but as the silvery voice of Ella fell upon her ear, she arose, and going to her cousin's chamber, looked out upon the party as they drew near the gate. " How beautiful she is ! " she whispered to herself, as, dropping her shawl, and flinging back her golden curls, Ella sprang up to reach a branch of locust blossoms, which grew above her head. Then, as she saw how carefully Mr. Hastings re- placed the shawl, drawing his wife's arm within his own, she stole back to her room, and, resuming her Beat by the^ window, dreamed, as maidens of thirteen will, of a time away in the future, when she, too, might perhaps be loved even as was the gentle Ella Hastings. CHAPTER VIIL THE PARTY. ONE pleasant July morning, the people of Dun wood were electrified by the news that on Thursday even-? ing, Mrs. Howard Hastings would be at home to be- tween one and two hundred of her friends. Among the first invited was Eugenia, who had been Mrs. Hastings's chief adviser, kindly enlightening her aa to the somebodies and nobodies of the town, and ren 4 SO DORA DEANE. OR. dering herself so generally useful, that, in a fit of gratitude, Mrs. Hastings had promised her her brother Stephen, a fast young man, who was expected to be present at the party. To appear well in his eyes was, therefore, Eugenia's ambition ; and the time which was not spent in giving directions at Hose Hill, was occupied at home in scolding, because her mother would not devise a way by which she could obtain a new pink satin dress, with lace overskirt, and flowers to match. It was in vain that Mrs. Deane sought to convince her daughter how impossible it was to raise the nec- essary funds. Eugenia was determined ; and at last, by^ dint of secretly selling a half -worn dress to one Irish girl, a last year's bonnet to another, and a broch6 shawl to another, she succeeded in obtaining enough for the desired purchase, lacking five dollars, and this last it seemed impossible to procure. Bat Eugenia never despaired ; and a paragraph read one evening in a city paper, suggested to her a plan which she resolved to execute immediately. It was nearly dark ; her mother and sisters were in the village ; Dora was gone on an errand, and she was alone. Half reluctantly, she opened the stair door which led to Dora's room, the low room in the attic. Up the steep staircase, and through the narrow hall she went, treading softly, and holding her breath, as if she feared lest the dead, from her far-off grave in the great city, should hear her noise- less footfall, and come forth to prevent the wrong she meditated. But no, Fanny Deane slept calmly in her coffin, and Eugenia kept on her way un- molested, until the chamber was reached. Then, indeed, she hesitated, for there was, to her, some- thing terrifying in the darkness which had gathered in the corners of the room, and settled lke a pall THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. $1 upon the old green trunk. To reach that and secura the treasure it contained, would have been the work of a moment ; but, wholly powerless to advance, Eugenia stood still, while the cold perspiration started from every pore. " I can do anything but that" she said, at last, and, as if the words had given her strength to move, she turned back, gliding again through the narrow hall, and down the steep stairway, out into the open air ? and when, that night, as she often did, Dora looked for her mother's beautiful hair, it lay in its ac- customed place, unruffled and unharmed ; and the orphan child, as she pressed it to her lips, dreamed not of the danger which had threatened it, or of the snare about to be laid for herself by Eugenia, who could not yet give up the coveted dress. Next morning, as Dora stood before the mirror, arranging her long, luxuriant hair, which she usually wore in braids, hanging down her back, Eugenia came up, and with an unusual degree of kindness in her manner, offered to fix it for her, commenting the while on the exceeding beauty of the rich auburn tresses, and saying, that if she were in Dora's place she would have it cut 0jf, as by this means she would, when grown up, have much handsomer hair than if it were suffered to remain long. Dora re- membered having heard her mother say the same j but she had a pride in her hair, which was longer and thicker than any of her companions*; so she said nothing until Eugenia, who, to serve her own purpose, would not hesitate to tell a falsehood, and who knew how much Dora admired Mrs. Hastings, spoke of that lady's beautiful curls, saying they were all th? result of her having worn her hair quite short untu 'she was sixteen years of age. Then, indeed, Dora wavered. She bad recently goffered much from ths 52 DORA DEANE, OR, headache, too, and ifc might relieve that ; so that when Eugenia offered her a ooral bracelet in exchange for her hair, she consented, and Alice entered the room just as the last shining braid dropped upon the floor. "What upon earth!" she exclaimed, stopping short, and then bursting into a loud laugh at the comical appearance which Dora presented ; for Eugenia had cut close to the head, leaving the hair so uneven that shingling seemed the only alternative, and to this poor Dora finally submitted. When at last the performance was ended, and she glanced at herself in the mirror, she burst into a paroxysm of tears, while Alice tried to soothe her by saying that it really would eventually benefit her hair, and that she would not always look so strangely. But Dora, who began to suspect that it was pure selfishness on Eugenia's part which had prompted the act, felt keenly the injustice done her, and re- fused to be comforted, keeping her room the entire day, and weeping until her eyelids were nearly blistered. Meantime, Eugenia had hurried off to the city with her ill-gotten treasure, on which the miserly old Jew, to whom it was offered, looked with eager longing eyes, taking care, however, to de- preciate its value, lest his customer should expect too much. But Eugenia was fully his equal in manage- ment, and when at night she returned home, she was in possession of the satin, the lace and the flowers, together with several other articles of finery. The next day was the party, and as Dora, besides being exceedingly tasteful, was also neat, and handy with her needle, she was kept from school, stitching the livelong day upon the dainty fabric, a portion of which had been purchased with her hair 1 Oc- casionally, as Eugenia glanced at the swollen eyelida and shorn bead, bending 00 uncomplainingly ore* THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 53 the cloud of lace, her conscience smote her for what she had done ; but one thought of Stephen Qrey and the impression she should make on him, dis- sipated all such regrets ; and when at length the hour for making her toilet arrived, her jaded cousin was literally made to perform all the offices of a waiting-maid. Three times was the tired little girl sent down to the village in quest of something which the capricious Eugenia must have, and which, when brought, was not " the thing at all," and must be exchanged. Up the stairs and down the stairs she went, bringing pins to Alice and powder to Eugenia, enacting, in short, the part of a second Cinderella, except that in her case no kind old godmother with her potent wand appeared to her relief ! They were dressed at last, and very beautifully Eugenia looked in the pink satin and flowing lace, which harmonized so well with her complexion, and which had been bought with the united proceeds of a velvet bonnet, a delaine dress, a broche shawl, and Dora's hair ! "Why don't you compliment me ?" she said to the weary child, who, sick with yesterday's weeping, and the close confinement of to-day, had laid her aching head upon the arm of the lounge. Slowly unclosing her eyes, and fixing them upon her cousin, Dora answered "You do look beautifully. No one will excel you, I am sure, unless it be Mrs. Hastings. I wish I could see how she will dress." " You might go up and look in at the window ; or, if Fd thought of it, I could have secured you the office of door- waiter," said the thoughtless Eugenia, adding, as she held out her shawl for Dora to throw around her, "Don't you wish you could attend a party at Hose Hill ? " 54 DORA DEAKE, OR. There was a sneer accompanying this question which Dora felt keenly. Her little swelling heart was already full, and, with quivering lips and gush- ing tears, she answered, somewhat bitterly " I never expect to be anybody, or go anywhere ; w then, as her services were no longer needed, she ran away to her humble room, where from her window she watched the many brilliant lights which shone from Rose Hill, and caught occasional glimpses of the airy forms which flitted before the open doora and windows. Once she was sure she saw Eugenia upon the balcony, and then, as a sense of the dif- ference between herself and her cousins came over her, she laid her down upon the old green trunk, and covering her face with her hands, cried out, " Nobody cares for me, or loves me either. I wish I had died that winter night. Oh, mother 1 come to me, I am so lonely and so sad. " ' Softly, as if it were indeed the rustle of an angel's wings, came the evening air, through the open case- ment, cooling the feverish brow and drying the tears of the orphan girl, who grew strangely calm ; and when at last the moon looked in upon her, she was sleeping quietly, with a placid smile upon her lips. Years after, and Dora Deane remembered that sum- mer night, when, on the hard green trunk, she slept so soundly as not to hear the angry voice of Eugenia, who came home sadly out of humor with herself and the world at large. At breakfast, next morning, she was hardly on speaking terms with her sister, while Stephen Grey was pronounced " a perfect bore a baboon, witn more hair than brains. "And to that I should not suppose you would object," said Alice, mischievously. "You might find it useful in case of an emergency." THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 55 To this there was no reply, save an angry flash of the black eyes, which, it seems, had failed to interest Stephen Grey, who was far better pleased with the unassuming Alice, and who had paid the haughty Eugenia no attention whatever, except, indeed, to plant his patent leather boot upon one of her lace flounces, tearing it half off, and leaving a sad rent, which could not well be mended. This, then, was the cause of her wrath, which continued for some time ; when really wishing to talk over the events of the evening, she became a little more gracious, and asked Alice how she liked Mrs. Elliott, who had unexpectedly arrived from New York. " I was delighted with her," returned Alice ; " she was such a perfect lady. And hadn't she magnificent hair I Just the color of Dora's," she added, glancing at the little cropped head, which had been so sud- denly divested of its beauty. - " It wasn't all hers, though," answered Eugenia, who invariably saw and spoke of every defect. " I heard her telling Ella that she bought a braid in Rochester as she came up. But what ails you ? " she continued, speaking now to Dora, whose eyes sparkled with some unusual excitement and who replied " You said Mrs. Elliott, from New York. And that was the name of the lady who was so kind to me. Oh, if