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 POPULAR NOVELS 
 By Mrs. Mary J. Hoi meg. 
 
 All published uniform with tbis volume, at $1.50, and Bent 
 free by mail on receipt of price. 
 
 I. DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT.. 
 
 n. 'LESA RIVERS. 
 
 III. TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE. 
 
 IV. MARIAN GREY. 
 
 V. MEADOW BROOK. 
 
 VI. ENGLISH ORPHANS. 
 
 VII. DORA DEANE. 
 
 VIII. COUSIN MAUDE. 
 IX. HOMESTEAD ON THE HILLSIDE. 
 
 Kre. Holmes is % peculiarly pleasant and fascinating writer 
 Her bonks are always entertaining, and slie lias the 
 rare faculty of enlisting the sympathy and affec- 
 tions of her readers, and of holding their 
 attention to her paces with deep 
 and absorbing interest, 
 
 CARLETON, Publisher, 
 
 New York.
 
 MARIAN GREY; 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 HEIRESS 'OF REDSTONE HALL, 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. MARY J. HOLMES, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "LENA RIVERS," "TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE," ETC.. ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 Car/eton, Publisher -, 413 Broadway. 
 
 M DCCC LXV.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1863, 
 
 Br DANIEL HOLMES, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Northern District of New York
 
 TO 
 
 N.. C. MILLER, 
 
 OT HBW YORK, 
 
 MY MUCH ESTEEMED FRIEND, 
 
 AND 
 
 FORMER PUBLISHER, 
 THIS STORY OF MARIAN GREY 
 
 13 RESPECTFDLtT 
 
 DEDICATED, 
 
 T 
 
 THE AUTHOR 
 
 205126,':
 
 MARIAN GREY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE night was dark and the clouds black and heavy 
 which hung over Redstone Hall, whose massive walls 
 loomed up through the darkness like some huge senti- 
 nel keeping guard over the spacious grounds by which 
 it was surrounded. Within the house all was still, 
 and without there was no sound to break the mid- 
 night silence save the sighing of the autumnal wind 
 through the cedar trees, or the roar of the river, which, 
 swollen by the recent heavy rains, went rushing on to 
 meet its twin sister at a point well known in Kentucky, 
 where our story opens, as " The Forks of theElkhorn." 
 From one of the lower windows a single light was 
 shining, and its dim rays fell upon the face _of a white- 
 haired man, who moaned uneasily in his sleep, as if 
 pursued by some tormenting fear. At last, as the old- 
 fashioned clock struck off the hour of twelve, he 
 awoke, and glancing nervously toward the corner, 
 whence the sound proceeded, he whispered, "Have 
 you come again, Ralph Lindsey, to tell me of my 
 sin I" 
 
 " What' is it, Mr. Raymond ?" and a young girl
 
 8 GUARDIAN AND WARD. 
 
 glided to the bedside of the old man, who, taking her 
 hand in his, the better to assure himself of her pres- 
 ence, baid, " Marian, is there nothing in that corner 
 yonder nothing with silvery hair ?" 
 
 " Nothing," answered Marian, " nothing but the 
 lamplight shining on the face of the old clock. Did 
 you think there was some one here 2" 
 
 " Yes no. Marian, do you believe the dead can 
 come back to us again when we have done them a 
 wrong the dead who are buried in the sea, I mean ?" 
 
 Marian shuddered involuntarily, and cast a timid 
 look toward the shadowy corner, then, conquering her 
 weakness, she answered, " No, the dead cannot come 
 back. But why do you talk so strangely to-night ?" 
 
 The old man hesitated a moment ere he replied. 
 " The time has come for me to speak, so that your fa- 
 ther can rest in peace. He has been with me more 
 than once in this .very room, and to-night I fancied he 
 was here again, asking why I had dealt so falsely with 
 his child." 
 
 " Falsely!" cried Marian, kissing tenderly the hand 
 of the only parent she had ever known. " Not falsely, 
 I am sure, for you have been most kind to me." 
 
 "And yet, Marian," he said, "I have done you a 
 wrong a wrong which has eaten into my very soui, 
 and worn my life away. I did not intend to speak of 
 it to-night, but something prompts me to do so, and 
 you must listen. On that night when your father 
 died, and when all in the ship, save ourselves and the 
 watch, were asleep, I laid my hand on his forehead, 
 and swore to be faithful to my trust. Do you hear, 
 Marian faithful to my trust. You don't know what 
 that meant, but I know, and I've broken my oath to 
 the dying and from that grave in the ocean he comes 
 to rue sometimes, and with the same look upon his 
 face which it wore that Summer afternoon when we 
 laid him in the sea, he asks why justice has not been 
 done to you. Wait, Marian, until I have finished," 
 he continued, as he saw her about to speak ; " I know
 
 GUARDIAN AND WARD. 9 
 
 I have not long to live, and I would make amends ; 
 but, Marian, I would rather oh, so much rather, you 
 should not know the truth until I'm dead. You 
 will forgive me then more readily, won't you, Marian ? 
 Promise me you will forgive the poor old man who 
 has loved you so much loved you, if possible, better 
 than he loved his only son." 
 
 He paused for her reply, and half bewildered, Ma-' 
 rian answered, "I don't know what you mean but if, 
 as you say, a wrong has been done, no matter how 
 great that wrong may be, it is ffeely forgiven for the 
 sake of what you've been to me." 
 
 The sick man wound his arm lovingly around her, 
 and bringing her nearer to him, he said, " Bless you, 
 Marian -bless you for that. It makes my deathbed 
 easier. I will leave it in writing my confession. I 
 cannot tell it now, for I could not bear to see upon 
 your face that you despised me. You wrote to Fred- 
 eric, and told him to come quickly ?" 
 
 u Yes," returned Marian, " I said you were very 
 sick and wished to see him at once." 
 
 For a moment there was silence in the room ; then, 
 removing hia arm from the neck of the young girl, the 
 old man raised himself upon his elbow and looking 
 her steadily in the face, said, " Marian, could you love 
 my son Frederic ?" 
 
 The question was a strange one, but Marian Lind- 
 sey was accustomed to strange mode^ of speech in her 
 guardian, and with a slightly heightened color she 
 answered quietly, " I do love him as a brother " 
 
 " Yes, but I would have you love him as something 
 nearer," returned her guardian. "Ever since I took 
 you for my child it has been the cherished object of 
 my life that you should be his wife." 
 
 There was a nervous start and an increase of color 
 in Marian's face, for the idea, though not altogether 
 disagreeable, was a new one to her, but she made no 
 reply, and her guardian continued, " I am seltish in 
 this wish, though not wholly so. I know you could 
 1*
 
 10 GUARDIAN AND WARD. 
 
 be happy with him, and in no other way can my good 
 name be saved from disgrace. Promise me, Marian, 
 that you will be his wife very soon after I am dead, 
 and before all Kentucky is talking of my sin. You 
 are not too young. You will be sixteen in a few 
 months, and many marry as early as tha*t." 
 
 " Does Ite wish it?" asked Marian, timidly ; and her 
 guardian replied, " He has known you .but little of 
 late, but when he sees you here at home, and learns 
 how gentle and good you are, he cannot help loving 
 you as you deserve." 
 
 " Yes he can," answered Marian with childish sim- 
 plicity. " No man as handsome as Frederic ever loved 
 a girl with an ugly face, and I heard him tell Will 
 Gordon, when he spent a vacation here, that I was a 
 nice little girl, but altogether too freckled, too red- 
 headed, and Bcrawney, ever to make a handsome wo- 
 man," and Marian's voice trembled slightly as she 
 recalled a speech which had wrung from her many 
 tears. 
 
 To this remark Col. Raymond made no reply for 
 he too, had cause to doubt Frederic's willingness to 
 marry a girl who boasted so few personal charms as 
 did Marian Lindsey then. Rumors, too, he had heard, 
 of a peerlessly beautiful creature, with raven hair 
 and eyes of deepest black, who at the north kept his 
 son a captive to her will. But this could not be ; 
 Frederick must marry Marian, for in no other way 
 could the name of Kaymond be saved from a dis- 
 grace, or the vast possessions he called his be kept in 
 the family, and he was about to speak again when a 
 heavy tread in the hall announced the approach of 
 some one, and a moment after, Aunt Dinah, the 
 housekeeper, appeared. "She had come to sit up 
 with her marster," she said, "and lee Miss Marian 
 go to bed, where children like her ought to be." 
 
 At Hist Marian objected, for though scarcely con- 
 scious of it herself, she way well enough pleased to 
 sit where she was and hear her guardian talk of Fred
 
 GUARDIAN' AND WARD. 11 
 
 eric and of what she had no hope would ever be ; but 
 when Aunt Dinah suggested to her that sitting up 
 so much would make her look yellow and old, she 
 yielded, for Frederic was a passionate admirer of 
 beauty, and she well knew that she had none to lose. 
 Kissing her guardian good night, she hurried to her 
 chamber, but not to sleep, for the tumult of thought 
 which her recent conversation had awakened kept her 
 restless and wakeful. Under ordinary circumstances 
 she would have wondered what the wrong could be 
 at which Col. Raymond had .hinted, but now she 
 scarcely remembered it, or if it occurred to her at all, 
 she instantly dismissed it from her mind as some triv- 
 ial thing which the weak state of her guardian's mind 
 magnified into a serious matter. 
 
 Thirteen years before our story opens, Marian had 
 embarked with her father on board a ship which 
 sailed from Liverpool to New York. Of that father 
 she remembered little save that he was very poor, 
 and that he talked of his poverty as if it were some- 
 thing of which he was proud. Pleasant memories, 
 though, she had of an American gentleman who used 
 often to take her on his lap, and tell her of the land 
 to which she was going ; and when one day her father 
 laid him down in his berth, with the fever as they 
 said, she remembered how the kind man had care'd 
 for him, holding his aching head and "watching by 
 him till he died ; then, when it was all over, he had 
 taken her upon his knee and told her she was to be 
 his little girl now, and he bade her call him father 
 telling her how her own dead parent had asked him 
 to care for her, who in all the wide world had no near 
 relative. Something, too, she remembered about an 
 old coarse bag, which had troubled her new father 
 very much, and which he had finally put in the bot- 
 tom of his trunk, throwing overboard a few articles 
 of clothing to m:>ke room for it. The voyage was long 
 and stormy, but they reached New York at last, and 
 he took her to his home not .Redstone Hall, but an
 
 12 . GUARDIAN AND WABD 
 
 humble farm-house on the Hudson, where he had al 
 ways lived. Frederic was a boy then a dark haired 
 handsome boy of eleven, and even now she shuddered 
 as she remembered how he used to tease and worry 
 her. Still he liked her, she was sure and the first 
 real grief which she remembered was on that rainy 
 day when, with an extra pull at her long curls, he 
 badejier good-by and went off to a distant boarding 
 school. 
 
 Col. Raymond, her guardian, was growing rich, 
 and people said he must have entered into some for- 
 tunate speculation while abroad, for, since his return, 
 prosperity had attended every movement; and when, 
 six months after Frederic's departure, he went to 
 Kentucky and purchased Redstone Hall, then rather 
 a dilapidated building, Mrs. Burt, his housekeeper, 
 had wondered where all his money came from, when 
 he used to be so poor. They had moved to Kentucky 
 when Marian was five and a half years old and now, 
 after ten years' improvement, there was not in the 
 whole county so beautiful a spot as Redstone Hall, 
 with its terraced grounds, its graveled walks, its plats 
 of grass, its grand old trees, its creeping vines, its 
 flowering shrubs and handsome park in the rear. And 
 this was Marian's home ; here she had lived a rather 
 secluded life, for only when Frederic was with them 
 did they see much company, and all the knowledge 
 she had of the world was what she gleaned from 
 books or learned from the negress Dinah, who, " hav- 
 ing lived with the very first families," frequently en- 
 tertained her young mistress with stories of " the 
 quality," and the dinner parties at which her pres- 
 ence was once so indispensable. And Marian, listen- 
 ing to these glowing descriptions of satin dresses, dia- 
 monds and feathers, sometimes wished that she were 
 rich, and could have a taste of fashion. To be sure, 
 her guardian bought her always more than she need- 
 ed but it was not hers, and without any particular 
 reason why she should do so, she felt that she was a
 
 GUARDIAN AND WARD. . 13 
 
 dependent and something^ of an inferior, especially 
 when Frederic came home with his aristocratic man- 
 ners, his graceful mustache, an 1 the soft scent of per- 
 fumery he usually carried with him. He was always 
 polite and kind to Marian, but she felt that there was 
 a gulf between them. He was handsome ; she was 
 plain he was rich ; she was poor he was educated, 
 and she alas, for Marian's education she read a 
 great deal, but never yet had she given herself up to 
 a systematic course of study. Governesses she had 
 iu plenty, but she usually coaxed them off into the 
 woods, or down by the river, where she left them to 
 do what they pleased, while she learned many a les- 
 son from the great book of nature spread out so beau- 
 tifully before her. All this had tended to make and 
 keep -her a very child, and it was not until her four- 
 teenth year that any thing occurred to develop the 
 genuine womanly qualities which she possessed. 
 
 By the death of a distant relative, a little unfortu- 
 nate blind girl was left to Colonel Raymond's care, and 
 was immediately taken to Redstone Hall, where she 
 became the pet of Marian, who loved nothing in the 
 whole world as dearly as the poor blind Alice. And 
 well was that love repaid ; for to Alice Marian Lind- 
 sey was the embodiment of everything beautiful, pure 
 and good. Frederic, on the .contrary, was a kind of 
 terror to the little Alice. " He was so precise and 
 stuck up," she said ; " and when he was at home Ma- 
 rian was not a bit like herself." To Marian, however, 
 his occasional visits to Redstone Hall were sources of 
 great pleasure. To look at his handsome figure, to 
 listen to hi* voice, to anticipate his slightest wish and 
 minister to his wants so quietly that he scarcely knew 
 from whom the attention came, was happiness for 
 her, and when he smiled upon her, as he often did, 
 calling her" a good little girl," she felt repaid for all 
 she had done. Occasionally, since her guardian's ill- 
 ness, she had thought of the future when some fine 
 lady might come to Redstone Hail as its mistress, but
 
 14 GUARDIAN AND WAKD. 
 
 the subject was an unpleasant one, and she always 
 dismissed it from her mind. In her estimation, there 
 were few worthy to be the wife of Frederic certainly 
 not herself and when the idea was suggested to her 
 by his father, she regarded it as an utter impossibili- 
 ty. Still it kept her wakeful, and once she said softly 
 to herself, " I could love him so much if he would let 
 me, and I should be so proud of him, too." Then, as 
 she remembered the remark she had he ird him make 
 to his college friend, she covered her face with her 
 hands and whispered, sadly, " Oh, I wish I. wasn't 
 ugly." Anon, however, there came stealing over her 
 the thought that in the estimation of others she was 
 not as plain as in that of Frederic Raymond. Every 
 body seemed to like her, and if she were hideous look- 
 ing they could not. Alice, whose darkened eyes 
 had never looked upon the light of day, -and who 
 judged by the touch alone, declared that she was 
 beautiful, while old Dinah said that age would im- 
 prove her as it did wine, and that in time she would 
 be the handsomest woman in all Kentucky. 
 
 Never before had Marian thought so much of her 
 personal appearance and now, feeling anxious to 
 know exactly what her defects were, she arose, and 
 lighting the lamp, placed it upon her dressing bureau 
 then throwing a shawl around her shoulders, she 
 sat down and minutely inspected the face which Fred- 
 eric Kaymond called so homely. The features were 
 regular enough, but the face was very thin 
 " scrawney," Frederic had said, and the cheek bones 
 were plainly perceptible. This might be the result of 
 eating slate-stones; Dinah, who knew 'everything, 
 said it was, and mentally resolving thereafter to ab- 
 jure everything of the kind, Marian continued her 
 investigations. It did not occur to her that her 
 complexion was surpassingly fair, nor yet that her 
 eyes were of a most beautiful blue, so intent was she 
 upon the freckles which dotted her nose and a portion 
 of her face. Slate-stones surely had nothing to do
 
 GUARDIAN AND WAKD. . 15 
 
 with these, and s'he knew of no way of remedying 
 tli is evil unless, indeed, poulticing should do it. 
 She would consult Dinah on the subject, and feeling a 
 good deal of confidence in the negress' judgment, she 
 passed on to what she Considered her crowning point of 
 ugliness her hair ! It was soft, luxuriant and curly, 
 but alas, it bore the color which, though accounted 
 beautiful in Mary Stuart's time, has long since been 
 proscribed by fashion as horrid andunbecoming. Turn 
 wlr'ch way she would, or hold the lamp in any position 
 she chose, it was still red a dark, decided red and 
 the tears came to Marian's eyes as she recalled the 
 many times when, as a boy, Frederic taunted her with 
 being a " red-head " or a " brick-top," just as the hu- 
 mor suited him. Suddenly she remembered that 
 among her treasures was a lock of her mother's 
 hair, and opening a rosewood box she took from it a 
 shining tress which she laid upon the marble top of 
 her bureau, and then bent down to admire its color, a 
 beautiful auburn, such as is rarely seen and which, 
 when seen, is sure to be admired. 
 
 "And this was my mother's," she whispered, 
 smoothing caressingly the silken hair. " I must re- 
 semble her more than my father, who my guardian 
 says was dark. I wisli I was like her in everything, 
 for I believe she was beautiful," and into the mind of 
 the orphan girl there crept an image of a bright- 
 haired, sweel -faced woman, whose eyes of lustrous 
 blue looked lovingly into her own and this was her 
 mother. She had seen her thus in fancy many a time, 
 but never so vividly as to-night, and unconsciously 
 she breathed the petition, u Let me look like her 
 some day. and I shall be content." 
 
 The gray morning light was by this time stealing 
 through the window, and overcome with weariness and 
 watching, Marian fell asleep, and when, two hours 
 later, old Dinah came in to wake her, she found her 
 sitting before the glass, with the lamp still ourning at
 
 ll> GUARDIAN AND WARD. 
 
 her side, and her head resting on her arms, which lay 
 upon the low bureau. 
 
 " For the dear Lord's sake, what are you doing ?" 
 was Dinalrs exclamation, which at once roused Ma- 
 rian, who unhesitatingly answered, 
 
 "I got up to look in the glass, and see if I was so 
 very homely." 
 
 " Humbly ! Nonsense, child," returned old Dinah. 
 "You look like a pi.cter lyin' thar \vith the sun a shin- 
 in' on yer har, and makin' it look like a piece of crim- 
 son satin." 
 
 The compliment was a doubtful one, but Marian 
 knew it was well meant, and, without a word in re- 
 ply, commenced her morning toilet. That day, some- 
 what to her disappointment, her guardian did not re- 
 sume the conversation of the previous night. He was 
 convinced that Marian could be easily won, but he 
 did not think it wise to encourage her until he had 
 talked with his son, whose return he looked for anx- 
 iously. But day after day went by, and it was in 
 vain that Alice listened, and Marian watched, for the 
 daily stage. It never stopped at the gate; and each 
 time that the old man heard them say it had gone by, 
 he groaned afresh, fearing Frederic would not come 
 until it was too late. 
 
 U I can at least tell him the truth on paper," he said 
 to himself at last, " and it may "be he will pay more 
 heed to words, which a dead father wrote, than to 
 words which a living father spoke." 
 
 Marian was accordingly bidden to bring him his little 
 writing desk, and then to leave the room, for he 
 would be .alone when he wrote that letter of confes- 
 sion. It cost him many a fierce struggle the telling 
 to his son a secret which none save himself and God 
 had ever known aye, which none had ever need to 
 know if he would have it so but he would not. The 
 secret had worn his life away, and he must make re- 
 paration now. So, with the perspiration dropping 
 from every pore, he wrote ; and, as he wrote, in his
 
 GUARDIAN AND WARD. 17 
 
 disordered imagination, there stood beside his pillow 
 the white-haired Englishman, watching carefully to 
 see that justice was done at last to Marian. Recently- 
 several letters had passed between the father and his 
 son concerning the marriage of the latter with Marian 
 a marriage every way distasteful to the young man, 
 who, in his answer, ha'd said far harsher things of Ma- 
 rian than he really meant, hoping thus to put an end 
 to his father's plan, bhe was "rough, uncouth, uned- 
 ucated and ugly," he said, " and if his father did not 
 give up that foolish fancy, he should positively hate 
 the red-headed fright." 
 
 All this the old man touched upon quoting the 
 very words his son had used, and whispering to him- 
 self, "Poor poor Marian, it would break her heart 
 to know that he said that, but she never will she 
 never will ;" and then, with the energy of despair, he 
 wrote the reason why she must be the wife of his son, 
 pleading with him as only a dying man can plead, 
 that he would not disregard the wishes of his father, 
 and begging him to forget the dark-haired Isabel, 
 who, though perhaps more beautiful, was not could 
 not be as pure, as gentle and as good as Marian. 
 
 The letter was finished, and 'mid burning tears of 
 remorse and shame the old man read it through. 
 
 "Yes, that will do," he said. "Frederic will heed 
 what's written here. He'll -marry her or else make 
 restitution ;" and laying it away, he commenced the 
 last and hardest part of all the confessing to Marian 
 how he had sinned against her. 
 
 Although there was no tie of blood between them, 
 the gentle young orphan had crept down into his in- 
 most heart, where once he treasured a little golden- 
 haired girl, who, before Frederic was born, died on 
 his lap, and went to the heaven made for such as she. 
 In the first moments of his bereavement, he had 
 thought his loss could never be repaired, but when, 
 with her soft anus around his neck, Marian Lindsey 
 had murmured in his ear how much she loved the
 
 18 GUAKDIAN AND WARD. 
 
 only father she had ever known, he felt that the angel 
 he had lost was restored to him tenfold in the little 
 English girl. He knew that she believed that there 
 was in him no evil, and his heart throbbed with agony 
 as he nerved himself to tell her how for years he had 
 acted a villain's part, but it was done at last, and with 
 a passionate appeal for her forgiveness, and a request 
 that she would not forget him wholly, but come 
 some time to visit his lonely grave, he finished the 
 letter, and folding it up, wrote upon its back, "For 
 3farian ;" then, taking the one intended for Frederic, 
 he attempted to write, "For my Son" but the ink was 
 gone from his pen, there was a blur before his eyes, 
 and though he traced the words he left no impress, 
 and the letter bore no superscription to tell to whom 
 it belonged. Stepping upon the floor, lie dragged his 
 feeble limbs to the adjoining room, his library, and 
 placing both letters in his private drawer, retired to 
 his bed, where, utterly exhausted, he fell asleep. 
 
 When at last he awoke, Marian was sitting by his 
 side, and to her he communicated what he had done, 
 telling her where the letters were, and that if he died 
 ere Frederic's return, she must give the one bearing 
 the words u For my Son " to him. 
 
 " You will not read it, of course," he said, " or ever 
 seek to know what its contents are." 
 
 Had Marian Lindsey been like many girls, the cau- 
 tion would have insured the reading of the letter at 
 once, but she fortunately shrank from anything dis- 
 honorable, and was blessed with bat a limited share 
 of woman's curiosity ; consequently, the letter was 
 safe in her care, even though no one ever came to 
 claim it. All that afternoon she sat by her guardian, 
 and when as usual the stage thundered down the turn- 
 pike, leaving no Frederic at the door, she soothed him 
 with the hope that he would be there to-morrow. But 
 the morrow came and went as did other to-morrows, 
 until Col. .Raymond grew so ill that a telegram was
 
 GUARDIAN A3TD WARD. 19 
 
 despatched to the truant boy, bidding him hasten if 
 he would see his father again alive. 
 
 "That will bring him," the old man said, while the 
 big tears rolled down his wrinkled face. ' He'll be 
 here in a few days," and he asked that his bed might 
 be moved near the window, where, propped upon pil- 
 lows, he watched with childish impatience for the 
 coming of his boy.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 FATHER AND SON. 
 
 A TELEGRAM from Frederic, who was coming home 
 at last 1 He would be there that very day, and the 
 inmates of Redstone Hall were thrown into a state of 
 unusual excitement. Old Dinah in jaunty turban and 
 clean white apron, bustled from the kitchen to the 
 dining room, and from the dining room back to the 
 kitchen, jingling her huge bunch of keys with an air 
 of great importance, and kicking from under her feet 
 any luckless black baby which chanced to be in her 
 way, making always an exception in favor of " Victo- 
 ria Eugenia," who bore a striking resemblance to her- 
 self, and would one day call her "gran'mam." Dinah 
 was in her element, for nothing pleased her better 
 than the getting up a " tip top dinner," and fully 
 believing that Frederic had been half starved in a land 
 where they didn't have "hoe-cake and bacon three 
 times a day, she determined to give him one full meal, 
 such as would make his stomach ache for three full 
 hours at least ! 
 
 Mr. Raymond, too, was better than usual to-day, 
 and at his post by the window \vatched eagerly the 
 distant turn in the road where the stage would first 
 appear/ In her chamber, Marian was busy with her 
 toilet, trying the effect of dress after dress, and at 
 Alice's suggestion deciding at last upon a pale blue, 
 which harmonized well with her fair complexion. 
 
 " Frederic likes blue, I know," she thought, aa
 
 FATHER AND SON. 21 
 
 she remembered having heard him admire a dress of 
 that color worn by a young lady who had once visited 
 at Redstone Hall. 
 
 Dinah, when consulted as to the best method of 
 making red hair dark, had strongly recommended 
 "possum ile and sulphur, scented with some kind of 
 essence ;" but to this dye Marian did not take kindly. 
 She preferred that her hair should retain its natural 
 color, and falling as it did in soft curls around her 
 face and neck, it was certainly not unbecoming. Her 
 toilet was completed at last Alice's little hands had 
 decided that it was perfect the image reflected by 
 the mirror was far from being ordinary-looking, and 
 secretly wondering if Frederic would not think her 
 tolerably pretty, Marian sat down to await his coming. 
 She had not been seated long when Alice's quick ear 
 caught the sound of the distant stage, and in a few 
 moments Marian from behind the half-closed shutter, 
 was watching the young man as he came slowly up 
 the avenue, which led from the highway to the house. 
 His step was usually bounding and rapid, but now he 
 lingered as if unwilling to reach the door. 
 
 " Tis because of his father," thought Marian. " He 
 fears he may be dead." 
 
 But not of his father alone was Frederic thinking. 
 It was not pleasant coming home ; for aside from the 
 fear that his father might really die, was a dread of 
 what that father might ask him to do. For Marian as 
 a sister, he had no dislike, for he knew she possessed 
 many gentle, womanly virtues, but from the thoughts 
 of making her his wile he instinctively shrank. Only 
 one had the shadow of a claim to bear that relation to 
 him, and of her he was thinking that September after- 
 noon as he came up the walk. She was poor, he 
 knew, and the daughter ot'his landlady, who claimed 
 $ distant relationship with his father; but she was 
 beautiful, and a queen might covet her stately bear- 
 ing, and polished, graceful manner. Into her heart 
 he had never looked, for satisfied with the fair exte-
 
 2'2 FATHKR AND SON. 
 
 rior, lie failed to see the treachery lurking in her large 
 black eyes, or yet to detect the tierce, stormy passions, 
 which had a home within her breast. 
 
 Isabella Iluntington, or " Cousin Bell," as he called 
 her, was beautiful, accomplished, and artful, and dur- 
 ing the year that Frederic Raymond had been an 
 inmate of her mother's family, she had succeeded in 
 so completely infatuating the young man that now 
 there was to him but one face in the world, and that 
 in fancy shone upon him even when it was far away. 
 He had never said to her that he loved her, for though 
 often tempted so to do, something had always inter- 
 posed between them, bidding him wait until he knew 
 her better. Consequently he was not bound to her 
 by words, but he thought it very probable that she 
 would one day be his wife, and as he drew near to 
 Redstone Hall, he could not forbear feeling a glow of 
 pride, fancying how she would grace that elegant 
 mansion as its rightful mistress. Of Marian, too, he 
 thought harsh, bitter thoughts, mingled with softer 
 emotions as he reflected that she possibly knew 
 nothing of his father's plan. He pitied her, he said, 
 for if his father died, she would be alone in the world. 
 After what had passed, it would hardly be pleasant 
 for him to have her there where he could see .-her 
 every day ; she might not be agreeable to Isabel 
 either, and he should probably provide for her hand- 
 somely and have her live somewhere else at a fash- 
 ionable boarding school, perhaps I 
 
 Magnanimous Frederic ! He was growing very 
 generous, and by the time he reached the long piazza, 
 Marian Lindsey was comfortably disposed of in the 
 third story of some seminary far away from Redston 
 Hall ! 
 
 The meeting between the father and son was an af- 
 fecting one the former sobbing like a child, and 
 asking of the latter why he had tarried so long. The 
 answer to this question was that Irederic had been 
 absent from New Haven for three weeks, and that Is-
 
 FATHER AND SON. 23 
 
 abel, who took charge of his letters, neglected to for- 
 ward the one written by Marian. At the mention of 
 Isabel, the old man's cheek flushed, and he said, 
 impatiently, " the neglect was an unpardonable one, 
 for it bore on its face ' In haste.' Perhaps, though, 
 she did it purposely, hoping thus to keep you from 
 me." 
 
 Instantly Frederic warmed up in Isabel's defence, 
 eaying she was incapable of a mean act. He doubted 
 whether she had observed the words "In haste" at 
 all, and if she did she only withheld it for the sake of 
 saving him from anxiety as long as possible. 
 
 At this moment there was the sound of little uncer- 
 tain feet ruear the door, and Alice groped her way 
 into the room. She. was a fair, sweet-faced little child, 
 and taking her upon his knee, Frederic kissed her 
 affectionately, arid asked her many questions as to 
 what she had done since he was home six months 
 before. Seldom before had he paid her so much atten- 
 tion, and feeling anxious that Marian should be simi- 
 larly treated, the little girl, after answering his ques- 
 tions, said to him, coaxingly, 
 
 " Won't you kiss Marian, too, when she comes 
 down ? She's been ever so long dressing herself and 
 trying to look pretty." 
 
 Instantly the eyes of the father and son met those 
 of the former expressive of entreaty, while those of 
 the latter flashed with defiance. 
 
 " Go for Marian, child, and tell her to come here," 
 said Mr. Kaymond. 
 
 Alice obeyed, and as she left the room, Frederic 
 said bitterly, " I see she is leagued with you. JL had 
 thought better of her than that." 
 
 u No, she isn't," cried the father,, fearing that his 
 favorite project was in danger. "I merely suggested 
 it to her once only once." 
 
 Frederic was about to reply, when the rustling of 
 female garments announced the approach of Marian. 
 To Colonel Raymond she was handsome then, as with
 
 24 . FATHER AND SON. 
 
 a highfened bloom upon her cheek and a bashful light 
 in her deep blue eyes, she entered timidly and offered 
 her hand to Frederic. But to the jealous young man 
 she was merely a plain, ordinary country girl, bear- 
 ing no comparison to the peerless Isabel. Still he 
 greeted her. kindly, addressed to her a few trivial re- 
 remarks, and then resumed his conversation with lit- 
 tle Alice, who, feeling that matters were going wrong, 
 rolled her eyes often and anxiously toward the spot 
 where she knew Marian was sitting and when at last 
 the latter left the room, she said to Frederic, "Isn't 
 Marian pretty in her bine dress, with all those curls ? 
 There are twenty of them, for I heard her count them. 
 Say she is pretty, so I can tell her and make her 
 feel good." 
 
 Frederic would not then have admitted that Marian 
 was pretty, even had he thought so, and biting his 
 lip with vexation, he replied, U I do not particularly 
 admire blue, and I detest cork-screw curls."' 
 
 Marian was still in the lower hall, and heard both 
 the question and the answer. Darting up the stairs, 
 she ilew to her chamber, and throwing herself upon 
 the bed, burst into a passionate flood of tears. All in 
 vain had she dressed herself for Frederic Raymond's 
 eye curling her hair in twenty curls, even as Alice 
 had said. lie hated blue he hated curls cork-screw 
 curls particularly. What could he mean ? She never 
 heard the term thus applied before. It must have 
 some reference to their color, and clutching at her 
 luxuriant tresses she would have torn them from her 
 head, had not a little childish hand been laid upon 
 hers,. and Alice's soothing voice murmured in her ear, 
 " Don't cry, Marian ; I wouldn't care for him. He's 
 just as mean as he can be, and if I owned Redstone 
 Hall, I wouldn't let him live here, would you?" 
 
 " Yes no I don't know," sobbed Marian. " I 
 don't own Redstone Hall. I don't own anything, and 
 I most wish I was dead." 
 
 Alice was unaccustomed to such a burst of passion,
 
 FATHER AND SON. . 25- 
 
 and was trying to frame some reply, when the dinner 
 bell rang, and lifting up her head, Marian said, " Go 
 down, Alice, and tell Dinah I can't come, and if she 
 insists, tell her I won't /" 
 
 Alice knew she was in earnest, and going below she 
 delivered the message to Dinah in the presence of 
 Frederic, who silently took his seat at the table. 
 
 " For the dear Lord's sake, what's happened her 
 now ?" said Dinah, casting a rueful glance at Marian's 
 empty chair. 
 
 " She's crying," returned Alice, " and she dislikes 
 somebody in this room awfully ; 'taint you, Dinah, 
 nor 'taint me," and the bfind eyes flashed indignantly 
 at Frederic, who smiled quietly as he replied, "Thank 
 you, Miss Alice." 
 
 Alice made no reply, and the dinner proceeded in 
 silence. After it was over, Frederic returned to his 
 father, who ha4 been nerving himself for the task 
 he had to perform, and which he determined should 
 be done at once.- 
 
 "Lock the door, Frederic," he said, " and then sit 
 by me while I say to you what I have so long wished 
 to say." 
 
 With a lowering brow Frederic complied, and seat- 
 ing himself near to his father, he folded his arms and 
 said, " Go on, I am ready now to hear but if it is of 
 Marian you would speak, I will spare you that trou- 
 ble, father," and Frederic's voice was milder in its 
 tone. "I have always liked Marian very much as a 
 sister, and if it so chances that you are .taken from 
 us, I will be the best of brothers to her. I \vill care 
 for her and see that she does not want. Let this sat- 
 isfy you, father, for I cannot marry her. I do not 
 love her, for I love another ; one compared to whom 
 Marian is as the night to the day. Let me tell'you of 
 Isabel, father," and Frederic's voice was still aofter 
 in its tone. 
 
 The old man shook his head and answ3ied mourn- 
 fully, " No, Frederic, were she as fair as the morning 
 
 2
 
 .2(5 FATHEK AND SOW. 
 
 I could not wish her to be your wife. I have never 
 told .you before, but I once received an anonymous 
 letter concerning this same Isabel, saying she was 
 treacherous and deceitful, and would lead you on to 
 ruin." 
 
 " The villain ! It was Rudolph's doings," muttered 
 Frederic ; then in a louder tone he said, " I can ex- 
 plain that, I think. 'When Isabel was quite young, 
 she w r as engaged conditionally to Rudolph McVicar, 
 a worthless fellow whom she has since discarded. He 
 is a jealous, malignant creature, and has sworn to be 
 revenged. He wrote that letter, I am sure. It is like 
 him." 
 
 "It may be," returned the father, "but I distrust 
 this Isabel. Her mother, as you are aware, is a dis- 
 tant relative of mine. I know her well, and though I 
 never "saw the daughter, I am sure she is selfish, am- 
 bitious, deceitful and proud, while Marian is so 
 good." 
 
 " Marian is a mere child," interrupted Fred- 
 eric. 
 
 "Almost sixteen," rejoined the father, "and before, 
 you marry her she will be older still." 
 
 " Yes, yes, much older," thought Frederic, contin- 
 uing aloud, " Listen to reason, father. I certainly do 
 not love Marian, neither do I suppose that she loves 
 me. Now if you have our mutual good at heart, you 
 cannot desire a marriage which would surely result in. 
 wretchedness to both." 
 
 " I have thought of all that," returned the father. 
 "A few kind words from you would win Marian's 
 love at once, and when once won she would be to you 
 a faithful, loving wife, whom you would ere long 
 learn to prize. You cannot treat any woman badly, 
 Frederic, much less Marian. I know you would be 
 happy with her, and should desire the' marriage even 
 though it could not save me from dishonor in the 
 eyes of the world." 
 
 "Father," said Frederic, turning slightly pale,
 
 FATHER AND SON. 27 
 
 " what do you mean ? Yon have in your letters hint- 
 ed of a wrong done to somebody. Was it to Marian 
 If so, do not seek to sacrifice my happiness, but make 
 amends in some other way. Will money repair tho 
 wrong? If so, -give it to her, even to half your for- 
 tune, and leave me alone." 
 
 He had touched a tender point, and raising himself 
 in bed, the old man gasped, " Yes, yes, boy but you 
 have no money to give her. Redstone Hull is not 
 'mine, not yours, but hers. Tho?e houses in Louisville 
 are hers not mine, not yours. Everything you see 
 around yon is hers all hers ; and if you refuse her, 
 Frederic hear me if you refuse Marian Lindsey, 
 strict restitution must be made, and you will be a 
 beggar as it were. Marry her, and as her husband 
 you will keep it all and save me from disgrace. 
 Choose, Frederic, choose." 
 
 Mr. Raymond was terribly excited, and the great 
 drops of perspiration stood thickly upon his forehead, 
 and trickled from beneath his hoary hair. 
 , " Is he going mad !" thought Frederic, his own 
 heart throbbing with a nervous fear of coming evil, 
 but ere he could speak his father continued, " Hear 
 my story, and" you will know how I came by these- 
 ill-gotten gains," and he glanced around the richly 
 furnished room. " You know 1 was sent to England, 
 or 1 could not have gone, for 1 had no means with 
 which to meet the necessary expenses. In the streets 
 of Liverpool I first saw Marian's father, and I mistook 
 him for a beggar. Again I met him on board ship, 
 and making his acquaintance, found him to be a man 
 of no ordinary intellect. There was something about 
 him which pleased me, and when he became ill, I 
 cared for him as for a friend. The night he died we 
 were alone, and he confided to me his history. He 
 was an only child, and, orphaned at an early age, be- 
 came an inmate of one of those dens of cruelty 
 those schools on the Dotheboys plan. From this 
 bondage he escaped at last, and then for more than
 
 28 FATHER AND SON. 
 
 thirty years employed his time in making and saving 
 money. He was a miser in every sense of the word, 
 and though" counting his money by thousands yes, 
 by tens of thousands, he starved himself almost to 
 death. No one suspected his wealth not even his 
 young wife, Mary Grey, whom he married three years 
 before I met him, and who died when Marian was 
 born. She, too, had been an only child and an or- 
 phan ; and as in England there was none to care for 
 him or his, he conceived the idea of emigrating to 
 America, and there lavishing his stores of gold on 
 Marian. She should be a lady, he -said, and live in 
 a palace fit for a queen. But death overtook him, 
 aiid to me he entrusted his child with all his money 
 some in gold, and some in bank notes. And when 
 he was dying, Frederic, and the perspiration was cold 
 on his brow, he made me lay my hand there and 
 ewear to be faithful to my trust as guardian of Ins 
 child. For her, and for her alone, the money must 
 be used. .But, Frederic, I broke that oath. The Ray- 
 monds are noted for their love of gain, and when the 
 Englishman was buried in the sea, the tempter whis- 
 pered that the avenue to wealth, which I so long had 
 coveted, was open now that no one knew or would 
 ever know of the miser's fortune ; and I yielded. I 
 guarded the bag w r here the treasure was hidden 
 with, more than a miser's vigilance, and I chuckled 
 \vith delight when I found it far more than he had 
 said." 
 
 " Oh, my father, my father !" ^groaned Frederic, 
 covering his white face with his hands, for he knew 
 now that he was penniless. 
 
 " Don't curse me, boy," hoarsely whispered the old 
 man ; " Marian will not. She'll forgive me for Ma- 
 rian is an angel ; but I must hasten. You remember 
 how I grew gradually rich, and people talked of my 
 good luck. Very cautiously I used the money at tirst 
 so as not to excite suspicion, but when I came to Ken- 
 tucky, where I was not known, I was less fearful, and
 
 FATHER AND SON. . 29 
 
 launched into speculations, until now they say I am 
 the wealthiest man in Franklin county. But it's hers 
 it's Marian's every cent of it is hers. Your edu- 
 cation was paid for with her money ; all you have and 
 are you owe to Marian Lindsey, who, by every law of 
 the land, is the heiress of Kedstone Hall." 
 
 He paused a moment, and trembling with emotion, 
 Frederic said, "Is there nothing ours, father? Our 
 old home on the Hudson? That, surely, is not 
 hers ?" 
 
 " You are right," returned the father; "the old 
 shell was mine, but when I brought Marian home, it 
 was not worth a thousand dollars, and it was all I had 
 in the world. Her money has made it ivhat it is. I 
 always intended to tell her when . V: was old enough 
 to understand, but as time went uy I shrank from it, 
 particularly when I saw how much you prized the 
 luxuries which money alone can buy, and how that 
 money kept you in the proud position you occupy. 
 But it has killed me, Frederic, before my time and 
 now at the last do you wonder that I wish restitution 
 to be made ? I would save you from poverty, and 
 my name from disgrace, by marrying you to Marian. 
 She mujt know the truth, of course, for in no other 
 way can my conscience' be satisfied but the world 
 would still be kept in ignorance." 
 S " And if I do not marry her, oh, father, must it 
 come poverty, disgrace, everything?" 
 
 The young man's voice was ahi;ost heart-broken in 
 its tone, but the old man wavered not as he answered 
 " Yes, Frederic, it must come. If you refuse, I 
 must deed it all to her. The lawyer, of course, must 
 know the cause of so strange a proceeding, and I have 
 no faith that he would keep the secret, even if Marian 
 should. I left it in writing in case you did not come, 
 and I gave you my dying curse it' you failed of resto- 
 ring to Marian her fortune. But you are here you 
 have heard my story, and it remains for you to choose. 
 You have never taken care of yourself have never
 
 SO FATHER AND SON. 
 
 been taught to think it necessary and how can yon 
 struggle with poverty. Would that Isabel join her 
 destiny with one who had not where to lay his head ?" 
 
 " Stop, father ! in mercy stop, ere you drive me 
 mad!" and starting to his 'feet Frederic paced the 
 floor wildly, distractedly. 
 
 A dark cloud had fallen upon him, and turn which 
 way he would it enveloped him in its dark folds. lie 
 knew his father would keep his word, and he desired 
 that he should do so. It was right, and he shrank 
 from any further injustice to the orphan, Marian, with 
 whom he had suddenly changed places. He was the 
 dependent now, and hers the hand that fed him. 
 Frederic Raymond was proud, and the remembrance 
 of his father's words, " IJer money paid for your edu- 
 cation ; all you have and are, you owe to Marian 
 Lindsey," stung him to his inmost soul. Still ho 
 could not make her his wife. It would be a greater 
 wrong than ever his father had done to her. And yet 
 if he had never seen Isabel, never mingled in the soci- 
 ety of beautiful and accomplished women, he might, 
 perhaps, have learned to love the gentle little girl, 
 whose presence, he knew, made the life and light of 
 Redstone Hall. But he could not do it now* and go- 
 ing up to his father, he said hesitatingly, as it' it cost 
 a bitter> agonized struggle to give up all his wealth, 
 "I cannot do it, father ; neither would Marian wish 
 it if she knew. Send for her now," he continued, as 
 a new idea flashed upon him, "tell her all, here in my 
 presence, and let her choose for me ; but stay," he 
 added, quickly, coloring crimson at the unmanly self- 
 ishness which had prompted the sending for Marian, 
 a selfishness which whispered that the generous girl 
 would share her fortune with him ; " stay, we will not 
 send for her. I can decide the matter alone." 
 
 " Not now," returned the father. ' Wait until to- 
 morrow at nine o'clock, if you do not come to me 
 then, I shall send for Lawyer Gibson, and the writ-
 
 FATHER AND SON. 31 
 
 ings will be drawn. I give yon nhtil that time to 
 decide ; and now leave me, for I would rest." 
 
 He motioned toward the door, and glad to escape 
 from an atmosphere which seemed laden with grief, 
 Frederic went out into the open air, and Col. Ray- 
 mond was again alone.' His first thought was of the 
 letter the one intended for his son. He could destroy 
 that now for lie would not that Marian should ever 
 know what it contained. She might not.be Frederic's 
 wife, but he would save her from unnecessary pain ; 
 and exerting all his strength, he tottered to his private 
 drawer, and took the letter in his hand. It was grow- 
 ing very dark within the room, and holding it up to 
 the fading light, the dim-eyed 61d man, read, or 
 thought he read, "For my Son." 
 
 " Yes, this is the one," he whispered "the other 
 reads " For Marian,' " and hastening back to his bed- 
 room he threw upon the tire burning in the grate, the 
 letter, but, alas, the wrong one for in the drawer 
 still lay the fatal missive which would one day break 
 poor Marian's heart, and drive her forth a wanderer 
 from the home she loved so well. 
 
 That night Frederic, did not come down to supper. 
 He was weary with his rapid journey, he said, and 
 would rather rest. So Marian, who had dried her 
 tears and half forgotten their cause, sat down to- her 
 solitary tea, little dreaming of the stormy scene which 
 the walls of Frederic's chamber looked upon that 
 night. All through the dreary hours he walked the 
 floor, and when the morning light came struggling 
 through the windows, it found him pale, haggard, and 
 older by many years than he had been the day before. 
 Still he was undecided. "-Love in a cottage" with 
 Isabel, looked fair enough in the distance, but where 
 could he get the "cottage?" To be sure, he was 
 going through the form of studying law, but he had 
 never looked upon the profession as a means of pro" 
 caring his livelihood, neither did he see any way by 
 which he could pursue his studies, unless, indeed, he
 
 32 FATHER AND SON. 
 
 worked to defray the expense. He might, perhaps, 
 saw wood. Ben Gardiner did in college Ben with 
 the threadbare coat, cowhide boots, smiling lace and 
 best lessons in the class. Ben liked it well enough, 
 and so, perhaps, would he ! He held his hands up to 
 the light; they were soft and white as a girl's. They 
 would blister with the iirst cut. He couldn't saw 
 wood he couldn't do anything. And would Isabel 
 love him still when she knew how poor he was. It 
 seemed unjust to doubt her, but he did, and he 
 remembered sundry rumors he had heard touching 
 her ambitious, selfish nature. Anon, too, there crept 
 into his heart pleasant memories of a little, quiet girl, 
 who had always sought to do him good, and minis- 
 tered to his comfort in a thousand unobtrusive ways. 
 And this was Marian, the one his father would have 
 him marry ; and why didn't he? when the. marrying 
 her would insure him all the elegances of life to 
 which he had been accustomed, and which he prized 
 BO highly. She was a child } 7 et ; he could mold her 
 to his will and make her what he pleased. She might 
 be handsome some time. There was certainly room 
 for improvement. But no, she would never be aught 
 save the plain, unpolished Marian, wholly unlike the 
 beautiful picture he had formed of Redstone Hall's 
 proud mistress. He could not marry her, he would 
 not marry her,, and then he went back to the ques- 
 tion, " What shall I do, if I don't?" 
 
 As his father had said, the Raymonds were lovers 
 of wealth, and this weakness Frederic possessed to a 
 great degree. Indeed, it was the foundation of all his 
 other, faults, making him selfish and sometimes over- 
 bearing. As yet he was not worthy to be the husband 
 of one as gentle and good as Marian, but he was pass- 
 ing through the fire, and the* flames which burned so 
 fiercely would purify and make him better. He heard 
 the clock strike eight, and a moment after breakfast 
 was announced. 
 
 'I am not ready yet; tell Marian not to wait," was
 
 FATHER AND SON. 33 
 
 the message he gave the servant ; and so another hour 
 passed by, and heard the clock strike nine. 
 
 His hour was up, but he could not yet decide. lie 
 walked to the window and looked down on his home, 
 which never seemed so beautiful before as on that 
 September morning. He could stay there if he chose, 
 for he felt sure he could win Marian's love if he tried. 
 And then he wondered if his life would not be made 
 happier with the knowledge that he had obeyed hi? 
 father's request, and saved his name from dishonor. 
 There was the sound of horses' feet upon the graveled 
 road. It was the negro Jake, and he was going for 
 Lawyer Gibson. 
 
 llapidly another hour went by, and then he heard 
 the sound of horses' hoofs again, but this time there 
 were two who rode, Jake and the lawyer. In a mo- 
 ment the latter was at the door, and the sound of his 
 feet, as he strode through the lower hall, went to the 
 heart of the listening young man like bolts of ice. He 
 heard a servant call Marian and say that his fa the i* 
 wanted her; some new idea had entered the sick 
 man's head. He had probably decided to tell her all 
 before he died, but it was not too late to prevent it, 
 the young man thought ; he could not be a beggar, 
 and with a face as white as ashes, and limbs which 
 trembled in every joint, he hurried down the stairs, 
 meeting in the hall both Marian and the lawyer. 
 
 " Go back," he whispered to the former, Inying his 
 hand upon her shoulder ; " I would see my father first 
 alone." 
 
 Wonderingly Marian looked inte his pale, worn 
 face and bloodshot eyes ; then motioning the lawyer 
 into another room, she, too, followed him thither, 
 Tv'hile Frederic sought his father's bedside, and bend- 
 ug low whispered in the ear of the bewildered and 
 half-crazed man that he would marry the Heiress of 
 Bedstone Hall I
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 DEATH AT REDSTONE HALL. 
 
 FOB two days after the morning of which we hare 
 written, Colonel Raymond lay in a kind of stupor 
 from which he would rouse at intervals, and press- 
 ing the hand of his son who watched beside him, 
 he would whisper faintly, " God bless you for ma- 
 king your old lather so happy. God bless you, my 
 darling boy." 
 
 And Frederic, as often as he heard these words, 
 would lay his aching head upon the pillow and try to 
 force back the thoughts which continually whispered 
 to him. that a bad promise was better broken than 
 kept, and that at the last he would tell Marian all, 
 and throw himself upon her generosity. Since tho 
 morning when he made the fatal promise he had said 
 but little to her, though she had been often in the 
 room, ministering to his father's comfort and once 
 in the evening when he looked more than usually pale 
 and weary, she had insisted upon taking his place, or 
 sharing at least ;n his vigils. But he had declined 
 her offer, and two hours later a slender little figure 
 had glided noiselessly into the room and placed upon 
 the table behind him a waiter, tilled with delicacies 
 which her own hand had prepared, and which she 
 knew from experience would be needed ere the long 
 night was over. He did not turn his head when she 
 came in, but he knew whose step it was ; and in his 
 heart he thanked her for her thoughtfulness, and com-
 
 DEATH AT REDSTONE HALL. 35 
 
 pelled himself to eat what she had brought because he 
 knew how disappointed she would be if in the morn- 
 ing she found it all untouched. 
 
 And still he was as far from loving her now as he 
 had ever been ; and on the second night, as he sat by 
 his sleep'ing father, he resolved, come what might, he 
 would retract the promise made under such excite- 
 ment. " When father wakes, I'll tell him I cannot," 
 he said, and anxiously he watched the clock, which 
 pointed at last to midnight. The twelve long strokes 
 rang throngh the silent room, and with a short, quick 
 gasp his father woke. 
 
 "Frederic," he said, and in his voice there was a 
 tone never heard there before. " Frederic, has the 
 light gone out, or why is it so dark ? Where are you, 
 my son ? I cannot see." 
 
 " Here, father here I am," and Frederic took in 
 his the shriveled hand which was cojd with approach- 
 ing death. ' * 
 
 " Frederic, it has come at last, and I am going 
 from you ; but before I go, lay your hand upon my 
 brow, where the death sweat is standing, and say 
 again what you said two daj'S ago. Say you will make 
 Marian your wife, and that until she is your wife she 
 shall not know what I have done, for that might in- 
 fluence her decision. The letter I have left for her is 
 in my private drawer, but you can keep the ke^y. 
 Promise, Frederic promise both, for I am going 
 very fast." 
 
 Twice Frederic essayed to speak, but the words "I 
 cannot" died on his lips, and again the faint voice 
 fainter than when it spoke before, said, " Promise, my 
 boy, and save the name of Raymond from disho- 
 nor !" 
 
 It was in vain he struggled to resist his destiny. 
 The plead.ing tones of his dying father prevailed. Isa- 
 bel QantingtOB Marian Lindsey Redstone Hall 
 everything seemed- as nought compaied with that fa-
 
 36 DEATH AT REDSTONE HALL. 
 
 ther's wishes, .and falling on his knees the young man 
 said, " Heaven helping rne, father, I will do both." 
 
 " And as you have made me happy, so may you bo 
 happy and prospered all the days of your life," re- 
 turned the father, laying his clammy hand upon the 
 brown hair of his son. "Tell Marian that' dying I 
 blessed her with more than a father's blessing, for she 
 is very dear to me. And the little helpless Alice 
 she has money of her own, but she must still livo 
 with you and Marian. Be kind to the servants, Fre- 
 deric. Don't part with a single one and and can 
 you hear me, boy ? Keep your promise as you hope 
 for heaven hereafter." 
 
 They were the last 'words the old man ever spoke 
 and when at last Frederic raised his head he knew 
 by the white face lying motionless upon the pillow, 
 that he was with the dead. The household was 
 aroused, and crowding round the door the negroes 
 came, their noisy outcries grating harshly on the' ear 
 of the young man, who felt unequal to the task of 
 stopping them. But when Marian came, a few low 
 spoken words from her quieted the tumult, and those 
 whose services were not needed dispersed to the kitch- 
 en, where, forgetful of their recent demonstrations of 
 grief, they speculated upon the probable result of 
 their " old marster's death," and wondered if with 
 the new one they should lead as easy a life as they 
 had done heretofore. 
 
 The next morning the news spread rapidly, not 
 only that Colonel Raymond was dead, but also that 
 he had died without a will this last piece of infor- 
 mation being given by Lawyer Gibson, who, a little 
 disappointed in the result of his late visit to Redstone 
 Hall, had several times ii/ public expressed his opin- 
 ion that it was all the work of Frederic, who wanted 
 everything himself, and feared his father would leave 
 something to Marian Lindsey. This seemed very pro- 
 bable ; and in the same breath, with which they cle- 
 plored the loss of Colonel .Raymond, the neighbors
 
 DEATH AT BEDSTONE HALL. 37 
 
 denounced his son as selfish, and avaricious. Still he 
 was now the richest man in the county, and it would 
 not be politic to treat him with disrespect so they 
 came about him with words of sympathy and offers 
 of assistance, all of which he listened to abstracted- 
 ly, and when they asked for some directions as to 
 the arrangements for the burial, he answered, " I do 
 not know I am not myself to-day but go to Marian. 
 I will abide by her decision." 
 
 So to Marian they went ; and hushing her own 
 great grief for she mourned for the departed as for 
 a well loved father Marian told them what she 
 thought her guardian would wish that they should do. 
 It is not customary in Kentucky to keep the dead as 
 long as at the North, and ere the sun of the first day 
 was low in the west a grave was made within an en- 
 closure near the river side, where the cedar and the 
 fir were growing, and when the sun was setting, a 
 long procession wound slowly down the terraced walk, 
 bearing with them one who when they returned came 
 not with them, buk was res-ting quietly where the 
 light from the windows of his former home could fall 
 upon his peaceful grave.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 KEEPING THE PROMISE. 
 
 FOTJR weeks had passed away since Colonel Kay- 
 mond was laid to rest. The negroes, having finished 
 their mourning at the grave and at church -on the 
 Sabbath succeeding the funeral, had gone back to 
 their old light-hearted way of living, and outwardly 
 there were no particular signs of grief at .Redstone 
 Hall. But two there were who suffered keenly, and 
 Buffered all the more that neither could speak to the 
 other a word of sympathy. With Alice Marian 
 wept bitterly, feeling that she was indeed homeless 
 and friendless in the wide world. From Dinah she 
 had heard the story of the Will, and remembering 
 the events of that morning when Lawyer Gibson, as 
 she supposed, had come to draw it, she thought it 
 very probable. Still this did not trouble her one half, 
 so much as the studied reserve which Frederic mani- 
 fested toward her. At the funeral he had offered her his 
 arm, walking with her to the grave and back ; but 
 since that night he had kept aloof, seeing her only at 
 the table, or when he wished to ask some question 
 which she alone could answer. 
 
 In the first days of her sorrow she had forgotten the 
 letter which her guardian had left for her, and when 
 she did remember it and go to. the private drawer 
 where he said it was, she found the drawer locked. 
 Frederic had the key, of course, and thinking "that 
 if a wrong had indeed been done to her, he knew it, 
 too, she waited in hopes that he would speak of it,
 
 KEEPING THE PKOMISE. 39 
 
 and perhaps bring her the letter. But Frederic Ray- 
 moml had sworn to keep that letter from her yet 
 awhile, and he dared not break his vow. On the 
 night after the burial he, too, had gone to the. pri- 
 vate drawer, and, taking the undirected missive in 
 his hand, had felt strongly tempted to break its seal 
 and read. But he had no right to do that, he said ; 
 all that was required of him was to keep it from Ma- 
 rian until such time as he was at 'liberty to let her 
 read it. So, with a benumbed sensation at his 
 heart, he locked the drawer and left the room, feeling 
 that his own destiny was fixed, and that it was worse 
 than useless JLQ struggle against it. He could not 
 write to Isabel yet, but he wrote to her mother, tell- 
 ing her of his father's death, and saying he did not 
 kuow how long it would be ere tney saw him again at 
 New Haven. This done, he sat down in a kind of torpor, 
 and waited for circumstances to shape themselves. 
 Marian would seek for her letter, he thought, and 
 missing the key, would come to him, and then ^oh, 
 how he hoped it would be weeks and months before 
 she came, for when she did he knew he must tell her 
 why it was withheld. 
 
 Meantime, Marian waited day after day vainly 
 wishing that he would speak to her upon the sub- 
 ject ; but he did not, and at last, four weeks after 
 her guardian's death, she sought the library again, 
 but found the drawer locked as usual. 
 
 "It is unjust to treat me so," she said. "The let- 
 ter is mine, and I have a right to read it." 
 
 Then, as she recalled the conversation which had 
 passed between hersulf and Colonel Raymond on that 
 night when he first hinted of a- wrong, she wondered 
 if he had said aught to Frederic of her. Most earn- 
 estly she hoped not and yet she was almost certain 
 that ; iie had, and this was why Frederic treated her so 
 strangely. " He hates me," she said bitterly, " be- 
 cause he thinks I want him but he needn't, for I 
 wouldn't have him now, even if he knelt at ray feet,
 
 40 KEEPING THE PROMISE. 
 
 and begged of me to be his wife ; I'll tell him so, too, 
 the first chance I get," and sinking into the large arm 
 chair Marian laid her head upon the writing desk and 
 wept. 
 
 The day had been rainy and dark, and as she sat 
 there in the gathering night and listened to the low 
 moan of the October wind, she thought with gloomy 
 forebodings of the future, and what it would bring to 
 her. 
 
 " Oh, it is dreadful to be so homeless so friend- 
 less, so poor," she cried, and in that cry there was a 
 note of desolation which touched a chord of pity in 
 the heart of him who stood on the threshold of the 
 door, silently watching the young girl as she battled 
 with her stormy grief. 
 
 He did not know why he had come to that room, 
 and he surely would not have come had he expected 
 to find her there. But it could not now be helped ; 
 he \\as there with her; he had witnessed her sorrow, 
 and involuntarily advancing toward her lie laid his 
 hand lightly upon her shoulder and said, "Poor child, 
 don't cry so hard." 
 
 She seemed to him a little girl, and as such he had 
 addressed her ; but to the startled Marian it mattered 
 not what he said there was kindness in his voice, and 
 lifting up her face, which even in the darkness looked 
 white and worn, she sobbed, " Oh, Frederic, you 
 don't hate me, then ?" 
 
 " Hate you, Marian," he answered, " of course not. 
 What put that idea into your head ?" 
 
 " Because because you act so cold and strange, 
 and don't come near 'me when my heart is aching so 
 hard for him your father." 
 
 Frederic made no reply, and resolving to make a 
 clean breast of it, Marian continued, "There's nobody 
 to care for me now, and I wish you to be my brother, 
 just as you used to be, and if your father said any 
 thing else of me to you he didn't mean it, I am sure ; 
 I don't at any rate, and I want you to forget it and not
 
 KEEPING' THE PROMISE. 41 
 
 hate me for it. I'll go away from Redstone Hall if 
 yon say so, but you mustn't hate me for what I could 
 not help. Will you, Frederic ?" and Marian's voice 
 was again choked with tears. 
 
 She had stumbled upon the very subject uppermost 
 in Frederic's mind, and drawing a chair near to her, 
 he said, " I will not profess to be ignorant of what you 
 mean, Marian. My father had some strange fancies at 
 the last, but for these you are not to blame. Did he 
 say nothing to you of a letter?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," answered Marian quickly, " and I've 
 been for it so many times. Will you give it to me now, 
 Frederic ? It's mine, you know," and Marian looked 
 at him wistfully. 
 
 Frederic hesitated a moment, and misappre- 
 hending the motive of his hesitancy, Marian con- 
 tinued, 
 
 " Do not fear what I may think. He said a wrong 
 had been done to me, but if it has not affected me' 
 heretofore, it surely will not now and I loved him 
 well enough to forgive anything. Let me have the 
 letter, won't you ?" 
 
 "Marian," and Frederic trembled with strong emo- 
 tion, " the night my father died, I laid my hand upon 
 his head and promised that you should not see that 
 letter until you were a bride." 
 
 " A bride !" Marian exclaimed passionately, " I 
 shall never be a bride never -'certainly not yours !" 
 and the little hands worked nervously together, while 
 she continued. " I asked you to forget that whim of 
 your father's. He did not mean it he would not 
 have it so, and neither would I," and Frederic Ray- 
 mond could almost see the angry flash of the blue eyea 
 turned so defiantly toward him. 
 
 Man-like he began to feel some interest now that 
 there* was opposition, and to her exclamation " nei- 
 ther would I," he replied softly, " Not if I wish it, 
 Marian ?" 
 
 The tone rather than the words- affected the young
 
 42 KEEPING THE PROMISE. 
 
 girl, thrilling her with a new-born delight; and lay 
 ing her hand again upon the desk, she sobbed 
 afresh, not impetuously, this time, but steadily, as if 
 the crying did her good. Greatly she longed for him 
 .to speak agnin, but lie did not. He was waiting for 
 her, and drying her tears, she lifted up her face, and 
 in a voice which seemed to demand the truth, she 
 said : " Frederic, do you wish it? Here, almost in the 
 room where your father died, can you say to me truly 
 that you wish me to be your wife ?" 
 
 It was a perplexing question, and Frederic Ray- 
 mond felt that he was dealing falsely with her, but 
 he made to her the only answer he could " Men sel- 
 dom ask a woman to marry them unless they wish it." 
 
 " I know," returned Marian, " but do would you 
 have thought of it if your father, had not first suggested 
 it?" 
 
 " Marian," said Frederic, " I am much older than 
 yourself, and I might' never have thought of marry- 
 ing you. He, however, gave me good reasons why I 
 should wish to have it so in all sincerity I ask you 
 to be my wife. Will you, Marian? It seerns soon 
 to talk of these things, but he so desired it." 
 
 In her bewilderment Marian fancied he had said, 
 " I do wish to have it so," but she would know an- 
 other thing, and not daring to put the question to him 
 direct, she said, "Do men ever wish to marry one 
 whom they do not love ?" 
 
 Frederic understood her at once, and for a moment 
 felt strongly tempted to tell her the truth, for in that 
 case he was sure she would refuse to listen to his suit 
 and he would then be free, but his father's presence 
 seemed over and around him, while Redstone Hall 
 was too fair to be exchanged for poverty ; and so 
 he answered, " I have always loved you as a 
 Bister, and in time I will Jove you as you deserve. I 
 will be kind to you, Marian, and I think I can make 
 TOU. happy " 
 
 He spoke with earnestness, for he knew he was de-
 
 ZEEPIXG THIS PROMISE. 43 
 
 ceiving the young girl, and in liis inmost soul he de- 
 termined to repair the wrong by learning to love her, 
 as she said : , 
 
 " And suppose I refuse you, what then ?" 
 
 Marian spoke decidedly, and something in her man- 
 ner startled Frederic, who now that he had gone thus 
 far, did not care to be thwarted. 
 
 " You will not refuse me, I am sure," he said. 
 " We cannot live together here jnst as we have done, 
 for people would talk." 
 
 " I can go away," said Marian, mournfully, while 
 Frederic replied, 
 
 " No, Marian, if you will not be my wife, / must 
 go away; Redstone Hall cannot be the home of us 
 both, and if you refuse I shall go soon, very soon." 
 
 " Won't you ever come back I asked Marian, with 
 childish simplicity ; but ere Frederic could answer, 
 the door suddenly opened and old Dinah appeared, 
 exclaiming as her eye fell upon them, " For the dear 
 Lord's sake, if you two ain't settin' together in the 
 dark, when I've done hunted every whar for you," and 
 Dinah's face wore a very knowing -look, as setting 
 down the candle she departed, muttering something 
 about " when me and Philip was young." 
 
 The spell was broken for Marian, and starting up, 
 she said, " I cannot talk any more to-night. I'll- an- 
 swer you some other, time," and she hurried into the 
 hall, where she stumbled upon Dinah, who greeted 
 her with "Ain't you two kinder hankerin' arter each 
 other, 'case if you be, it's the sensiblest thing you ever 
 done. Marster Frederic is the likeliest, trimmest 
 chap in Kentuck, and you've got an uncommon heap 
 of ^ense." 
 
 Marian made no reply but darted up the stairs to 
 her room, where she could be alone to think. It 
 seemed to her a dream, and yet she knew it was a 
 reality. Frederic had aeked her to be his wife, and 
 though she had said to herself that she would not marry 
 him even if he knelt at her feet, she felt vastly like
 
 . 
 KEEPING THE PBOMISE. 
 
 revoking that decision ! If she were only sure he 
 loved her, or would love her ; and then she recalled 
 every word he had said, wishing she could have 
 .ooked into his face and seen what its expression was. 
 She did not think of the letter in her excitement. 
 She only thought of Frederic's question, and she 
 longed for some one in whom she could confide. 
 Alice, who always retired early, was already asleep, 
 and as her soft breathing fell on Marian's ear, she 
 said, "Alice is much wiser than children usually are 
 at six and a half. I mean to tell her," and, stealing 
 to the bedside, she whispered, " Alice, Alice, wake up 
 a moment, will you ?" 
 
 Alice turned on her pillow, and when sure she was 
 awake, Marian said impetuously, "If you were me, 
 would you marry Frederic Raymond?" 
 
 The blind eyes opened wide, as if they doubted the 
 sanity of the speaker ; then quietly replying, "]STo, 
 indeed, I wouldn't," Alice turned a second time upon 
 her pillow and slept again, while Marian, a good deal 
 piqued at the answer, tormented herself with won- 
 dering what the child could mean, and why she dis- 
 liked Frederic so much. The next morning it was 
 Alice who awoke Marian and said, " Was it a 
 dream, or did you say Something to me last night 
 about marrying Frederic ?" 
 
 For a moment Marian forgot that the sightless eyes 
 turned so inquiringly toward her could not see, and 
 she covered her face with her hands to hide the 
 blushes she knew were burning there. 
 
 " Say," persisted Alice, "what was it?" and half 
 willingly, half reluctantly, Marian told of the strange 
 request which Frederic had made, saying nothing, 
 however, of the letter, for if Colonel Raymond had 
 done her a wrong, she felt it a duty she owed hia 
 memory to keep it to herself. 
 
 The darkened world in which Alice lived, had ma- 
 tured her other faculties far beyond her age, ancl 
 though not yet seven years old, she was in many
 
 KEEPING THE PROMISE. -15 
 
 things scarcely less a child than Marian, whose story 
 puzzled her, for she could hardly understand how ono 
 who had seemed so much her companion could think 
 of being a married woman. Marian soon convinced 
 her, however, that there was a vast difference be- 
 tween almost seven and almost sixteen, and etill she 
 was not reconciled. 
 
 " Frederic is well enough," she said, " and I once 
 heard Agnes Gibson say he was the best match in the 
 county, but somehow he don't seem to like you. 
 Ain't he stuck up, and don't he know; a heap more 
 than you?" 
 
 "Yes, but I can learn," answered Marian, sadly, 
 thinking with regret of the many hours she had played 
 in the woods when she might have been practising 
 upon the piano, or reading the books which Frederic 
 liked best. " I can in time make a lady perhaps 
 and then you know if I don't have him, one of us 
 must go away, for he said so." 
 
 " Oh," exclaimed Alice, catching her breath and 
 drawing nearer to Marian, " wouldn't it be nice for 
 you and me to live here all alone with Dinah, and do 
 just as we're a mind to. Tell him you. won't, and let 
 him go back where he came from." 
 
 "No," returned Marian, "if either goes away, it 
 will be me, for I've no right here, and Frederic has." 
 " You go away," repeated Alice. " What could 
 you do without Dinah ?" 
 
 " I don't know r ." returned Marian mournfully, a 
 dim foreboding as it were of her dark future rising 
 up before her. " I can't sew I don't know enough 
 to teach, and I couldn't do anything but die !" 
 
 This settled the point with Alice.. She would ra- 
 ther Marian should marry Frederic than go away and 
 die, and so she said, " I'd have him, I reckon," add- 
 ing quickly, " You'll carry the keys, then, won't you, 
 and give me all the preserves and cake I want " 
 
 Thus was the affair amicably adjusted between the 
 two, and when at the breakfast table she met with
 
 4:6 KEEPING THE PltOMISE. 
 
 Frederic, she was ready to answer his question ; but 
 she chose to let him broach the subject, and this he 
 did do that evening when he found her alone in his 
 father's room. He lu:d decided that it was useless to 
 struggle with his fate, and he resolved to make the 
 best of it. How far Redstone Hall, bank notes, stock 
 and real estate influenced this decision we cannot say, 
 but he was sincere in his intention of treating Marian 
 well, and when lie found her by accident in his father's 
 room, he said to her kindly, " Can you answer me 
 now ?" 
 
 Marian was not y^t enough accustomed to the world 
 to conceal whatever she felt, and with the light of a 
 new happiness shining on her childish face, she went 
 up to him, and laying her hand confidingly upon 
 his, she said, " I will marry you, Frederic, if you wish 
 me to." 
 
 A strange enigma is human nature. When the 
 previous night she had hesitated to answer, Frederic 
 was conscious of a vague fear that she might say no 
 and now that she had said yes, he felt less pleasure 
 than pain, for the die he knew was cast. A more ob- 
 serving eye than Marian's would have seen the dark 
 shadow which flitted over his face, and the sudden 
 paling of his lips, but she did not; she only saw how 
 he shook off her band without even so much as touch- 
 ing it, and all the novels she had ever read would 
 surelv have sanctioned so modest a proceeding as 
 that I But novels, she reflected, were not true, 'and 
 as she was an actor in real lite, siie mast accept 
 whatever that life might bring. Still she was not 
 qui;e satisfied, and when Frederic, fancying he should 
 feel better it' the matter were well over, said to her, 
 " There is no reason why we should delay my father 
 would wish the marriage to take place immediately, 
 and I will speak to Dinah at once," she felt that with 
 him it was a mere form, and bursting into tears-she 
 taid passionately, " You are not obliged to inarry me. 
 1 certainly did not ask you to."
 
 
 KEEPING THE PBOMISE. 47 
 
 For a moment Frederic stood irresolute, and then he 
 replied, " Don't be foolish, Marian, but take a com- 
 mon sense view of the matter. I' am not accustomed 
 to love-making, and the character would not suit me 
 now when my heart is so full of sorrow for my father. 
 Many a one would gladly take your place, but" here 
 he paused, uncertain how to proceed and still keep 
 truth upon his side then, as a bright thought struck 
 him, he added, " but I prefer you to all the. girls in 
 Kentucky. Be satisfied with this, and wait patiently 
 for the time when I can show you that I love you." 
 
 His manner both frightened and fascinated Marian, 
 and she answered through her tears, "1 will be satis 
 tied, and wait." 
 
 Frederic knew well that Marian was* too' much of 
 a child to manage the affair, and after his interview 
 with her, he sought out Dinah, to whom he announ- 
 ced his intentions. 
 
 " There is no need of delay," he said, " and twc 
 weeks from to-day is the time appointed. There will 
 be no show no parade simply a quiet wedding in 
 the presence of a few friends, who will dine with 
 us, of course. The dinner, you must see to, and 1 
 will attend to the rest." 
 
 Amid ejaculations of surprise and delight, old Di- 
 nah heard what he had to say and then, 'boiling over 
 with the news, hastened to the kitchen, where she 
 was soon surrounded by an astonished and listening 
 audience, the various members of which were affect- 
 ed differently, just according to their different ideas 
 of what "marster Frederic's" wife ought to be. 
 Among the negroes at Redstone -Hall were two dis- 
 tinct parties, one of w T hich having belonged to Mr. 
 Higgius, the former owner of the place, looked rather 
 contemptuously upon the other clique, who had been 
 purchased of Mr. Smithers, a neighboring planter, 
 and were not supposed to have as high blood hi their 
 veins as was claimed by their darker rivals. Hence 
 between the democratic Smitiierses and the aristocratic
 
 48 KEEPING THE PROMISE. 
 
 Higginses was waged many a fierce battle, which was 
 Visually decided by old Dinah, who, having belonged 
 to another family still, " thanked "the Lord that she 
 was neither a Higginses nor a Smitherses, but was 
 a peg or so abovo such low-lived truck as them." 
 
 On this occasion the announcement of Master Fred- 
 eric's expected marriage was received by the Smither- 
 ses with loud shouts of joy and hurrahs for Miss 
 Marian. The Higginses, on the contrary, though 
 friendly to Marian, declared she was not high bred 
 enough to keep up the glory of the house, and Aunt 
 Hetty, who led the clan and was a kind of rival to 
 old Dyiah, launched faith into a wonderful stream 
 of eloquence. 
 
 " Miss Marian would do in her place," she said, "but 
 'twas aburnin' shame to set such an onery thing over 
 them as had been oncet used to the quality. 'Twas 
 different with the Smitherses, whose old Miss was 
 bed rid with a spine in her back, and hadn't but one 
 store- carpet in the house. But the Higginses, she'd 
 let 'em know, had been 'customed to sunthin' better. 
 Oh," said she, "you or'to seen Miss Beatrice the fust 
 day Marster brought her home. She looked jest like 
 a queen, with that great long switchin' tail to her 
 dress, a wipin' up the walk so clean that I, who was a 
 gal then, didn't have to sweep it for mor'n a week 
 and them ars she put on when she curchied inter the 
 room and walkin' backards sot down on the rim of the 
 cheer so" and holding out her fhort linsey-woolsey 
 to its widest extent, the old negress proceeded to il- 
 lustrate. 
 