I only thought it were she, I'd " " Make yourself ridiculous, I dare say/' inter- rupted Eugenia, adding, that " there was more than one Mrs. Elliott in the world, and she'd no idea that so elegant a lady as Mr. Hastings's sister ever troubled herself to look after folks in such a miserable old hovel as the one where Dora had lived." This, however, did not satisfy the child, who, during the week that Mrs. Elliott remained in the $6 BORA DEANE, OR, neighborhood, cast many longing glances in the di- rection of Rose Hill, gazing oft with tearful eyes upon a female figure which sometimes walked upon the balcony, and which, perhaps, was her benefac- tress. One night it was told at Locust Grove that Mrs. Elliott had gone, and then, with a feeling of desolation for which she could not account, Dora again laid her face on the old green trunk and wept. Poor Dora Deane I The path she trod was dark, indeed, but there was light ahead, and even now it wa breaking upon her though she knew it not. CHAPTER IX. DORA AT ROSE HILL. SUMMEB was over. The glorious September days were gone. The hazy October had passed away, and the autumn winds had swept the withered leaves from the tall trees which grew around Rose Hill ; when one cold, rainy November morning, a messen- ger was sent to Mrs. Deane, saying that Mrs. Hastings was sick, and wished to see her. " Mrs. Hastings sent for mother I How funny ! There must be some mistake," said Eugenia, put- ting her head in at the door. " Are you sure it was mother?" " Yes, quite sure," answered the man. " Mrs. Hastings thought she would know what to do for the baby, which was born yesterday, and is a puny little thing." This silenced Eugenia, who waited impatiently THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 12$ 3nr," he said. " Where is she ? Send her to me, and I will see." Dora's governess, who had accompanied them to the country, was sometimes very exacting, and this day she had been unusually cross, on account of her pupil's having failed in one or two lessons. " I'll report you to Mr. Hastings, and see what he can do," she had said as she hurled the French Gram- mar back upon the table. This threat Dora had forgotten, until told that Mr. Hastings had sent for her ; then, fancying he wished to reprimand her, she entered the parlor reluctantly, and rather timidly took a seat upon an ottoman near the window, where he was sitting. During Dora's residence with Mrs. Elliott, she had improved much, both in manner and personal ap- pearance, and others than the Texan planter called her beautiful. The brownish hue, which her skin had acquired from frequent exposure, was giving way to a clearer and more brilliant complexion, while the peculiarly sweet expression of her deep blue eyes would have made a plain face handsome. But Dora's chief point of beauty lay in her hair her beautiful hair of reddish brown. It had grown rapidly, fully verifying Alice's prediction, and in heavy shining braids was worn around her classically shaped head. And Dora sat there very still demurely waiting for Mr. Hastings to speak, wondering if he would be severe, and at last laughing aloud when, in place of the expected rebuke, he asked if she knew Mr. Trevors. " Excuse me,*' she said, as she saw his look of surprise, " Miss Johnson threatened to report me for indolence, and I, thought you were going to scold me. Yes, I know Mr. Trevors. I rode Horseback with him last week.** 126 DORA DEANE, OK, A pang shot through Mr. Hastings's heart, bnt he continued, holding up the letter, " He has sued for your hand. He asks you to be his wife. Will you answer yes ? " And trembling with excitement, he awaited her reply, while the revelation of a new light was faintly dawning upon him. "Mr. Trevors wish me to be his wife that old man ? " she exclaimed, turning slightly pale. " It cannot be ; let me read the letter." And tak ; t>g it from his hand, she stood beneath the chandelier, and read it through, while Mr. Hastings scanned her face to see if he could detect aught to verify his fears. But there was nothing, and breathing more freely, he said, as she returned to him the letter, " Sit down here, Dora, and tell me what I shall say to him. Bnt first consider well, Mr. Trevors is rich, and if money can make you happy, you will be so aa his wife." Dora did not know why it was, but she could not endure to hear him talk in such a calm, unconcerned manner of what was so revolting. It grieved her, and laying her head upon the broad window seat, she began to cry. Mr. Hastings did not this time say "Dora, my child," for Louise had told him she waa not a child, and he began to think so, too. Drawing his chair nearer to her, and laying his hand upon, her hair, he said gently, " will you answer me ? " Yes," she replied, somewhat bitterly. " If Mrs. Elliott is tired of me, I will go away, but not with Mr. Trevors. I would rather die than marry a man I did not love, because of his gold." "Noble girl I" was Mr. Hastings's involuntary ex clamation it, but Dora did not hear it, and looking him in his face, she said. " do yon wih me to mam him?" THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 1 27 "Never, never, * he answered, "him, nor any one else!" " Then tell him so," said she, unmindful of th latter part of the remark. " Tell him I respect him, but I cannot be hiu wife/' And rising to her feet she left the room, to wash away in another fit of tears the excitement produced by her first offer. Very still sat Mr. Hastings when she was gone, thought after thought crowding fast upon him, and half bewildering him by their intensity. He could answer Louise's question now ! It had come to him at lust, sitting there with Mr. Trevor's letter in his hand, and Dora at his feet. Dora who was so dear to him, and his first impulse was to hasten to her Bide, and sue for the love she could not give the gray- haired Texan. "And she will not tell me nay," he said. "It will come to her as it has to me the love we have unconsciously borne each other." lie arose to leave the room, but meeting his sister in the door, he turned back, and seating himself with her in the deep recess of the window, he told her of the mighty love which had been so long maturing, and of whose existence he did not dream until another essayed to come between him and the object of his affection. "And, Louise," he said, " Dora Deane must be mine. Are you willing will you call her sister, and treat her as my wife ? " And Mrs. Elliott answered, "1 know, my brother, that you love Dora Deane. I knew it when I asked you that question, and if to-night 1 tried to tease YOU by making you believe it possible that she cared lor Mr. Trevors, it was to show you the nature of your feelings for her And I am willing that it DORA DEANE, OR, should be so bnt not yet. Yon must not speak to her of love, until yon return. Hear me out," she continued, as she saw in him a gesture of impatience, '"Dora is no longer a child but she is too young to be trammeled with an engagement. And it must not be. You must leave her free till she has seen f more of the world, and her mind is more mature." " Free till another wins her from me/' interrupted Mr. Hastings, somewhat bitterly ; and his sister an- Bwered, " I am sure that will never be, though were you now to startle her with your love she probably would refuse you." " Never" he said emphatically ; and Mrs. Ellioti replied, " I think she would. She respects and ad mires yon, bnt as yon have looked upon her as a child, eo in like manner has she regarded you as a father or, at least the husband of Ella, and such impres- Bious must have time to wear away. Yon would not take her with yon, and it is better to leave her as sb.6 is. I will watch over her and geek to make her what your wife ought to be, and when yon return she will be older, will be capable of judging for herself, and she will not tell yon no. Do you not think my rea- soning good ? *' " I suppose it is/' he replied, " though it is sadly at variance with my wishes. Were I sure no one would come between us, I could more easily follow ' your advice, and were it not that I go for her, I wonld give up my journey at once, and stay where I could watch and see that no one came near." "This I will do," said Mrs. Elliott, "and I fancy I can keep her safe for you." Awhile longer they talked together, and their con- versation was at last interrupted by the appearance Of Dora herself who came to say good night. "Come and sit by me, Dora,* said Mr. Boating* THE EAST JtfDIA UNCLE. I*) Unmindful of his sister's warning glance. " Let me tell you what I wish you to do while I am gone," and moving along upon the sofa, he left a place for her at his side. Scarcely was she seated when a servant appeared, wishing to speak with Mrs. Elliott, and Mr. Hast- ings was left alone with Dora, with whom he merely talked of what he hoped to find her when he returned. Once, indeed, he told her how often he should think of her, when he was far away, and asksd. as a keep- sake a lock of her soft hair. Three days afterwards he went to New York ac- companied by Mrs. Elliott and Dora. He was to sail next morning, and wishing to see as much of *,he latter as possible, he felt somewhat chagrined when, soon after their arrival, his sister insisted upon taking her out for a time, and forbade "lim to follow. For this brief separation, howeve% he was amply repaid when, on the morrow, his sister, who went with him on board the vessel, pJ*.ced in hia hand at parting a daguerreotype, which the told him not to open till she was gone. He obeyed, and while Dora in his sister's home was weeping that he had left them, he in his state-room was gazing rap- turously on a fair young face, which, looking out from its handsome casing, wonld speak to him many a word of comfort when he was afar on, the lonely sea. CHAPTER XVIIL MB. HASTINGS 1ST IKDIA. IT was night again in Calcutta, and in the same room where we first found him was Nathaniel Deane not alone this time, lor standing before him was 9 I3O DORA DEANE, OR, a stranger " an American," he called himself, and the old East Indiaman, when he heard that word, grasped again the hand of his unknown gnest, whose face he curiously scanned to see if before he had looked upon it. But he had not, and pointing him to a chair, he too sat down to hear his errand. Wishing to know something of the character of the individual he had come so far to see, Mr. Hastings, for he it was, conversed awhile upon a variety of subjects, until, feeling sure that 'twas a noble, up right man, with whom he had to deal, he said, " I told you, sir, that I came from New York, and so I did ; but my home is in Duuwood." One year ago, and Uncle Nat would have started with delight at the mention of a place so fraught with remembrances of Dora, but Eugenia's last cruel letter had chilled his love, and now, when he thought of Dora, it was as one incapable of either affection or gratitude. So, for a moment he was silent, and Mr. Hastings, thinking he had not been understood, was about to repeat his remark, when Uncle Nat replied, " My brother's widow lives in Dunwood Mrs. Richard Deane possibly you may have seen her ! " And with a slight degree of awakened in- terest, the little keen black eyes looked out from under their thick shaggy eyebrows at Mr. Hastings, who answered, " I know the family well. Dora is not now at home, but is living with my sister." Many and many a time had Uncle Nat repeated to himself the name of Dora, but never before had he heard it from other lips, and the sound thrilled him strangely, bringing back in a moment all hig olden love for one whose mother had been so dear. In the jet black eyes there was a dewy softness now, and in the tones of his voice a deep tenderness, as, drawing nearer to his guest, he said m a half whisper/ THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 1 3! " Tell me of Tier of Dora for though I never saw her, I knew her mother/' " And loved her too,'* rejoined Mr. Hastings, on purpose to rouse up the old man, who, starting to Tiis feet exclaimed, "How knew you that? You, whom I never saw until to-night ! Who told you that I loved Fannie Deane ? Yes, it is true, young man true, though love does not express what I felt *or her ; she was my all my very life, and when I lost her the world was a dreary blank. But go on tell me of the child, and if she is like her mother. Though how should you know ? You, who never saw my Fannie ? " " I have seen her," returned Mr. Hastings, " but death was there before me, and had marred the beauty of a face which once must have been lovely. Five years ago last January I found her dead, and at her side was Dora, sweetly sleeping with her arms around her mother's neck." " You you," gasped the old man, drawing near to Mr. Hastings "you found them thus ! I could kneel at your feet, whoever you may be, and bless you for coming here to tell me this ; I never knew before how Fannie died. They never wrote me that, but go on and tell me all you know. Did Fannie freeze to death while in India I counted my gold by hundreds of thousands ? " Briefly Mr. Hastings told what he knew of Mrs. Deane's sad death, while the broad chest of Uncle Nafc heaved with broken sobs, and the big tears rolled down his sunken cheeks. " Heaven forgive me for tarrying here, while she was suffering so much I " he cried ; " but what of Dora f She did not die. I have written to her, and sent her many messages, but never a word has she replied, save once" here Uncte Nat'i Toioe grew 132 DORA DEANE, OR, tremulous as he added, " and then she sent me thig look 'twas Fannie's hair," and he held to view a silken tress much like the one which lay next How- ard Hastings's heart ! " Oh, what a child it made of me, the first sight of this soft hair," he continued, carefully returning it to its hiding-place, without a word of the generous manner in which it had been paid for. " Shall I tell him now ?" thought Mr. Hastings, but Uncle Nathaniel spoke before him, and as if talking with himself, said softly, " Oh, how I loved her, and what a wreck that love has made of me. But I might have known it. Twenty-one years' differ- ence in our ages was too great a disparity, even had my face been fair as John's. She was seventeen, and 1 was almost forty ; I am sixty now, and with every year added to my useless life, my love for her has strengthened." " Could you not transfer that love to her daughter P It might make you happier," suggested Mr. Hast- ings, and mournfully shaking his head, Uncle Nat replied, " No, no, I've tried to win her love so hard. Have even thought of going home, and taking her to my bosom as my own darling child but to all my advances, she has turned a deaf ear. I could not make the mother love me I cannot make the child. It isn't in me, the way how, and I must live here all alone. I wouldn't mind that so much, for I'm used to it now, but when I come to die, there will be no- body to hold my head, or to speak to me a word of comfort, unless" God sends Fannie back to me in the dark hour, and who knows but He will ? n Covering his face with his hands, Uncle Nathaniel cried aloud, while Mr. Hastings, touched by his grief, and growing each moment more and more indignant, at the deception practised upon the lonesome oW THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 133 man, gaid slowly and distinctly : " Dora Deane never received your letter never dreamed how much you loved her never knew that you had sent her money. She has been duped abused and you most treach* erously cheated by a base, designing ivoman ! To tell you this, sir, I have come over land and sea I 1 might have written it, but I would rather meet you face to face would know if you ivere worthy to be the uncle of Dora Deane!" Every tear was dried, and bolt upright, his keen eyes flashing gleams of fire, and his glittering teeth ground firmly together, Nathaniel Deane sat, rigid and immovable, listening to the foul story of Dora's wrongs, till Mr. Hastings came to the withholding of the letter, and the money paid for Fannie's hair. Then, indeed, his clenched fists struck fiercely at the empty air, as if Eugenia had been there, and spring- ing half way across the room, he exclaimed, " The wretch! The fiend! TJie beast! The Devil I What shall I call her ? Help me to some name which will be appropriate." "You are doing very well, I think," said Mr. Hastings, smiling in spite of himself at this new phase in the character of the excited man, who, foaming with rage, continued to stalk up and dowu the room, setting his feet upon the floor with venge- ance, and with every breath denouncing Eugenia's perfidy. " Curse her !" he muttered, "for daring thus to maltreat Fannie's child, and for making me to be- lieve her so ungrateful and unkind. And she once cut off her hair to buy a party dress with, you say," he continued, stopping in front of Mr. Hastings, who nodded in the affirmative, while Uncle Nat, as if fancying that the few thin locks, which grew upon his own bald head, were Eugenia's long, black tresses, 134 DORA DEANE, OR, clutched at them savagely, exclaiming, " The selfish iade ! But I will be avenged, and Madam Eugenia shall rue the day that she dared thus deceive me. That mother, too, had not, it seems, been whollj guiltless. She was jealous of my Fannie she has been cruel to my child. I'll remember that, too I n and a bitter laugh echoed through the room, as the wrathful old man thought of revenge. But as the wildest storm expends its fury, so Uncle Nat at last grew calm, though on his dark face there were still traces of the fierce passion which had swept over it. Eesuming his seat and looking across the table at Mr. Hastings, he said, " It is not often that old Nat Deane is moved as you have seen him moved to-night ; but the story you told me set me on fire, and for a moment, I felt that I was going mad. But I am now myself again, and would hear how you learned all this." In a few words, Mr. Hastings told of his foolish fancy for Eugenia, and related the circumstance of his having overheard her conversation at the hotel in Rochester. " And Dora, you say, is beautiful and good," said Uncle Nat ; " and 1 shall one day know her and see if there is in her aught like her angel mother, whose features are as perfect to me now as when last I looked upon them beneath the locust trees." Bending low his head, he seemed to be thinking of the past, while Mr. Hastings, kissing fondly the picture of Dora Deane, laid it softly upon the table, and then anxiously awaited the result. Uncle Na- thaniel did not see it at first, but his eye ere long fell upon it, and, with a cry like that which broke from his lips when first he looked on his dead Fannie's hair, he caught it np, exclaiming, " 'Tis her 'tis Fannie my long-lost darling, come back to me from the other THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 135 ttrorld. Oh, Fannie, Fannie ! " he cried, as if his reason were indeed unsettled, " I've been so lonesome here without you. Why didn't you come before ? " Again, for a time, he was silent, and Mr. Hastings could see the tears dropping upon the face of Dora Deane, who little dreamed of the part she was act- ing, far off in Hiiidostau. Slowly the reality dawned upon Uncle Nat, and speaking to Mr. Hastings, he said, " Who are you that moves me thus from one extreme to another, making me first a. fury and then a child ? " "I have told you I am Howard Hastings," an- , for this was not exactly the kind of meeting he had anticipated, and after sitting an awkward, moment, during which he was wishing that she had not answered him as she did, he said : " Will you not look up, Dora, and tell me how you have passed the time of my absence ? I am sure you have improved it both irom your own appearance and what Louise has told me." This was a subject on which Dora felt that she could trust herself, and drying her tears, she became very animated as she told him of the books she had read, and the studies she had pursued. "I have taken music lessons, too," she added. " "Would you like to hear me play ? " Mr. Hastings would far rather have sat there, watching her bright face, with his arm thrown lightly around her waist, but it was this very act, this touch of his arm, which prompted her proposal, and grace- fully disengaging herself she crossed over to the piano, which was standing in the room, and commenced singing the old, ana on that occasion very appro- priate, song of " Home again, home again, from a foreign shore." The tones of her voice were rich and full, and they reached the ear of Uncle Nat, who in his eagerness to listen, forgot everything, until THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 14$ Mrs. Elliott said, " It is Dora singing to my Mother. Shall we join them ? " Leading the way she ushered him into the musifl room, where, standing at Dora's side, he listened rapturously to her singing, occasionally wiping away a tear, called forth by the memories that song had awakened. The sight of the piano reminded him oi Eugenia, and when Dora had finished playing, he laid his broad hand upon her shoulder and said, " Do you ever hear from them the villains ? " Dora knew to whom he referred, and half laughing at his excited manner, she replied, as she stole a mischievous glance towards Mr. Hastings, "I re- ceived a letter from Eugenia not long since, and she seemed very anxious to know in what part of Europe Mr. Hastings was now traveling, and if he were ever coming home ! " " Much good his coming home will do her, the trollop!" muttered Uncle Nat, whispering inco- herently to himself as he generally did, when Eugenia was the subject of his thoughts. " Don't answer the letter," he said at last, " or, if you do, say nothing of me ; I wish to meet them first as a stranger." Near the window Mr. Hastings was standing, re- volving in his own mind a double surprise which he knew would mortify Eugenia more than anything else. But in order to effect this, Uncle Nat must remain incog, for some time yet, while Dora herself must be won, and this, with the jealous fears of a lover, he fancied might be harder to accomplish than the keeping Uncle Nat silent when in the pres- ence of Eugenia. " To-morrow I will see her alone, and know the worst," he thought and glancing at Dora, he felt a thrill of fear lest she, in all the freshness of her youth, so 146 DORA DEANE, OR, should refuse her heart to one, who had called anothef than herself his wife. But Ella Grey had never awakened a love as deep and absorbing as that which he now felt for Dora Deane, and all that night he lay awake, wondering how he should approach her, and fancying sometimes that he saw the cold surprise with which she would listen to him, and again that he read in her dark blue eyes the answer which he sought. The morrow came, but throughout the entire day, he found no oppor- tunity of speaking to her alone, for Uncle Nat hovered near her side, gazing at her as if he would never tire of looking at her beautiful face. And Dora, too, had much to say to the old man, on this the first day after his return. With his head resting upon her lap, and her soft white hand upon his wrinkled brow, she told him of her mother, and the message she had left for him on the sad night when she died. Then she spoke of her Aunt Sarah, of Eugenia and Alice, and the wrath of Uncle Nat was somewhat abated, when he heard her pleading with him not to be so angry and unforgiving " I can treat Alice well, perhaps," he said, " for she, it seems, was never particularly unkind. And for your sake, / may forgive the mother. But Eu- genia never I not even if Fannie herself should ask me!" Thus passed that day, and when the next one came, Uncle Nat still stayed at Dora's side, following her from room to room, and never for a moment leaving Mr. Hastings with her alone. In this manner nearly a week went by, and the latter was beginning to despair, when one evening as the three were together in the little music room, and Mrs. Elliott was with her mother, who was ill, it suddenly occurred to Uncle Nat that he had appropriated Dora entirely to him* THJ MST INDIA UNCLE. 