 But alas for Aunt Hetty her intention was antici- 
 pated by stuttering Josh, the most mischievous spirit 
 of all the Smithers clan. Quick as thought the active 
 boy removed the chair where she expected to land, 
 pushing into its place an overflowing slop-pail, and 
 into this the discomfited old lady plunged amid tho 
 execrations of her partisans and the jeers of her op- 
 ponents.
 
 KEEPING THE PROMISE. 49 
 
 "You Josh you villain the Lord spar me long 
 enough to break yer sassy neck !" she screamed, as 
 with difficulty she extricated herself from her position 
 and wrung her dripping garments. 
 
 Ci Sarved you right," said Dinah, shaking her fat 
 sides with delight. " Sarved }^ou right, and the fust 
 one that raises thar voice agin Miss Marian '11 catch 
 sunthin' a heap wns than dirty Dishwater." 
 
 But Dinah's threat was unnecessary, for with Het- 
 ty's downfall the star of the Higginses set, leaving 
 that of the Smitherses still in the ascendant ! 
 
 Meantime Marian was confiding to Alice the story 
 of her engagement, and wondering if Frederic intend- 
 ed taking a bridal tour. She hoped he did, for she so 
 much wished to see a little of the world, particularly 
 New York, of which she had heard such glowing 
 accounts. But nothing could be less in accordance 
 with Frederic's feelings than a bridal tour and when 
 once Marian ventured to broach the subject, he said 
 that under the circumstances it would hardly be right 
 to go off and enjoy themselves, so they had better 
 stay quietly at home. And this settled the point, for 
 Marian never thought of questioning his decision. If 
 they made no journey, she would not need any addi- 
 tions to her wardrobe, and she was thus saved from 
 the trouble which usually falls to the lot of brides. 
 Still it was not at all in accordance with her ideas 
 this marrying without a single article of finery, and 
 once she resolved to indulge in a new dress at least. 
 She had ample means of her own, for her guardian had 
 been lavish of his money, always giving her far more 
 than she could use, and during the last year she had 
 been saving a fund for the purpose of surprising Alice 
 and the blacks with handsome Christmas presents. 
 The former was to have a little gold watch, which she 
 had long desired, because she liked to hear it tick 
 but the watch and the dress could not both be bought, 
 and when she considered this, Marian generously gave 
 up tiie latter for the sake of pleasing the blind girl. 
 
 3
 
 50 KEEPING THE PROMISE. 
 
 Among her dresses was a neat, white muslin 
 her by Colonel Raymond only the Summer previous, 
 and this she decided should be the wedding robe, for 
 black was gloomy, she said, and would almost seem 
 ominous of evil. 
 
 And so the childish bride elect made her simple ar- 
 rangements, unassisted by any one save Dinah and 
 the little Alice, the latter of whom was really of the 
 most service, for old Dinah spent the greater portion 
 of her time in grumbling because " Murster Frederic 
 didn't act more lover-like to his wife that was to be." 
 
 Marian, too, felt this keenly, but she would not 
 admit it, and -she said to Dinah, "You can't expect 
 him to be like himself when he's mourning for his fa- 
 ther." 
 
 " Mournin' for his father," returned Dinah, " and 
 what if he is? Can't a fellow kiss a gal and mourn a 
 plenty too? Taint no way to do to mope from inorn- 
 in' till night like you was gwine to the gallus. Me 
 and Phil didn't act that way when he was settin' to 
 me but I 'spect they've done got some new f angled 
 way of courtin' jest as they hev for everything else 
 but I'm satisfied with the old fashion, and I wish 
 them fetch-ed Yankees would mind their own busi- 
 ness and let well 'uough alone." 
 
 Dinah felt considerably relieved after this long 
 speech, particularly as she had that very morning 
 made it in substance to Frederic and when that eve- 
 ning she saw the young couple seated upon the same 
 sofa, and tolerably near to each other, she was sure 
 she had done some good by " ghmen 'em a piece of 
 her mind." 
 
 Among the neighbors there was a great deal of 
 talk, and occasionally a few of them called at Redstone 
 Hall, but these only came to go away again, and 
 comment on Frederic's strange taste in marrying one 
 so young, and so wholly unlike himself. It could 
 not be, they said, that he had really cared about the 
 Will, else why had he so soon taken Marian to share
 
 KEEPING THE PROMISE. 51 
 
 his fortune with him ? But Frederic kept his own 
 counsel, and once when questioned on the subject of 
 his marriage and asked if it were not a sudden thing, 
 he ansvveied haughtily, " Of course not it was de- 
 cided years ago, when Marian first came to live with 
 us." 
 
 And so amid the speculations of friends, the gossip 
 of Dinah, the joyous anticipations of Marian, and the 
 harrowing doubts of Frederic, the two weeks passed 
 away, bringing at last the eventful day when Hed 
 stone Hall was to have once more a mistress.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE BRIDAL DAT, 
 
 "!T was the veriest farce in all the world, the mar 
 riage of Frederic Raymond with a child of fit- 
 teen ;" at least so said Agnes Gibson of twenty -five, 
 an 1 so said sundry other guests who at the appointed 
 hour assembled in the parlor of Redstone Hall, to 
 witness the sacrifice not of Frederic as they vainly 
 imagined, but of the unsuspecting Marian. 
 
 He knew what he did, and why he did it, while she, 
 blindfolded as it were, was about to leap into the un- 
 certain future. No such gloomy thoughts as these, 
 however, intruded themselves upon her mind as she 
 stood before her mirror and with trembling fingers 
 made her simple bridal toilet. When first the idea of 
 marrying Frederic \vas suggested to her nearly as 
 much pride as love had mingledin her thoughts, for 
 Marian was not without her ambition, and the honor 
 of being the mistress of Redstone Hall had influenced 
 her decision. But during the two weeks since her 
 engagement, her heart had gone out toward him with 
 a deep absorbing love, and had he now been the 
 poorest man in all the world and she a royal princess, 
 she would have spurned the wealth that kept her 
 from him, or gladly have laid it at his feet for the 
 sake of staying with him and knowing that he wished 
 it. And this was the girl whom Frederic Raymond 
 was about to wrong by making her his wife when he 
 knew he did not love her. But she should never
 
 THE BRIDAL DAT. 53 
 
 know it, he said should never suspect that nothing 
 but his hand and name went with the words he was so 
 soon to utter, and he determined to be true to her and 
 faithful to his marriage vow. 
 
 Some doubt he had as to the effect his father's let- 
 ter might have upon her, and once he resolved that 
 she should never see it ; but this was an idle thought, 
 not to be harbored for a moment. He had told her 
 when she asked him for it the- last time that she 
 should have it on her bridal day ; for so his father 
 willed it, and lie would keep his word. He had writ- 
 ten to Isabel at the very last, for though he was not 
 bound to her by a promise he knew an. explanation of 
 his conduct was due to her, and he forced himself to 
 write it. Not a word did he say against Marian, but 
 he gave her to understand that but for his father the 
 match would never have been made that circum- 
 stances over which he had no control compelled him 
 to do what he was doing. He should never forgejt 
 the pleasant hours spent in her society, he said, and 
 he closed by asking her to visit the future Mrs. Ray- 
 mond at Redstone Hall. It cost him a bitter struggle 
 to write thus indifferently to one he loved so well, but 
 it was right, he said, and when the letter was finished 
 he felt that the last tie which bound him to Isabel was 
 sundered, and there was nothing fur him now but to 
 make the best of Marian. So when on their bridal 
 morning she came to him and asked his wishes con- 
 cerning her dress, he answered her very kindly, " As 
 you are in mourning you had better make no change, 
 besides I think black very becoming to your fair 
 complexion." 
 
 This was the first compliment he had ever paid her, 
 and her heart thrilled with delight, but when, as she 
 was leaving the room he called her back and said, 
 still gently, kindly, " Would you as soon wear your 
 hair plain ? I do not quite fancy ringlets," her eyes 
 tilled with tears, for she remembered the corkscrew
 
 54 THE BRIDAL DAT. 
 
 curls, and glancing in the mirror at her wavy hair, 
 she wished it were possible to remedy the defect. 
 
 " I will do the best 1 can," she said, and returning 
 to her room, &he commenced her operations, but it 
 was a long, tedious process, the combing out of those 
 curls, for her hair was tenacious of its rights, and even 
 when she thought it subdued and let go of the end, it 
 rolled up about her forehead in tight round rings, as if 
 spurning alike both water and brush. 
 
 " I'd like to see the man what could make me yank 
 out my wool like that," muttered Dinah, who was 
 watching the straightening process with a- lowering 
 brow, inasmuch as it reflected dishonor upon her own 
 crisped locks. " If the Lord made yer har to curl, 
 war it so, and not mind every freak of his'n. Fust 
 you know, he'll be a-wantin' you to war yer face on 
 t'other side of yer head, but 'taint no way to do. You 
 must begin as you can hold out. In a few hours 
 you'll have as much right here as he has, and I'd show 
 it, too, by pitchin' inter us niggers and jawin' to kill. 
 I shall know you don't mean nothin' and shan't keer. 
 Come to think on't, though, I reckon you'd better let 
 me and the Smitherses be and begin with them Hig- 
 ginses. I'd give it to old Hetty good she 'sarves to 
 be took down a button hole lower, if ever a nigger 
 did, for she said a heap o' stuff about you." 
 
 Marian smiled a kind of quiet happy smile and 
 went on with her task, which \vas finished at last, and 
 her luxuriant hair was bound at the back of her head 
 in a large flat knot. The effect was not becoming and 
 she knew it, but if Frederic liked it she was satisfied, 
 even if Dinah did demur, telling her she looked like 
 " a cat whose ears had been boxed." Frederic did 
 not like it, but after the pains she had taken he would 
 not tell her .so, and when she said to him, "I am 
 ready," he offered her his arm and went silently down 
 the stairs to the parlor, where guests and clergymen 
 were waiting. 
 
 The day was bright and beautiful, for the light of
 
 THE BRIDAL DAY. 6 
 
 the glorious Indian Summer sun was resting on the 
 Kentucky hills, and through the op.en window the 
 murmuring ripple of the Elkhorn came, while the 
 balmy breath of the south wind swept over the white 
 face of the bride, and lifted from her neck the few 
 stray locks which, escaping from their confinement, 
 curled naturally in their accustomed place. "But to 
 the assembled guests there seemed in all. a note of 
 sadness, a warning voice which said the time for this 
 bridal was not yet ; and years after, when the beauti- 
 ful mistress of Ivedstone Hall rode by in her hand- 
 some carriage, Agnes Gibson told to her little sister 
 how on that November day the cheeks of both bride 
 and biiclegroom paled as if with mortal fear when the 
 words were spoken which, made them one. 
 
 Whether it were the newness of her position, or a 
 presentiment of coming evil Marian could not tell, but 
 into her heart there crept a chill as she glanced tim- 
 iuly at the man -who stood so silently beside her, and 
 thought, " He is my husband." It \vas, indeed, a 
 sombre wedding "more like a funeral," the guests 
 declared, as immediately after dinner they took their 
 leave and commented upon the affair as people al- 
 ways will. Oh, how Frederic longgd yet dreaded to 
 have them go. He could not endure their congratu- 
 lations, which to him were meaningless, and he hud 
 no wish to be alone. He was recovering from his 
 apathy, and could yesterday have been his again, he 
 believed he would have broken his promise. But 
 yesterday had gone and to-morrow had come it was 
 to-daj, now, with him, and Marian was his wife. 
 Turn which way he would, the reality was the same, 
 and with an intense loathing of himself and a deep pity 
 for her, h*e feigned some trivial excuse and went away 
 to his room, where, with the gathering darkness and 
 his own wretched thoughts, he would be alone. 
 
 With strange unrest Marian wandered from room to 
 room, wondering if Frederic had so soon grown 
 weary of her presence, and sometimes half wishing
 
 56 THE BRIDAL DAT. 
 
 that she were Marian Lindsey again, and that the 
 new name by which they called her belonged to some 
 one else. At last, when it was really dark when the 
 lamps were lighted in the parlor and Alice had wept 
 ii bitter, passionate good night in her arms and gone 
 f to sleep, she bethought her of the letter. She could 
 read it now. She had complied with all the stipula- 
 tions, and ihere was no longer a reason why it should 
 be withheld. She went to Frederic's door ; but he 
 was not there, and a servant passing in the hall said 
 he had returned to the parlor while she was busy with 
 Alice. So to the parlor Marian went, finding him 
 sitting unemployed and wrapped in gloomy thought. 
 He heard her step upon the carpet, but standing in 
 the shadow as she did, she could not see the look of 
 pain which flitted over his face at her approach. 
 
 "Frederic," she said, " I may read the letter now 
 will you give me the key?" 
 
 Mechanically he did as she desired, and then with a 
 slightly uneasy feeling as to the effect the letter might 
 have upon her, he went back to his reflections, while 
 she started to leave the room. When she reached the 
 door she paused a moment and looked back. In giv- 
 ing her the key h8 had changed his position, and she 
 could see the suffering expression of his white face. 
 Quickly returning to his side, she said anxiously, "Are 
 you sick ?" 
 
 " Nothing but a headache. You know I am accus- 
 tomed to that," he. replied. 
 
 Marian hesitated a moment then parting the damp 
 brown hair from off his forehead she kissed him timid- 
 ly and left the room. Involuntarily Frederic raised 
 his hand to wipe the spot away, but something stayed 
 the act and whispered to him that a wife's tirst kiss 
 was a holy thing and could never be repeated ! 
 
 Through the hall the nimble feet of Marian sped un- 
 til she stood within her late guardian's room, and 
 there she stopped, for the atmosphere seemed oppres- 
 sive and ladeu with terror.
 
 THE BKIDAL DAT. 57 
 
 "'Tis because it's so dark," she said, and going out 
 into the hall, she took a lamp from the table' and then 
 returned. 
 
 But the olden feeling was with her still a feeling 
 as if she were treading some fearful gulf, and she was 
 half tempted to turn back even now, and ask Frederic 
 to come with her while she read the letter. 
 
 " I will not be so foolish, though," she said, and 
 opening the library door she walked boldly in ; but 
 the same Marian who entered there never came out 
 again I 
 
 3*
 
 . CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BEADING THE LETTER. 
 
 OH, how still it was in that room, arid the click of 
 the key as it turned the slender bolt echoed through 
 the silent apartment, causing Marian to start as if a 
 living presence had been near. The drawer was 
 opened, and she held the^ letter in her hand, while 
 unseen voices seemed whispering to her, "Oh, Mari- 
 an, Marian leave the letter still untouched. I)o not 
 seek to know the secret it contains, but go back to the 
 man who is your husband, and by those gentle acts 
 which seldom fail in their effect, win his love. It will 
 be far more precious to you than all the wealth of 
 which you are the unsuspecting heiress." 
 
 But Marian did not understand nor know why it 
 was she trembled so. She only knew she had the 
 letter in her hand her letter the one left by her 
 
 guardian. It bore no superscription, but it was for 
 er } of course, and fixing herself in a comfortable po- 
 sition, she broke the seal and read: 
 "My Dear Gkild :'\ 
 
 There was nothing in those three words suggestive 
 of a mistake and Marian read on till, with a quick, 
 nervous start, she glanced forward, then backward 
 and then read on and on, until at last not even the fear 
 of death itself could have stopped her from that read- 
 ing. That letter was never intended for her eye she 
 knew that now, but had the cold hand of her guardian 
 been interposed to wrest it from her, she would have
 
 READING THE LETTER. 59 
 
 held it fast until she learned the whole. Like coals 
 of living fire, the words burned into her soul, scorch- 
 ing, blistering as they burned and when the letter 
 was finished she fell upon her face with a cry so full 
 of agony and horror that Frederic in the parlor heard 
 ' the wail of human anguish, and started to his feet, 
 wondering whence it came. 
 
 With the setting of the sun the November wind had 
 risen, and as the young man listened it swept moan- 
 ing past the window, seeming not unlike the sound he 
 had first heard. " It was the wind," he said, and he 
 resumed his seat, while, in that little room, not very 
 far away, poor Marian came back to consciousness, 
 and crouching on the fioor, prayed that she might die. 
 She understood it now how she had been deceived, 
 betrayed, and cruelly wronged. She knew, too, thai 
 she was the heiress of untold wealth, and for a single 
 moment her heart beat with a gratified pride, but the 
 surprise was too great to be realized at once, and the 
 ieeling was soon absorbed in the reason why Frederic 
 Hay mond had made her his wife. It was not herself 
 he had married, but her fortune her money Red- 
 stone Hall. She was merely a necessary incumbrance, 
 which he would rather should have been omitted in 
 the bargain. The 'thought was maddening," and, 
 stretching out her arms, she asked again that she 
 might die. 
 
 " Oh, why didn't he come to me ?" she cried, " and 
 tell me? I would gladly have given him half my 
 fortune yes, all all rather than be the wretched 
 thing I am, and he would have been free to love and 
 marry this " 
 
 She could not at first speak the name of her rival 
 but she said it at last, and the sound of it wrung her 
 heart with a new and torturing pain. She had never 
 heard of Isabel Huntington before, and as she thought 
 ho'A' beautiful and grand she was, she whispered to 
 herself, " Why didn't he go back to her, and leave me, 
 the red- headed fright, alone 2 Yes, that was what he
 
 60 HEADING THE LETTER. 
 
 wrote to his father. Let me look at it agam," and the 
 tone of her voice was bitter and the expression of her 
 face hard arid stony, as taking up the letter she read 
 for the second time that " she was uncouth, uneducat- 
 ed and ugly," and if his father did not give up that 
 foolish fancy, Frederic would positively "hate the red 
 headed fright." Her guardian had not given up the 
 foolish fancy, consequently there was but one infer- 
 ence to be drawn. 
 
 In her excitement she did not consider that Frederic 
 had probably written of her harsher things than he 
 really meant. She only thought, " He loathes me 
 he despises me he. wishes I was dead and I dared 
 to kiss him too," she added. " How he hated me for 
 that, but 'twas the first, and it shall be the last, for I 
 ivill go away forever and leave him Redstone Hall, 
 the bride he married a few hours a.u;o," and laying her 
 face upon the chair Marian thought long and earnestly 
 of the future. She had come into that room a happy, 
 simple-hearted, confiding child, but she had lived 
 years since, and she sat there now a crushed but self- 
 reliant woman, ready to go out and contend with the 
 world alone. Gradually her thoughts and purposes 
 took a definite form. She was ignorant of the knotty 
 points of law, and she did not know but Frederic could 
 get her a divorce, but from this publicity she shrank. 
 She could not be pointed at as a discarded wife. She 
 would rather go away where Frederic would never 
 see nor hear of her again, and she fancied that by so 
 doing he would after a time at least be free to marry 
 Isabel. She had not wept before, for her tears seemed 
 scorched with pain, but at the thought of another com- 
 ing there to take the place she had hoped to till, 
 they rained in torrents over her white face, and clasp- 
 ing her little hands -convulsively together, she cried 
 " How can I gi\e him up when I love him so much 
 BO much ?" 
 
 Gradually there stole over her the noble, unselfish 
 thought, that because she loved him so much, give
 
 READING THE LETTER. 61 
 
 would willingly sacrifice herself and all she had for the 
 Bake of making him h;ippy and then she grew calm 
 again and began to decide where she would go. In- 
 stinctively her mind turned toward New York city as 
 the great hiding place from the world. Mrs. Burt, 
 the woman who had lived with them in Yonkers. and 
 who had always been so kind to her, was in New York 
 she knew, for she had written to Colonel Raymond not 
 long before his death, asking if there was anything in 
 Kentucky for her son Ben to do. This letler her 
 guardian had answered and then destroyed with many 
 others, which he said were of no consequence, and on- 
 ly lumbered up his drawer. Consequently there waa 
 no possibility that this letter would suggest Mrs. Burt 
 to Frederic, who had never seen her, she having come 
 and gone while he was away at school, and thus far 
 the project was a safe one. But her name she might 
 some time be recognized by that, and remembering 
 that her mother's maiden name was Mary Grey, and 
 that Frederic, even if he had ever known it, which 
 was doubtful, had probably forgotten it, she resolved 
 upon being henceforth MARIAN GBEY, and she repeat- 
 ed it aloud, feeling the while that the change was well 
 for she was no longer the same girl she used to know 
 as Marian Lindsey. Oi.ce she said softly to herself, 
 " Marian Raymond," but the sound grated harshly, for 
 she felt that she had no right to bear that name. 
 
 This settled, she turned her thoughts upon the means 
 by which New York was to be reached, and she was 
 glad that she had not bought the dress, for now 
 she had ample funds with which to meet the expense, 
 and she would go that very night, before her resolu- 
 tion failed her. lledstone Hall was only two miles 
 from the station, and as the evening train passed at 
 half-past nine, there would be time to reach it, and 
 write a farewell letter, too, to Frederic, for she must 
 tell him how, though it broke her heart to do it, she 
 willingly gave him everything, and hoped he would 
 be happy when she was gone forever. Marian was
 
 62 READING THE LETTER. 
 
 beautiful then in her desolation, and so Frederic Ray- 
 mond would have said, could he have seen her with 
 the light of her noble sacrifice of self shining in her 
 eyes, and the new-born, womanly expression on her 
 face. The first fearful burst was over, and calmly she 
 sat down to her task but the storm rose high again 
 as she essayed to write that good-by, which -would 
 seem to him who read it a cry of despair wrung from 
 a fainting heart. 
 
 " Frederic dear Frederic" she began, " can I 
 may I say my husband once just once and I'll nev- 
 er insult you with that name again ? 
 
 "I am going away forever, Frederic, and when 
 you are reading this I shall not be at Redstone Hall, 
 nor anywhere around it. Do not try to find me. It 
 is better you should not. Your father's letter, which 
 was intended for you, and by mistake has come to me, 
 will tell you why I go. I forgive your father, Frede- 
 ric fully, freely forgive him but you oh, Frederic, 
 if I loved you less I should blame you for deceiving 
 me so cruelly. If you had told me all I would glad- 
 ly have shared my fortune with you. I would have 
 given you more than half, and when you brought that 
 beautiful Isabel home I would have loved her as a 
 sister. 
 
 " Why didn't you, Frederic ? What made you 
 treat me so? What made you break my heart when 
 you could have helped it? It aches so hard now as I 
 write, and the hardest pain of all is the loss of fairfi 
 in you. I thought you so noble, so good, and I may 
 confess to you here on paper, I loved you so much 
 how much you will never know, for I shall never 
 come back to tell you. 
 
 " And I kisssed you, too. Forgive me for that, 
 Frederic. I didn't know then how you hated me. 
 Wash the stain from your forehead, can't you ? and 
 don't lay it up against me. If I thought I could make 
 you love me, I would stay. I would endure torture 
 for years if I knew the light was shining beyond, but
 
 BEADING THE LETTER. 63 
 
 it cannot be. The sight of me would make yon hato 
 me more. So I give everything I have to you and 
 Isabel. You'll marry her at a suitable time, and when 
 you see how well she becomes your home, you will be 
 glad I went away. If yon must tell ker of me, and I 
 suppose you must, speak kindly of me, won't you? 
 You needn't talk of me often, but sometimes, when 
 you are all alone, and you are sure she will not know, 
 think of poor little Marian, who gave her life away, 
 that one she loved the best in all the world might 
 have wealth and happiness. 
 
 " Farewell, Frederic, farewell. Death itself cannot 
 be harder than bidding you good-by, and knowing it 
 is for ever." 
 
 And well might Marian say this, for it seemed to 
 her that she dipped her pen in her very heart's blood, 
 when she wrote that last adieu. She folded up the 
 letter and directed it to Frederic then taking another 
 sheet she wrote to the blind girl : 
 
 " DEA.REST ALICE Precious little Alice. If my 
 heart was not already broken, it would break at leav- 
 ing you. Don't mourn for me much, darling. Tell 
 Dinah and Hetty, and the other blacks, not to cry 
 and if I've ever been cross to them, they must forget 
 it now that I am gone. God bless you all. Good by 
 good by." 
 
 The letters finished, she left them upon the desk, 
 where they could not help being seen by the first one 
 who should enter then stealing up the stairs to the 
 closet at the extremity of the hall, she put on her 
 bonnet, vail and shawl, and started for her purse, 
 which was in the chamber where Alice slept. Care- 
 ful, very careful were her footsteps now, lest she 
 should waken the child, who, having cried herself to 
 sleep, was resting quietly. The purse was obtained, 
 as was also a daguerreotype of her guardian which 
 lay 'in the same drawer and then for a moment she 
 stood -gazing at the little blind girl, ana longing to 
 give her one more kiss ; but she dared not, and glan-
 
 64 BEADING THE LETTER. 
 
 cing hurriedly around the room which had been hers 
 so long, she hastened down the stairs and out upon 
 the piazza. She could see the light from the parlor 
 window streaming out into the darkness, and drawing 
 near she looked.through blinding tears upon the soli- 
 tary man, who, sitting there alone, little dreamed of 
 the whispered blessings breathed for him but a few 
 yaids away. It seemed to Marian in that moment of 
 agony that her very life was <>oing out, and she leaned 
 against a pillar to keep herself from falling. 
 
 "Oh, can I leave him?" she thought. " Can I go 
 away forever, and never see his face again or listen 
 to his voice ?" and looking up into the sky she prayed 
 that if in heaven they should meet again, he might 
 know and love her there for what she Buffered here. 
 
 On the withered grass and leaves near by there was 
 a rustling sound as if some one was corning, and Mari- 
 an drew back for fear of being seen, but it was only 
 Bruno, the large watch dog. He had just been re- 
 leased from his kennel, and he came tearing up the 
 walk, and with a low savage growl sprang toward the 
 spot where Marian was hiding! 
 
 " Bruno, good Bruno," she whispered, and in an in- 
 stant the fierce mastiff crouched at her feet and licked 
 her hand with a whining sound, as if he suspected 
 something wrong. 
 
 One more yearning glance at Frederic one more 
 tearful look at her old home, and Marian walked ra- 
 pidly down the avenue, folio w-ed by Bruno, who could 
 neither be coaxed nor driven back. It was all in vain 
 that Marian stamped her little foot, wound her arms 
 round his shaggy neck, bidding him return; he only 
 answered with a faint whine quite as expressive of 
 obstinacy as words could have been. He knew Mari- 
 an had no business to be abroad at that hour of the 
 night, and, with the faithfulness of his race, was de- 
 termined to follow. At length, as she was beginning 
 to despair of getting rid of him, she remembered how 
 pertinaciously he would guard any article which he
 
 BEADING THE LETTER. 65 
 
 knew belonged to the family and on the bridge 
 which crossed the Elkhorn, she purposely dropped her 
 glove and handkerchief, the latter of which bore her 
 name in full. The ruse was successful, for after vain- 
 ly attempting to make her know that she had lost 
 something, the dog turned back, and, with a loud, 
 mournful howl, which Marian accepted as his farewell, 
 he laid himself down by the handkerchief and glove, 
 turning his head occasionally in the direction Marian 
 had gone, and uttering low plaintive howls when he 
 saw she did not return. 
 
 Meantime Marian kept on her way, striking out in- 
 to the fields so as not to be observed and at last, just 
 as the cars sounded in the distance, she came up to a 
 clump of trees growing a little to the left, and on the 
 opposite side of the road from that on which the depot 
 stood. By getting in here no one would see her at 
 the stalion, and when the train stopped she came out 
 from her concealment, and bounding lightly upon the 
 platform of the rear car, entered unobserved. As the 
 .passengers were sitting with their backs toward her, 
 but one or two noticed her when she came in, and 
 these scarce gave her a thought, as she sank into the 
 seat nearest to the door, and drawing her vail over 
 her face trembled violently lest she should be recog- 
 nized, or at least noted and remembered. But her 
 feais were vain, for no one there had ever seen or 
 heard ol her and in a moment more the train was 
 moving on, and she, heart-broken and alone, was tak- 
 ing her bridal tour 1
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 
 THE ALARM. 
 
 IN her solitary bed little Alice slumbered on. moan- 
 ing occasionally in her sleep, and at last when the 
 clock struck nine, starting up and calling " Marian, 
 Marian, where are you ?" Then, remembering that 
 Marian could not come to her that night, she puzzled 
 her little brain with the great mystery, and wept her- 
 self to sleep for the second time. 
 
 In the kitchen old Dinah was busy with various 
 household matters. With Frederic she had heard in 
 the distance the bitter moan which Marian made when 
 first she learned how she had been deceived, and like 
 him she had wondered what the sound could be then 
 as a baby's cry came from a cabin near by, she had 
 said to herself, " some of them Iliggins brat^, I'll war- 
 rant. They're allus a squallin'," and, satisfied with 
 this conclusion, she had resumed her work. Once or 
 twice after that she was in the house, feeling a good 
 deal disturbed at seeing Frederic sitting alone with- 
 out his bride, who, she rightly supposed-, " was some- 
 wliar. But 'tain't no way," she muttered ; " Phil and 
 me didn't do like that;" then reflecting that " white 
 folks wasn't like niggers," she returned to the kitchen 
 just as Brnno set up his first loud howl. With Dinah 
 the howl of a dog was a sure sign of death, and drop- 
 ping her tallow candle in her fright, she exclaimed 
 "for the Lord's sake who's gwine to die nov ? I hope 
 to goodness 'taint me, nor Phil, nor Lid, nor Victory
 
 THE ALARM. 67 
 
 Engeny," and turning to Annt Hetty, who was troub- 
 led with vertigo, she asked if " she'd felt any signs of 
 an afterplax fit lately?" 
 
 ' The Lord," exclaimed old Hetty, "I hain't had a 
 drap o' blood in me this six month, and if Bruno's 
 hovvlin' for me, he may as well save his breath ;" but 
 in spite of this self-assurance, the old negress, when 
 no one saw her, dipped her head in a bucket of wa- 
 ter by way of warding off the danger. 
 
 Thus the evening wore away until at last Dinah, 
 standing in the doorway, heard the whistle of the train 
 as it passed the Big Spring station. 
 
 " Who s'posed 'twas half-past nine," she exclaimed. 
 " I'll go this minit and see if Miss Marian wants 
 me." 
 
 Just then another loud piercing howl from Bruno, 
 who was growing impatient, fell upon her ear and ar- 
 rested her movements. 
 
 " What can ail the critter," she said " and he' v s 
 down on the bridge, too, I believe." 
 
 The other negroes also heard the cry, which was 
 succeeded by another and another, and became at last 
 one prolonged yell, which echoed down the river and 
 over the hills, starting Frederic from his deep reverie 
 and bringing him to the piazza, where the blacks had 
 assembled in a body. 
 
 " 'Spects mebbe Bruno's done cotched somethin' or 
 somebody down thar," suggested Philip, the most 
 courageous of the group . 
 
 '"Suppose you go and see," said Frederic, and light- 
 ing his old lantern Philip sallied out, followed ere 
 long by all his comrades, who, by accusing each oth- 
 er of being " skeered to death," managed to keep up 
 their own courage. 
 
 The bridge was reached, and in a tremor of delight 
 Bruno bounded upon Phil, upsetting the old man and 
 extinguishing the light, so that they were in total 
 darkness. The white handkerchief, however, caught 
 Dinah's eye, and in picking it up she also felt the
 
 68 THE ALARM. t 
 
 glove, which was lying near it. But this did not ex- 
 plain the mystery and after searching in vain for 
 man, beast or hobgoblin, the party returned to the 
 house, where their master awaited them. 
 
 " Thar warn't nothin' thar 'cept this yer rag and 
 glove," said Dinah, passing the articles to him. 
 
 He took them, and going to the light saw the name 
 upon the handkerchief, "Marian Lindsey." The glove 
 too, he recognised as belonging to her, and with a 
 vague fear of impending evil, he asked where they 
 found them. 
 
 " On the bridge," answered Dinah ; " somebody 
 must have dropped 'em. That handkercher looks 
 mighty like Miss Marian's hem-stitched one." 
 
 " It is hers," returned Frederic " do you know 
 where she is?" 
 
 " You is the one who drto know that, I reckon," 
 answered Dinah, adding that she " hadn't seen her 
 sense jest after dark, when she went up stars with 
 Alice." 
 
 Frederic was interested now. In his abstraction he 
 had not heeded the lapse of time, though he wondered 
 where Marian was, and once feeling anxious to know 
 what she would say to the letter, he was tempted to 
 go in quest of her. But he did not and now, with a 
 presentiment that all was not right, he went to Alice's 
 chamber, but found no Marian there. Neither was 
 she in any of the chambers, nor in the hall, nor in the 
 dining room, nor in his father's room, and he stood at 
 last in the library door. The writing-desk was open, 
 and on it lay three letters one for Alice, one for him, 
 the other undirected. With a beating heart he took 
 the one intended for himself, and tearing it open, read 
 it through. When Marian wrote that " she gave her 
 life away," she had no thought of deceiving him, for 
 her giving him up was giving her very life. But he 
 did not so understand it, and sinking into a chair he 
 gasped, " Marian is dead 1" while his face grew livid 
 arid his heart sick with the horrid fear.
 
 THE ALARM. 69 
 
 " Dead, Marster Frederic," shrieked old Dinali 
 " who dars tell me my chile is dead !" and bounding 
 forward like a tiger, ehe grasped the arm of th 
 wretched man, exclaiming, u whar is she the dead ? 
 and what is she dead for? and what's that she's writ 
 that makes yer face as white as a piece of paper ? 
 Read, and. let us hear." 
 
 " I can'r, I can't," moaned the stricken man. " Oh, 
 has it come to this ? Marian, Marian won't somebo- 
 dy bring her back ? : ' 
 
 " If marster '11 tell me whar to look, I'll find her, 
 so help me, Lord," said uncle Phil, the tears rolling 
 down his dusky cheeks. 
 
 " You found her handkerchief upon the bridge," 
 returned Frederic, " and Bruno has b'een howling 
 there d->n't you see? She's in the river! She's 
 drowned ! Oh, Marian poor Marian, I've killed her 
 but God knows I did not mean to ;" and in the very 
 spot where not long before poor Marian had fallen on 
 her face, the desolate man now lay on his, and suffer- 
 ed in part what she had suffered there. 
 
 It was a striking group assembled there. The 
 bowed man, convulsed with strong emotion, and 
 clutching with one hand the letter which had done the 
 fearful work. The blacks gathered round, some weep- 
 ing bitterly and all petrified with terror, while into 
 their midst when the storm was at its hight the little 
 Alice groped her way her soft hair falling over her 
 white night dress, her blind eyes rolling round the 
 room, and her quick ear turned to catch any sound 
 which might explain the strange proceedings. She 
 had been roused from sleep by the confusion, and 
 hearing the uproar in the hall and library, had felt 
 her way to the latter spot, where in the doorway she 
 stood asking for Marian. 
 
 " Bless you, honey, Miss Marian's dead drownd- 
 ed," said Dinah, and Alice's shriek mingled with the 
 general din. 
 
 " Where's Frederic ?" asked the little girl, feeling
 
 70 THE ALARM. 
 
 
 
 intuitively that he was the one who needed the most 
 sympathy. 
 
 At the sound? of his name Frederic lifted up his 
 head, and taking the child in his arms, kissed her 
 tenderly, as if lie would thus make amends for hia 
 coldness to the lost Marian. 
 
 " 'Tain't no way to stay here like rocks," said Uncle 
 Phil at last. " If Miss Marian's in the river, we 'cl 
 better be a fishin' her out," and the practical negro 
 proceeded to make the necessary arrangements. 
 
 Before he left the room, however, he would know 
 if he were working for a certainty, and turning to his 
 master, said, " Have you jest cause for thinkin' she's 
 done drownded herself 'case if you hain't, 'tain't no 
 use huntin' This dark night, and it's gwine to rain, 
 too. The clouds is gettin' black as pitch." 
 
 Thus appealed to, Frederic answered, " She says in 
 the letter that she's going away forever, that she shall 
 not come back again, and she spoke of giving her life 
 away. You found her handkerchief and glove upon 
 the bridge, with Bruno watching near, and she is 
 gone. Do you need more proof?" 
 
 Uncle Phil did not, though "he'd jest like to know, 
 he said, " why a gal should up and dround herself on 
 the very fust night arter she'd married the richest and 
 han'somest chap in the county but thar was no tell- 
 in' what gals would do. Gener'ly, though, you could 
 calkerlate on thar cloin' jest con-tra-ry to what you'd 
 'spect they would, and if Miss Marian preferred the 
 river to that twenty-live pound feather-bed that Dinah 
 spent mor'n an hour in inakin' up, 'twas her nater, 
 and 'twan't for him to say agin it. All he'd got to do 
 was to work 1" 
 
 And the old man did work, assisted by the other 
 negroes and those of the neighbors who lived near to 
 liedstone Hall. Frederic, too, joined, or rather led 
 the search. Bareheaded, and utterly regardless of 
 the rain which, as Uncle Phil had prophesied, began 
 to fall in torrents, he gave the necessary directions,
 
 THE ALAKM. 71 
 
 and when the morning broke, few would have recog- 
 nized the elegant bridegroom of the previous day in 
 the white-faced, weary man, .who, with soiled gar- 
 ments and dripping hair, stood upon the narrow 
 bridge, and in the grey November morning looked 
 mournfully down tlie river as it went rushing on, tell- 
 ing no secret, if secret, indeed, there were to tell, of the 
 wild despair which must have filled poor Marian's 
 heart a^d maddened her brain ere she sought that 
 watery grave. 
 
 Before coming out he had hurriedly read his fa- 
 ther's letter, and he could well understand how ita 
 contents broke the heart of the wretched girl, and 
 drove her to the desperate act which he believed she 
 had committed. 
 
 " Poor Marian," he whispered to himself, "I alone 
 am the cause of your sad death ;" and most gladly 
 would he then have become a beggar and earned his 
 bread by the sweat of his brow, could she have come 
 back again, full of life, of health and hope, just as she 
 was the day before. 
 
 But this could not be, for she was dead, he said, 
 dead beyond a doubt ; and all that remained for him 
 to do was to find her body and lay it beside his father. 
 So during that day the seaich went on, and crowds 
 of people were gathered on each side of the river, but 
 no trace of the lost one could be found, and when a 
 second time the night fell dark and heavy round Red- 
 stone Hall, it found a mournful group assembled there. 
 
 To Alice Frederic had read the letter left for her, 
 and treasuring up each word the child groped her way 
 into the kitchen, where, holding the note before her 
 sightless eyes as if she could really see, she repeated 
 it to the assembled blacks, 
 
 "Lot-' bless the child," sobbed Dinah from behind 
 her woolen apron, "I kuowed she would remember 
 me." 
 
 " And me," joined in Hetty. " Don't you mind 
 how 1 is spoke of, too ? She was a lady, every inch
 
 72 THE ALARM. 
 
 of her, Miss Marian -was, an' if I said any badness 
 of her, I want yon to forgive me, Dinah. Here's my 
 hand," and these two old ladies took each other's 
 hand in token that they were joined together now in 
 one common sorrow. 
 
 Indeed, for once, the Higginses and Smitherses for- 
 got their ancient feud and united in extolling the vir- 
 tues of the lost one. After reading the letter as many 
 as three times for when their grief, had somewhat 
 subsided, the blacks would ask to hear it again, so as 
 to have fresh cause for tears Alice returned to the 
 parlor, where she knew Frederic was sitting. Her 
 own heart was throbbing with angnish, but she felt 
 that his was a sorrow different from her own, and 
 feeling her way to where he sat she wound her little 
 arms around his neck, and whispered tenderly : " We 
 must love each other more now that Marian is gone." 
 
 lie made no answer except to take her on his lap 
 and lay her head upon his bosom ; but Alice was sat- 
 isfied with this, and after a moment she said, " Fred- 
 eric, do you know why Marian killed herself?" 
 
 " Oh, Alice, Alice," he groaned. " Don't say those 
 dreadful words. I cannot endure the thought." 
 
 "But," persisted the child, " she coulin't have 
 known what she was doing, and God forgave her. - 
 Don't you think He did ? She asked him to, I am 
 sure, when she was sinking in the deep water." 
 
 The child's mind had gone further after the lost 
 one than Frederic's had, and her question inflict- 
 ed a keener pang than any he had felt before. He 
 had ruined Marian, body and soul, and Alice felt his 
 hot tears dropping on her face as he made her no re- 
 ply. Her faith was stronger than his, and putting up 
 her waxen hand, she wiped his tears away, saying to 
 him, " We shall meet Marian again, I know, and then 
 if you did anything naughty which made her ^go 
 away, you can tell her you are sorry, and she'll for- 
 give you, for she luved you veiy much." 
 
 Alice's words were like arrows to the heart of the
 
 THE ALARM. 73 
 
 young man, and still he felt in the first hours of his 
 desolation that she was his comforting angel, and he 
 could not live without her. More than once she 
 asked him if he knew why Marian went away, and at 
 last he made her answer, " Yes, Alice, I do know, but 
 I cannot tell you now. You would not understand it." 
 
 " I think I should," persisted the child, " and I 
 should feel so much better if I knew there was a rea- 
 son." 
 
 Thus importuned, Frederic replied, "I can only tell 
 you that she thought I did not love her." 
 
 "And did you, Frederic. Did you love her as Ma- 
 rian ought to be loved?" 
 
 The large brown blind eyes looked earnestly into 
 his face, and with that gaze upon him Frederic Ray- 
 mond could not tell a lie, so he was silent, and Alice, 
 feeling that she was answered, continued, " But you 
 would love her now it' she'd come back." 
 
 He couldn't say yes to that, either, for he knew he 
 did not love her even then, though he thought of her 
 as u noble, generous-hearted creature, worthy of a far 
 differentiate than had befallen her and had she come 
 back to him, he would have striven hard to make the 
 love which alone could atone for what she had endur- 
 ed. But she did not come and day after day went 
 by, during which the search was continued at inter- 
 vals, and always with' the same result until when a 
 week was gone and there was still no trace of her 
 found, people began to suggest that she was not in the 
 river at all, but had gone off in another direction. 
 Frederic, however, was incredulous she-had no mo- 
 ney that he or any one else knew of, or at least but 
 very little. She had never been away from home 
 alone, and if she had done so now, somebody would 
 have seen her ere this, and suspected who it was for 
 the papers far and near teemed with the strange event, 
 each editor commenting upon its cause according to 
 his own ideas, and all uniting in censuring the hus- 
 band, who at last was described as a cruel, unfeeling 
 
 4
 
 - THE ALARM. 
 
 wretch, capable of driving any woman from his honse, 
 particularly one as beautiful and accomplished as the 
 unfortunate bride ! It was in vain that Frederic 
 winced under the annoyance he could not help it 
 and the story went the rounds, improving with each 
 repetition, until at last an Oregon weekly outdid all 
 the rest by publishing the tale under the heading of 
 "Supposed Horrible Murder." So much for newspa- 
 per paragraphs. 
 
 Meantime Frederic, too, inserted in the papers ad- 
 vertisements for the lost one, without aiiy expectation, 
 however, that they would bring her back. To him she 
 was dead, even though her body could not be found. 
 There might be deep, unfathomable sink-holes in the 
 river, he said, and into one of these she had fallen 
 and so, with a crushing weight upon his spirits, and 
 an intense loathing of himself and the wealth which 
 was his now beyond a question, he gave her up as 
 lost and waited for what would come to him next. 
 
 Occasionally he found himself thinking of Isabel, 
 and wondering what she would say to his letter. 
 When he last saw her, she was talking of visiting her 
 mother's half-brother, who lived at Dayton, Ohio, and 
 he had said to her at parting, " If you come as far as 
 that, you must surely visit Redstone Hall." 
 
 But he had little faith in her coming and now he 
 earnestly hoped she would not, for if he wronged the 
 living he would be faithful to the dead ; and so day 
 after day he sat there in his desolate home, brooding 
 over the past, trying to forget the present, and shrink- 
 ing from the future, which looked so hopeless now. 
 Thoughts of Marian haunted him continually, and in 
 his dreams he often heard again the wailing sound, 
 which he knew must have been her cry when she 
 learned how she had been deceived. Gradually, too, 
 he began to miss her presence to listen for hergirlis4i 
 voice, her bounding step and merry laugh, which ho 
 Lad once thought rude. Her careful forethought for
 
 THE ALARM. 75 
 
 his comfort, too, he missed confessing in his secret 
 heart at least that Redstone Hall was nothing without 
 Marian. 
 
 And now, with these influences at work to make 
 him what he ought to be, we leave him. awhile in his 
 Borrow, and follow the fugitive bride. 

 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 M A K I A N. 
 
 ONWARD and onward faster and faster flew the 
 n.ght Express, and the wishes of nearly all the passen- 
 gers kept pace with the speed. One there was, how- 
 ever, a pale faced, blue-eyed girl, who dreaded the 
 time when the cars would reach their destination, and 
 she be in New York ! How she had come thus far 
 safely she scarce could tell. She only knew that every 
 body had been kind to her, and asked her where she 
 wished to go ; until now the last dreadful change was 
 made the blue Hudson was crossed Albany was far 
 behind, and she was fast nearing New York. Night 
 and day she had traveled, always with the same dull, 
 dreary sense of pain the same idea that to her the 
 world would never be pleasant, the sunshine bright, 
 or the flowers sweet again. Nervously she shrank 
 from observation and once, when a lady behind her, 
 who saw that she jvas weeping, touched her shoulder 
 and said, " What is the matter, little girl?" she start- 
 ed with fear, but did not answer until the question 
 was repeated then ehe replied, " Oh, I'm so tired 
 and sick, and the cars make such a noise !" 
 
 " Have you come far ?" the lady asked, and Marian, 
 answered, " Yes, very, very far," adding, as she re- 
 membered with a shudder the din and confusion of the 
 larger cities, " Is New York a heap noisier than Alba- 
 ny or Buffalo ?"
 
 MARIAN. 77 
 
 " Why, yes," returned , the lady, smiling at the 
 strange question. " Have you never been there ?" 
 
 " Once, when a child," said Marian, and the lady 
 continued, " You seem a mere child now. Have you 
 friends in the city ?" 
 
 " Yes, all I have in the world, and that is only one," 
 sobbed Marian, her tears falling fast at words of sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 The lady was greatly.interested in the child, as she 
 thought her, and had she been going to ]STew York 
 would have still befriended her, but she left at New- 
 burgh, and Marian was again alone. She had heard 
 much of "New York, but she had no conception of it 
 and when at last she was there, and followed a group 
 through the depot up to Broadway, her head grew 
 dizzy and her brain whirled with the deafening roar. 
 Cincinnati, Louisville, Buffalo and Albany combined 
 were nothing to this, and in her confusion she won d 
 have fallen upon the pavement had not the crowd 
 forced her along. Once, as a richly dressed young la- 
 dy brushed past her, she raised her eyes meekly and 
 asked where "Mrs. Daniel Burt lived?" 
 
 The question was too preposterous to be heeded, 
 even if it were heard, and the lady moved on, leaving 
 Marian as ignorant as ever of Mrs. Burt's wherea- 
 bouts. To two or three other ladies the same ques- 
 tion was put, but Mrs. Daniel Burt was evidently not 
 generally known in New York, for no one paid the 
 slightest attention except indeed to hold tighter their 
 purse-strings, as if there were danger to be apprehen- 
 ded from the slender little figure which extended its 
 ungloved hand so imploringly. After a time, a wo- 
 man from the country, who had not yet been through 
 the hardening process, listened ^to the question and 
 finding that Mrs. Daniel Burt was no way connected 
 with the Burts of Yates county, nor the Blodgetts of 
 Monroe, replied that she was a stranger in the city, 
 and knew no such person but pretty likely Marian 
 would find it in the Directory and as a regiment of
 
 78 MARIAN. 
 
 soldiers just then attracted her attention, she tuned 
 aside, while Marian, discouraged and sick at heart, 
 kept on her weary way, knowing nothing where she 
 was going, and, if possible, caring less. When she 
 came opposite to Trinity Church, she sank down upon 
 the step, and drawing her vail over her face, half 
 wished that she might die and be buried there in the 
 enclosure where she saw the November sunshine 
 falling on the graves. And then she wondered if the 
 roar of the great city didn't even penetrate to the 
 ears of the sleeping dead, and, shudderingly, she said, 
 " Oh, I would so much rather be buried by the river 
 at home in dear old Kentucky. It's all so still and 
 quiet there." 
 
 Gradually, as her weariness began to abate, she 
 grew interested in watching the passers-by, wondering 
 what every body was going down that street for, and 
 why they came back so quick ! Then she tried to 
 count the omnibuses, thinking to herself, " Somebo- 
 dy's dead up town, and this is the procession." The 
 deceased must have been a person of distinction, she 
 fancied, for the funeral train seemed likely never to 
 end. And, what was stranger than all, another was 
 moving up while this was coming down ! Poor Ma- 
 rian ! she knew but little of the great Babylon to 
 which she had so recently come, and she thought it 
 made up of carts, hacks, omnibuses and people all 
 hurrying in every direction as fast as they could go. 
 It made her feel dizzy and cross-eyed to look at them, 
 and leaning back against the iron railing, she fell into 
 a kind of conscious sleep, in which she never forgot 
 for an instan: the roar which troubled her so much, 
 or lost the gnawing pain at her heart. In this way 
 Bhe sat for a long time, while hundreds and hun- 
 dreds of people went by, some glancing sideways at 
 her, and thinking she did not look like an ordinary 
 beggar, while others did not notice her at all. 
 
 At last, as the confusion increased, she roused up, 
 Btaring about her with a wild, startled gaze. People
 
 MARIAN. 79 
 
 were going home, and she watched them as they 
 struggled fiercely and ineffectually to stop some load- 
 ed omnibus, and then rushed higher up to a more fa- 
 vorable locality. 
 
 " The funeral was over," she said. The omnibusses 
 were most all returning, and though she had no idea 
 of the lapse of time, she fancied that it might be coin- 
 ing night, and the dreadful thought stole over her 
 " What shall I do then ? Maybe I'll go in the church, 
 though," she added. " Nobody, I am sure, will hurt 
 me there," and she glanced confidingly at the massive 
 walls which were to shield her from danger and dark- 
 ness. 
 
 And while she sat there thus, the night shadows 
 began to fall the people walked faster and faster the 
 omnibus drivers swore louder and longer the crowd 
 became greater and greater and over Marian there 
 stole a horrid dread of the hour when the uproar 
 would cease when Wall street would be empty, the 
 folks all gone, and she be there alone with the blear- 
 eyed old woman who had seated herself near by, and 
 seemed to be watching her. 
 
 " I will ask once more," she thought. " Maybe 
 some of these people know where she lives." And, 
 throwing back her vail, she half rose to her feet, when 
 a tall, disagreeable looking fellow bent over her and 
 said " What can I do tor you, my pretty lass ?" 
 
 For an instant Marian's heart stood still, for there 
 was something in the rowdy's appearance exceedingly 
 repulsive, but when he repeated his question, she an- 
 swered timidly, " I want to find Mrs. Daniel Burt." 
 
 " Oh, ye?, Mrs Daniel Burt. I know the old lady 
 well lives just round the corner. Come with me and 
 I'll show you the way," and the great red, rough hand 
 was about to touch the little slender white one resting 
 on Marian's lap, when a blow from a brawny fist 
 sent the rascal reeling upon the pavement, while a 
 round, good-humored face looked into Marian's, and a
 
 SO MAKIAN. 
 
 kindly voice said, " Did the villain insult yon, little 
 girl ?" 
 
 " Yes I reckon not I don't know," answered Ma- 
 rian, trembling with fright, while her companion con- 
 tinued, " 'Tis the first time he ever spoke civil to a 
 woman then. I know the scamp well but what are 
 you sittin' here alone for, when everybody else is go- 
 in' hum?" 
 
 Marian felt intuitively that he could be trusted, and 
 she sobbed aloud, "Ihavn't any home, nor friends, 
 nor anything." 
 
 " Great Moses !" said the young man, scanning her 
 closely, "you ain't a beggar that's as sure as my 
 name is Ben Burt and what be you sittin' here for, 
 any way ?" 
 
 Marian did not heed his question, so eagerly did 
 she catch at the name Ben Burt. 
 
 "Oh, sir," she exclaimed, grasping his arm, "are 
 you any way related to Mrs. Daniel Burt, who once 
 lived with Colonel Raymond at Yonkers ?" 
 
 " Wall, ra ally now," returned the honest-hearted 
 Yankee, " if this don't beat all. I wouldn't wonder if 
 I was some connected to Mrs. Daniel Burt, bein' she 
 brung me up from a little shaver, and has licked me 
 mor'ii a hundred times. She's my mother, and if it's 
 her you're looking; for we may as well betraveltu', for 
 she lives all of three miles from here." 
 
 "Three miles!" repeated Mari-m, "that other man 
 said just around the corner. What made him tell 
 such-a lie ?" 
 
 " Yen tell," answered Ben, with a knowing wink, 
 which however failed to enlighten Marian, who was 
 too glad with having found a protector to ask many 
 questions, and unhesitatingly taking Ben's offered arm 
 she went with him up the street, until she found tha 
 car he wished to take. 
 
 When they were comfortably seated and she had 
 leisure to examine him more closely, she found him to 
 be a tall, athletic, good-natured looking young man,
 
 MARIAN. 81 
 
 betraying but little refinement either in personal np- 
 pearance or manner, but manifesting in- all he did a 
 kind, noble heart, which won her good opinion at 
 once. Greatly he wondered who she was and whence 
 she came, but he refrained asking her any questions, 
 thinking he should know the whole if he waited. It 
 seemed to Marian a long, long ride, and she was be- 
 ginning to wonder if it would never end, when Ben 
 touched her arm and signified that they were to 
 alight. 
 
 " Come right down this street a rod or so and we're 
 there," said he, and following whither he led, Marian 
 was soon climbing a long, narrow stairway to the third 
 story of what seemed to her a not very pleasant block 
 of buildings. 
 
 But if it were dreary without, the sight of a cheerful 
 blazing fire, which was disclosed to view as Ben open 
 ed a narrow door, raised her spirits at once, and tak- 
 ing in at a glance the rag carpet, the stuffed rocking 
 chairs, the chintz-covered lounge, the neat-looking 
 supper table spread for two, and the neater looking 
 woman who was making the toast, she felt the pain at 
 her heart give way a little, just a. little, and bounding 
 toward the woman, she cried, "You don't know me, 
 I suppose. I am Marian Lindsey, Colonel Raymond's 
 ward." 
 
 Mrs. Burt, for it was she, came near dropping her 
 plate of buttered toast in her surprise, and setting it 
 down upon the hearth, she exclaimed, "The last per- 
 son upon earth I expected to see. Where did you 
 come from, and how happened you to run atbTTl of 
 Ben 2" 
 
 " I ran afoul of her," answered Ben. "I found her 
 a cry in' on the pavement in front of Old Trinity, with 
 that rascal of a Joe Black, makin' b'lieve he was well 
 acquainted with you, and that you lived jest round 
 the corner." 
 
 " Mercy me," ejaculated Mrs. Burt, " but do tell a 
 body what you're here for not but I'm glad to see 
 4*
 
 82 MARIAN. 
 
 you, but it seems so queer. How is the old Colonel, 
 and that son I never see Ferdinand, ain't it no 
 Frederic, that's what they call him ?" 
 
 At the mention of Frederic, Marian gave a, choking 
 sob and replied : " Colonel Raymond is dead, and Fre- 
 deric oh, Mrs. Btirt, please don't ask me about him 
 now, or I shall surely die." 
 
 "There's some bedivilment of some kind, I'll war- 
 rant," muttered Ben, who was a champion of all wo- 
 man kind. "There's been the old Harry to pay, or 
 she wouldn't be rnnnin' off here, the villain," and in 
 fancy he dealt the unknown Frederic a far heavier 
 blow than he had given the scapegrace Joe. 
 
 " Well, never mind now," said Mrs. Burt, sooth- 
 ingly. "Take off your things and have some*snpper; 
 you must be hungry, I'm sure. How long is it since 
 you ate ?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," answered Marian, a death- 
 like paleness overspreading her face ; "not since yes- 
 terday, I reckon. Where am I? Everything is so 
 confused !" and overcome with hunger, exhaustion 
 and her late fright, Marian fainted in her chair. 
 
 Taking her in his arms as if she had been an infant, 
 . Ben carried her to the spare room, which, in accord- 
 ance with her New England habits, Mrs. Burt always 
 kept for company, and there on the softest of all soft 
 beds he laid her down; then, while his mother re- 
 moved her bonnet and shawl, he ran for water and 
 camphor, chating with his own rough fingers her little 
 cJaujmy hands, and bathing her forehead until Marian 
 came back to consciousness. 
 
 " There, swaller some cracker and tea, and you'll 
 feel better directly," said Mrs. Burt ; and, like a very 
 child, Marian obeyed, feeling that there was some- 
 thing delicious in being thus cared for after x the dread- 
 ful days she had passed. " You needn't talk to us to- 
 night. There will be time enough to-morrow," conti- 
 nued Mrs. Burt, as she saw her about to speak ; and 
 fixing her comfortably in bed, she went back to Ben,
 
 MARIAN. 83 
 
 I 
 
 to whom she told all that she knew concerning Marian 
 and the family with whom she had lived. 
 
 " There's something that ain't just right, depend 
 on't," said Ben, sitting down at the table. "That 
 Frederic has served her some mean caper, and so 
 she's run away. But she hit the nail on the head 
 when she came here." 
 
 By the time supper was over, Marian's soft, regular 
 breathing told that she was asleep, and taking the 
 lamp in his hand, the curious Ben stole to see her. 
 Her face was white as marble, and even in her sleep 
 the tears dropped from her long eye-lashes, affecting 
 Ben so strangely that his coat-sleeve was more than 
 once called in requisition to perform the office of a 
 handkerchief. 
 
 " Poor little baby ! You've been misused the wust 
 kind," he whispered, as with his great hand he brushed 
 her tears away, and then went noiselessly out, leaving 
 her to her slumbers. 
 
 It was a deep, dreamless sleep which came to Marian 
 that night, for her strength was utterly exhausted, and 
 in the atmosphere of kindness surrounding her, there 
 was something soothing to her irritated nerves. But 
 when the morning broke and the roar of the waking 
 city fell again upon her ear, she started up, and gazing 
 about the room, thought, " where am I, and what is 
 it that makes my heart ache so?" 
 
 Full soon she remembered what it was, and burying 
 her face in the pillows, she wept again bitterly, won- 
 dering what they were doing far away at Redstone 
 Hall, and if anybody but Alice was sorry she had 
 gone. A moment after Mrs. Burt's kind voice was 
 heard asking how she was, and bidding her be still 
 and rest. But this it was impossible for Marian to do. 
 She could not lie there in that little room and listen 
 to the din which began to produce upon her the same 
 dizzy, bewildering effect it had done the previous 
 day, when she sat on the pavement and saw the omni- 
 buses go by. She must be up and tell the kind
 
 84 MAIJIAN. 
 
 people her story, and then, if they said so, she would 
 go away go back to those graves she had seen yes- 
 terday, and lying down in some hollow, where that 
 horrid man and blear-eyed woman conld not find her 
 she would die, and Frederic would surely never know 
 what had become of her. She knew she could trust 
 both Mrs. Burt and Ben, and when breakfast was 
 over, she unhesitatingly told them everything, inter- 
 rupted occasionally by Ben's characteristic exclama- 
 tions of surprise and his mother's ejaculations of 
 wonder. 
 
 Mrs. Burt's first impulse was, that if she were 
 Marian she would claim her property, though of course 
 she would not live with Frederic. But Ben said No 
 " he'd work his finger-nails off before she should go 
 back. His mother wanted some one with her when 
 he was gone, and Marian was sent to them by Provi- 
 dence. Any way," said he, " she shall live with us a 
 while, arid we'll see what turns up. Maybe this 
 Fred'll begin to like her now she's gone. It's nater to 
 do so, and some day he'll walk inhere and claim her." 
 
 This picture was not a displeasing one to Marian, 
 who through her tears smiled gratefully upon Ben, 
 mentally resolving that should she ever be mistress of 
 Redstone Hall she should remember him. And thus 
 it was arranged that Marian Grey, as she chose to be 
 called, should remain where she was, for a time at 
 least, and if no husband came for her, she should stay 
 there always as the daughter of Mrs. Burt, whose 
 motherly heart already yearned toward the unfor- 
 tunate orphan. Both Mrs. Burt and Ben were noble 
 types of diamonds in the rough. Neither of them 
 could boast of much education or refinement, but in 
 all the great city there were few with warmer hearts 
 or kindlier feelings than the widow and her son. 
 Particularly was this true of Ben, who in his treat- 
 ment of Marian only acted out the impulse of nature ; 
 if she had been aggrieved, he was the one to defend 
 her, and if she bade him keep her secret, it was as
 
 MAKIAN. 85 
 
 safe with him as if it had never been breathed into 
 his ear. Nearly all of Ben's life had been passed in 
 factories, and though now home on a visit, he was 
 still connected with one in Ware, Mass. Yery care- 
 fully he saved his weekly earnings, and once in three 
 months carried or sent them to his mother, who, hav- 
 ing spent many years in New York city, preferred it 
 to the country. Here she lived very comfortably on 
 her own earnings and those of Ben, whose occasional 
 visits made the variety of her rather monotonous life.. 
 The other occupants of the block were not people with 
 whom she cared to associate, and she passed many 
 lonely hours. But with Marian for company it would 
 be different, and she welcomed her as warmly as Ben 
 himself had done. 
 
 '*. You shall be my little girl," she said, laying her 
 hand caressingly on the head of Marian, who began 
 to think the world was not as cheerless as she had 
 thought it was. Still the old dreary pain was in her 
 heart a desolate, home-sick feeling, which kept her 
 thoughts ever in one place and on one single object 
 the place, Redstone Hall, and the object, Frederic 
 Raymond. And as the days went by, the fteling 
 grew into an intense, longing desire to see her old 
 home once more to look into Frederic's face to lis- 
 ten to his voice, and know if he were sorry that she 
 was gone. This feeling Mrs. JBurt did not seek to dis- 
 courage, for though she was learning fast to love the 
 friendless girl, she knew it would be better for her to 
 be reconciled to Mr. Raymond, and when one day, 
 nearly four weeks after Marian's arrival, the latter said 
 to her, " I mean to write to Frederic and ask him to 
 take me back," she did not oppose the plan, for she 
 saw how the great grief was wearing the young girl's 
 life away, making her haggard and pale, and writing 
 lines of care upon her childish face. 
 
 That night there came to Marian a paper from Ben, 
 who, having far outstaid his time, had returned the 
 week before to Ware. Listlessly she tore open the
 
 86 MAKIAN. 
 
 wrapper, and glancing at the first page, was about 
 throwing it aside, when a marked paragraph arrested 
 her attention, and, with burning cheeks and fast-beat- 
 ing heart, she read that "Frederic Raj'inond would 
 gladly receive any information of a young girl who 
 had disappeared mysteriously from Redstone Hall." 
 
 " Oh !" she exclaimed, springing to her feet, " i am 
 going home back to Frederic. He's sent for me 
 see !" and she pointed out to Mrs. Burt the advertise- 
 ment. " Can I go to-night ?" she continued. " Is 
 there a train ? Oh, I am so glad." 
 
 Mrs. Bnrt, however, was more moderate in her feel- 
 ings. Mr. Raymond could scarcely do less than ad- 
 vertise, she thought, and to her this did not mean that 
 he wished the fugitive to return for any love he bore 
 her. Still, she would not dash Marian's hopes at once, 
 though she would save her from the cold reception 
 she felt sure she would meet, should she return to 
 Redstone Hall, unannounced. So, when the first ex- 
 citement of Marian's joy had abated, she said : " 1 
 should write to Mr. Raymond, just as I first thought 
 of doing. Then he'll know where you are, and he 
 will come for you, if he wants you, of course." 
 
 That " if he wants you " grated harshly on Marian's 
 ear ; but, after her past experience, she did not care 
 to thrust herself upon him, unless sure that he wished 
 it, and concluded to follow Airs. Burt's advice. So 
 siie sat down and wrote to him a second letter, telling 
 him where she was, and how she came there, and 
 asking him in her child-like way, to let her come back 
 again. 
 
 " Oh, I want to come home so much," she wrote; 
 " if you'll only let me, you needn't ever call me your 
 wife, nor make believe I am at least, not until you 
 love me, and I get to be a lady. I'll try so hard to 
 learn. I'll go away to school, and maybe, after a good 
 many years are gone, you won't be ashamed of me, 
 though I shall never be as beautiful as Isabel. If you 
 don't want me back $ Frederic, you must tell me so. I
 
 MARIAN. 87 
 
 can't feel any worse than I did that day when I sat 
 here in the street and wished I could die. I didn't 
 die then, maybe I shouldn't now, and if you do hate 
 me, I'll stay away and never write again never let 
 yon know whether I am alive, or not; and after seven 
 years, Ben Burt says, you will be free to marry Isabel. 
 She'll wait for you, I know. She won't be too old 
 then, will she? I shall be almost twenty-three, but 
 that is young, and the years will seem so long to me 
 if you do not let me return. May I, Frederic ? Write, 
 and tell me Yes ; but direct to Mrs. Daniel Burt, as 1 
 shall then be more sure to get it. I dare not hope 
 you'll come for me, but if you only would, and quick, 
 too, for my heart aches so, and my head is tired and 
 sick with the dreadful noise. Do say I may come 
 home. God will bless you if you do, I am sure ; and if 
 you don't, I'll ask Him to bless you just the same." 
 
 The letter closed with another assurance that she 
 gave to him cheerfully all her fortune that she neither 
 blamed his father, nor himself, nor Isabel, nor any- 
 body. All she asked was to come back! 
 
 Poor little Marian! The pain in her heart was not 
 so intense, and the noise in the street easier to bear 
 after sending that letter, for hope softened them both, 
 and whispered to her, "he'll let me come," and in a 
 thousand different ways she pictured the meeting be- 
 tween herself and Frederic. Occasionally the thought 
 intruded itself upon her, " what if he bids me keep 
 away," and then she said, " 111 do it if he does, and 
 before seven years are gone, maybe I'll be dead. I 
 hope I shall, for I do not want to think of Isabel's 
 living there with him!" 
 
 She had great faith in the seven years, for Sen had 
 said so, and Ben, who was very susceptible to female 
 charms, believed it, too, and the thought of it was like 
 a ray of sunshine in the dingy, noisome room where 
 all day he worked, sometimes reckoning up how many 
 months there were in seven years then how many 
 weeks- then how many days, and finally calling him-
 
 88 MARIAN. 
 
 self a fool for caring a thing about it. "When the news- 
 paper article came under his eye, the sunshine left the 
 dirty room, and after he had sent the paper to Marian 
 he cared but little how many months or weeks or days 
 there were in seven years, and he felt angry at himself 
 for having sweat so hard in making the computation ! 
 
 And so, while Marian in the city waits and watches 
 for the message which will, perhaps, bid her come 
 back, and Ben, in the noisy factory, waits also for a 
 message which shall say she has gone, and his mother 
 is again alone, the letter travels on, and one pleasant 
 afternoon, when the clerk at Cincinnati makes up the 
 mail for Frankfort, he puts that important missive with 
 the rest and sends it on its way.
 
 CHATER IX. 
 
 ISABEL HUNTINGTON. 
 
 ALL day and all night it rained with a steady, unre- 
 lenting pour, and when the steamboat which plies be- 
 tween Cincinnati and Frankfort stopped at the latter 
 place, two ladies from the lower deck looked drearily 
 over the city, one frowning impatiently at the mud 
 and the rain, while the other wished in her heart that 
 she was safely back in her old home, and had never 
 consented to tiiis foolish trip. This wish, however, she 
 dared not express to her companion, who, though call- 
 ing her mother, was in reality the mistress the one 
 whose word was law, and to whose wishes everything 
 else must bend. 
 
 "This is delightful," the younger lady exclaimed, 
 as holding up her fashionable traveling dress, and 
 glancing ruefully at her thin kid gaiters, she prepared 
 to walk the plank. " This is charming. I wonder if 
 they always have such weather in Kentucky." 
 
 ' No, Miss, very seldom, 'cept on strordinary 'ca- 
 sions," said the polite African, who was holding an 
 umbrella over her head, and who felt bound to defend 
 his native State. 
 
 The lady tossed her little bonnet proudly, and turn- 
 ing to her mother, continued : " Have you any idea 
 how we are to get to Redstone Hall ?" 
 
 At this question an old gray-haired negro, who, with 
 several other idlers, was standing near, came forward 
 aiid said, "If it's Redstone Hall wliar Miss wants to
 
 90 ISABEL IIUNTINGTOir. 
 
 go, I's here with Marster Frederic's carriage. I come 
 to fotch a man who's been out thar try in' to buy a 
 house of marster in Louisville." 
 
 At this announcement the face of both ladies bright- 
 ened perceptibly, and pointing out their baggage to 
 the negro, who was none other than our old friend Un- 
 cle Phil, they went to a public house to wait until the 
 carriage came round for them. t 
 
 " What do you suppose Frederic will think when he 
 Bees us?" the mother asked; and the daughter replied, 
 ' c He won't think anything, of course. It is perfectly 
 proper that we should visit our relations, particularly 
 when we are as near to them as Dayton, and they are 
 in affliction, too. He would have been displeased if 
 we had returned without giving him a call." 
 
 From these remarks the reader will readily imagine 
 that the ladies in question were Mrs. Hunting-ton and 
 her daughter Isabella. They had decided at last to 
 visit Dayton, and had started for that city a few days 
 after the receipt of Frederic's letter announcing his 
 father's death : consequently they knew nothing of the 
 marriage, and the fact that Colonel Raymond was dead 
 only increased Isabel's desire to visit Redstone Hall, 
 for she rightly guessed that Frederic was now so ab- 
 sorbed in business that it would be long ere he came 
 to New Haven again ; so she insisted upon coming, 
 and as she found her Ohio aunt not altogether agreea- 
 ble, she had shortened her visit there, and now with 
 her mother sat waiting at the Mansion House for the 
 appearance of Phil and the carriage. That Isabel was 
 beautiful was conceded by every one, and that she was 
 as treacherous as beautiful was conceded by those who 
 knew her best. Early in life she had been engaged to 
 Rudolph Me Vicar, a man of strong passions, an iron 
 will and indomitable perseverance. But when young 
 Raymond came, and she fancied she could win him, 
 she unhesitatingly broke her engagement "with Ru- 
 dolph, who, stung to madness by her cold, unfeeling 
 conduct, swore to be revenged. This threat, however,
 
 ISABEL HUNTINGTON. 91 
 
 was little heeded by the proud beauty. If she secured 
 Frederic Raymond, she would be above all danger, 
 and she bent every energy to the accomplishment of 
 her plan. She knew that the Kentnckians were pro- 
 verbial for their hospitality, and feeling sure that no 
 one would think it at all improper for her mother and 
 herself to visit their cousin, as she called Frederic, she 
 determined, if possible, to prolong that visit until asked 
 to stay with him always. He had never directly talked 
 to her of love, consequently she felt less delicacy 
 in going to his house and claiming relationship with 
 him ; so when Phil came around with the carriage, she 
 said to him, quite as a matter of course, " How 
 is Cousin Frederic since his father's death ?" 
 
 "Jest tolable, thankee," returned the negro, at the 
 same time saying, " Be you marster's kin ?" 
 
 " Certainly," answered Isabel, while the negro bow- 
 ed low, for any one related to his master was a person 
 of distinction to him. 
 
 Isabel had heard Frederic speak of Marian, and 
 when they were half way home, she put her head from 
 the window and said to Phil, " Where is the young 
 girl who used to live with Colonel Raymond Marian 
 was her name, I think ?" 
 
 " Bless you," returned the negro, cracking his whip 
 nervously, "haint you hearn how she done got mar- 
 ried to marster mighty nigh three weeks ago ?" 
 
 " Married ! Frederic Raymond married !" screamed 
 Isabel ; " it is not true. How dare you tell me such a 
 falsehood?" 
 
 " Strue as preachin', and a heap truer than some 
 on't, for I seen 'em joined with these very eyes," said 
 Phil, and, glancing backward at the white face 'lean- 
 ing from the window, he muttered, ;i 'spects mebby she 
 ealkerlated on catcliin' him herself. Ki, wouldn't she 
 and Dinah pull bar though. Thar's a heap of Ole Sam 
 in them black eyes of hern," and, chirruping to his 
 horses, Philip drove rapidly on, thinking he wouldn't
 
 92 ISABEL HTJNTINGTON. 
 
 tell her that the bride had run away he would let 
 Frederic do that. 
 
 Meantime, Isabel, inside, was choking gasping 
 crying wringing her hands and insisting that her 
 mother should ask the negro again if what he had told 
 them were so. 
 
 " Man sir" said Mrs. Huntington, putting her 
 bonnet out into the rain, " is Mr. Frederic Raymond 
 really married to that girl Marian ?" 
 
 " Yes, as true as I am sittin' here. Thursday'll be 
 three weeks since the weddin'," was the reply, and 
 with another hysterical sob, Isabel laid her head in her 
 mother's lap. 
 
 Nothing could exceed her rage, mortification and 
 disappointment, except, indeed, her pride, and this 
 was stronger than all her other emotions and that 
 which finally roused her to action. She would not 
 turn back now, she said.. She would bra- e the villain 
 and show him that she did not care. She would put 
 herself by the side of his wife and let him see the con- 
 trast. She had surely heard from him that Marian 
 was plain, and in fancy, she saw how she would over- 
 shadow her rival and make Frederic feel keenly the 
 difference between them, and then she thought of the 
 discarded Rudolph. If everything else should fail, she 
 could win him back he had some money, and she 
 would rather be his wife than nobody's! 
 
 By this time they had left the highway, for Redstone 
 Hall was more than a mile from the turnpike, and Isa^ 
 bel found ample opportunity for venting her ill-nature. 
 Such a road as that she never saw before, and she'd 
 like to know if folks in Kentucky lived out in the lots. 
 "No wonder they were such heathen ! you nigger," she 
 exclaimed, as Phil drove through a brook; "are you 
 going to tip ns over, or what ?" 
 
 " Wonder if she 'spects a body is gwine round the 
 brook," muttered Phil, and as the carriage wheels were 
 now safe from the water, he stopped and said to the 
 indignant lady, " mebby Miss would rather walk the
 
 ISABEL HUNTINGTOK. 93 
 
 rest of the way. Thar's a heap wus places in the 
 cornfield, whar we'll be pretty likely to get oversot." 
 