147 f , not giving \'T. Hastings a single opportunity for seeing her alone. " I have wondered that he did not tell me he was engaged," he thought, "but how could he when I haven't given him a chance to speak to her, unless he did it before me ; strange, I should be so selfish : bat I'll make amends now though I do hope he'll be quick ! " Bising up, he M r a^ked to the door, when thinking that Mr. Hastings might possibly expect him to re- turn every moment, and so keep silent, he said, " I've been in the way of you young folks long enough, and I feel just as if something might happen if I left you together ! Call me when you want me ? " so saying he shut the d(X>r, and Mr. Hastings was alone at last with Dora Deane 1 Both knew to what Uncle Nat referred, and while Dora fidgeted from o :e thing to another, looking at a book of prints wrong side up, and admiring the pictures, Mr. Hasting * sat perfectly still, wondering why he was so much afraid o.f her. Two years before he felt no fear ; but a refusal at that time would not. have affected him as it would do now, for he did not then know how much he loved her. Greatly ho desired that she should speak to him look at him or do something to braak the embarrassing silence ; but this Dora had no intention of doing, and she was just meditating thj propriety of running away, when he found voice enough to say, "Will you come and sit by me, Dora ? " She had always obeyed him, and she did so now, taking a seat, however, as far from him as possible, on the end of the sofa. Still, when he moved up closely to her side, and wound his arm about her. she did not object, though her face burned with blushes, and she thought it quite likely that her next 148 DORA DEANB, OR, act would be to cry ! And this she did do, when he said to her, " Dora, do you remember the night when Ella died ?" He did not expect any answer yet, and he con- tinued, " She told me, you know, of a time when, though not forgetting her, I should love another should seek to call another my wife. And, Dora, she was right, for I do love another, better, if it be possible, than I did my lost Ella. 'Tis four yeara since she left me, and now that I would have a second wife, will the one whom I have chosen from all the world to be that wife, answer me yes Will she go back with me in the autumn to my long deserted home, where her presence always brought sunlight and joy ?* There was no coquetry about Dora Deane, and she could not have practised it now, if there had been. She knew Mr. Hastings was in earnest knew that he meant what he said and the little hand, which at first had stolen partly under her dress, lest he should touch it, came back from its hiding-place, and crept slowly along until his was reached, and there she let it lay 1 Tliis was her answer, and he was satisfied ! For a long long time they sat together, while Mr. Hastings talked, not wholly of the future when she would be his wife, but of the New Year's morning, years ago, when he found her sleeping in the chamber of death of the bright June afternoon, when she sat with her bare feet in the running brook of the time when she first brought comfort to his home of the dark, rainy evening, when the sight of her sitting in Ella's room, with Ella's baby on her lap, had cheered his aching heart of the storm she had braved to tell him his baby was dying of the winter night when ha watched her through the window of the duoky THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. {49 twilight when she sat at his feet in the little library at Rose Hill and again in his sister's home on the Hudson, when he first knew how much he loved her. Of all these pictures so indelibly stamped upon his memory, he told her, and of the many, many times his thoughts had been of her when afar on a foreign shore. And Dora, listening to him, did not care to answer, her heart was so full of happiness, to know that she should be thus loved by one like Howard Hastings. From a tower not far distant, a city clock struck twelve, and then, starting up, she exclaimed, " So late ! I thought 'twas only ten I We have kept Uncle Nat too long. Will you go with me to him f" and with his arms still around her, Mr. Hastings arose to accompany her. For half an hour after leaving the music-room Uncle Nat had walked up and down the long parlors, with his hands in his pockets, hoping Mr. Hastings would be brief, and expecting each moment to hear Bora calling him back 1 In this manner an hour or more went by, and then grown very nervous and cold (for it was a damp, chilly night, such as often occurs in our latitude, even in summer) he began to think that if Dora were not coming, a fire would be accep- table, and he drew his chair near to the register, which was closed. Wholly unaccustomed to furnaces, he did not think to open it, and for a time longer he gat wondering why he didn't grow warm, and if it took everybody as long to propose as it did Mr. Hastings. It " didn't take me long to tell my love to Fanny,," he said, " but then she refused, and when they ac- cept, as Dora will, it's always a longer process, I reckon!" This point satisfactorily settled, be began to wish I5O DORA DEANE, OH the atmosphere of the room would moderate, and hitching in his chair, he at last sat directly over the register ! bnt even this failed to warm him, and mentally concluding that although furnaces might do very well for New Yorkers, they were of no ac- count whatever to an East India man,' he fell asleep. In this situation, Dora found him. " Poor old man," said she, " 'twas thoughtless in me to leave him so long, and kissing his brow, she cried, " Wake up, Uncle Nat-wake up I and Uncle Nat, rubbing his eyes with his red stiff fingers, and looking in her glowing face, thought " tW; something had happened 1 " CHAPTER XX. THE SPRINGS. MB. HASTINGS and Bora were engaged. Mrs. Hastings, the mother, and Mrs. Elliott, the sister, had signified their entire approbation, while Uncle Nat, with a hand placed on either head of the young people, had blessed them as his children, hinting the while that few brides e'er went forth as richly dowered as should Dora Deane. The marriage was not tg take place until the following October, as Mr. Hast- ings wished to make some improvements at Hose Hill, which was still to be his home proper, though Uncle Nat insisted upon buying a very elegant house in the city for a winter residence, whenever they chose thus to use it. To this proposal Mr. Hasting* made no objection, for though he felt that his great- est happiness would be in having Dora all to blmsell in Dun wood, he knew that society in the cifcjr THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. I$I never have the effect upon her which it did npon Ella, for her tastes, like his own, were domestic, and on almost every subject she felt and thought as ho did. Immediately after his engagement he imparted to "Uncle Nat a knowledge of the double surprise he had planned for Eugenia, and the old gentleman at last consented, saying though, that " 'twas doubtful whether he could hold himself together when first he met the young lady. Still with Mr. Hastinga's presence as a check, he would try." So it was arranged that in Dunwood, where Mr. Hastings's return was still unknown, Uncle Nat should pass as a Mr. Hamilton, whom Mr. Hastings had picked up in his travels. Four years of his earlier life had been spent in South America, and whenever he spoke of any particular place of abode it was to be of Euenos Ayres, where he had once resided. By this means he could the more easily learn for himself the character and disposition of his relatives, and feeling now more eager than ever to meet them, he here started with Mr. Hastings for Dunwood. It was morning when they reached there, and with a dark, lowering brow, he looked curiously at the house which his companion designated as Locust Grove. It was a pleasant spot, and it seemed almost impossible that it should be the home of a woman as artful and designing as Eugenia. About it now, however, there was an air of desertion. The doors were shut and the blinds closed, as if the inmates were absent. On reaching Rose Hill, where he found his servants overwhelmed with delight at his unexpected return, Mr. Hastings casually inquired of Mrs. Leah if the Deanes were at home. A shadow passed over the old lady's face, and folding her arms, she leaned against I $2 DORA DEANE, OR, the door and began : " I wonder now, if you're askinf after them the first thing I I don't know but they are well enough, all but Eugenia. I believe I never disliked anybody as I do her, and no wonder, the way she's gone on. At first she used to come up here almost every week on purpose to ask about yon, though she pretended to tumble over your books, and mark 'em all up with her pencil. But when that scapegrace Stephen Grey came, she took another tack, and the way she and he went on was scandalous. She was a runnin* up here the whole time that he wasn't a streakin* it down there." " Stephen Grey been here? When and what for ? " interrupted Mr. Hastings, who, as his father-in-law, during his absence, had removed to Philadelphia, knew nothing of the family. "You may well ask that/' returned Mrs. Leah, growing very much excited as she remembered the trouble the fast young man had made her. " Last fall in shootin' time, he came here, bag, baggage, gun, dogs and all said it didn't make a speck of difference, yon being away 'twas all in the family, and so you'd a' thought, the way he went on, drinkin. ewearin', shootin', and carousiu' with a lot of fellers who stayed with him here a spell, and then, when they were gone, he took a flirtin with Eugenia Deane, who told him, I'll bet, more'n fire hundred lies about an old uncle that, she says, is rich as a Jew, and has willed his property to her and Alice." " The viper 1" muttered Uncle Nat to himself ; and Mrs. Leah continued, " I shouldn't wonder if old Mr. Grey was gettin' poor, and Steve, I guess, would marry anybody who had money ; but Lord knows I don't want him to have her, for though he he ain't an atom too good, I used to live in the family and took care of him when he waa little. I ahould at THE EAST INDIA UNCLB. I$3 written about his carrying on to Mrs. Elliott, only I knew she didn't think any too much of the Greys, and 'twould only trouble her for nothin'.