 " Go on," snapped Isabel, who knew she could not 
 walk quite as well as the mischievous driver. 
 
 Accordingly they went on, and ere long came in 
 sight of the house which even in that drenching rain 
 looked bean tif al to Isabel, and all the more beautiful 
 because she felt that she had lost it. On the piazza 
 little Alice stood, her fair hair blowing over her face, 
 and her ear turned to catch the first sound which 
 should tell her if what she hoped were true". Old 
 Dinah, who saw the carriage in the distance, had said 
 there was some one in it, and instantly Alice thought 
 of Marian, and going out upon the piazza, she waited 
 impatiently until Phil drove up to the door. 
 
 " There are four feet," she said, as the strangers 
 came up the steps; "four feet, but nons are Ma- 
 rian's," and she was turning sadly away, when she 
 accidentally trod upon the long skirt of Isabel, who, 
 snatching it away, said angrily, k ' child, what are you 
 doing stepping on my dress?" 
 
 "1 didn't mean to ; I'm blind," answered Alice, her 
 lip quivering and her eyes filling with tears. 
 
 " .Never you mind that she dragon," whispered 
 Uncle Phil, thrusting into the child's hand a paper of 
 candy, which had the effect of consoling her some- 
 what, both for her disappointment and her late reproof. 
 
 "Who is that ar?" asked Dinah, appearing upon 
 the piazza just as Isabel passed into the hall. " Some 
 of marster's kin !" she repeated after Uncle Phil. 
 "For the Lord's sake, what fetched 'em here this rainy 
 day, when we's gwine to have an ornery dinner- 
 no briled hen, nor turkey, nor nothin'. Be they 
 quality, think ?" 
 
 "'Spects the young one wants to be, if she ain't," 
 returned Phil, with a very expressive wink, which 
 had the effect of enlightening Dinah with regard to 
 his opinion. 
 
 " Some low flung truck, I'll warrant," said she, as
 
 y 4 ISABEL HUNTINGTON. 
 
 she followed them into the parlor, where Isabel's 
 stately bearing and glittering black eyes awed her 
 into a low courtesy, as she said : " You're very wel- 
 come to Redstone Hall, I'm sure. Who shall I tell 
 marster wants to see him ?" 
 
 " Two ladies, simply," was Isabel's haughty answer, 
 and old Dinah departed, whispering to herself, " Two 
 ladies simple ! She must think I know nothiu' 'bout 
 grarmar to talk in that kind of way, but she's mis- 
 takened. I hain't lived in the fust families for no- 
 thin'," and knocking at Frederic's door, she told him 
 that " two simple ladies was down in the 'parlor and 
 wanted him." 
 
 " Who ?" he asked, in some surprise, and Dinah 
 replied : 
 
 " Any way, that's what she said the tall one, with 
 great black eyes jest like coals of fire. Phil picked 
 'em up in Frankford, whar they got off the boat. 
 They's some o' yer kin they say." 
 
 Frederic did not wish to hear any more, for lie sus- 
 pected who the} 7 were. It was about this time they 
 had talked of visiting Dayton, and motioning Dinah 
 from the room, he pressed his hands to his forehead, 
 and thought, " Must I suffer this, too ? Oh, why did 
 she come to look at me in my misery ?" Then, forc- 
 ing an unnatural calmness, he started for the parlor, 
 where, as he had feared, he stood face to face with 
 Isabel Huutington. 
 
 She was very pale, and in her black eyes there was 
 a hard, dangerous expression, from which he gladly 
 turned away, addressing first her mother, who, rising 
 to meet him, said : 
 
 " We have accepted your invitation, you see." 
 
 " Y"es, ma'am," he replied, and he was trying to 
 stammer out a welcome, when Isabel, who all the time 
 had been aching to pounce upon him, chimed, 
 
 " Where is Mrs. Raymond ? I am dying to see my 
 new cousin " and in the eyes of black there was a red-
 
 ISABEL HUNTINQTON. 95 
 
 dish gleam, as if they might ere long emit sparks of 
 living fire. 
 
 " Mrs. Raymond !" repeated Frederic, the name 
 dropping slowly from his lips. " Mrs. Raymond ! 
 Oh ! Isabel, don't you know ? Havn't you heard ?'" 
 
 " Certainly I have," returned the young lady, 
 watching him as a fierce cat watches his helpless 
 prey. " Of course I have heard of your marriage, and 
 have come to congratulate you. Is your wife well ?" 
 
 Frederic raised his hand to stop the flippant speech, 
 and when it finished he rejoined: "But havn't you 
 heard the rest the saddest part of all? Marian is 
 dead ! drowned at least we think she must be, for 
 she went away on our wedding night, and no trace of 
 her can be found." 
 
 The fiery gleam was gone from the black eyes the 
 color came back to the cheeks the finger nails ceased 
 their painful pressure upon the tender flesh the sha- 
 dow of a smile dimpled the corner of the mouth, and 
 Isabel was herself again. . 
 
 "Dead! Drowned!" she exclaimed. " How did it 
 happen? What was the reason? Dreadful, isn't it?" 
 and going over to where Mr. Raymond stood, she 
 looked him in the face, with an expression she meant 
 should say, " I am sorry for you," but which really 
 did say something quite the contrary. 
 
 " I cannot tell you why she went away," Frederic 
 answered, ' but there was a reason for it, and it has 
 cast a shadow over my whole life." 
 
 " Marian was a mere child, I had always supposed," 
 suggested Isabel, anxious to get at the reason why he 
 had so soon forgotten herself. 
 
 " Did you get my last letter the one written to 
 you ?" asked Frederic, and upon Isabel's replying that 
 she did not, he briefly stated a few facts concerning 
 his marriage, saying it was his father's dying request, 
 and he could not well avoid doing as he had done, 
 even if he disliked Marian. " But I didn't dislike her," 
 he continued, and the hot blood rushed into his face.
 
 96 ISABEL HUNTINGTON. 
 
 " She was a gentle, generous hearted girl, and had she 
 lived, I would have made her happy." 
 
 If by this speech Frederic Raymond thought to de- 
 ceive Isabel Huntington, he was mistaken, for, looking 
 into his eyes she read a portion of the truth and knew 
 there was something back of all a something be- 
 tween himself and his father which had driven him, 
 to the marriage. What it was she did not care then 
 to know. She was satisfied that the bride was gone 
 and when Frederic narrated more minutely the par- 
 ticulars of her going, the artful girl said to herself, 
 ' She is dead beyond a doubt, and when I leave Red- 
 stone Hall, I shall know it, and mother, too !" 
 
 It was strange how rapidly Isabel changed from a 
 hard, defiant woman, to a soft,' sparkling, beautiful 
 creature, and when, in her plaid silk dress of crimson 
 and brown, with her magnificent hair bound in heavy 
 braids about her head, she came down to dinner, Aunt 
 Dinah involuntarily dropped another courtesy, and 
 whispered under her teeth, "The Lord, if she ain't 
 quality after all." Old Hetty, too, who from a side 
 door looked curiously in at their guests, received a 
 like impression, pronouncing her more like Miss Bea- 
 trice than any body she had ever seen. To Alice, 
 Isabel was all gentleness, for she readily saw that the 
 child was a pet; so she called her darling and dear- 
 est, smoothing her fair hair and kissing her once when 
 Frederic was looking on. All this, however, did not 
 deceive the little blind girl, or erase from her mind 
 the angry words which had been spoken to her, and 
 that evening, when she went to Frederic to bid him 
 good night, she climbed into his lap and said : " Is that 
 Miss Isabel going to stay here always?" 
 
 " Why, no," he answered. " Did you think she 
 was?" * 
 
 "I did not know," returned Alice, "but I hoped 
 not, for I don't like her at all. She's very grand and 
 beautiful, Dinah says, but I think she must look like 
 a anake, and I want her to go away, don't you ?"
 
 ISABEL HTKTINGTO.N. 97 
 
 Frederic would not say yes to this question, and he 
 remained silent. Had he been consulted, he would 
 rather that she had never come to Redstone Hall, but 
 now that she was there, he did not wish her away. It 
 would be inhospitable', he said, and when next morn- 
 ing she came down to breakfast, bright, fresh and ele- 
 gant in her tasteful wrapper, he felt a pang, as he 
 thought, "had I done fight, she might have been the 
 mistress of Redstone Hall," but it could not be now, he 
 said, even if Marian were dead, and all that day he 
 struggled manfully between his duty and his inclina- 
 tion, while Isabel dealt out her highest card, ingrafting 
 herself into the good graces of the Smitherses by 
 speaking to them pleasant, familiar words, exalting 
 herself in the estimation of theHigginses by her lofty, 
 graceful bearing, and winning Dinah's friendship by 
 praising Victoria Eugenia, and asking if that fine 
 looking man who drove the carriage was her husband. 
 Then, in the evening, when the lamps wore lighted in 
 the parlor, she opened the piano and filled the house 
 with the rich melody of h r cultivated voice, singing a 
 sad, plaintive strain, which reminded Alice of poor, 
 lost Marian, and carried Frederic back to other days, 
 when, with a feeling of pride, he had watched her 
 snowy fingers as they gracefully swept the keys. He 
 could not look at them now he dared not look at 
 her, in her ripe glowing beauty, and he left the room, 
 going out upon the piazza, where he wiped great 
 drops of sweat from his face, and almost cursed the 
 fate which had made it a sin for him to love the dark- 
 haired Isabel. She knew that he was gone, and rightly 
 divining the cause, she dashed off into a stirring 
 dancing tune, which brought the negroes to the door, 
 where they stood admiring her playing and praising 
 her queenly form. 
 
 "That's somethin' like it," whispered Hetty, beating 
 time to the lively strain. " That sounds like Miss Bea- 
 trice did when she done played the pianner. I 'clare 
 for't, I eeuamost wish Marster Frederic had done
 
 98 ISABEL HUNTING-TOW. 
 
 chose her. 'Case you know t'other one done drowned 
 herself the fust night," she added quickly, as she met 
 Dinah's rebuking; glance. 
 
 Dinah admired Isabel, but she could not forget Ma- 
 rian ; though like her sex, whether black or brown, 
 she speculated upon the future, when " Marster Fre- 
 deric would be done mournin'," and she wondered if 
 " old miss," meaning Mrs. Huntington, would think it 
 necessary to stay there, too. Thus several days went 
 by, and so pleasant was it to Frederic to have some 
 one in the house who could divert him from his 
 gloomy thoughts, that he began to dread the time 
 when he would be alone again. But could he have 
 looked into the heart of the fair lady, he would have 
 seen no immediate cause of alarm. Isabel did not 
 intend to leave her present quarters immediately, and 
 to this end her plans were laid. From what she had 
 heard she believed Marian Lindsey was dead, and if 
 so, she would not again trust Frederic away from 
 her influence. Redstone Hall needed ahead a house- 
 keeper and as her mother was an old lady, and also 
 a relative of Frederic, she was just the one to fill 
 that post. Their house in New Haven was only rented 
 until March, and by writing to some friends they 
 could easily dispose of their furniture until such time 
 as they might want it. Alice needed a governess, for 
 she heard Frederic say so ; and though the little pest 
 (this was what she called her, to herself) did not seem 
 to like her, she could teach her as well as any one. It 
 would be just as proper for her to be Alice's gover- 
 ness as for any one else, and a little more so, for her 
 mother would be with her. 
 
 And this arrangement '"she brought about with the 
 most consummate skill, first asking Frederic if he 
 knew of any situation in Kentucky which she could 
 procure as a teacher. That was one object of her visit, 
 ahe said. She must do something for a living, and as 
 she would rather teach either in a school, or in a pri- 
 vate family, she would be greatly obliged to him if he
 
 ISABEL HUNTINGTON. 9 
 
 would assist her a ifttle. Hardly knowing what he 
 was doing, Frederic said something about Alice's 
 having needed a governess for a long time; and 
 quickly catching at it, Isabel rejoined, "Oh ! but you 
 know I couldn't possibly remain here, unless mother 
 staid with me. Now, if you'll keep her as a kind 
 of overseer-in-general of the house, I'll gladly under- 
 take the charge of dear little Alice's education. She 
 does not fancy me, I think, but I'm sure I can win her 
 love. I can that of almost any one children I mean, 
 of course ;" and the beautiful, fascinating eyes looked 
 out of the window quite indifferently, as if their owner 
 were utterly oblivious of the fierce struggle in Fred- 
 eric's bosom. 
 
 He wished her to stay with him oh, so much ! But 
 was it right? and would he not get to loving her? 
 No, he would not, he said. He would only think of 
 her as his cousin his sister, whose presence would 
 cheer his solitary home. So he bade her stay, and she 
 bade her mother stay, urging so many reasons why she 
 should, and must, that the latter consented at last, and 
 a letter was dispatched to New Elaven, with directions 
 for having their furniture packed away, and their house 
 given up to its owner. This arrangement at first 
 caused some gossip among the neighbors, who began 
 to predict what the end would be, and, also, to assert 
 more loudly than ever their belief that Marian was not 
 dead. Still, there was no reason why Isabel should 
 not be Alice's governess, particularly as her mother 
 was with her ; and when Agnes Gibson pronounced 
 her beautiful, accomplished, and just the thing, the 
 rest followed in the train, and the health of the " nor- 
 thern beauty " was drunk by more than one last young 
 man. 
 
 In the kitchen at Redstone Hall there was also a 
 discussion, in which the Higginses rather had the pref- 
 erence, inasmuch as the lady in question was after 
 their manner of thinking. Old Dinah wisely kept si 
 lent, saying to herself, " a new broom sweeps clean,
 
 100 ISABEL HUNTINGTON. 
 
 and I'll wait to see what 'tis when it gets a little wore. 
 One thing is eartin, though, if she goes to put on are, 
 and sasses us colored folks, I'll gin her a piece of my 
 mind. I'll ask her whar she come from, and how many 
 niggers she owned afore she come from thar." 
 
 It was several days before Alice was told of the ar- 
 rangement, and then she rebelled at once. Bursting 
 into tears, she hid her face in Dinah's lap, and sobbed, 
 " I can't learn of her. I don't like her. What shall 
 I do ?" 
 
 " I wish to goodness I had laming',' 5 answered Di- 
 nah, " and I'd hear you say that foolishness 'bout the 
 world's turnin' round and makin' vis stan' on our heads 
 half the time, but I hain't, and if I's you I'd make the 
 best on't. I'll keep my eye on her, and if she makes 
 you do the fust thing you don't want to, I'll gin her a 
 piece of my mind. I ain't afraid on her. Why, Gib- 
 Bon's niggers say how they hearn Miss Agnes say she 
 used to make her own bed whar she came from, and 
 wash dishes, too! Think o' that!" 
 
 Thus comforted, Alice dried her tears, and hunting 
 up the books from which she had once recited to Ma- 
 rian, she declared herself ready for her lessons at any 
 time. 
 
 " Let it be to-morrow, then," said Isabel, who knew 
 that, Frederic was going to Lexington, and that she 
 could not see him even if she were not occupied with 
 Alice. 
 
 So, the next morning, after Frederic was gone, Alice 
 went to the school-room, and drawing her little chair 
 to Isabel's side, laid her books upon the lady's lap, and 
 waited for her to begin. 
 
 " You must read to me," she said, "until I know 
 what 'tis, and then I'll recite it to you." 
 
 But Isabel was never intended for a teacher, and she 
 found it very tedious reading the same thing over and 
 over, particularly as Alice seemed inattentive and not 
 at all inclined to remember. At last she said, impa.
 
 ISABEL HUNTINGDON. 101 
 
 tiently, " For the pity's sake how many more times 
 must I read it. Can't you learn anything?" 
 
 ; ' Dont don't speak so," sobbed Alice. " I'm think- 
 ing of Marian, and how she used to be with me. It's 
 just six weeks to-day since she went away. Oh, I 
 wish she'd come back. Do you believe she's dead ?" 
 
 Isabel was interested in anything concerning Marian, 
 and closing the book, she began to question the child, 
 asking her among other things, if Marian did not leave 
 a letter for Mr. Kayrnond, and if she knew what was 
 in it." 
 
 " No one knows," returned the child; "he never 
 told but here's mine," and drawing from her bosom 
 the soiled note, she passed it to Isabel, who scrutinized 
 it closely, particularly the handwriting. 
 
 " Of course she's dead, or she would have been heard 
 from ere this," said she, passing the note back to Alice, 
 who, not feeling particularly comforted, made but lit- 
 tle progress in her studies that morning, and both 
 teacher and pujil were glad when the lessons of the 
 day were over. 
 
 Before starting for Lexington, Frederic had sent 
 Josh on some errand to Frankfort, and just after din- 
 ner the negro returned. Isabel was still alone upon 
 the piazza when he came up, and as she was expect- 
 ing news from New Haven, she asked if he stopped at 
 the post office. 
 
 " Ve-e-us 'm," began the stuttering negro, "an' I 
 d-d-d one got a h-h-eap on 'em, too," and Josh gave 
 her six letters one for herself and five for Frederic. 
 
 Hastily breaking the seal of her own letter, she read 
 that their matters at home were satisfactorily arranged 
 a tenant had already been found for their house, and 
 their furniture would be safely stowed away. Hear- 
 ing her mother in the hall, she handed the letter to her 
 and then went to the library to dispose of Frederic's. 
 As she was laying them down she glanced at the su- 
 perscriptions, carelessly, indifferently, until she came 
 to the last, the one bearing the New York postmark ;
 
 102 ISABEL HUNTINGTON. 
 
 then, with a nervous start she caught it up again and 
 examined it more closely, while a sickening, horrid 
 fear crept through her flesh her heart gave one fear- 
 ful throb and then lay like some heavy, pulseless 
 weight within her bosom. Could it be that she had 
 seen that handwriting before ? Had the dead wife re- 
 turned to life, and was she coming back to Redstone 
 Hall ? The thought was overwhelming, and for a mo- 
 ment Isabel Huntington was tempted to break that 
 seal and read. But she dared not, for her suspicion 
 might be false ; she would see Alice's note again, and 
 seeking out the child she asked permission to take the 
 letter which Marian had written. Alice complied 
 with her request, and darling away to the library Isa- 
 bel compared the t\vo. They were the same. There 
 could be no mistake, and in the intensity of her excite- 
 ment, she felt her black hair loosening at its roots. 
 
 " It is from her, but he shall never see it, never !" 
 she exclaimed aloud, and her voice was so unnatural 
 that she started at the sound, and turning saw Alice 
 standing in the door with an inquiring look upon her 
 face, as if asking the meaning of what she had heard. 
 
 Isabel quailed beneath the glance of that sightless 
 child, and then sat perfectly still, while Alice said, 
 " Miss Huntington, are you here ? Was it you who 
 spoke ?" 
 
 Isabel made no answer, but trembling in every limb, 
 shrank farther and farther back in her chair as the lit- 
 tle, groping, outstretched arms came nearer and nearer 
 to her. Presently, when she saw no escape, she forced 
 a loud laugh, and said, " Fie, Alice. I tried to frighten 
 you by feigning a strange voice. You want your let- 
 ter, don't you ? Here it is. I only wished to see if in 
 reading it a second time I could get any clue to the 
 mystery," and she gave the bit of paper back to Alice, 
 who, somewhat puzzled to understand what it' all 
 meant, left the room, and Isabel was again alone. 
 Three times she caught up the letter with the intention 
 of breaking its seal, and as often threw it down, for,
 
 ISABEL HUNTINGTON'. 103 
 
 unprincipled as she was, she shrank from that act, and 
 still, if she did not know the truth, she should go mad, 
 she said, and pressing her hands to her forehead, she 
 thought what, the result to herself would be were Ma- 
 rian really alive. 
 
 " But she isn't," she exclaimed. " I won't have it 
 BO. She's ctead she's buried in the river." But who 
 was there in New York that wrote so much like her ? 
 She wished she knew, and she might know, too, by 
 opening the letter. If it was from a stranger, she could 
 destroy it, and lie, thinking it had been lost, would 
 write again. She should die if she didn't know, and 
 maybe she should die if she did. 
 
 At all events, reality was more endurable than sus- 
 pense, and glancing furtively around to make sure 
 *hat no blind eyes were near, she snatched the letter 
 /Tom the table and broke the seal ! Even then she 
 dared not read it, until she reflected that she- could not 
 give it to Frederic in this condition she might as well 
 see what it contained ; and wiping the cold moisture 
 from her face she opened it and read, while her flesh 
 seemed turning to stone, and she could feel the horror 
 creeping through her veins, freezing her blood and 
 petrifying her very brain. Marian Lindsey lived/ 
 IShe was coming back again back to her husband, 
 and back to the home which was hers. There was 
 enough in the letter for her to guess the truth, and she 
 knew why another had been preferred to herself. For 
 a moment even her lip curled with scorn at what she 
 felt was an unmanly act, but this feeling was soon lost 
 in the terrible thought that Marian nrght return. 
 
 "Can it be? Must it be?" she whispered, as her 
 hard, black eyes fastened themselves again upon the 
 page, blotfed with Marian's tears. "Seven years 
 seven ye irs," she continued, " I've heard of that be- 
 fore," and into the wild tumult of her thoughts there 
 stole a ray of hope. If -she withheld the letter from 
 Frederic, and she must withhold it now, he would 
 never know what she knew. Possibly, too, Marian
 
 104 ISABEL HUNTINUTON. 
 
 iniglit die, and though she would have repelled the 
 accusation, Isabel Huntington was guilty of murder in 
 her heart, as she sat there alone and planned what she 
 would do. She was almost on the borders of insanity, 
 for the disappointment to her now would be greater 
 and more humiliating than before. She had no home 
 to go to her arrangements for remaining in Kentucky 
 were all made, and Redstone Hall seemed so fair that 
 she would willingly wait twice seven years, if, at the ex- 
 piration of that time, she were sure of being its mis- 
 tress. It was worth t.ying for, and though she had 
 but little hope of success, the beautiful demon bent 
 her queenly head and tried to devise some means of 
 effectually silencing Marian, so that if there really 
 weie anything in the seven years the benefit would 
 accrue to her. 
 
 " She's a litle silly fool," she said, " and this Mrs. 
 Daniel Burt she talked about is just as silly as herself. 
 They'll both believe what is told to them. I may never 
 marry Frederic, it is true, but I'll be revenged on Ma- 
 rian. What business had she to cross my path, the 
 little red-headed jade !" 
 
 Isabel was growing excited, and as she dared do 
 anything when angry, she resolved to send the letter 
 back. 
 
 "I can imitate his handwriting," she thought; "I 
 can do anything as I feel now," and going to her room, 
 she found the letter he had written to her mother. 
 
 This she studied and imitated for half an hour, and 
 at the end of that time wrote on the blank page of 
 Marian's letter, " Isabel Huntington is now the mis- 
 tress of Heel stone Hall." 
 
 "That will keep her still, I reckon," she said, and 
 taking a fresh envelope, she directed it to " Mr,-. Dan- 
 iel Burt," as Marian had bidden Frederic do. " 'Twaa 
 a fortunate circumstance, her telling him that, for 
 ' Marian Lindsey' would have been observed a f once," 
 ehe thought ; aud then, lest her resolution should fail 
 her, she found Josh and bade him take the letter to
 
 ISABEL nr/NTINGTOW. 105 
 
 the post-office at the Forks of Elkhorn not very far 
 away. 
 
 Nothing could suit Josh better than to ride, and 
 stuttering out something which nobody could under- 
 stand, he mounted his rather sorry-looking horse and 
 was soon galloping out of sight. In the kitchen Mrs. 
 Huntington heard of Josh's destination, and when next 
 ehe met her daughter, she asked to whom she had been 
 writing. 
 
 " To some one, of course," answered Isabel, at the 
 same time intimating that she hoped she could have a 
 correspondent without her mother troubling herself. 
 
 The rudeness of this speech was forgorten by Mrs. 
 Huntingtoii in her alarm at Isabel's pale face, and she 
 asked anxiously what was the matter? 
 
 " Nothing but a wretched headache teaching don't 
 agree with me," was Isabel's reply, and turning away, 
 she ran up the stairs to her room, where, throwing her- 
 self upon the bed, she tried to fancy it all a dream. 
 
 But it was not a dream, and Marian's anguish Avas 
 scarcely greater than her own at that moment, when 
 she began to realize that Frederic and Redstone Hall 
 were lost to her forever. There might be something 
 in the seven years, but it was a long, dreary time to 
 wait, with the ever-haunting fear that Marian might 
 return, and she half wished she had not opened the 
 letter. But her regrets were unavailing now, and re- 
 solving to guard her secret .carefully and deny what 
 she had done, if ever accused of it, she began to con- 
 sider how she should hereafter demean herself toward 
 Frederic. It would be terrible to have him making 
 love to her, she thought, for she would be compelled 
 to tell him no, and if another should become her rivpJ, 
 the could not stand quietly by and witness the unlaw- 
 ful deed. 
 
 " Oh, if I or Marian had never been born, this hour 
 would not have come to me," she cried, burying her 
 face in the pillows to shut out the fast increasing dark- 
 ness which was so hateful to her. 
 
 5*
 
 106 ISABEL HTJNTINGTON. 
 
 Already was she reaping the frnit of tl.e transgres- 
 sion, and when an hour later she heard the voice of 
 Frederic in the hall, she stopped her ears, and, bury- 
 ing her face still closer in the pillows, wished again 
 that either Marian or herself had never seen the light 
 of day.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 FREDERIC AND ALIOE. 
 
 ALL the day long Frederic had thought of Marian 
 thought of the little blue-eyed girl, who just six 
 weeks before went away from him to die. To die. 
 Many, many times he said that to himself, and as often 
 as he said it, he thought, "perhaps she is not dead," 
 until the belief grew strong in him that somewhere he 
 should find her, that very day it might be. He wished 
 he could, and take her back to Redstone Hall, where 
 she would be a barrier between himself and the beau- 
 tiful temptation which it was so hard for him to resist. 
 Manfully had he struggled against it, going always 
 from its presence when the eyes of lustrous black 
 looked softly into his own, an:1 when he heard, as he 
 often did, the full rich-toned voice singing merry 
 eongs, he stopped his ears lest the sweet music should 
 touch a chord which he said was hushed forever. 
 
 " It might have been," he thought sometimes to 
 himself, but the time was past, and even if Marian 
 were dead, he must not take another to share the 
 wealth so generously given up. And Marian was' dead, 
 he had always believed until to-day, when she seemed 
 to be so near, that on his return at night to Redstone 
 Hall he had a half presentiment that he might find her 
 there, or at least some tidings of her.. 
 
 All about the house was dark, but on the piazza a 
 little figure was standing, and as its dim outline waa 
 revealed to him, he said, involuntarily : " That may be 
 Marian, god I am glad, or at least I will be glad," and
 
 103 FBEDEKIC A^D ALICE. 
 
 lie was hurrying on, when alight from the hall streamed 
 nut upon the figure, and he saw that it was Alice wait- 
 ing for him. Still the impression was so strong that 
 after kissing her, he asked if no one had been at the 
 Hall that day. 
 
 " No one," she answered, and with a vague feeling 
 of disappointment, he led her into the house. 
 
 Alice's heart was full that night, for accidentally she 
 had heard old Hetty and Lyd discussing the probable 
 result of Isabel's sojourn among them, and the very 
 idea shocked her, as if they had trampled on Marian's 
 grave. 
 
 " I'll tell Frederic," said she to herself, " and ask 
 him is he going to marry her," and when after his sup- 
 per he went into the library to read the letters which 
 Mrs. Huntington told him were there, she followed 
 him thither. 
 
 It was not. Frederic's nature to pet or notice chil- 
 dren much, but in his sorrow' he had learned to love 
 the little helpless girl dearly, and when he saw her 
 standing beside him with a wistfuHook upon her face, 
 he smoothed her soft bro\vn hair and said : " What 
 does my blind bird want?" 
 
 " Take me in your lap," said Alice, " so I can feel 
 your heart beat and know if you tell me true." 
 
 He complied with her request, and laying her head 
 against his bosom, she began,. " be we much related '<" 
 
 " Second cousins, that's all." 
 
 " But you love me, don't you ?" 
 
 " Yes, very much." 
 
 " And I love you a heap," returned the little girl. 
 ?' I didn't use to, though till Marian went away. 
 Frederic, Marian isn't dead 1" and, lifting up her head, 
 Alice looked at him with a truthful, earnest look, 
 which seemed to say that she believed what she as- 
 serted. 
 
 Frederic gasped a short, quick breath, and Alice 
 continued, " wouldn't it be very wicked for you to love 
 anybody else. I don't mean me because I'm a little
 
 FREDERIC AND ALICE. 109 
 
 blind girl but to love somebody and many them with 
 Marian alive ?" 
 
 t; Certainly it would be wicked," he replied ; and 
 Alice continued, " Aunt Hetty said you were going to 
 marry Isabel, and it almost broke my heart. I never 
 thought before that Marian wasn't dead, but I knew 
 it then. I felt her right there with us, and I've felt 
 her ever since. Dinah, too, said it seemed to her just 
 like Marian was alive, and that she hoped you wouldn't 
 make perhaps I ought not to tell you, but you don't 
 care for Dinah she hoped you wouldn't make a fool 
 of yourself. Frederic, do you love Isabel Huntington ?" 
 " Yes," dropped involuntarily from the young man's 
 lips, for there was something about that old little child 
 which wrung the truth from him. 
 
 " Did you love her before you married Marian ?" 
 " Yes," he said again, for he could not help himself. 
 There was silence a moment, and then Alice, who 
 had been thinking of what he told her once before, 
 said, interrogatively, " Marian found it out, and that 
 was why she thought you didn't love her and went 
 away ?" 
 
 " That was one reason, but not the principal one." 
 " Do you think Isabel as good as Marian ?" 
 " No, not as good not as good," and Frederic was 
 glad that he could pay this tribute to the lost one. 
 After a moment Alice spoke again : 
 " Frederic, do you believe Marian is dead ?" 
 " 1 have always thought so," he answered, and Alice 
 replied : " But you don't know for certain ; and I want 
 you to promise that until you do you won't make love 
 to Isabel, nor marry her, nor anybody else, will you, 
 Frederic?" and putting both her little hands upon his 
 forehead, she pushed back his hair and waited for an 
 answer. 
 
 Many times the young man had made that resolu- 
 tion, but the idea of thus promising to another was 
 unpleasant, and he hesitated for a time ; then he said :
 
 110 FKEDEKIC AND ALICE. 
 
 " Suppose we never can know for certain would 
 yon have me live all my life alone ?" 
 
 "No," said Alice, "and you needn't, either; but I'd 
 wait ever so long, ten years, anyway, and before that 
 'time she'll come, I'm sure. Dinah says maybe she 
 will, and that perhaps we shan't know her, she'll be so 
 changed so handsome," and as if the power of pro- 
 phecy were on her, Alice pictured a beautiful woman 
 who might come to them sometime as their lost Ma- 
 rian, and Frederic, listening to her, felt more willing 
 to promise than he had been before. 
 
 A glow of hope was kindled within his own bosom, 
 and when she finished he said to her: 
 
 "I will wait, Alice wait ten years for Marian." 
 
 Blessed Alice ! When the mother, whose grave 
 was grass-grown now and sunken, first knew her only 
 child was blind, she murmured against the dealings of 
 Providence, and in the bitterness of her heart asked : 
 
 " Why was my baby born ? and what good can it 
 ever do ?" 
 
 She who had questioned thus was dead, while the 
 good the little girl was to do was becoming, each day, 
 more and more apparent. Helpless and blind though 
 she was, she would keep the strong man from falling, 
 and when his heart grew faint with hope deferred, her 
 gentle, earnest words would cheer him on to wait a lit- 
 tle longer. Marian was not dead to her, and so sure 
 of it did she seem that when the interview was ended, 
 and Frederic was left alone, he bowed his head rever- 
 ently and said : 
 
 " If Marian be, indeed, alive, will the good Father 
 send me some tidings of her, and so keep me from 
 Bin ?" 
 
 Oh ! could the writing desk before him have told 
 how only that afternoon there had lain upon its vel- 
 vet cover a message from the lost one a sweet, child- 
 like petition for him to take her back, even though he 
 could not love her he would have gone for her then, 
 and, bringing her to the home which was not his, but
 
 FREDERIC AND ALICE. Ill 
 
 hers, he would have placed her between himself and 
 the temptation, yielding to her all honor and respect 
 until his heart should say it loved her. But the time 
 was not yet, and he must suffer longer must pass 
 through deeper waters ; while Marian, too, must be 
 molded and changed into a bride who, far better than 
 the queenly Isabel, could do the honors of Bedstone 
 Hall.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE LETTER RECEIVED. 
 
 IT was baking-day at Mrs. Burt's, and the good lady 
 bustled in and out her cap strings pinned over her 
 head, her sleeves tucked up above her shoulders, and 
 her face, hands and apron covered with flour. Occa- 
 sionally as she rolled out the short pie crust, or sliced 
 the juicy apple, she glanced at the rain-drops patter- 
 ing against the window, and said encouragingly, u I 
 don't care for the rain, for I've get a big umbrella and 
 the best kind of overshoes ;" and as often as she re- 
 lated the cheering words, they brought a smile to the 
 thin, white face of the young girl who sat in the largo, 
 stuffed easy-chair, and did not offer to share the labors 
 of her aunt, as she called her. 
 
 Marian was sick. Strong excitement had worn her 
 strength away, and since she had sent the letter to 
 Frederic, her restless anxiety for the answer had made 
 her so weak that she kept her bed nearly all the time, 
 counting the days which must elapse ere she could 
 possibly hope to hear, and then, when the full time 
 was out, bidding Mrs. Bart wait one more day before 
 she went to the office, so as to be sure and get it. She 
 had made due allowance for delays, and now she M aa 
 certain that it had come. She would sit up that dry, 
 she said, for she felt almost well; and if Frederic tc Id 
 her to -come home, she should start to-morrow and get 
 there Saturday night, and she fancied how people 
 would stare at her, and be glad to see her, too, on Sun- 
 day, when she first went into church, for she " shoi Id
 
 THE LETTER RECEIVED. 113 
 
 go, any way." Alice, too, would be delighted, and 
 kiss her so many times; and then she wondered if 
 Frederic wouldn't kiss her, too she thought he 
 might just once, she'd been so long away, and she said 
 to herself that-" she would draw back a little, and let 
 him know she wasn't so very anxious." 
 
 Poor Marian, how little was she prepared for the cruel 
 blow awaiting her ! The pies were made at last, aa 
 was the ginger-bread and crispy snaps ; the apple dump- 
 lings, Marian's favorite dessert, were steaming on the 
 stove ; the litter was cleared away, the carpet swept, 
 the oil-cloth washed, the chairs set back ; and then 
 exchanging her work dress for a more respectable de- 
 laine, Mrs. Burt put over the kettle to boil, "for after 
 her wet walk, she should want a cup of tea," she said, 
 and, leaving Marian to watch the pie baking in the 
 oven, she started on her errand. 
 
 " I mean to have the table ready when she gets 
 back," said Marian " for if I don't make her think 
 I'm well, she won't let me start so soon;" and, ex- 
 erting all strength, she set the table for dinner in the 
 neatest possible manner, even venturing upon the ex- 
 travagance of bringing out the best white dishes, 
 which Mrs. Bart only used on great occasions. " When 
 I get some, I'll send her a new set with gilt bands," the 
 little girl said, as she arranged the cups, and then 
 stepped back to witness the effect. " Oh ! I wish she'd 
 come," she continued, glancing at the clock ; but it 
 was not time yet, and, resuming her rocking-chair, she 
 tried to wait patiently. 
 
 But it seemed very long and very tiresome, sitting 
 there alone, listening to the rain and the ticking of the 
 clock. It is strange how the most trivial circumstance 
 will sometimes stamp itselt indelibly upon the mem- 
 ory. The steam from the dumplings, which Marian 
 thought she should enjoy so much, tilled the room with 
 a sweet, sickly odor, and for many, many years she 
 remembered now faint it made her feel. But 'twas 
 a pleasant faintness now; everything was pleasant, for
 
 114 THE LETTER RECEIVED. 
 
 wasn't she going home, back to Redstone Hall back 
 to Frederic, who, if he didn't love her now, would 
 learn to love her, for Mrs. Burt said so ; Mrs. Bnrt, who 
 knew almost as much as Dinah, and who, even while 
 she thought of her, was coming up the narrow stairs. 
 Marian heard her put her dripping umbrella beside 
 the door, but for her life she could not move. If she 
 should be disappointed after all, she said, and she 
 tried to see how many she could count before she 
 knew for certain. 
 
 " A letter oh, have you a letter for me ?" she at- 
 tempted to say, when Mrs. Burt came in, but she could 
 not articulate a word, and the good lady, wishing to 
 tease her a little, leisurely took off her overshoes, 
 hung up her shawl, wiped her damp bonnet with a 
 handkerchief, and looked at the dumplings and then 
 said, as indifferently as if the happiness of a young life 
 was not to be crushed by what she hpd in her pocket, 
 "it rains awfully down street !" 
 
 "I know* but the letter was there a letter?" and 
 Marian's blue eyes looked dark with excitement. "Yes, 
 child, there was, but where it was mailed I don't know. 
 'Tis directed to me, and is from Kentucky, but I can't 
 make out the post mark mor'n the dead. It's some 
 kind of Forks, but the postmaster will never set the 
 Hudson on rire with his writing." 
 
 " Forks of Elkhorn," cried Marian, snatching at the 
 letter. "It's Frederic's superscription, too, and daU-d 
 ever so many days ago. Dear Frederic, he didn't 
 wait a minute before he wrote," and she pressed to 
 her lips the handwriting of Isabel liuntington ! 
 
 The envelope was torn open the enclosed sheet 
 was withdrawn, but about it there was a strangely 
 familiar look. Was there a film before Marian's eyes? 
 Was she growing blind, or did she recognize her own 
 letter- 1 the one she had sent to Redstone Hall ? It 
 was the eame for it said " Dear Frederic " at the toj), 
 and " Marian " at the bottom ! And he had returned it 
 to her unanswered not a word not a line nothing
 
 THE LETTER RECEIVED. 115 
 
 but sitence, as cold, as hard and as terrible as the feel- 
 ing settling down on Marian's heart. But yes there 
 was one line only one, and it read oh, horror, could 
 it be that he would mock her thus that he would 
 tear out her bleeding heart and trample it beneath his 
 feet, by offering her this cruel insult. 
 
 "Isabel Huntington is now the mistress of Redstone 
 
 This was the drop in the brimming bucket, and if 
 she had suffered death when the great sorrow came 
 upon her once before, she suffered more now a hundred 
 fold. In her ignorance she fancied they were married, 
 for how else could Isabel he mistress there, and she 
 comprehended at once the shame the disgrace such 
 a proceeding would bring to Frederic / and the wrong, 
 the dishonor, the insult it brought to her. There was 
 a look of anguish in her eye and a painful contraction 
 of the muscles about her mouth. There were purple 
 spots upon her flesh, which seemed wasting away 
 while she sat there, and a note of agony, rarely heard 
 by human ear, was in her voice, as she cried, "No, 
 no, no it is too soon too soon anything but that," 
 and the little Marian who, half an hour before, had 
 heard tlie ticking of the clock and listened to the rain, 
 lay in the arms of Mrs. Burt, a white, motionless thing, 
 unconscious of pain, unconscious of everything. She 
 had suffered all she could suffer, and henceforth no 
 sorrow which, could come to her would eat into her 
 heart's core as this last one had done. 
 
 Mrs. Burt thought she was dead, as did those who 
 came at her loud call, but the old physician said there 
 was lite, adding, as he looked at the blue pinched lips 
 and shrunken face : "The more'* the pity, for she has 
 had some awful blow, and if she lives she'll probably 
 be a raving maniac." 
 
 Poor Marian ! As time passed on the physician's 
 words seemed likely to be verih'ed. For days she lay 
 in the same death-like stupor, and when at last she 
 voused from it, 'twas only to tear her hair and rave iu
 
 116 THE LETTER RECEIVED. 
 
 delirium. At first, Mrs. Bnrt, who had examined 
 the letter, thought of writing to Frederic and telling 
 him the result of his cruel message, the truth, of which 
 she did not believe ; but she seldom acted without ad- 
 vice, so she wrote first to Ben, who came quickly, cry- 
 ing like a very child, and wringing his great rough 
 hands when he saw the swaying, tossing form upon 
 the bed and knew that it was Marian. 
 
 " No, mother," he said, " we won't write. Itr's a lie 
 the villain told her, but we will let him be till she's 
 dead. God will find him fast enough, the rascal !" and 
 Ben struck his fist upon the bureau as if lie would like to 
 .take the management of Frederic into his own hands. 
 
 It was a long and terrible sickness which came to 
 Marian, and when the delirium was on, the very ele- 
 ments of her nature seemed changed. For her hair 
 she conceived an intense loathing; and clutching at 
 her long tresses, she would tear them from her head 
 and shake them from her fingers, whispering scorn- 
 fully: 
 
 <% Go, you vile red things! He hates you, and so 
 do I." 
 
 " Better shave the hull concern and not let her yank 
 it out like that," said Ben ; and when she became 
 more and more ungovernable, he passed his arms 
 around her and held fast her little hands, while her 
 head was shorn of the locks once so displeasing to 
 Frederic Raymond. 
 
 Ben's taste, however, was diifcrent, and putting 
 them reverently together, he dropped great tears upon 
 them, and then laid them carefully away, thinking: 
 " 'Twill be something to look at when she's gone. Poor 
 little picked bird," tie would say as he watched by 
 her side and listened to her moaning cries for home, 
 "you'll be out of your misery afore long, and go to 
 a'nough sight better hum th.ui Red stun Hall ; but I 
 hev my doubts 'bout meetin' him there. Poor little 
 girl if you hadn't been born a lady and I hadn't been 
 born a fool, and we'd been brung up together, mabby
 
 THE LETTER RECEIVED. 117 
 
 you wouldn't be a lyin' here a biting your tongue and 
 wring! n' your hands, with your head shaved slick and 
 clean," and the sweat dropped from Ben's face, as lie 
 thought of what under widely different circumstances 
 might have been. "But it can't be now," he said, " for 
 even if she wan't jined to this villain she loves so . 
 much, she's as far above Ben Burt as the stars in 
 Heaven." 
 
 This, however, did not lessen Ben's attentions in the 
 least, or stay his tears when he thought that she would 
 die. " She should be buried in Greenwood," he said ; 
 il he'd got more'n two hundred dollars in the bank at 
 Ware, all arnt honest, with hard work; and if there 
 was such a thing as a stun forty feet high she should 
 have it, and he'd get som o' them that scribbled for a 
 living to write a piece ; there should be a big funeral, 
 too he could hire carriages as well as the best of 
 'em and he'd have a procession so long that folks 
 would stop and stare, and Frederic Raymond wouldn't 
 be ashamed on't either, the scalliway he hoped when 
 he and Isabel came to die they'd be pitched into the 
 canal where the water was considerable kind o' dirty, 
 too !" 
 
 This long speech relieved Ben somewhat, and fully 
 determined to carry out his promise, he staid patiently 
 by Marian, nor experienced one feeling of regret when 
 lie beard that, owing to his prolonged absence, his 
 place in Ware had been given to another. 
 
 " Nobody cares," he said, " I can find something to 
 do if it's nothin' but sawin' wood." 
 
 So he remained at home through all the winter 
 days, and watched by the sick girl, who talked pit- 
 eously of her home, of Alice,* and tftat man who 
 hated her so. She never spoke his name, but she 
 sometimes begged of him to come and take her away 
 where it didn t thunder all the time. The roar of the 
 city disturbed her, and she frequently besought Ben to 
 go and stop it so that she could sleep and be better in 
 the morning; and Ben, had it been in his power,
 
 \ 
 
 118 THE LETTER RECEIVED. 
 
 would have stayed the busy life around them, and let 
 the weary, worn-out sufferer sleep. But this could 
 not be, and so, day after day the heavy, incessant roar 
 came through the curtained window into the darkened 
 room, where Marian lay moaning in her pain. Once 
 in her unconsciousness she folded meekly her thin 
 hands and prayed, " Will God stop that noise and let 
 me sleep just once?" then with an expression of child- 
 ish trust upon her face, she said to those around her, 
 " He will stop it to-morrow, I reckon." 
 
 And when the winter snows all were fallen, and the 
 early March sun shone upon the kitchen walls, the 
 to-morrow so much longed for came, and Marian 
 woke at last to consciousness, ^he was out of danger, 
 the physician said, though it might be long ere her 
 health was fully restored. To Marian, this announce- 
 ment brought but little joy. " She had hoped to die," 
 she said, " and thus be out of the way." and then she 
 spoke of Redstone Hall, asking if any tidings had 
 come from there since the dreadful message she had 
 received. There was none, for Isabel Huntington 
 guarded her secret well, and Frederic Raymond knew 
 nothing of the white, emaciated wreck which prayed 
 each day that he might be happy with the companion 
 he had chosen. 
 
 " If he had only waited," she said to Mrs. Bnrt and 
 Ben, one day when she was able to be bolstered up in 
 bed, " if he had waited and not taken her so soon, I 
 shouldn't care so much, but its awful to think of his 
 living with her after I wrote that letter." 
 
 "Marian," said Ben, a little impatiently, " I'm na- 
 turally a fool, so every body says, but I've sense 
 enough to know that Mr. Raymond never went and 
 married that woman so quick after you came away; 
 'tain't reasonable at all. Why, they'd mob him tar 
 and feather him for you ain't dead, and he's no busi- 
 ness with two wives." 
 
 Marian's, face was whiter than ever when Ben fin- 
 ished speaking, and a bright red spot burned on her
 
 
 THE LETTER RECEIVED. 119 
 
 cheek us she gasped, " You didn't, you can't believe 
 she's there and not his wife. That would be worse 
 than everything else." 
 
 " Of course I don't," returned Ben. " My 'pinion is 
 that she ain't there at all, and he only writ that to 
 make a clean finish of you, or 'tany rate, so't you 
 wouldn't be coming back to bother him. He cal- 
 kerlates to have her bimeby. I presume say in 
 seven years." 
 
 " Oh, I wish I knew," said Marian, and Ben replied, 
 "Would you rest any easier nights if you did ?" 
 
 " Yes, a heap," was the answer, and the great, blue 
 eyes looked wistfully at Ben, as if anxious that he 
 should clear up the mystery. 
 
 "You might write," suggested Mrs. Burt; but 
 Marian shook her head, saying, " I wrote once, and 
 you know my success." 
 
 " You certainly wouldn't go back," continued Mrs. 
 Burt; and Marian answered indignantly, " Never ! I 
 am sure he hates me now, and I shall not trouble him 
 again. Perhaps he thinks me mean because I read 
 the letter intended for him, and so found it all out. 
 But I thought it was mine until I read a ways, and 
 then I could not stop. My eyes wouldn't leave the 
 paper. Was it wrong in me, do you think ?" 
 
 It is what anybody would have done," answered 
 Mrs. Burt, and, changing the subject entirely, Marian 
 rejoined, " Oh, I do wish I knew about this Isabel.' 
 
 For a time Ben sat thinking; then striking his 
 hands together, he exclaimed, " I've got it, and it's 
 jest the thing, too. I don't want no better fun than 
 that. I've lost my place to Ware, and though I might 
 get another, I've a notion to turn peddler. I allus 
 thought I should like travellin' and seem' the world. 
 I'll buy up a lot of jimcracks and take a bee line for 
 Redstau Hall, and learn just how the matter stands. 
 I can put on a little more of the Down East Yankee, 
 if yon think I hain't got enough, and I'll pull the wool 
 over their eyes. What do you say, wee one?"
 
 110 THE LETTER BECEIVKD. 
 
 " Oh, I wish you would," said Marian, adding in 
 the same breath, "what will you do, if you find him 
 the husband of Isabel?" 
 
 "Do!" he repeated. "String 'em both up by the 
 neck on one string. What do you 'spect I'd do? 
 Honest, though," he continued, as he saw her look of 
 alarm; "if she is his wife, which ain't at all likely,* 
 'tis because he s'posed you're dead, but he knows bet- 
 ter now, and I shall tell the neighbors that you're 
 alive and breathin', and they can do with him what 
 they choose and if they ain't married, nor ain't 
 nothin', I'll just do what you say." 
 
 "Come b:ick, and don't tell Frederic you ever saw 
 or heard of me," said Marian. u I shall not live a 
 great while, and even if I do, I'd rather not trouble 
 him. It would only make him hate me worse, and 
 that I couldn't bear. He knows now where I am, and 
 it he ever wants me, he will come. Don't tell him, 
 nor any one, a word of me, Ben, but do go, for I long 
 to hear from home." 
 
 To Mrs. Burt this project seemed a wild and foolish 
 on^, but she rarely opposed her son, and when se saw 
 that he was determined, she said nothing, but helped 
 him all she could. 
 
 " You'll be wan tin' to send some jimcrack to that 
 blind gal, I guess," he said to Marian one day, and sjie 
 replied, " I wish I could, but I havn't anything, and 
 besides you mustn't tell her of me." 
 
 " Don't you worry," answered Ben. " I've passed 
 rny word, and I never broke it yet. I can manage to 
 give her somethin' and make it seem natural. What 
 do you say to inakin' her a bracelet out o' them curls 
 of yourn that we shaved off?" 
 
 " That red hair ! Frederic would know it at once," 
 and Marian s-hook her head ruefully, but Ben persisted. 
 " 'Twould look real pretty, just like gingerbread when 
 'twas braided tight," iind bringing out the curls, he 
 selected the longest one, and hurried off'. 
 
 The result proved his words correct, for when a few
 
 THE LETTER RECEIVED. 121 
 
 days after he brought home the little bracelet, which 
 was fastened with a neat golden clasp, Marian exclaim- 
 ed with dejight at the soft beauty of her hair : 
 
 " Darling Alice," she cried, Idssing the tiny orna- 
 ment, " I wish she could know that my lips have 
 touched it that it once grew on my head but it 
 wouldn't be best. She couldn't keep the secret, and 
 you mustn't tell." 
 
 " Don't worry, I say," returned Ben. " I've got an 
 idee in my brains for a wonder, and I'm jest as 'fraid 
 of tellin' as you be. So cheer up a bit and grow fat, 
 while I'm gone, for I want you to be well when I come 
 back, so as to go to school and get to be a great 
 scholar, that Mr. .Raymond won't be ashamed on when 
 the right time comes," and Ben spoke as cheerfully as 
 if within his heart there was no grave where during 
 the weary nights when he watched with Marian he 
 buried his love for her, and vowed to think of her only 
 as a cherished sister. 
 
 Marian smiled pleasantly upon him, watching him 
 with interest as he made up his pack, consisting of 
 laces, ribbons, muslin, handkerchiefs, combs and jew- 
 elry, a little real, and a good deal brass, "for the nig- 
 gers," he said. Many were the charges she gave him 
 concerning the blacks, telling him which ones to notice 
 particularly, so as to report to her. 
 
 " Jehosiphat!" he exclaimed at last, ' how many is 
 there? I shall never remember iti the world," arid 
 taking out a piece- of paper, he wrote upon it, " Dinah, 
 Hetty, Lid, Victory, Uncle Phil, Josh, and the big 
 dog. There I" said he, reading over the list^ " if I don't 
 bring you news of every one, my name ain't Ben 
 Burt. I'll wiggle myself inter their good feelin's and 
 get 'em to talkin' of you, see if I don't." 
 
 Marian had the utmost confidence in Ben's success, 
 and though she knew she should be lonely when he was 
 gone, she was glad when, at last, the morning came 
 for him to leave them. Ben, too, was equally delight- 
 
 6
 
 THE LETTEK RECEIVED. 
 
 ed, for the novelty lent a double charm to the project ; 
 and, bidding his mother and Marian good-by, he gath- 
 ered up his large boxes, and whistling a lively tune, 
 by way of keeping up his spirits, started for Ken- 
 tucky.
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 THE TANKEE PEDDLER. 
 
 THE warm, balmy April day was drawing to a 
 close, and the rajs of the setting sun shone like 
 burnished gold on the western windows of Redstone 
 Hall. It was very pleasant there now, for the early 
 spring flowers were all in blossom, the grass was 
 growing fresh and green upon the lawn, and the creep- 
 ing vines were clinging lovingly to the time-worn pil- 
 lars, or climbing np the massive walls of dark red 
 stone, which gave the place its name. The old negroes 
 had returned from their labors, and were lounging 
 about their cabins, while the younger portion looked* 
 wistfully in at the kitchen door, where Dinah and 
 Hetty were busy in preparing supper. On the back 
 piazza several dogs were lying, and as their quick 
 ears caught the sound of a gate in the distance, the 
 whole pack started up and went tearing down the 
 avenue, followed by the furious yell of Bruno, who 
 tried in vain to escape from his confinement. 
 
 " Thar's somebody comin','' said Dinah, shading her 
 eyes with her hand, and looking toward the highway ; 
 " somebody with so me thin' on his back. You, Josh, 
 go after them dogs, afore they skeer him to death." 
 
 Stuttering out some unintelligible speech, Josh 
 started in the direction the dogs had gone, and soon 
 ' came up to a tall six-footer, who, with short panta- 
 loons, a swallow-tailed coat, stove-pipe hat, sharp- 
 pointed collar, red necktie, and two huge boxes on hia
 
 124: THE YANKEE PEDDLES. 
 
 back, presented a rather ludicrous appearance to the 
 boy, and a rather displeasing one to the do.ujs., who 
 growled angril} r , as if they would pounce upon him at 
 once. The club, however, with which he had armed 
 himself kept them at bay, until Josh succeeded in 
 quieting them down. 
 
 " Ra-ally, now," began our friend Ben, who vainly 
 imagined it necessary to put on a little, by way of 
 proving himself a genuine Yankee " ra-ally, now 
 boot-black, what's the use of keepiii' sich a 'tarnal lot 
 o' dogs to worry a decent chap like me." 
 
 It was Josh's misfortune to stammer much more 
 when at all excited, and to this interrogatory he 
 began, " Caw-caw-caw-cause ma-ma-mars wa-wa- 
 want " 
 
 " Great Heaven !" interrupted the Yankee, setting 
 down his pack and eyeing the stuttering negro as if 
 he had been the hist curiosity from Barnmn's " will 
 you tell a fellow what kind of language you speak." 
 
 " Spe-pe-pe-pects sa-sa-sume ye-e-e yon do," return- 
 ed the negro, failing wholly to enlighten Ben, who re- 
 joined indignantly, " You go to grass with your 
 lingo ;" and, gathering up his boxes, he started for the 
 house, accompanied by Josh and the dogs, the iirst of 
 which made several ineffectual attempts at conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 "Some nateral born fool," muttered Ben, thinking 
 to himself that he would like to examine the boy's 
 mouth and see what ailed it. 
 
 After a few minutes they entered the yard, and 
 came up to the other blacks, who were curiously 
 watching the new comer. Seating himself upon the 
 steps and crossing one leg over the other, Beu swung 
 his cowhide boot forward and back, and greeted them 
 with, " wall, uncles, and ants, and cousins, how do you 
 dew, and how do you lind yourselves this after- 
 noon I" 
 
 u Jest tolerable, thanky," answered uncle Phil, and 
 Ben continued, " wall, health is a great blessing to them
 
 THE YANKEE PEDDLEB. 125 
 
 that hain't got it. Do you calkerlate that I could stay 
 here to night? I've got lots o' gewgaws," pointing to 
 his boxes " hankerchers, pins, ear-rings and a red and 
 
 slier gownd that'll jest suit you, old gall," nodding to 
 inali, who muttered gruffly, ' if he calls me old 
 what'll he say to Hetty ?" 
 
 Ben saw he had made a mistake, for black women 
 no more care to be old than their fairer sisters, and he 
 tried to make amends by complimenting the indig- 
 nant lady until she was somewhat mollilied, when he 
 asked again if he could stay all night ? 
 
 "You, Josh,", said Uncle Phil, "go" and tell yer 
 master to come here." 
 
 " Whew-ew," whistled Ben, " if you're goiri' to send 
 that stutterin' critter, I may as well be joggin', for no 
 human can make out his rigmarole." 
 
 But Ben was mistaken. Josh's dialect was well un- 
 derstood by Frederic, who came as requested, and, 
 standing in the door, gazed inquisitively at the singu- 
 lar looking object seated upon- his steps, and appa- 
 rently oblivious to everything save the sliver he was 
 trying to extract from his thumb with a large pin, eja- 
 culating occasionally, " gaul darn the pesky tiling." 
 
 Nothing, however, escaped the keen grey eyes 
 which from time to time peered out from beneath the 
 stove-pipe hat. Already Ben had seen that Redstone 
 Hall was a most beautiful spot, and he did not blame 
 Frederic for disliking to give it up. He had selected 
 Dinah and Phil from the other blacks, and had said 
 that the baby, who, with a small white dog, was dis- 
 puting its right to a piece of fat bacon and a chicken 
 bone, was Victoria Eugenia. Josh he identified by his 
 name, and he was wondering at Marian's taste in car- 
 ing to hear from him, when Frederic appeared, and 
 all else was forgotten in his eagerness to inspect the 
 man " who could make a gal bite her tongue in two 
 and yank her hair out by the roots, all for the love of 
 him." 
 
 Frederic seemed in no hurry to commence a con-
 
 126 THE YANKEE PEDDLEB. 
 
 versation, and during the minute that he stood there 
 without speaking, Ben had ample time to take him 
 in from his brown hair and graceful mustache down to 
 his polished boots. 
 
 " Got up in considerable kind of good style," was 
 Ben's mental comment, as he watched the young man 
 carelessly scraping his finger nail with a pen-knife. 
 
 " Did you wish to see me ?" Frederic said at last, 
 and with another thrust at the sliver, Ben stuck his 
 pin upon his coat sleeve, and reversing the position of 
 Iris legs, replied, "wall, if you're the boss, -I guess I 
 dew; I'm Ben Butterworth from down East, and I've 
 got belated, and bein' there ain't no taverns near I 
 want to stay all night, and pay in money or notions, 
 Got a lot on 'em, besides some tip top muslin collars 
 for your wife, Mrs., what do you call her ?" and the 
 gray eyes glistened themselves upon the face, which 
 for a single instant was white as marble then the 
 hot blood came rushing back, and Frederic replied, 
 " there is no wife here, sir, but you can stay all night 
 if you please. Will you walk in ?" and he led 
 the way to the sitting-room, followed by Ben, who had 
 obtained what to him was the most important infor- 
 mation of all. 
 
 The night was chilly, and in the grate a cheerful 
 coal tire was burning, casting its ruddy light upon the 
 face of a little girl, who, seated upon a stool, with 
 her hair combed back from her sweet face, her waxen 
 hands folded together and her strange brown eyes 
 fixed upon the coals as if she were looking at :-ome- 
 thing far beyond them, seemed to Ben what he had 
 fancied angels in heaven to be. It was not needful for 
 Mr. Raymond to say, " Alice, here is a peddler come 
 to stay all night," for Ben knew it was the blind girl, 
 and his heart gave a great throb when he saw her sit- 
 ting theie so beautiful, so helpless, and so lonely, too, 
 for he almost knew that she waa thinking of Marian, 
 and he longed to take her in his arms and tell her of 
 the lost one.
 
 THE YANKEE PEDDLER. 127 
 
 Motioning him to a chair, Frederic went ont, leaving 
 them together. For some minutes there was perfect 
 Bilence, while Ben sat looking at her and trying hard 
 to keep from crying. It seemed terrible to him that 
 one so young should be blind, and he wanted to tell 
 her so, but he dared not, and lie sat so still that Alice 
 began to think she was alone, and, resuming her for- 
 mer thoughts, whispered softly to herself, " oh, I wish 
 she would come back." 
 
 " Blessed baby," Ben had almost ejaculated, but 
 he checked himself in time, and said instead, " little 
 gal." 
 
 Alice started, and turning her ear, seemed waiting 
 for him to speak again, which he did soon. 
 
 " Little gai, will you come and sit in my lap ?" 
 
 His voice was gentle and kind, but Alice did not 
 care to be thus free with a stranger, so she replied, 
 " I reckon I won't do thpt, but I'll sit nearer to you," 
 and she moved her stool so close by him that her head 
 almost rested on his lap. 
 
 " You must 'scuse me," she said, " if I don't act like 
 other children do I'm blind." 
 
 Very tenderly he smoothed her silken hair, and as 
 he did so, she felt something drop upon her forehead. 
 It was a tear, and wiping it away, she said : 
 
 " Man, be you hungry and tired, or what makes you 
 cy?" 
 
 - I'm cryin' for 3*011, poor, unfortunate lamb ;" and 
 the tender-hearted Ben sobbed out aloud. 
 
 " Oh, I wouldn't, I wouldn't," said the distressed 
 child " I'm used to it. I don't mind it now." 
 
 The ice was fairly broken, and a bond of sympathy 
 established between the two. 
 
 "He must be a good man," Alice thought; and 
 when he began to question her of her home and friends, 
 she replied to him readily. 
 
 " You haven't no mother, nor sister, nor a'nt, nor 
 nothin', but Mr. Raymond and Dinah," said Ben, after
 
 128 THE YANKEE PEDDLES. 
 
 they had talked awhile. " Ain't there no white women 
 iu the house bnt you?" 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Huntington and Isabel. She's my gcv- 
 erness," answered Alice ; and, conscious of a pang, 
 Ben continued : 
 
 *' Mr. Raymond sent for 'em, I s'pose ?" 
 
 " No," returned Alice. " They came without send- 
 ing for came to visit, and he hired them to stay. Mrs 
 Huntington keeps house. n 
 
 At this point in the conversation there was a rust- 
 ling of garments in the hall, and a splendid, queenly 
 creature swept into the room, bringing with her such 
 an air of superiority that Ben involuntarily hitched 
 nearer to the wall, as if to get out of sight. 
 
 " Je-ru-sa-lem ! ain't she a dasher?" was his mental 
 exclamation; and, in spite of himself, he followed her 
 movements with an admiring glance. 
 
 ' Taking a chair, she drew it to the fire, and, with- 
 out deigning to notice the stranger, she said, rather 
 reprovingly, 
 
 " Alice, come here." 
 
 The child obeyed, and Ben, determined not to be 
 ignored entirely, said : 
 
 "Pretty well this evenin', miss?" 
 
 "How, sir?" and the black eyes flashed haughtily 
 upon him. 
 
 Nothing abashed, he continued : " As't you if you're 
 pretty well, but no matter, I know you to be by your 
 looks. I've got a lot of finery that I know you want." 
 And on opening his boxes, he spread out upon the 
 carpet the collars and under-sleeves, which had been 
 bought with a view to this very night. Very disdain- 
 fully Isabel tuined away, saying she never traded with 
 peddlers. 
 
 " I wonder if you don't," returned Ben, with imper- 
 turbable gravity. " Wall, now, seein' it's me, buy 
 eomethin', dew. Here's a bracelet that can't be beat," 
 and he held up to view Marian's soft hair, which, in 
 the bright firelight, looked singularly beautiful.
 
 THE YANKEE PEDDLEE. 129 
 
 Isabel did unbend a little now. There was no sham 
 about that, she knew, and, taking it in her hand, she 
 tried to clasp it on her round, white arm ; but it would 
 not come together. It was not made for her! 
 
 " It isn't large enough," said she ; " it must have 
 been intended for some child." 
 
 "Shouldn't wonder if you'd hit the nail right on the 
 head," returned Ben, and taking the bracelet he con- 
 tinned, " Mebby 'twas meant for this wee one who 
 knows ?" and he fastened it on Alice's slender wrist. 
 " Fits to a T," said he, " and you have it, too. Them 
 clasps is little hearts, do you see?" 
 
 Frederic now entered the room, and holding up her 
 arm, Alice said,'" Look, is it pretty ?" 
 
 "Yes, very," he replied, bending down to examine 
 it, while Ben watched him narrowly, wondering how 
 he would feel if he knew from whose tresses that braid 
 was made. 
 
 " Harnsome color, ain't it, Square ?" he said, hold- 
 ing Alice's hand a little more to the light, and con- 
 tinuing, "Now there's them that don't like red hair, 
 but I s\van I've seen some that wan't so bad. Now 
 when it curls kinder wall, like a gimblet, you know. 
 I've got a gal to hum I call my sister, and her hair's as 
 nigh this color as two peas, or it- was afore 'twas shaved. 
 She's been awful sick with the heart disorder, and 
 fever, and I tell you, Square, if you'd o' seen her pitch- 
 in' and divin', and rollin' from one end of the bed to 
 t'other, bitin' her tongue and yankin' out her hair by 
 han'fuls, I rather guess you'd felt kinder streaked. It 
 made a calf of me, though I didn't, feel so bad then as 
 when she got weaker, and lay so still that we held a 
 feather to her lips to see if she breathed." 
 J "Oh, did she die?" asked Alice, who had been an 
 attentive listener. 
 
 "No," answered Ben, "she didn't, and the thank- 
 fullest prayer I ever prayed was the one I made in the 
 buttery, behind the door, when the doctor said she 
 would get well." 
 
 6*
 
 J30 THE YANKEE PEDDLEK. 
 
 Supper was announced, and putting up his muslins, 
 Ben followed his host to the dining room. Alice, too, 
 was at the table, the bracelet still upon her wrist, for 
 she liked the feeling of it. " And she did so wish it 
 was hers/' 
 
 " I shall have to buy it for you, I reckon," said Fred- 
 eric, and he inquired its price. 
 
 " Wall, now," returned Ben, " if 'twas any body but 
 the little gal, I should say five dollars, but beiu' it's 
 hers, I'd kinder like to give it to her." 
 
 This, however, Frederic would not suffer. Alice 
 would .not keep it, he said, unless he paid for it, and 
 he put a half eagle into the hand of the child, who 
 offered it to Ben. For a moment, the latter hesitated, 
 then thinking to himself, "Darnt it. all, what's the use. 
 If Marian goes to school, as I mean she shall, she'll 
 need a lot of money, and what I get out o' him is clear 
 gain," he pocketed the piece, and the bracelet belong- 
 ed to Alice. 
 
 After supper, Ben sat down by the fire in the dining- 
 room, hoping the family would leave him with Alice, 
 and this they did ere long, Isabel going to the piano, 
 and Frederic to the library to answer letters, while 
 Mrs.- Huntington gave some directions for breakfast. 
 These directions were merely nominal, however, for 
 Dinah, to all intents and purposes, was mistress of the 
 household, and she came in to see to the supper, dishes, 
 which were soon cleared away, and Ben, as he wished, 
 was alone with Alice. The bracelet seemed 10 be a 
 connecting link between them, for Alice was not in the 
 least shy of him now, and when he asked her again to 
 sit in his lap, she did so readily. 
 
 " That Miss Isabel is a dreadful han'some gal," he be- 
 gan ; " I should s'pose Mr. llaymond would fall in love 
 with her." 
 
 No answer from Alice, whose sightless eyes looked 
 eteadily into the fire. 
 
 " Mebby he is in love with her." 
 
 'No answer yet, and mentally chiding himself
 
 THE YANKEE PEDDLER. 131 
 
 for his stupidity in not striking the right vein, Ben 
 continued : 
 
 " I wonder he hain't married afore this. He must be 
 as much as twenty-five or six years old, and so han' 
 some too !" 
 
 " He has been married," and the little face of the 
 speaker did not move a muscle. 
 
 " Now you don't say it," returned Ben. " A widow- 
 er, hey? How long sence he was married ?" 
 
 " A few months," and the long eye-lashes quivered 
 in the firelight just a little. 
 
 " I want to know died so soon poor critter. Tell 
 me about her, dew. You didn't know her long, so I 
 s'pose you couldn't love her a great sight ?" 
 
 The brown eyes flashed up into Ben's face, and the 
 blood rushed to Alice's cheek, as she replied " Me not 
 love Marian ! Oh, I loved her so much !" 
 
 The right chord was touched at last, and in her own 
 way Alice told the sad story how Marian had left 
 them on her bridal night, and though they searched 
 for her everywhere, both in the river and through the 
 country, no trace of her could be found, and the con- 
 viction was forced upon them that she was dead. 
 
 " Je-ru-sa-lem ! I never thought of that !" was Ben's 
 involuntary exclamation ; but it conveyed no meaning 
 to Alice, and when he asked if they still believed her 
 dead, she answered : 
 
 "1 don't quite believe Frederic does. I don't, any 
 way. I used to, though, but now it seems just like she 
 would come back," and turning her face more fully 
 toward him, Alice told how she had loved the lost one, 
 and how each day she prayed that she might come 
 home to them again. 
 
 " I don't know as she was pretty," she said, " but 
 she was so sweet, so good, and I'm so lonesome without 
 her," and down Alice's cheeks the big tears rolled, 
 while Ben's kept company with them and fell upon 
 her hands. 
 
 " Man, don't you cry a heap ?" she asked, shaking the
 
 J82 THE YANKEE PEDDLER. 
 
 round drops off and wondering why a perfect stran- 
 ger should care so much for Marian. 
 
 " I'm so plaguy tender-hearted that I can't help 
 it," was Ben's apology, as he blew his nose vigor- 
 ously upon his blue cotton handkerchief. 
 
 For a time longer he talked with her, treasuring np 
 blessed words of comfort for the distant Marian, and 
 learning also that Alice was sure Frederic would never 
 marry again until certain of Marian's death. He might 
 like Isabel, she admitted, but he would not dare make 
 her his wife till he knew for trne what had become of 
 Marian. 
 
 " And he does know it, the scented up puppy," 
 thought Ben. " He jest writ her that last insultin' thing 
 to kill her out and out ; but he didn't come it, and till 
 he knows he did, he dassent do nothin'." 
 
 This reasoning was very satisfactory to Ben, who, 
 having learned from Alice all that he could, began to 
 think it was time to cultivate the negroes, and putting 
 the child from his knee, he said " he guessed he'd go 
 out and see the slaves mebby they'd like to trade a 
 little, and he must be off in the mornin '." 
 
 Accordingly he started for the kitchen, where his 
 character had been pretty thoroughly dissected. A 
 negro from a neighboring plantation had dropped in on 
 a gossiping visit, and as was very natural, the conversa- 
 tion had turned upon the peddler, whose peculiar ap- 
 pearance had attracted much attention at the different 
 places where he had stopped. Particularly was this the 
 case at the house the black man Henry lived. 
 
 ' He done ask a heap of questions about us colored 
 folks," said Henry ; " how many was there of us, how 
 old was we, and what was we worth, and when marster 
 axed him did he want to buy, he said " no, but way off 
 whar he lived he allus spoke in meetin', and them fo.ks 
 was mighty tickled to hear suffin' 'bout niggers.' Olo 
 Miss say how't she done b'lieve he's an abolution como 
 to run some on us off,' case he look like one o' the.m 
 chaps down in the penitentiary."
 
 THE YANKEE PEDDLER. 133 
 
 " Oh. Lord,"ejacnlated Dinah, involuntarily hitching 
 her chair nearer to Victoria Eugenia, who lay in her 
 cradle. 
 
 Old Hetty, too, took alarm at once, and glancing 
 nervously at her own grandchild Dudley, a little boy 
 two years of age, who was stretched upon the floor, 
 " she hoped to goodness he wouldn't carry off Dud." 
 
 " Jest the ones he'll pick for. lie could hide a dozen 
 on em in them big boxes," said Henry, and feeling 
 pleased at the interest he had awakened in the two old 
 ladies he proceeded to relate the stories he had heard 
 " 'bout them fetched Yankees meddlin' with what didn't 
 consarn 'em,' and he advised Dinah and Hetty both 
 not to let the peddler get sight of the children for fear 
 of what might happen. 
 
 At this point Ben came out of the house with his huge 
 boxes, lie was first discovered by Josh, who, delighted 
 with the fun, pointed mysteriously toward him and stut- 
 tered, " Da-da-da 'e co co-comes." 
 
 " The Lord help us," said Dinah and quick as thought 
 she seized the sleeping Victoria Eugenia and thrust 
 her into the churn as the nearest place of concealment. 
 
 The awakened baby gave a screech but Dinah stop- 
 ped its mouth with a piece of the licorice she always 
 carried in her pocket with her tobacco box and pipe. 
 Meantime Hetty, determined not to be outdone, caught 
 up Dud, and, opening the meal chest, tumbled him in, 
 telling him in fierce whispers " not to stir nor wink, for 
 thar was a man comin' to cotch him." 
 
 Snatching a newspaper which lay on the floor, she 
 rolled it together and placed it under the lid, so as to 
 allow the youngster a breathing place. This done, she 
 resumed her seat just as Ben appeared, who, throwing 
 down his pack, accosted her with 
 
 " Wall, a'nt, got your chores done 'Cause if you have 
 I want to trade a little. I won't be hard on you," he 
 continued, as he saw the forbidding expression of her 
 face. "I'll dicker cheap and take most any kind o' 
 dud for pay."
 
 THE YANKEE PEDDLES. 
 
 Dicker and chores were Greek to old Hetty, bnt she 
 fully comprehended the word Dud. He meant her 
 DUD the one in the meal chest and she grasped 
 the handle of the frying pan, so as to be ready for what 
 might follow next. 
 
 " Let me show you some breastpins," said Ben, look- 
 ing round for a chair. 
 
 They were all occupied, and as the mischievous Josh 
 pointed to the chest, Ben crossed over, and ere Hetty 
 was aware of his intention, seated himself quite as a 
 matter of course. But not long, for Hetty's dusky fist 
 flourished in the air, and, more than all, the smothered 
 cry of " Granny, granny, he done sot on me," which 
 came from beneath him, landed him on the other side 
 of the room, where he struck against the churn ; where- 
 upon, Victoria Eugenia set up another yellj which sent 
 him back to the spot where Josh's cowhides were per- 
 forming various evolutions by way of showing his de- 
 light. 
 
 " Thunder !" ejaculated Benjooking first at the skirts 
 of his swallow-tail, then at the chest, from which Dud 
 was emerging, covered with meal, and then at the churn, 
 over the top of which a pair of little black hands and 
 a piece of licorice were visible, "what's the meaning 
 of all this ?" 
 
 No explanation whatever was vouchsafed, and, to 
 this day, Ben does not know the reason why those ne- 
 groes were stowed away in such novel hiding places. 
 
 .When the excitement had somewhat subsided, Ben 
 returned to his first intention, behaving so civilly that 
 the fears of the negroes gave way, and Dinah was so 
 well pleased with purchasing a brass pin at half price 
 that Ben ventured, at last to say : 
 
 " That little gal, Alice, has been tellin' me about 
 Mr. Raymond's marriage. Unlucky, wasn't he? 
 Shouldn't wonder though, if he had a kind of hankerin' 
 after that black-eyed miss. She's han'some as a pic- 
 ter." 
 
 Dinah needed but this to loosen her tongue. She
 
 THE YANKEE PEDDLEE. 135 
 
 had long before made up her mind that "Isabel was no 
 kind o' 'count ;" and once the two had come to open 
 hostilities, Isabel accusing Dinah of being a " lazy, gos- 
 siping nigger," while Dinah, in return, had told her 
 " she warii't no better 'n she should be stickin 1 'round 
 after Mars. Frederic, when nobody knew whether Mies 
 Marian was dead, of not. " 
 
 This indignity was reported to Frederic, who repro- 
 ved old Dinah, sharply ; whereupon, she turned toward 
 him, and, to use her favorite expression, " gin him a 
 piece ot'lier mind." 
 
 . After this it was generally understood that between 
 Dinah and Isabel here existed no very amicable state of 
 feeling, and when Ben spoke of the latter, the former 
 exploded at once. * 
 
 " Twas a burnin' shame," she said, " and it mortified 
 her een-a-most to death to see the trollop a try in' to 
 set to marster, when nobody know'd for sartin if his 
 fust wife was dead," 
 
 "Marker's jest as fast as she," interposed Hetty, 
 who seldom agreed with Dinah. 
 
 A contemptous sneer curled Dinah's lip. as she said 
 to Ben, in a whisper : 
 
 "Don't b'lieve none o' her trash. Them Higginses 
 all us would lie. I hain't never seen Marster Frederic 
 do a single thing out o' the way, 'cept to look at her, 
 jest as .Phil used to look at me when he was sparkin'. 
 1 don't think that was very 'spectable in him, to be 
 sure, but looks don't signify. He dassen't marry her 
 till he knows for sartin t'other one is dead. He dona 
 told Alice so, and she told me.;" and then Dinah laun- 
 ched out into praises of the lost Marian, exalting her 
 BO highly that Ben tossed into her lap a pair of ear- 
 rings which she had greatly admired. 
 
 " Take them," said he, "for standiu' up for that poor 
 runaway. Hike to hear one woman stick to another.". 
 
 Pinah cast an exulting glance at Hetty, who, noth- 
 ing daunted, came forward and said: 
 
 " Miss Marian was as likely a gal as thar was in Ken-
 
 136 THE YANKEE PEDDLER. 
 
 tuck, and she, for one, should be as glad to see her back 
 as some o' them that made sich a fuss about it." 
 
 " Playin' 'possum," whispered Dinah. "Them 
 Higginses is up to that." 
 
 Ben probably thought so too, for he paid no atten- 
 tion to Hetty, who, highly indignant started for Isabel, 
 and told her " how Dinah and that fetch-ed peddler 
 done spilt her character entirely." 
 
 "Leave the room,'' was Isabel's haughty answer. 
 " I am above what a poor negro and an ignorant Yan- 
 kee can say." 
 
 " For the dear Lord's sake," muttered the discomfited 
 Hetty ;" wonder if she ain't a Yankee her own self. 
 ?Spects how she done forgot whar she was raised," and 
 Hetty returned to tlffe kitchen a warmer adherent of 
 Marian than Dinah had ever been. 
 
 She, too, was very talkative now, and before nine 
 o'clock Ben had learned all that he expected to learn, 
 and much more. He had ascertained that no one had 
 the slightest suspicion of the reason why Marian went 
 away; that both Frederic and Isabel seemed unhappy; 
 that Dinah and Hetty, too, believed " thar was souie- 
 tliin' warin' on tlmr minds ;" that Frederic was discon- 
 tented, and talked seriously of leaving Redstone Hall 
 in care of an overseer, and moving, in the Autumn to 
 to his residence on the Hudson ; that Hetty hoped he 
 would, and Dinah hoped he wouldn't, k "case if lie did, 
 it would be next to impossible to get a stroke o' work 
 out o' them lazy Higginses." 
 
 I've got all 1 come for, I b'lieve," was Ben's men- 
 tal comment, as he left. the kitchen and returned to the 
 dining room, where he found Frederic alone. " I'll poke 
 his ribs a little," he thought, and helping himself to a 
 cha : r, he began: 
 
 ''Wall, Square, I've been out seem' your niggers. 
 Got a line lot on 'em, and I shouldn't wonder if you 
 was wo'th considerable. Willed to you by your dad, 
 or was it a kind of a dowry come by your wife 2 
 You're a widower, they say ;" and the gray eyes looked
 
 THE YANKEE PEDDLER. 
 
 out at their corners, as Ben thought, "That'll make 
 him squirm, I guess." 
 
 Frederic turned very white, but his voice was natu- 
 ral as he replied : 
 
 " My father was called the richest man in the coun- 
 ty, and I was his only child." 
 
 " Ah, yes, come to you that way," answered Ben, 
 continuing after a moment. " There's a big house iip 
 on the Hudson to Yonkers that's been shet up and 
 rented at odd spells for a good while, and somebody 
 told me it belonged to a Colonel Raymond, who lived 
 South. Mabby' that's yourn ?" 
 
 " It is," returned Frederic, " and I expect now to go 
 there in the Fall." 
 
 " I want to know. I shouldnf s'pose you could be 
 hired to leave this place." 
 
 " I couldn't be hired to stay. There are too man^ 
 sad memories connected with it," was Frederic's an- 
 swer, and he paced the floor hurriedly, while Ben con- 
 tinned : Mabby you'll be takin' a new wife there ?" 
 
 Frederic's cheek flushed as he replied : 
 
 "If I ever marry again, it will not be in years. 
 Would you like to go to bed, sir?" 
 
 Ben took the hint and replying, "I don't care if I 
 dew," followed the negro, who came at Frederic's call, 
 up to his room, a pleasant, comfortable chamber, over- 
 looking the river and the surrounding country. 
 
 " Golly, this is grand 1" said Ben, examining the dif- 
 ferent articles of furniture, as if he had never seen any- 
 thing like it before. 
 
 The negro, who was Lyd's husband, made no reply , 
 but, hurrying down stairs to his mother-in-law, he told 
 her, " Thar was somethin' mighty queer about that 
 man, and if they all found themselves alive in the morn- 
 in,' he should be thankful." 
 
 Unmindful of breast-pin and ear-rings, Dinah became 
 again alarmed, and, bidding Joe see that Victoria Eu- 
 genia was safe, she gathered up the forks and spoons, 
 and rolling them iu, a towel, tucked them inside her
 
 
 
 138 THE YANKEE PEDDLER. 
 
 straw tick, saying: "I reckon it'll make him s treat 
 some to hist me and Phil on to the floor ;" which was 
 quite probable, considering that the united weight 
 of the worthy couple was somewhat over three hun- 
 dred ! 
 
 The morning dawned at last, and, with her feara 
 abated, Dinah washed the silver, made the coffee, 
 broiled the steak and fried the corn meal batter-cakes, 
 which last were at first respectfully declined by Ben, 
 who admitted that they " might be fust-rate, but he 
 didn't b'lieve they'd set well on his stomach." 
 
 Hetty, who was waiting upon the table, quickly di- 
 vined the reason, and whispered to him : " Lord bless 
 yon, take some ; I done sifted the meal I" 
 
 This argument was conclusive, and helping himself 
 to the light, steaming cakes, Ben thought, " I may as 
 well eat 'em, for 'taint no wus, nor as bad as them Irish 
 gals does to hum, only I happened to see it!" 
 
 Breakfast being over, he offered to settle his bill, 
 which he found was nothing. 
 
 "Now, ra-ally, Square," lie said, as Frederic refused 
 to take pay, " I allus hearn that Kentuckians was 
 mighty free-hearted, but I didn't 'spect you to give me 
 my liviii'. I'm much obleeged to yon, though, and I 
 shall have more left to eddicate that little sister I was 
 telliu' you 'bout. I mean to give her tip-top larnin', 
 and mebby sometime she'll come here to teach this 
 wee one," and he laid his hand on Alice's hair. 
 
 The little girl smiled up in his face, and said, " Come 
 again and peddle here, \v;on't you?" 
 
 "Wouldn't wonder if I turned up amongst you some 
 day," was his answer; and bidding the family good- 
 bye, he went out into Bruno's kennel, for until this 
 minute he had forgotten that the dog was to be re- 
 membered. 
 
 "Keep away from dar," called out Uncle Phil, while 
 Bruno growled savagely and bounded against the bara 
 as if anxious to pounce upon the intruder. 
 
 " I've seen enough of him, 1 ' thouglit Ben, and shak-
 
 THE YANKEE PEDDLER. 
 
 ing hands with Uncle Phil, he walked rapidly down 
 the avenue and out into the highway. 
 
 Marian, he knew, was anxious to hear of his success, 
 and not willing to keep her waiting longer than was 
 necessary, he determined to return at once. Accord- 
 ingly, while the unsuspecting inmates of Redstone 
 Hall were discussing his late visit and singular appear- 
 ence, he was on his way to the depot, where he took 
 the first train for Frankfort, and was soon sailing down 
 the Kentucky toward home.
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 PLANS. 
 
 MARIAN was sitting by the window of hei little room, 
 looking out into the busy street below, and thinking 
 how differently New York seemed to her now from 
 what it did that dreary day when she wandered down 
 Broadway, and wished that she could die. She was 
 getting accustomed to the city roar, and the sounds 
 which annoyed her so much at first did not trouble 
 her as they once had done. Still there was the same 
 old pain at her heart a restless, longing desire to 
 hear from home, and know if what she feared were 
 true. She had counted the days of Ben's absence, and 
 she knew it was almost time for his return. She did 
 not expect him to-day, however, and she paid no at- 
 tention to the heavy footstep upon the stairs, neither 
 did she hear the creaking of the door ; but when Mrs. 
 Burt exclaimed, " Benjamin Franklin ! where did you 
 come from ?" she started, and in an instant held both 
 his hands in hers. 
 
 Wistfully, eagerly she looked up into his face, long- 
 ing, yet dreading, to ask the important question. 
 
 " Haw you been there ?" she managed to say at 
 last ; and Ben replied, " Yes, chicken, I have, I've 
 been to Redstun Hall, and seen the hull tribe on 'em 
 That Josh is a case. Couldn't understand him no more 
 than if he spoke a furrin tongue." 
 
 "But Frederic did you see him, and is he oh, 
 Ben, do tell me what- you know I want to hear 2" and 
 Marian trembled with excitement.
 
 . 
 
 PLANS. 
 
 " Wall, I will," answered Ben, dropping into a chair, 
 and coming to the point at once. "Frederic ain't 
 married to Isabel, nor ain't a-goin' to be. either." 
 
 " What made him write me that lie ?" was Marian's 
 next question, asked so mournfully that Ben replied : 
 
 " A body'd s'pose you was sorry it warn't the truth 
 he writ." 
 
 " I am glad it is not true," returned Marian, " but it 
 hurts me so to lose confidence in one I love. How 
 does Frederic look?" 
 
 " White as a sheet and poor as a crow," said Ben. 
 "It's a wearin' on him, depend on't. But she I tell 
 you she's a dasher, with the blackest eyes and hair I 
 ever seen." 
 
 " Who ?" fairly screamed Marian. " Who ? Not 
 Isabel ? Oh, Ben, is Isabel there ?" And Marian grew 
 as white as Ben had described Frederic to be. 
 
 " Yes she is," returned Ben. " She's pretendin' to 
 teach that blind gal, but Frederic ain't makin' love to 
 her no such thing. So don't go to faintin' a\vay, and 
 I'll begin at the beginning and tell you the hull story." 
 
 Thus re-assured, Marian composed herself and lis- 
 tened, while Ben narrated every particular of his re- 
 cent visit to Redstone Hall. 
 
 " I stopped at some of the houses in the neighbor- 
 hood," said he, " but I never as't a question about the 
 Ilavmonds, for fear of bein' mistrusted. Come to 
 think on't, though, I did inquire the road, and they 
 sent me through corn fields, and hemp fields, and 
 mercy knows what ; such a way as they have livin' in 
 the lots? But I kinder like it. Seems like a story, 
 them big housen way off among the trees, with the 
 whitewashed cabins round 'em lookin' for all the world 
 like a camp-meetin' in the woods " 
 
 "Yes, yes," interrupted Marian; "but Frederic 
 won't you ever reach him ?" 
 
 "Not till I tell you about the dogs, and that jaw> 
 breakin' chap they call Josh, with his cow hides, big
 
 142 PLAN3. 
 
 as a scow-boat, I'll bet," was Ben's answer ; and find- 
 ing it useless to hurry him, Marian summoned all her 
 patience and waited while he waded through his 
 introd action to the blacks, his attempt to be more of 
 a Yankee than he really was, his sliver in his thumb, 
 and, finally his addressing Frederic as Square and in- 
 quiring for his wife ! 
 
 Marian was all attention now, and held her breath, 
 lest she should lose a single word. When he 
 came to Isabel, and described her glowing, sparkling 
 beauty, she trembled in every joint, and felt as if she 
 were turning to stone ; but when he spoke of Alice, 
 and the sweet, loving words she had said of the lost 
 one, the cold, hard feeling passed away, and, covering 
 her face with her hands, she wept aloud. Everything 
 which Ben had seen or heard he told, omitting not a 
 single point, but lengthening out his story with sur- 
 mises and suspicions of his own. 
 
 " Alice and Dinah both," said he, " told me Fred- 
 eric wouldn't marry till they knew for certain you was 
 dead, and as he does know for certain, you can calker- 
 laie on that Isabel's bein' an old maid for all of him." 
 
 "I never supposed they'd think me drowned when 
 I dropped my glove and handkerchief," said Marian. 
 " Did they inquire at the depot." 
 
 " Yes so Alice said," returned Ben, " and nobody 
 knew no thin' of you ; so it was nateral they should 
 think you drownded : but, no matter, it makes it more 
 like a novel, and now I'll tell you jest what 'tis, wee 
 one, I don't mean no offense, and you must take it all 
 iu good part. You are a great deal better than Isabel, 
 I know ; but, as fur as looks and manners ie concerned, 
 you can't hold a candle to her, and a body knowin' noth- 
 ing about either would naterally say she was most be- 
 fittiu' Redstun Hall ; but, tell 'em to wait a spell. You 
 hain't got your growth yet, and you are gettin' better- 
 lookin' every day. That sickness made a wonderful 
 change in you, and shavin' your hair was jest the 
 tUing. It's comin' out darker, as it always does, and 

 
 - 
 
 ft 
 
 PLANS. 14:3 
 
 in less than a yenr I'll bet my hat on its bein' a beau- 
 tiful auburn. You must chirk up and grow fat, for 
 I'm goin' to send you to school, and have you take les- 
 sons on the planner, and learn French and everything, 
 so that by the time you're twenty you'll be the best 
 educated and han'somest gal in the city, and then 
 when the right time comes, if Providence don't con- 
 trive to fetch you two together, Ben Burt will. I shall 
 keep my eye on him, and if he's gettin' too thick with 
 Isabel, I'll drop a sly hint in his ear. They're goin' 
 to move up 0,11 to the Hudson to the old place did I 
 tell you ? and mebby you'll run afoul of him in the 
 street some day." 
 
 " Oh, I hope not at least, not yet not till the time 
 you speak of," said Marian, who had listened eagerly 
 to Ben's suggestion, and already felt that, there was 
 hope for her in the future. She would study so hard, 
 she thought, and learn so fast, and ,if she' only could 
 be thought handsome, or even decent-looking, she 
 would be satisfied, but that was impossible, she feared. 
 
 She did not know that, as Ben had said, the. severe 
 illness through which she had passed had laid the 
 foundation for a softer, more refined style of beauty 
 than she would otherwise have reached. Her entire 
 constitution seemed to have undergone a change, and 
 now, with hope to buoy her up, she grew stronger, 
 healthier, and, as a natural consequence, handsomer 
 each day. She could not erase from her memory the 
 insult Frederic had offered her, by writing what she 
 believed he did, but her affection for him was strong 
 enough to overlook even that, and she was willing to 
 wait and labor years if at the end of that time she 
 could hope to win his love. 
 
 Whatever Ben undertook he was sure to accomplish 
 in the shortest possible time, and before starting upon 
 another peddling excursion, the name of 4i MARIAN 
 GKEY" was enrolled among the list of pupils who at- 
 tended Madam Harcourt's school. At first she was 
 subject to many annoyances, for, as was ouite natural,
 
 144 PLANS. 
 
 her companions inquired concerning her standing, and 
 when they learned that her aunt was a sewing woman, 
 and that the queer, awkward fellow who came with her 
 the first day was her cousin and a peddler, they 
 treated her slightingly, and laughed at her plain dress. 
 But Marian did not care. One thought one feeling 
 alone actuated her ; to make herself something of which 
 Frederic Raymond should not be ashamed was her 
 aim, and for this she studied early and late, winning 
 golden laurels in the opinion of her teachers, and com- 
 ing ere long to be respected and loved, by her com- 
 panions, who little suspected that she was the heiress 
 of untold wealth. 
 
 Thus the Summer and a part of the Autumn passed 
 away, and when the semi-annual examination came, 
 Marian Grey stood first in all her classes, acquitting 
 herself so creditably and receiving so much praise, 
 that Ben, who chanced to be present, was perfectly 
 overjoyed, and evinced his pleasure by shedding tears, 
 his usual way of expressing feeling. 
 
 From this time forward Marian's progress was rapid, 
 until even she herself wondered how it were possible 
 for her to learn so fast when she had formerly cared so 
 little for books. Hope, and a joyful anticipation of 
 what would possibly be hers in the future, kept her up 
 and helped her to endure the mental labors which 
 might otherwise have overtaxed her strength. Grad- 
 ually, too, the old soreness at her heart wore away, 
 and she recovered in a measure her former light-heart- 
 edness, until at last her merry laugh was often heard 
 ringing out loud and clear just as it used to do at home 
 in days gone by. Very anxiously Ben watched her, 
 and when on his return from his excursions he found 
 her, as he always did, improved in looks and spirits, 
 he rubbed his hands together and whispered to him- 
 self, " She'll set up for a beauty, yet, and no mistake. 
 That hair of hern is growin' a splendid color." 
 
 He did not always express these thoughts to Marian, 
 but the little mirror which hung on the wall in her
 
 PLANS. 145 
 
 room sometimes whispered to her that the face reflec- 
 ted there was not the same which had looked at, her Su 
 mournfully on that memorable night when she had left 
 her pillow to see what her points of ugliness were I 
 The one which she had thought the crowning defect of 
 all had certainly disappeared. Her red curls were 
 gone, and in their places was growing a mass of soft 
 wavy hair, which reminded her of the auburn tress she 
 had so much admired and prized, because it was her 
 mother's. She had no means of knowing how nearly 
 they were alike, for the ringlet was far away, but by 
 comparing her present short curls with those which 
 had been shorn from her head, she saw there was a 
 difference, and she felt a pardonable pride in brushing 
 and cultivating her young hair, which well repaid her 
 labor, growing very rapidly and "curling anout her 
 forehead in small, round rings, which were far from 
 unbecoming. 
 
 Toward the last of November, Ben, who found hia 
 peddling profitable, took a trip through Western New 
 York, and did not return until February, when, some- 
 what to his mother's annoyance, he brought a sick 
 stranger with him. He had taken the cars at Albany, 
 where he met with the stranger, who offered him a 
 part of his seat and made himself so generally agree- 
 able that Ben's susceptible heart warmed toward him 
 at once, and when at last, as they drew near New 
 York, the man showed signs of being seriously ill, 
 Ben's sympathy was roused, and learning that he had 
 no friends in the city, he urged him so strongly to ac- 
 company him home for the night, at least, that his in- 
 vition was accepted, and the more readily, perhaps, as 
 the stranger's pocket had been picked in Albany, and 
 he had nothing left except his ticket to New York. 
 This reason was not very satisfactory to Mrs. Burt, who 
 from the tirst had disliked their visitor's appearance. 
 He was a powerfully built young man, with black 
 bushy hair, and restless, rolling eyes, which seemed 
 ever on the alert to discover something not intended 
 
 7
 
 14:6 PLANS. 
 
 for them to see. His face wore a hard, dissipated 
 look ; and when Mrs. Burt saw how soon after seating 
 himself before the warm fie, he fell asleep, she rightly 
 conjectured that a fit of drunkenness had been the 
 cause of his illness. Still, he was their guest, and she 
 would not treat him uncivilly, so she bade her son to 
 take him to his room, where he lay in the same deep, 
 stupid sleep, breathing so loudly that he could- be 
 plainly heard in the adjoining room, where Marian and 
 Ben were talking of the house at Yonkers which was 
 not finished yet, and would not be ready for the family 
 until sometime in May. 
 
 Suddenly the loud breathing in the bed-room ceased 
 the stranger was waking up ; but Ben and Marian 
 paid no heed, and talked on as freely as if there were 
 no greedy ears drinking in each word they said no 
 wild-eyed man leaning on his elbow and putting to- 
 gether, link by link, the chain of mystery until it was 
 as clear to him as noonday. The fii^t sentence which 
 he heard distinctly sobered him at once. It was Marian 
 who spoke, and the words she said were, " I wonder 
 if Isabel Huutington will come with Frederic to 
 Yonkers." 
 
 " Isabel!" the stranger gasped. " What do they 
 know of her ?" and sitting up in bed, he listened until 
 he learned what they knew of her, and learned, too, 
 that the young girl whom Ben Burt called his cousin 
 was the runaway bride from Redstone Hall. 
 
 Fiercely the black eyes flashed through the dark- 
 ness, and the fists smote angrily together as the 
 stranger hoarsely whispered : 
 
 " The time I've waited for has come at last, and the 
 proud lady shall be humbled in the very dust I" 
 
 It was Rudolph McYicar who thus threatened evil 
 to Isabel Huntingtou. He had loved her once, but 
 her scornful refusal of him, even after she was his 
 promised wife, had turned his love to hate, and he had 
 sworn to avenge the wrong should a good chance ever 
 occur. He knew that she was in Kentucky a teacher
 
 PLANS. 147 
 
 at Redstone Hall and for a time he had expected to 
 hear of her marriage with the heir, but this intelligence 
 did not come, and weary of New Haven, he at last 
 made a trip to New Orleans, determining on his way 
 back to stop for a time in the neighborhood of Red- 
 stone Hall, and if possible learn the reason why Isabel 
 had'not yet succeeded in securing Frederic Raymond. 
 On the boat in which he took passage on his return 
 were three or tour young people from Franklin county, 
 and among them Anges Gibson and her brother. 
 They were a very merry party, and at once attracted 
 the attention of Rudolph, who, learning that they were 
 from the vicinity of Frankfort, hovered around them, 
 hoping that by some chance he might hear them speak 
 of Isabel. Nor was he disappointed ; for one after- 
 noon when they were assembled upon the upper deck, 
 one of their number who lived in Lexington, and who 
 had been absent in California for nearly two .years, in- 
 quired after Frederic Raymond, whom he had formerly 
 known at school. 
 
 "Why," returned the loquacious Agnes, "did no 
 one write that news to you?" and oblivious entirely 
 of Rudolph McYicar, who at a little distance was lis- 
 tening attentively, she told the story of Frederic's 
 strange marriage and its sad denouement. Isabel, too, 
 was freely discussed, Miss Agnes saying that Mr. 
 Raymond would undoubtedly marry her, could he 
 know that Marian was dead, but as there were some 
 who entertained doubts upon that point he would 
 hardly dare take any decisive step until uncertainty 
 was made sure. 
 
 " When Miss Huntington first came to Redstone 
 Hall." continued Agnes, " she took no pains whatever 
 to conceal her preference for Mr. Raymond; but lat- 
 terly a change has come over her, and she hardly 
 appear* like the same girl. There seems Jto be some- 
 thing on her mind, though what it is I have never been 
 able to learn, which is a little strange, considering that 
 she tells me everything."
 
 148 PLANS. 
 
 Not a word of all this story was lost by Me Vicar. 
 There was no* reason now for his leaving the boat at 
 Louisville. He knew why Isabel was not a bride, and 
 secretly exulting as he thought of her weary restless- 
 ness, he kept on his way till he reached Albany, where 
 a debauch of a few days was succeeded by the sickness 
 which had awakened the sympathy of the tender-heart- 
 ed Ben, and induced the latter to offer him shelter for 
 the night. He was glad of it, no^v glad that he had 
 met with Ben, for by that means he had discovered the 
 hiding-place of Frederic Raymond's wife. He did not 
 know of her fortune, but he knew that she was Marian 
 Liudsey ; that accidentally, as he supposed, she had 
 stumbled upon Mrs. Burt and Ben, who were keeping 
 her secret from the world, and that was enough for 
 him. That Isabel had something to do with her he 
 was sure, aiid long after the conversation in the next 
 room had ceased, he lay awake thinking what use he 
 should make of his knowledge, and still not betray 
 those who had befriended him. 
 
 Rudolph Me Vicar was an adept in cunning, and 
 before the morning dawned he had formed a plan by 
 which he hoped to crush the haughty Isabel. Assum- 
 ing an air of indifference to everything around him, 
 he sauntered out to breakfast, and pretended to eat, 
 while his eyes rested almost constantly on Marian. 
 She was very young, he thought, and far prettier than 
 Agnes Gibson had represented her to be. She was 
 changing in her looks, he said, andtivo or three years 
 would ripen her into a beautif 1 -vMnan of whom 
 Frederic Raymond would be proud. Much he wished 
 he knew why she had left Redstone Hall, but as this 
 knowledge was beyond his reach, he contented him- 
 self with knowing who she was, and after breakfast 
 was over, he thanked his new acquaintances for their 
 hospitality, and went out into the city, going first to a 
 pawnbroker's, where he left his watch, receiving in 
 exchange money enough to defray his expenses in the 
 city for several days.
 
 PLANS. 149 
 
 That night, in a private room at the St. Nicholas, he 
 eat alone, bending over a letter, which, when finished, 
 bore a very fair resemblance to an uneducated woman's 
 handwriting, and which read as follows : 
 
 M. RAYMOND I now take my pen in hand to inform 
 you that A young Woman, calling herself Marian 
 lindsey has ben staying with me awhile And she said 
 you was her Husband what she came of and left you 
 for I don't know and I spose its none of my Biznes all 
 I have to do is to tell you that she died wun week ago 
 come sunday with the carikerrash and she made me 
 Promise to rite and tell you she was ded and that she 
 forgives you all your Sins and hope you wouldn't wate 
 long before you marred agen it would of done your 
 Hart good to hear her taulk like a Sante as she did. 
 I should of writ soonner only her sicknes hindered me 
 about <iettin reddy for a journey ime goin to take my. 
 only Brother lives in Scotland and ime goin out to live 
 with him i was most reddy when Marian took sick if 
 she had lived she wss coining back to you I bleave 
 and now 'that slies ded ime going rite of in the 
 which sales tomorrough nite else ide ask you to come 
 down and see where she died and all about it. i made 
 her as coiufitable as I could and hopin you wouldnt 
 take it to hard for Deth is the Lot of all i am 3'onr 
 most Humble Servant SARAH GREEN. 
 
 " There," soliloquized Rudolph, reading over the 
 letter. " That covers the whole ground, and still gives 
 him no clue in case he should come to New York. 
 
 The does sail the very day I have named, and 
 
 though ' Sarah Green ' may not be among her pas- 
 sengers, it answers my purpose quite as well. I be- 
 lieve I've steered clear of all doubtful points which 
 might lead him to suspect it a forgery. He knows 
 Marian would not attempt to deceive him thus, and he 
 will, undoubtedly, think old Mrs. Green some good 
 Boul, who dosed the patient with saffron tea. and then
 
 150 PLA.NS. 
 
 saw her decently interred 1 He'll have a nice time 
 hunting up her grave if he should undertake that. But 
 he won't he'll be pleased enough to know that he is 
 free, for by all accounts he didn't love her much, and 
 in less than six weeks he'll be engaged to Isabel. But 
 I'll be on their track. I'll watch them narrowly, and 
 when the day is set, and the guests are there, one will 
 go unbidden to the marriage feast, and the story that 
 uninvited guest can tell will humble the proud beauty 
 to the dust. He will tell her that this letter was a 
 forgery, and Sarah Green a myth : ihst Marian Lind- 
 sey lives, and Frederic Raymond, if .he takes another 
 wife, can be indicted for bigamy ; and when he sees 
 her eyes flash fire, and her cheek grow pale with 
 rage and disappointment, Rudolph McVicar will be 
 avenged." 
 
 This, then, was the plan which Rudolph had formed, 
 and, without wavering for an instant in his purpose, 
 he soaled the letter, and directing it to Frederic, sent 
 it on its way, going himself the next morning to New 
 Haven, where he had some money deposited in the 
 bank. This he withdrew, and after a few days started 
 for Lexington, where lie intended to remain and watch 
 the proceedings at Redstone Hall, until the denoue- 
 ment of his plot. 

 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 THE EFFECT. 
 
 KOT quite one year has passed away since the warm 
 Spring night when Ben Burt first strolled leisurely up 
 the long avenue leading to Redstone Hall. It was 
 April, then, and the early flowers were in bloom, but 
 now the chill March winds are blowing, and the brown 
 stocks of the tall rose-tree brush against the window, 
 from which a single light streams out into the dark- 
 ness. It is the window of the little library where we 
 have seen Frederic before, and where we meet him 
 once again. He has changed somewhat since we saw 
 him last, and there is upon his face a sad, thoughtful 
 expression, as if far down in his heart there were 
 a haunting memory which would follow him through 
 all time, and embitter every hour. 
 
 Little by little, step by step, he had come to hate 
 the wealth which had tempted him to sin to loathe 
 the beautiful home he once loved so well and this 
 had prompted him to leave it and go back to the old 
 house on the river, where his early boyhood was 
 passed. There were not so many mournful memories 
 clustering around that spot, he thought, and if he once 
 were there, he might perhaps forget the past, and be 
 happy again. He would open an office in the city, and 
 if possible earn his own living, so as not to spend more 
 of Marian's fortune than was necessary. He could not 
 tell why he wished to save it. He only knew that he 
 could not bear to use it, and he roused himself at last, 
 determining to -do something for himself. This plan
 
 152 THE EFFECT. 
 
 > 
 
 of moving to the Hudson was opposed by Isabel, who 
 liked the easy, luxurious life she led at Redstone PLall ; 
 but, for once, Frederic would not listen to her, and lie 
 had made his arrangements to leave Kentucky in May, 
 at which time his house would be in readiness to re- 
 ceive him. Isabel would go with him, of course she 
 was necessary to him now, though, faithful to the pro- 
 mise made to little Alice, he hud never talked to her 
 of love. And she was glad that he had not ; for, with 
 the knowledge she possessed, she would not have dared 
 to listen to his suit, and she often questioned herself 
 as to what the end would be. 
 
 One year or more of the dreary seven was gone, but 
 the future looked almost hopeless to her, and she was 
 sometimes tempted to go away and leave the danger- 
 ous game at which she was so hazardously playing. 
 Still, when she seriously contemplated such a proceed- 
 ing, she shrunk from it for, even though she were 
 never Frederic's wife, she would rather remain where 
 she was, and see that no other came to dispute the lit- 
 tle claim she had. All her assurance was gone, and 
 in her dread lest Frederic should say the words she 
 must not hear, she assumed toward him a half distant, 
 half bashful manner, far more attractive than a bolder 
 course of conduct would have been, and Frederic, 
 while watching her in this new phase of character, 
 struggled manfully against the feeling \vhich some- 
 times prompted him to break his promise to the blind 
 girl. She was faulty, he knew far more so than he 
 had once imagined but she was brilliant, beautiful, 
 accomplished, and he thought that he loved her. 
 
 But not of her was he thinking that chill March 
 night when he sat alone in the library watching the 
 flickering of the lamp, and listening to the evening 
 wind, as it shook the bushes beneath his window. It 
 was Marian's seventeenth birth-day, and he was think- 
 ing of her, wondering what she would have been had 
 she lived to see this day. She was surely dead, 
 he thought, or some tidings of her would have come to
 
 THE EFFECT. 153 
 
 him ere this, and when he remembered how gentle, 
 how pure and self-denying her short life had been, he 
 said involuntarily, "Poor Marian she deserved a bet- 
 ter fate, and should she come back to me again I would 
 prove to her that I am not all unworthy of her love." 
 
 There was a shuffling tread in the hall, and Josh 
 appeared bringing several letters. One bore the 
 Louisville post-mark one was from New Orleans 
 one from Lexington, and one from Sarah Green ! 
 
 l ' "Who writes to me from New York ?" was Ferd- 
 eric's mental query, and tearing open the wrapper he 
 drew nearer to him the lamp and read, while there 
 crept over him a nameless terror as if even while he 
 was thinking of the lost, the grave had opened at his 
 feet and shown him where she lay; not in the moan- 
 ing river not in the deep, dark woods, nor on the 
 western prairies, as he had sometimes feared, but far 
 away in the great city, where there was no one to pity 
 no eye to weep for her save that of the rude woman 
 who had written him the letter. 
 
 There Marian had suffered ahd died for him. His 
 Marian his young girl- wife ! He could call her so 
 now, and he did, saying it softly, reverently, as we 
 epeak always of the departed, while the tears he was 
 not ashamed to weep, dropped upon the soiled sheet. 
 He did not think of doubting it. There was no reason 
 why he should, and his heart went out after the dead 
 as it had never gone after the living. It seemed to 
 him so terrible that she should die among strangers, so 
 far from home ; and he wondered much how she ever 
 chanced to get there. IShe had remembered him to 
 the last, " forgiving all his sins," the woman said, and 
 knowing how much those few words meant, he said 
 tgain, "Poor Marian," just as the door opened and 
 Alice came slowly in. 
 
 There was a grand party that night at the house of 
 Lawyer Gibson, and at Isabel's request Alice had come 
 to ask how -ong before the carriage would be ready. 
 Dinah had told her that Frederic was in the library.
 
 15-i THE EFFECT. 
 
 bat he sat so still she thought he was not there, and she 
 said inquiringly, " Frederic ?" 
 
 " Yes, darling," was his answer in a tone which 
 startled the sensitive child, for she detected in it a 
 sound of tears, and hurrying to his side she passed her 
 hand over his face to zissure herself that she heard 
 aright. 
 
 " Has something dreadful happened ?" she asked, as 
 she felt the moisture on his eye-lids. 
 
 Taking her on his lap, and laying his hurning cheek 
 against her cool forehead, Frederic said to her very 
 tenderly and low : 
 
 " Alice, poor Marian is dead ! Here is the letter 
 which came to tell us," and he placed it in her hand. 
 There was a sudden upward flashing of the brown 
 eyes, and then their soft light was quenched in tears, 
 as, burying her face in the young man's bosom, the 
 blind girl sobbed, " Oh, no, no, Frederic, no." 
 
 For several minutes she wept passionately, while her 
 little frame shook with strong emotion. Then lifting 
 up her head and reaching toward the spot where she 
 knew the letter lay, she said : 
 
 < ; Read it to me, Frederic," and he did read, pausing 
 occasionally as )ie was interrupted by her low moan- 
 ing cry. 
 
 " Is that all ?" she asked, when he had finished. 
 " Didn't you leave out a word ?" 
 
 " Not one," was his reply, and with quivering lips 
 the heart-broken child continued, " Marian sent no 
 message for poor blind Alice to remember she never 
 thought of me who loved her so much. Why didn't 
 she, Frederic ?" and the sightless eyes looked beseech- 
 ingly at him as if he could explain the mystery. 
 
 .Poor child! Rudolph Me Vicar did not know how 
 strong was the affection between those two young 
 girls, or he would surely have sent a message to one 
 who seemed almost a part of Marian herself, and it 
 was this very omission which finally led the close rea- 
 soning child to doubt the truth of the letter. But she
 
 THE EFFECT. 1-55 
 
 tlid not doubt it now. Marian was really dead to her, 
 ahd for a longtime she sat with Frederic, saying noth- 
 ing, but by her silence manifesting to him how great 
 was her grief at this sudden bereavement. 
 
 At last remembering her errand, she told him why 
 she had come, and asked what she should say to 
 Isabel. 
 
 " Tell her I shall not go," he said, " but she need 
 not remain at home for that. The carriage can be 
 ready at any time, and Alice will tell her the rest ? 
 You'll do it better than I." 
 
 Alice would rather that some one else should carry 
 to Isabel tidings which she felt intuitively would be 
 received with more pleasure than pain, but if Frederic 
 requested it of her she would do it, and she started to 
 return. To her the night and the day were the same, 
 and ordinarily it mattered not whether there were 
 lamps in the hall or not, but now, as she passed from 
 the library into the adjoining room, there came over 
 her a feeling of such utter loneliness and desolation 
 that she turned back and said to Frederic : 
 
 " Will you go with me up the stairs, for now that 
 Marian is dead, the night is darker than it ever was 
 before." 
 
 He appreciated her feelings, and taking her by the 
 hand, led her to the- door of Isabel's room. Very im- 
 patiently Isabel had waited for her, wishing to know 
 what hour Frederic intended starting, and if there 
 would be time for Luce, her waiting maid, to curl her 
 long, black hair. Accidentally she had overheard a 
 gentleman say that if she wore curls she would be the 
 most beautiful woman kn Kentucky, and as he was to 
 be present at the party she determined to prove his 
 assertion. 
 
 " I hope that young one stays well," she said, angrily, 
 as the moments went by, and at last, as Alice did not 
 come, she bade Luce put the iron in the fire, and com- 
 mence her operations. 
 
 The negress accordingly obeyed the orders, and six
 
 156 THE EFFECT. 
 
 long curls were streaming down the lady's back, while 
 a seventh was wound around the hissing iron in close 
 proximity to her ear, when Alice came in, and hurry- 
 ing up to her side, began : 
 
 " Oh, Miss Huntington, poor, dear Marian wasn't 
 dead all the time they thought she was. She was in 
 New York, with Mrs. " 
 
 She did not finish the sentence ; for, feeling certain 
 that her treachery was about to be disclosed, the guilty 
 Isabel jumped so suddenly as to bring the hot iron 
 directly across her ear and a portion of her forehead. 
 Maddened with the pain, and a dread of impending 
 disgrace, she struck the innocent girl a blow which 
 Bent her reeling across the floor. 
 
 " Oh, Lordy !" exclaimed Luce, untwisting the hair 
 so rapidly that a portion of it was torn from the head 
 " oh, Lordy ! Miss Isabel, Alice never tached you ;" 
 and, throwing the iron upon the hearth, she hurried to 
 the prostrate child, who had thrown herself upon the 
 lounge and was sobbing so loud and hysterically that 
 Isabel herself was alarmed, and while bathing her 
 blistered ear, tried to stammer out some apology for 
 what she had done. 
 
 "I supposed you carelessly ran against me," she 
 said ; "and it hurt me so I didn't know what I was 
 doing. Pray, don't cry that way. You'll raise the 
 house ;" and she took hold of Alice's shoulder. 
 
 " I wish she would," muttered Luce; and, stooping 
 down, she whispered : " Screech Lmder, so as to totch 
 Marster Frederic, and tell him jest how she done 
 sarved you !" 
 
 But nothing could be further from Alice's mind than 
 crying for effect. It was not so much the indignity 
 she had suffered, nor yet the pain of the blow which 
 made her weep so bitterly. It was rather the utter 
 sense of desolation, the feeling that her last hope had 
 drifted away with the certainty of Marian's death, and 
 for a time she wept on passionately ; while Isabel, with 
 & hurricane in her bosom, walked the floor, wondering
 
 THE EFFECT. 157 
 
 if her perfidy would ever be discovered, and feeling 
 that she cared but little now whether it were, or not. 
 Suspense was terrible, and wheh the violence of Alice's 
 sobs had subsided, she said to her : 
 
 " Where is Marian, and when is she coming home?" 
 
 "Oh, never, never!" answered the child. "She 
 can't come back, for she's dead now, Marian is ;" and 
 Alice covered her face again with her hands. 
 
 " Dead !" exclaimed Isabel, in a far different voice 
 from that in which she had spoken before. " What do 
 you mean ?" and passing her arm very caressingly 
 around the little figure lying on the lounge, she con- 
 tinued : " I am sorry I struck you, Alice. I didn't 
 know what I was doing, and you must forgive me, will 
 you, darling? There, dry your eyes, and tell me all 
 about poor Marian. When did she die, and where?" 
 
 As well as she could for her tears, Alice told what 
 she knew, and satisfied that she was in no way impli- 
 cated, Isabel became still more amiable, even speaking 
 pleasantly to Luce and telling her she might do what 
 she pleased the remainder of the evening. 
 
 " Of course I shouldn't think of attending the party 
 now, even if I were not so dreadfully burned. Poor 
 Frederic ! how ba ily he must feel !" 
 
 " lie does," said Alice, " and he cried, too." 
 
 Isabel curled her proud lip contemptuously, and dip- 
 ping her handkerchief again in the water, she applied 
 it to her blistered ear, thinking to herself that he 
 would probably be easily consoled. It would be pro- 
 per, too, for lur to commence the consoling process at 
 once, by expressing her sympathy ; and leaving Alice 
 aloae she went to the library where Frederic still was 
 fcitung, so absorbed in his own sad reflections that he 
 did not observe her approach until she said, " Alice 
 .tells me you have heard from Marian," then he started 
 suddenly, and turning toward her, answered, "Yes, 
 you can read what is written here if you like," and he 
 passed her Me Vicar's letter. 
 
 It did seem to Isabel that there was something fa-
 
 158 THE EFFECT. 
 
 miliar about the writing, particularly in tlie formation 
 of the capitals, but she suspected no fraud, and accepted 
 the whole as coming from Sarah Green. 
 
 "This is some new acquaintance Marian picked 
 up," she thought. "The woman speaks of having 
 known her but a short time. Probably she left Mrs. 
 Daniel Burt and stumbled upon Sarah Green,'' and 
 with an exultant smile upon her beautiful face, she put 
 the letter down, and laying her hand very lightly on 
 Frederic's shoulder, said, " I am sorry for you, Fred- 
 eric, though it is better, of course, to know just what 
 did become of the poor girl." 
 
 Frederic could not tell why it was that Isabel's 
 words of sympathy grated harshly on his ear. He only 
 knew that they did, and he was glad when she left him 
 alone, telling him she should not, of course, attend the 
 party, and saying in reply to his question as to what 
 ailed her ear, that Luce, who was curling her hair, 
 carelessly burned it. 
 
 ' ; By the way," she continued, " when I felt the hot 
 iron, I jumped and throwing out my hand accidentally 
 hit Alice on her head, and, if you'll believe me, the 
 sensitive child thinks I intended it, and has almost 
 cried herself sick." 
 
 This falsehood she deemed necessary, in case the 
 truth of the matter should ever reach Frederic through 
 another channel, and feeling confident that she was 
 safe in every respect, and that the prize she so much 
 coveted was nearly won, she left him. and sought her 
 mother's chamber. 
 
 In the kitcheru the news of Marian's certain death 
 was received with noisy demonstrations old Dirah 
 and Hetty trying hard to outdo each other, and ^ee 
 which should shed the most and the biggest tears. 
 The woollen aprons of both were brought into constant 
 requisition, while Hetty rang so many changes upon 
 the virtues of the departed that Uncle Phil became 
 disgusted, and said " for his part he'd hearn enough 
 'bout dead fplks. He liked Miss Marian as well an
 
 THE EFFECT. 159 
 
 anybody, but he did tip his mournin' them times that 
 he wet hisself to the ?kin a tryin' to fish her out of the 
 river. lie thought bis heart would bust then, though 
 lie knew all the time she wasn't thnr, and he told 'em 
 so, too. He knew she'd run away to JS r ew York, and 
 he all us s'posed they'd hear she died summers at the 
 South. He wan't disappointed. He could tell by his 
 feelin's when anything was gwine to happen, and for 
 inore'n a week back he'd had it on his mind that Miss 
 Marian' was dead they couldn't fool him!" and satis- 
 fied that he had impressed his audience with a sense 
 of his foreknowledge, Uncle Phil pulled off his boots 
 and started for bed, leaving Dinah and Hetty to dis- 
 cuss the matter at their leisure and speculate upon the 
 probable result. 
 
 "I can tell you," said Dinah, "it won't be no time 
 at all afore Marster'll be settin' to that Isabel, and if 
 he does, I 'clar tbr't I'll run away, or hire out, see if I 
 don't. I ain't a goin' to be sassed by none of yer low 
 Hung truck and hev 'em carry in' the ke t ys. She may 
 jest go back whar she come from, and I'll tell her so, 
 too. I'll gin her a piece of my mind." 
 
 " She is gwine back," suggested Hetty, who, faithful 
 to the memory of Miss Beatrice, admired Isabel on- ac- 
 count of a fancied resemblance between the two. 
 tc Don't you mind how Marster is a gwiue to move up 
 to somewhar ?" 
 
 " That's nothin'," returned Dinah. " They'll come 
 back in the Fall, but I shan't be here. I'll hire my- 
 self out, and you kin be the head a spell." 
 
 This prospect was not an unpleasant one to Hetty, 
 who looked with a jealous eye upon Dinah's rather 
 superior position, and as a sure means of attaining the 
 object of her ambition and becoming in turn the favor- 
 ite, she warmly espoused, the cause of Isabel, and 
 waged many a battle of words with Dinah, who took 
 no pains to conceal her dislike. Thus two 01 three 
 weeks went by, and as nothing occurred to cause 
 Dinah immediate alarm, her fears gradually subsided,
 
 160 THE EFFECT. 
 
 until at last she forgot them altogether, while even 
 Marian ceased to be a daily subject of conversation. 
 
 To Frederic reality was more endurable than sus- 
 pense, for he could look tlie future in the face and 
 think what he would do. He was free to marry Isa- 
 bel, he believed ; but, as was quite natural, he cared 
 less about it now than when there was an obstacle in 
 his way. There was no danger of losing her, he was 
 sure, and he could wait as long as he pleased ! Once 
 he thought of going to Now York to malce some 
 inquiries, and if possible find Marian's grave, but when 
 lie reflected that Sarah (ireen was on the ocean, even 
 before her letter readied Kentucky, he decided to de- 
 fer the matter until their removal to Yonkers, which 
 was to take place about the middle of May. Isabel, 
 too, had her own views upon the subject There no 
 longer existed a reason why Frederic should not ad- 
 dress her, and in her estimation nothing could be more 
 proper than to christen the new home with a bride. 
 So she bent all her energies to the task, smiling her 
 sweetest smile, saying her softest words, and playing 
 the amiable lady to perfection. But it availed her 
 nothing, and she determined at last upon a bolder 
 movement. 
 
 Finding Frederic alone in the parlor, one day, she 
 said : 
 
 " I suppose it will not affect you materially if 
 mother and I leave when you remove to Yonkers. 
 Agnes Gibson, you know, is soon to be married, and 
 she has invited me to go with her to Florida, where, 
 she says, I can procure a good situation as music- 
 teacher, and mother wishes to go back to New Ha- 
 ven." 
 
 The announcement, and the coolness with which it 
 was made, startled Frederic, and he replied, rather 
 anxiously : 
 
 "I have never contemplated a separation. I shall 
 need your mother there more than I do here, for I 
 shall not have Dhiah."
 
 THE EFFECT. 161 
 
 " Perhaps you can persuade her to stay, but I think 
 it best for me to go," returned Isabel, delighted with 
 her success. 
 
 Frederic Raymond did not wish Isabel to leave 
 him, and, after a moment, he said : 
 
 " Why must you go, Isabel ? Do you wish for a 
 larger salary ? Are you tired of us of me ?" And 
 the last words were spoken hesitatingly, as if he 
 doubted the propriety of his saying them. 
 
 " Oh* Frederic !" and in the soft, black eyes raised 
 for an instant to his face, and then modestly withdrawn, 
 there was certainly a tear! " Oh, Frederic!" was all 
 she said, and Frederic felt constrained to answer : 
 " What is it, Isabel ? Why do you wish to go ?" 
 
 " I don't I don't," she answered, passionately ; 
 " but respect for myself demands it. People are 
 already talking about my living here with you ; and 
 now poor Marian is dead and you are a widower, it 
 will be tenfold worse.- I wish they would let us alone, 
 for I have been so happy here and am so much 
 attached to Alice. It will almost break my heart to 
 leave her !" 
 
 Isabel Huntington was wondrously beautiful then, 
 and Frederic Raymond was sorely tempted to bid her 
 stay, not as Alice's governess, nor yet as the daughter 
 of his housekeeper, but as his wife and mistress of his 
 house. Several times he tried to speak, and at last, 
 crossing over to where she sat, he began " Isabel, I 
 have never heard that people were talking of you ; 
 there is no reason why they should, but if they are I 
 can devise a method of stopping it and still keeping 
 you with us. I have never spoken to you of " love, 
 he was going to say, and the graceful head was already 
 bent to catch the sound, when a little voice chimed in,* 
 " Please, Frederic, I am here," and looking up they 
 saw before them Alice. 
 
 She had entered unobserved and was standing just 
 within the door, where she heard what Frederic said. 
 Intuitively she felt what would follow next, and
 
 162 THE EFFECT. 
 
 scarcely knowing what she did, she tiaa apprised them 
 of her presence. 
 
 " The brat !" was Isabel's mental comment, while 
 Frederic was sensible of a feeling of relief, as if he had 
 suddenly wakened from a spell, or been saved from 
 Borne great peril. For several moments Isabel sat, 
 hoping Alice would leave the room, but she did not, 
 and in no very amiable mood the lady was herself con- 
 , strained to go, by a call from her mother, who wished 
 to see her on some trivial matter. 
 
 When she was gone, Alice groped her way to the 
 sofa, and climbing upon it said to Frederic, " Won't 
 you read me that letter again which Mrs. Green wrote 
 to you ?" 
 
 He complied with her request, and when he had fin- 
 ished, the child continued, " If Marian had really died, 
 wouMn't she have sent some message to me, and 
 wouldn't that woman have told us how she happened 
 to be way off there, and all about it ?" 
 
 " If Marian really died /" repeated Fredeiic. " Do 
 you doubt it ?" 
 
 " Yes," returned the child, " Marian loved me most 
 as well as she did you, and she surely would have 
 talked of me and sent me some word ; then, too, it 
 there much diifereuce between scarlet fever and can 
 ker-rash? Don't some folks call it by both names?" 
 
 " I believe they do," said Frederic, wondering to wh& 
 all this was tending. 
 
 " Marian had the scarlet fever, and I, too, just afte 
 I came here," was Alice's next remark. " You were 
 at college, but I remember it, and so does Dinah, for " 
 asked her a little while ago. Can folks have it twice ?' 
 and the blind eyes looked up at Frederic, as if sure 
 'that this last argument at least were proof conclusive 
 of Marian's existence. 
 
 " Sometimes, but not often," answered Frederic, the 
 shadow of a doubt creeping into his own mind. 
 
 " And if they do," persisted Alice, who had been 
 consulting with Dinah u if they do, they seldom have
 
 THE EFFECT. 163 
 
 it hard enough to die, so Dinah says ; and I don't be- 
 lieve that was a good, true letter. Somebody wrote it, 
 to be wicked. Marian is alive, I almost know." 
 
 " Must you see her dead body, to be convinced ?" 
 asked Frederic, a little impatiently ; and Alice re 
 joined : 
 
 " No, ho ; but somehow it don't seem right for you 
 to to oh, Frederic !" and, bursting into tears, she 
 came at once to the root of the whole matter. 
 
 She had thought a great deal about the letter, won- 
 dering why Marian had failed to speak of her, and at 
 last rejecting it as an impossibility. Suddenly, too, 
 she remembered that once, when she and Marian were 
 sick, she heard some of the neighbors speak of their 
 disease as scarlet fever, while others called it the can- 
 ker-rash ; and all united in saying they could have it 
 but once. This had led to inquiries of Dinah, and had 
 iinally resulted in her conviction that Marian might 
 possibly be living. Full of this new idea, she had has- 
 tened to Frederic, and accidentally overheard what he 
 M'as saying to Isabel. She comprehended it, too, and 
 knew that but for her unexpected presence he would, 
 perhaps, have asked the lady to be his wife, and she 
 felt again as if Marian were there urging her to stand 
 once more between Frederic and temptation. All this 
 she told to him, and the proud, haughty man, who 
 would have spurned a like interference from any other 
 source, listened patiently to the pleadings of the child- 
 ish voice, which said to him so earnestly : 
 
 " Don't let Isabel be your wife !" 
 
 " What objection have you to her?" he asked ; and 
 "when she replied, "She isn't good," he questioned her 
 further as to the cause of her dislike " was there 
 really a reason, or was it mere prejudice ?" 
 
 " I try to like her," said Alice, "and sometimes I do 
 real well, bat she don't act alone with me like she does 
 when you are round. She'll be just as cross as fury, 
 and if you come in, she'll smooth iy hair and call me 
 < little pet.' " '
 
 164: TIJE EFFECT. 
 
 " Does she ever strike you ?" asked Frederic, feeling 
 a desire to hear Alice's version of that story. 
 
 Instantly tears came in Alice's eyes, and she replied, 
 " Only once and she said she didn't mean that bnt, 
 Frederic, she did," and in her own way Alice told the 
 stpry, which sounded to Mr. Raymond more like the 
 truth than the one he had heard from Isabel. Gradu- 
 ally the conviction was forcing itself upon him that 
 Isabel was not exactly what she seemed. Still he 
 could not suddenly shake off' the chain which bound 
 him, and when Alice said to him in her odd, straight- 
 forward way, " Don't finish what you were saying to 
 Is ibel until you've been to New York and found if the 
 letter is true," lie answered, " Fie, Alice, you are un- 
 reasonable to ask such a thing of me. Marian is dead. 
 I have no doubt of it, and I am free from the promise 
 made to you more than a year since-" 
 
 " May be she isn't," was Alice's reply, "and if she 
 is, we shall both feel better, if you go and see. Go, 
 Frederic, do. It won't take long, and if you find she 
 is really dead, I'll never speak another naughty word 
 of Isabel, but try to love her just as I want to love 
 your wife. Will you go, Frederic ? I heard you say 
 you ought to see the house before we moved, and 
 Yonkers is close to New York, isn't it ?" 
 
 This last argument was m<re convincing than any 
 which Alice had offered, for Frederic had left the en- 
 tire management of repairs to one whom he knew 
 understood such matters better than himself, conse- 
 quently he had not been there at all, and he had 
 several times spoken of going up to see that all was 
 right. Particularly would he wish to do this if he 
 .iook thither a bride in May, and to Alice's suggestion 
 he replied, " I might, perhaps, do that for the sake of 
 gratifying you." 
 
 " Oh, if you only would !" answered Alice. " You'll 
 find her somewhere I know you will and then you'll 
 be so glad you went." 
 
 Fieueric was not quite so sure of that, but it was
 
 THE EFFECT. 165 
 
 ;nfe to go, and while Isabel had been communicating 
 to her mother what he had been saying to her, and 
 asking if it were not almost a proposal, he was deciding 
 to start for New York immediate!}'. Alice's reasons 
 for doubting the authenticity of the letter seemed more 
 and more plausible the longer lie thought of their, 
 and at supper that night lie astonished both Mrs. 
 Huntington and daughter by saying that he was going 
 North in a few days, and he wished the former to see 
 that his wardrobe was in a proper condition for travel- 
 ing. Isabel's face grew dark as ni^ht, and the wrath- 
 ful expression of her eyes was noticable even to him. 
 " There is a good deal of temper there," was his mental 
 comment, while Isabel feigned some trivial excuse and 
 left the room to hide the anger she knew was visible 
 upon her tace. He had commenced proposing to her, 
 she was sure, and he should not leave Itedstone Hall 
 until he explained himself more fully. Still it would 
 not be proper for her to broach the subject her 
 mother must do that. It was a parent's duty to see 
 that her daughter's feelings were not trifled with, and 
 by dint of cajolery, entreaties and threats, she induced 
 the old lady to have a talk with Frederic, and ask him 
 what his intentions were. 
 
 Mrs. Huntington was not very lucid in her remarks, 
 and without exactly knowing what she meant, Frederic 
 replied at random that he was in earnest in all he had 
 said to Isabel about her remaining there, that he did 
 not wish her to go away for she seemed one of the 
 family, and that he would speak with her further upon 
 the subject when he came back. This was not very 
 definite, but Mrs. Huntington brushed it up a little ere 
 repeating it to Isabel, who readily accepted it as an in- 
 timation that after his return, he intended asking her 
 directly to be his wife. Accordingly she told Agnea 
 Gibson confidentially what her expectations were, and 
 Agnes told it confidentially to several others, who had 
 each a confidential friend, and so in course of a few 
 days it was generally understood that Redstone Hall
 
 168 THE EFFECT. 
 
 was to have another mistress. Agnes in particular waa 
 very busy disseminating news, hoping by this means 
 to turn the public gossip from herself and the white- 
 haired man, or rather the plantation in Florida, which 
 she was soon to marry. In spite of her protestations 
 to the contrary people would say that money and not 
 love actuated her choice, and she was glad of anything 
 which would give her a little rest. So she repeated 
 Isabel's story again and again, charging each and every 
 one never to mention it and consulting between-times 
 with her bosom friend as to what her arrangements 
 were, and suggesting that they be married on the same 
 day and so make the same tour. On the subject of 
 bridal presents Agnes had a kind of mania, and know- 
 ing this, some of her friends, who lived at a distance 
 and could not be present at the ceremony, sent their's 
 in advance several of them as a matter of c'ourse de- 
 ciding upon the same thing, so that in Agnes' private 
 drawer there were now deposited three fish knives and 
 forks, all of which were the young lady's particular 
 aversion. She would dispose of one of them at all 
 hazards, she thought, and receive more than an equiva- 
 lent in return, so she began to pave the way for a 
 costly bridal present from the future Mrs. Frederic 
 Raymond, by hinting of an elegant jishknife andfork^ 
 which in its satin-lined box would look handsomely 
 upon the table, and Isabel, though detesting the article 
 and thinking she should prefer almost anything else, 
 said she was delighted, and when her friend came 
 home'trorn the south, she should invite her to dinner 
 certainly once a week. 
 
 This arrangement vvae generally understood, as were 
 many others of a similar nature, until at last .even the 
 bridal dress was selected, arid people said it was mak- 
 ing in Lexington, where Frederic was well known, 
 and where the story of his supposed engagement cir- 
 culated rapidly, reaching to the second-rate iiotel where 
 Rudolph McVicar was a boarder. Exultingly his 
 wild eves flashed, and when he heard, as he did, that
 
 THE EFFECT. 167 
 
 the wedding was fixed for the 20th of May, which he 
 knew was Isabel's birthday, he counted the hours 
 which must elapse ere the moment of his triumph 
 came. And while he waited thus, and rumor, with 
 her lying tongue, told each day some tresh falsehood 
 of "that marriage in high life," Frederic- Raymond 
 went on his way, and with each milestone passed, drew 
 nearer and nearer to the lost one the Marian who 
 would stand between him and Isabel.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE HOUSE ON THE RIVEB. 
 
 " MARIAN," said Ben, one pleasant Apr! morning, 
 " Frederic's house is finished in tip-top style, and if 
 you say so, we'll go out and take a look. It will do 
 you good to see the old place once more and know 
 just how things are fixed." 
 
 " Oh, I'd like it so much," returned Marian, " but 
 what if I should fall upon Frederic?" 
 
 " No danger," answered Ben; " the man who has 
 charge of everything told me he wasn't comin' till 
 May, and the old woman who is tendin ? to things 
 knows I have seen Mr. Raymond, for I told her so, 
 and she won't think nothin' ; so clap on your clothes 
 in a jiff, for we*'ve barely time to reach the cars." 
 
 Marian did not hesitate long ere deciding to go, and 
 in a few moments they were in the street. As they 
 
 were passing the Hotel, Ben suddenly left her, 
 
 and running up the steps spoke to one of the servants 
 with whom he was acquainted. Returning ere long, 
 he said, by way of apology, "I was in there last night 
 to see Jim, and he told me there was a man took sick 
 with a ravin' fever, pretty muchlike you had when you 
 bit your tongue most in two.'' 
 
 Marian shuddered involuntarily, and without know- 
 ing why, felt a deep interest in the stranger, thinking 
 how terrible it was to be sick and alone in a crowded, 
 noisy hotel. 
 
 " Is he better ?" she asked, and Ben replied, " No,
 
 THE HOUSE ON THE RIVER. 169 
 
 ten times wus lie'll die most likely. But hurry up 
 here's the omnibus we want," and in the excitement 
 of securing a seat, they both forgot the sick man. 
 
 The trip to Yonkers was a pleasant one, for to Ma 
 rian it seemed like going home, and when, after reach- 
 ing the station, they entered the lumbering stage and 
 wound slowly up the long, steep hill, she recognized 
 many familiar way marks, and drawing her vail over 
 her face, wept silently as she remembered all she had 
 passed through since the night when Col. Raymond 
 first took her up that same long hill, and told her by 
 the way, of his boy Frederic, who would be delighted 
 with a sister. The fond old man was dead now, and 
 she, the little girl he had loved so much, was a sad 
 lonely woman, going back to visit the spot which had 
 been so handsomely fitted up without a thought of 
 her. 
 
 The house itself was greatly changed, but the view 
 it commanded of the river and the scenery beyond 
 was the same, and leaning against a pillar Marian 
 tried to fancy that she was a child again and listening 
 for the bold footsteps of the handsome, teasing bov, 
 once her terror and her pride. But all in vain she 
 listened : the well- remembered foot-fall did not come: 
 the handsome boy was not there, and even had he 
 been, she would scarcely have recognized him in the 
 haughty, elegant young man, her husband. Yes, he was 
 her husband, and she repeated the name to herself, and 
 when at last Ben touched her on the shoulder, saying, 
 " I have told Miss Russell my sister was here, and she 
 Bays you can go over the house," she started as if wak- 
 ing from a dream. 
 
 " Let us go through the garden first," she said, as 
 she led the way to the maple tree where summers 
 before che had built her little play-house, and whera 
 on the bark, just as high as his head then came, the 
 name of Frederic was cut. 
 
 Far below it, and at a point which her red curls 
 had reached, there was another name her own and 
 
 8
 
 170 " THE HOUSE ON THE RIVEE. 
 
 Frederic's jack-knife had made that, too, while she 
 stood by and said to him, "I wish I was Marian Ray- 
 mond, instead of Marian Liiidsey." 
 . How distinctly she remembered the characteristic 
 reply : 
 
 " If you should happen to be my wife, you would be 
 Marian Raymond ; but pshaw, I shall marry a great 
 deal prettier woman than you will ever be, and you 
 may live with us if you want to, and'take care of the 
 children. I mean to have a lot !" 
 
 She had not thought of this speech in years, but it 
 come back to her vividly now, as did many other 
 things which had occurred there long ago. Within 
 the house everything was changed, but they had no 
 trouble in identifying the different rooms, and she lin- 
 
 fered long in the one she felt sure was intended for 
 'rederic himself, sitting in the chair where she knew 
 he would often sit, and wondering if, while sitting 
 there, he would ever thiiik of her. Perhaps he might 
 be afraid of meeting her accidentally in New York, and 
 so he would seldom come there ; or, if he did, it would 
 be after dark, or when she was not in the street, and 
 thus she should possibly never see him, as she hoped 
 to do. The thought was a sad one, and never before 
 had the gulf between herself and Frederic seemed so 
 utterly impassible as on that April morning when, iu 
 his room and his arm chair, the girl-wife sat and ques- 
 tioned the dark future of what it had in store for her. 
 Once she was half tempted to leave some rnomento 
 something which would tell him she had been there. 
 Sne spurned the idea as soon as formed. She would 
 not intrude herself upon him a second time, and rising 
 at last, she arranged the furniture more to her taste, 
 changed the position of a picture, moved the mirror 
 into a perfect angle, set Frederic's chair before the 
 window looking out upon the river, and then, standing 
 in the door, fancied that she saw him, with his hand- 
 some face turned to the light, and his rich brown hair 
 shading his white brow. At his feet, and not far away
 
 THE HOUSE ON THE KIVER. 171 
 
 was a little stool, and if she could only sit there once, 
 resting her head npon his knee and hear him speaking 
 to her kindly, affectionately, she felt that she would 
 gladly die, and leave to another the caresses she could 
 never hope to receive. 
 
 Isabel's chamber was visited next, and Marian's 
 would have been less than a woman's nature conld 
 she have looked, without a pang, upon the costly fur- 
 niture and rare ornaments which had been gathered 
 there. In the disposal of the furniture there was a 
 lack of taste a decidedly Mrs. Russell air; but Ma- 
 rian had no wish to interfere. There was something 
 sickening in the very atmosphere of her rival's apart- 
 ment, and with a long, deep sigh, sbe turned away.. 
 Opening the door of an adjoining chamber, she stood 
 for a moment motionless, while her lips moved nerv- 
 ously, for she knew that this was Alice's room. It 
 was smaller than the others, and with its neat white fur- 
 niture, seemed well adapted to the pure, sinless child 
 who was to occupy it. Here too, she tarried long, 
 gazing, through blinded tears, upon the little rocking- 
 chair just fitted to Alice's form, looping up the soft 
 lace custains, brushing the dust from the marble man- 
 tle, and patting lovingly the snowy pillows, for the 
 sake of the fair head which would rest there some 
 night. 
 
 u There are no flowers here," said she, glancing at 
 the tiny vases on the stand. " Alice is fond of flow- 
 ers, and though they will be withered ere she comes, 
 she will be sure to find them, and who knows but their 
 faint perfume may remind her of me," and going out 
 into the garden she gathered some hyacinths and vio- 
 lets which she made into boquets and placed them in 
 the vases, and bidding the old woman change the 
 water every day, until they began to fade, and then 
 leave them to dry until the blind girl came. " Ben. 
 told me of her ; he once staid at iiedstone Hall all 
 night," she said, in answer to the woman's inquiring
 
 172 THE HOUSE ON THE EIVEB. 
 
 look. " He says she is a sweet young creature, and I 
 thought flowers might please her." 
 
 " Fresh ones would," returned Mrs. Russell " but 
 them that's withered ain't no use. S'pose I fling 'em 
 u way when they get old and put in some new the day 
 she comes?" 
 
 "No, no, not for the world, leave them as they are," 
 and Marian spoke so earnestly that the old lady prom- 
 ised compliance with her request. 
 
 " Be you that Yankee peddler's sister," she asked, 
 as she followed Marian down the stairs. "If you be, 
 nater cut up a curis caper with one or t'other of you, 
 for you ain't no more alike than nothin'." 
 
 " I believe I do not resemble him much," was Ma- 
 rian's evasive answer, as with a farewell glance at the 
 old place, she bade Mrs. Russell good-by and went 
 with Ben to the gate where the stage was waiting to 
 take them back to the depot. 
 
 It was dark when they reached New York, and as 
 
 they passed the Hotel a second time, Marian 
 
 spoke of the sick man, and wondered how he was. 
 
 " I might go in and see," said Ben, " but it's so 
 late I guess I won't, particularly as he's nothin' to us." 
 
 " But he's something to somebody," returned Marian, 
 and as she followed on after Ben, her thoughts turned 
 continually upon him, wondering if he had a mother 
 a sister or a wile, and if they knew how sick ho 
 was. 
 
 While thus reflecting they reached home, where 
 they found Mrs. Burt entertaining a visitor a Martha 
 Gibbs, who for some time. had been at the Ho- 
 tel, in the capacity of chamber-maid, but who was to 
 leave there the next day. Martha's parents lived in 
 the same New England village where Mis. Burt had 
 formerly resided, and the two thus became acquainted, 
 Martha making Mrs. Burt the depository of all her lit' 
 tie secrets and receiving in return much motherly ad- 
 vice. She was to be married soon, and though her 
 destination was a log house in the West, and her bri-
 
 THE HOUSE ON THE EIVEK. 173 
 
 dal trousseau consisted merely of three dresses a silk, 
 a delaine and a calico it was an affair of great conse- 
 quence to her, and she had come as usual to talk it 
 over with Mrs. Burt, feeling glad at the absence of Ben 
 and Marian, the latter of whom she supposed was an 
 orphan neitfe of her friend's husband. The return of 
 the young people operated as a restraint upon her, and 
 changing the conversation, she spoke at last of a sick 
 man who was up in the third story in one of the 
 rooms of which she had the charge. 
 
 " He had the typhoid fever," she said, " and was 
 raving distracted with his head. They wanted some 
 good experienced person to take care of him, and had 
 asked her to stay, she seemed so handy, but she 
 couldn't. John wouldn't put their wedding off, she 
 knew, and she must go, though she did pity the poor 
 young man he raved and took on so, asking them if 
 anybody had seen Marian, or knew where she was 
 buried 1" 
 
 Up to this point Marian had listened, because sho 
 knew it was the same man of whom Ben had told her 
 in the morning" ; but now the pulsations of her heart 
 stopped, her head grew dizzy, her brain whirled, and 
 she was conscious of nothing except that Ben made a 
 hurried movement and then passed his arm around her, 
 while he held a cup of water to her lips, sprinkling 
 some upon her face, and saying, in a natural voice, 
 " D.in't you want a drink ? My walk made me awful 
 dry." 
 
 It was dark in the room, for the lamp was not yet 
 lighted, and thus Martha did not see the side-play 
 going on. She only knew that Ben was offering Ma- 
 rian some water ; but Mrs. Burt understood it, and, 
 when sure that Marian would not faint, she said : 
 
 '" Where did the .young man come from, and what is 
 his name? Do you know ?" 
 
 " He registered himself as F. Raymond, Franklin 
 County r , Kentucky" returned the girl ; " and that's the 
 bother of it. Nobody knows where to direct a letter
 
 174: THE HOUSE ON THE BIVEE. 
 
 to his friends. But how I have staid. I mnst go this 
 minute," and greatly to the relief of the family, Martha 
 took her leave. 
 
 Scarcely had the door closed after her, when Marian 
 was on her knees, and, with her head in Mrs. Burt's 
 lap, was begging of her to offer her services as .nurse 
 to Frederic Raymond ! 
 
 "He must not die there alone," she cried. "Say 
 
 >u will go, or my heart will burst. They know 
 artha for a trusty girl, and they will take you on her 
 recommendation. Help me, Ben, to persuade her," 
 she continued, appealing to the young man, who had 
 not yet spoken upon the subject. 
 
 He had been thinking of it, however, and as he 
 could see no particular objection, he said, at last : 
 
 " May os well go, I guess. It won't do no hurt, any 
 how, and mebby it'll be the means of savin' his life. 
 You can tell Martha how't you s'pose he'll pay a good 
 price for nussin', and she'll think it's the money you 
 are after." 
 
 This suggestion was so warmly seconded by Marian, 
 that Mrs. Burt finally consented to seeing Martha, 
 and asking her what she thought of the plan. Accord- 
 ingly, early the next morning, she sought an interview 
 with the young woman, inquiring, first, how the stran- 
 ger was, and then, continuing 
 
 ""What do you think of my turning nurse awhile 
 and taking care of him ? I am used to such folks, and 
 I presume the gentleman is plenty able to pay." 
 
 She had dragged this last in rather bunglingly, but 
 it answered every purpose, for Martha, who knew her 
 thrifty habits, understood at once that money was the 
 inducement, and she replied, " Of course he is. Ilia 
 watch is worth t\vo hundred dollars, to say nothing of 
 a diamond pin. I for one shall be glad to have you 
 come, for I am going away some time to-day, and 
 there'll be nobody in particular to take care of him. 
 I'll speak about it right away." 
 
 The result of this speaking was that Mrs. Burt's
 
 THE HOUSE ON THE BIVEB. 175 
 
 offered services were readily accepted, for Martha 
 known to be an honest, faithful girl, and any one 
 \\hom she recommended must, of course, be respecta- 
 ble and trusty. By some chance, however, there was a 
 misunderstaTiding about the name, which was first con- 
 strued into Burton and then into Merton, and as Mar- 
 tha, who alone could rectify the error, left that after- 
 noon, the few who knew of the sick man and his nurse, 
 spoke of the latter as a " Mrs. Merton, from the coun- 
 try, probably." So when at night Mrs. Burt appeared 
 and announce herself as ready to assume her duties, 
 she was surprised at hearing herself addressed by her 
 new name, and she was about to correct it when she 
 thought, " It doesn't matter what I'm called, and per- 
 haps on the whole, I'd rather not be known by my real 
 name. I don't believe much in. goin' oat nussin' any 
 way, and I guess I'll let 'em. call me what they 
 want to." 
 
 She accordingly made no explanation, but followed 
 the servant girl up three long nights of stairs, and 
 turning down a narrow hall, stood ere long at the door 
 of the sick room.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE FEVER. 
 
 NIGHT and day Frederic Raymond had traveled, 
 never allowing himself a minute's rest, nor even stop- 
 ping at Yonkers, so latent was he upon reaching New 
 York and finding, if possible, some clue to Marian. It 
 was a hopeless task, for he had no starting point 
 nothing which could guide him in the least, save the 
 name of Sarah Green, and even that was not in the 
 Directory, while to inquire for her former place of 
 residence, was as preposterous as Marian's inquiry for 
 Mrs. Daniel Burt f Still, whatever he could do he did, 
 traversing street after street, threading alley after 
 alley, asking again and again of the squalid heads 
 thrust from the dingy windows, if Sarah Green had 
 ever lived in that locality, and receiving always the 
 same impudent stare and short answer, " 3STo." 
 
 Once, in another and worse part of the city, he fan- 
 cied he had found her, and that she had not sailed for 
 Scotland as she had written, for they had told him 
 that " Sal Green lived, up in the fourth story," and 
 climbing the crazy stairs, he knocked at the low, dark 
 door, shuddering involuntarily and experiencing a 
 feeling of mortified pride as he thought it possible that 
 .Marian his wite had toiled up that weary way to 
 die. The door was opened by a blear-eyed, hard- 
 faced woman, who started at sight of the elegant 
 stranger, and to his civil questions replied rather 
 gruffly, " Yes, I'm Sal Green, I s'pose, or Sarah, jest 
 which you choose to call me, but the likes of Marian 
 Lindsey never came near me," and glancing around
 
 THE FEVEB. 177 
 
 the dirty, wretched room, Frederic was glad that it 
 was so. He would rather not find her, or hear tidings 
 of her, than to know that ^he had lived and died in 
 such a place as this, and with a sickening sensation he 
 was turning away, when the woman, who was blessed 
 with a remarkable memory and never forgot anything 
 to which her attention was particularly directed, said 
 to him, " You say it's a year last Fall sence she left 
 home." 
 
 " Yes, yes," he replied eagerly, and she continued, 
 " You say she dressed in black, and wore a great long 
 vail ?" 
 