** " But where are they now Mrs. Deane and her daughters ? " asked Mr. Hastings ; and Mrs. Leah replied, " Gone to Avon Springs ; and folks do say they've done their own work, and ate cold victuals off the pantry shelf ever since last November, so aa to save money, to cut a swell. I guess Eugenia*!! be mighty glad if that old nncle ever dies. For my part, I hope he won't 1 or, if he does, I hope he won't leave her a dollar." " Not a dime!" thought Uncle Nat, who, not be- ing supposed to feel interested in Eugenia Deane, had tried to appear indifferent, holding hard the while npon the rounds of his chair " to keep himself to gether." Alone with Mr. Hastings, his wrath burst forth, but after a few tremendous explosions, he grew calm, andproposed that thev too should go at once to Avon. < We shall then see the lady in all her glory," said he, " and maybe hear something about her old nncle, though you'll have to keep your eye on me, or I shall go off on a sudden, and snake her as a dog would a snake 1 Well send for Mrs. Elliott and Dora to join ns there," he continued ; " it will be fun to bring them together, and see what Eugenia will do." " I am afraid yon could not restrain yourself," said Mr. Hastings; but Uncle Nat was sure he could, and after a few days they started for Avon, where " Miss Eugenia Deane, the heiress," was quite a belle. For a longtime after Mr. Hastings's departure for Europe, she had remained trne to him, feeding on the remembrance of his parting words, that *' he had more reasons for remembering her than ibe tap* 154 DOHA DEANE, OK, posed ; but when, as months went by, he sent her neithei letter, paper nor message, she began to think that possibly he had never entertained a serious thought concerning her, and when Stephen Grey came, she was the more ready to receive his atten- tions, and forgive his former neglect. He was a reckless, unprincipled fellow, and feeling this time rather pleased with the bold dashing manner of Eugenia, backed as it was by the supposed will ot Uncle Nat, he made some advances, which she readily met, making herself and him, as Mrs. Leah had said, " perfectly ridiculous." "When he left Dunwood he went west, telling her playfully, that, " if he found no one there who suited him better than she, he would the next summer meet her at Avon, and per- haps propose ! He was disgusted with Saratoga, Newport, Nahant, and all those stupid places/' he said, " and wished to try something new." To spend several weeks at Avon, therefore, was now Eugenia's object. She had succeeded in coaxing her mother to withhold from Dora the thousand dollars* a part of which was safely invested for their own benefit, but this alone would not cover all their ex- penses, for Mrs. Deaue, growing gay and foolish aa she grew older, declared her intention of going to Avon also. " The water would do her good," she said, " and 'twas time she saw a little of society." To this plan Eugenia did not particularly object, for it would indicate wealth," she thought, for the whole family to spend the summer at a watering place. Still it would cost a great deal, and though ilncle Nat's remittance came at the usual time, they did not dare to depend wholly upon that, lest on their return there should be nothing left with which to buy their bread. In this emergency, they hit upon the expedient of dismissing their servant, and THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 155 itarving themselves through the winter and spring, for the purpose of making a display in the summer ; and this last they were now doing. Eugenia fluttered like a butterfly, sometimes in white satin, sometimes in pink, and again in embroidered muslin ; while her toother, a very little disgusted with society, but still determined to brave it through, held aside her cam- bric wrapper and made faces over three glasses of spring water in the morning, drowned herself in a hot bath every other day, rode twice a day in crowded omnibuses to and from the springs, through banks of sand and clouds of dust, and sat every evening in the heated parlors with a very red face, and a very tight dress, wondering if everybody enjoyed them- selves as little in society as she did, and thinking ten dollars per week a great deal to pay for being as un- comfortable as she was ! For her disquietude, however, she felt in a meas- ure repaid when she saw that Eugenia was the most showy young lady present, and managed to keep about her a cross-eyed widower, a near-sighted- bachelor, a medical student of nineteen, a broken- down merchant, a lame officer, a spiritualist, and Stephen Grey ! This completed the list of her ad- mirers, if we except a gouty old man, who praised her dancing, and would perhaps have called her beautiful, but for his better half, who could see nothing agree- able or pleasing in the dashing belle. True to his promise, Stephen Crey had met her there, and they were in the midst of quite a flirtation, when Mr. Hastings and Uncle Nat arrived ; the latter register- ing his name as Mr. Hamilton ; and taking care soon after to speak of Buenos Ayres, as a place where he formerly lived. The ruse was successful, and in less than half an hour, it was known through the house, that "the singular looking old gentleman was DORA DEANB, Oft, South American, a bachelor, and rich undoubtedly, as such men always were I The Deanes were that afternoon riding with Ste- phen Grey, and did not return until after supper, a circumstance which Eugenia greatly lamented when she learned that their numbers had been increased by the arrival of an elegant looking stranger from New York, together with an old South American, whose name was Hamilton. The name of the other Eugenia's informant did not know, for he had not registered it, but " he was a splendid looking man," she said, and with more than usual care, Eugenia dressed herself for the evening, and between the hours of eight and nine, sailed into the parlor with the air of a queen. From his window in an upper chamber Uncle Nat had seen the ladies, as they returned from their ride ; and when Mr. Hastings, who at that time was absent from the room, came back to it, he found the old gentleman hurriedly pacing the floor and evidently much excited. " I've seen her," said he, " the very one herself Eugenia Deane ! I knew her mother in a moment, and I knew her too, by her evil eyes. I could hardly refrain from pouncing upon her, and I believe I did shake my fist at her! But it's over now," he con- tinued, "and I am glad I have seen her, for I can meet her and not betray myself ; though, Hastings, if at any time I am missing, you may know that I've come up here to let myself off, for my wrath must evaporate somehow." Feeling confident that he could trust him, Mr. Hastings ere long accompanied him to the parlor, where his gentlemanly manners, and rather peouliai looks procured for him immediate attention ; and when Eugenia entered the room, he was oonvezabif THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 157 familiarly with some gentlemen whose notice she had in vain tried to attract. At a little distance from him and nearer the door was Mr. Hastings, talking to Stephen Grey. Engenia did not observe him until she was directly at his side, then, turning pale, she uttered an exclamation of surprise, while he, iu his usual polite, easy manner, offered his hand, first to her mother, and then to herself and Alice, saying, in reply to their many inquiries as to when he re- turned, that he reached Dunwood a few days before, and finding they were all at Avon, had concluded to follow. At this remark the pallor left Eugenia's cheek, and was succeeded by a bright glow, for "Mr. Hastings must feel interested in her, or he would not have followed her there ; " and ^h- black eyes, which a few hours before had smiled so be- witchingly upon Stephen Grey, now shone with a brighter lustre, as she talked with Mr. Hastings of his European tour, asking him why he had stayed so long, and telling him how natural it seemed to have him home once more. ' By the way," she continued, " they say there is en old South American here a queer old fellow- did he come with you ? " " Yes/' answered Mr. Hastings, glancing towards Uncle Nat, whose eyes had never for a moment lost sight of Eugenia ; " I found him in my travels, and liking him very much, brought him home with me. Allow me to introduce you, for though rather eccen- tric, he's a fine man, and quite wealthy, too." " Wealth is nothing ! I wouldn't think any more of him for that," returned Eugenia, taking Mr. Hastings's arm, and advancing toward Uncle Nat, whose left hand grasped tightly one side of his blue coat, while the other was offered to Eugenia. With a alight ihadder, he dropped her band M *58 DORA DEANE, OR, soon aa it was touched ; then, pressing his fingen together so firmly, that his long nails left marks in his flesh, he looked curiously down upon her, eyeing her furtively as if she had been a wild beast. Noth- ing of all this escaped Eugenia, who, feeling greatly amused at what she thought to be his embarrass- ment, and fancying he had never before conversed with so fine a lady as herself, she commenced quiz- zing him in a manner excessively provoking to one of his excitable temperament. Lifting up first one foot, and then the other, he felt his patience fast giving way, and at last, as her ridicule became more and more marked, he could endure it no longer, but returned it with a kind of sarcasm far more scathing than anything she could say. Deeply chagrined, and feeling that she had been beaten with her own weapons, she was about to leave the " old bear," as she mentally styled him, when remembering that he was Mr. Hastings's friend, and, as such worthy of more respect than she had paid him, she said play- fully, "I have a mother and sister here, whom you may like better than you do me. I'll introduce them," and tripping across the room, she made known her wishes to her mother, adding that " there was a chance for her, as he was an old oachelor." Long and searchingly the old man looked in the face of the widow, thinking of the time when she had called Fannie her sister ; but of this Mrs. Deane did not know ; and remembering what Eugenia had said, she blushed crimson, and as soon as possible, stole away, leaving him alone with Alice, with whom he was better pleased, talking with her so long that Eugenia, who was hovering near Mr. Hastings, began to laugh at what she called her sister's con- quest. Nothing had escaped Mr. Hastings, and thinking this a good opportunity for rebuking thi THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 159 young lady, he spoke of Mr. Hamilton in the highest terms, saying that, " he should consider any disre- enect paid to his friend a slight to himself. This hint was sufficient, and wishing to make amends for her rudeness, Eugenia ere long sought