 "The same, the same," he cried, advancing into the 
 room and thrusting a bill into the long hand, " oh, my 
 good woman, have you seen her, and where is she 
 now?" 
 
 "The Lord knows, mebby, but I don't," answered 
 the woman, who was identical with the one who had 
 so frightened Marian by watching her on that day 
 when she sat in front of Trinity and wished that she 
 could die, k< I don't know as I ever seen her at all," 
 she continued, " but a year ago last November such a 
 girl as you described, with long curls that looked red 
 in the sunshine, sat on the steps way down by Trinity 
 and cried so hard that I noticed her, and knew she 
 warn't a beggar by her dress. It was gettin' dark, and 
 I was go in' to speak to her when Joe Black came up 
 and asked her what ailed her, or somethin'. He am t 
 none of the likeliest," and a grim smile flitted over the 
 visaire of the wrinkled hag. 
 
 " Oh, Heaven," cried Frederic, pressing his hands 
 to his head, as if to crush the horrid tear. " God save 
 her from that- fate. Is this all you know? Can't you 
 Ijll me any more? I'll give you half my fortune if 
 you'll bring back my poor, lost Marian, just as she was 
 when she left me." 
 
 The offer w T as a generous one, and Sal was tempted 
 for a moment to tell him soine big lie, and thus receive 
 a companion to the bill she clutched so greedily, but
 
 173 THE FEVER. 
 
 the agonizing expression of his white face kindled 
 .a spark of pity within her bosom, and she replied, k< I 
 did not finish tellin' you that while Joe was talking 
 and had seemingly persuaded her to go with him, a 
 tall chap that I never seen before knocked him flat, 
 and took the girl with him, and that's why I remember 
 it so well." 
 
 " Who was he, this tall man? Where did he go?" 
 and Frederic wiped from his forehead the great drops 
 of sweat forced out by terrible fear. 
 
 " I told you I never seen him before," was Sally's 
 answer, " but he had a good face a milk and water 
 face as if he never plotted no mischief in his life. 
 She's safe with him, I'm sure. I'd trust my daughter 
 with him, if I had one, and know he wouldn't harm 
 her. He spoke to her tender-like, and she looked glad, 
 I thought." 
 
 Frederic felt that this information was better than 
 none, for it was certain it was Marian whom the woman 
 had seen, and, in a measure comforted by her assurance 
 of Ben Burt's honesry, he bade her good morning, and 
 walked away. 
 
 At last, worn out and discouraged, he returned to 
 his hotel, where he lay now burning with fever, and, 
 in his delirium, calling sometimes for Isabel, sometimes 
 tor Alice, and again for faithful Dinah, but never ask- 
 ing why Marian did not come. She was dead, and he 
 only begged of those around him to take her away 
 from Joe Black, or show him where her grave was 
 made, so he could go home and tell the blind girl he 
 had seen it. Every ray of light which it was possible 
 to shut out had been excluded from the room, for he 
 Jbad complained much of his eyes, and when Mrs. 
 Burt entered, she could discover only the outline of a 
 ghastly face resting upon the pillows, scarcely whiter 
 tlian itself. It was a serious case, the attending physi- 
 cian said, and so she thought when she looked into his 
 , bright eyes, and felt his rapid pulse. To her he 
 8*
 
 THE FEVEK. 179 
 
 put the same question lie had asked nearly of every 
 one : 
 
 " Do you know where Marian is ?" 
 
 " Marian !" she repeated, feeling a little uncertain 
 how to answer. 
 
 " Humor him I say you do !" whispered the physi- 
 cian, who was just taking his leave. And very truth- 
 fully Mrs. Burt replied: 
 
 " Yes, I know where she is 1 She will come to you 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " No !" he answered mournfully. " The dead never 
 come back, and it must not be, either. Isabel is com- 
 ing then, and the two can't meet together here, for . 
 Come nearer, woman, while I tell you I loved Isabel 
 the best, and that's what made the trouble. She is 
 beautiful, but Marian was good and do you know 
 Marian was the Heiress of Redstone Hall; but I'm 
 not going to use her money." 
 
 " Yes, I know," returned Mrs. Burt, trying to quiet 
 him, but in vain. 
 
 He would talk sometimes of Marian, and some- 
 times of Sarah Green, and the dreary room where he 
 had been. 
 
 "It made Marian tired," he said, "to climb those 
 broken stairs 1 tired, just as he was now. But she was 
 resting so quietly in Heaven, and the April sun was 
 shining on her grave. It was a little grave a child's 
 grave, as it were for Marian was not so tall nor so old 
 as Isabel." 
 
 In this way he rambled on, and it was not until the 
 morning dawned that lie fell into a heavy sleep, and 
 Mrs. Burt had leisure to reflect upon the novel posi- 
 tion in which she found herself. 
 
 "It was foolish in me to give up to them children," 
 she said, " but now that I am here, I'll make the best 
 of it, and do as well as I can. Marian shan't come, 
 though! It would kill her dead to hear him go- 
 ing oil." 
 
 Mrs. Burt was a little rash in making this assertion,
 
 ISO THE FEVEB. 
 
 for even while she spoke, Marian was in the reception- 
 room below, inquiring for the woman who took care 
 of Mr. Raymond. Not once during the long night had 
 she eyelids closed in sleep, and with the early morning 
 she had started for the hotel, leaving Ben to get his 
 breakfast as he could. 
 
 " Say Marian Grey wishes to see her," she said, in 
 answer to the inquiry as to what name the servant was 
 to take to No. 
 
 " My goodness !" exclaimed Mrs. Burt ; " why didn't 
 Ben keep her at home?" and, gliding down the stairs, 
 she tried to persuade Marian to return. 
 
 But when she saw the firm, determined expression 
 in the young girl's eye, she knew it was useless to rea- 
 son with her, and saying, rather pettishly, ".You mu-t 
 expect to hear some cuttin' things," she bade her fol- 
 low up the stairs. Frederic still lay sleeping, his face 
 turned partly to one side, and his hand resting beneath 
 his head. His rich brown hair, now damp with heavy 
 moisture, was pushed back from his white forehead, 
 which, gleaming through the dusky darkness, first 
 showed to Marian where he lay. The gas light hurt 
 his eyes, and the lamp, which was kept continually 
 burning, was so placed that its dim light did not fall 
 on him, and a near approach was necessary to tell her 
 just how he looked. He was fearfully changed, and, 
 with a bitter moan, she laid her head beside him on 
 the pillow, so that her short curls mingled with hia 
 darker locks, and she felt his hot breath on her cheek. 
 
 " Frederic dear Frederic !" she said, and at the 
 sound of her voice he moved uneasily, as if about to 
 waken. 
 
 " Come away, come away," whispered Mrs. Burt. 
 " He may know you, and a sudden start would kill 
 him." 
 
 But Marian was deaf to all else save thq whispered 
 words dropping from the sick man's lips. They were 
 of home, of Alice, of the library, and oh, joy ! could 
 it be she heard aright did he speak of her ? "\V~as it
 
 THE FEVER. 181 
 
 
 
 Marian he said ? Yes, it was Marian, and with a cry 
 of delight, which started Mrs. Burt to her feet, and 
 penetrated even to the ear of the unconscious Frederic, 
 Blie pressed her lips upon the very spot which they 
 had touched before on that night when she gave him 
 her first kiss. Slowly his eyes unclosed, but the wild- 
 ness was still there, and Mrs. Bart, who stood anx- 
 iously watching him, felt glad that it was so. Slowly 
 they wandered about the room, resting first upon the 
 door, then on the chandelier, then on the ceiling 
 above, and dropping finally lower, until at last they 
 met and were riveted upon Marian, who, with clasped 
 hand?, stood breathlessly awaiting the result. 
 
 " Will he know her? Does he know her ?" was the 
 mental query of Mrs. Burt ; while Marian's fast-breath- 
 ing heart asked the same question eagerly. There was 
 a wavering, a fierce struggle between delirium and 
 reason, and then, with a faint smile, he said : 
 
 " Did you kiss me just now?" and he pointed to the 
 spot upon his forehead. 
 
 Marian nodded, for she could not speak, and he con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " Marian kissed me there, too ! Little Marian, who 
 went away, and it has burned and burned into my 
 veins until it set my brain on fire. Nobody has kissed 
 me since, but Alice. Did you know Alice, girl ?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Marian, keen disappointment swell- 
 ing within her bosom and forcing the great tears from 
 her eyes. 
 
 She had almost believed he would recognize her, 
 hut he did not; and sinking down by his side, she bur- 
 ied her face in the bed clothes, and sobbed aloud. 
 
 " Don't cry, little girl," he said, evidently disturbed ' 
 at the sight of her tears. " I cried when I thought 
 Marian was dead, but that seems so long ago." 
 
 u Oh Frederic " and forgetful of everything, Ma- 
 rian sprang to her feet. "Oh, Frederic, is it true I 
 Did you cry for me ?" 
 
 At the sound of his own name the sick man looked
 
 182 THE FEVER. 
 
 | 
 
 bewildered, while reason seemed straggling again to 
 assert its rights, and penetrate the misty fog by which 
 it was enveloped. Very earnestly he looked at the 
 young girl, who returned his gaze with one in which 
 was concentrated all the yearning love and tenderness, 
 she had cherished for him so long. 
 
 " Are you Marian?" he asked, and in an instant the 
 excited girl wound her arms around his neck, and lay- 
 ing her cheek against his own, replied: 
 
 " Yes, Frederic yes. Don't you know me, your 
 poor lost Marian ?" 
 
 Very caressingly he passed his hand over her short 
 silken curls pushed them back from her forehead 
 examined them more closely, and then whispered 
 mournfully, 
 
 " No, you are not Marian. This is not her hair. But 
 I like you," he continued, as he felt her tears drop on 
 his face ; " and I wish you to stay with me, and when 
 the pain comes back charm it away with your soft 
 hands. They are little hands," and he took them be- 
 tween his own, " but not so small as Marian's were 
 when I held one in my hand and promised I would 
 love her. It seemed like some tiny rose leaf, and I 
 could have crushed it easily, but I did not ; I only 
 crushed her heart, and she fled from me forever, for 
 'twas a lie I told her," and his voice sunk to a lower 
 tone. "I didn't love her then I don't know as I 
 love her now, for Isabel is eo beautiful. Did you ever 
 see Isabel, girl?" 
 
 " Oh, Frederic," groaned Marian, and wresting her 
 hands from his gaasp, she tottered to a chair, while he 
 looked after her wistfully. 
 
 " Will she go away ?" he said to Mrs. Burt. " Will 
 she leave me alone, when she knows Alice is not here 
 nor Isabel ? I wish Isabel would come, don't you ?" 
 
 There was another moan of anguish, and, rolling his 
 bright eyes in the direction of the arm chair, the poor 
 man whispered : 
 
 * ; Hark ! that's the sound I heard the niorht Marian
 
 TUE FEVER. 183 
 
 
 
 went away ! I thought then 'twas the wind, "but I knew 
 afterwards that it was she, when her soul parted with 
 her body, and it's followed me ever since. There is not 
 a spot at Redstone Hall that is not haunted with that 
 cry. I've heard it at midnight, at noon-day in the 
 storm and in the rushing river where we thought she 
 was buried. All but Alice she knew' she wasn't, 
 and she sent me here to look. She don't like Isabel,, 
 and is afraid I'll marry her. Maybe I shall, sometime I 
 Who knows ?" 
 
 And he laughed in delirious glee. 
 
 " Heaven keep me, too, from going mad?" cried Ma- 
 rian. " Oh ! why did I come here ?" 
 
 "I told you not to all the time," was Mrs. Burt's 
 consolatory remark ; which, however was lost on Ma- 
 rian, who, seizing her bonnet and shawl, rushed from 
 the room, unmindful of the out-stretched arms which 
 seemed imploring her' to stay. 
 
 The fresh morning air revived her fainting strength, 
 but did not cool the feverish agony at her heart, and 
 she sped onward, until she reached her home,- where 
 she surprised Ben at his solitary breakfast, which he 
 had prepared himself. 
 
 " Oh I Ben, Ben !" she cried, coming so suddenly 
 upon him that he upset the coffee-pot into which he 
 was pouring some hot water. " Would it be wicked 
 for you to kill me dead, or for me to kill myself?" 
 
 " What's to pay now?" asked Ben, using the skirt 
 of his coat for a holder in picking up the steaming 
 coffee-pot. 
 
 Very hastily Marian related her adventures in the 
 sick room, telling how Frederic had talked of marry- 
 ing Isabel before her very face. 
 
 "Crazy as a loon," returned Ben. "I shouldn't 
 think n6thin' of that. You say he talked as though he 
 thought you was dead, and of course he don't know 
 what he's sayin'. Have they writ to his folks ?" 
 
 " Yes," returned Marian, who had made a similar 
 inquiry of Mrs Burt. "They directed a letter to
 
 181 THE FEVER. 
 
 * 
 
 * Frederic Raymond's friends, Franklin County, Ken- 
 tucky,' but that may not reach them in along time.'' 
 
 u Wouldn't it be a Christian act," returned Ben "for 
 us, who know jest who he is, to telegraph to that crit- 
 ter, and have her come ? By all accounts he wants to 
 see her, and it may do him good." 
 
 Marian felt that it would be right, and, though it 
 cost her a pang, she said, at last: 
 
 " Yes, Ben, you may telegraph ; but what name will 
 you append ?" 
 
 "Benjamin Butterworth, of course," he replied. 
 " They'll remember the peddler, and think it nateral 
 I should feel an interest." And leaving Marian to 
 take charge of the breakfast table, he started for the 
 office. 
 
 Meantime the sick room was the scene of much ex- 
 citement- Frederic raving furiously, and- asking for 
 " the girl with the soft hands and silken hair." Some- 
 times he called her Marian, and begged of them to 
 bring her back, promising not to make her cry again. 
 
 " There is a mystery connected with tliis Marian he 
 talks so much about," said the physician, who was 
 present, " and he seems to fancy a resemblance between 
 her and the girl who left here this morning. What 
 may 1 call her na*ine " 
 
 ' Marian, my daughter," came involuntarily from 
 Mrs. Burt, whose mental rejoinder was, " God forgive 
 me for that lie, if it was one. Names and things is 
 get tin' so 'twisted up that it takes more than me to 
 straighten 'em 1" 
 
 "Well, then," continued the physician, "suppose 
 jou send for her. It will never do tor him to gee so 
 excited, lie is wearing out too fast." 
 
 " 1 will go for her myself," said Mrs. Burt, who 
 fancied some persuasion might be necessary ere Ma- 
 rian couid be induced to reiurn. 
 
 But she was mistaken, tor when told that Frederic's 
 life depended upon his being kept quiet, and his being 
 kept quiet depended upon her presence, Ma.ri-an con
 
 THE FEVEE. 185 
 
 Rented, and nerved herself to hear him talk, as she 
 knew he would, of her rival. 
 
 " If he lives, I will be satisfied," she thought, " even 
 though he never did or can love me," and with a 
 strong, brave heart, she went back again to the sick 
 man, who welcomed her joyfully, and folding his fee- 
 ble arms around her neck, stroked again her hair, as 
 he said, "You will not leave me, Marian, till Isabel is 
 here. Then you may go back to the grave I cannot 
 find, and we will go home together." 
 
 Marian could not answer him, neither was it neces- 
 sary that she should. He was satisfied to have her 
 there, and with her sitting at. his side, and holding his 
 hand in hers, he became as gentle as a child. Occas- 
 ionally he c:ilied her " little girl," but oftener " Ma- 
 rian," and when he said that name, he always smooth- 
 ed her hair, as if he pitied her, and knew he had done 
 her a wron^. And Marian felt each day more and 
 more that the wound she hoped had partly healed was 
 bleeding afresh with a new pain, fur while he talked 
 of Marian as a mother talks of an unfortunate child, 
 he spoke of Isabel with all a lover's pride, and each 
 word was a dagger to the heart of the patient watcher, 
 who sat beside him day and night, until her eyes were 
 heavy, and her cheeks were pale with her unbroken 
 vigils. 
 
 ' Do you then love this Isabel so much ?" she said 
 to him one day, and sinking his voice to a whisper he 
 replied, " Yes, and I love you, too, though not like 
 her, because 1 loved her n'rst." 
 
 " And Marian ?" questioned the young girl, " Don't 
 you love her ?" 
 
 Oh, how eagerly she waited for the answer, which, 
 when it came almost broke her heart. 
 
 " Not as I ought to not as I have prayed that I 
 might, and not as I should, perhaps, if she hadn't been 
 to me what she is. Poor child," he continued, brushing 
 away the tears which rolled like rain down Marian's 
 cheeks, " poor child, are you crying for Marian 3"
 
 186 THE FEVER. 
 
 " Yes -yes, for Marian^-for poor heart-broken me ; M 
 and the wretched girl buried her face in the pillow 
 beside him, for he held her firmly by the wrist, and 
 she could not get away. 
 
 In this manner several days went by, and over the. 
 intellect so obscured there shone no ray 01 reason, 
 while the girlish face grew whiter and whiter each 
 morning light, and at last the physician said that she 
 must rest, or her strength would be exhausted. 
 
 ' Let me stay a little longer," she pleaded "stay at 
 least until Miss Huntington arrives." 
 
 " Miss who?" asked the doctor. " Do you then know 
 his family ?'' 
 
 " A friend of mine knows them," answered Marian, 
 a deep flush stealing over her cheek. 
 
 " I hope, thenj they will reward you well," contin- 
 ued the physician. " The -young man would have 
 died but for you. It is remarkable what control you 
 have over him." 
 
 But Marian wished for no reward. It was sufficient 
 for her to know tiiat she had been instrumental in sav- 
 ing his life, even though she had saved it for Isabel. The 
 physician said that Frederic was better, and that after- 
 noon, seated in the large arm-chair, she fell into a 
 refreshing sleep, from which she M r as finally aroused 
 by Mrs. I3urt, who bending over her, whispered in her 
 ear: 
 
 " Wake up. She's come she's here Miss Hunt- 
 ington !" i 
 
 Tuere was magic in that name, and it roused the 
 sleeping girl at once, sending a quiver of pain through 
 her heart, for her post she knew was to be given to an- 
 other. Not both of them could watch by Frederic, 
 and she, who in all the world had the best right to 
 stay, must go; but not until she had looked upon her 
 rival and had seen once the face which Frederic called 
 so beautiful. This done, she would go away and die, if 
 it were possible, and stand no longer between Frederic 
 and the bride he so much desired. She did not under-
 
 THE FEVER. 1ST 
 
 etand why he had so often spoken of herself as being 
 dead, when he knew that she was not. It was a vagary 
 of his brain, she said lie had had many since she came 
 t-here. and she hoped he would sometimes talk of her 
 to Isabel, just as he had talked of Isabel to her. There 
 was a hurried consultation between herself and Mrs. 
 Burt, with regard to their future proceedings, and it 
 was finally decided that the latter should remain a few 
 days longer, and so report the progress of affairs to 
 Marian, who, of course, must go away. This arrange- 
 ment being made they sat down and rather impa- 
 tiently waited for the coming of Isabel, who was in 
 her room resting at f er her tiresome journey. 
 
 "Oh how can she wait so long'?" thought Marian, 
 glancing at Frederic, who was sleeping now more 
 quietly than he had done before for a longtime. 
 
 She did not know Isabel Huntington. and she could not 
 begin to guess how thoroughly selfish she was, nor how 
 that selfishness was manifest in every movement. The 
 letter, which at last had gone to Frankfort, was re- 
 ceived the same day with the telegram, and as a natu- 
 ral consequence, threw the inmates of Redstone Hall 
 into great excitement. Particularly was this the case 
 with Isabel, who unmindful of everything, wrang her 
 hands despairingly, crying out, " Oh ! what shall I do 
 if he dies?" 
 
 " Do I" repeated Dinah, forgetting her own grief in 
 her disgust. " For the Lord's sake, can't you do 
 what you allns did ? Go back whar you come from, 
 you and your mother, in course." 
 
 Isabel deigned no reply to this remark, but hurried 
 to her chamber, where she commenced the packing of 
 her trunk 
 
 " Wouldn't it look better for me to go?" suggested 
 Mrs. Huntington, and Isabel answered : 
 
 " Certainly not, the telegram was directed to me. No 
 one knows me in New York, and I don't care what 
 folks say here. It' he lives I shall be his wife, of course, 
 else why should he send for me. It's perfectly natural
 
 THE FEVER. 
 
 that I should go." And thinking to herself that she 
 would rather Frederic should die than to live for an- 
 other, she completed her hasty preparations, and waa 
 on her way to the depot before the household had 
 time to realize what they were doing. 
 
 In passing the house of Lawyer Gibson she con'l " 
 not forbear stopping a moment to communicate the sad 
 news to her particular friend, who, while condoling 
 with her, thought to herself, " He does care more for 
 her than I supposed, OT he would not have not sent for 
 her." 
 
 " When will you come back ?" she asked, and Isabel 
 replied, " Not until he is better or worse.' Oh, Agnes,' 
 what if he should die. Imagine Mr. Rivers at the 
 point of death and yon will know just how I feel." 
 
 "Certainly, very, indeed," was the meaningless an- 
 swer of Agnes, who, as the day of her bridal drew near, 
 began to fancy that she might be easily consoled in case 
 anything should come between herself and the white 
 haired Floridan. " Perhaps you will be married be- 
 fore you return," she suggested, and Isabel, who had 
 thought of the same possibility, replied, "Don't, pray, 
 speak of such a thing it seems terrible when Frederic 
 is so sick." 
 
 " You won't cotch the cars if you ain't keerful," 
 chimed in Uncle Phil, and kissing each other a most 
 aifectionate good-by, the young ladies parted, Agnes 
 thinking to herself, " I reckon I wouldn't go off to 
 New York after a man who hadn't really proposed 
 but then it's just like her," while Isabel's mental com- 
 ment was, "It's time Agnes was married, for she's 
 real ly beginning to look old ; I wouldn't have my grand- 
 father though I" 
 
 So much for girlish friendships! 
 
 Distressed and anxious as Isabel seemed, it was no 
 part of her intention to travel nights, tor that would 
 give her a sallow, jaded look ; so she made the journey 
 leisurely, and even after her arrival, took time to rest 
 and beautify ere presenting herself to Frederic* She
 
 THE FEVER. 189 
 
 had ascertained that he was better, and had the best 
 of care, so she remained quietly in her chamber an 
 hour or so, and it was not until after dark that she 
 bade the servant show her the way to the sick room. 
 
 " I will tell them you are coming," suggested the 
 polite attendant, and, goingwon before her, he. said to 
 Mrs. Burt that " Miss Huntington would like to come 
 in." 
 
 In the farthest corner in the room, where the shad- 
 ows were the deepest, and where she would be the 
 least observed, sat Marian, her hands clasped tightly 
 together, her head bent forward, and her eyes fixed in- 
 tently upon the door through which her rival would 
 enter. Frederic was awake, and, missing her from 
 her post, was about asking for her, when Isabel ap- 
 peared, looking so fresh, so glowing, so beautiful, that 
 for an instant Marian forgot everything in her admira- 
 tion of the queenly creature, who, bowing civilly to 
 Mrs. Burt, glided to the bedside, and sank upon her 
 knees, gracefully very gracefully just as she had 
 done at a private rehearsal in her own room! Tighter 
 the little hands were clasped together, and the head 
 which had dropped before was erect now, as Marian 
 watched eagerly for what would follow next. 
 
 " Dear Frederic," said Isabel, and over the white 
 face in the arm-chair the hot blood rushed in torrents 
 for it seemed almost an insult to hear him thus ad- 
 dressed " Dear Frederic, do you know me ? I am Is- 
 abel :" arid, unmindful of Mrs. Burt, or yet of the mo- 
 tionless iigure sitting near, she kissed his burning fore- 
 head, and said again ; " Do you know me ?" 
 
 The nails were marking dark rings now in the tender 
 flesh, while the blue eyes flashed until they grew al- 
 most as black as Isabel's, and still Marian did not 
 move. She could not, until she heard what answer 
 would be given. As the physician bad predicted, 
 Frederic was better since his refreshing sleep, and 
 through the misty vail enshrouding his reason a glim- 
 mer of light was shining. The voice was a familial
 
 190 THE FEVER. 
 
 one, and though it partly bewildered him, he knew 
 who it was that bent so fondly over him. It was some- 
 body from home, and with a thrill of pleasure akin to 
 what one feels when meeting a fellow countryman far 
 away on a foreign shore, he twined his arms around her 
 neck, artfl said to her joyfully : "You are Isabel, and 
 you've come to make me well." 
 
 Isabel was about to speak again, when a low sob 
 startled her, and, turning in the direction from whence 
 it came, she met a fierce, burning gaze which riveted 
 her as by some magnetism to the spot, and for a mo- 
 ment the two looked intently into each other's eyes. 
 Isabel and Marian, the one stamping indelibly upon 
 her memory the lineaments of a face which had stolen 
 and kept a heart which should have been her own, 
 while the other wondered much at the strange white 
 face which even through the darkness seemed quiver- 
 ing with pain. 
 
 Purposely Mrs. Burt stepped between them, and 
 thus the spell was broken, Isabel turning again to 
 Frederic, while Marian, unlocking her stiff finger**, 
 grasped her bonnet and glided from the room so si- 
 lently that Isabel knew not she was gone until she 
 turned her head and found the chair empty. 
 
 " Who was that ?" she said to Mrs. Burt" that 
 young girl who just went out?" 
 
 " My daughter,*' answered Mrs. Burt, again men- 
 tally asking forgiveness for the falsehood told, and 
 thinking to herself, " Mercy knows it ain't my nater 
 to lie, but when a body gets mixed up in such a scrape 
 as this, I'd like to see 'em help it !" 
 
 After the first lucid interval, Frederic relapsed again 
 into his former delirious mood, but did not ask for Ma- 
 rian. He seemed satisfied that Isabel was there, and 
 he fell asleep again, resting so quietly that when it 
 was eleven Isabel arose and said, " He is doing so 
 well I believe I will retire. I never sat up with a 
 sick person in my life, aiid should be very little assis-
 
 THE FEVER. 191 
 
 tnnco to you. That daughter of yours is somewhere 
 around, I suppose, and will come if \ou need heip." 
 
 Mrs. Burt nodded, thinking how different was this 
 conduct from that of the unselfish Marian, who had 
 watched night after night without giving herself the 
 rest she absolutely needed. Isabel, on the contrary, 
 had no idea of impairing her beauty, or bringing dis- 
 comfort to herself by spending many hours at a time 
 in that close, unwholesome atmosphere, and while Ma- 
 rian in her humble apartment was weeping bitterly, 
 she was dreaming of returning to Kentucky as a bride. 
 Frederic could scarcely do less than reward her kind- 
 ness by marrying her as soon as he was able. She 
 could take care of him so much better, she thoughr, 
 and ere she fell asleep she had arranged it all in her 
 oWn mind, and had fancied her mother's surprise at 
 receiving a letter signed by her new name, " Isabel H. 
 Raymond," She would retain the " H," she said. She 
 al\va} T s liked to see it, and she hoped A^nes Gibson, if 
 she persisted in that foolish fancy of the fish-knife, 
 would have it marked in this way ! 
 
 It was long after daylight ere she awoke, and when 
 she did her first thought was of her pleasant dream 
 and her second of the girl she had seen the night be- 
 fore. " How white she was," she said, as she made 
 her elaborate toile*, u and how those eyes of hers 
 glared at me, as if I had no business here. Maybe she 
 has f alien in love while taking care of him ;" and Isa- 
 bel laughed aloud at the very idea of a nursing 
 woman's daughter being in love with the fastidious 
 Frederic ! Once she thought of Mrs. Daniel Burt, 
 wondering where she lived, and half wishing she could 
 find her, and, herself unknown, could question her of 
 Marian. 
 
 " Maybe this Mrs. Merton knows something of her," 
 she said, and thinking she would ask her if a good op- 
 portunity should occur, she gave an extra brush to her 
 glossy hair, locked in a small hand mirror to see that 
 the braids at the back of her head were right, threw
 
 1?2 THE FEVEK. 
 
 open her wrapper a little more to show her flounced 
 cambric skirt, and then went to the breakfast room, 
 where three attendants, attracted by her style and the 
 prospect of a fee, bowed obsequiously and asked what 
 she would have. This occupied nearly another hour, 
 and it was almost ten ere she presented herself to Mrs. 
 Burt, who was growing very faint and weary. 
 
 At the physicain's request more light had been ad 
 mitted into the room, and Frederic, who was much 
 better this morning, recognized Isabel at once. He 
 bad a faint remembrance of having seen her the pre- 
 vious night, but it needed Mrs. Burt's assertion to con- 
 confirm his conjecture, and he greeted her now as if 
 meeting her for the first time. Many questions he asked 
 of the people at home, and how they had learned of his 
 illness. 
 
 " We received a letter and a telegram both," said Is- 
 abel, continuing, "You remember that booby peddler 
 who sold Alice the bracelet and frightened the negroes 
 so ? Well, he must have ti-legraphed, for his name was 
 signed to the dispatch, ' Benjamin Butterworth.' ' 
 
 Mrs. Burt was 7ery much occupied with something 
 near the table, and Frederic did not notice her confus- 
 ion as he replied, " He was a kind-hearted man, I 
 thought, but I wonder how he heard of my illness, and 
 where he is now. Mrs. Merton, has a certain Ben But- 
 terworth inquired for me since I was sick?" 
 
 " I know nobody by that name," returned Mrs. Burt, 
 and without stopping to think that her question might 
 lead to some inquiries from Frederic, Isabel rejoined, 
 *' Well, do you l<now a Mrs. Daniel Burt ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Daniel Burt !" repeated Frederic, as if trying 
 to recall something far back in the past, while the lady 
 in question started so suddenly as to drop the cup of 
 hot water she held m her hand. 
 
 Stooging down to pick up the cup, she said some- 
 thing about its having burned her, and added, "I ain't 
 much acquainted in the city, and never know my next 
 door neighbors."
 
 THE FEYER. 193 
 
 u Mrs. D;miel Burt," Frederic said again, " I have 
 gnrely heard that name before. Who is she, Isabel ?" 
 
 It was Isabel's turn now to answer evasively ; but 
 being more accustomed to dissimulate than her com- 
 panion, she replied, quite as a matter of course, "You 
 may have heard mother speak of her in New Haven. 
 I used to know her when I was a little girl, and I be- 
 lieve she lives in New York. She was a very good, 
 but common kind of woman, and one witt whom I 
 should not care to associate, though mother, I dare say, 
 would be glad to hear from her.'-' 
 
 "The impudent trollop," muttered Mrs. Burt, mar- 
 velling at the conversation, and wondering which was 
 trying to deceive the other, Frederic or Isabel. "The 
 former couldn't hoodwink her," she said, " even if lie 
 did Isabel. She understood it all, and he knew who 
 Mrs. Daniel Burt was just as well as she did, for even 
 if he had forgotten that she once lived with his father, 
 Marian's letter had refreshed Ids memory, and he was 
 only 'putting on ' for the sake of misleading Isabel. 
 But where in the world did that jade know her!" that 
 was a puzzle, and settling it in her own mind that 
 there were two of the same name, she left the room and 
 went down to her breakfast. 
 
 During the day not a word was said of Marian. Isa- 
 bel was evidently too much pleased with Frederic's de- 
 light at seeing her to think of anything else, while Mrs. 
 Burt did not consider it necessary to speak of her. Fred- 
 eric, too, for a time had forgotten her, but as the day 
 drew near its close, he relapsed into a thoughtful mood, 
 replying to Isabel's frequent remarks either in monosyl- 
 lables or not at all. As the darkness increased he 
 seemed to be listening intently, and when a step was 
 heard upon the stairs or in the hall without, his face 
 would light up with eager expectation and then be as 
 suddenly overcast as the footstep passed his door. Grad- 
 ually there was creeping into his mind a vague remem- 
 brance of something or somebody, which for many 
 days had been there with him, gliding so noiselessly 
 
 9
 
 194: THE FEVEE. 
 
 about the room that he had almost fancied it trod wpon 
 the air, and he could scarcely tell whether it were a spirit 
 or a human being like himself. Little by little the 
 outline so dimly discerned assumed a form, and the 
 form was that of a young girl a very fair young 
 girl, with sweet blue eyes, and soft, baby hands, 
 which had held his aching head and smoothed his tan- 
 gled hair, oh, so many times. Her voice too, was low 
 and gentle, and reminding him of some sad strain of 
 music heard long, long ago. It seemed to him, too, that 
 she called him Frederic, dropping hot tears upon his 
 face. But where was she now? Why did't she come 
 again, and who was she that little blue-eyed girl ? 
 For a time the vision faded and all was contused 
 again, but the reality came back ere long, and listen- 
 ing eagerly for something which never came, he 
 thought and thought until great drops of sweat stood 
 thickly upon his brow ; and Isabel, wiping them away, 
 became alarmed at the wildness of his eye and the 
 rapid boating of his pulse. A powerful anodyne was 
 adminstered, and he slept at last a fitful feverish sleep, 
 which however, did him good, and in the morning he 
 was better than he. had been before. 
 
 Mrs. Burt, who had watched him carefully, knew 
 that the danger was past, and that afternoon she left 
 him with Isabel, while she went home, where she found 
 Marian seriously ill, with Ben taking care of her in his 
 kind but awkward manner. 
 
 " Did Frederic remember me ? Does he know I 
 have been there?" were Marian's first questions, and 
 when Mrs. Buxt replied in the negative, she turned 
 away whispering, mournfully, "It is just as well." 
 
 " He is doing well," said Mrs. Burt, " and as you 
 need me more than he does now, I shall come home 
 and let that Isabel take care of him. It wont hur't her 
 any, the jade. She can telegraph for her mother if 
 she chooses." 
 
 Accordingly, she returned to the sick-room, where 
 she found Frederic asleep ahd Isabel reading a novel.
 
 THE FEVEB. 195 
 
 To her announcement of leaving, the latter made no 
 objection. She was rather pleased than otherwise, for, 
 as Frederic grew stronger, the presence of a third per- 
 son, and a stranger, too, might be disagreeable. She 
 would telegraph for her mother, of course, as she did 
 not think it quite proper to stay there alone. But her 
 mother was under her control ; she could dispose of her 
 at any time, so she merely stopped her reading long 
 enough to say, " Very well, you can go if you like. 
 How much is your charge ?" 
 
 *Mr5. Burt did not hesitate to tell her; and Isabel, 
 who had taken care of Frederic's purse, paid her, and 
 then resumed her book, while Mrs. Burt, with a fare- 
 well glance at her patient, went from the room, M r ith- 
 out a word of explanation as to where she could be 
 found in case they wished to find her. 
 
 It was dark when Frederic awoke, and it was so 
 still around him that he believed himself alone. 
 
 " They have all left me," he said ; " Mrs. Merton, 
 Isabel, and that other one, that being of mystery 
 who was she who could she have been?" and shut- 
 ting his eyes, he tried to bring her before him just as 
 he had often seen her bending o'er his pillow. 
 
 He knew now that it was not a phantom of his 
 brain, but a -reality. There had been a young girl 
 there, and when the world without was darkest, and 
 he was drifting far down the river of death, her voice 
 had called him back, and her hands had held him 
 up so that he did not sink in rlie deep,- angry waters. 
 There were tears many times upon her face, he re- 
 membered, and once he had wiped them away, asking 
 why she cried. It was a pretty face, he said, a very 
 pretty face, and the sunny eyes of blue seemed shining 
 on him even now, while the memory of her gentle acts 
 was very, very sweet, thrilling him with an undefined 
 emotion, and awakening within his bosom a germ of 
 the undying love he was yet to feel for the mysterious 
 etranger. She had called him Frederic, too, while he 
 had called her Marian. She had answered to that
 
 196 THE FKVER. 
 
 came, she asked him of Isabel, and oh, Heaven!" he 
 cried, starting quickly and clasping both hands upon 
 his head. Like a thunderbolt it burst upon him, and 
 for an instant his brain seemed all on fire. " It was 
 Marian ! it was Marian !" he essayed to say, but his 
 lips refused to move, and when Isabel, startled by hia 
 sadden movement, struck a light and came to his bed- > 
 side, she saw that he had fainted ! 
 
 In great alarm she summoned help, begging of thoso 
 who came to go at once for Mrs. Merton. But no one 
 knew of the woman's place of residence, and as she 
 had failed to inquire, it was a hopeless matter. Slowly 
 Frederic came back* to consciousness, and when he was 
 again alone with Isabel he said to her, " Where is that 
 woman who took care of me?" 
 
 " She is gone," said Isabel. " Gone to her home." 
 
 " Gone, lie repeated. " When did she go, and 
 why ?" 
 
 Isabel told him the particulars of Mrs. Burt's going, 
 and he continued : 
 
 " Was there no one else here when you came ? No 
 young girl witli soft blue eyes?" and he looked eag- 
 erly at her. 
 
 "Yes," she replied. "There was a queer acting 
 thing sitting in the arm-chair the night 1 first came 
 in " 
 
 " Who was she, and where is she now?" he asked . 
 and Isabel answered, " I am sure I don't know wher ' 
 she is, for she vanished like a ghost." 
 
 "Yes, ye>; but who was she ? Did she have no name ?" 
 and Frederic clutched Isabel's arm nervously. 
 
 " Mrs. Merton told me it was her daughter that 
 is all I know," said Isabel ; and in a tone of disap- 
 pointment he continued: 
 
 "Will you tell me just how she looked, and how 
 she acted when you first saw her?" 
 
 " One would suppose you deeply interested in your 
 nurse's daughter;" and the glittering black eyes 
 flashed scornfully upon Frederic, who replied :
 
 THE FEYER. 197 
 
 " I am interested, for she saved my life. Tell me, 
 won't yon, how she looked ?" 
 
 " Well, then," returned Isahel pettishly, " she was 
 about fifteen, I think certainly not older than that. 
 Her face was very white, with big, bine eyes, which 
 glared at me like a wild beast's ; and what is queerer 
 than all, she actually sobbed when I, or rather, you 
 kissed me; perhaps you have forgotten that you 
 did?" 
 
 He had forgotten it, for the best of reasons, but he 
 did not contradict her, so intent was he upon listening 
 to her story. 
 
 " I had not observed her particularly before; but 
 when I heard that sound I turned to look at her, 
 while she stared at me as impudently as if I had no 
 business here. That woman stepped between us pur- 
 posely I know, for she seemed excited ; and when I saw 
 the arm-chair again the girl was gone." 
 
 Thus far everything, except the probable age, had 
 confirmed his suspicions ; Uut there was one question 
 more an all-important one and with trembling eag- 
 erness he asked : 
 
 " What of her hair? Did you notice that ?" 
 
 " It was brown, I think," said Isabel " short in 
 her neck and curly round her forehead. I should say 
 her hair was rather handsome." 
 
 With a sigh of disappointment Frederic turned upon 
 his pillow, saying to her : 
 
 "That will do I've heard enough." 
 
 Isabel's last words had brought back to his mind 
 something which he had forgotten until now the 
 girl's hair was short, and he remembered distinctly 
 twining the soft rings around his fingers. They were 
 not long, red curls, like those described by Sally 
 Green. It wasn't Marian's hair it wasn't Marian at 
 all; and in his weakness his tears dropped silently 
 upon the pillow, for the disappointment was terrible. 
 All that night and the following day he was haunted 
 with thoughts of the young girl, and at last, determin
 
 198 THE FEVER. 
 
 ing to see her again and know if she were like Marian, 
 he said to Isabel : 
 
 " Send for Mrs. Merton. I wish to talk with her." 
 
 "It is an i m possibility," returned Isabel :" for, 
 when she left us, I carelessly neglected to ask where 
 she lived " 
 
 " Inquire below, then," persisted Frederic. " Some- 
 body will certainly know, and I must find her." 
 
 Isabel complied with his request, and soon returned 
 with the information that no one knew aught of Mrs. 
 Merton's whereabouts, though it was generally be- 
 lieved that she came from the country, and at the time 
 pf coming to the hotel was visiting friends in the city. 
 
 "Find her friends, then," continued Frederic, grow- 
 ing more and more excited and impatient. 
 
 This, 'too, was impossible, for everything pertaining 
 to Mrs. Merton was mere conjecture. No one could 
 tell where she lived, or whither she had gone ; and 
 the sick man lamented the circumstance so often that 
 Isabel more than once lost her temper entirely, wonder- 
 ing why he should be so very anxious about a woman 
 who had been well paid for her services " yes, more 
 than paid, for her price was a most exorbitant one." 
 
 Meantime, Mrs. Huntington, who, on the receipt of 
 Isabel's telegram, had started immediately, arrived, 
 laden with trunks, bandboxes, and bags, for the old 
 lady was rather dressy, and fancied a large hotel a 
 
 fx>d place to show her new clothes. On learning thai 
 rederic was very much better, and that she had been 
 sent for merely on the score of propriety, she seemed 
 somewhat out of humor " Not that she wanted Fred- 
 eric to die," she said, " and she was glad of course thpt 
 he was getting well, but she didn't like to be scared 
 the way she was ; a telegram always made her stomach 
 troiuble so that she didn't get over it in a week ; she hud 
 traveled day and night to get there, and didn't know 
 what she could have done if she hadn't met Rudolph 
 Me Vicar in Cincinnati."
 
 THE FEVEB. 199 
 
 " Rudolph 1" exclaimed Isabel. " Pray, where is he 
 now ?" 
 
 " Here in this very hotel," returned her mother. 
 " He came with me all the way, and seemed greatly 
 interested in you, asking a thousand questions about 
 when you expected to be married, fcaid he supposed 
 Frederic's illness would postpone it awhile, and when 
 I told him you wan't even engaged as I knew of, 
 he looked disappointed. I believe Rudolph has re- 
 formed 1" 
 
 " The wretch !" muttered Isabel, who rightly guessed 
 that Rudolph's interest was only feigned. 
 
 He had heard of her sudden departure for ^ew 
 York, and had heard also (Agnes Gibson being the" 
 source whence the information came) that she might, 
 perhaps, be married as soon as Frederic was able to sit 
 up. Accordingly, he had himself started northward, 
 stumbling upon Mrs. Huntington in Cincinnati, and 
 coming with her to New York, where he' stopped at 
 the same hotel, intending to remain there and wait 
 f.r the result. He did not care to meet Isabel face to 
 face, while.she was quite as anxious to avoid an inter- 
 view with him ; and after d few days she- ceased to be 
 troubled about him at all. Frederic absorbed all her 
 thoughts, he appeared so differently from what he 
 used to do talking but little cither to herself or her 
 mother, and lying nearly all the day with his eyes 
 shut, though she knew he was not asleep ; and she 
 tried in vain to fathom the subject of. his reflections. 
 But he guarded that secret well, and day after day he 
 thought on, living over again the first weeks of his 
 sickuess in that chamber, until at last the conviction 
 was fixed upon his mind that, spite of the short hair, 
 spite of the probable age, spite of the story about Mrs. 
 Mertor.'s daughter, or yet the letter from Sarah Green, 
 that young girl who had watched with him so long 
 and then disappeared so mysteriously, was none other 
 than Marian his wife. He did not shudder now when 
 he repeated that last word to himself. It sounded
 
 200 THE FEVER. 
 
 pleasantly, for he knew it was connected with the 
 sweet, womanly love which had saved him from death. 
 The brown hair which Isabel had mentioned he re- 
 jected as an impossibility. It had undoubtedly looked 
 dark to her, but it was red still, though worn short in 
 her neck, for he remembered that distinctly. Sarah 
 Green's letter was a forger} 7 Alice's prediction was 
 true, aiid Marian still lived. 
 
 But where was she now ? Why had she left him so 
 abruptly ? and would he ever find her ? Yes, he 
 would, he said. He would spare no time, no pains, no 
 money in the search ; and when he found her he would 
 love and cherish her as she deserved. He was begin- 
 ning to love her now, and he wondered at his infatua- 
 tion for Isabel, whose real character was becoming 
 more and more apparent to him. His changed de- 
 meanor made her cross and fretful ; while Alice Gib- 
 son's letter, asking when she was to be married, and 
 saying people there expected her to return a bride, 
 only increased her ill-humor, which manifested itself 
 several times toward her mother, in Frederic's pre- 
 sence. 
 
 At last, in a fit of desperation, she wrote to Agnes 
 Gibson that she never expected to be married cer- 
 tainly not to Frederic Raymond and if every young 
 lady matrimonially inclined should nurse her intended 
 husband through a course of fever, she guessed they 
 would become disgusted with mankind generally, and 
 that man in particular ! This done, Isabel felt better 
 so much better indeed that she resolved upon another 
 trial to bring about her desired object, and one day, 
 about two weeks after her mother's arrival, she said to 
 Frederic : 
 
 " Now that you are nearly well, I believe I shall go 
 to New Haven, and,' after a little, mother will come, 
 too. I shall remain there, I think, though mother, I 
 suppose, will keep house for you this year, as she has 
 engaged to do."
 
 THE FEVER. 201 
 
 To this suggestion Frederic did not reply just as she 
 thought lie would. 
 
 " It was a good idea," he said, " for her to visit her 
 old home, and he presumed she wo^ld enjoy it." -Then 
 he added, very faintly: "Alice will need a teacher 
 here quite as much as in Kentucky, and you can 
 retain your situation if you choose." 
 
 Isabel bit her lip, and her black eyes flashed angrily 
 as she replied : 
 
 " I am tired of teaching only one pupil, for there is 
 nothing to interest me, and I am all worn out, too." 
 
 She did look pale, and, touched with pity, Frederic 
 said to her, very kin;;ly : 
 
 " You do seem weary, Isabel. You have been con- 
 fined with me too long, and I think you had better go 
 at 'once. I will run down to see you, if possible, be- 
 fore I return to Kentucky." 
 
 This gave her hope, and, drying her eyes, which 
 were filled with tears, Isabel chatted pleasantly with 
 him about his future plans, which had been somewhat 
 disarranged by his unexpected illness. He could not 
 now hope to be settled at Riverside, as he called his 
 new home, until some time in June perhaps not so 
 soon but he would let her know, he said, in time to 
 meet him there. 
 
 . A day or two after this conversation, Isabel started 
 for New Raven, whither in the course of a week she 
 was followed by both her mother and Rudolph, the 
 latter of whom was determined not to lose sight of her 
 until sure that the engagement, which he somewhat 
 tloubted, did not in reality exist. 
 
 9*
 
 THE SEARCH. 
 
 WHEN the carriage containing Mrs. Huntington 
 rolled away from the hotel, Frederic, who was stand- 
 ing upon the steps, experienced a feeling of relief in 
 knowing that, as far as personal acquaintances were 
 concerned, he was now alone and free to commence 
 his search for Marian. Each day the conviction had 
 been strengtnened that she was alive that she had 
 been with him a few weeks before and now every en- 
 ergy should be devoted to finding her. Once he 
 thought of advertising, but she might not see the pa- 
 per, and as he rather shrank from making his affairs 
 thus public, he abandoned the project, determining, 
 however, to leave no other means untried ; he would 
 hunt the city over, inquire at every house, and then 
 scour the surrounding country. It might be months, 
 or it might be years, ere this were accomplished ; but 
 accomplish it he would, and with a brave, hopeful 
 heart, he started out, taking first a list of all the Mor- 
 tons in the Directory, then searching out and making, 
 of them the most minute inquiries, except, indeed, in 
 cases where he knew, by the nature of their surround- 
 ings, that none of their household had officiated in the 
 capacity of nurse. The woman who had taken care of 
 him was poor and uneducated, and he confined himself 
 mostly to that class of people. 
 
 But all in vain. No familiar face ever came at hia 
 call. Nobody knew her whom he sought no one had
 
 THE SEARCH. 203 
 
 heard of Marian Lindsey, and at last he thought of 
 Sally Green, determining to visit her again, and, ifpos- 
 sible, learn something more of the girl she had des- 
 cribed. Perhaps she could direct him to Joe Black, 
 who might know the tall man last seen with Marian. 
 The place was easily found, and the dangerous stairs 
 creaked again to his eager tread. Sal knew him at 
 once, and tucking her grizzly hair beneath her dirty 
 cap, waited to hear his errand, which was soon told. 
 Could she give him any further information of that 
 young girl, had she ever heard of her since his last 
 visit there, and would she tell him where to find Joe 
 Black? he might know who the man was, and thus 
 throw some light on the mystery. 
 
 " Bless your heart," answered the woman, "Joe died 
 three weeks ago with the delirium tremens, so what you 
 git out of him won't help you much. I told you all I 
 knew before ; or no, come to think on't, I seen 'em go 
 into a Third avenue car, and that makes me think the 
 feller lived up town. But law, you may as well hunt 
 fur a needle in a haystack as to hunt for a lost gal in 
 New York. You may git out all the police you've 
 a mind to, and then you ain't no better off. Ten to 
 one they are wus than them that's hid in' her, if they 
 do wear brass buttons and feel so big," and Sal shook 
 her brawny arm threateningly at some imaginary offi- 
 cers of justice. 
 
 With a feeling of disgust, Frederic turned away, and, 
 retracing his steps, came at last to the Park, where he 
 entered a Third avenue car, though why he did so he 
 scarcely knew. He did not expect to find her there, 
 but he felt a satisfaction in thinking she had once been 
 over that route perhaps in that very car and he 
 locked curiously in the faces of , his fellow-passengers 
 as they entered and left. Wistfully, too, he glanced 
 out at the houses they were parsing, saying to himself : 
 4i IB it there Marian lives, or there?" and once when 
 they stopped for some one to alight, his eye wandered 
 down the opposite street, resting at last upon a window
 
 204 THE SEAECII. 
 
 high up in a huge block of buildings. There was noth- 
 ing peculiar about that window nothing to attract 
 attention, unless it were the neat white fringed curtain 
 which shaded it, or the rose geranium which in its 
 little earthen pot seemed to indicate that the inmates 
 of that tenement retained a love for flowers and country 
 fashions, even amid the smoke and the dust of the city. 
 Frederic saw the white curtain, and it reminded him of 
 the one which years ago hung in his bedroom at the 
 old place on the river. He saw the geranium, too,, and 
 the figure which bent over it to pluck the withered 
 leaf. Then the car moved on, and to the weary man 
 sitting in the corner there came no voice to tell how 
 near he had been to the lost one, for that window was 
 Mrs. Burt's, and the bending figure Marian. 
 
 He had seen her he had passed within a few rods of 
 her and she could have heard him had he shouted aloud, 
 but for all the good that this did him she might have 
 been miles and miles away, for he never dreamed of 
 the truth, and day after day he continued his search, 
 while the excitement, the fatigue, and the constant dis- 
 appointment, told fearfully upon his constitution. Still 
 he would not give it up, and every morning he went 
 forth with hope renewed, onlj T to return at night 
 weary, discouraged, and sometimes almost despairing 
 of success. 
 
 Once, at the close of a rainy afternoon, he entered 
 again a Third avenue car, which would leave him not- 
 very -far from his hotel. It had been a day of unusual 
 fatigue with him, and utterly exhausted, he sank intc 
 the corner seat, while passenger after passenger crowd- 
 ed in, their damp overcoats and dripping umbrellas 
 filling the vehicle with a sickly steam, which affected 
 him unpleasantly, causing him to lean his aching head 
 upon his hand, and so shut out what was going ou 
 around him. They were full at last every seat, every 
 standing point was taken, and still the conductor said 
 there was room for another, as he passed in a delicate 
 young girl, who modestly drew her vail over her face
 
 THE SEARCH. 205 
 
 to avoid the gaze of the men, some of whom stared 
 rather rudely at her. Just after she came in, Frederic 
 looked up, but the thick folds of the vail told no tales 
 of the sudden paling of the lip, the flushing of her 
 cheek, and the quiver of the eye-lids. .Neither did the 
 violent trembling of her body, nor the quick pressure 
 of her hand upon her side convey to him other im- 
 pression than that she was tired faint, he thought 
 and touching his next neighbor with his elbow, he 
 compelled him to move along a few inches, while he 
 did the same, and so made room for the girl between 
 himself and the door. 
 
 " Sit here, Miss," he said, and he turned partly 
 toward her, as if to shield her from the crowd, for he 
 felt 1 intuitively that she was not like them. 
 
 Her hands, which chanced to be ungloved and 
 grasped the handle of her basket, were small, very 
 email, and about the joints were little laughing dim- 
 ples, looking very tempting to Frederic Raymond, 
 who was a passionate admirer of pretty hands, and 
 who now felt a strong desire to clasp the tiny snow- 
 flakes just within his reach. 
 
 Involuntarily he thought of those which had so lately 
 held his feverish head ; they must have been much 
 like the little ones holding so fast the basket, and he 
 wished that chance had brought Marian there instead 
 of the yoimu r girl sitting so still beside him. A strange 
 sensation thrilled him at the very idea of meeting her 
 thus, while his heart beat fast, but never said to him 
 that it was Marian herself! Why didn't it? He 
 asked himself that question a thousand times in after 
 years, saying he should know her again, but he had no 
 suspicion of it now, though when they stopped at the 
 same street down which, he once had looked at the 
 open window, and when the seat beside him -was 
 empty, he did experience a sense of loneliness a feel- 
 ing as it' a part of himself had gone with the young 
 girl. Suddenly remembering that in his abstraction 
 he had come higher up than he wished to do, he also
 
 206 THE SEARCH. 
 
 alighted, and standing upon the muddy pavement, 
 looked after the tripping figure moving so rapidly to- 
 ward the window where the geranium was blossoming, 
 and where a light was shining now. It disappeared 
 at last, and mentally chiding him for stopping in the 
 rain to watch a perfect stranger, Frederic turned back 
 in the direction of his hotel, while the girl, who had 
 BO awakened his interest, rushed up the narrow stairs, 
 and bounded into the room where Mrs. Burt was sit- 
 ting, exclaimed : 
 
 " I've seen him ! I've sat beside him in the same 
 car !" 
 
 " Why didn't you fetch him home, then ?" asked 
 Ben, who had returned that afternoon from a short ex- 
 cursion in the country. 
 
 Marian's face crimsoned at this question, and in a 
 hard, unnatural voice she replied : 
 
 "He didn't wish to come. He didn't even pretend 
 to recognize me, though he gave me a seat, and I knew 
 him so quick." 
 
 " Had that brown dud over your face, I s'pose," re- 
 turned Beti, casting a rueful glance at the vail. " No- 
 body can tell who a woman is, now-a-days. Why didn't 
 you pull it off and claim him for your husband, and 
 make him pay your fare ?" 
 
 " Oh, Ben," said Marian, " you certainly wouldn't 
 have me degrade myself like thatl Frederic knew 
 who I was, I am sure, for I saw him so plain but he 
 does not wish to find me. He never asked f.r me 
 since I left his sick room. All he cared for was Isa- 
 bel, and I wish it were possible for him to marry her." 
 
 " You don't wish any such thing," answered Ben, and 
 in the same cold, hard tone Marian continued : 
 
 " I do. I thought so to-night when I sat beside him 
 and looked into his face. I loved him once as much 
 as one can love another, and because I loved him thus 
 1 came away, thinking in my ignorance that he might 
 be happy with Isabel ; and when I saw that Advertise- 
 ment, I wrote, asking if I might go back again.' The
 
 THE SEARCH. 207 
 
 result of the letter you know. He insulted me cruelly. 
 He told me a falsehood, and still I was not cured. 
 When I thought him dying in the hotel, I went and 
 etaid -Hth him till the other came: but, after I was 
 gone, he never spoke of me, and he even professed not 
 to know Mrs. Daniel Burt, asking who she was, when 
 he knew as well as I, for I told him who she was, and 
 he directed my letter to her. I never used to think he 
 was deceitful, but I know it now, and I almost hate 
 him for it." 
 
 " Tut, tut. No you don't," chimed in Ben ; and Ma- 
 rian growing still more excited, continued, " Well, if I 
 don't, I will. 1 have run after him all I ever shall, 
 and now if we are reconciled he must make the first 
 concessions !" 
 
 "Wlie\v-ew," whistled Ben, thinking to himself, 
 " Ain't the little critter spunky, though !" and feeling 
 rather amused than otherwise, he watched Marian as 
 she paced the floor, her blue eyes flashing angrily and 
 her whole face indicative of strong excitement. 
 
 She fully believed that Frederic knew her, simply 
 because she recognized him, and his failing to ac 
 knowledge the recognition tilled her with indignation 
 and determination to forget him if it were possible. 
 Ah, little did she dream then of .the lonely man, who, 
 in the same room where she so recently had been, sat 
 with bowed head, and thought of her until the distant 
 bells tolled the hour of midnight. 
 
 It was now three weeks since he commenced his 
 search, and he was beginning to despair of success. His 
 presence he knew was needed in Kentucky, where 
 Alice had been left alone with the negroes, and where 
 his arrangements for moving were not yet completed. 
 His house on the river was waiting for him, the people 
 wondering why he didn't come, and as he sat think- 
 ing it, all over, he resolved at last to go home and bring 
 Aliee to Riverside to send for Mrs. Huntington as 
 had previously been arranged, and then, begin the 
 search again. Of Isabel too, he thought, remembering
 
 .208 THE SEARCH. 
 
 his hasty promise of going to New Haven, but this he 
 could not do. So he penned her a few lines, telling 
 her how it was impossible for him to come, and say- 
 ing that on his return to Riverside with Alice, he 
 should expect to find her mother and herself waiting 
 to receive him. 
 
 " I cannot do less than this," he said. " Isabel has 
 been with me a long time, and though I do not feel to- 
 ward her as I did, I pity her ; for I am afraid she likes 
 me better than she should. I have given her encour- 
 agement, too; but when I come back, I will talk with 
 her candidly. I will tell her how it is, and offer her a 
 home with me as loeg as she shall choose to stay. I 
 will be to her a brother ; and when Marian is found, 
 the two shall be like sisters, until some man who has 
 not a wife already takes Isabel from my hands." 
 
 Thus deciding, Frederic wrote to Alice, telling her 
 when lie should probably be home, and saying he 
 should stop for a day or so at Yonkers. This done, he 
 retired to rest, dreaming strange dreams of Marian and 
 the girl who sat beside him. They were one and the 
 same, he thought ; and he was raising the brown vail 
 to see, when he awoke to consciousness, and experi- 
 enced a feeling of disappointment in finding his dream 
 untrue. . 
 
 That morning a vague, uneasy feeling prompted him 
 to stroll slowly down the street whither the young girl 
 had gone the previous night. The window in the third 
 story was open again, and the geranium was standing 
 there still, its broad leaves growing fresher and greener 
 in the sunshine which shone warm upon the window 
 sill, where a beautiful kitten lay, apparently asleep. 
 Frederic saw it all, and for an instant felt a thrill of 
 fear lest the cat should fall and be killed on the pave- 
 ment below. Bur, a second glance assured him of its 
 safety for, half buried in its long, silk fur, was a 
 small white hand, a hand like Marian's and that of the 
 girl with the thick brown vail. u lts owner was the 
 mistress of the kitten," he said ; and the top of her
 
 THE SEAKCH. 209 
 
 head was just visible, for she cat reading upon a little 
 stool, and utterly unconscious of the strar.ger who, on 
 the opposite side in the street, cast many and wistful 
 glances in that direction, not because he fancied that 
 she was there, nor yet for any explainable reason, ex- 
 cept that the fringed curtain reminded him of his boy- 
 hood ; and he knew the occupant of that room had 
 once lived in the country, and bleached her linen on 
 the sweet, clean grass, which grew by the running 
 brook. 
 
 " Marian," said Mrs. Burt, " who is that tall man go- 
 ing down the street ? He's been looking this way ever 
 BO much. Isn't it " 
 
 She did not need to repeat the name, for Marian 
 saw who it was, and her fingers buried themselves so 
 deeply in the fat sides of the kitten that the little ani- 
 mal fancied the play rather too rude for comfort, and, 
 spitting at her mistress pertly bounded upon the flour. 
 
 " It's Frederic !" cried Marian. " Maybe he's com- 
 ing here, for he has crossed the street below, and is 
 coming up this side." And in her joy Marian forgot 
 the harsh things she had said of him only the night be- 
 fore. 
 
 But in vain Marian waited for the step upon the 
 stairs the loud knock upon the door neither of them 
 came, and leaning from the window she watched him 
 through her tears until he passed from sight. 
 
 That afternoon, as Frederic was sauntering leis- 
 urely down the street in the direction of the depot 
 ior he intended going to Yonkers that night he stum- 
 bled upon Ben, whose characteristic exclamation was, 
 " Wall, Square, glad to see you out agin, but I didn't 
 b'lieve I ever should when I sent word to thatgul. She 
 come, Is' pose?" 
 
 " Yes," returned Frederic, " and I am grateful to 
 you for your kindness in telegraphing to my friends. 
 How did you know I was sick?" 
 
 " Oh, I'm alius 'round," said Ben. "Know one of 
 them boys at the hotel, and he told me. I s'posed
 
 210 THE SEARCH. 
 
 you'd die, and I should of come to see yon mabby, 
 only I had to go off peddlin'. Bizness afore pleasure, 
 you know." 
 
 This remark seemed to imply that Frederic's dying 
 would have been a source of pleasure to the Yankee, 
 but the young man knew that he did intend it, and the 
 two walked on together Ben plying his companion 
 with questions, and learning that both Isabel and Mrs. 
 Huntington were now in New Haven, but would prob- 
 ably go to Riverside when Frederic returned from, 
 Kentucky. 
 
 " That's a grand place," said Ben ; " fixed up in tip- 
 top style, too. I took my sister out to see it, and she 
 thought 'twas pretty slick. Wouldn't wonder if you're 
 goin' to marry that black haired gal, by the looks of 
 things?" and Ben's gray eyes peered sideways at Fred- 
 eric, who replied, " I certainly have no such inten- 
 tions." 
 
 "You don't say it," returned Ben. "I shouldn't 
 of took the trouble to send for her it' I hadn't s'posed 
 you was kinder courtin'. My sister thought you was, and 
 she or'f.o know, bein' she's been through the mill !" 
 
 Frederic winced under Ben's pointed remarks, and 
 as a means of changing the conversation, said, " If I 
 a;n not mistaken, you spoke of your sister when in 
 Kentucky, and Alice became -quite interested. I've 
 heard her mention the girl several times. What is her 
 name ?" 
 
 " Do look at that hoss flat on the pavement. He's 
 a goner," Ben exclaimed, by way of gaining a little 
 time. 
 
 Frederic's attention was immediatly diverted from 
 Ben, who thought to himself, "I'll try him with half 
 the truth, and if he's any ways bright he'll guess the 
 rest " 
 
 So when, to use Ben's words, the noble quadruped 
 was "safely landed on t'other side of Jordan where 
 there wan't no omnibus drivers, no cars, no canal boats, 
 no cartinen, no gals to pound their backs into pum-
 
 THE SEAECH. 211 
 
 mice, no wimmen, nor ministers to yank their mouths, 
 nor nothin' but a lot as big as the United States with 
 the Missippi runnin' through it, and nothin' to do but 
 kick up their heels and eat clover," Ben came back to 
 Frederic's question, and said, " You as't my sister's 
 name. They tried hard to call her Mary Ann, I 
 s'pose.. My way of thinkin' 'taint neither one nof 
 t'other, though mabby you'll like it MARIAN ; 'taint a 
 common name. Did you ever hear it afore?" 
 
 "Marian !" gasped "Frederic, turning instantly pale, 
 while a strange, unden'nable feeling swept over him 
 a feeling hat he had never been so near finding her as 
 now. 
 
 " Excuse me, Square," said Ben, whose keen eyes 
 lost not a single change in the expression of Frederic's 
 face. " I'm such a blunderin' critter ! That little 
 blind gal told me your fust wife was Marian, and I 
 or'to known better than harrer your feelings with the 
 name." 
 
 "Never mind," returned Frederic, faintly, "but tell 
 me of your sister and now I think of it, you said once 
 you were from down east, which I supposed referred 
 to one of the New England states, Vermont perhaps ?" 
 
 " Did use to live in Massachusetts," replied Ben, " But 
 can't a feller move ?" 
 
 Frederic admitted that he could, and Ben continued, 
 " I or'to told you, I s'pose, that Marian ain't my own 
 flesh and blood she's adopted, that's all. But I love 
 her jest the same. Her name is Marian Grey," and 
 Ben looked earnestly at Frederic, thinking to himself, 
 " Won't he take the hint when he knows, or had or'to 
 know that her mother was a Grey." 
 
 But hints were lost on Frederic. He had no suspi 
 cion of the truth, and Ben proceeded, " All her kin is 
 dead, and as mother hadn't no daughter she took this 
 orphan, and I'm workin' hard to give her a good 
 Bchoolin'. She can play the planner like fury, and 
 talks the French grammar most as well as i do the 
 English !"
 
 212 THE SEARCH. 
 
 This brought a smile to Frederic's face, and he did 
 not for a moment think of doubting Ben's word. 
 
 "You seem very proud of yonr sister," he said, at 
 last, "and as I owe } T ou something for caring for me 
 and telegraphing to my friends, let me show my grat- 
 itude by giving you something for this Marian Grey. 
 What shall it be? Is she fond of jewelry? Most 
 young girls are." 
 
 Ben stuck his hands in his .trousers pocket and 
 seemed to be thinking ; then, removing his hands he 
 replied, " Mabby you'll think it sassy, but there is 
 Bomethin' that would plea&e us both. I told her about 
 you when I came from Kentucky, and she cried like a 
 baby over that blind gal. Then, when you was sick, 
 she felt worried agin, beg your pardon, Square, but I 
 told her you was han'some. Jest give us your picter, 
 if it ain't bigger than my thumb, and would it be ask- 
 ing too much for you when you git home to send me 
 the blind gal's. She's an angel, and I should feel so 
 good to have her face in my pocket. You can direct 
 to Ben Butterworth but law, you won't, I know you 
 won't." 
 
 " Why not?" asked Frederic, laughing at the novel 
 request. "Mine you shall surely have, and Alice's 
 also, if she consents. Come withme now, for we are op- 
 posite a daguerrean gallery." 
 
 The result of this was that in a short time Ben held 
 in his hand a correct likeness of Frederic, which was 
 of priceless value to him, because he knew how highly 
 it would be prized by her for whom alone he had re- 
 quested it. 
 
 As they passed out into the street again, Frederic 
 said to him. rather abruptly, " Do you know Sarah 
 Green ?" 
 
 "No," answed Ben, and Frederic continued, 
 
 "Do you know Mrs. Merton ?" 
 
 Ben started a little, and then repeating the name 
 replied, " Ain't acquainted with that name neither. 
 Who is she?"
 
 THE SEARCH. 213 
 
 "She took care of me," returned Frederic, "and I 
 would like to find her, and thank her for her kind 
 ness." 
 
 " I shouldn't s'pose she conld of took care of you 
 alone, eick as you was," said Ben, waiting eagerly for 
 the answer, which, had it been what he desired, might 
 lead to the unfolding of the mystery. 4 
 
 But Frederic shrank from making Ben his confidant. 
 " It was hard for her till Miss Huntington carne." 
 
 " Blast Miss Hnntington," thought Ben, now thor- 
 oughly satisfied that his companion did not care to dis- 
 cover Marian, or he would certainly say something 
 about her. 
 
 Both she and his mother were sure that he knew 
 she had been with him in his sickness, and if he really 
 wished to find her he would speak of her as well as of 
 Mrs. Merton. 
 
 ''But he don't," thought Ben. "He don't care a 
 straw for her, and she's right when she says she won't 
 run after him any more. He don't like Isabel none 
 too well, and I raally b'lieve the man is crazy." 
 
 This settled the matter satisfactorily with Ben, who 
 accompanied Frederic to the depot, waiting there until 
 the departure of the train. 
 
 " Give my regrets to that Josh, and the rest of the 
 niggers, and don't on no account forget the picter," 
 were his last words, as he quitted the car, and then 
 hurried home impatient to show Marian his surprise. 
 
 He found her sitting by the open window a listless, 
 dreamy look in her blue eyes, and a sad expression 
 upon her face, which said that her thoughts were far 
 away in the South-land, where Nature had decked her 
 beautiful home with all the glories of the merry month 
 of May and the first bright days of June. Roses were 
 blooming there now", she knew, and she thought of the 
 bush she had planted beneath the library window, 
 wondering if that were in bloom, and if its fragrance 
 ever reminded the dear ones of her. Did Alice twine 
 the buds amid her soft hair, just as 'she used to do,
 
 214: THE SEARCH. 
 
 and call them Marian's buds, saying they were sweeter 
 than all the rest ? 
 
 "Darling Alice," she murmured, "I shall never 
 see her again :" and her tears were dropping upon her 
 lap just as Ben came in, and began : 
 
 "Wall, wee one, I've seen the Square, and talked 
 with him of you." 
 
 " Oh, Ben, Ben !" and Marian's face was spotted 
 with her excitement " what made you ? "What did 
 he say ? and where is he ?" 
 
 " Gone home," answered Ben ; " but he had this 
 took on purpose for you ;" and he tossed the picture 
 into her lap. 
 
 " It ig it is Frederic. Oh, Mrs. Burt, it is," and 
 Marian's lip touched the glass, from which the face of 
 Frederic Raymond looked kindly out npon her. 
 
 It was thinner than when she used' to know it, but 
 fuller, stronger-looking than when it lay among the 
 tumbled pillows. The eyes, too, were hollow, and not 
 so bright, while it seemed to her that the rich brown 
 hair was not so thrifty as of old. But it was Frederic 
 still, her Frederic, and she pressed it again to her lips, 
 while her heart thrilled M'ith the joyful thought that he 
 remembered her, and had sent her this priceless token. 
 But why had'he gone home without her why had he 
 left her there alone if he really cared for finding her? 
 Slowly, as a cloud obscures a summer sky, a shadow 
 crept over her face a shadow of doubt of distrust. 
 There was something she had not heard, and with qui- 
 veriug lip she said to Ben, "What does it mean? 
 You have not told me why he sent it." 
 
 It was cruel to deceive her as he had done, and so 
 Ben thought when he saw the heaving of her chest, 
 the pressure of her hands, and more than all, the 
 whiteness of her face, as he told her why Frederic 
 sent to her that picture ; that it was not taken for 
 Marian Lindsey, but rather for Marian Grey, adopted 
 sister of Benjamin Butterworth. 
 
 " He does not wish to find me," said Marian when
 
 . THE SEARCH. 215 
 
 Ben had finished speaking. " We shall never be re- 
 conciled, and it is just as well, perhaps." 
 
 " I think so, too," rejoined Ben, " or at any rate I'd 
 let him rest a spell, and learn everything there is in 
 books for woman-kind to learn. You shall go to col- 
 lege, if you say so, and bimeby, when the old Nick 
 himself wouldn't know you, I'll get you a chance to 
 teach that blind gal, and he'll fall in love with his 
 own wife; see if he don't," and Ben stroked the curls 
 within his reach very caressingly, thinking to himself, 
 " I won't tell her now 'bout Alice's picter, 'cause it 
 may not come, but I'll cheer her up the best way that 
 I can. (She grows handsome every day of her life," 
 and as this, in Ben's estimation, was the one thing of 
 all others to be desired by Marian, .he could not for- 
 bear complimenting her aloud upon her rapid improve- 
 ment in looks. 
 
 "Thank you," she answered, smiling very faintly, 
 for to her, beauty or accomplishments were of little 
 avail it' in the end Frederic's love were not secured. 
 
 Anon, however, hope whispered to her that it might 
 be, and again she opened the daguerreotype, catching 
 a glow of encouragement from the eyes which looked 
 so kindly at her, as if they fain would tell her of the 
 weary days the original of that picture had spent in 
 searching for her, or how, even now, amid the noise 
 and dust of the crowded cars, he sat, wholly unmind- 
 ful of what was passing around, never looking at the 
 beautiful blue river without, or yet at the motley 
 passengers within, "tout with his hat drawn over his 
 eyes and his shawl across his lap, he thought of her 
 alone, except indeed occasionally when there would 
 intrude itself upon him the remembrance of the girl 
 with the brown vail, or a thought of Marian Grey I
 
 CHAPTER XYTEL 
 
 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 FREDERIC was coming home again "Harster Fred- 
 eric," who, as Dinfih said, " had been so near to king- 
 dom-come that he could hear the himes they sung on 
 Sundays." 
 
 Joyfully the blacks told to each other the glad news, 
 which was an incentive for them all to bestir them- 
 selves as they had not done before during the whole 
 period of their master's absence. Old Dinah, whose 
 mind turned naturally upon eatables, busied herself 
 in conjuring up some new and harmless relish for the 
 invalid, while Uncle Phil spent all the whole day in 
 rubbing down the horses and rubbing up the carriage 
 with which he intended meeting his master at Frank- 
 fort. Josh, too, caught the general spirit, and remem- 
 bering how much his master was wont to chide him 
 for his slovenly appearance, he cast rueful glances at 
 his sorry coat and red cowhides, wishing to goodness 
 he had some " clothes to honor the 'c&sion with." 
 
 " I m-m-might sh-sh-shine these up a little," he said, 
 examining his boots, and, purloining a tallow candle 
 from Hetty's cupboard, he set himself to the task, 
 succeeding BO well that he was almost certain of com- 
 mendation. 
 
 A coat of uncle Phil's was borrowed next, and 
 though it hung like a tent cloth -about Josh's lank pro- 
 portions, the effect was entirely satisfactory to the boy,
 
 HOME AGAIN. 217 
 
 who had a consciousness of having done all that could 
 reasonably be expected of him. 
 
 In the house Alice was not idle. From the earliest 
 dawn she had been up, for there was something on 
 her mind which kept her wakeful and restless. Fred- 
 eric's letters, which were read to her by the wife of 
 the overseer, who lived near by, had told her of the 
 blue-eyed girl who had been with him in his sickness, 
 and in one letter, written ere he had given up the 
 search, he had said, while referring to the girl: "Dar- 
 ling Alice, I am so glad you sent me here, for I hope 
 to bring you a great and joyful surprise." 
 
 Not the least mention did he make of Marian, but 
 Alice understood at once that he meant her. Marian 
 and the blue-eyed girl were the same, and he would 
 bring her back to them again. She was certain of it, 
 and though in his last letter, dated at Riverside, and 
 apprising them of his intended return, he had not 
 alluded to the subject, it made no difference with her. 
 He wished really to surprise her, she thought, and 
 seeking out Dinah, she said to her, rather cautiously, 
 for she would let no one into her secret : 
 
 " Supposing Frederic had never been married to 
 Marian, but had gone now after a bride I don't mean 
 Isabel," she said, as she felt the defiant expression of 
 Dinah's face " but somebody else somebody real 
 nice. Supposing, I say, he was going to bring her 
 home, which room do you think he would wish her to 
 have ?" 
 
 " The best chamber, in course," answered Dinah 
 " the one whar the 'hogany bedstead and silk quilt is. 
 You wouldn't go to pattin' Marster Frederic's wife 
 off with poor truck, I hope. But what made you ask 
 that question ? What have you hearn ?" 
 
 "Nothing iu particular," answered Alice, "only it 
 would bo nice if he should bring somebody with him, 
 and I want to fix the room just as though I knew he 
 would. May Lid sweep and dust it for me?" 
 
 For a moment Dinah looked at her as if she thought 
 10
 
 218 HOME AGAIW. 
 
 her crazy. Then thinking to herself, " it'll 'muse her 
 a spell any way, and I may as well humor her whim," 
 she replied. " Sakes alive, yes, and I'll ar the bed. 
 Thar haint nobody slep' in't sence Marian run away, 
 'cept Miss Agnes one night and that trollop, Isabel, 
 who consulted me by sayin' how't they done clarm- 
 bered onto a table afore they could get inter bed, 'twas 
 so high. Ain't used to feathers wliar she was raised, 
 I reckon, and if you'll b'lieve it, she said how't she 
 allus slep' on har afore she come here ! Pretty stuff 
 that must be to He on ; but Lord, them Yankees is 
 mostly as poor as poverty, and don't know no djffer." 
 
 Having relieved herself of this speech, which invol- 
 ved both her opinion of Yankees in general and Isabel 
 in particular, the old lady proceeded to business, first 
 arin 1 the bed, as she said, and then making it higher, 
 if possible, than it was made on the night when Isa- 
 bel so injured her feelings by laughing at its hight. 
 Lid's services were next brought into requisition ; and 
 when the chamber was swept and dusted, the arrange- 
 in ent of the furniture was left entirely to Alice, who 
 felt that what she did was right, and wished so much 
 that she could see just how Marian's fa.orite chair 
 looked standing by the window, from which the gor- 
 geous sunsets Marian so much admired could be 
 plainly seen. Just opposite, and on the other side of 
 the window, Frederic's easy chair was placed the one 
 in which he always sat when tired, and where Alice 
 fancied he would now delight to sit with Marian, so 
 near that he could look into her eyes and tell her that 
 he was gla<l to have her there. He was beginning to 
 love her Alice knew by the tone of his letters ; and 
 her heart thrilled with joy as she thought of the happi- 
 ness in store for them all. She would not be lonely 
 now in her own pleasant chamber, for it was so near to 
 Marian's. She could leave the doors open between, 
 and that would be so much nicer than having black 
 Ellen sleeping on the floor. 
 
 Dear little Alice 1 SJie built bright castles in the air
 
 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 that summer day, and they were as real to her as if 
 Frederic had written, " Marian is found, and coming 
 home with me." % 
 
 " She loved a great many flowers around her," she 
 said, and groping her way down the stairs and out 
 into the yard, she gathered from the tree beneath the 
 library window a profusion of buds and half opened 
 roses, which she arranged into bouquets, and placed in 
 vases for Marian, just as Marian had gathered flowers 
 for her from the garden far away on the river. 
 
 It was done at last ; and very inviting th t pleasant, 
 airy apartment looked with its handsome furniture, its 
 bright carpet and muslin curtains of snowy white, 
 to say nothing of the towering bed. There were flow- 
 ers on the mantle, flowers on the table, flowers in the 
 window, flowers everywhere, and their sweet perfume 
 filled the air with a delicious fragrance which Dinah 
 declared was "aheap sight better than that scent 
 Miss Isabel used to put on her hankercher and fan. 
 Ugh, that fan !" and Dinah's nose was elevated at the 
 very thought of Isabel's sandal-wood fan which had 
 been her special abhorrence. 
 
 "Isn't it most time for Uncle Phil to start?" asked 
 Alice, when Dinah had finished fixing the room. 
 
 " Yes, high time," answered Dinah, "but Phil is so 
 slow. I'll'jest hurry him up,'' and followed by Alice 
 she descended the stairs, meeting in the lower hall with 
 Lyd, who held in her hand a brown envelope, which 
 she passed to Alice, saying " One dem letters what 
 come like lightnin' on the telegraph. A boy done 
 brung it." 
 
 " A telegram," cried Alice, feeling at first alarmed. 
 " Go for Mrs. Warren to read it." 
 
 But the overseer's wife was absent, as was also her 
 husband, and neither the blacks nor Alice knew what 
 to do. 
 
 " There isn't more than a line and a half," said Alice, 
 passing her finger over the paper and feeling the thick 
 sand which had been sifted upon it. " I presume
 
 220 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 something has detained Frederic, and he has sent 
 word that he will not be here to-day." 
 
 " Let me see -dat ar," said Phil, who liked to impress 
 his companions with a sense of his superior wisdom, 
 and, adjusting his iron-bowed specs, he took the letter, 
 which in reality was Greek to him. 
 
 After an immense amount of wry faces and loud 
 whispering he said : 
 
 " Yes, honey, you're correct, though Marster Fred- 
 eric has sich an onery hand-write that it takes me a 
 a heap of time to make it out. It reads, 'Some- 
 thin' has detained Frederic, and he has sent word 
 that he'll be here to-morry.' " And, with the utmost 
 gravity, Phil took off his specs, and was walking away 
 with the air of one who has done something his com- 
 panions could never hope to do, when Hetty called 
 out : 
 
 " Wonder if he 'spects us to swaller dat ar, and 
 think he kin read, when he jest done said over what 
 Miss Alice say. Can't fool dis chile." 
 
 This insinuation Uncle Phil felt constrained to 
 answer, and with an injured air he replied : 
 
 " Kin read, too, for don't you mind liow't Miss Alice 
 say. ' Won't be here to day,' and it's writ on the 
 paper, ' Comin' to-morry.' " And, fully satisfied that 
 he had convinced his audience, Uncle Phil hastened 
 off, ere Hetty had time for further argument'. So cer- 
 tain was Phil that Alice's surmises were correct and 
 the telegram interpreted aright, and so anxious withal 
 to prove himself sure, that he would not go to Frank- 
 fort, as he proposed doing. 
 
 " There was no use on't," he said. " Marster 
 wouldn't be thar till to-morry," and he whiled away 
 the afternoon at leisure. 
 
 But alas for Uncle Phil. Mrs. Warren had made a 
 mistake in Frederic's last letter, the young man writing 
 he should be home on theloth, whereas she had read 
 it the iTth; afterward, Frederic had decided to leave 
 Riverside one day earlier, and he telegraphed from
 
 HOME AGAIN. 221 
 
 Cincinnati for Phil to meet him. Finding neither 
 carriage nor servant in waiting, lie hired a conveyance, 
 and about fonr o'clock P. M. from every cabin door 
 tli ere came the joyful cry 
 
 " Marster Frederic has come." 
 
 "Told you so," said Hetty, with an exultant glance 
 at Uncle Phil, who wisely made no reply, but hast- 
 ened with the rest to tell his master, " How d've ?" 
 
 " How is it that some one did not meet me?" Fred- 
 eric asked, after the first noisy outbreak had somewhat 
 subsided. " Didn't you get the despatch ?" 
 
 The negroes looked at Phil, who stammered out 
 
 " Yes, we done got it, but dem ole iron specs of 
 mine is mighty nigh wore out can't see in 'em at all, 
 and I road * to-morry' instead of ' to-day.' ' : 
 
 The loud shout which followed this excuse enlight- 
 ened Frederic as to the true state of the case, and lie, 
 too, joined in. the laugh, telling the crest-fallen Phil 
 that " he should turely have a new pair of silver specs 
 which would read ' to-day' instead of ' to-morry.' ' : 
 
 "But where is Alice ?" he continued. " Why don't 
 she come to greet me ?" 
 
 "Sure 'nough," returned Dinah. " "Wh-ar can she 
 be, when she was so tierce to have yon come ? Reck- 
 on she's up in the best charinber she's been fixin' up 
 for soinethin', she wouldn't tell what." 
 
 "I'll go and see," said Frederic, starting in quest 
 of the little girl, who, as Dinah had conjectured, was 
 in the front chamber the one prepared with so much 
 care tor Marian. 
 
 She had been sitting by the window when she 
 heard the sound of wheels coining up the avenue. 
 Then the joyful cry of " Marster's comin'," carne to 
 her quick ear, and, starting up, she bent her head to 
 listen for another voice a voice she had not heard for 
 many a weary month. But she listened in vain, for 
 Marian was not there. Gradually she became con- 
 vinced of the fact, and, laying her face on the window- 
 sill, she was weeping bitterly wheu Frederic caine in.
 
 222 HOME AGAIN". 
 
 Pausing for a moment in the door, he glanced aroui di 
 first at the well remembered chair; tiien at the books 
 upon the table, then at the flowers, and then he knew 
 why all this liad been done. 
 
 "I would that it might have been so," he thought, 
 and going to the weeping Alice he lifted up her head 
 and pushing her hair from her forehead, whispered to 
 her soltly, " Darling, was it for Marian you gathered 
 all these flowers ?" 
 
 " Yes, Frederic, for Marian," and Alice sobbed 
 aloud. 
 
 Taking her in his lap, Frederic replied, " Did you 
 think I would bring her home ?" 
 
 " Yes, I thought you had found her, and I was so 
 glad. What made you write me that?" 
 
 "Alice I did find her," returned Frederic ; " I have 
 seen her, I have talked with her. Marian is alive." 
 
 At these words, so decidedly spoken, the blind eyes 
 flashed up into Frederic's face eagerly, wistfully, as if 
 they fain would burst their vail of darkness and see if 
 he told her truly. 
 
 "Is it true ? Oh, Frederic, you are not deceiving 
 me ? I can't bear any more disappointment," and 
 Alice's face and lips were as white as ashes, as she 
 proceeded further to question Frederic, who told her 
 of the blue-eyed girl wiio, just as he was treading the 
 brink of the river of death, had come to him and called 
 him back to life by her kind acts and words of love. 
 
 "She had a sweet, childish face," said he, "fairer, 
 sweeter than Marian's when she went away but Ma- 
 rian must have changed; for I knew that this was 
 she." 
 
 Then he told her of her sudden disappearance when 
 Isabel came of his .fruitless eflbrts to find her, and 
 how while searching for her, he had met another girl, 
 whose hands reminded him of those which he Lad felt 
 BO many times upon his brow. 
 
 " Wasn't that Marian?" said Alice, who had forgot- 
 ten her grief in listening.
 
 HOME AGAIN. 223 
 
 There was a mournful pathos in the tone of his 
 voice, and it emboldened Alice to ask another ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " Frederic," she began, and her little hand played 
 with his hair, as it always did when she was uncertain 
 as to how her remarks would be received, "Frederic, 
 ain't you loving Marian a heap more than you did 
 when she went away ?" 
 
 Frederic did not hesitate a moment ere replying, 
 " Yea, darling, I am, for that young girl crept away 
 down into my heart where Marian ought to have been, 
 before I asked her to be rny wife ; and I shall find her 
 too. I only stopped long enough to come home for 
 you. The house is ready at Pdverside, and your room 
 is charming." 
 
 " Will Isabel be there?" was Alice's next inquiry, 
 and Frederic answered by telling her all he knew of 
 the matter. 
 
 He did not say he was beginning to understand her 
 and consequently to like her less, but Alice inferred as 
 much, and with this fear removed from her mind, she 
 could endure patiently to become again a pupil of Miss 
 Hunfrington. For a long time they talked together, 
 wondering who wrote the letler purporting to have 
 come from Sarah Green, and why it had been written. 
 Then Frederic told her of the peddler Ben, and of his 
 sister, Marian Grey, who, at that moment, had his 
 daguerreotype in her keeping. Of Marian Grey Alice 
 did not say to him "She is our Marian," for she had 
 not such a thought, but she seemed interested both in 
 her and in Ben, and when told that the latter had asked 
 for her picture she consented at once, saying he should 
 have it as soon as they were settled at Riverside. 
 
 "I would not tell any one that Marian was with me," 
 said Frederic, as their conversation drew to a close; 
 ' I had rather the subject should not be discussed until 
 I really find her and bring her home ; then we will set 
 apart a day of general thanksgiving." 
 
 To this suggestion Alice readily assented, and as the
 
 224 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 supper bell just then rang, and tlie two went together 
 to the delicious repast, which Dinah had prepared 
 with unusual care, insisting the while that " thar was 
 nothin' fit for nobody to eat." 
 
 Frederic, however, whose appetite was increasing 
 each day, convinced her to the contrary, and while 
 watching him as he did justice to her viands, the old 
 negress thought to herself, " 'Clar for't, how he does 
 eat. I should know he come from Yankee land. You 
 can allus tell 'em, the way they crams, when they get 
 whar thar is somethin'." 
 
 The news of Frederic's return spread rapidly, and 
 that night he received calls from several of his neigh- 
 bors, together with an invitation to Agnes Gibson's 
 weddfng, which was to take place in a few days. In 
 the invitation Alice \vas included, and though Dinah 
 demurred, saying that " trundle-bed truck or'to stay at 
 home," Alice ventured to differ from her, and at the 
 appointed time went with Frederic to the party, which 
 was splendid in all its parts, having been got up with 
 a direct reference to the newspaper articles which were 
 sure to be published concerning it. Agnes, of course, 
 was charming in white satin, point lace, orange flow- 
 ers, flowing vail, and all other et ceteras which com- 
 plete the dress of a fashonable j>ride. And the bride- 
 groom poor old man looked very well in his new 
 suit of broadcloth, even if his knees did shake not 
 from. fear, however, but as one of the guests remarked, 
 " Because it was a way they'd had for several years !' 
 The top of his head was bald, it is true, and his hair' 
 as white as snow, but for every silver thread Agnes 
 knew there was a golden eagle in his purse, and this 
 consoled her somewhat, though it did not prevent her 
 from watching jealously to see if any one was talking 
 of the palsied man, her husband. Her expected present 
 from Isabel had never come, and the three fiah knives, 
 ranged in a row, looked as if two of them, at least, 
 were rather more ornamental than useful, as did also 
 the four card baskets, and three gold thimbles, which
 
 HOME AGAIN 1 . 225 
 
 occupied a conspicuous piece. To Frederic, Agnes 
 was especially gracious, asking him numberless ques- 
 tions concerning her " dear friend," and saying "she 
 hoped to meet her in her travels, as they were going 
 North and were intending to spend the Summer at 
 Saratoga, Newport, and Nahant. I thought once you 
 would be taking your bridal tour about this time," she 
 said to him, when several were standing near. 
 
 " I assure you I had no such idea," was Frederic's 
 reply, and Agnes continued, "^Indeed I supposed you 
 were engaged, of course." 
 
 " Then you supposed wrong," he answered, glad of 
 this public opportunity to contradict a story he knew 
 had gained a wide circulation. " I esteem Miss Hunt- 
 ington as a friend and distant relative, but I certainly 
 have no intention whatever of marking her my wife." 
 
 Frequently, during the evening, he was asked if he 
 had found any clue to Sarah Green or her letter; and " 
 as lie could in all sincerity reply in the negative, no 
 one guessed that instead of Sarah Green he had found 
 his wife only, however to lose her again. 
 
 " But he would find her," he said to himself, and as 
 he looked at the ill-matched bride and groom, he could 
 not forebear wishing that it were himself and l^arian. 
 He would stay by her now, he thought, and when it 
 grew dark in the parlor instead of suffering her to go 
 away alone and read the fatal letter, he would draw 
 her to his side, and telling her of its contents, would 
 sue for her forgiveness, and offer to her love in return 
 for the fraud imposed upon her. 
 
 It was a pleasant picture Frederic drew that night 
 of what his bridal might have been, and so absorbed 
 was he in it that when, as they were going home, Alice 
 with a yawn said to him, " Wasn't it so tiresome hear- 
 ing those young folks say such foolish things to each 
 other, and hear:ng the old ones talk about their ser- 
 vants?" he replied, "why no, child, I spent a most de- 
 lightful evening." 
 
 "I don't see how you could," was the drowsy 
 10*
 
 226 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 answer, and in a moment more Alice lay upon the car- 
 riage cushions fast asleep ! 
 
 It was nearly three weeks after this party ere Fred- 
 eric's arrangements for leaving Kentucky were entirely 
 completed, and it was not until the latter part of July 
 that he finally started for his new home. The lament- 
 ations of the negroes were noisy in the extreme, 
 though far more moderate than they would have been 
 if their master had not said that it was very proba"ble he 
 should return in the Autumn, and merely make River- 
 side a Summer residence. If he found Marian he 
 should come back, of course, he thought, but he did 
 not deem it best to raise hopes which might never be 
 realized, so he said nothing -of her to the blacks who 
 supposed of course she was dead. 
 
 The parting betwee/i Dinah and Alice was a bitter 
 one, the former hugging the little girl to her bosom 
 and wondering how k% Marster Frederic 'spected a child 
 what had never waited on itself even to fotch a drop 
 of water, could get aloni: way off dar whar thar warn't 
 nary nigger nor nothin' but a pack o' low flung Irish. 
 Order 'eiu 'round," she said to Alice, wiping her eyes 
 with her checked apron, u order 'em round jist like 
 they warn't white. Make 'em think you be somebody. 
 Say your pra'rs evey night war your white cambric 
 wrappers in the mornin', and don't on no count catch 
 any poor folksy's rnarners 'mong them Yankees for I 
 shouldn't get my nateral sleep o' nights, till you got 
 shet of 'em, and " lowering her voice, " if so be that 
 you tell any of the quality ? bout us blacks, s'posin you 
 you kinder set me 'bove Hetty and them Higginses, 
 bein' that I the same as nussed von." 
 
 To nearly all these requirements Alice promised 
 compliance, and then, as tiie carriage was waiting, sho 
 followed Frederic down to the gare, and soon both 
 were lost to tiie sight of the tearful group which from 
 the piazza of Redstone Hall, gazed wistfully after 
 them. 
 
 It was at the close of a sultry Summer day when
 
 HOME AGAIN. 227 
 
 the travelers reached Riverside, where thev found Mrs 
 Huntington waiting to receive them. Frederic had 
 written, apprising her oi the time when he should 
 probably arrive, and asking her to be there if possible. 
 Something, too, he had said of Isabel, but that young 
 lady was not in the most amiable mood, and as she 
 was comfortably domesticated with another distant 
 relative, she declined going to Frederic until he came 
 to some understanding, or at least manifested a greater 
 desire to have her with him than his recent letters in- 
 dicated. Accordingly her mother went alone, and 
 Frederic was not sorry, while Alice was delighted. 
 Everything seemed so bright and airy, she said, just as 
 though a load were taken from them, and like a bird 
 she flitted about the house, for she needed to pass 
 through a room but once ere she*was familiar with its 
 location, and could find it easily. With her own cozy 
 chamber she was especially pleased, and in less than 
 half an hour her little hands had examined every ar- 
 ticle of furniture, even to the vases which held the 
 withered blossoms gathered so long ago. 
 
 ''Somebody must have put these here for me," she 
 said, and then her mind went back to the morning 
 when she, too, had gathered flowers for her expected 
 friend, and she wondered much who had done a simi- 
 lar service tor her. 
 
 '"It's me," returned Mrs. Russell, who was still stay- 
 ing at Riverside. " Now I wonder if you found them 
 dried-up things so soon," she continued, advancing in- 
 to room. " I should of hove them out, only that the girl 
 who tixed 'em made me promise to leave 'em till yon 
 came. 'Fears like she b'lieyed you'd think more on 
 'em for knowin' that she picked 'em." 
 
 " Girl ! Mrs. Russell . What girl ?" and Alice's eyes 
 lighted up, for she thought at once of Marian, who 
 would know of course ahput the house, and as she would 
 naturally wish to see it, she had come some day and 
 left these flowers, which would be so dear to her if she
 
 228 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 found her suspicions correct. u Who was the girl ?" 
 she asked again, and Mrs. Russell replied : 
 
 " I don't remember her name, but she went all over 
 the house, fixing things in Mr. Raymond's room, which 
 I didn't think was very marnerly, bein' that 'twaVt 
 none o' hern. Then she come in here and set ever so 
 long before she picked these posys, which she told me 
 not to throw away." 
 
 "Yes, it was Marian," came involuntarily from 
 Alice's lips, while the woman, catching at the name 
 rejoined : 
 
 " That sounds like what he called her that tall 
 spooky chap, her brother Ben something. She said 
 he had seen you at the South." 
 
 " Oh, Ben Butterworth. It was his adopted sister ;" 
 and Alice turned away, feeling greatly disappointed 
 that Marian Grey, and not Marian Lindsey, had arran- 
 ged those flowers for her. 
 
 This allusion to Ben reminded Alice of his request 
 for her picture, and one morning, when Frederic was 
 going to New York, she asked to go with him and sit 
 for her daguerreotype. There was no reason why she 
 should not, and in an hour or two, she was listening, 
 half stunned, to the noise and uproar of the city. 
 
 " Oh, Frederic," she cried, holding fast to his hand, 
 as they made their way up town " oh, Frederic, I 
 won.de r Marian didn't get crazy and die. I'm sure I 
 should. I'm almost distracted now. Where are all 
 those people and carts going that I hear running by us 
 so fast, and what makes them keep pushing me so hard. 
 Oh, dear, I wish I hadn't come!" and as some one just 
 then jostletl her more rudely than usual, Alice began 
 to cry. 
 
 " Never mind," said Freredric soothingly, " we aro 
 almost there, and we will take a carriage back. Folks 
 can't push you then ;" and in stooping down to comfort 
 the little girl, he failed to see the graceful figure pass- 
 ing so near him that the hem of her dress fluttered 
 against his boot
 
 HOME AGAIN. 229 
 
 They had come upon each other so suddenly that 
 there was not time for the brown vail to be dropped, 
 neither was it needful, for so absorbed was Frederic 
 with his charge that he neither knew nor dreamed how 
 near to Marian Lindsty he had been. 
 
 Alice's tears being dried, they kept on their way, 
 and when the picture was taken, Frederic did it up 
 tind directing it to Ben Butterworth, sent it to the of- 
 lice, then calling a carriage, he took Alice, as he had 
 promised, all over the great city. And Alice enjoyed 
 it very much, laying back on the soft cushions, and 
 knowing that no one could touch her of all the noisy 
 throng she heard so distinctly, but could not see. It 
 was a day long talked of by the blind girl, and she 
 asked Mrs. Huntington to write a description of it to 
 the negroes, who she knew fancied that Louisville was 
 the largest city in the world. 
 
 Not long after this, something which Mrs. Hunting- 
 ton said about her daughter determined Frederic to 
 visit her and make the explanation \vhich he felt it his 
 duty to make, for he knew he had given her some rea- 
 son to think he intended asking her to be his wife He 
 accordingly feigned some excuse for going to New Ha- 
 ven, and one morning found himself at the door where 
 Isabel was stopping. 
 
 " Give her this," he said, handing his card to the ser- 
 vant \vho carried it at once to the delighted young lady. 
 
 " Frederic Raymond," read Isabel. " Oh, yes. Tell 
 him IM be down in a moment," and she proceeded to 
 arrange her hair a little more becomingly, and made 
 several changes in her dress, so that the one minute 
 was nearly fif. een ere she started for the parlor, where 
 Frederic was rather dreading her coming, lor he scarce- 
 ly knew what he wished to say. 
 
 Half timidly she greeted him as a bashful maiden is 
 supposed to meet her lover, and seating herself at a 
 respectful distance from him, she asked numberless 
 questions concerning his health, her numberless friends
 
 230 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 in Kentucky, her mother, and dear little Alice, \vho, 
 Bhe presumed, did not miss her much. 
 
 " Your mother's presence reminds us of you very of- 
 ten, of course," returned Frederic, " but you know we 
 can get accustomed to almost anything, aiid Alice 
 seems very happy." 
 
 " Yes," sighed Isabel. " Yon will all forget me, I 
 suppose, even to mother but for me I have not been 
 quite contented since I left Kentucky. I thought it 
 tiresome to teach, and perhaps was sometimes impa- 
 tient and unreasonable, but I have often wished myself 
 back again. I don't seem to be living for anything 
 now," and Isabel's black eyes studied the pattern of 
 the carpet quite industriously. 
 
 This long speech called for a reply, and Frederic 
 said, " You would not care to come back again, would 
 you 2" 
 
 " Why, yes," returned Isabel; "I would rather do 
 that than nothing." 
 
 For a time there was silence, while Frederic fidgeted 
 in his chair and Isabel fidgeted in hers, until at last the 
 former said : 
 
 "I owe you an explanation, Isabel, and I have come 
 to make it. Do you remember our conversation in the 
 parlor, and to what it was apparently tending, when 
 Ve were interrupted by Alice ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Isabel, " and I have thought of it so 
 often, wondering if you were in earnest, or if you were 
 merely trifling with my feelings." 
 
 " I certainly had no intention of trifling with yon," 
 returned Frederic : " neither do I know as I was really 
 in earnest. At all events it is fortunate for us both 
 that Alice came in as she did ;" and having said so 
 much, Frederic could now look calmly upon a face 
 which changed from a serene Summer sky to a dark, 
 lightning-laden thunder-cloud as he told her the story 
 he had came to tell. 
 
 In her terrible disappointment, Isabel so far forgot 
 herself as to lose her temper entirely, and Frederic,
 
 HOME AGAIN. 231 
 
 i 
 
 while listening to her as she raited at him for what she 
 called his perfidy, wondered how he ever could have 
 thought her womanly or good. 
 
 " It was false that Marian was living, and had taken 
 care of him when feick," she s"aid. " He could not im- 
 pose that story upon her, and he only wished to do it 
 because he fancied that he was in some way pledged 
 to her and wished for an excuse, but he .might have 
 saved himself the trouble, for even had Alice not ap 
 peared she should have told him No. She liked him 
 once, she would admit, but there was nothing like liv- 
 ing beneath the same roof to make one person tire 01 
 another, and even if she were not disgusted with him 
 before, she should have become so while taking care 
 of him in New York, and so she wrote to Agnes Gib- 
 son, wiio, she heard, had spread the news that she was 
 engaged, though she had no authority for doing so, but 
 it was just like the tattling mischief-maker 1" 
 
 "Are you through?" Frederic coolly asked, when 
 she had finished speaking. " If you are I will consider 
 our interview at an end. 
 
 Isabel did not reply and he arose to go, saying to 
 her as he reached the door, " I did not come here to 
 quarrel with you, Bell, I wish still to be your friend, 
 and if you are ever in trouble come to me as to a bro- 
 ther. .Marian will, I trust, be with me then ; but she 
 will be kind to you, for 'tis her nature." 
 
 ' Plague on that Marian," was Isabel's unlady-like 
 thought as the door closed after Frederic. "I wonder 
 how many times she's coming to life 1 How I wanted 
 to charge him with his meanness in marrying her for- 
 tune, but as that is a secret between the two, he would 
 have suspected me of treachery. The villain 1 I be- 
 lieve I hate him and only to think how those folks in 
 Kentucky will laugh. But it's all Agnes' doings. 
 IShe inveigled more out of me than there was to tell, 
 and then repeated it to suit herself. The jade! I 
 hope she's happy with that old man" and at this 
 point Isabel broke down in a flood of tears, in the
 
 232 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 midst of which the door bell rang again, and hurrying 
 up the stairs site listened to the names, which this time 
 were "Mr. and Mrs. Rivers," (Agnes and her husband) 
 and they asked for her. 
 
 Drying her tears, and bathing her eyes until the 
 redness was gone, Isabel went down to meet the " tat- 
 tling mischief-maker," embracing her very affection- 
 ately, and telling her how delighted she was to see her 
 again, and how well she was looking. 
 
 " Then why do you not embark on the sea of matri- 
 mony yourself, if you think it such a beautifier," said 
 Agnes. 
 
 " Me ?" returned Isabel, with a toss of her head ; " I 
 thought I wrote you that I had given up that foolish 
 fancy." 
 
 "indeed, so you did," said Agnes, " but I had for- 
 gotten it, and when I saw Mr. Raymond at the Ton- 
 tine, where we are stopping, I supposed of course he 
 had come to see you, and I said to Mr. Rivers it really 
 was too bad, for from what he said at our wedding I 
 fancied there was nothing in it, and had made up my 
 mind to take you with us to Florida, as I once talked 
 of doing. Husband's sister wants a teacher for her 
 children, don't shr , dear ?" 
 
 Mr. Rivers was about to answer in the affirmative, 
 but ere he could speak Isabel chimed in, " Oh, you 
 kind, thoughtful soul. Let me go with you now ; do. 
 Nothing could please me more. I have missed your 
 society so much, and am so unhappy here !" and in 
 the black eyes there was certainly a tear, which in- 
 stantly touched the heart of the sympathetic old man 
 who anticipated his wife's reply, l>y saying, " Certainly 
 you shail go, if you like. You'll be company for Mrs. 
 Rivers, and if I am in my dotage, as some say, I've 
 sense enough to know that she can't be contented all 
 the time with her grandfather.- Eh, Aggie?" and 
 chucked his bride under the chin. 
 
 " Disgusting 1" thought Isabel. 
 
 " Old fool 1" thought Agnes, who was really rather
 
 HOME AGAIN. 233 
 
 pleased with the idea of having Isabel go with her to 
 her new home, for though she did not love her dear 
 friend, she rather enjoyed her company, and she felt 
 that anybody was acceptable who would stand as a 
 third person between herself and the grandfather she 
 had chosen. 
 
 The more she thought of the plan the better she wa8 
 pleased with it, and before parting the whole was ami- 
 cably adjusted. Early in October, Isabel was to join 
 her friend in Kentucky, and go with her from thence 
 to Florida, where she was either to remain with Mrs. 
 Kivers, or to teach in the family of Mrs. McGregor, 
 Mr. Rivers' sister. The former was what Isabel in- 
 tended to do, for she thoroughly disliked teaching, 
 and if she could live without it, she would. Still she 
 did not so express herself to her visitors, and she ap- 
 peared so gracious and so grateful withal, that, the 
 heart of the bridegroom was wholly won, and after his 
 return to their hotel, he extolled her so highly that 
 Agnes began to pout, a circumstance which pleased 
 her fatherly spouse, inasmuch as it augured more 
 affection for himself than he had supposed her to ^pos- 
 sess. 
 
 The story of Isabel's intended trip to Florida was 
 not long in reaching Rnpolph McVicar, who had been 
 wondering why something didn't occur, and if he were 
 really to be disappointed after all. 
 
 " 1 wasted that paper and ink for nothing," was his 
 mental comment when he heard from her own lips that 
 Isabul was going ; for, presuming upon his former ac- 
 quaintance, he finally ventured to call upon her, 
 demeaning himself so well that, like her mother, Isabel 
 began to think he had reformed. 
 
 btill there was an expression in his eye which sho 
 did not like, and when at last lie left her, she expe- 
 rienced a feeling of relief, as if a spell had been 
 removed. After her recent interview with Frederic 
 she would not go to his house, so her mother went to 
 New Haven, staying with her daughter a week and
 
 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 / 
 
 then returning to Riverside, while Isabel started for 
 Kentucky, where, as she had expected, she met with 
 Mr. and Mrs. Rivers, and was soon on her way to 
 Florida. 
 
 When sure that Isabel was gone, and that Sarah 
 Green's letter had indeed been written in vain, Ru- 
 dolph, who cared nothing now whether Marian were 
 ever discovered to her husband or not, went to New 
 York and embarked on a whaling voyage, as he had 
 long thought of doing, fancying that the roving life of 
 a seaman would suit his restless nature. 
 
 And now, with Rudolph on the sea, with Isabel in 
 Florida, with Marian at school, and Frederic at River- 
 side, we draw a vail over the different characters of 
 our story, nor lift it again until three years have passed 
 away, bringing changes to all, but to none a greater 
 change than to the so-called Marian Grey.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE GOVEBNESS. 
 
 IT was a bright September afternoon, and the dense 
 foliage of the trees looked as fresh and green as when 
 watered by the Summer showers, save here and there 
 a faded leaf came rustling to the ground, whispering 
 to those at whose feet it fell of the Winter which was 
 hastening on, and whose breath even now was on the 
 northern seas. Softly the Autumnal sunlight fell upon 
 the earth, and the birds sang as gayly in the trees as 
 if there were no hearts bereaved no small, low rooms 
 where all was darkness and gloom no humble pro- 
 cession winding slowly through the crowded streets 
 and out into the country, where, in a new-made grave, 
 a mother's love was buried, while the mourners, two 
 in number, a young man and a girl, held each other's 
 hand in token that. they were bound together by a 
 common sorrow. Not a word was said by either ; and 
 when the solemn burial rite was over, they returned 
 as silently to the carriage, then were driven back to 
 their desolate home the tenement where Frederic 
 Raymond had watched the curtained window and the 
 geranium growing there. 
 
 For many dnys that window had been darkened, 
 just as it was when Marian Grey lay there with the 
 fever in her veins ; but^it was open now, and the west 
 wind came stealing in, purifying the room from the 
 faint sickening smell of coffins and of death, for the 
 Destroyer had been there. And when the mourners
 
 236 THE GOVERNESS. 
 
 came back from the grave in the country, one threw 
 himself upon the lounge, and burying his face in the 
 cushions, sobbed aloud : 
 
 " Oh, Marian, it's terrible to be an orphan and have 
 no mother." . 
 
 " Yes, Ben, 'tis terrible," and Marian's tears drop- 
 ped on the hair of the honest-hearted Ben. 
 
 Up to this hour he had restrained his grief, but now 
 that he was alone with Marian, he wept on until the 
 sun went down and the night shadows were creeping 
 into the room. Then lifting up his head, he said, " It 
 is so dark so dismal now and the hardest of all is 
 the givin' up our dear old home where mother lived 
 so long, and the thinkin' maybe you'll forget me when 
 you live with that grand lady." 
 
 " Forget you ! Oh, Ben, I never can forget how 
 much you have done for me, denying yourself every- 
 thing for my sake," said Marian, while Ben continued, 
 " Nor won't you be ashamed of me neither, if I should 
 come sometimes to see you ? I should die if I could 
 not once in a while look into your eyes ; and you'll let 
 me come, won't you, Marian ?" 
 
 " Of course I will," she replied, continuing after a 
 moment, " It is not certain yet that I go to Mrs. Shel- 
 don's. I have not answered her last letter because 
 You know what we talked about before your mother 
 died !" 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know," returned Ben, " but I had for- 
 got it my heart was so full other things. I'll go out 
 there to-morrow. I'd rather you should teach at 
 Kverside, even if you'd never heard of Frederic, than 
 go to that grand lady, who might think, because you 
 was a governess, that you wan't fit to live in the same 
 house. 
 
 "I have no fears of that," said Marian. "Mrs. 
 Harcourt says she is an estimable woman ; but still, I 
 too, would rather go to Riverside, if I were sure Fred- 
 eric would not know me. Do you think there is any 
 danger ?"
 
 THE GOVERNESS. 237 
 
 " JsTo," was Ben's decided answer, and in this opin- 
 ion Marian herself concurred, for she knew that she 
 had changed so much that none who saw her when 
 first she came to Mrs. Bart's would recognize her now. 
 
 About, three months before the night of which we 
 are writing, she had been graduated at Mrs. Harcourt's 
 school with every possible honor, both as a musician 
 and a scholar. There had never been her equal there 
 before, Mrs. Harcourt said, and when her friend, Mrs, 
 Sheldon, who lived in Springfield Mass , applied to her 
 for a family pupil, she warmly recommended her fa- 
 vorite pupil, Marian Grey, frankly stating, however, 
 that she was of humble origin that her adopted mo- 
 ther or aunt was a poor sewing woman, and her 
 adopted brother a peddler. This, however, made no 
 difference with Mrs. Sheldon, and several letters had 
 passed between herself and Marian, who would have 
 accepted the liberal offer at once, but for a lingering 
 hope that Ben would carry out his favorite plan, and 
 procure her a situation as teacher at Riverside. She had 
 forgotten what she once said about learning to hate 
 Frederic, and the possibility of living again beneath 
 the some roof with him made her heart beat faster than 
 its wont. She had occasionally met him in the street, 
 and once she was sure his eye had rested upon her in 
 passing, but she knew by its expression that she was 
 not recognized, and when Ben suggested offering her 
 services as Alice's governess she readily consented. 
 
 During these years Ben had not lost sight of Frederic's 
 movements, though it so chanced that they had met but 
 twice, once just after the receipt of Alice's picture, 
 which had been greeted by Marian with a shower of 
 kisses and tears, and once the previous Autumn, when 
 Frederic was about returning to Kentucky, for, with his 
 changed feelings toward Marian, Mr. Raymond felt 
 less delicacy in using her money less aversion to 
 Redstone Hall, where his presence was really needed, 
 for a portion of the year at least, and which he intend- 
 ed making his Winter residence.
 
 238 THE GOVERNESS. 
 
 But he was at Riverside now, and Ben was about 
 going there to see what arrangements could be made, 
 when his mother's sudden death caused both himself 
 and Marian to forget the subject until the night after 
 the burial, when, without a moment forgetting the 
 dead or the dreary blank her absence made, they talked 
 together of the future, and decided that on the morrow 
 Ben should go to Riverside and see if there were room 
 in Frederic's house for Marian Grey. The morning 
 came, and at an early hour Ben started, bidding Mari- 
 an keep up her spirits as he was sure of bringing her 
 good tidings. 
 
 Frederic was sitting in his arm chair, which stood 
 near the window, jnst where Marian had placed it three 
 years and a half ago. Not that it had never been 
 moved since that April morning, for, freed from old 
 Dinah's surveillance, Mrs. lluntington, who was still 
 at Riverside, proved herself a pattern housekeeper, and 
 the chair had probably been moved a thousand times 
 to make room for the broom and brush, but it was in 
 its old place now, and Frederic was sitting in it, think- 
 ing of Marian and his hitherto fruitless efforts at find- 
 ing her. He was beginning to get discouraged, and 
 still each time he went to the city he thought " per- 
 haps I may meet her to-day," and each night, as tho 
 hour for his return drew near, Alice waited upon the 
 piazza when the weather was tine, and by the window 
 when it was cold, listening intently for another step 
 than Frederic's a step which never came, and then 
 Alice grew less hopeful, while Marian seemed farther 
 and farther away as month after month went by bring- 
 ing no tidings of her. Frederic knew that she must 
 necessarily have changed somewhat from the Marian 
 of old, for she was a woman now, but he should readi- 
 ly recognise her, he said. He should know her by her 
 peculiar hair, if by no other token. So when his eye 
 once rested on a face of surpassing sweetness, shaded 
 by curls of soft chestnut hair, which in the sunlight 
 wore a rich red tinge, he felt a glow like that which
 
 THE GOVERNESS. 239 
 
 one experiences in gazing for a single instant on some 
 picture of rare lovelinness ; then the picture faded, the 
 graceful figure glided by, and there was nothing left 
 to tell how, by stretching forth his hand, he might have 
 grasped his long lost Marian. Moments there were 
 when she seemed near to him, almost within his reach, 
 and such a moment was the one when Mrs. Hunting- 
 ton announced Ben Butterworth, whom he had not 
 seen for a long time. 
 
 Involuntarily he started np, half expecting his visi- 
 tor had come to tell him something of her. But when 
 he saw the crape upon Ben's hat, and the sorrow on 
 his face, he forgot Marian in his anxiety to know what 
 had happened. 
 
 "My mother's dead," said Ben, and the strong man, 
 six feet high, sobbed like a little child, bringing back 
 to Frederic's mind the noiseless room, the oddly shaped 
 box, the still, white face, and tolling bell, which were 
 all he could distinctly remember of the day when he, 
 too, said to a boy like himself, " My mother's dead." 
 
 These three words. Alas, how full of anguish is 
 their utterance, and how their repetition will call up 
 an answering throb in the heart of every one who has 
 ever said in bitterness of grief, "My mother's dead." 
 
 Frederic felt it instantly, and it prompted him to 
 take again the rough hand, which he pressed warmly 
 in token of his sympathy. 
 
 " He is a good man," thought Ben, wiping his tears 
 away ; and after a few choking coughs and brief ex- 
 planations as to how and when, he came at once to the 
 object of his visit. 
 
 " He should peddle now just as he used to do, of 
 course, but wimmen wan't so lucky, and all Marian 
 could do was to teach. He had given her a tip-top 
 larnin', though she had earnt some on't herself by 
 sewin'. She had got a paper thing, too, with a blue 
 ribin, from Miss IJarcourt, who praised her up to the 
 skies. In short, if Mr. Raymond had not any teacher 
 for Alice, wouldn't he take Marian Grey?" and Ben
 
 240 THE GOVERNESS. 
 
 twirled his hat nervously, while he waited for the an 
 Bwer. 
 
 " I wish you had applied to me sooner," said Fred- 
 eric, " for in that case I would have taken her, but a 
 Mrs. Jones, from Boston, came on only a week ago, 
 BO you see I arn supplied. I am very sorry, for I feel 
 an interest in Miss Grey, and will use my influence to 
 procure her a situation. 
 
 " Thank you ; there's a place she can have, but I 
 wanted her to come here," returned Ben, who was 
 greatly disappointed and began to cry again. 
 
 Frederic was somewhat amused, besides being con- 
 siderably disturbed, and after looking at the child-man 
 for a moment, he continued : 
 
 " Mrs. Jones is engaged for one year only, and if at 
 the end of that time Miss Grey still wishes to come, I 
 pledge you my word that she shall do so." 
 
 This brought "comfort at once. One year was not 
 very long to wait, and by that time Marian would cer- 
 tainly be past recognition, and as all Ben's wishes and 
 plans centered upon one thing, to wit : Mr. Raymond's 
 falling in love with his unknown wife, he was readily 
 consoled, and wiping his eyes, he said apologetically, 
 as it were, " I'm dreadful tender-hearted, and since 
 I've been an orphan it's ten times wus. So you must 
 excuse my actin' like a baby. Where's Alice ?" 
 
 Frederic called the little girl, who, childlike, waited 
 to put on her bracelet, "so as to show the man that 
 Bhe still wore it and liked it very much." She seemed 
 greatly pleased at meeting Ben again, asking him why 
 he had not been there before, and if he had received 
 her picture. 
 
 " Yes, wee one," said he, taking her round white 
 arm in his hand and touching the bracelet. " I should 
 have writ, only that ain't in my line much, and I don't 
 always spell jest right, but we got the picter, and Ma- 
 rian was so pleased she cried." 
 
 " What made her ?" said Alice, wonderingly. " She 
 don't know me."
 
 THE GOVERNESS. 
 
 " But she knows you're blind, for I told her," waa 
 Ben's quick reply, which was quite satisfactory to 
 Alice, who by this time had detected a note of sadness 
 in his voice, and she asked what was the matter. 
 
 To her also Ben replied, " My mother's dead," and 
 the mature little girl understood at once the dreary 
 loneliness that a mother's death must bring even to the 
 heart of a big man like Ben. Immediately, too, she 
 thought of Marian Grey, and asked " What she would 
 do?" 
 
 " I come out to see if your pa no, beg your pardon 
 to see if the Square didn't want her to hear you say 
 your lessons," was Ben's answer, and Alice exclaimed, 
 " Oh, Frederic. Let her come. I know I shall like 
 her better than Mrs. Jones, for she's young and pretty, 
 I am sure. May she come ?" 
 
 " Alice," said Frederic, " Mrs. Jones has an aged 
 mother and two little children dependent upon her 
 earnings, and, should I send her away, the disappoint- 
 ment would-be very great. Next year, if we all live, 
 Miss Grey shall come, and with this you must be sat- 
 isfied." 
 
 Alice saw at once that he was right, and she gave 
 up the point, merely remarking that " a year was a 
 heap of a while." 
 
 " No, 'tain't," said Ben, who each moment was be- 
 coming more and more reconciled to the arrangement. 
 
 One year's daily intercourse with fashionable people, 
 he thought, would be of invaluable service to Marian, 
 and as he wished her to be perfect both in looks and 
 manners when he presented her to Frederic Raymond, 
 he was well satisfied to wait, and he returned to New 
 York with a light, hopeful heart. Marian, on the con- 
 trary, was slightly disappointed, for like Alice, a year 
 seemed to her a long, long time. Still there was no 
 alternative, and she wrote to Mrs. Sheldon that she 
 would come as early as the first day of October. It 
 was hard to break up their old home, but it was nec- 
 essary, they knew, and with sad hearts they disposed 
 
 11
 
 24:2 THE GOVERNESS. 
 
 of the furniture, gave up the rooms, and then, when 
 the appointed time came, Marian started for her n^w 
 home, accompanied by Ben, who went rather unwill- 
 ingly- 
 
 " We ain't no more alike than ile and water," he 
 said, when she first suggested his going, " and they 
 won't think as much of you for seein' me." 
 
 But Marian insisted, and Ben went with her, men- 
 tally resolving to say but little, as by this means he 
 fancied " he would be less likely to show how big a 
 aoit he was 1"
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 WILL GORDON. 
 
 MBS. SHELDON'S residence was a most delightful 
 spot, reminding Marian a little of Redstone Hall, and 
 as she passed up its nicely graveled walk and stepped 
 upon its broad piazza, she felt that she could be very 
 happy there, provided she met with sympathizing 
 friends. Any doubts she might have had upon this 
 subject were speedily dispelled by the appearance of 
 Mrs. Sheldon, in whose face there was something very 
 familiar ; and it was not lon: ere Marian identified 
 her as the lady who had spoken so kindly to her in 
 the car between Albany and New York, asking her 
 what was the matter, and if she had friends in the city. 
 This put Marian at once at her ease, and her admira- 
 tion for her employer increased each moment, partic- 
 ularly when she saw how gracious she was to Ben, 
 who true to his resolution, scarcely spoke except to 
 answer Mrs. Sheldon's questions and to decline her 
 invitation to dinner. 
 
 " 1 should never get through that in the world with- 
 out some blunder," he thought, and as the dinner-bell 
 was ringing, he took his leave, crying like a child when 
 he parted with Marian, who was scarcely less affected 
 than himself. 
 
 Going to the depot, he sauntered into the ladies' 
 room, where he found a group of young girls, who were 
 waiting the arrival of a friend, and who, meantime, 
 were ready for any fun which might come up. Ben 
 instantly attracted their attention, and one who seemed
 
 244 WILL GORDON. 
 
 to be the leader of the party, began to quiz him, 
 ask.ng " where he live d, and if he nad ever been BO 
 far from home b tore ?" 
 
 Ben understood the drift of her remarks at once, 
 and with imperturbable gravity, replied : 
 
 " I come from down East, where they raise sich as 
 me, and this is the fust time I was ever out of Tan ton, 
 which allus was my native town !" 
 
 Then, taking his tobacco box from his pocket, lie 
 passed it to an elegant-looking man, whom he readily 
 divined to be the brother of the girl, saying to him : 
 
 " Have a chaw, captain ? I'd just as lief you would 
 as not." 
 
 As he heard the loud laugh which this speech called 
 forth, he continued, without the shadow of a smile : 
 
 " I had 'strne's I live, for I ain't none o' your tiy;ht 
 critters. Nobody ever said that of Ben Bur Ben 
 Bntterwith," he added, hastily, for until Marian was 
 discovered to Frederic, he thought it best to retain 
 the latter name. 
 
 "Ben Butterworth," repeated the young girl in an 
 aside to her brother " Why, Will, didn't sister Mary 
 tell us that was the adopted brother or cousin of her 
 new governess? You know Miss Grey mentioned his 
 name in one of her letters." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Ben, ere Will had time to reply. 
 " If by Mary you mean Miss Sheldon, I'm the chap. 
 Brought my sister there to-day, to be her school- 
 ma'am, and 1 don't want you to run over her neither, 
 'cause you'll be sorry bimeby. That was all gammon I 
 told you about never being away from home before, 
 for I've seen considerable ot the world." 
 
 The cars from Boston were by this time rolling in at 
 the depot, and without replying to Ben's remark, the 
 young lady went out to look for her friend. 
 
 That night, just after dark, Mrs. Sheldon's door bell 
 rang, and her brother and sister came in, the latter 
 dressed in the extreme of fashion, and bearing about 
 her an air which, seemed to indicate that she had long
 
 WILL GORDON. 245 
 
 been accustomed to receive the homage of those aronnd 
 her. Seating herself on the sofa, she began, "Well, 
 Mary, Will and I have come over to see this wonder- 
 ful prodr'gy. Mother was here, you know, this after- 
 noon, and she came home half wild on the subject of 
 Miss Grey, insisting that I should call directly, and so 
 like a dutiful daughter I have obeyed, thongh I must 
 confess that the sight of Ben Butterworth, whom we 
 met at the depot, did not greatly prepossess me in her 
 favor." 
 
 " They are not at all alike," said Mrs. Sheldon, " nei- 
 ther are they in any way related. Miss Grey is high- 
 ly educated, and has the sweetest face I ever saw. She 
 has some secret trouble, too, I'm sure, and she reminds 
 me of a beautiful picture over which a vail is thrown, 
 softening, and at the same time heightening its beauty." 
 
 "Really," said Will, rousing up, "some romance 
 connected with her. Do bring her out at once." 
 
 Mrs. Sheldon left the room, and going up to Marian's 
 chamber, knocked at the door. A low voice bade her 
 come in, and she entered just in time to see Marian 
 hide away the daguerreotype of Frederic, at which she 
 had been looking. 
 
 " My brother and sister are in the parlor and have 
 asked for you," she said. 
 
 " I will come down in a moment," returned Marian, 
 who wished a little time to dry her tears, for she had 
 been weeping over the pictures of Frederic and Alice, 
 both of which she had in her possession. 
 
 Accordingly, when Mrs. Sheldon was gone, she 
 bathed her face until the stains had disappeared ; then 
 smoothing her collar and brushing her wavy hair, she 
 descended to the parlor, where Ellen. Gordon sat pre- 
 pared to criticise, and William Gordon sat prepared 
 for almost anything, though not for the vision which 
 greeted his view when Marian Grey appeared before 
 him. The dazzling purity of her complexion con- 
 trasted well with her black dress, and the natural 
 bloom upon her cheek was increased by her embar-
 
 246 WILL GORDON. 
 
 rassment, while her eyes dropped modestly beneath 
 the long-fringed lashes, which Ellen noticed at once, 
 because they were the one coveted beauty which had 
 been denied to herself 
 
 "Jupiter!" was Will's mental comment. "Mary 
 didn't exaggerate in the least, and Nell will have to 
 yield the palm at once." 
 
 Something like this passed through Ellen's mind, 
 but though on the whole a frank, right-minded girl, 
 she was resolved upon finding fault with the stranger, 
 simply because her mother and sister had said so much 
 in her praise. 
 
 " She is vulgar, I know," she thought, and she 
 watched narrowly for something which should betray 
 her low birth, but she waited in vain. 
 
 Marian was perfectly lady-like in her manners; her 
 language was well chosen ; her voice soft and low ; 
 and ere she had been* with her half an hour, Ellen sec- 
 retly acknowledged her superiority to most of the 
 young ladies of her acquaintance, and she regretted 
 that she, too, had not been educated at Mrs. Harcourt's 
 school, if such manners as Miss Grey's were common 
 there. 
 
 At Mrs. Sheldon's request, Marian took her seat at 
 the piano, and then Ellen hoped to criticise; but here 
 again she was at fault, for Marian was a brilliant per- 
 former, keeping perfect time, and playing with the 
 most exquisite taste. 
 
 As site was turning over the leaves of the music 
 book after the close of the first piece, Will said to his 
 sister : 
 
 "By the way, Nell, I had a letter from Fred to-day 
 and he says he will be delighted to get you that music 
 the first time he goes to the city." 
 
 Marian started just as she had done that afternoon 
 when Mrs. Sheldon called her youngest boy Fred. 
 Still there was no reason why she should do so. Fred- 
 eric was a common name, and she kept on turning the
 
 WILL GORDON. 247 
 
 leaves, while Ellen replied, "What else did he write, 
 and when is he going south ?" , 
 
 Marian's hand was stayed now, and she listened 
 eagerly for the answer, which was " Sometime in No- 
 vember, and he has invited me to go with him, but I 
 hardly think I shall. He's lonesome, he says, "and can 
 find no trace of his runaway wife. So, there's a 
 shadow of a chance for you Nell." 
 
 The hand which held the leaf suspended, came 
 down with a crash upon the keys of the piano, but 
 Ellen thought it was an accident, if she thought of it 
 at all; and she replied, "Fie, just as though I would 
 have a man before I knew for certain that his wife 
 was dead. I admire Mr. Raymond very much, and if 
 lie had not been so foolish as to marry that child, I 
 can't say that he would not have made an impression, 
 for he is the Hnest looking and mo -t agreeable gentle- 
 man I ever met. Isn't it strange where that girl went, 
 and what she went for? Hasn't he ever told you any- 
 thing that would explain it ?" 
 
 Up to this point Marian had sat. immovable, listen- 
 ing eagerly and wondering where these people had 
 known Frederic Raymond. Then, as something far 
 back in the past flashed upon her mind, she turned, 
 and looking in the young man's face, knew who he 
 was and that they had met before. His name had 
 seemed familiar from the first, and she knew that he 
 was the Will Gordon who had been Frederic's chum, 
 in college, and had once spent a vacation at Redstone 
 Hall. He had predicted that she would be a handsome 
 woman, and Frederic had said she could not with such 
 hair. She remembered it all distinctly, but any effect 
 it might then have had upon her was lost in her anx- 
 iety to hear the answer to Ellen's question. 
 
 " Fred generally keeps his matters to himself, but 
 I know as much as this : He didn't love that Miss 
 Lindsey any too well when lie married her, but he has 
 admitted to me since that his feelings toward her had 
 undergone a change, and he would give almost any-
 
 248 WILL GORDON. 
 
 thing to find her. He is certain that she was with him 
 when he was sick in New York, and since that time he 
 has sought for her everywhere." 
 
 "William Gordon had no idea of the effect his words 
 produced upon the figure which, on the music stool, 
 sat as motionless as if it had been a block of marble. 
 During all the long, dreary years of exile from home 
 there had not come to her so cheering a ray of hope 
 as this, and the bright bloom deepened on her cheek, 
 while the joy which danced in her deep blue eyes 
 made them look almost black beneath the heavy 
 lashes. Frederic was beginning to love her he had 
 acknowledged as much to Mr. Gordon, and her heart 
 bounded forward to the time when she should see him 
 face to face, and hear him tell her so with his own lips. 
 Little now she heeded Ellen's next remark, "I pre- 
 sume it would be just the same even if he were to find 
 heiv He is a great admirer of beauty, and she, I be- 
 lieve, was very ordinary looking." 
 
 " Not remarkably so," returned Will. " She was 
 thin-faced and had red hair, but I remember thinking 
 she might make a handsome woman " 
 
 u With red hair! Oh, Will!" and the blacktressed 
 Ellen laughed at the very idea. 
 
 A sudden movement on Mariaa's part made Will 
 recollect her, and he hastened to apologise for his 
 apparent forgett'ulness of her presence. 
 
 " You will please excuse us," he said, " for discuss- 
 ing an affair in which you, of course, can have no in- 
 terest." 
 
 " Certainly," she replied, while around the corners 
 of her mouth were little laughing dimples, which told 
 no tales to the young man, who continued : " Will you 
 give us some more music ? I admire your style of play- 
 ing." 
 
 Marian was in a mood for anything, and turning to 
 the piano she dashed off into a merry, spirited thing, 
 to which 'Will's feet kept time, while Ellen looked on 
 amazed at the white fingers which flew like lightning
 
 WILL GOEDON. 249 
 
 over the keys, seemingly never resting for an instant 
 upon any one of them, but lighting here and there 
 with a rapidity she never before S( en equalled. It wns 
 the outpouring of Marian's heart, and the tune she 
 plaved was a song of jubilee for the glad tidings she 
 had heard. Ere she had half finished, Will Gordon 
 was at her side, gazing \vonderingly into her face, 
 which sparkled and glowed with her excitement. 
 
 " She is strangely beautiful," he thought, and so he 
 said to Ellen when they were walking home together. 
 
 "She looks very well," returned Ellen, "but I trust 
 you will not feel it your duty to fall in love with her 
 on that account. Wouldn't it be ridiculous though, for 
 you, who profess never to have felt the least affection 
 for any woman, to yield at once to Mary's gover- 
 ness ?" 
 
 "Mary's governess is no ordinary person," an 
 swered Will. " How like the mischief she made those 
 fingers go in that last piece. I never saw anything 
 like it ;" and he tried in vain to whistle a few bars of 
 the lively strain. 
 
 That night three men dreamed of Marian Will 
 Gordon in his bachelor apartments, which he had said 
 should never be invaded with a female's wardrobe 
 Ben Burt in his room at the Lovejoy Hotel and Fred- 
 eric L'aymond in his cheerful home upon the Hudson. 
 But to Marian, sleeping so quietly in her chamber 
 there came a thought of only one, and that one Fred- 
 eric Raymond, whose picture lay beneath her pillow. 
 She had never placed it there until to-night, for she 
 had felt that she had no right to do so. But Mr. Gor- 
 don's words had effected a change. He said that 
 Frederic \vas begining to love her at last that he had 
 Bought for her without success that he would give 
 almost anything to find her. It is true she could not 
 reconcile allthis with her preconceived opinion : but 
 she had no wish to doubt it, and she accepted it as 
 truth, thinking it was probably a very recent thing 
 with him, this searching after and loving her.
 
 250 WILL GORDON. 
 
 "Very rapidly and pleasantly to Marian did the first 
 few weeks of her sojourn with Mrs. Sheldon pass away. 
 She was interested in her pupils, two bright-raced little 
 girls, and doubly interested in their brother, the brown- 
 eyed Fred) whose real name she learned was Frederic 
 Raymond, lie having been^ called, Mrs. Sheldon said, 
 after "Williams particular friend, who spent his winters 
 in Kentucky, and his Summers at Riverside, a delight- 
 ful place on the Hudson. Frederic Raymond was a 
 frequent subject of conversation in Mrs. Sheldon's fam- 
 ily, and once, after Marian had been there four or five 
 months, and Will, as usual, was spending an evening 
 there, the matter was discussed at length, while Ma* 
 rian, sitting partly in the shade, so that the working of 
 her features could not be seen, dropped stitch after 
 stitch in the cloud she was crotcheting, and finally 
 stopped altogether as the conversation proceeded. 
 
 u I am positive," said Mrs. Sheldon, " that I saw Mrs. 
 Raymond in the cars, between Albany and Newburg. 
 It was four years ago, last Autumn, and about that 
 time she came away. There was a very young girl sit- 
 ting before me, dressed in black, with long red curls, 
 and she looked as if she had wept all her tears away, 
 though they fell like rain when I spoke to her and 
 asked her what was the matter. I remember her par- 
 ticularly from her question, ' Is New York a heap nois- 
 ier than Albany or Buffalo?' " 
 
 " That ' heap ' is purely Southern," interrupted "Will, 
 while his sister continued': 
 
 " She said she had but one friend in the world, and 
 that one was in New York. I remember, too, that one 
 of her hands was ungloved. It was so white and 
 small, and she used it so often to brush her tears away." 
 
 Here Will glanced involuntarily at the beautiful lit- 
 tle hands busy with the cloud. It might have been 
 fancy, but he thought they trembled, and so he closed 
 -the register and Opened a door, thinking the heat of 
 of the room might have made Miss Grey nervous and 
 he was growing very careful of her comfort I
 
 WILL GORDON. 251 
 
 Poor Will ! 
 
 Returning to his seat, he replied to his sister's i<e- 
 mark, "That was undoubtedly Marian Lindsey. Did 
 you speak of it to Frederic ?" 
 
 " No," eaid Mrs. Sheldon, " I have always thought 
 he disliked talking of her to me, and that makes me 
 think there is something wrong that he did her an in- 
 jury." 
 
 "Every man who marries without love injures the 
 woman he makes his wife," said "Will, " and Frederic 
 does not profess to have loved her then. His father 
 drew him into this match, and for some inexplicable 
 reason Fred consented, when all the time he loved that 
 Isabel Huntington. But he has recovered from that 
 infatuation, and I am glad of it, for I never liked her, 
 and had the thing been possible, I should say she pois- 
 oned him against this Marian. Why, Miss Grey, you 
 are actually shivering," he added, as he saw the vio- 
 lent trembling of Marian's body, and this time he 
 opened the register and shut the door, offering to go 
 for a shawl, and asking where she had taken such a 
 cold, 
 
 *' It's only a slight chill it will soon pass off," she 
 said, and as Mrs. Sheldon was just then called from the 
 room, Will drew his chair a little nearer to Marian and 
 continued : 
 
 " This Raymond affair must be irksome to you, who 
 know nothing about it." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Marian faintly. '* I am greatly in- 
 terested, particularly in the girl wife. Can't he find 
 her ? Seems as though he might. Perhaps though, he 
 don't really care." 
 
 ' Yes, he does," interrupted Will. " He disliked 
 her once, but I believe he feels differently toward her 
 now. His hobby in college was a handsome wife, but 
 he has learned that beauly alone is worthless, and he 
 would gladly take Marian back." 
 
 " Red hair and all ?" asked Marian, mischievously, 
 and Will replied, " Yes, I believe he's even made up
 
 252 WILL GOKDON. 
 
 his mind to the red hair. I didn't object to it myself, 
 and I once saw this girl." 
 
 " Redstone'Hall is a beautiful spot, I believe," said 
 Marian, briefly stating thai Ben had once been there 
 in his travels, and had since met Mr. Raymond in New 
 York. 
 
 " Then you know the family," said Will, in some 
 surprise. 
 
 " I know of them," returned Marian, " for Ben was 
 so much interested in the blind girl that after his re- 
 turn he talked of little else." 
 
 " You have never seen them youself, of course," and 
 taking this fact for granted, Will proceeded to give her 
 a most minute description of Redstone Hall, of its mas- 
 ter, and of herself as she was when he visited Ken- 
 tucky. 
 
 Frederic's marriage was then touched upon. Will 
 telling how angry his chum used to be when he receiv- 
 ed a letter on the subject from his father. 
 
 " We were studying law together," he said, " and, 
 as we were room-mates in college, it was quite natural 
 that we should confide in each other ; so he used to tell 
 ine of his father's project, and almost swear he wouldn't 
 do it. I never was more astonished than when I heard 
 he was to be married in a few days. ' It's all over 
 with me,' he wrote, ' I can't help it 1" and he signed 
 himself ' Your wretched Fred !' But what are you 
 crying for, Miss Grey 2 You certainly are. What is 
 the matter ?" 
 
 " 1 am crying for her for poor Marian Lindsey !" 
 *vas the answer ; and Marian's tears flowed faster. 
 
 Will Gordon was distressed at the sight of woman's 
 tears, but particularly at the sight of Marian Grey's, 
 and he tried to console her by saying he was sure Mr. 
 Raymond would sometime find his wife, and they all 
 would be the happier for what they both had suffered. 
 Involuntarily he had touched the right chord, for, in 
 listening to his predictions of future good, which 
 should come to Frederic Raymond's wife, Marian Grey
 
 WILL GORDON. 253 
 
 ceased to weep, and when, ere hio departure, Will 
 asked her for for some music, she gave him one of 
 those stirring pieces she always played when her heart 
 was running over with happy anticipations ! 
 
 Will Gordon was older than Frederic Raymond, and 
 an examination of the family Bible would have shown 
 him to be thirty. Quite a bachelor, his sister Ellen 
 Baid, and she marveled that he had lived thus long 
 without taking to himself a wife. But Will was very 
 fastidious in his ideas of females, and though he ha.d 
 traveled much, both in Europe and his own country, 
 he had never seen a face which could hold his fancy 
 for a moment, until the sunny blue eyes of Marian 
 Grey shone upon him and thawed the ice which had 
 laid about his heart so many years. Even then he did 
 not quite understand the feeling, or know how it was 
 that night after night he found himself locked out at 
 home, while morning after morning his sister Ellen 
 scolded him for staying out so late, wondering what 
 attraction he could find at Mary's, when he knew as 
 well as sue that he would never disgrace the Gordon 
 family by marrying a governess, and a peddler's adopted 
 sister, too! Will hardly thought he should either. He 
 didn't quite know what ailed him, and in a letter writ- 
 ten to Frederic, who was now in Kentucky, he gave 
 an analysis of his feelings, after having first told him 
 that Marian Grey was the adopted sister of a Yankee 
 peddler, who had once visited Redstone Hall, and 
 who, he was sure, Frederic would remember for his 
 oddities. 
 
 " I wish you could see this girl," he wrote, " I'd like 
 to have your opinion, for I know you are a connois- 
 seur in everything pertaining to female charms, but I 
 am sure you never in all your life saw anything like 
 Marian Grey. I never did, and I have seen the proud- 
 est court beauties in Europe but nobody like her. 
 And yet it is not so much the exceeding fairness of 
 her complexion, or the perfect regularity of her fea- 
 t ires, as it is the indescribably fascinating something
 
 264 WILL GORDON. 
 
 which demands your pity as well as yonr admiration. 
 There is that about her .mouth, and in her smile, which 
 seems to say that she has suffered as few have ever 
 done, and that from this suffering she has risen puri- 
 fied, beautified, and if I may be allowed a term which 
 my good mother would call wicked in the extreme, 
 glorified as it were ! 
 
 " Just picture to yourself a graceful, airy figure, five 
 feet four inches high then clothe it in black, and 
 adapt every article of dress exactly to her form and 
 Btyle, then imagine a rose-bud face, which .1 cannot 
 describe, with the deepest, saddest, brightest, merri- 
 est, sunniest, laughing blue eyes yon ever saw. You 
 see there is a slight contradiction of words, but every 
 one by turns will apply to her eyes' of blue. Then 
 her hair oh, Fred, words fail me here. It's a mix- 
 ture of everything brown, black, yellow, and red. 
 Yes, red I mean it, for it has decidedly a reddish hue 
 in the sunshine. By gas-light it is brown, and by day- 
 light a most beautiful chesnut or auburn rippling all 
 over her head in glossy waves, and curling about her 
 forehead and neck. 
 
 " Beautiful beautiful Marian ! Yes, I will call her 
 Marian here on paper, with no one to see it but you. 
 'Tis a sweet, feminine name, Fred ; the name, too, of 
 your lost wife. I told her that story the other night, 
 and she cried great tears, which looked like pearls 
 upon her cheek. 
 
 " Do write soon, and give me your advice though 
 what I want of it is more than I can tell. I only know 
 that I feel strangely about the region of my waist- 
 bands, and every time I see Miss Grey, I feel a heap 
 worse, as you folks say. She is of low origin, I know, 
 and this would make a difference with a man as proud 
 as you, but I don't care. Marian Grey has bewitched 
 me, I verily believe, until I am I don't know what. 
 
 " Do write, Fred, and tell me what I am, and what 
 to do. But pray don't preface your letter with long- 
 winded remarks about marrying my equal looking
 
 WILL GORDON. 255 
 
 higher than a peddler's sister, and all that nonsense, for 
 it will be lost on me. I never can get higher than 
 Marian's blue eyes unless indeed I reached her hair, 
 at which point I should certainly yield, and go over to 
 the enemy at once/' 
 
 This letter reached Frederic one rainy afternoon, 
 when he had nothing to do but to read it, laugh over 
 it, reflect upon and answer it. Will Gordon's descrip- 
 tion of Marian Grey thrilled him with a strange feel- 
 ing of pleasure, imperceptibly sending his thoughts 
 after another Marian, and involuntarily he said, aloud, 
 "If she had been like this picture Will has drawn, I 
 should not be here so lonely and desolate." 
 
 Frederic Raymond was prouder far than Will Gor- 
 don, and his feelings at first rebelled against his friend's 
 taking for a bride the sister of unpolished, uneducated 
 Ben. " But it is his own matter," he said ; " I see 
 plainly that he is in love, so I will write at once and 
 tell him what is the * trouble' " 
 
 Accordingly he commenced a letter, in which after 
 expressing his happiness that his college friend had 
 not persisted in shutting his eyes to all female charms, 
 he wrote : 
 
 " I should prefer your wife to be somewhat nearer 
 your equal in point of family, it is true, but your de- 
 scription of Marian Grey won my heart entirely, and 
 you have my consent to offer yourself at once. By so 
 doing, you will probably deprive Alice of her gover- 
 ness and me of a pleasant companion, for I had made 
 an arrangement with Ben to have Miss Grey with us 
 next year. But no matter for that. Woo and win 
 her just the same, and Heaven grant you a happier 
 future than my past has been. 
 
 41 ' Beautiful ! beautiful Marian !' you said, and with- 
 out knowing why, my heart responded to it. She is 
 beautiful, I am sure, and your description of her is 
 just what I would like to apply to my own wife my 
 lost Marian 1 You see I have withdrawn my allegi-
 
 256 WILL GOKDON. 
 
 ance from black-haired dark-eyed maidens, and gone 
 over to laughing blue eyes and auburn tresses. 
 
 " By the way, speaking of the dark eyed maidens 
 reminds me tliat Agnes Gibson's husband is dead, and 
 she is sole heiress of all his fortune, except a legacy 
 which he left to Miss liuntington, who lived in his 
 family at the time of his death. Poor old man ! Ru- 
 mor says he led a sorry life with both of them, but 
 at the last his young wife cajoled him into making his 
 will, and was really kind to him. She is at her fath- 
 er's now, and Miss Huntingdon is there also. I called 
 upon them yesterday, and have hardly recovered yet 
 from the chilling reception I met with from the latter. 
 
 " But pardon me, Will, lor this digression, when I 
 was to write of nothing save Marian Grey. The name 
 reminded me of my own wife, and that, as a matter of 
 course, suggested Isabel. Give my compliments to 
 Miss Grey, and tell her that, under the circumstances, 
 I release her from her engagement with myself, and 
 that, if she is a sensible girl, as I suppose she is, she 
 will not keep you on your knees longer than necessary. 
 Let me hear of your success or failure, and, on no ac- 
 count, forget to invite me to the wedding. It is pos- 
 sible I may be obliged to come North on business, iu 
 the course of a few weeks, and, if so, I shall certainly 
 call on you for the sake of seeing this wonderful .Ma- 
 rian Grey. . " Yours truly, 
 
 "F. RAYMOND."
 
 CHAPTEE XXL 
 WILL'S WOOING. 
 
 THE silver tea-set and damask cloth had been re- 
 moved from Mrs. Gordon's supper-table. The heavy 
 curtains of brocatelle were dropped before the win- 
 dows ; a cheerful fire was burning in the grate, for 
 Mrs. Gordon eschewed both furnaces and stoves; the 
 gas burned brightly in the chandelier, casting a soft- 
 ened light throughout the room, and rendering more 
 distinct the gay flowers on the carpet. The lady- 
 mother, a fair type of a thrifty New England woman, 
 had donned her spectacles, and from a huge pile of 
 socks was selecting those which needed a near ac- 
 quaintance with the needle, and lamenting over her 
 son's propensity at wearing out his toes 1 
 
 The son, meantime, half lay, half sat upon the sofa, 
 listlessly drumming with his fingers, and feeling glad 
 that Ellen was not there, and wondering how he should 
 begin to tell his mother what he so much wished her 
 to know. 
 
 " I should suppose she might see it," he thought 
 " might know how much I am in love with Marian, 
 for I used to be always talking about her, and now I 
 never mention her, it makes my heart thump so if I 
 try to speak her name. Nell will make a fuss, per- 
 haps, for she thinks so much of family : but Marian is 
 family enough for me. Mary likes her, and I guess 
 mother does. I mean to ask her." 
 
 "Mother?"
 
 258 WILL'S WOOING. 
 
 " "What, "William ?" and the good lady ran her hand 
 into a sock with a shockingly large rent in the heel. 
 
 No woman can be very gracious with such an open 
 prospect, and, as "Will saw the scowl on his mother's 
 face, he regretted that he had spoken at this inauspic- 
 ious moment. 
 
 " I'll wait till she finds one not quite as dilapidated 
 as that," he thought, and when the question was re- 
 peated, "What, William?" he replied, " Is Nell com- 
 ing home to-night ?" 
 
 "I believe so. I wish she was here now to help me, 
 for I shall never get these mended. What makes you 
 wear out your socks so fast ?" 
 
 " I don't know, I'm sure, unless it's beating time to 
 Miss Grey's lively music. Don't she play like the 
 mischief, though?" 
 
 Mrs. Gordon did not answer, and Will continued, 
 " Let me help you mend. I used to in college and in 
 Europe, too, and if I never marry," here Will's voice 
 trembled a little " I shall need to know how. Thread 
 me a darning needle, won't you ?" 
 
 Mrs. Gordon laughingly compiled with his request, 
 and the fashionable Will Gordon was soon deep in the 
 mysteries of sock-darning, an accomplishment in 
 which he had before 'had some experience. Very 
 rapidly his mother's amiability increased, until at last 
 he ventured to say, " Let me see, how old am I ?" 
 
 " Thirty, last August, just twenty years younger 
 than I am." 
 
 " Then, when you were at my age you had a boy 
 ten years old. I wonder how I should feel in a like 
 predicament." 
 
 " I'm afraid you'll never know," and Mrs. Gordon 
 commenced on a fresh sock. 
 
 " Mother, how would you to have me marry and 
 settle down ?" Will continued, after a moment's 
 silence, and his mother replied, " Well enough, pro- 
 vided I liked your wife." 
 
 " You don't suppose I'd marry one you didn't like,
 
 WILL'S WOOING. 259 
 
 I hope. Just look, can you beat that ?" and he held 
 up what he fancied to be a neatly darned sock, which, 
 Bpite of its bungling appearance, received so much 
 praise, that he felt emboldened to proceed. 
 
 Taking Frederic's letter from his pocket he passed 
 it to his mother, asking her to read it, and give him 
 her opinion. 
 
 " You know I never can make out Mr. Raymond's 
 writing," said Mrs. Gordon, "so pray read it yourself.'* 
 
 But this Will could not do, and he insisted until his 
 mother took the letter and began to read, while he 
 forgot to darn, so intent was he upon watching the ex- 
 pression of her face. At first it turned very red, then 
 white, and then the great drops of perspiration stood 
 upon her forehead, for she felt as every mother does, 
 when they first learn that their only boy is about 
 yielding to another the love they have claimed so long. 
 
 " Have you spoken to Marian ?" she asked, giving 
 him back the letter, but not resuming her work. 
 
 " No," was his answer : and she continued, " Then I 
 wouldn't." 
 
 " Why not?" he asked, in some alarm; and with a 
 tremor in her voice, his mother replied, "I've nothing 
 against Marian, but we are so happy together, and it 
 would kill me to have you go away." 
 