the stranger, and tried to be very agreeable ; but there was no affinity between them, and to Mr. Hastings, who was watching them, they seemed much like a fierce mastiff, and a spiteful cat, impatient to pounce upon each other ! During the evening the three were standing to- gether, and Eugenia suddenly remembering Dora, asked Mr. Hastings how she was, saying she seldom wrote to them, and when she did, her letters amounted to nothing. With a warning glance at Uncle Nat, whose face grew very dark, Mr. Hastings replied that she was well, and had, he thought, improved under his sister's care. " I am glad, " said she, " for there was need enough of improvement. She was so unrefined, always pre- ferring the kitchen to the parlor, that we couldn't make anything of her." A sudden " Ugh!" from Uncle Nat stopped her, and she asked him what was the matter. "Nothing, nothing," said he, wiping his face, " only I am getting pretty warm, and must cool off." The next moment he was gone, and when, at a late hour, Mr. Hastings repaired to his room, he knew by the chairs, boots, brushes, and boofoi scat- tered over the floor, that Uncle Nat, snoring eo loudly in bed, had cooled off! " 1 had to hold on, to keep from falling to piece* right before her," he said, next morning, in speaking of the last night's adventure ; " but I shall do bettw next time. 1 am getting a little accustomed to if |6O DORA DEANE, Oft, And he was right, for only twice during the entire day and evening did he disappear from the room* Once when Eugenia sat down to play, and once when he heard her telling Stephen Grey, who asked her to ride again, that, " he really must excuse her, as she had a letter to write to Uncle Nat, who un- doubtedly wondered why she was so tardy. And you know," she said, "it won't do to neglect him I** Uncle Nat knew it was a farce to get rid of Ste- phen Grey, who was nothing compared with his Drother-in-law, but his indignation was not the less ; and Mr. Hastings, when he saw the long blue coat flying up the stairs, smiled quietly, though he pitied the poor old man, who was thus kept vibrating be- tween his chamber and the parlor. In this manner several days passed away, during which time Uncle Nat's temper was severely tested, both by Eugenia's remarks concerning Dora, and by what she said of himself, for he more than once heard her speaking of " Old Uncle Nat" who sent her money to buy the various articles of jewelry which she wore. On such occasions it seemed almost impossible for him to restrain his anger, and he of tel wished he had never promised to keep silent ; bul by frequent visits to his chamber, which witnessed many a terrific storm, he managed to be quiet, so that Eugonia had no suspicion whatever, though she disliked him greatly, and wished he had never come there. Mr. Hastings troubled her, top, for she felt very uncertain as to the nature of his feelings to- wards her. He treated her politely, but that was All, and no management on her part could draw from him any particular attention. " Maybe he's jealous of Stephen Grey," sht thought, and then she became so cold towards the latter individual, that had he not remembered Until THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. l6| will, in which he firmly believed, he would have packed his trunk at once, and left her in dis- gust. But Stephen's necessities were great. There was standing against him a long list of bills, which his father refused to pay, and he was ready to marry the first purse which was offered. Had Eugenia been altogether agreeable to him, he would have pro- posed ere this, but without knowing why, he felt afraid of her. Added to this was the memory of his mother's threat, that his father should disinherit him if he disgraced them by marrying that Deanf girl, in whose expected fortune she did not believe. So halting between two opinions, he allowed himself to be taken up and cast off whenever the capricious Eugenia chose. In the meantime, Uncle Nat had cultivated the acquaintance of Mrs. Deane and Alice, finding the latter quite a pleasant girl, and feeling disposed to think more favorably of the former when he heard her speak kindly of Dora, as she always did. Matters were in this state, when, one afternoon, in com- pliance with her brother's written request, Mrs, Elliott arrived, together with Dora. Most of the visitors were at the springs, and as Eugenia never let an opportunity pass for showing herself to the guests of the different houses, she too was there, and thus failed to see how tenderly Dora was greeted by Mr. Hastings, and how fondly Uncle Nat clasped her in his arms, holding her hand all the way up the stairs, and only releasing her when she reached the door of the room, which had been previously engaged for them by Mr. Hastings. Feeling slightly indisposed, Mrs. Elliott did not go down to supper, and as Dora those to remain with her, neither of them were seen until evening. Eugenia had heard of the arrival of II 1 62 DORA DEANE, OR, two aristocratic looking ladies, one of whom wai young and very beautiful, and this aroused her fears at once. Hitherto she had reigned without a rival, for aside from her beauty, the generally believed rumor of her being an heiress, procured for her at- tention for many who otherwise would have been disgusted with her overbearing manner and boister- ous conduct ; for, like many others, she had fallen into the error of thinking that to be fashionable, she must be bold and noisy, and no voice in the drawing- room ever reached so high a note as hers. Still she was tolerated and flattered, and when th^ friend, who told her of the new arrivals, and vho had caught a view of Dora's face, laughingly bade her beware lest her star should begin to wane, she curled her lip in scorn, as if anything in Avon could com- pete with her, who " had spent so many seasons at Saratoga and Newport, and who would have gone there this summer, only she wanted a change, and then it was more quiet for ma I " This was one of her stereotyped remarks until Mr. Hastings came, but. he knew her, and in his presence she was less assuming. She had heard that the new arrivals were his friends, and thinking they must of course be somebody, she arrayed herself for the eve- ning with unusual care, wearing her white satin and lace bertha, the most becoming and at the same time the most expensive dress she had. " I wish 1 had some pearls," she said, glancing at her raven hair ; " they would look so much richer than these flowers." " I should think an heiress like you would have everything she wanted," suggested Alice, mischiev- ously, and Eugenia replied, " Oh, pshaw ! We shall never get more than five hundred a year from Uncle Nat, bat I don't much care. Old Mr. Grey k THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 163 Wealthy, and if Mr. Hastings don't manifest any more interest in me than he has since he came here, I shall let that foolish Steve propose, much as I dis- like him." So saying, she clasped upon her arm a heavy bracelet, for which the sum of forty dollars had been paid, and descended with her mother and sister to the parlor. Mrs. Elliott and Dora were there before her the former leaning on Mr. Hastings's arm, while the latter was already surrounded by a group of admirers, a few of whom had met her before. She was standing with her back towards Eugenia, who singled her out in a moment, as her rival, notic- ing first her magnificent hair, in which an orna- ment of any kind would have been out of place, and which was confined at the back of the head by a small and elegantly wrought gold comb. Her dress was perfectly plain, consisting simply of white India muslin, which fitted her admirably and seemed well adapted to her youthful form. " Who is she ? " inquired Eugenia of Uncle Nat, who had stationed himself near the door, on purpose to see how the first sight of Dora would affect her. " Who is she ! " he replied. " Strange you don't know your own cousin Dora Deane" and a look of intense satisfaction danced in his keen eyes, as he saw the expression of astonishment which passed over Eugenia's face. " Impossible ! " she exclaimed, while a pang of envy shot through her heart. " That stylish look- ing girl can't be Dora ! Why, I always supposed Mrs. Elliott made a half servant, half companion of her. She never told us any different ; " and with a vague hope that the old South American might be mistaken, she took a step or two forward just aa Dora turned round, disclosing to view hrer face. 164 DORA DEANE, OR, There was no longer any doubt, and with mingled feelings of surprise, mortification, jealousy, and rage, Eugenia advanced to meet her, wisely resolving as she did so to make the best of it, and never let her cousin know how much annoyed she was. Both Mrs. Deane and Alice were greeted kindly by Dora, who could scarcely be more than polite to Eugenia, and when the latter made a movement to kiss her, she involuntarily drew back, feeling that she could not suffer it. " Grown suddenly very proud," muttered Eugenia, at the same time determining that her mother should insist upon taking Dora home with them, and secretly exulting as she thought how she should again work in the dark kitchen at Locust Grove, as she had done before. *' That'll remove some of her fine airs, I reckon," she thought, as, with bitter hatred at her heart, she watched her young cousin, who, throughout the entire evening, continued to be the center of attraction. Everybody asked who she was ; everybody pro- Bounced her beautiful, and everybody neglected Eu- genia Deane, who, greatly enraged, retired early, and vented her wrath in tears, to think that the once despised Dora should now be so far above her. " But it shall not be," she said, and then to her mother she unfolded her plan of having Dora go home with them immediately. " I'd as soon be in Joppa as to stay here with her for a rival," she said " Mr. Hastings don't care for me, I know, and L hate that old codger of a Hamilton, with his sarcastio remarks and prying eyes. Fve been here long enough, and I mean to go home." To this proposition Mrs. Deaue assented willingly , but she expressed her doubts concerning her ability to make Dora accompany them. THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 165 " Of course shell go/' said Eugenia. " Her mother placed her under your control, and she is bound to obey." Yielding at last, as she generally did, Mrs. Deane promised to see what she could do, and the next day she announced to Mrs. Elliott her intention of tak- ing Dora home with her. "lam grateful for all you have done for her," said she ; " but we need her, and cannot spare her any longer,, so, Dora dear/* turning to her niece, " pack up your things, and we will start to-morrow morning." Had Un 3le Nat been there, he would, undoubt- edly, have exploded at once ; but he was not pres- ent, neither was Mr. Eastings, and it remained for Mrs. Elliott alone to reply, which she did firmly and decidedly. " No, Mrs. Deane, Dora cannot go. She was committed to your care, I know, but you gave her up to me, and I shall not part with her unless I am legally compelled to do so, or she wishes to go. She can answer this last for herself," and she turned towards Dora, who, drawing nearer to her, replied, "I am sorry to disobey you, Aunt Sarah, but I cannot leave