 "Is that all?" and in his delight Will ran the darn- 
 ing-needle under his thumb nail ; " I needn't go away. 
 I can bring her home, and you won't have to mend 
 rny socks any more. Those back chambers are seldom 
 used, and 
 
 " Back chambers !" exclaimed Mrs. Gordon. " I. 
 guess it you bring a wife here, You'll occupy the par- 
 lor chamber and bedroom. I was going to re-paper 
 them in the Spring, and I think on the whole I'll re- 
 furnish it entirely, for you might sometimes have calls 
 up there." 
 
 k * You charming woman," cried Will, kissing hia 
 mother, whose consent he understood to be fully won. 
 
 He knew she had always admired Miss Grey, but he
 
 260 WILL'S WOOING. 
 
 expected more opposition than this, and in his delight 
 he would have gone to see Marian at once, were it not 
 that he had heard she was absent that evening. For 
 an hour or more he talked with his mother of his plans, 
 and when at last Ellen came in, she, too, was let into 
 the secret. Of course, she rebelled at first, for her 
 family pride was very strong, and the peddler Ben, 
 was a serious objection. But when she saw how ear- 
 nest her brother was, and that her mother, too, had 
 espoused his cause, she condescended to say : 
 
 " I suppose you might do worse, though folks will 
 wonder at jour taste in marrying Mary's governess." 
 
 " Let them wonder, then," said Will. " They dare 
 not slight my wife, you know," and then he drew a 
 pleasing picture of the next Summer, when, with his 
 mother, Marian and Ellen, he would visit the White 
 Mountains and Montreal. 
 
 ""Why not go to Europe?" suggested Ellen. " Mr. 
 Sheldon talks of going in August, and if you must mar- 
 ry this girl, you may as well go, too." 
 
 " Well spoken for yourself, little puss," returned 
 Will ; " but it's a grand idea, and I'll make arrange- 
 ments with Tom as soon as I have seen Marian. May- 
 be she'll refuse me," and Will turned pale at the very 
 idea. 
 
 " No danger," was Ellen's comment, while her mo- 
 ther thought the same, for in her estimation no one in 
 their right mind could refuse her noble boy. 
 
 It was a long night to Will, and the next day longer 
 still, for joyful hope and harrowing fears tormented 
 his mind, and when at last it was dark, and he had 
 turned his face toward Mr. Sheldon's, he half deter- 
 mined to go back. But he didn't, and with his usual 
 easy, off-hand manner, he entered his sister's sitting- 
 room. Though bound to secrecy, Ellen had told the 
 news to Mrs. Sheldon, who, of course, had told her 
 husband ; and soon after Will's arrival, the two found 
 some excuse for leaving him alone with Marian Grey. 
 
 Marian liked William Gordon very much partly
 
 WILL'S WOOING. 261 
 
 because he was Frederic's friend, and partly because 
 she knew him to be a most affectionate brother and 
 dutiful son two rare qualities in a traveled and fash- 
 ionable man. She was always pleased to see him, and 
 she welcomed him now as usual, without observing his 
 evident embarrassment when at last they were alone. 
 There were no stockings to be darned, and he did not 
 know how to commence, until he remembered Freder- 
 ic's letter. It had helped him with his mother it 
 might aid him now and after fidgeting awhile in hia 
 chair, he said : 
 
 " I heard from Mr. Raymond yesterday." 
 
 " Indeed !" and Marian's voice betrayed more inter- 
 est than the word would indicate. 
 
 " He wrote that you were engaged to him " 
 
 " I engaged to Frederic Raymond !" and Marian 
 started so suddenly that she pulled her needle out from 
 the worsted garment she was knitting. 
 
 " Engaged to teach, I mean," returned "Will. " I'll 
 show you what he wrote when you pick up those 
 stitches. What do you call that queer-shaped thing ?" 
 
 " A Sontag, or Hug-me-tight," said Marian, while 
 Will involuntarily exclaimed, " Oh, I wish I could 
 see Fred, he's such a good fellow," he hastened to add, 
 as he saw Marian's wondering glance. 
 
 But the beginning and end of the senfence were too 
 far apart to belong to each other, and there was a mo- 
 ment's awkward silence, which was broken at last by 
 Marian, who, resolving to take no notice of the strange 
 speech, said : 
 
 a What did Mr. Raymond write of me?" 
 
 " I'll show you just a little," and Will pointed out 
 the sentence commencing with " Give my respects to 
 Miss Grey," etc. 
 
 The sight of the well-remembered handwriting af 
 fected Marian sensibly ; but when she came to the last 
 part, and began to understand to what it all was tend- 
 ing, her head grew dizzy and her brain whirled for a 
 moment. Then an intense pity for Will Gordon filled
 
 262 WILL'S WOOING. 
 
 her soul, for looking upward she met the glance of hia 
 eyes, and saw therein how much she was beloved. 
 
 " No, no, Mr. Gordon !" she cried, putting her 
 hands to her ears as he began to say : "Dear ]\arian.' ? 
 " You must not call me so ; it is wicked for you to do 
 it wicked for me to listen. I am not what I seem." 
 
 And she burst into tears, weeping so bitterly that in 
 his efforts to soothe her, Will well nigh carried out 
 the wish which had been finished up with "seeing 
 Frederic Raymond." 
 
 Her not being what she seemed, he fancied might 
 refer to something connected with her birth, *and he 
 hastened to assure her that no circumstance whatever 
 could change his feelings, or prevent him from wish- 
 ing her to be his wife. 
 
 " Won't you, Marian ?" he said, holding her in his 
 arm so she could not escape. " I have never loved 
 before. I always said I qould not, until I saw you ; 
 and then everything was changed. I have told my 
 mother, darling, and Ellen, too. They are ready to 
 receive you, if you will go. Look at me, and say you 
 will come to my home, which will never again be so 
 bright to me without you. Won't my darling answer 
 me ?" he continued, while she sobbed so violently as 
 to render speaking impossible. " I am sorry if my 
 words distressed you so," he added, resting her head 
 upon his bosom, and fondly smoothing her hair. 
 
 "I am distressed for you," Marian at last found 
 voice to say. " Oh, Mr. Gordon, I should be most 
 wretched if I thought I had encouraged you in this 1 
 But I have not, I am sure. I like you very, very 
 much, but I cannot be your wife /" 
 
 " Marian, are you in earnest ?" And on Will Gor- 
 don's manly face was a look never seen there before. 
 
 He did not know until now how much he loved the 
 beautiful young girl he held so closely to his side. 
 All the affections of his heart had centered themselves, 
 as it were, upon her, and he could not give her up. 
 She had been so kirid to him had welcomed him ever
 
 WILL 8 WOOING. 
 
 with her sweetest smile had seemed sorry at his de- 
 parture and was not this encouragement? He had 
 taken it as such, and ere she could reply to the ques- 
 tion : " Are you in earnest ?" he added : 
 
 " I have thought, from your manner, that I was not 
 indifferent to you, else I had never told you of my 
 love. Oh, Marian, if you desert me now, I shall wish 
 that I could die !" 
 
 Marian struggled until she released herself from his 
 embrace, and, standing before him, she replied : 
 
 "I never dreamed that you thought of me, save as 
 a friend, and if I have encouraged you, it was because 
 you reminded me of another. Oh, Mr. Gordon, 
 must I tell you that long before I came here, I had 
 learned to love some other man hopelessly, it is true, 
 for he does not care for me ; but that can make n'o 
 difference. Had I never seen him never known of 
 him I might I would have been your wife, for I 
 know that you are noble and good ; but 'tis too late 
 too late !" 
 
 He did not need to ask her now if she were in ear- 
 nest; for, looking up into her truthful, clear blue eyes, 
 lie knew there was no hope for him, and bowing his 
 head upon the arm of the sofa, he groaned aloud, while 
 the heaving of his chest showed how much he suffer- 
 ed, and how manfully he strove to keep his feelings 
 down. Mournfully Marian gazed upon him, wishing 
 she had never come there, if by coming she had 
 brought this hour of anguish to him. Half timidly 
 she laid her hand upon his head, for she wished to 
 comfort him ; and, as he felt the touch of her. fingers, 
 he started, while an expression of joy lighted up his 
 face, only to pass away again as he saw the same un- 
 loving look in her eye. 
 
 " If I could comfort you," she said, " I would gladly 
 do it ; but I cannot. You will forget me in time, Mr. 
 Gordon, and be as happy as you were before you knew 
 me." 
 
 He shook his head despairingly. " No one could
 
 264: WILL'S WOOING. 
 
 forget you ; and the man who stands between us must 
 be a monster not to requite your love. Who is he, 
 Marian ?' or is it not for me to know ?" 
 
 "I would rather you should not it can do no good," 
 was Marian's reply ; and then Will Gordon pleaded 
 f with her to think again ere she told him so decidedly 
 no. She might outlive that other love. She ought 
 to. certainly, if 'twere a hopeless one ; and if she only 
 gave him half a heart, he would be content until he 
 won the whole. They would go to Europe in Autumn ; 
 and beneath the sunny skies of Italy she would learn 
 to love him, he knew. " Won't you, Marian ?" and in 
 the tone of his voice there was a word of eager, fear- 
 ful, yearning love. 
 
 " I can't I can't ; it is utterly impossible !" was the 
 decided answer; and, without another word, Will Gor- 
 don rose and passed, with a breaking heart, from the 
 room he had entered so full of hope and pleasing an- 
 ticipations. 
 
 The fire burned just as brightly in the grate at home 
 as it had done the night before ; the gas-light fell as 
 softly on the roses in the carpet, and on his mother's 
 face there was a placid, expectant look, as he came in. 
 But it quickly vanished when she saw how he pale he 
 was, and how he crouched down into his easy chair, 
 as if he fain would hide from everyone the pain gnaw- 
 ing at his heart. There had never been a secret be- 
 tween Mrs. Gordon and her son, for in some respects 
 the man of thirty was as much a child as ever; and 
 when his mother, coming to his side, parted the damp 
 hair from his forehead, and looked into his eyes, 
 Baying^ 
 
 " What is it, William ? Has Marian Grey refused 
 my boy?'" he told her all. How Marian Grey had 
 given her love to another, and that henceforth the 
 world to him would be a dreary blank. 
 
 It was, indeed, a terrible disappointment, and as the 
 days wore on, it told fearfully upon William's health,
 
 WILL'S WOOING. 265 
 
 until at last the mother sought an interview with Ma- 
 rian Grey, beseeching her to think again. 
 
 _" You can be happy with William," she said, "and T 
 had prepared myself to love you as a daughter. Do, 1 
 beseech of you, give me some hope to carry back to 
 my poor boy?" 
 
 " I cannot I cannot !" 
 
 And, laying her head in the motherly lap of Mrs. 
 Gordon, Marian wept bitterly half tempted, more 
 than once, to tell her the whole truth. 
 
 But this she did not do, and she wept on, while Mrs. 
 Gordon's tears kept company with her own. 
 
 "Don't you like my Willian?" she asked, uncon- 
 sciously playing with the bright hair resting on her 
 lap. 
 
 " Yes very, very much ; but I loved another first." 
 And this was all the satisfaction Marian could give. 
 
 Mrs. Sheldon next tried her powers of persuasion, 
 pleading for herself quite as much as for her brother, 
 for she loved the young girl dearly, and would gladly 
 have called her sister. But naught which she could 
 say had the least effect, and Ellen determined to see 
 what she could do. She had been very indignant at 
 first, to think a poor teacher should refuse her brother, 
 and something of this spirit manifested itself during 
 her interview with Marian. 
 
 U I am astonished at you," she said; "for, though 
 we have ever treated you as our equal, you must know 
 that in point of family you are not, and my brother 
 has done what few young men in hia standing, would 
 have done. Why, there never w;is a gentleman in 
 Springfield whom the girls accounted a better match 
 than William, unless it were Mr. .Raymond from Ken- 
 tucky, and they only gave him the preference because 
 he lives South, and possibly has a wife somewhere. 
 So they could not get him, if they wished to. Now, 
 if you were in love with him, and he were not already 
 married, I should not think so strangely of your con- 
 duct, for he may be Will's superior in some respects ; 
 
 12
 
 266 WILL S WOOING. 
 
 but I cannot conceive of your refusing him for any 
 common man such as would be likely to address you." 
 
 Marian did not tbink it necessary to reply in sub- 
 stance to this long speech, neither did she, by "word or 
 look, resent Ellen's overbearing manner ; but she an- 
 swered, as she always did : 
 
 " I would marry your brother, if I could ; but I can- 
 not." 
 
 u Then I trust you will have a pleasant time teach- 
 ing all your days," said Ellen, as she slammed the door 
 behind her, and went to report her success. 
 
 All this trouble and excitement wore upon Marian, 
 and after a time she became too ill to leave her room, 
 where she kept her bed, sometimes 'fancying it. all a 
 dream sometimes resolving to tell the people who she 
 was, and always weeping over the grief she had brought 
 to William Gordon, who, during her illness, showed 
 how noble and good he was by caring for her as ten- 
 derly as if she had indeed been his promised bride. 
 He did not see her, but he made his presence felt, in a 
 thousand different ways, and when they told him how 
 her tears would drop upon the fresh bouquets he sent 
 her from the green-house every morning, he would 
 turn away to keep his own from falling. 
 
 One night, toward the last of March, as he sat with 
 his mother in the same room where he first told her of 
 his love lor Marian Grey, the door-bell rang, and a 
 moment after, to his great surprise, Frederic Raymond 
 walked into the room. William had forgotten what 
 his friend had said about the possibility of his coming 
 north earlier than usual, and he was so much aston- 
 ished that for some moments he did not appear like 
 himself. 
 
 " You know I wrote that business might bring me 
 to Albany," said Frederic, " and that if I caine so far 
 I should visit you." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I remember now," returned William, the 
 color mounting to his forehead as he recalled the na- 
 ture of the last letter written to Frederic, who, from
 
 WILL'S WOOING. 267 
 
 his manner, guessed that something was wrong, and 
 forbore questioning him until they retired to their 
 room for the night. 
 
 " Fred," said William, after they had talkel awhile 
 on indifferent subjects, " Fred," and Will's feet went 
 up into a chair, for even a man who has been refused 
 feels better, and can tell it better, with his heels a lit- 
 tle elevated, "Fred, it's all over with me, and it makes 
 no difference now whether the sun rises in the east or 
 in the west." 
 
 " I suspected as much," returned Frederic, " from 
 your failing to write and from the length of your face. 
 What is the matter ? You didn't coax hard enough,! 
 reckon, and I shall have to undertake it for you. How 
 would you like that? I dare say I should be more 
 successful," and Frederic's smile was much like the 
 Frederic of other days, when he and Will were college 
 friends together. 
 
 " I said everything a man could say, but the chief 
 difficulty is that she don't love me and do<'S love an- 
 other," returned Will, at the same time repeating to 
 his companion as much of h:'s experience as he thought 
 proper. 
 
 "A discouraging beginning, I confess," said Freder- 
 ic ; " but perhaps she will relent." 
 
 " No she won't," returned Will ; " she is just as de- 
 cided now as she was that night. I have exhausted all 
 my persuasion ; mother has coaxed, so has Mary, sT> 
 has Nell, and all to no purpose. Marian Grey can, 
 never be my wife. If it were not for this other love, 
 though, I would not give it up." 
 
 " \V T ho is the favored one ?" Frederic asked, and his 
 friend replied, "Some rascal, I dare say, for she says 
 it is a hopeless attachment on her part, and that makes 
 it all the worse. Now if I knew the man was worthy 
 of her, I should not feel so badly. If it were you, for 
 instance, or somebody like you, I'd try to be satisfied, 
 knowing she was quite as well off as she would be with 
 me," and Will's feet went up to the top of the chair as
 
 268 WILL'S WOOING. 
 
 he thought how magnanimous he would be were it 
 Frederic Raymond who was beloved by Marian Grey. 
 
 "lam sorry for 3 7 ou," said Frederic "sorry that 
 yon, too, must walk under a cloud, as I am doing. We 
 little thought, when we were boys, that we should both 
 be called to bear a heavy burden ; but thus has it 
 proved. Mine cnme sooner than yours, and it seems 
 to me 'tis the hardest of the two to bear." 
 
 " Fred, you don't know what you are saying. Your 
 grief cannot be as great as mine, for I love Marian 
 Grey as man never loved before, and when she told 
 me ' No,' and I knew she meant it, I felt as if she were 
 tearing out my very heartstrings. You acknowledge 
 that you never loved your wife ; but you married her 
 for I don't know what you married for. 
 
 " For MONEY !" And the word dropped slowly from 
 Frederic's lips. 
 
 " For money ?" repeated Will. " She had no money 
 this Marian Lindsey. She was a poor orphan, I al- 
 ways thought. AVill you tell me what you mean ?" 
 
 " I have never told a living being why I made that 
 girl my wife," said Frederic; "but I can trust you, I 
 know, and I have sometimes thought I might feel bet- 
 ter if some one shared my secret. Still, I would rath- 
 er not explain to you how Marian was the heiress of 
 Redstone Hall, for that concerns the dead; but heiress 
 she was, not only of all that, but of all the lands and 
 houses said to belong to the Raymond estate in Ken- 
 tucky ; not a cent of it was mine ; and, rather than give 
 it up, 1 married her without one particle of love 
 married her, too, when she did not know of her for- 
 tune, but supposed herself dependent upon me." 
 
 " Oh, Frederic, did you thus wrong that girl ? I 
 never thought you capable of such an act. I knew 
 
 you did not love her, but the rest . It hurts me 
 
 to think you did it, and that you still live on her 
 money." 
 
 " Hush, Will !" And Frederic bowed his head for 
 verj* shame. " I deserve your censure, I know, but if
 
 WILL'S WOOING. 269 
 
 my sin was great great has been my punishment. 
 Look at me, Will. 1 am not the light hearted man 
 you parted with six years ago upon the college green; 
 for, since that dreadful night when I first knew poor 
 Marian had fled, and thought she was in the river, I 
 have not had a single moment of perfect peace or free- 
 dom from remorse. I have not spent more of her 
 money either than I could help. Bad as I am, I shrink 
 from that. Redstone Hall grew hateful to me it was 
 haunted with so many bitter memories of her, and was, 
 besides, the place where I sinned against her a second 
 time by daring to think of another of Isabel. You 
 remember her?" v 
 
 "Fred Raymond!" and in his indignation, Will's 
 feet came down from the top of the chair, " you did 
 not aggravate your guilt by talking of love to her f" 
 
 " No, no," groaned Frederic, " I did not, though 
 Heaven only knows the fierce struggle it cost me to 
 see her there every day. and know 1 must not say one 
 word to her of love. I left Redstone Hall at last, as 
 you know. Left it because it was Marian's and Riv- 
 erside was my father's, before Marian came to us ; so 
 it did not seem quite so much like spending her money, 
 for I did try to be a man and earn my own living. 
 They did not get on well -without me in Kentucky. 
 They needed me there a part of the time, at least ; and 
 when, at last, I began to feel differently toward Marian, 
 I felt less delicacy about her fortune, and I have spent 
 my winters at Redstone Hall, where the negroes and 
 the neighbors around all suppose Marian dead, for I 
 have never told them that she was with me in New 
 York. Isabel knows it, but for some reason she has 
 kept it to herself; and I am glad, for I would rather 
 people should nut talk of it until she is really found. 
 I have sought for her so long and unsuccessfully that 
 I'm growing discouraged now." 
 
 " If you knew that she was dead, would you marry 
 [sabel?" asked Will ; and Frederic replied, 
 
 " Never 1'
 
 270 WILL'S WOOING. 
 
 Then, in a reverent tone, as if speaking of one above 
 him in purity and innocence, he told how the little 
 blind girl had stood between him and temptation, 
 holding up his hands when they were weakest, and 
 keeping his feet from falling. ''"But that desire is 
 over. I can look Isabel Huntington calm in the 
 face and experience no sensation, save that of relief, * 
 to think I have escaped her. With the legacy left her 
 by Mr. Rivers, and the little means her mother had, 
 she has bought a small house near Riverside ; so I 
 shall have them for neighbors every Summer. But I 
 do not care. I have no love now for Isabel. It all 
 died out when. I was sick, and centered itself upon 
 that little sweet-faced girl, who, I know, was Marian, 
 though I cannot find her. If I could, Will, I'd will- 
 ingly part with every cent of money I call mine, and 
 work for my daily bread. Labor would not seem a 
 hardship, if I knew that when my toil was done, there 
 was a darling wife waiting for me at home a wife 
 like what I hope my Marian is, and like what your 
 Marian Grey may be." 
 
 " Not mine, Frederic. There is* in all the world no 
 Marian for me," said Will. 
 
 " Nor for me, perhaps," was the sad response, and 
 in the diin firelight, the two mournful faces looked 
 wistfully at each other, as if asking the sympathy neith- 
 er had to give. 
 
 And there they sat until the clock in the room be- 
 low, struck the hour of midnight. Two weary heart- 
 broken men, in the pride of their early manhood, sat 
 talking each to the other, one of "My Marian," and 
 one of " Mine ;" but never, never dreaming that the 
 beautiful Marian Grey, so much beloved by William 
 Gordon, was the lost Marian so greatly mourned by 
 Frederic Raymond.
 
 CHAPTER XXH. 
 
 THE BIRTHDAY. 
 
 MRS. GORDON'S breakfast bell rang several times 
 next morning ere the yonng men made their appear- 
 ance, for, as a natural consequence, the late hours of 
 the previous night had been followed by protracted 
 slumbers. As they were making their hasty toilet, 
 Frederic said to Will : 
 
 " This is Marian's twentieth birthday." 
 
 " Is it possible ?" returned Will. " It seems but 
 yesterday since I saw her, a little girl in pantalets, 
 with long curls streaming down her back. I liked her 
 ver} T much, she seemed so kind, so considerate of every 
 one's comfort ; and I remember telling you once that 
 she would be a handsome woman, while you said 
 ' Never, with that hair !' " 
 
 u Neither can she," rejoined Frederic. " She may 
 be rather pretty. Yes, I am sure she is pretty, for the 
 face which bent over my pillow was not an ugly one ; 
 but I still insist that a woman with red hair cannot be 
 handsome." 
 
 " Tastes differ," returned Will. " Now, I'll venture 
 to say Miss Grey's hair was red when she was a child. 
 It is not very far from it now, in the sunlight ; and 
 everybody speaks ot'her hair as her crowning beauty." 
 
 " I wish 1 could see her," said Frederic ; " for, as 
 she will not be your wife, I suppose she will be Alice's 
 governess. And it is quite proper that I should have 
 an interview with her, and talk the matter over. Will 
 you call with rue this evening?"
 
 272 THE BIRTHDAY. 
 
 " Certainly," returned Will ; " for, though it will 
 afford me more pain than pleasure to meet her, I will 
 not be so foolish as to avoid her." 
 
 Breakfast being over, the young men started for a 
 walk down town, going by Mrs. Sheldon's house, of 
 course, although it was entirely out of their way. But 
 neither thought of this, and they passed it on the op- 
 posite side of the street; so that Will could, unob- 
 served, point out Marian's room to Frederic. 
 
 "That's it," he said "the one with the blinds 
 thrown open. There she has often sat, I suppose, 
 thinking of the villain who stands between me and 
 happiness. The rascal ! I tell you, Fred, I wish I had 
 him as near to me as you are!" and Will Gordon fan- 
 cied how, in such a case, he would treat a man who 
 did not love Marian Grey ! 
 
 Frederic made no answer, for his eyes were fixed in- 
 tently upon the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of 
 one who was fast becoming an object of interest even 
 to him. But he looked in vain, for Marian had not 
 yet risen. Pale, weary and weak, she reclined among 
 her pillows, her fair hair falling about her face in 
 beautiful disorder, and her eyes turned also toward the 
 window, not because she knew that Frederic was look- 
 ing in that direction, but because the morning sun was 
 shining there, and she was watching it as it danced 
 upon the curtain of bright crimson. 
 
 " I have seen the suns of twenty years," she 
 thought, " and I am growing old so- fast. I wonder if 
 Frederic would know me now." 
 
 At this moment, Mrs. Sheldon came in, and advanc- 
 ing toward the window, looked down into the street. 
 Catching a view of her brother and his friend, she ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " Frederic Raymond I I wonder when he came ?" 
 
 "What? Where? Who is it?" Marian asked, 
 quickly, at the same time raising herself upon her 
 elbow, and looking wistfully in. the direction Frederic 
 had gone.
 
 THE BIRTHDAY. 273 
 
 " Mr. "Raymond, Will's friend, from Kentuckj'," re- 
 turned Mrs. Sheldon. " He must have come last 
 night?" and as little Fred just then called to her from 
 without, she left the room. 
 
 When she was alone, Marian buried her face in the 
 bed-clothes, and murmured: 
 
 " Oh, if I could only see him ! I long so to test his 
 powers of recognition, and see if he would know me." 
 
 She almost hoped he would, and claim her for his 
 wife, as this, she fancied, might cure Will Gordon 
 sooner than aught, else which could be done. She was 
 sure they would talk of her, for Frederic had bidden 
 Will propose, and he would naturally ask the result 
 of that proposal. Will would say she had refused him 
 because she loved another, and would not something 
 whisper to her husband that " the other "was himself 
 that Marian Grey was his Marian the Marian of 
 Redstone Hall and he would come to her that very 
 day, perhaps, and all the morning she waited anxi- 
 ously for a step she was certain she would know, 
 though it might not be as elastic and bounding as of 
 old, ere she had trammeled it with a heavy weight. 
 She listened nervously for its full, rich tones, asking 
 for her, in the parlor below. But she listened in -am 
 and the restless excitement brought on a severe head- 
 ache, which rendered it impossible for her to leave the 
 room, even if he came. This Mrs. Sheldon greatly la- 
 mented, for she had invited the young men to tea, and 
 while accepting her invitation, Will had asked if Miss 
 Grey would not be able to spend a part of the evening 
 with them. 
 
 "She is to be Fred's governess, you know," he said, 
 "and he naturally wishes to make her acquaintance." 
 
 This request Mrs. Sheldon made known to Marian, 
 who asked, eagerly, if " to-morrow would not do as 
 well ?" 
 
 "It might," returned Mrs. Sheldon, "were it not 
 that he leaves on the early train." 
 
 Marian sighed deeply, and turning upon her pillow 
 
 12*
 
 274 T1IE BIRTHDAY. 
 
 tried to sleep, hoping thus to lose the throbbing pain 
 in her head but it would not be lost; and when, as it 
 was growing dark, she heard the sound of feet upon 
 the gravelled walk, and knew whose feet they were, 
 it ached as it had not done before during the entire day. 
 She heard them as they entered the lower hall, and 
 fancied she saw Frederic place his hat and shawl upon 
 the stand, and pass his fingers through his hair ere he 
 entered the parlor, which was directly beneath her 
 room. She knew when he was there, for she heard his 
 well-remembered voice speaking to the children, and 
 covering her face with her hands she wept aloud to 
 think she should not see him. 
 
 Meantime, in the parlor below, little Fred had 
 climbed into his uncle's lap and commenced a rather 
 embarrassing conversation. Somehow Will reminded 
 him of Marian, for the two were associated together 
 in his mind ; and he said, rather as a piece of news: 
 " Miss Day is sick up stairs she is ; and when I told 
 her you was comin' she vomuckvd and cried so hard!" 
 
 Frederic could not help laughing, and, emboldened 
 by this proof of appreciation, the child continued : 
 u "What made her cry, Uncle "Will ? I asked her didn't 
 she want you to come, and she say yes. Don't she 
 like you ?" 
 
 ' I guess not," said "Will, trying himself to laugh, 
 while Frederic, pitying his embarrassment, strove to 
 divert the little fellow's mind by asking about the sled 
 he saw upon the steps as he came in. 
 
 This had the desired effect, for a sled was of more 
 consequence to Fred than Miss Grey's tears, and he 
 prattled on about it until his nurse came to take him 
 from the room. After he was gone Mr. Raymond 
 spoke of Miss Grey, asking if ho should not have the 
 pleasure of seeing her. 
 
 "She is suffering from a nervous headache," re- 
 turned Mrs, Sheldon, " and cannot come down, foi 
 which I am very sorry, as I wish you to hear hei 
 play."
 
 THE BIRTHDAY. 275 
 
 " I do not care so much for that," returned Frederic, 
 " as for seeing her, so as to carry back a good account 
 to Alice. Do tell me, Mrs. Sheldon, is she really as 
 beautiful, and fascinating, and accomplished as report 
 would make her out to be ?" 
 
 " I should say she would folly warrant any praise 
 you may have heard of her," returned Mrs. Sheldon, 
 " although her beauty is not of the brilliant style. She 
 is very modest and gentle in her appearance, and thjere 
 is in her eyes and in her smile something so very sad 
 and plaintive, that I often feel like crying when I look 
 at her, for I know she must have suffered some great 
 trouble, young as she is." 
 
 Involuntarily Frederic and William glanced at each 
 other, for they knew what that trouble was, and the 
 latter felt as if he would like to take vengeance on the 
 man who could be indifferent to love like that of Ma- 
 rian Grey ! 
 
 After a moment, Mrs. Sheldon continued : 
 
 "There has been something said, I believe, about 
 her going to you next September, but I warn you now 
 that I shall use every possible effort to keep her. We 
 sail for Europe in August, you know, and she will be 
 of invaluable service to me then, as she speaks French 
 and German so readily. The tour, too, will do her 
 good, and you must not be surpdsed to hear that she 
 cannot come to Riverside." 
 
 Mr. Raymond was too polite to oppose Mrs. Sheldon 
 openly, but he had become too deeply interested in 
 Marian Grey to give her up without, a struggle, and 
 when alone again with Will, in the chamber of the 
 latter, he -broached the subject, asking his companion 
 if he thought there was any probability of Miss Grey's 
 disappointing him. 
 
 v r mean to write her a note," he said, and sitting 
 
 dpwn^Will's writing desk he took up a sheet of 
 
 gilt edgetv^ a p er an( j commenced, " My dear Marian." 
 
 ^ >5il , 1 , aAV V^"^ exclaimed, "what am I thinking 
 
 about*' and teV n g up the sheet he threw it into the
 
 276 THE BIRTHDAY 
 
 grate and commenced again, addressing her this time 
 as " Miss Grey." 
 
 He considered her services engaged to himself, he 
 said, and should expect her at Riverside early in Sep- 
 tember. She could come sooner if she liked, for Mrs. 
 Jones was to leave the first of August. 
 
 " That European trip may tempt her," he thought, 
 and he added, " I am glad to learn from Mi's. Sheldon 
 that you are such a proficient in German and French, 
 for I have serious thoughts of visiting the Old World 
 myself ere long, and as Alice, of course, will go with 
 me, we shall prize your company all the more on ac- 
 count of these accomplishments." 
 
 This note he gave to "Will, who said, " Perhaps I 
 shall try again, and if I succeed, I suppose you will 
 give her up to me." 
 
 " Yes," answered Frederic, ''I'll give way for Will 
 Gordon's wife, but for no one else," and there the con- 
 versation ceased concerning Marian Grey ; nor was it 
 resumed again, for early the next morning he started 
 for New York, as he intended stopping at Riverside 
 ere he returned to Kentucky. 
 
 True to his trust, Will gave the note to Marian the 
 first time that he met her, after she was well enough 
 to come down stairs as usual. 
 
 " It is from Mr. Raymond," he said, and Marian's 
 face was scarlet as she took it and looked into his eye 
 with an eager, searching glance, to see if he knew her 
 secret." 
 
 But he did not, and with spirits which began to ebb, 
 she broke the seal and read the few brief lines, half 
 smiling as she thought how very formal and business- 
 like they were. But it was Frederic's hand-writing, 
 and when sure Will did not see her she pressed it to 
 her lips. 
 
 " What you do that for?" asked little Fred wn so 
 sharp eyes saw everything not intended f' 1 ' them to 
 see. .
 
 THE BIRTHDAY. 277 
 
 " Sli sh," said Marian ; but the child persisted. 
 "Say, what you tiss that letter for?" 
 
 Will Gordon was standing with his back to her, but, 
 at this strange question, he turned quickly and fast- 
 ened his eyes on Marian's face, as if he would fathom 
 her inmost soul. 
 
 . "There's something there," she said, passing the 
 note again over her lips as if she would brush the 
 " something" away. 
 
 This explanation was wholly satisfactory to Fred, 
 who, with childish simplicity, asked, " Did you get 
 it?" 
 
 But Will was not quite certain, and for several days 
 he puzzled his brain with wondering whether "Marian 
 Grey really did kiss Frederic Raymond's note or not." 
 If so, why did she ? She could not be in love with a 
 man she had never seen. She was not weak enough 
 for that, and at last rejecting it as an impossibility and 
 accepting the troublesome "something" as a reality, 
 his mind became at rest upon that subject.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 MARIAN RAYMOND. 
 
 VERY rapidly the Spring passed away, enlivened 
 once by a short visit from Ben, who, having purchased 
 an entire new suit of clothes for the occasion, looked 
 and appeared unusually well, talking but little until he 
 was alone with Marian, when his tongue was loosed, 
 and he told her all he had come to tell. 
 
 He had been to Riverside, he said, and Mrs. Rus- 
 sell, who was still there and was to be the future house- 
 keeper, was very gracious to him, on account of his be- 
 ing the adopted brother of their next governess, Miss 
 Grey. 
 
 " She showed me your chamber," said he, " and it's 
 the very one they tixed up so nice for Isabel. Nobody 
 has ever used it, for Miss Jones slep' in a little room 
 at the end of the hall. Frederic has had a door cut 
 from Alice's chamber into yourn, 'cause he said how't 
 you and she would want to be near to each other, he 
 knew. And I'll tell you what, when you git there, it 
 seems to me you'll be as nigh Heaven as you'll ever git 
 in this world. Mrs. Huntington has bought a little cot- 
 tage close by Frederic's," he continued, " and she's 
 livin' there with Isabel, who has got to be an heir " 
 
 " An heiress !" repeated Marian. " Whose, pray ?'' 
 
 "Don't know," returned Ben, " only that ok 1 Ilia n 
 she went to Florida with is dead, and he \*Y le d her 
 some. I don't know how much, but law olie spend 
 it in no time. Mrs. Russell said her lj- e Cl 'tains cost 
 an awful sight, though she b'liev^ the J was bought
 
 MABIAN KA.YMOND. 279 
 
 Becond-hand, in New York. I walked by there afoot 
 to see 'em, and between you and me they are yallerer 
 than satfern. My advice to her is that she bile 'em up 
 in ashes and water, jest as mother used to bile up my 
 shirts that I wore in the factory. It'll whiien 'era 
 quickest of anything, and if 1's you I'd kinder tell her 
 60 friendly like, you know 'cause it don't look well 
 for decent folks to have such dirty things a hangiu' to 
 their winders !" 
 
 Marian smiled at Ben's simplicity, telling him that 
 " the chief value of the curtains consisted probably in 
 their soiled, yellow appearance." 
 
 " Whew," whistled Ben, " I wish mother'd had a 
 little more larnin', for if she'd known it was genteel to 
 be dirty, mabby she wouldn't have broke her back a 
 scrubbing when there warn't no use on't." 
 
 Isabel's curtains having been discussed at length, 
 and herself described as Ben saw her "struttin' through 
 the streets," he arose to go, telling Marian he should 
 not probably see her again until he visited her in the 
 Autumn at Riverside. 
 
 " I guess I wouldn't let it all out at once," said he, 
 "but wait and let Frederic sweat. It'll do him good, 
 and he isn't paid yet for all he's made you suffer. I 
 ain't no Univorsaler, but I do like to see folks catch it 
 as they go 'long." 
 
 Once Marian thought to tell him of "William Gor-* 
 don's unfortunate attachment, particularly as he was 
 loud in his praises of the young man ; but upon second 
 reflections she decided to keep that matter to herself, 
 hoping that the subject would never be mentioned to 
 her again. And in this her wishes seemed to be real- 
 ized, for as the weeks after Ben's departure went by, 
 William began to be more like himself than he had 
 been before since her refusal of him. He came often 
 to Mrs. Sheldon's, sang with her sometimes as of old, 
 and she fancied he was losing his love for her. But 
 she was mistaken, for it WHS strengthening with each 
 hour's interview. The very hopelessness of his
 
 280 MARIAN KAYMOND. 
 
 sion rendered it more intense, it would seem, until at 
 last, unable longer to remain where she was, and know 
 she could never be his, he went from home, nor re- 
 turned again until near the middle of August, when he 
 found Mrs. Sheldon's house in a state of great confu- 
 sion. Furniture was being covered or packed away, 
 rooms shut up, and windows fastened down, while his 
 sister was in that state of feminine bliss when every 
 chair is tilled with new dresses, save two, and those 
 two are occupied by the makers of said dresses. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Sheldon were going to Europe. They 
 would sail in about two weeks, and as Marian had posi- 
 tively declined to accompany them, they had engaged 
 another governess, who was to meet them in New 
 York. It was decided that Marian should remain a tew 
 days with Mrs. Gordon, and then go to Riverside, where 
 her coming was anxiously expected both by Frederic 
 and Alice. This arrangement was highly satisfactory 
 to Will, who anticipated much happiness in having 
 her wholly to himself for a week. There would be no 
 sister Ellen, with curious, prying eyes, for she was go- 
 ing with Mrs. Sheldon as far as New York no little 
 girls always in the way no funny Fred, to see and 
 tell of everything nobody, in short, but his good 
 mother, who he knew would often leave him alone 
 with Marian. 
 
 During his absence from home he had thu light 
 much upon the subject, and had resolved to make one 
 more trial at least. She might be eventually won, and 
 if so, he should care but little for the efforts made to 
 win her. With this upon his mind, he felt rather re- 
 lieved than otherwise when the family at last were 
 gone, and Marian was an inmate of his mother's 
 house. Both Mr. and Mrs. Sheldon had urged him to 
 accompany them, and he had made arrangements to 
 do sc in case he found Marian still firm in her refusal. 
 They were intending to stop for a few days in New 
 York, and he could easily join them the day on which 
 the ship was advertised to sail. He should know hia
 
 MABIAN RAYMOND. 281 
 
 fate before that time, he thought, and lie strove in va- 
 rious ways to obtain an interview with Marian, who, 
 divining his intention, was unusually reserved in her 
 demeanor toward him, and if by chance she found her- 
 self with him alone, she invariably formed some ex- 
 cuse to leave the room, so that Will began at Jast to 
 lose all hope, and to think seriously of joining his sis- 
 ter as the surest means of forgetting Marian Grey. 
 
 " She does not care for me," he said to his mother, one 
 night after Marian had retired. " I believe she rather 
 dislikes me than otherwise. I think on the whole I 
 shall go, and if so, I must start in the morning, for the 
 vessel sails to-morrow night." 
 
 To this his mother made no objection, for though 
 she would be very lonely without him, she was accus- 
 tomed to rely upon herself, so she rather encouraged 
 him than otherwise, thinking it would do him good. 
 Accordingly, next morning, when Marian, came down 
 to breakfast, she was surprised to hear of Will's intend- 
 ed departure. 
 
 " Oh, I am sorry," she said, involuntarily, for Will 
 Gordon had a strong place in her affections, and knew 
 not what danger might befall him on the deep. 
 
 Breakfast being over, there remained to Will but 
 half an hour, and as a part of this was necessarily 
 spent with the servants, and in preparations for his jour- 
 ney, he had at the last but a few moments in which to 
 say his farewell words to Marian. She was in the back 
 parlor, his mother said, and there he found her weep- 
 ing, for she felt that her friends were leaving her one 
 by one, and though in a few days she was going back 
 to her husband and her home, she knew not what the 
 result would be. Will's sudden determination to visit 
 Europe affected her unpleasantly, for she felt that she 
 was in some way connected with it, and she was con- 
 scious of a feeling of loneliness, such as she had not 
 experienced before since she first came to Mrs. Shd- 
 don's.
 
 282 MAKIAN RAYMOND. 
 
 " Are you weeping ?" said Will, when he saw her with 
 her head bowed down upon the arm of the sofa. 
 
 Marian did not answer, and with newly awakened 
 hope Will drew nearer aud seated himself beside 
 her. " It might be that he was mistaken, after all," 
 he thought. "Her tears would seem to indicate as 
 much. Girls were strange beings, everybody said," 
 and passing his arm around the weeping Marian, he 
 whispered : " Do you like me, then?" 
 " Yes, very, very much," she answered, " and now 
 that you are going away, and I may never' see you 
 again, I am so sorry I ever caused you a moment's 
 pain." 
 
 " I needn't go, Marian," William said, drawing her 
 close to him. " I will stay, oh, so gladly, if you bid 
 me do so. But it must be for you. Shall I, Marian ? 
 May I stay ?" and again Will Gordon poured into her 
 ear deep burning words of love entreating her to be 
 his wife to forget that other love so unworthy of her, 
 and to give herself to him, who would cherish her so 
 tenderly. Then he told her how the thought that she 
 did not love him had made him go away, when he 
 would so much rather remain where she was, if he 
 could know she wished it. " Answer me, Marian," he 
 said, " for time hastens, and if you tell me no again, I 
 must be gone. Never man loved and, worshipped his 
 wife as I will love and worship you. Speak and tell 
 me yes." 
 
 Will paused for her reply, and looking into her face, 
 which she had turned towards him, he thought he read 
 a confirmation of his hopes, but the first words she ut- 
 tered wrung his heart with cruel disappointment. 
 
 " I cannot be your wife," she said. " I mean it, Mr. 
 Gordon, I cannot, and oh, it would be wicked not to 
 tell you. Can 1 trust you ? Will you keep my secret 
 Bate, as I have kept it almost six long years ?" 
 
 There was some insufferable barrier between them, 
 and William Gordon felt it, as trembling in every
 
 MARIAN KATMOND. 283 
 
 limb, he answered, "Whatever you intrust to me shall 
 not be betrayed." 
 
 " Then, listen," she said, " and say if you will bid 
 me marry yon. I told you I was not what I seemed, 
 and I am not. People, perhaps, call me young, but to 
 toy self I seem old, I have suffered so much and all my 
 womanhood has been wasted, as it were, in tears. I 
 told you once that before coming here I had given to 
 another the love for which you sued, and I told you 
 truly ; but Mr. Gordon, there was more to tell ; that 
 other one, who loves me not, or who, if he does, has 
 never manifested it to me by word or deed, is my own 
 husband /" 
 
 "Oh, Marian, Marian, this indeed is death itself!' 7 
 
 froaned Will, for though he had said the re was no 
 ope, it seemed to him now that he had never believed 
 or realized it, as when he heard the dreadful words, 
 "my own husband." 
 
 " Do not despise me for deceiving you,". Marian con- 
 tinued. "If I had thought you could have seen aught 
 to desire in me, a poor, humble girl, I might, perhaps, 
 have warned you in time, though how could I tell you, 
 a stranger, that I was an unloved wife ?" 
 
 "Where is he that man?" Will asked, for he could 
 not say "your husband," and his lip quivered with 
 something akin to the pain one feels when he hears the 
 cold earth rattling into the grave where he has buried 
 his fondest pride. 
 
 Marian's confession was a death-blow to all Will had 
 dared to hope, and he asked for the husband more as a 
 matter of form than because he really cared to know. 
 
 " Mr. Gordon," said Marian, rising to her feet, 
 and standing wijth her face turned fully toward 
 him, "Must I tell you more? I thought I needed 
 only to speak of a husband and you would guess the 
 rost. L/on't you know me ? Have we never met be- 
 foie?" 
 
 Wistfully, anxiously William gazed at her, scanning 
 her features one by one, while a dim vision of something
 
 2S4: MARIAN EAYMOND. 
 
 back in the past floated before him, but assumed no 
 tangible form, and shaking hjs head, he answered : 
 " Never, to my knowledge." 
 
 " Look again. Is not my face a familiar one ? Did 
 you never see it before ? Not here not in New 
 England but far away, where the Summer cornea 
 earlier and the Winter is not so long. Is there not 
 something about me something in my person, or my 
 voice, which carries you back to an old house on the 
 river where you once met a little curly-haired girl ?" 
 
 She did not need to say more. Little by little it had 
 come to him, and, starting to his feet, he caught her 
 hand, exclaiming, " Great Heaven ! The lost wife of 
 Frederic Itaymond /" 
 
 " Yes," she answered, "the lost Marian of Redstone 
 Hall," and leaning her head upon his arm, she burst 
 into tears, for he seemed to her like a brother now, 
 while she to him 
 
 He could. not think of her as a sister yet he loved 
 her too well for that; but still his feelings toward her 
 had changed in the great shock with which he recog- 
 nized her. She could never be his Marian, he knew, 
 neither did he desire it. And for a moment he stood 
 speechless, wholly overwhelmed with astonishment and 
 wonder. Then he said, " Marian Raymond, why are 
 you Jiere ?" 
 
 " Why ?" she repeated bitterly. " You may well 
 ask why. Hated by him who should care for me, what 
 could I do but go away into the unknown world, and 
 throw myself upon its charities, which in my case have 
 not been cold or seltish. God bless the noble-hearted 
 Ben, and the sainted woman, his mother, who did not 
 cast me oif when I went to them, homeless, friendless, 
 and heart-broken." 
 
 In her excitement, Marian clasped her hands togeth 
 er, and the blue of her eye grew deeper, darker, as she 
 paid this tribute of gratitude to those who had been 
 her friends indeed. Involuntarily, Will Gordon, too, 
 responded to the words, " God bless the noble-hearted
 
 MARIAN RAYMOND. 285 
 
 Ben," for, looking at the beautiful girl before him, ho 
 felt that what she was she owed to the self-denying, 
 unwearied efforts of the uncultivated but generous 
 Beu. 
 
 " Marian," he said again, " you must go home. Go 
 to your husband. He is waiting for you. He has 
 sought for you long ; he has expiated his sin. Go, Ma- 
 rian, go " 
 
 " I am going," she answered, " and if I only knew 
 he wanted me wanted his wife " 
 
 " He does want you," interrupted Will. " He has 
 told me so many a time," 
 
 Marian was about to reply, when Mrs. Gordon ap- 
 peared, warning her son that the carriage was at the 
 door ; and with a hurried farewell to Marian and his 
 mother, Will hastened off, whispering to the former, 
 " I shall write to you when on the sea " 
 
 "And keep my secret safe. I would rather divulge 
 it myself," she added: 
 
 He nodded in the affirmative, and was soon on his 
 way to the depot, so bewildered with what he had 
 heard, that lie scarcely knew whether it were reality or 
 a dream. Gradually, however, it became clear to him, 
 and he remembered many things which confirmed the 
 strange story he had heard. 
 
 Greatly he wished to write to Frederic, and tell him 
 that Marian Grey was his wife, but he would not break 
 his promise, and he was wondering how he could hasten 
 the discovery, when, as the cars left the depot at Hart- 
 ford, a broad hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a 
 voice which sounded familiar, said, "Wall, captain, 
 beiu' we're so full, 1 guess you'll have to make room 
 for me, or else I'll have to set with that gal whose hoops 
 take up the hull concern." 
 
 " Ben Butterworth," Will exclaimed, turning his face 
 toward the speaker, who recognized him at once. 
 
 " Wall," he began, as he took the seat Will readily 
 shared with him, " I didn't 'spose 'twas you. How do
 
 286 MARIAN RAYMOND. 
 
 you do, and how's Marian ? Has she gone to River- 
 Bide yet ?" 
 
 "No," returned "Will, and looking Ben directly in 
 the face, he continued, " How much of Miss Grey's 
 histo'ry do you know ?" 
 
 " Mor'n I shall tell, I'll bet. How much do you 
 know ?" and Ben set his hat a little more on one side 
 of his head. 
 
 " More than you suppose, perhaps," returned Will. 
 " And if you, too, are posted, I'd like to talk the matter 
 over, but if not, I shall betray no secrets." 
 
 " I swan, I b'lieve you do know," said Ben. " Did 
 she tell you ?" 
 
 "Will nodded, and Bon continued, " She wrote to me 
 that you knew Mr. Raymond, and liked him, too; I 
 guess he ain't a very bad chap after all, is he?" 
 
 The ice was fairly broken now, and both Will and 
 Ben settled themselves for a long conversation. Will 
 did not think it betrayed Marian's confidence to talk 
 of her with one who understood her affairs so much 
 better than himself, and ere they reached New York, 
 he had heard the whole story heard how Ben had 
 stumbled upon her in New York, and taken her to his 
 home \vithout knowing aught of her, except that she 
 was friendless and alone how the mother, now resting 
 in her grave, had cared for the orphan girl, and how 
 Ben, too, had done for her what he could. 
 
 " 'Twan't much anyway," he said, "and I never 
 minded it an atom, for 'twas a pleasure to arn money 
 for her schoolinV 
 
 And Ben spoke truly, for it never occurred to him 
 that he had denied himself as few men would have 
 done toiling early and late, through sunshine and 
 storm, wearing the old coat long after it was thread- 
 bare, and sometimes, when pedolijug, eating but two 
 meals a day, by way of saving for Marian. Of all 
 this he did not speak to his companion. He did not 
 even think of it, or, if he did, he felt that he was more 
 than paid in seeing Marian what she was. Accident
 
 MABIAN RAYMOND. 287 
 
 ally, he said that his name was really Ben Burt, and 
 that lie should be glad when the time came for him to 
 be called thus again. 
 
 "When will that be?" asked "Will, and Ben replied 
 by unfolding to him his long cherished plan of having 
 Frederic make love to his own wife. 
 
 " You might write to him, I s'pose," he said, "but 
 that, would spile all my fun, and I'd rather let the thing 
 work itself out. He's bound to fall in love with her. 
 He can't help it, and I don't see how you could. 
 Mabby you did." And Ben's grey eyes looked quiz- 
 zically at his companion, who colored deeply as he re- 
 plied merely to the first part of Ben's remark. "I 
 certainly will not interfere in the matter, though before 
 meeting you I WHS wondering how I could do so, and 
 not betray Marian's confidence. I am sure now it will 
 all come right at last, and you ought to be permitted 
 to bring it round in your own way, for you have been 
 a true friend to her, and I dare say she loves you as a 
 brother." 
 
 This was touching Ben on a tender point, for his old 
 affection for Marian was not quite dead yet, and Will's 
 last words brought back to him memories of those 
 dreary winter nights, when in his way he had battled 
 with the love he knew he must not cherish for Marian 
 Grey. He fidgetted in his seat, got up and looked 
 under him, sat down again and looked out of the win- 
 dow, and repeated to himself a part of the multiplica- 
 tion table, by way of keeping from crying. 
 
 " Bless her, she's an angel," he managed at last to 
 Bay, adding, as he. met the inquiring glance of Will : 
 " It's my misfortin' to be oncommon tender-hearted, 
 and when I git to thinkin' of somethin' that concerns 
 nobody but me, I can't keep from cryin' no way you 
 can fix it," and two undeniable tears rolled down his 
 cheeks and dropped from the end of his nose. 
 
 k ' He, too," sighed Will Gordon, and as he thought 
 how much more the uncouth man beside him had done 
 for Marian Grey than either Frederic or himself, and that
 
 288 MARIAN RAYMOND. 
 
 he really had the greatest claim to her gratitude and 
 love, his heart warmed toward Yankee Ben as to a 
 long tried friend, and he resolved to leave for him a 
 substantial token of his regard. 
 
 " Why don't you settle down, as a grocer, in some 
 small country toivn ?" he asked, as they came near the 
 city. 
 
 " I have thought of that," said Ben, "for I'm gettin' 
 kinder tired of travelin' now that there ain't no home 
 for me to go to once in so often. I think I should like 
 to be a grocery man first rate, and weigh out saleratus 
 and bar soap to the old wimmen. Wouldn't they 
 flock in, though, to see me, I'm so odd ! But 'taint 
 no use to think on't for I hain't the money now, though, 
 mabby I shall have it bimeby. My expenses ain't as 
 great as they was." 
 
 By this time they had reached the depot, and Will, 
 who knew they must part there, said to him, " How 
 long do you stay in New York ?" 
 
 " Not long," returned Ben, " I've only come to re- 
 cruit my stock a little." 
 
 u Go to the Post-Office before jou leave," was Will's 
 reply, as he stepped from the platform and was lost in 
 the crowd. 
 
 " What did he mean ?" thought Ben. " Nobody 
 writes to me but Marian, and I ain't expectin' nothin' 
 from her, but I guess I may as well go. 
 
 Accordingly, the next night, when Will Gordon, 
 with little Fred in his anna, was looking out upon the 
 sea, Ben wended his way to the office, inquiring first 
 for Ben Butterworth and then for Ben Burt. There 
 was a letter for the latter, and it contained a draft for 
 three hundred dollars^ together with the following 
 lines : 
 
 " You and I have suffered alke, and in each of our 
 hearts there is a hidden grave. I saw it in the tears 
 you shed when talking to me of Marian Grey. Hea- 
 ven bless you, Ben Burt, for all you have been to her,
 
 MATCIAN RAYMOND. 289 
 
 She is one of the fairest, best, of God's creation, bnt 
 she was not meant for yon nor me ; and we must learn 
 to go our way without her. Yon have done for her 
 more, perhaps, than either Mr. Raymond or myself 
 would have done in the same circumstances, and thus, 
 far you are more worthy of her esteem. You will 
 please accept the inclosed as a token that I appreciate 
 your self-denying labors for Marian Grey. Use it 
 for that grocery we talked about, if you choose, or 
 for any purpose you like. If you have any delicacy 
 just consider it a loan to be paid when you are a 
 richer man than I am. You cannot return it, of 
 course, for when you receive it I shall be gone. 
 
 " Yours, in haste, WILLIAM GORDON." 
 
 This letter was a mystery to Ben, who read it again 
 and again, dwelling long upon the words, " You and 
 I suffered alike, and in each of our hearts there is a 
 hidden grave." 
 
 " That hits me exactly," he said, " though I never 
 thought of callin' that hole in my heart a grave 
 but 'taint nothin' else, for I buried somethin' in it, 
 and the tender brotherly feeliri' I've felt for Marian 
 ever since was the grave stun I set up in memory of 
 what had been. But what does he know about it, 
 though why shouldn't he, for no mortal man can look 
 in Marian's face and not feel kinder cold and hyster- 
 icky-like at the pit of his stomach ! Yes, he's in love 
 with her, and that's the way she came to tell who she 
 was. Poor Bill ! poor Bill ! I know how to pity him to 
 a dot/' and Ben heaved a deep sigh as he finished this 
 long soliloquy. 
 
 Ihe money next diverted his attention, but no puz- 
 zling on his part could explain to him satisfactorily 
 why it had been sent. 
 
 '" S'posin' he was grateful," he said, " he needn't give 
 me three hundred dollars for nothin', but be in' he lias, 
 I may as well use it to start in business, though I shall 
 pay it back, of course," and when alone in his room 
 
 13
 
 290 MARIAN EAYMOND 
 
 at the Hotel where he stopped, he wrote upon a bit of 
 paper. 
 
 " NEW YORK, August 30 18 
 
 " For vallj rec. I promise to pay Bill Gordon, or 
 bearer, the sum of three hundred dollars with use from 
 date. 
 
 " BENJAMIN BURT." 
 
 This note he put carefully away in his old leathern 
 wallet, where it was as safe and as sure of being paid 
 as if it had been in William Gordon's hands instead of 
 his. 
 
 Meantime Marian at Mrs. Gordon's was half regret- 
 ting that she had told her secret to William, and great- 
 ly lamenting that they had been interrupted ere she 
 knew just how much Frederic wished to find her. 
 That his feelings toward her had changed, she was 
 sure, but she would know by word and deed that he 
 loved her ere she revealed herself to him, and the dark 
 mystery of that cruel letter must be explained before 
 she could respect him as she had once done. And now 
 but a few days remained ere she should see him face 
 to face, for she was going to Riverside very soon. 
 Some acquaintance of hers were going west by way of 
 New York, and she decided to accompany them, 
 though "by going doing she would reach Riverside one 
 day earlier than she was expected. 
 
 "It would make no difference of course," she said, 
 and she waited impatiently for the appointed morning. 
 
 It came at last and long before the hour for starting 
 she was ready, the dancing joy in her eyes, and her 
 apparent eagerness to go being sadly at variance with 
 the expression of Mrs. Gordon's face, for the good lady 
 loved the gentle girl and grieved to part with her. 
 
 "I am sorry to leave yon," Marian said, \vhen the 
 last moment came, " but I am so glad I am going, too, 
 sometime, perhaps, you may know why and then you 
 will not blame me."
 
 MARIAN RAYMOND. 291 
 
 She could not shed a tear although she had become 
 greatly attached to her Springfield home> and her ex- 
 citement continued unabated until she reached ISTew 
 York, where they stopped for the night. There were 
 several hours of daylight left, and stealing away from 
 her friends she took a Third Avenue car and went up to 
 their old house where strangers were living now. She 
 did not care to go in, for the dingy, uncurtained win- 
 dows looked far from inviting, and she passed slowly 
 down the other side of the street, musing upon all that 
 had passed since the night when she first climbed those 
 narrow stairs, and asked a mother's care from Mrs. 
 Burt. She did not think then that she would ever be 
 as happy as she was to-day with the uncertainty of 
 meeting Frederic to-morrow. It seemed a great while 
 to wait, and as Ben had once numbered the weeks in 
 seven years, so she now counted the hours, which must 
 elapse ere she felt the pressure of Frederic's hand 
 for he would shake hands with her of course, and he 
 would look into her face, for he had heard much of 
 her both from Will Gordon and Ben. Would he be 
 disappointed? Would he think her pretty? Would 
 he know her? And Alice what would she say? 
 Marian dreaded this test more than all the rest, for she 
 felt that there was danger in the instinct of the blind 
 girl. Slowly she retraced her steps and returning to 
 the Astor, sought her own room, informing her friends 
 that she was weary and would rest. 
 
 "Five hours more," was her first thought when sho 
 awoke next morning from a sounder sleep than sho 
 had supposed it possible to enjoy when under such ex- 
 citement. Ere long it was four hours more, then three, 
 then two, then one, and then the cars stopped at the 
 depot at Yonkers. Two trunks marked " M. G." stood 
 upon the platform, and near them a figure in black, 
 bowing to her friends, who leaned from the car win- 
 dow, and holding in her hands a satchel, a silk um- 
 brella, two checks, her purse, and a book, for Marian
 
 / 
 
 292 MARIAN RAYMOND. 
 
 possessed the weakness of her sex, and in traveling 
 always carried the usual amount of baggage. 
 
 " To Riverside," she said, when asked where she 
 wished to go, and she looked around as if half expect- 
 ing a familiar face. 
 
 But she looked in vain, and in a few moments she 
 was comfortably seated in the lumbering stage, which 
 once before had carried her up that long hill. Eagerly 
 she strained her eyes to catch the first view of the 
 house; and \vhen at last it came in sight, she was too 
 intent upon it to observe the showily-dressed young 
 lady tripping along upon the walk, and holding her 
 skirts with her thumb and finger so as to show her 
 dainty slipper. 
 
 But if Marian did not see Isabel, Isabel saw her. 
 It was not usual for the stage to come up at that hour 
 of the day, and as it passed her by, Isabel turned to 
 see where it was going. 
 
 "To Riverside," she exclaimed, as she saw it draw 
 up to the gate. " It must be the new governess," and 
 as there was no house very near, she stopped to inspect 
 the stranger as well as she could at that distance. 
 " Black," she said, as Marian stepped upon the ground ; 
 "But I might have known it, for regular built teach- 
 ers always wear black, 1 believe. (She ia rather tall, 
 too. An umbrella, of course. I wonder she hasn't 
 her blanket shawl and overshoes this hot day. Her 
 bonnet is pretty, and that hem in her veil very wide. 
 On the whole, she's quite genteel for a governess," 
 and Isabel walked on while Marian went up the grav- 
 eled walk, expecting at each step to meet with either 
 Frederic or Alice. 
 
 She would rather it should be the latter, for in case 
 of recognition, she knew she could bind the blind girl 
 to secrecy for a time, but no one appeared, and about 
 the house there was no sign of life, save a parrot, which, 
 in its cage beneath a maple tree, screamed out wholly 
 unintelligible words. The door was shut, and even after 
 the driver had placed her trunks upon the piazza and
 
 MARIAN RAYMOND. 293 
 
 gone, Marian stood there ringing the bell. The win- 
 dow to her right was open, and she knew it was the 
 window of Frederic's room, but he was not sitting near 
 it, and after a little she ventured to approach it and 
 look in. It did not seem to have been occupied at all 
 that day, for everything was arranged in perfect order 
 as if broom and duster had recently done service there. 
 Its prim, neat appearance affected Marian unpleasant- 
 ly, as if it were the furerunner of some disappoint- 
 ment, and going back to the door she resolutely pulled 
 the silver knob. The loud, sharp ring made her heart 
 beat violently, and when she heard a heavy tread, not 
 unlike a man's coming up the basement stairs, she 
 thought, " What if it is Frederic himself? What shall 
 i say ?" 
 
 " It ib Frederic," she continued, as the step came 
 nearer, and she was wishing she could run away and 
 hide, when the door was opened by Mrs. Russell, her 
 feet encased in a pair of Mr. Raymond's cast-off shoes, 
 which accounted for her heavy tread, and herself look- 
 ing a little crest-fallen at the sight of her visitor, whom 
 she recognized at once. 
 
 " Miss Grey, I b'lieve ?" she said, dropping a low 
 curtesy. " We wan't expectin' you till to-morrow ; 
 but walk in, and make yourself at home. You'll want 
 to go to your room, I 'spose. Traveled all night, didn't 
 you? You look pale, and I wouldn't wonder if you 
 wanted to sleep most of the day. I never thought of 
 such a thing as your comiri' this inorniu'. Dear me, 
 what shall I do?" 
 
 This was said in an under-tone, but it caught the ear 
 of Marian, who, now that she had a chance to speak, 
 asked for Mr. Raymond, timidly, as if fearful that with 
 his name her sacret might slip out. 
 
 "Bless you!" returned Mrs. Russell, "both of 'em 
 went to New York early this morning, and won't be 
 home till dark, maybe, and that's why I feel so. I 
 don't know how to entertain you as they do, and Miss 
 Alice has been reckoning on giving you a good im-
 
 294 MABIAN EAYMOND. 
 
 pression. I'm so sorry you've they've gone, I mean. 
 I wan't expecting to get any dinner to-day, and was 
 having such a nice time, sewin' on my new dress ;" 
 and, with the last, the whole cause of the old lady's un- 
 easiness was divulged. 
 
 In the absence of Frederic and Alice, she had count- 
 ed upon a day of leisure, which Marian's arrival had 
 seriously interrupted. 
 
 " I beg you not to trouble yourself for me," baid 
 Marian, who readily understood the matter. " I never 
 care for a regular dinner : indeed, I may not be hungry 
 at all." 
 
 The old lady's face brightened perceptibly, and she 
 replied : 
 
 k ' Oh, I don't mind a cup of tea, and the like o' that ; 
 but to brile or stew this hot day ain't so pleasant, when 
 a person is fleshy, as I am. I'll get you something, 
 though ; and now you go up stairs to your room, the 
 one at the right hand, with the white furniture, and 
 the silver jigger, that let's the water into that marble 
 dish. We live in style, I tell you ; and Mr. Raymond 
 is a gentleman, if there ever was one only he wants 
 meat three times a day, just as he has in Kentucky. 
 Thinks, I 'spose, it don't hurt me any more to sweat over 
 the fire, than it does that Dinah. Alice talks so much 
 about. Yes, that's the door right there ;" and Mrs, 
 Russell went back to the making of her dress, while 
 Marian sought her chamber, feeling rather disappoint- 
 ed at the absence of both Frederic and Alice, whose 
 object in visiting New York, that day, will be ex- 
 plained in the succeeding chapter, and will necessarily 
 take us backward for a little in our story.
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 ' FKEDERIC," said Alice, about six weeks before Ma- 
 rian's arrival at Riverside, "who hired that Mrs. Mer- 
 ton to take care of you when you were sick at the 
 hotel?" 
 
 " The proprietor, I suppose," returned Frederic. 
 
 Alice continued : 
 
 " But who told him of her ?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Frederic. " She was from the 
 country, I believe." 
 
 " Yes, yes," returned Alice ; " but some person must 
 have recommended her, and if you can ascertain who 
 that person was, you may find Mrs. Merton, and learn 
 something of Marian." 
 
 "I wonder I never thought of that before," said 
 Frederic, adding, " that if Alice had her sight he be- 
 lieved she would have discovered Marian ere this." 
 
 "I know I should," was her answer; and after a 
 little further conversation, it was decided that Frederic 
 should go to New York, and learn, if possible, who 
 iirst suggested MIS. Merton as a nurse. 
 
 This was not so easy a matter as he had imagined it 
 to be, for though Frederic himself was well remem- 
 bered at the hotel, where he was now a frequent guest, 
 scarcely any one could recall Mrs. Merton distinctly, 
 and no one seemed to know how she came there, until 
 a servant, who had been in the house a long time, 
 spoke of Martha Gibbs, and then the proprietor sud-
 
 296 FEEDERIC AND ALICE VISIT MAKIAN's OLD HOME. 
 
 denly remembered that she had recommended Mrs. 
 Merton as being a friend of hers. 
 
 "Bat who is Martha Gibbs, and where is she now?" 
 Frederic asked ; and the servant replied that 
 
 " Her home used to be in Woodstock, Conn. ;" and 
 with this item "of information Frederic wrote to her 
 friends, inquiring where she was. 
 
 To tin's letter there came ere long an answer, saying 
 
 that Mrs. John Jennings lived in , a small town 
 
 in the interior of Iowa. Accordingly the next mail 
 westward from Yonkers carried a letter to said Mrs. 
 Jennings, asking where the woman lived who had 
 nursed Mr. Raymond through that dangerous fever. 
 This being done, Frederic and Alice waited impa- 
 tiently for a reply, which was long in coming, for Mr. 
 Jennings' log tenement was several miles from the 
 post-office, where he seldom called, and it was more 
 than a week ere the letter reached him. Even then it 
 found him so engrossed in the arrival of his first-born 
 son and heir, that for two or three days longer it lay 
 unopened in the clock-case, ere he thought to look at 
 it. 
 
 " I don't know what it means, I'm sure," he said, 
 taking it to his wife, who, having never heard of the 
 death of her old friend, replied, " Why, he wants to 
 know where Mrs. Burt lives. Just write on a piece of 
 
 paper : ' East street, No. , third story ; turn to 
 
 your right ; door at the head of the stairs.' I wonder 
 if he's never been there yet?" 
 
 John was not an elaborate correspondent, and he 
 simply wrote down his better half's direction, saying 
 nothing whatever of Mrs. Burt herself, and thus con- 
 veying to Frederic no idea that Merton was not the 
 real name. 
 
 " A letter from Iowa," said Frederic to Alice, as he 
 came in from the office, on the very night when Ma- 
 rian was walking slowly past what was once her home. 
 " I have the street and number, and to-morrow I am 
 going there."
 
 FREDEKIC AND ALICE VISIT MAKIAN's OLD HOME. 297 
 
 " And I am going, too," cried Alice. Won't Ma- 
 rian be surprised to see us both. I hope she'll C"ine 
 to the door herself; and Frederic, if she does, you'll 
 kiss her, won't you, and act like you was glad, for if 
 you don't, maybe she won't come back with us.' v 
 
 " I will do right," answered Frederic, adding in a 
 low tone, " Perhaps she will not be there." 
 
 "Yes, she will," was Alice's positive reply, "or if 
 she's not, somebody can tell us where she is. Only to 
 think, we shall see her to-morrow. I do wish it would 
 hurry, and I'm glad Miss Grey is not coming until the 
 clay after. It will be so nice to have them both here. 
 Do you suppose they'll like each other, Marian and 
 Miss Grey I" 
 
 " I dare say they will," returned Frederic, smiling 
 at the little girl's enthusiasm, and hoping she might 
 not be disappointed. 
 
 Anon, a shadow clouded Alice's face, and observ- 
 ing it, Frederic passed his hand over her hair, saying, 
 " What is ir, birdie ?" 
 
 " Frederic," said Alice, creeping closely to the side 
 of the young man, " Isn't Miss Grey very beautiful ?" 
 
 " Mr. Gordon and Ben say so," returned Frederic, 
 and Alice continued : 
 
 " Don't be angry with me, but you loved Isabel the 
 best because she was the handsomest, and now you 
 won't love Miss Grey better than Marian, will you, and 
 you'll be Marian's husband right off, won't you ?" 
 
 "When Marian comes here, it will be as my wife," 
 said Frederic, and with this answer Alice was satis- 
 lied. 
 
 " I wish it would grow dark faster," she said, for she 
 could tell when it was night ; and Frederic, while list- 
 ening to the many different ways she conjured up for 
 them to meet Murian, became almost as impatient aa 
 herself for the morrow, when his renewed hopes might, 
 perhaps, be realized. 
 
 The breakfast next morning was hurried through, for 
 neither Alice nor Frederic could eat, and Mrs. Russell,
 
 298 FREDERIC AND ALICE VISIT MARIANA OLD HOME. 
 
 when she saw how much was left untouched, conirrat- 
 nlated herself upon its answering for the hired raan'a 
 dinner, and thus giving her a nice long time for sew- 
 ing. 
 
 " It isn't a bit likely Miss Grey will come to-day," 
 said Alice, as she followed Frederic to the carriage; 
 and, confident of this, they gave Miss Grey no further 
 thought, but went on their way in search of Marian. 
 "When they reached New York, Frederic, who had 
 some business to transact, left Alice in the parlor at 
 the Astor, where she sat with her face to the window, 
 just as though she could see the passers-by; and, as 
 she sat there, a party who were leaving glanced has- 
 tily in, all seeing the little figure by the window, and 
 one thinking to herself, " She wears her hair combed 
 back, as Alice used to do !" 
 
 Then the group passed on, while over the face of the 
 blind girl there flitted for an instant a wondering, be- 
 wildering expression, for her quick ear had caught the 
 Bound of a voice which, it seemed to her, she had heard 
 before not there not in New York* but far away, 
 at Redstone Hall. What was it ? "Who was it ? She 
 bent her head to listen, hoping to hear it again, but it 
 came no more, for Marian Grey had left the house, 
 and was passing up Broadway. It was not long ere 
 Frederic returned, sind, taking .\ lice's hand, he led her 
 into the street, and entered a Third avenue car. 
 
 " We are on the right track, I think," he said ; "for 
 it was this way she went with the man described by 
 Sarah Green." 
 
 Alice gave a sigh of relief, and, leaning against 
 Frederic, rather enjoyed the pleasant motion of the 
 car, although she wished it would go faster. 
 
 " Won't we ever get there ?" she asked, as they plod- 
 ded slowly on, stopping often to take in a passenger, 
 or set one down. 
 
 " Yes, by and by," said Frederic, encouragingly. 
 " I am not quite certain of the street, myself, but I 
 shall know it when I see the name, of course ;" and he
 
 FREDERIC AND ALICE VISIT MAKIAN 5 S OLD HOME. 299 
 
 looked anxiously out as they passed along. " Here it 
 is!" lie cried, at last; and, seizing Alice's arm, he 
 rather dragged than led her from the car, and out upon 
 the crossing. " Why," he exclaimed, gazing eagerly 
 around him, " I have been here before down this 
 very street ;" and his eye wandered involuntarily in 
 the direction of the window where once the white - 
 fringed curtain hung. 
 
 It was gone now, as was the rose geranium. The 
 kitten, too, was gone, and the small hand resting on 
 it; while in their place appeared the heads of t\vo or 
 three dirty children, looking across the way, and mak- 
 ing wr} r faces at similar dirty children in the window 
 opposite. Frederic saw all this, and it affected him 
 unpleasantly, causing him to feel as if he had parted 
 from some old friend. But no ; where was that? It 
 must be in this locality ; and he wondered how one 
 accustomed to the luxuries of Redstone Hall could 
 live in this place so long. 
 
 " I've found it!" he said, as his eye caught the num- 
 ber ; and now, that he believed himself near to what 
 he had sought so long, he was more impatient than 
 Alice herself. 
 
 He could not wait for her uncertain footsteps, and 
 pale with excitement, he caught ner in his arms and 
 hurried up the narrow stairs, wliicli many 'a time had 
 creaked to Marian's tread. The third story was reached 
 at last, and he stood panting by the door, where Mr. 
 Jennings had said that he must stop. It was open, and 
 the greasy, uncarpeted floor, of \rhich he caught a 
 glimpse, looked cheerless and uninviting, but it did 
 not keep him back a moment, and he advanced into 
 the room, which, by the three heads at the window, 
 he knew was the same where the white curtain once 
 hud hung, and where now the glaring August sunlight 
 came pouring in, unbroken and unsubdued. 
 
 At the siglit of a stranger one of the heads turned 
 toward him and a little voice said :
 
 cOO FREDERIC AND ALICE VISIT MARIAN'S OLD HOME. 
 
 " Ma's out washin', she is, and won't be home till 
 night." 
 
 There was a cold, heavy feeling of disappointment 
 settling round Frederic's heart, for nothing there seemed 
 at ull like what he remembered of the neat, tidy Mrs. 
 Merton, but he nerved himself to ask : 
 
 " What is your mother's namg ?" 
 
 " Bunce, and my pa is in the Tombs," was the 
 reply. 
 
 " How long have you lived here ?" was the next 
 question, asked with a colder, heavier heart. 
 
 " Next Christinas a year," said the little girl, and 
 catching Frederic's arm, Alice whispered, 
 
 " Do let's O out into t^e open air." 
 
 But Frederic did not move there was a spell upon 
 him, and for several moments it kept him there in the 
 very room where Marian had wept so many tears for 
 him, and where, in her desolation, she had asked that 
 she might die when the greatest sorrow she had ever 
 known came upon her the sorrow brought by Isabel's 
 cruel letter. There close to where he stood was the 
 door of the little room where for weeks and months 
 she had lain, tossing in her feverish pain, while over 
 her Ben Burt kept his tireless watch, nor asked for 
 greater reward than to know that she would live. And 
 was there nothing to tell him of all this nothing to 
 whisper that the one he sought had been there once, 
 but was waiting for him now in his own home ! No, 
 there was nothing but dark, cheerless poverty staring 
 him in the face, and with a sigh he turned away, and 
 knocking at other doors, asked for the former occu- 
 pants of those front rooms. Nearly all the present 
 tenants had moved there since Mrs. Burt's death, and 
 none knew aught of her save one rather decent-looking 
 woman, who said "she remembered the folks well, 
 though they held their heads above the likes of her. 
 She'd ceen them cumin' in and out and had peeked 
 into their room, so she knew they was well to do." 
 