Mrs. Elliott." Mrs. Deane was not very courageous, and un- willing to press her claim, she turned away and reported her ill-success to Eugenia, who heaped a torrent of abuse upon both Mrs. Elliott, Dora, the old South American, and Mr. Hastings, who, she declared, were all leagued against them. " But I don't care, "said she, " old Mr. Grey is quite as wealthy as Mr. Hastings, and by saying the word, I can marry Steve at any time ; and I will do it, too," she continued, " and that proud Mrs. Elliott shall yet be obliged to meet me on terms of equality, for she will not dare to neglect the Greys I " Somewhat comforted by this thought, she dried 166 DORA DEANE, OR, her tears, and signified her willingness to start for heme on the morrow, even if Dora did not accom- pany her. As yet, she had no suspicion whatever of the engagement existing between Mr. Hastings and her cousin. There was nothing in the manner of either to betray it, and when, next morning, attired in her traveling dress, she stood with them upon the piazza, she little thought how and where she would next meet them. At her side was Stephen Grey. He had been won over by her gracious smiles the night previous, and was now going with her as far as Eochester, where, if a favorable oppor- tunity were presented, he intended offering himself for her acceptance. IJncle Nat was not present, and Eugenia was glad that it was so, for there was some- thing about him exceedingly annoying to her, and she always felt relieved at his absence. " Why do you go so soon ? I thought you were intending to spend the summer," said one of her old admirers ; and with a scornful toss of her head, she replied, "It is getting so insufferably dull here, that I can't endure it any longer." Just then the omnibus Avas announced, and with a hurried good-by, she followed her baggage down the stairs, and amid a cloud of dust was driven rapidly away, while Uncle Nat, from his chamber window, sent after her a not very complimentary or affectionate adieu. Arrived at the hotel in Roches- ter, where Eugenia had once waited in vain for Mr. Hastings, Stephen Grey managed to hear from her again, that she had well founded hopes of being one of the heirs of Nathaniel Deane, who, she said, sent them annually a sum of money varying from five to fifteen hundred dollars. This was quite a con- sideration for one whose finances were low, and whose father, while threatening to disinherit him, was him- THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 167 Belf on the verge of bankruptcy, and thinking the an- nual remittance worth securing, even if the m'ZZshould fail, Stephen found an opportunity to go down on his knees before her after the most approved fash- ion, telling her that " she alone could make him happy, and that without her he should be wretched ; " and she, knowing just how much in earnest he was, promised to be his wife, intendingthe while to break that promise if she saw in Mr. Hastings any signs of renewed interest. So when Stephen pressed her to name an early day, she put him off, telling him she could not think of being married until near the middle of autumn, and at the same time requesting him to keep their engagement a secret, for she did not wish it to be a subject of remark, as engaged people always were. To this, Stephen consented willingly, as he would thus escape, for a time, his mother's anger. And so when, tired, jaded, cross and dusty, Eugenia Deane reached Locust Grove, she had the satisfaction of knowing that her trip' to the Springs had been successful, inasmuch as itprch cured for her " a husband such as he was." CHAPTER XXL THE DOUBLE SURPRISE. THE Deanes had been home about two weeka when Mr. Hastings returned to Rose Hill, accom- panied by the " Old South American," who seemed to have taken up his abode there. Being naturally rather reserved, the latter vjsited but little in tho village, while at Locust Grove he never called, and seldom saw Eugenia when he met her in the street. 1 68 DORA DEANE, OR, Mr. Hastings, too, was unusually cool in his man- ner towards her, and this she imputed wholly to the fact of her having been rude to his friend on the night of her introduction. " He was never so be- fore," she thought, and she redoubled her efforts to be agreeable, to no effect, as he was simply polite to her and nothing more. So after a series of tears and headaches, she gave him up, comforting her- self with the belief that he would never marry any body. After this, she smiled more graciously upon Stephen Grey, who, pretending to be a lawyer, had, greatly to her annoyance, hung out his sign in Dun- wood, where his office proper seemed to be in the bar-room, or drinking-saloon, as in one of these ho was always to be found, when not at Locust Grove. One evening, towards the last of September, when he came as usual to see her, he startled her with the news, that there was ere long to be a new bride at Eose Hill ! Starting involuntarily, Eugenia ex- claimed, "A new bride I It can't be possible ! Who is it?" It was months since Stephen had been in New York, and he knew nothing, except that the lady was from the city, and he mentioned a Miss Morton, with whom he had several times seen Mr. Hastings walking, and who was very intimate with Mrs. Elliott. At first Eugenia refused to believe it, but when she had remembered how extensively Mr. Hastings was repairing his place, and heard that the house was being entirely refurnished, and fitted up in a princely style, she wept again over her ruined hopes, and ex- perienced many a sharp pang of envy, when from time to time she saw go by loads of elegant furniture, and knew that it was not for herself, but another. The old South American, too, it was said, was very lavish of his money, purchasing many costly orna* THE EAST tyVJA. VVf*** 169 ments, And /arnishing ent-ifely the cfooOacr of the bride. For this the /air Eugenia styled him "a gilly old fool, 5 * wondering " what business it was to him," and " why he need be so much interested in one who, if she had any sense, would, in less than two weeks, turn him from the house, with his heath- enish ways." Still, fret as she would, she conldnot in the least retard the progress of matters, and one morning towards the last of October, she heard from Mrs. Leah, whom she met at a store in the village, that the wedding was to take place at the house of the bride on Tuesday of the next week, and that on Thursday evening following, there was to be a grand party at Rose Hill, far exceeding in splendor and elegance the one given there some years before. " Crowds of folks," she said, " are coming from the city with the bridal pair, who would start on "Wednesday, stay in Syracuse all night, and reach Dnnwood about three o'clock on Thursday afternoon. The invitations for the village people," she added, "were already written and were left with her to dis- tribute on Wednesday morning." Eugenia would have given much to know if she were invited, but she was too proud to ask, and as- Burning an air of indifference she casually inquired the name of the bride. With the manner of one in a deep study, Mrs. Leah replied, " Let me see ! It's a very common name Strange I don't speak it I n "Morton?" suggested Eugenia, but Mrs. Leah affected not to hear her, and, having completed her purchases, she left the store and walked sloAvly home- ward, dropping more than one tear on the brown paper parcel she held in her hand. Crying, however, was of no avail, and mentally chiding herself for her weakness, the resolved to brave I/O DORA DEANE, OR, it through, comforting herself again with the thought that tlie Greys were as aristocratic as the Hastings, and as Stephen's wife she should yet shine in the best society, for in case she married him she was resolved that he should take her at once to Philadelphia, where she would compel his proud mother to notice her. This helped to divert her mind, and in the course of the day she was talking gaily of the party, &nd wondering if she should be as intimate with tht second Mrs. Hastings as she had been with the first ! That night, Alice went down to the post-office, from which she soon returned, evidently much ex- cited ; and rushing into the room where her mother and sister were sitting, she said, as she threw a letter into the lap of the latter, " It's from Uncle Nat, and postmarked New York." Turning whiter than ever she was before, Eugenia could scarcely command herself to break the seal, and read the few brief lines which told her that Uncle Nat had, at last, concluded to come home, that a matter of some importance would keep him from Locust Grove for a few days ; but if nothing occurred, he would be with them on Saturday evening of next week ! In the postscript, he added, that " he should expect to find Dora with them, and he hoped her going away to school had been a benefit to her." So great was their consternation that for some minutes neither of them uttered a word, but each waited for the other to suggest some way of acting in the present emergency. As Eugenia's mind was the most active of the three she was the first to speak. After venting her indignation upon Uncle Nat, for intruding himself where he was not wanted, she continued : "We are in a sad dilemma, but we must make the best of it, and inasmuch as he is coming, I am glad that Dora is what she is. We THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 171 can tell him how rapidly she has improved, and how rejoiced we are that it is so. I am glad I have said nothing about her for the last two years, except that she was away at school. I'll write to her to-night, and tell her to meet him here, and come immedi- ately. You know, she is good-natured, and on my bended knees I'll confess what I have done, and beg of her not to betray me to him, or let him know that we did not pay for her education, and if she refuses, you, mother, must go down on your knees, too, and well get up between us such a scene that she will con- sent, I know if not, why, we must abide the con- sequence " and with the look of one about to be martyred, Eugenia sat down and wrote to Dora, be- seeching her to "come without delay, as there was something they must tell her before meeting Uncle Nat!" This was Friday night, and very impatiently she awaited an answer, which, though written on Mon- day, did not come until the Wednesday following. " What does she say ? " cried Mrs. Deane and Alice, crowding around her, while with a rueful face she read that Dora would be delighted to meet Un- cle Nat at Locust Grove, but could not come quite so soon as they wished to have her. "You have undoubtedly heard," she wrote, "of Mr, Hastings's approaching marriage, at which I to be present. Mrs. Elliott will accompany the bridal party to Rose Hill on Thursday, and she thinks I had better wait and come with her. I shall probably see you at the party. "Yours in hasto, " DORA DEANE." On Eugenia's mind 'here was not a shadow of so* DORA DEANE, OR, picion that Dora Deane, appended to that letter, had ere this ceased to be her cousin's name that Mr. Hastings, who, together with Uncle Nat, had tha Saturday previous gone down to New York, had bent fondly over her as she wrote it for the last time, playfully suggesting that she add to it an H y by way of making a commencement, nor yet that Uncle Nat, with an immense degree of satisfaction in his face, had read the short note, saying as he did so, " We'll cheat 'em, darling, won't we ? " Neither did she dream that last night's moon shone down on Dora Deane, a beautiful, blushing bride, who, with orange blossoms in her shining hair, and the deep love-light in her eye, stood by Mr. Hast- ings's side and called him her husband. Nothing of all this she knew, and hastily reading the letter, sho exclaimed, '* Plague on her ! a vast deal of differ- ence her being at the wedding would make. But no matter, the old codger will not be here until Sat- urday night, and there'll be time enough to coax her. Just then the cards of invitation were left at the door, and in the delightful certainty of knowing that she was really invited, she forgot in a measure everything else. In the evening she was annoyed as usual with a call from Stephen Grey. He had thai day received news from home that his father's failure could not long be deferred, and judging Eugenia by himself, he fancied she would sooner marry him now, than after he was the son of a bankrupt. Accord- ingly he urged her to consent to a private marriage at her mother's on Friday evening, the night follow- ing the party. " There was nothing to be gained by waiting," h said an opinion in which Eugenia herself concurred. (or she feared lest in some way her treachery should THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 173 b Strayed, and she should lose Stephen Grey, as well as Mr. Hastings. Still she could hardly bring herself to consent un- til she had seen Dora, and she replied that she would think of it, and answer him at the party. Thursday morning came, and passed, and about half-past two, Eugenia saw Mr. Hastiugs's carriage pass on its way to the depot, together with two more, which had been hired to convey the guests to Rose Hill. Seat- ing herself by her chamber window, she waited im- patiently for the cars, which came at last, and in a few moments the roll of wheels announced the ap- proach of the bridal party. Very eagerly Eugenia, Alice, and their mother gazed out through the half closed shutters upon the carriage in front, which they knew was Mr. Hastings's. " There's Mrs ; Elliott looking this way. Don't let her see us," whispered Alice, while her mother sin- gled out old Mrs. Hastings for Dora, wondering why she didn't turn that way. But Eugenia had no eye for any one, save the figure seated next to Mr. Hastings, and so closely veiled as entirely to hide her features. " I wouldn't keep that old brown thing on my face, unless it was so homely I was afraid of having it seen," she said ; and hoping the bride of Howard Hastings might prove to be exceedingly ugly, she repaired to Dora's room, and from the same window where Dora once had watched the many lights which shone from Rose Hill, she now watched the travelers until they disappeared within the house. Then, re- joining her mother and sister she said, " I don't see why Dora can't come over here a little while before the party. There's plenty of time and I do want to have it off my mind. Besides that, I might coax her to assist me in dressing, for she hag good taste, 174 DORA DEANE, OR, if nothing more ; I mean to write her a few lines ftsking her to come." The note was accordingly written, and despatched by the Irish girl, who soon returned, bearing another tiny note, which read as follows : " I cannot possibly come, as I have promised to be present at the dressing of the bride. "DORA." Forgetting her recent remark, Eugenia muttered something about, " folks thinking a great deal of her taste," then turning to the servant girl, she asked "how Dora looked, and what she said ?" " Sure, I didn't see her," returned the girl ; Mistress Leah carried your letter to her, and brought hers to me. Not a ha'p'orth of anybody else did I see." And this was all the information which Eu- genia could elicit concerning the people of Rose Hill. The time for making their toilet came at last, and while Eugenia was missing the little cropped head girl, who, on a similar occasion, had obeyed so meekly her commands, a fair young bride was thinking also of that night, when she had lain upon her mother's old green trunk, and wept herself to sleep. Wishing to e fashionable, Eugenia and her party were the last to arrive. They found the parlors crowded, and the dressing-room vacant, so that neither of them re- ceived the slightest intimation of the surprise which awaited them. In removing her veil, Eugenia dis- placed one of the flowers in her hair, and muttering about Alice's awkwardness, she wished she could see Dora just a minute, and have her arrange the flowers ! But Dora was busy elsewhere, and pronouncing herself ready, Eugenia, took the arm of Stephen THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 1 75 Grey, and followed her mother and sister down- stairs. At a little distance from the door was Mr. Hastings, and at his side was Dora, wondrously beautiful in her costly bridal robes. She had grace- fully received the congratulations of her Dunwood friends, who, while expressing their surprise, had also expressed their delight at finding in the new mistress of Boss Hill, the girl who had ever been a favorite in the village. Near her was Uncle Nat, hia face wearing an expression of perfect happiness, and his^eye almost constantly upon the door, through which Engenia must pass. There was a rustle of silk npou the stairs, and drawing nearer to Dora, he awaited the result with breathless interest. Mrs. Deane came first, but scarcely had she crossed the threshold, ere she started back, petrified with astonishment, and clutching Alice's dress, whispered softly, " am I deceived, or is it Dora ? And Alice, with wild staring eyes, could only an- swer "Dora;" while Eugenia, wondering at their conduct, strove to push them aside. Failing in this, she raised herself on tiptoe, and looking over their heads, saw what for an instant chilled her blood, and stopped the pulsations of her heart. It was the Irlde, and fiercely grasping the arm of Stephen Grey to keep herself from falling, she said, in a hoarse, un- natural voice, " Great Heaven it is Dora ! DOHA DEANE !" Fruitful as she had hitherto been in expedients, she was now utterly powerless to act, and knowing that in her present state of excitement, she could Aot meet her cousin, she turned back and fleeing up the stairs, threw herself upon a chair in the dressing. room, where, with her hands clasped firmly together, she sat rigid as marble until the storm of passion had somewhat abated. >ORA DEANE, OR, " And she has won him Dora Deane, whom 1 have so ill treated," she said at last, starting at the sound of her voice, it was so hollow and strange. Then, as she remembered the coming of Uncle Nat and the exposure she so much dreaded, she buried her face in her hands, and in the bitterness of her humiliation cried out, " It is more than 1 can bear! n Growing ere long more calm, she thought the matter over carefully, and decided at last to brave it through to greet the bride as if nothing had oc- curred, and never to let Mr. Hustings know how sharp a wound he had inflicted. " It is useless now," she thought, " to throw myself upon the mercy of Dora. She would not, of course, withhold my secret from her husband, and I cannot be despised by him. I have loved him too well for that. And perhaps he'll never know it," she continued, beginning to look upon the brighter side. " Uncle Nat may not prove very in- quisitive may not stay with us long ; or if he does, as the wife of Stephen Grey, I can bear his dis- pleasure better," and determining that ere another twenty-four hours were gone, she would cease to be Eugenia Deane, she arose and stood before the mirror, preparatory to going down. The sight of her white haggard face startled her, and for a moment she felt that she could not mingle with the gay throng below, who would wonder at her appearance/ But the ordeal must be passed, and summoning all her courage, she descended to the parlor, just as her mother and Alice, alarmed at her very long absence, were coming in quest of her. Crossing the room mechanically she offered her hand to Bora, saying, while a sickly smile played around her bloodless lips, " You have really taken ns by^ surprise, but I congratulate you ; and yon too," bowing rather tifflj to Mr. Hastings, who returned her greeting THE EAST INDIA UNCLE. 177 go pleasantly, that she began to feel more at ease, and after a little, was chatting familiarly with Dora, telling her she must be sure and meet, " Uncle Nat," on Saturday evening, and adding in a low tone, " If Fve ever treated you badly, I hope you won't tell him/' " I shall tell him nothing, answered Dora, and comforted with this answer, Eugenia moved away. *' You are looking very pale and bad to-night. What is the matter ? " said U ncle Nat, when once he was standing near her. " Nothing but a bad headache," she replied, while her black eyes flashed angrily upon him, for she fancied he saw the painful throbbings of her heart, and wished to taunt her with it. Supper being over, Stephen Grey led her into a little side room, where he claimed the answer to his question. It was in the affirmative, and soon after, complaining of the intense pain in her head, she begged to go home. Alone in her room, with no one present but her mother and Alice, her pent-up feel- ings gave away, and throwing herself upon the floor she wished that she had died ere she had come to this humiliation. " That Dora, a beggar as it were, should be pre- ferred to me is nothing," she cried, " compared to the way which the whole thing was planned. That old wretch of a Hamilton had something to do with it, I know. How I hate him, with his sneering facel" Becoming at length a little more composed, sh when this last hope had been swept away, the world indeed seemed dreary and dark. " What shall we do ? " she groaned at last, in a voice so full of despair, that with a feeling akin to pity, Stephen, who had been pacing up and down the room, came to her side, saying, " Why can't we stay as we are ? I can average a pettyfogging suit a month, and that'll be better than nothing." " I wouldn't remain here on any account after what has happened," said Eugenia ; " and besides that, we couldn't stay, if we would, for now that Uncle Nat's remittance is withdrawn, mother haa nothing in the world to live on." " Couldn't you take in sewing" suggested Ste phen, " or washing, or mopping ? " To the sewing and the washing Eugenia was too indignant to reply, but when it came to the mopping, she lifted up her hands in astonishment, calling him " a fool and a simpleton." " Hang me, if I know anything about woman's work," said Stephen, resuming his walk, and wonder- ing why the taking in of mopping should be more difficult than anything else. " I have it," he said at length, running his fingers orer the keys of the 1 84 DORA DEANE, OR, piano. " Can't yon teach music ? The piano got you into a fix, and if I were you, Fd make it help me out." " I'll use it for kindling-wood first," was her an- swer, and Stephen resumed his cogitations, which resulted finally in his telling her, that on the prairies of Illinois there were a few acres of land, of which he was the rightful owier. There was a house on it, too, he said, though in what condition he did not