 " Was their name Merton ? and did a young girl
 
 FEEDKRIO AND ALICE VISIT MARIANA OLD HOME. 301 
 
 live with, them?" asked Frederic; and the woman 
 replied : 
 
 " Merton sounds some like it. though I'd sooner say 
 'twas Burton, or something like that. I never even 
 BO much as passed the time of day with 'em, for I tell 
 you they felt above me; but the girl was a jewel so 
 trim and genteel like." 
 
 " That was Marian," whispered Alice ; and Fred- 
 eric continued : 
 
 " Where are they now ?" 
 
 " Bless you," returned the woman. " One on 'ern 
 is in Heaven, and the Lord only knows where t'other 
 one went to." 
 
 Alice's hand, which lay in Frederic's, was clutched 
 with a painful grasp ; and the perspiration gathered 
 about the young man's white lips as he stammered 
 out : 
 
 " Which one is dead? Not the girl? You dare 
 not tell me that ?" 
 
 " I dare if it was so," returned the woman ; " but 
 'twant ; 'twas the old one the one I took to be the 
 mother; though I have heard a story about the girl's 
 comin' here long time ago, before 1 moved here. I 
 was away when the woman died, and when 1 got back 
 the rooms was empty, and the boy and girl was gone ; 
 nobody knows where ; and I haint seen em since." 
 
 Frederic was too much interested in Marian to hear 
 anything else, and he paid no attention to her mention 
 of a boy. Marian was all he wished to find, but it was 
 iii vain that he questioned and cross-questioned the 
 woman. She had given all the information she could ; 
 and with an increased feeling of disappointment he 
 left her, glancing once more into the room where he 
 was sure Marian had lived. Alice, too, was willing to 
 stop there now ; and when Frederic told her of the 
 geranium and the kitten he had once seen in the win- 
 flow, a smile mingled with her tears, and she wished 
 she had them now, especially the kitten ! She did not 
 know that the matronly-looking cat, which, behind the
 
 302 FEEDERIO AND ALICE VISIT MARIAN'S OLD HOME. 
 
 broken stove, was purring sleepily, was the same ]\lai 
 tese kitten Marian had fondled so often. At the time 
 of leaving she had given it to an acquaintance near 
 by, but pussy preferred her old haunts, and returning 
 to them, persisted in remaining there until the arrival 
 of the new comers, who took her in, and she now daily 
 shared the meagre fare of the three children by the 
 window. Intuitively, as it were, she felt that Alice 
 was a lover of her race, and she came towards her, 
 purring loudly, and rubbing against her side. 
 
 " Lands sake," exclaimed the woman. " Here's the 
 very cat the young girl used to tend so much. I know 
 it by the white spot between its eyes. I found it mew- 
 ing and making an awful noise by the door when I 
 came back ; and though I ain't none of your cat 
 women, I flung it a bone or two till them folks came, 
 and the children kept it to torment, I 'spect, just as 
 young ones will. I see one of 'em with a string round 
 its neck t'other day a chokin' it most to death." 
 
 " Oh, Frederic," and Alice's face expressed what she 
 wished to say, while she caught up the animal in her 
 arms. 
 
 Frederic understood her, and speaking to the oldest 
 of the children, he said, "Will you give me your 
 cat ?" 
 
 " No, no," the three set up at once, and Alice whis- 
 pered, " Buy her, Frederic, won't you ?" 
 
 "Will you let me have her for fifty cents?" he 
 asked, showing the silver coin. 
 
 " No, no," and the youngest began to cry. 
 
 " Give more," said Alice, and Frederic continued, 
 " Fifty cents a piece, then. You can buy a great many 
 cakes and crackers with it" 
 
 " And candy," suggested Alice. 
 
 "The youngest began to show signs of relenting, as 
 did the second, but the third persisted in saying "No." 
 
 " Offer her more," was whispered in a low voice, 
 and glancing around the poorly furnished room, Fred- 
 eric took out his purse and said, " You shall have a
 
 FBEDEKIC AND ALICE VISIT MARIAN 's OLD HOME. 303 
 
 dollar a piece, but part of it must be saved for yom 
 mother, besides that, this little girl is blind," and he 
 laid his hand on Alice's head. 
 
 This last argument would have been sufficient with- 
 out the dollar, for it touched a chord of pity in the 
 heart of that child of poverty, and coming closer to 
 Alice she looked at her curiously, saying, "Can't you 
 see a bit more'n I can with my eyes shut?" and she 
 closed her own by way of experimenting. 
 
 "Not a bit," returned Alice, "but I love kitty just 
 the same, because she used to belong to a dear friend 
 of mine. May I have her?" 
 
 " Ye-es," came half reluctantly from the lips of the 
 child, as she extended her hand for the money. 
 
 " Oh, I'm so glad," said Alice when the) 7 were at a 
 safe distance from the house. " I was afraid they'd 
 take it back," and she held fast to the kitten, which 
 made no effort to escape, but lay in her arms, singing 
 occasionally as if well pleased with the exchange. 
 
 This, however, Frederic knew would not continue 
 until they reached home, and stepping into a shop 
 which they were passing, he bought a covered basket, 
 in which the cat was placed and the lid secured, a pro- 
 ceeding not altogether satisfactory to the prisoner. 
 Alice, too, was equally distressed, and when she learned 
 that Frederic could not go home until night, she in- 
 sisted upon his getting her a room at the Asitor, where 
 she could let her treasure out without fear of its escap- 
 ing. Frederic complied with her request, and in her 
 delight with her new pet, she half forgot how disap- 
 pointed she had been in the result of their visit. But 
 not so with Frederic. He felt it keenly, for never had 
 his hopes of finding Marian been raised to a higher 
 pitch than that" morning, and even now he could not 
 give it up. Leaving Alice at the hotel he went back 
 again to the street and made the most minute inquiries, 
 but all to no purpose. He could not obtain the least 
 clue to her, and he retraced his steps with a feeling
 
 30i FBEDEBIO AND ALICE VISIT MARIANAS OLD HOME. 
 
 that she was as really lost to him as if Sarah Green'a 
 letter had been true and Marian resting in her grave. 
 
 " Why had that letter been written?" he asked him- 
 self again and again. 
 
 Somebody knew of Marian, and there was a mystery 
 connected with it a mystery of wrong it might me. 
 Perhaps she could not come back, even though she 
 wanted to, and his pulses quickened with painful rap- 
 idity as he thought of all the imaginary terrors which 
 might surround the lost one. It was indeed a sad re- 
 flection, and his spirits were unusually depressed, 
 when just before sunset he took Alice by one hand, 
 the basket in the other, and started for home. 
 
 " I didn't think we should come back alone," said 
 Alice, when at last they reached the depot at Yonkers, 
 and she was lifted into the carriage waiting for them. 
 " It's dreadful we couldn't find her, but I am so glad 
 we've got the cat ;" and she guarded the basket cure- 
 fully, as if it had contained the diamonds of India. 
 
 Frederic did not care to talk, and folding his arms, 
 lie leaned moodily back in his carriage, evincing no 
 interest in anything until as they drew near home, the 
 driver said to Alice: 
 
 " Guess who's come ?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know Dinah, may be," was Alice's 
 reply, and then Frederic smiled at the preposterous 
 idea. 
 
 " No ; guess again," said the driver. " Somebody 
 as handsome as a doll." 
 
 " Miss Grey 1" cried Alice, almost upsetting her 
 basket in her delight. 
 
 Eagerly she questioned John, and then replied, 
 "I'm so glad, though I was going to fix her room so 
 nice to-morrow but no matter, it's always pleasant 
 up there. How lonesome she must have been all 
 day with nothing but the garden, the books, and the 
 piano." 
 
 " She has been homesick," I guess," said John, " for
 
 FKEDERIC AND ALICE VISIT MARIAN'S OLD HOME. 305 
 
 I seen her cryin', I thought, out under a tree in the 
 garden." 
 
 " Poor thing !" sighed Alice. " She won't be home* 
 sick any more when we get there ; will she, Fred- 
 eric ? I wonder if she likes cats!" And as by thia 
 time they had stopped at their own gate, the little 
 girl went running up the walk, shaking the basket 
 prodigiously, and inciting its contents to such violent 
 struggles that in the hall the lid came off, and bound- 
 ing from its confinement, the cat ran into the parlor, 
 wliere, trembling with fright, it crouched as'for protec- 
 tion, at the feet of Marian Grey.
 
 CHAPTER XXIY. 
 
 THE MEETING. 
 
 NOTWITHSTANDING Alice's fears the day had not been 
 lon<>; one to Marian, who had been so occupied in un- 
 packing her trunks and in going over the house and 
 grounds, as scarcely to heed the lapse of time, and she 
 was surprised when, about sunset, she saw John drive 
 from the yard, and knew he was going for his master. 
 Not till then did she fully realize her position, and she 
 sought her chamber to compose herself, for the dreaded 
 trial, which each moment came nearer and nearer. 
 
 " Will Frederic know me ?" she asked herself a dozen 
 times, and as often answered no but Alice, ah, Alice, 
 there was danger to be apprehended from her, and 
 Marian felt that she would far rather meet the scrutin- 
 izing gaze of Frederic Raymond's eyes than submit 
 herself to the touch of the blind girl's fingers, or trust 
 her voice to the blind girl's ear. 
 
 That might not have changed. She could not tell 
 if it had, though she thought it very probable, for six 
 years was a long, long time, and it was nearly that 
 since she left Redstone Hall. She could not sustain a 
 feigned voice, she knew, and there was no alternative 
 save to wait the trial and abide the result of a recog- 
 nition. She felt a pardonable pride in wishing to 
 make a g~6od impression upon Frederic, for he could 
 see, and she spent a much longer time at her toilet 
 than usual. Black was very becoming to her daz- 
 zling complexion, and the thin tissue she wore iitted her 
 admirably, showing just enough of her neck, while the
 
 THE MEETING. 307 
 
 wide, loose sleeves displayed the whole of her well- 
 shaped arm, which, from contrast, looked white and 
 smooth as ivory. Hitherto she had curled her entire 
 hair, but she did not dare to do so now, and she con- 
 fined a part of it with a comb, while the remainder 
 of it was suffered to curl as usual about her face and 
 behind her ears. This changed her looks somewhat, 
 but was still becoming, and as she saw in the mirror 
 the reflection of her sweet young face and deep blue 
 eyes there came a brighter glow to her cheek, for she 
 knew that the cherished wish of her early girlhood had 
 been fulfilled, and that Ben Burt was right when he 
 called her beautiful. 
 
 The gas was lighted when she entered the parlor be 
 low, and turning it down a little, she took a book and 
 seated herself somewhat in the shade. But the vol- 
 ume might as well have been wrong side up for any 
 idea its contents conveyed to her, so absorbed was she 
 in what was fast approaching, for she had heard the 
 carriage stop at the gate, and felt the cold moisture 
 starting out beneath her hair and on her hands. 
 
 u I will be calm," she said, and with one tremen- 
 dous eifort of the will she quieted the violent throb- 
 bings of her heart, and leaning on her elbow, pretend* 
 ed to be reading, though not a sound escaped her ear. 
 She heard the little feet come running up the walk, 
 and the heavy, manly tread following in the rear. 
 
 She heard the struggle in the hall between Alice 
 and the cat, and when the latter bounded into the room 
 and crouched jdown at her feet, she thought there was 
 something familiar in that spot between the eyes. But 
 it could not be, she said, though Alice's exclamation of 
 " Do, Frederic, shut the door, so she cannot get away," 
 seemed to intimate that pussy was a stranger there. 
 Stooping down, she passed her hand caressingly over 
 the animal's back, whispering, in a low tone, "Spotty, 
 darling, is it you?" 
 
 Won by her voice, the cat sprang up on Marian's 
 lap j uat as Frederic glanced hastily in.
 
 308 TOE MEETING. 
 
 " Your pet is safe." he said to Alice, whom he fol- 
 lowed to .the sitting room, waiting there a moment, and 
 then starting to meet Miss Grey. 
 
 She knew he was coming, counting every step, and 
 without raising her eyes from the book she pretended 
 to be reading, knew just when he crossed the threshold 
 of the door. Removing her hand from her head, where 
 it had been resting, she gently pushed the cat from her 
 lap, and half rising to her feet, waited for the first 
 words of greeting. 
 
 " Miss Grey, I believe ;" and bowing low, Frederic 
 Raymond, advanced towards Marian, who now stood 
 up, so that the blaze of the chandelier fell full upon 
 her, revealing at once her face and form. 
 
 Had her very life depended upon it she could not 
 have spoken then, for the stormy emotions the name 
 " Miss Grey " called up, mastered her speech entirely. 
 She knew he would thus address her, but it grated 
 harshly on her ear to hear him call her so, and her 
 heart yearned for the familiar name of Marian, though 
 she had no reason to expect it from him. 
 
 "You are welcome to Riverside," he continued ; 
 " and I regret that your first day here should have 
 been so lonely." 
 
 This gave her a little time, and conquering her 
 weakness she extended her hand to take the one he 
 offered. Hers was cold and clammy, and trembled 
 like an imprisoned bird, as it lay in his broad, warm 
 palrn. For an instant he held it there, and gazed 
 down into her sweet, childish face, which did not look 
 wholly unfamiliar to him, while she herself seemed 
 more like a friend than a total stranger. The tie be- 
 tween them, which naught but death could sever, and 
 which was bound so closely around Marian's heart, 
 brought to his own an answering throb, and when at 
 last she spoke, assuring him that she had not been 
 lonely in the least, he started, for there was something 
 in the tone which moved him as a stranger oft ia 
 moved, when hearing in the calm, still night the air
 
 THE MEETING. 309 
 
 of " Home. Sweet Home." It carried him back to 
 Redstone Hall, years and years ago, when in the moon- 
 light lie had played with his dusky companions upon 
 the river brink. But Marian Lindsey had m> portion 
 of his thoughts at that first interview with Marian 
 Grey, who ventured at last to look into his face just as 
 he was looking into hers. Oh, how much like the 
 Frederic of old he was, save that in his mature man- 
 hood he was liner, nobler looking, while the proud fire 
 of his eye had given place to a milder, softer expres- 
 sion, and she felt intuitively that he was far more wor- 
 thy of her love than when she knew him before. 
 
 Motioning her to a chair, he, too, sat down at a lit- 
 tle distance and conversed with her pleasantly, as 
 friend converses with friend, asking about her jour- 
 ney, making inquiries after Mrs. Sheldon's family, and 
 experiencing a most unaccounfable sensation when he 
 saw how she blushed at the mention of William Gor- 
 don ! Ben was next talked about, and Marian was 
 growing eloquent in his praise, when suddenly a sight 
 met her view which pretrified her powers of speech and 
 sent the hot blood ebbing backward from her cheek 
 and lip. In the hall without and where Frederic could 
 not see her, the blind girl stood, her hands clasped and 
 slightly raised, her lips apart, her eyes rolling, her head 
 bent forward, and her ear turned toward the door, 
 whence came the sound which had arrested her foot- 
 steps and chained her to the spot. She had started for 
 the parlor and come thus far, when she, too, caught 
 the tone which had affected even Frederic, and her 
 head grew dizzy with the bewildering sound, for to 
 her it brought memories of Marian. Had she come? 
 Was she there with Frederic and Miss Grey ? Eager- 
 ly she waited to hear the sound repeated, wondering 
 why Miss Grey, too, did not join in the conversation. 
 It came again, the old familiar strain, though tuned to 
 a sadder note, for Marian had suffered much since last 
 she talked with Alice, and it was perceptible even in 
 her voice. Tighter and tighter the small hands pressed
 
 310 THE MEETING. 
 
 together lower and lower bent the head, while a 
 shade of disappointment flitted over the face of the 
 listening child, for this time it did not seem quite so 
 natural as at lirst, and she knew, too, that 'twas Miss 
 Grey who spoke, for her subject was Ben Butterworth. 
 
 " What is it?" asked Frederic, observing that Miss 
 Grey stopped suddenly in the midst of a remark. 
 
 Marian pointed toward the spot where Alice stood, 
 but ere Frederic had time to step forward, the loud 
 ring of the bell started Alice from an attitude which, 
 had Frederic Raymond seen it, would surely have led 
 to a discovery. 
 
 "The little girl, she acts so singular," said Marian, 
 thinking she must make some explanation. 
 
 " She's blind, you know," was answered in a low 
 tone, and going toward the hall, Frederic met with 
 Alice just as a servant opened the outer door, and a 
 stranger entered, asking for Mr. Raymond. 
 
 "In a moment," said Frederic, and leading Alice up 
 to Marian, he continued, "Your teacher," and then 
 left the two together. 
 
 For an instant there was .perfect silence, and Marian 
 knew the blind girl could hear the beating of her 
 heart, while she in turn- watched- the wonder and per- 
 plexity written on the speaking face turned upward 
 toward her own, the brown eyes riveted upon her, as 
 if for once they had broken frpm their prison walla 
 and could discern, what was before them. 
 
 Oh! how Marian longed to take the little, helpless 
 creature in her arms ; to hug her, to kiss her, to cry 
 over her, and tell her of the love which had never 
 known one moment's abatement during the long years 
 of their separation. But she dared not ; and she sat 
 gazing at iier to see if she had changed since the night 
 when she left her sleeping so quietly in their' dear old 
 room at home. She was now nearly thirteen, but her 
 iigure was so slight, and her features so child-like, that 
 few would have guessed her more than nine, unless 
 they judged by her mature, womanly mind. To Ma-
 
 THE MEETING. 311 
 
 rian she seemed the same ; and when, unable longer 
 to restrain herself, she drew the child toiler, and, kiss- 
 ing her forehead, said to her kindly, 
 
 " You are Alice, my pupil, I am sure. Alice 
 what ?" 
 
 " Alice Raymond," and the sightless eyes never 
 moved for an instant from the questioner's face. 
 
 u Are you very nearly related to Mr. Raymond ?" 
 asked Marian ; and Alice replied : 
 
 "Second cousin, that's all. But he has been more 
 than a brother to me since since " 
 
 The perplexed, mystified look increased on Alice's 
 face, and her gaze grew more intense as she contin- 
 ued : " Since Marian went away." 
 
 There was a moment's stillness, and then the hand 
 which hitherto had rested on Marian's lap was raised 
 until it reached the head, where it lay lightly, very 
 lightly, though to Mariati it seemed like the weight of 
 a thousand pounds, and she felt every hair prickle at 
 its root when the blind girl said to her : 
 
 " AIN'T YOU MARIAN <T' 
 
 " Yes, Marian Grey, -Didn't you know my first 
 name ?" was the answer, spoken so deliberately that 
 Marian was astonished at herself. 
 
 There was a wavering then in the brown eyes, a qui- 
 vering of the lids, and the great tears rolled down 
 Alice's cheeks, for with this calm reply, uttered so 
 naturally, the hope she had scarcely dared to cherish 
 passed away, and she murmured sadly : 
 
 "It cannot be her." 
 
 "What makes you cry, darling?" asked Marian, 
 choking back her own tears, which were just ready to 
 flow, and which did gush forth in torrents, when Alice 
 answered : 
 
 " Oh, I wish I wasn't blind to-night !" 
 
 This surely was a good cause for weeping and pres- 
 sing the little one to her bosom, Marian wept over 
 her passionately for a few moments ; then, drying hei 
 eyes, she said :
 
 312 THE MEETING. 
 
 " Why to-night more than any other time ?" 
 
 " Because I want so much to know how you look," 
 returned Alice ; adding immediately: " May I feel of 
 your face ? It's the only way I have of seeing." 
 
 " Certainly," answered Marian ; and the fingers wan- 
 dered slowly, cautiously, over every feature, involun- 
 tarily caressing the fair, round cheek, but lingering 
 longest on the hair the beautiful hair whose glossy 
 waves were perceptible even to the touch. 
 
 "What color is it ?" she asked, winding one of the 
 curls around her finger. 
 
 " Some call it auburn, some chesnut, and some a 
 mixture of both," was the reply, and Alice continued 
 her investigations by mentally comparing its length 
 with a standard she had in her own mind. 
 
 The two did not agree, for the curls she remembered 
 were longer and far more wiry than the silken tresses 
 of Miss Grey. 
 
 " Ho ,v tall are you ?" she suddenly asked, and Mari- 
 an tried to laugh, although every nerve was thrilling 
 with fear, for she knew she was passing through a dan- 
 gerous test. 
 
 '' Rather tall," she replied, standing up, " Yes, very 
 tall, some would say. Put up your hand and see." 
 
 Alice did as she requested, and her tears came faster 
 as she whispered mournfully. " You're the tallest." 
 
 "Did you think we had met before?" asked Marian, 
 and then the sobs of the child burst fonh unrestrained. 
 
 Burying her face in Marian's lap, she cried, " Yes 
 no 1 don't know what I thought, only you don't seem 
 to me like I supposed you would. You make me 
 tremble so, and I keep thinking of somebody we lost 
 long ago. At first your voice sounded so natural, that 
 I knew most she was here, but you aint't even like 
 her. You're taller and fatter, and handsomer, I reckon, 
 and yet there is something about you that makes my 
 heart beat so fast. Oh, I wish I could see what it is. 
 What made God make me blind?" 
 
 Never before had Marian heard a murmur from the
 
 THE MEETING. 813 
 
 lips of the unfortunate child, and it seemed to her 
 cruel not to whisper words of comfort in her ear. But 
 she could not do it yet, and so she kissed her tenderly, 
 Baying, "Did you love this other one so very much ?" 
 
 " Yes, very, very much," was Alice's reply, " and it 
 hurto me so to think we cannot find her. I thought 
 we surely should to-day, for we went there, Frederic 
 and I went where she used to live, and she wasn't 
 there. 'Twas a dreary place, and Frederic groaned 
 out loud to think she ever lived there." 
 
 " Perhaps it didn't look so then," suggested Marian, 
 who felt constrained to say a word in favor of her for- 
 mer home. 
 
 u Oh, I know it didn't," returned Alice, "for Fred- 
 eric has been by there, though he didn't know it then< 
 and he says it looked real nice, with the white curtain 
 and the bitten asleep on the window sill. It's a cat 
 now, and we brought it home." 
 
 " Her cat ?" and Marian started eagerly. 
 
 " Yes," said Alice, " Frederic gave three dollars for 
 it," and forgetting her late grief in this new interest, 
 she to<d how they knew it was Marian's, and then as 
 Miss Grey expressed a wish to see it, she started in 
 quest of it, just as Frederic appeared, telling them tea 
 was ready. 
 
 " I am afraid you will think we keep Lent here all 
 the year round," he said, apologetically. " I was sur- 
 prised to find that Mrs. Russell compelled you to fast 
 until our return." 
 
 ' ( ' It didn't matter," Marian relpied ; though she had 
 wondered a little at the non-appearance of supper, for 
 Mrs. Russell, intent upon her dress, had no idea of 
 " makin' two fusses," and she kept her visitor waiting 
 until the return of Frederic, saying, " the supper would 
 taste all the better when it did come." 
 
 Yery willingly Marian followed Frederic to the di- 
 ning-room, where everything was indicative of ele- 
 gance and wealth. 
 
 " Mrs. Jones used to sit here ; and I now give the 
 14
 
 814 THE MEETING. 
 
 place to you," said Frederic, motioning to the seat by 
 the tea-tray, and himself sitting down opposite, with 
 Alice upon his right. 
 
 Marian became her new position well, and so Fred- 
 eric thought, as he saw how gracefully her snowy fin- 
 gers handled the silver urn, and how much at home 
 she seemed. There was a strange fascination about 
 her as she Bat there at the head of his table, with the 
 bright bloom on her cheek, and the dewy lustre in 
 her beautiful blue eyes, which occasionally wandered 
 toward the figure opposite, but as often fell beneath 
 the curious gaze which they encountered. Frederic 
 could not forbear looking at her, even though he saw 
 that it embarrassed her she was so fresh, so fair, so 
 modest while there was about her an indescribable 
 something which he could not deiine, for though a 
 stranger, as he supposed, she seemed near to him so 
 near that he ahnost felt he had a right to pass liis arm 
 around her, and kiss the girlish lips which Will Gor- 
 don had likened to a rose-bud. 
 
 " Poor Will," sighed, " he did lose a prize when he 
 lost Marian Grey." 
 
 Involuntarily his mind went back to Redstone Hall, 
 and to the time when another Marian sat opposite, and 
 did for him the office this one was doing. The con- 
 trast between the two was great, but, with a nobleness 
 worthy of the man, he thought " Marian Grey is far 
 more beautiful, 'tis true, but Marian Lindsey was my 
 wife." 
 
 Then he remembered the day when Isabel first sat 
 at his board, and he hud felt it a sin to look at her in 
 all her queenly beauty. He had grown hard since 
 then, for he could not think it wicked to look at Mari- 
 an Grey, or deem it a wrong to the other one, and he 
 feasted his eyes upon her until she arose from the table, 
 and went, at Alice's request, to see the cat, which was 
 safely confined in a candle box, " by way of taming 
 her," Alice said. 
 
 " I think there's no need of that," returned Marian,
 
 THE MEETING. 315 
 
 stroking her soft coat. " I am sure she will not run 
 away. What do you propose calling her ?" 
 
 " Marian, I reckon, only you might not want her 
 named after you, and it wouldn't be, for it's the other 
 one." 
 
 " I haven't the least objection," said Miss Grey, 
 laughing, " only Marian will sound oddly. Suppose 
 you call it ' Spottie,' there's a cunning white spot be- 
 tween its eyes." 
 
 " Yes, Alice, let that be the name," said a voice be- 
 hind them, and turning, Marian saw Frederic, who had 
 all the time been standing near and watching them as 
 like two children they knelt together by the candle 
 box and gave the cat its milk Marian and Alice, side 
 by side, jnst as they used to be of old just as Freder- 
 ic had seen them many a time. 
 
 The tableau was a familiar one, and so he felt it to 
 be, though he could not divine the reason. The tall, 
 beautiful girl before him bore no resemblance to the 
 Marian of Redstone Hall, and still nothing she did 
 seemed strange or new to him. 
 
 " I certainly have dreamed of her," he said, when 
 lifting up her head she shook back from her face the 
 clustering curls, and smiled on Alice as she used to do. 
 "I have dreamed of her just as I sometimes dream of 
 places, and see them afterward in waking." 
 
 This conclusion was entirely satisfactory, and she re- 
 turned with the girls to the parlor, while '" Spottie 3; fol- 
 lowed after, hovering near to Marian, whose low spo- 
 ken words and gentle caresses had reawakened the af- 
 fection which had perhaps been dormant during the 
 last year. 
 
 u Will you play for us, Miss Grey ?" said Frederic, 
 and without a word of apology, Marian seated herself 
 at the piano, whose rich, mellow tones rouseJ her en- 
 thusiasm at once, and she played more than usually 
 well, while Alice stood by listening eagerly, and Fred- 
 eric looked on, scarce heeding the stirring notes, so in-
 
 316 THE MEETING. 
 
 tent was lie npon the dimpled hands which swept the 
 keys so skillfully. 
 
 On the third finger there was a little cornelian ring, 
 the first gift of Ben, and as he looked, he felt certain, 
 he had seen that ring and those hands before. But 
 where? He tried to recall the time and the place. 
 Stepping forward, he looked into her face, but that 
 gave him no clue, only the ring and the hands were 
 familiar. Suddenly he started, for he remembered the 
 when and the where remembered, too, that Alice, 
 when told of the girl witli the brown vail, had said to 
 him, " Wan't that our Marian ?" 
 
 He had accepted the suggestion aa a possible one 
 then, but he doubted it now, for if that maiden were 
 Marian Grey, it certainly could not have been Marian 
 Lindsey. The exquisite music ceased, and ere Alice 
 had time for a word of comment, he asked abruptly : 
 " Miss Grey, did you ever ride in the curs with me in 
 New York*" 
 
 The question was a startling one, but Marian's face 
 was turned from him, and he could not see the effort 
 ishe made to answer him calmly. 
 
 " I think it very probable. I have been in the cars 
 a great many times, and with a great many different 
 people." 
 
 " Yes, but one rainy night, more than four years ago, 
 did I not offer you a seat between myself and the door? 
 You wore a brown vail, and carried a willow basket, it 
 it were you. Something about your appearance has 
 puzzled me all the evening, and I think I must have 
 met you there. It was on the Third Avenue cars." 
 
 Marian trembled violently, but by constantly turn- 
 ing the leaves of her music book, she managed to con- 
 ceal her agitation, and when Frederic ceased speaking, 
 she answered in her natural tone, " Now that you re- 
 call the circumstances, I believe I do remember some- 
 thing about it, though you do not look as that man 
 did. I imagined he had been sick, or was in trouble," 
 and Marian s blue eyes turned sideways to witness, if
 
 THE MEETING. 317 
 
 possible, the effect of her words. But she was disap- 
 pointed, for she could not see how white Fiederic was 
 for a single instant, but she felt it in his voice, as he 
 replied : 
 
 " You are right. I had been sick, and was in great 
 trouble." 
 
 " Wasn't that when you were looking for Marian ?" 
 Alice asked, and again the blue eye sought Frederic's 
 face, turning this time so that they could see it. . 
 
 u Yes, I was hunting for Marian," was the answer^ 
 and the deep sigh which accompanied the worda 
 brought a thrill of joy to the Marian hunted for, and 
 she knew now, and from his own lips, too, that he had 
 sought for her, nay, that he was looking for her even 
 then, when in her anger she censured him for not re- 
 cognizing her. 
 
 Little by little she was learning the truth just as it 
 was ; and when at a late hour she bade Frederic good 
 night, and went to her own chamber, her heart was al- 
 most too full for utterance, for she felt that the long, 
 dark night was over, and the dawn she had waited for 
 so long was breaking at last around her. Intuitively, 
 Alice, who had been permitted to sit up so long as she 
 did, caught something of the same spirit. " It was almost 
 as nice as if Marian really were there," she said ; and 
 she came twice to kiss her governess, while on her face 
 was a most satisfied expression, as she nestled among 
 her pillows and listened to the footsteps in the adjoin- 
 ing chamber where Marian made her nightly toilet. 
 
 "Oh, I wish she'd let me sleep with her," she thought. 
 " It would be a heap more like having Marian back." 
 And, when all was still, she stepped upon the floor and 
 glided to the bedside of Marian, who was not aware of 
 her approach until a voice whispered in her ear : 
 
 " May I stay here with you ? I've been making be- 
 lieve that you was Marian our Marian, I mean and 
 1 want to sleep with you so much just as I used to do 
 With her may I ?" 
 
 " Yes, darling," was the answer, as Marian folded
 
 318 THE MEETING. 
 
 her arras lovingly around the neck of the blind girl, 
 whose soft, warm cheek was pressed against her own. 
 
 And there, just as they were used to do in the old 
 Kentucky home, eie sorrow had come to either, they 
 lay side by side,Marian and Alice, the one dreaming 
 sweet dreams of the Marian come back to her again ; 
 and the other, that to her the gates of Paradise were 
 opened, and she saw the glory sliining through, just as 
 in Frederic Raymond's eyes she had seen the glimmer 
 of the love-light which was yet to overshadow her and 
 brighten her future pathway.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 LIFE AT RIVERSIDE. 
 
 IT was a joyful waking which came to Marian riert 
 morning, and when fresh and glowing from her invig- 
 orating bath she descended to the piazza she was sur- 
 prised at finding Frederic there before her, looking 
 haggard and pale, as if the boon of sleep had been de- 
 nied to him. After Marian and Alice had bidden him 
 good night, lie, too, had retired to his room, which was 
 directly under theirs ; and sitting in his arm-chair, he 
 had listened to the footsteps above, readily distinguish- 
 ing one from the other, and experiencing unconsciously a 
 vague, delicious feeling of comfort in knowing that the 
 long-talked of Marian Grey had come to him at last, 
 and that she was even more beautiful than he had im- 
 agined her to be from "Will Gordon's glowing descrip- 
 tion. He would keep her with him, too, he said, until 
 the other one was found, if that should ever be : and 
 then, as the footsteps and the murmur of voices in the 
 chamber above him ceased, and all about the house 
 was still, his heart went out after the other one, de- 
 manding of the solitude around to show him where she 
 was to lead him to her so that he could bring her 
 back to the home where each day he was wanting her 
 more and more. And the solitude thus questioned in- 
 variably carried his thoughts to Marian Grey, whose 
 delicate, girlish beauty had made so strong an imprea 
 sion upon his mind. " How would the two compare?
 
 i>20 LIFE .AT KIVEESIDE. 
 
 he asked. " Would not the governess far outshine the 
 wife ? Would not the contrast be a painful one?" 
 
 "No, no!" he said; "for, tkough Marian Lindsey 
 were not as beautiful as Marian Grey, she was gentle, 
 pure and good." And then, as he sought his pillow, 
 he went back again in fancy to that feverish sick-room, 
 and the tender love which alone had saved him from 
 death ; ^hile mingled with this remembrance were 
 confused thoughts of the vailed maiden in the corner 
 of the car of the geranium growing in the window, 
 and of Marian Grey, who seemed a part of every thing 
 for, turn which way. he would, her blue eyes were 
 sure to shine upon him ; and once, when, for a few mo- 
 ments, he fell into a troubled sleep, she said to him, 
 " I am the Marian you seek." 
 
 Then this vision faded, and he saw a little grave, on 
 whose humble stone was written, " The Heiress of 
 Redstone Hall," and with a nervous start he woke, 
 only to doze and dream again, until at last he was glad 
 when the dawn came stealing across the misty river, 
 and looked in at his window. The sun was not yet up 
 when he arose, and going out upon the broad piazza, 
 tried by walking to gain the rest the night had failed 
 to bring. As he walked Spottie came purring to his 
 side, rubbing against his feet and looking into his face 
 as it' she fain would tell him, if she could, that the lost 
 one had returned, and was safe beneath his roof. 
 
 Frederic Raymond could not be said to care partic- 
 ularly for cats, but there was a charm connected with 
 this one gambolling at his feet, and he did not deem it 
 an unmanly act to stoop down and caress it for the 
 sake of her who had often had it in her arms, 
 v- " Can you tell me nothing of your mistress," he said, 
 aloud, for he thought himself alone. 
 
 Instantly the cat, whose ear had caught a sound he 
 did not hear, bounded toward the door where Marian 
 Grey was standing. Advancing toward her, Frederic 
 said, " You must excuse me, Sliss Grey. I am not 
 often guilty of petting cats, but this one has a peculiar
 
 LIFE AT RIVERSIDE 321 
 
 attraction for me, inasmuch as it once belonged to to 
 lo Mrs. Raymond," and Fredeiic felt vastly relieved 
 to think he had actually spoken of his wife to- Marian 
 Grey, and called her Mrs. Raymond, too ! He knew 
 Will Gordon had told her the story, and when he saw 
 how the color came and went upon her cheek, he fan- 
 cied that it arose from the delicacy she would naturally 
 feel in talking with him of his runaway wife. He was 
 glad he had introduced the subject, and she should 
 continue it or not, as she choose. Marian hardly knew 
 how to reply, for though she longed to hear what he 
 had to say of Mrs. Raymond, she scarcely dared trust 
 herself to question him. 
 
 At last, however, she ventured to say, "Yes, Alice 
 told me that it was once your wife's. She is dead, 
 isn't she 2" 
 
 Fredeiic started, and walking off a few paces, re- 
 plied, "Marian dead! not that I know of! Did you 
 ever hear that she was?" and he came back to Marian, 
 looking at her so earnestly that she colored deeply, as 
 she replied : 
 
 " Mr. Gordon told me something of her; and I had the 
 impression that " 
 
 She did not know how to finish the sentence, and she 
 was glad to hear a little, uncertain step upon the stairs, 
 as that was an excuse for her to break oft' abruptly, 
 and go to Alice, who had come down in quest of her, 
 expressing much surprise that she should rise so early 
 and dress so quietly. 
 
 "Mrs. Jones used to make such a noise coughing and 
 sneezing,' she said, "that the always woke me, while 
 Isabel never got up till breakfast was read}', and some- 
 times not then, when we were in Kentucky. Negroes 
 were made to wait on her, she said. x She'll be coming 
 'over here to call and see how you look. I heard her 
 asking Mrs. Russell last week if you were pretty, and 
 she said " 
 
 "IS ever mind what she said," suggested Marian* 
 ttdding laughingly, '" I have heard of Miss Huntmgton 
 
 14*
 
 322 LIFE AT BIVERSIDE. 
 
 before. Will Gordon told me of her, and Ben, too. 
 He saw her in Kentucky, you knew ; so you see, I am 
 tolerably well posted in your affairs ;" and she turned 
 towards Frederic, who was about to answer, when 
 Alice, who had climbed into a chair, and was standing 
 with her arm around the young man's neck, chimed 
 in : 
 
 " If Mr. Gordon told you that Frederic liked her, it 
 isn't so, for he don't ; do you, Frederic ?" 
 
 " 1 like all the ladies," was his reply ; and the break- 
 fast bell just then rang, the conversation ceased, and 
 they entered the house together, Alice holding fast to 
 Marian's hand, and dancing along like a joyous bird. 
 
 "You seem very happy this morning," said Freder- 
 ic, smiling down upon the happy child. 
 
 " 1 am," she replied. " I'm most as happy as I should 
 be if we had found Marian yesterday. Wouldn't it 
 be splendid if this were really Marian, and wouldn't 
 you be glad ?" 
 
 Frederic ttaymond did not say yes he did not say 
 anything; but as he looked at the figure in white pre- 
 siding a second time so gracefully at his table, he fan- 
 cied riiat it would not be a hard matter f.r any man to 
 be glad if Marian Grey were his wife. Breakfast be- 
 ing over, Alice assumed the responsibility of showing 
 i.er teacher the place. 
 
 u You were here once, I know," she said, " and left 
 me those flowers, but you hadn't time then to see half. 
 There's a tree down in the garden, where Frederic's 
 name is cut in the bark, and Marian Lindsey's, too. 
 You must see that ;" and she led her off to the spot 
 where John had seen her crying the day before. "I 
 ain't going to study a bit for ever so long. Frederic 
 says I needn't," said Alice. "I'm going to have 
 a right nice time with you." And Marian was not 
 borry, for nothing could please her better than ram- 
 bling with Alice over what was once her home. 
 
 Very rapidly the tirst few days passed away, and ere 
 a week had gone by, Marian understood tolerably well
 
 LIFE AT RIVERSIDE. 323 
 
 the place which Marian Lindsey occupied in her hus- 
 band's affections, and she needed not the letter received 
 from William Gordon to tell her that the Frederic 
 Raymond of to-day was not the same from whose pre- 
 sence she had once fled with a breaking heart. He 
 was greatly changed, and if she had loved him in the 
 early days of her girlhood, her heart clung to him now 
 with an affection tenfold stronger than she had ever 
 known before. From Alice, who was very communi- 
 cative, she learned many tilings of which she little 
 dreamed, when in New York she was hiding from her 
 husband, and believing that he hated her. Alice liked 
 nothing better than to talk of Marian, and one after- 
 noon, when Frederic was in New York, and the two 
 girls were sitting together in their pleasant chamber, 
 she told her sad story in her own childish way, accept- 
 ing her companion's tears, which fell like rain as to- 
 kens of sympathy for the lost one. 
 
 " Frederic cried just like he w r as a woman," she said, 
 " when he came up from the river, cold, and wet, and 
 sick, and told us they could not mid her. I remember, 
 too, how he groaned when I asked him what made her 
 kill herself; she didn't, though," she added quickly, as 
 she heard Marian's exclamation of horror at the very 
 idea ; "she wasn't even dead, but we thought she was, 
 and we mourned for her so much. The house was like 
 a funeral all the time till Isabel came." 
 
 " And how was it then ?" Marian asked. 
 
 Alice did not reply immediately, and as Marian saw 
 the shadow which flitted over her face, she pressed her 
 hands together nervously, for she fancied that she 
 knew what liedstone Hall was like when Isabel, her 
 rival, came. 
 
 " You were telling me about the house after Miss 
 Huntington's arrival," she rejoined, as Alice showed 
 no signs of continuing the conversation, but sat with 
 her eyes fixed upon the floor as if she were thinking 
 of something far back in the past.
 
 324: LIFE AT RIVERSIDE. 
 
 At Marian's remark she started, and with, the same 
 dreamy, perplexed look upon her face, replied : 
 
 " Perhaps I ought not to tell ; but you seem so near 
 to me that I don't believe Frederic would care. He's 
 got over it, too, but he loved Isabel," and Alice's voice 
 sank to a whisper, as if afraid the walls would hear. 
 " ide loved her a heap better than he did poor dear 
 Marian, who somehow found it out that night, and 
 rather than be his wife when he didn't want her, she 
 ran away, you know." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know," gasped Marian, while Alice, lit- 
 tle dreaming how well she knew, continued, "And so 
 when Isabel came, he couldn't help loving her some, I 
 suppose, though Dinah thought he could, and she used 
 to scold mightily when she heard her singing and 
 playing, as she did all the tirita, so as to get Frederic 
 in there," and Alice's tone and manner were so much 
 like old Dinah and so highly expressive of her mean- 
 ing, that Marian could not forbear smiling. " I talked 
 to Frederic one night," said Alice, "and told him I 
 didn't believe Marian was dead, and I reckon I made 
 him think so,. too, for he promised' lie would wait for 
 her ten years." 
 
 " Will he marry then, if he does not find her?" Ma- 
 rian asked by way of calling out the little girl, who 
 replied : 
 
 " I suppose he won't live all his life alone ; at any 
 rate, he said he wouldn't. Oh, Miss Grey!" and Alice 
 started so quickly that Marian started, too ; u I'd a 
 heap rather Marian would be his wife than anybody, 
 because he married her first ; but if she don't come 
 back, can't you guess what I wish would be ?" and 
 Alice wound her arms around the neck of Marian, who 
 did guess, but could not embody her guessing iii 
 words. 
 
 " Did Mr. Raymond never hear from her ?" she 
 asked, and resuming her seat, Alice replied: 
 
 l ' Yes, and that's the mystery. One cold March 
 night when. Isabel was dressing for a party, and was
 
 LIFE AT KIVEKSIDE. 325 
 
 just as cross as she could be, there came to him a let- 
 ter from Sarah Green, saying she was dead and buried 
 with canker rash." 
 
 " Dead !" exclaimed Marian, starting quickly. 
 " When ? Where ?" 
 
 " In New York," answered Alice ; and Marian list- 
 ened breathlessly to the story of her supposed decease, 
 wondering, as Frederic had often done, whence the 
 letter came, and why it had been sent. 
 
 " It must have been a plan of Ben's ta see what 
 he would do," she thought ; and she listened again, 
 with burning cheeks and beating heart, while Alice 
 told of Frederic's grief when he read that she was 
 dead. 
 
 " I know he cried," said Alice, " for there were 
 tears on his face, and he sat so still, and held me so 
 .close to him that I could hear his heart thump so hard," 
 and she illustrated by striking her tiny fist upon the 
 table. 
 
 Then she told how sometime after she had interrup- 
 ted Frederic in the parlor, just as he was asking Isa- 
 bel to be his wife, and h;<d almost convinced him again 
 of Marian's existence. 
 
 " Blessed Alice," said Marian, involuntarily. " You 
 have been Miss Lindsey's good angel, and kept her 
 husband from falling." 
 
 " I couldn't help it," answered Alice. " I most 
 knew she was alive ; and I was so glad when he 
 started for New York. I was sure he'd tind her ; nd 
 he did. She took care of him a few days and his voice 
 sounded so low and sad when he told me of her, and how 
 she left him. when Isabel came. Your brother Ben 
 the nice man who gave me the bracelet telegraphed 
 for her to go ; and you would suppose she was crazy 
 she flew around so, ordering the negroes, and 
 knocking Dud down flat, because he couldn't ran fast 
 enough to get out of her way. That made Aunt 
 Hetty, his grandmother, mad, and she yellowed Isa- 
 bel's collar that she was ironing. If I hadn't been
 
 326 LIFE AT RIVERSIDE. 
 
 x. 
 
 blind I should have cried myself so those dreadful days 
 when we expected to hear Frederic was dead, for 
 next to Marian I love him the best. He's real good 
 to me now ; and when I asked him once what made 
 him pet me so much more than he used to, he said, 
 4 Because our dear, lost Marian loved you, and you 
 loved her.' " 
 
 " Did he say that ? Did he call her his * dear, lost Ma- 
 rian ?' " and the eyes of the speaker sparkled with de- 
 light, while across her mind there flitted the half- 
 formed resolution that before the sun had set Fred- 
 eric Raymond should know the whole. 
 
 Ere Alice could answer this question, there was a 
 loud ring at the door, and a servant brought to Miss 
 Grey Isabel Huntington's card. 
 
 " I knew she'd call," said Alice. "She wants to 
 see how you look ; but I don't care, for Frederic says 
 you're a heap the handsomest; I asked him last nighf 
 after you quit playing, and had left the room." 
 
 The knowledge that Frederic Raymond preferred 
 her face to that of Isabel, rendered Marian far more 
 self-possessed than she would otherwise have been, as 
 she went down to meet her visitor, whose call was 
 prompted from mere curiosity, and not from any 
 friendliness she felt towards Marian Grey. Isabel had 
 heard much of Marian's beauty from those who met 
 her since her arrival at Riverside, and she had come to 
 see if rumor were correct. During the last three 
 years she had not improved materially, for her disap- 
 pointment in failing to win Frederic Raymond had 
 soured a disposition never particularly amiable, and 
 she was now a censorious, fault-finding woman of 
 twenty -five, on the lookout for a husband, and trembling 
 lest the dreaded age of thirty should find ner still un- 
 married. For Frederic Raymond she affected a feel- 
 ing of contempt; insinuating that he was mean that 
 his property was not gained honestly ; that she knew 
 something which she could tell but shouldn't all of 
 which had but little effect in a place where he was so
 
 LIFE AT KIVEKSIDE. 327 
 
 much better known than herself. And still, had Fred 
 eric Raymond evinced the slightest interest in her, she 
 would gladly have met him more than half the way, 
 for the love she really felt for him once had never 
 died away. And even now she watched him often 
 through blinding tears as he passed her cottage 
 door. The story of Marian's existence she had repu- 
 diated at first and in the excitement of going south, 
 and the incidents connected with her sojourn there, 
 she had failed to speak of it even to Mrs. Rivers, 
 choosing rather to make her friends believe that she 
 had deliberately refused the owner of Redstone 
 Hall. Recently, however, and since her arrival at 
 Riverside, she had indirectly circulated the story, and 
 Frederic had more than once been questioned as to its 
 authenticity. Greatly to Isabel's chagrin he took no 
 pains to conceal the tact, but frankly spoke of Mrs. 
 Raymond, as a person who had been, and who he hoped 
 was still a living reality. Very narrowly Isabel watched 
 the proceedings at Riverside, and when she heard 
 that Alice's new governess was in some way connected 
 with the "gawky peddler," whom she remembered 
 well, she sneered at her as a person of no refinement, 
 marvelling greatly at the praises bestowed upon her. 
 At last, curious to see for herself, she donned her 
 richest robes, and now in the parlor at Riverside, sat 
 awaiting the appearance of Miss Grey. 
 
 "Let her be what she will, Frederic can't marry 
 her, and that's some consolation," she thought, just 
 as a tripping footstep announced the approach of Ma- 
 rian, and, assuming her haughtiest manner, she arose, 
 and bowed to Frederic Raymond's wife. 
 
 They had met before, but there was no token of re- 
 cognition between them now, and as strangers they 
 greeted each other, Marian's hand trembling slightly 
 as she ottered it to Isabel for she knew that this WHS 
 not their first meeting. Coldly, inquisitively and al- 
 racwt impudently, the haughty Isabel scrutinized 
 the graceful creature, mentally acknowledging that
 
 328 LIFE AT KIVER8IDE. 
 
 ishe was beautiful, and hating her for it. With great 
 effort Marian concealed her agitation, and answered 
 carelessly the first few common-place remarks ad- 
 dressed to her, as to how she liked Kiverside, and if 
 this were her first visit there. 
 
 " 'No" she answered to this last question " I came 
 here once with Ben, who, you remember, was once at 
 Iledjtone Hall." 
 
 "I could not well forget him. His odd Yankee 
 ways furnished gossip for many a day among the ne- 
 
 Sroes." And Isabel tossed her head scornfully, as if 
 en Burt were a creature far beneath her notice. 
 
 After a little, she spoke of Mr. Raymond, asking 
 Marian, finally, what she thought of him, and saying 
 she supposed she knew he was a married man. 
 
 "I know he has been married, but is there any cer- 
 tainty that his wife is still living?" asked Marian, for 
 the sake of hearing her visitor's remarks. 
 
 " Any certainty ! Of course there is," said Isabel, 
 experiencing at once a pang of jealousy lest the hum- 
 ble Marian Grey had dared to think of Frederic as a 
 widower, and hence a marriageable man. ' Of course 
 she's living, though, I must say, he takes no great pains 
 to find her. He did look for her a little, I believe, af- 
 ter he was sick in New York ; but he did it more to 
 divert his mind from a very mortifying disappoint- 
 ment than from any affection he felt for her, and it was 
 ihis which prompted him to go to New York at all." 
 
 "What disappointment?' 5 Marian asked, faintly, 
 and, affecting to be embarrassed, Isabel replied : 
 
 " It would be unbecoming in me to say what the 
 nature of it was, and I referred to it thoughtlessly. 
 Pray, forget it, Miss Grey ;"" and she turned the leaves 
 of a handsomely bound volume lying on the table with 
 well feigned modesty. 
 
 Marian understood her at once, and was glad that 
 Isabel was too intent upon an engraving to observe 
 her agitation. " Notwithstanding what Alice said, 
 Frederic had offered himself to Isabel, and her refusal
 
 LIFE AT RIVEBSEDE. 329 
 
 A 
 
 had sent him to New York, where he hoped to forget 
 his mortification, and where sickness had overtaken 
 him. In the kindness of her heart, Isabel had come 
 to him, and the words of affection which she had heard 
 her speak to Frederic were prompted by pity, rather 
 than love, as she then supposed. And after Isabel had 
 left him, he had looked tor her merely by way of ex- 
 citement, and not because he cared to find her. Such 
 were the thoughts which flashed upon Marian's mind 
 and destroyed at once her half-formed resolution of 
 telling Frederic that night. She did not know Isabel, 
 and she could not understand why she should be guilty 
 of a falsehood to her a perfect stranger. 
 
 " He is not learning to love me, after all," was the 
 sad cry of her heart ; and, when she spoke again, there 
 was a plaintive tone in her voice, and Isabel wondered 
 she had not observed before how mournful it was. 
 And, as they sat talking, there came along the grav- v 
 eled walk a step familiar to them both, and the color 
 deepened on their cheeks; while in the kindling light 
 which shone in the eyes of blue, and flashed from the 
 eyes of black, there was a spark of jealousy, as if each 
 were reading the secret thoughts of the other. 
 
 Frederic had returned from t\\Q city earlier than was 
 his custom, for he usually spent the entire day ; but 
 there was something now to draw him home besides 
 the blind girl, and he was conscious of quickening his 
 footsteps as hu drew near his house, and of watching 
 eagerly for the flutter of a mourning robe, or the sight 
 of a sunny face, which, he knew, would, smile a wel- 
 come. He heard her voice in the parlor, and ere he 
 was aware of it, he stood in the presence of Isabel. 
 Narrowly Marian watched him, marvelling somewhat 
 at his perfect self-possession ; for Isabel was to him "an 
 object of such indifference that he experienced far less 
 emotion in meeting her. than in speaking to Marian 
 Grey, and asking if she had been lonely. 
 
 " You men are so vain,," said Isabel, with a toss of 
 her head, "and think we miss vou so much. Now I'll
 
 330 LIFE AT KIVEKSIDE. 
 
 
 
 venture to say Miss Grey has not thought of you in a. 
 day. Why should she?"" 
 
 "Why shouldn't she?" asked Frederic, giving to 
 Marian a smile which sent the hot blood tingling to 
 her finger tips. 
 
 " Why shouldn't she!"' returned Isabel "just as 
 though we, girls, ever think of married men. By the 
 way, have you heard anything definite from Mrs. Ray- 
 mond, since she left you so suddenly in New York, or 
 have you given up the search ?" 
 
 Marian pitied Frederic then, he turned so white ; 
 and she almost hated Isabel, as she saw the malicious 
 triumph in her eye. Breathlessly, too, she awaited the 
 answer, which was : 
 
 "I shall never abandon the search until I find her, 
 or know certainly that .she is dead. I went to the 
 place where she used to live, not long ago." 
 
 ' Indeed ! What did you learn ?" and a part of Is- 
 abel's assurance left her, for she felt that his searching 
 f>r his wife was a reality with him; while Marian's 
 heart grew hopeful and warm again, as she listened to 
 Frederic Raymond telling Isabel fluntington of that 
 dear old room which had been her home so long. 
 
 " I can't conceive what made her run away," said 
 Isabel, fixing her large, glittering eyes upon Frederic, 
 who coolly replied, " lean," and then turning to Ma- 
 rian he abruptly commenced a conversation upon an 
 entirely different subject. 
 
 -. Biting her lip with vexation, Isabel arose to go, say- 
 ing she should expect to see Miss Grey at her own 
 house, and that she hoped she would sometimes bring 
 Mr. Raymond with her. 
 
 " You need not be afraid to come," she continued, 
 addressing herself to him. " for everybody knows you 
 have a wife, consequently your coining will create no 
 scandal concerning yourself and mother /" and with a 
 hateful laugh she swept haughtily down the walk. 
 
 From this time forth Isabel was a frequent visitor at 
 Riverside, where she always managed to say something
 
 LIFE AT RIVERSIDE. 331 
 
 which seriously affected Marian's peace of mind and 
 led her to distrust the man who was beginning to feel 
 far more interest in the Marian found than in the Ma- 
 rian lost. This the quick-sighted Isabel saw and while 
 her bosom rankled with envy towards her rival, she ex- 
 ulted in the thought that love her as he might he dared 
 not tell her of his love, for a barrier the living wife 
 had built between the two. Though professing the ut- 
 most regard for Miss Grey she did not hesitate to 
 speak against her when an opportunity occurred, but 
 her shafts fell harmlessly, for where Marian was known 
 she was esteemed and the wily woman gave up the 
 contest at last and waited anxiously to see the end. 
 
 Towards the last of October, Ben, who was now a 
 petty grocer in a New England village, came to River- 
 side for the first time since Marian's residence there. 
 Never before had he appeared so happy, and his 
 honest face was all aglow with his delight at seeing 
 Marian at last where she belonged. 
 
 " You fit in like an odd scissor," he said to her when 
 they were alone. " Ain't it most time to tell 2" 
 
 " Not yet," returned Marian. " I would rather 
 wait until I arn back at Redstone Hall. We are going 
 there next month, and then, too, I wish 1 knew how 
 much of Isabel's insinuations to believe." 
 
 "Isabel be hanged," said Ben. "She lied I know, 
 and mebby that letter was some of her devilment. 
 Has she washed them curtains yit ?'' 
 
 Marian replied by telling him of the letter from. 
 Sarah Green and asking if he could explain it. But it 
 was all a mystery to him, and he puzzled his brain 
 with it for a long time, deciding at last that it might 
 have come from some of h-ar Kentucky acquaintance 
 who chanced to be in New STork, and sent it just for 
 mischief. 
 
 " But they overshot the mark," said he. " You ain't 
 dead by a great sight, and I b'lieve I'd let the cat out 
 pretty soon. That makes me think you wrote that
 
 332 LIFE AT RIVERSIDE. 
 
 Spottie was here. Where is the critter ? 'Tvvould be 
 good for sore eyes to see her again." 
 
 Marian went in quest of her, and on her return 
 found Alice with Ben, who, in her presence, dared not 
 manifest all that he felt at sight of his old friend. 
 Taking the animal on his lap he looked at it for a mo- 
 ment with quivering chin ; then stroking its soft fur, 
 he 1 said, with a prolongation of each syllable, which 
 rendered the sound ludicrous, " Gri-mal-kin poor 
 gri-inal-kin^ and a tear dropped on its back. 
 
 " What !" exclaimed Alice, coming to his side, 
 " what did yon call the kitty ?" 
 
 " Gri-mal-kin" answered Ben, adding, by way 
 of explanation, " that, I b'lieve, is the Latin for 
 cat." 
 
 Marian could not forbear laughing aloud, and as Ben 
 joined with her, it served to keep him from crying out- 
 right, as he otherwise might have done. 
 
 " What are you going to do with it when you go 
 South ?" he asked, and upon Alice's replying that they 
 should leave it with Mi's. Hussell, he proposed taking 
 it instead and keeping it until Spring, when he could 
 return it. 
 
 This suggestion was warmly seconded by Marian, 
 and as Alice finally yielded the point, Ben carried 
 Spottie off the next morning, promising the little girl 
 that it should be well cared for in her absence. Alice 
 ehed a few tears at parting with her pet, but they were 
 like April showers, and soon passed away in her joy- 
 ful anticipations of a speedy removal to Kentucky, for 
 Frederic was going earlier this season than usual, and 
 the 10th of November was appointed for them to start. 
 If they met with no delays they would reach Redstone 
 .Hull on the anniversary of Marian's bridal, and to her 
 it seemed meet that on this day of all others she should 
 return again to her old home, and she wondered if 
 Frederic, too, would think of it or send one feeling cf 
 regret after his missing bride. He did remember it, 
 for the November days were always fraught with me
 
 LIFE AT RIVEKSID1!. 333 
 
 mories of the past. This year, however, there was a 
 difference, for though he thought much of Marian 
 Lindsey, it was not as he had thought of her before, 
 and he was conscious of a most unaccountable sensa- 
 tion of satisfaction in knowing that even if she could 
 not go with him to Kentucky, her place would be tole 
 rably well filled by Marian Grey 1 

 
 CHAPTER XXYI. 
 
 BEDSTONE HALL. 
 
 had been received at Redstone Hall, that the 
 family woull be there on the 13th; but Frederic's 
 coming home was a common occurrence now, and did 
 not create as great a sensation among his servants as it 
 once had done. Still it was an event of considerable 
 importance, particularly as he was to bring with him a 
 new governess, who, juiging from his apparent anx- 
 iety to have everything in order, was a persoy of more 
 distinction than the prosy Mrs. Jones, or even the bril- 
 liant Isabel. Old Dinah accordingly worked herself 
 up to her usual pitch of excitement, and then, long 
 before it was time, started off her spouse, who was to 
 meet his master at Big Spring Station, and who waited 
 there impatiently at least an hour ere the whistle and 
 smoke in the distance announced the arrival of the 
 train. 
 
 "We are here at last," said Frederic, when they 
 stopped before the depot ; and he touched the arm of 
 Marian, who sat leaning against a window, her head 
 bent down, and her thoughts in such a wild tumult 
 that she scarcely comprehended what she was doing or 
 where she was. 
 
 During the entire journey she had labored under the 
 highest excitement, which manifested itself sometimes 
 in snatches of merry songs, sometimes in laughter 
 almost hysterical, and again when no one saw her, in 
 floods of tears, which failed to cool her feverish impa- 
 tience. It seemed to her she could not wait, and she
 
 BEDSTONE HALL. 335 
 
 counted every mile-stone, while her breath came faster 
 and faster as she knew they were almost there. "With 
 a shudder she glanced at the clump of trees under 
 whose shadow she had hidden six years before, and 
 those who noticed her face as she passed out marvelled 
 at its deathly pallor. 
 
 " Jest gone with consumption," was Phil's mental 
 comment ; and he wondered at the eager, curious 
 glance which she gave to him. " 'Spects she never 
 seen a nigger before," he muttered; and as by this 
 time the travelers were comfortably seated in the wide 
 capacious carriage, he chirrnpped to his horses, and 
 they moved rapidly on toward 'Redstone Hall. 
 
 Marian did not try longer to conceal her delight, 
 and Fiederic watched her wonderingly, as with glow- 
 ing cheeks and beaming eyes she looked first from one 
 window and then from the other, the color deepening 
 on her face and the pallor increasing about her mouth, 
 as way-mark after way-mark was passed and recog- 
 nized. 
 
 " You seem very much excited," -he said to her at 
 last ; and, assuming as calm a manner as possible, she 
 replied : 
 
 " For years back the one cherished object of my life 
 was to visit Kentucky ; and now that I am really here, 
 I am so glad ! oh, so glad !" and Frederic could see the 
 gladness shining in her eyes, and making her so won- 
 drously beautiful to look upon that he was sorry when 
 the twilight shadows began to fall, and partially ob- 
 scured his vision. 
 
 " There is the house," he said, pointing to the chim- 
 neys, just discernible above the trees. 
 
 But Marian had seen them first, and when as they 
 turned a corner, the entire building came in view, she 
 sank back upon the cushion, dizzy and sick with the 
 thoughts which came crowding so fast upon her. The 
 day had been soft and balmy, and mingled with the 
 gathering darkness was the yellow, hazy light the sun 
 of the Iiidiam summer often leaves upon the hills. The
 
 336 BEDSTONE HALL. 
 
 early mist lay white upon the river, while here and 
 there a shower of leaves came rustling down from the 
 tall trees, which grew in snch profusion around the old 
 stone house. And Marian saw everything heard 
 everything and when the horses' hoots struck upon 
 the bridge, where once they fancied she had stood and 
 plunged into eternity, an icy chill ran through her 
 frame, depriving her of the power to speak or move. 
 Through the dim twilight she saw the dusky forms 
 gathered expectantly around the cabin doors saw the 
 full, rounded figure of Dinah on the piazza saw the 
 vine-wreathed pillar where six years ago that very 
 night, she had leaned with a breaking heart, and wept 
 her passionate adieu to the man, who, sitting opposite 
 to her now, little dreamed of what was passing in her 
 mind. In a distant hemp field she heard the song some 
 negroes sang returning from their labor, and as she list- 
 ened to the plaintive music, her tears began to flow, it 
 seemed so natural so much like the olden time. 
 
 Suddenly as they drew nearer and the song of the 
 negroes ceased the stillness was broken by the deafen- 
 ing yell which Bruno, from his cage, sent up. His voice 
 had been the last to bid the runaway good bye, and 
 it was the first to welcome her back again. With a 
 stifled sob of joy too deep for utterance, she drew her 
 veil still closer over her face, and when at last they 
 stopped and the light from the hall shone out upon 
 her, she" sat in the corner of the carriage motionless 
 and still. 
 
 " Come, Miss Grey," said Frederic, when Alice had 
 been safely deposited and was folded to Dinah's bosom, 
 " Come, Miss Grey, are you sleeping ?" and he touched 
 the hand which lay cold and lifeless upon her lap. 
 *' She has fainted," he cried. "The journey and ex- 
 citement have over-taxed her strength," and, taking 
 her in his arms as if she had been a little child, he 
 bore her into the house and up to her own chamber, 
 for he rightly guessed that she would rather be there 
 when she returned to consciousness.
 
 BEDSTONE HALL. 337 
 
 Laying her upon the lonnge, he removed her bon- 
 net and veil, and then kneeling beside her, looked 
 wistfully into her face, which in its helplessness seem- 
 ed more beautiful than ever. 
 
 "Has she come to, yet ?" asked the puffing Dinah, 
 appearing at the door. " It's narves what ailed her, I 
 reckon, and I told Lyd to put some delirian to the 
 steep. That'll quiet her soonest of anything." 
 
 Frederic knew that his services were no longer need- 
 ed, and after glancing about the room to see that 
 everything was right, he went down stairs leaving Ma- 
 rian to the care of .Dinah, who, as her patient began 
 to show signs of returning consciousness, undressed Tier 
 as soon as possible and placed her in the bed, herself 
 sitting by and bathing her face and hands in camphor 
 and cologne. The fainting fit had passed away, but it 
 was succeeded by a feeling of such delicious languor 
 that for a long time Marian lay perfectly still, think- 
 ing how nice it was to be again in her old room with 
 Dinah sitting by, and once as the hard, black hand 
 rested on her forehead, she took it between her own, 
 murmuring involuntarily, "Dear Aunt Dinah, I thank 
 you so much." 
 
 "Blessed lamb," whispered the old lady, " they told 
 her my name, I 'spect. 'Pears like she's nigher to me 
 than strangers mostly is," and she smoothed lovingly 
 the bright hair floating over the pillow. 
 
 Twice that evening there came up the stairs a cau- 
 tious step which stopped always at the door, and Dinah 
 as often as she answered the gentle knock, came back 
 to Marian and said, "It's marster axin' is you any 
 wus." 
 
 "Tell him I am only tired, not sick," Marian would 
 say, and turning on her pillow, she wept great tears 
 of joy to think that Frederic should thus care for her. 
 
 At last, having drank the "delirian tea," more to 
 please old Dinah than from any faith she had in its 
 virtues, she fell into a quiet sleep, which was disturbed 
 but twice, once when at niue o'clock Bruno was loosed 
 
 15
 
 338 REDSTOlsE HALL. 
 
 from his confinement, and with a loud howl went rush- 
 ing past the window, and once when Alice crept care- 
 fully to her side, holding her breath lest she should 
 arouse her, and whispering low. her nightly prayfcr. 
 Then, indeed, Marian moved as if about to waken, 
 and the blind girl thought she heard her say, "Dar- 
 ling Alice," but she was not sure, und she nestled 
 down beside her, sleeping ere long the dreamless sleep 
 which always came to her after a day of unusual 
 fatigue. 
 
 The rosy dawn was just stealing into the room, next 
 morning, when Marian awoke with a vague, uncertain 
 feeling as to where she was, or what had happened. 
 Ere long, however, she remembered it all ; and, step- 
 ping upon the floor, she glided to the window, to feast 
 her eyes once more upon her home. Before her lay 
 the garden, and though the November frosts had 
 marred its Summer glory, it was still beautiful to her ; 
 and, hastily dressing herself, she \vent forth to visit 
 her olden haunts, strolling leisurely on until she 
 reached a little Summer-house which had been built 
 since she was there. Over the door were some pencil 
 marks, in Frederic's handwriting; and though the 
 rains had partly washed the letters away, there were 
 still enough remaining for her to know that " Marian 
 Lindsey" had been written there. 
 
 " He has sometimes thought of me," she said ; and 
 she was about entering the arboi, when there rose up- 
 on the air a terrific yell, which, had she been an intru- 
 der, would have sent her flying from the spot. But 
 she did not even tremble, and she awaited fearlessly 
 the approach of the huge creature, which, bristling 
 with rage, came tearing down the graveled walk, his 
 eyeballs glowing like coals of tire, and his head low- 
 ered as if ready for attack. 
 
 Bruno was still on guard, and when, in the distance, 
 he caught a sight of Marian, he started with a lion like 
 bound, which soon brought him near to the brave girl,
 
 BEDSTONE HALL. 339 
 
 who calmly watched his coming, and, when he was 
 close upon her, said to him: 
 
 " Good old Bruno ! Don't you know me, Bruno ?" 
 
 At the first sound of her voice, the fire left the mas- 
 tiff's eye, for he, too, caught the tone which had once 
 BO startled Alice, and which puzzled Frederic every 
 day; still, he was not quite assured, and he came rush- 
 ing on, while she continued speaking gently to him. 
 With a bound, half playful, half ferocious, he sprang 
 upon, her, and, catching him around the neck, she 
 passed her hand caressingly over his shaggy mane, say- 
 ing to him, softly, 
 
 " I am Marian, Bruno ! Don't you know me ?" 
 
 Then, indeed, lie answered her not with a human 
 tongue, it is true ; but she understood his language 
 well, and by t!ie low, peculiar cry of joy he gave as he 
 crouched upon the ground, she knew that she was re- 
 cognised. Of all who had loved her at Redstone Hall, 
 none remembered her save the noble dog, who licked 
 her face, her hair, her hands, her dress, her feet ; while 
 all the time his body quivered with the intense delight 
 he could not speak. 
 
 At last as she knelt down beside him, and laid her 
 cheek against his neck, lie bent his head, and gave 
 forth a deep, prolonged howl, which was answered at 
 a little distance by a cry of horror, and turning quick- 
 ly Marian saw Frederic hastening toward the spot, 
 his face pale as ashes, and his whole appearance indi- 
 cative of alarm. Ho had been roused from sleep by 
 the yell which Bruno gave when he first caught sight 
 of Marian, and ere he had time to think what it could 
 be, Alice knocked at his door, 'exclaiming : 
 
 "'Oh, Frederic, Miss Grey, I am sure, has gone into 
 the garden, and Bruno is not yet secured. I heard 
 him bark just like he did last year when he mangled 
 black Andy so. What if he should tear Miss Grey ?" 
 
 Frederic waited for no more, but dressing himself 
 quickfy he hastened out, sickening with fear, as he 
 caine upon the fresh tracks the do^ had made wheu
 
 40 BEDSTONE HALL. 
 
 going down the walk. He saw Marian's dress, and 
 through the lattice he canght a sight of Bruno. 
 
 " He has her down ! He is drinking her life-blood !" 
 lie thought; and for an instant the pulsations of his 
 heart stood still, nor did they resume their wonted heat 
 even after he saw the attitude of Marian Grey, and his 
 terrible watch-dog, Bruno. 
 
 " Marian !" he began, for he could not be formal 
 then. " Marian ! leave him, I entreat you. He is cru- 
 elly savage with strangers." 
 
 " But I have tamed him, you see," she answered, 
 winding her arms still closer around his neck, while 
 he licked aizain her face and hair. 
 
 "VYomleringly Frederic looked on, and all the while 
 there came to him no thought that the two had met 
 before that the hand patting so fondly Bruno's head 
 had fed him many a time and that amid all the 
 changes which six years had made, the sagacious. ani- 
 mal had recognized his mistress and playmate, Marian 
 Lindsey. 
 
 "It must be that you can win all hearts," he said, 
 watching her admiringly, and marvelling at her se- 
 cret power. 
 
 Shaking back her sunny curls, and glancing upward 
 into his face Marian answered involuntarily : 
 
 "No, not all. There is one I would have given 
 worlds to win, but it cast me off, just when I needed 
 comfort the most." 
 
 She spoke impulsively, and as she spoke there arose 
 within her the wish that he, like Bruno, might know 
 her then and there. But he did not. He only remem- 
 bered what Will Gordon had said of her hopeless attach- 
 ment and her apparent confession of the same to him, 
 smote heavihy upon his heart, though why he, a married 
 man, shouldcarehe could not tell. He didn't really care, 
 he thought ; he only pitied her, and by way of encour- 
 agement he said, "Even that, may yet be won;" and 
 while he said it, there came over him a sensation of 
 dreariness, as if the winning of that heart would ne-
 
 BEDSTONE HALL. 341 
 
 cessarily take from him something which was becom- 
 ing more and more essential to his happiness. 
 
 "Their conversation was here interrupted by Josh, 
 who was Bruno's keeper, and had come to chain him 
 for the day. Marian knew him at once, though he 
 had changed from the short, thick lad of twelve to the 
 taller youth of seventeen ; and when, as he saw her po- 
 sition with Bruno, he exclaimed, " Goo-goo-good 
 Lord !" she turned her beaming face toward him. and 
 answered laughingly, u I have a secret for charming 
 dogs." 
 
 Involuntarily Josh's old cloth cap came off, while 
 over his countenance there flitted an expression as if 
 that voice were not entirely strange to him. Touching 
 his master's arm, and pointing to the kneeling maiden, 
 he stammered out : 
 
 " Ha-ha-hain't I s-s-seen her afore?" 
 
 "I think not," answered Frederic, and with a doubt- 
 ful shake of the head, Josh attempted to lead Bruno 
 away. 
 
 But Bruno would not move, and he clung so obsti- 
 nately to Marian that she arose, and pattbg his side, 
 said playfully : 
 
 " I shall be obliged to go with him, I guess. Lead 
 the way, boy." 
 
 With eyes protruding like saucers, Josh turned back, 
 followed by Marian and Bruno, the latter of whom of- 
 fered no resistance when his mistress bade him enter 
 his kennel, though he made woundrous efforts to escape 
 when he saw that she was leaving him. 
 
 " In the name of the Lord," exclaimed Hetty, shad- 
 ing her eyes with her hand, to be sure she was right, 
 " if thar ain't the young lady shettin' up the dog. I 
 never knowed the like o' that." 
 
 Then as Marian came towards the kitchen, she con 
 tinned, " 'Pears like I've seen her somewhar." 
 
 " i"e-ye-yes," chimed in Josh, who had walked fast- 
 er than Marian. " Who-o-oo is she, Hetty ?" 
 
 Marian by this time had reached the door, where
 
 342 BEDSTONE HALL. 
 
 she stood smiling pleasantly upon the blacks, but not 
 daring to call them by name until she saw Dinah, who 
 curtesied low. and coming forward asked, "Is you bet- 
 ter*lhis mornin' ?" 
 
 "Yes, quite well, thank you. Are these your com- 
 panions ?" said Marian, anxious for an opportunity to 
 talk with her old friends. 
 
 " Yes, honey/' answered Dinah. " This is Hetty, 
 and this is Lyd, and this " 
 
 She didn't finish the sentence, for Hetty, who had 
 been earnestly scanning Marian's features, grasped her 
 dress, saying, " Whar was yon born?" 
 
 " Jest like them H'gginses," muttered Dinah. " In 
 course, Miss Grey don t want to be twitted with bein' 
 a Yankee the fust thing." 
 
 But Hetty had no intentions of casting reflections 
 upon the place of Marian's birth. Like Josh she had 
 detected something familiar in the young girl's face, 
 and twice she had swept her hand across her eyes to 
 clear away the mist and see if possible what it was 
 which puzzled her so much. 
 
 " I was born a great many miles from here," said 
 Marian, and ere Hetty could reply, Josh, whose gaze 
 had all the time been riveted upon her, stuttered out, 
 "Sh-sh-she is-s-s-s like M-m-m-Miss Marian." 
 
 Yes, this was the likeness they had seen, but Marian 
 would rather the first recognition should come from 
 another source, and she hastened to reply, " Oh, Mrs. 
 Raymond, you mean. Alice noticed it when I first 
 went to Riverside. You suppose your young mistress 
 dead, do yon not?" 
 
 Instantly Dinah's woolen apron ^vas called into use, 
 while she said, " Yes, poor dear lainbj if thar's any 
 truth in them Scripter savin's, she's a burniir and a 
 shining light in de kingdom come." And the old ne- 
 gre&s launched forth into a long eulogy, in the midst 
 of which Frederic appeared in quest of Marian. 
 
 " 1 am listening to praises of your wife," she said, 
 and there was a mischievous triumph in her eye as she
 
 REDSTONE HALL. 343 
 
 paw how his forehead flushed, for he was beginning to 
 be slightly annoyed when she, as she often did, allud- 
 ed to his wife. 
 
 Why need she thrust that memory continually upon 
 him?' Was it not enough for him to know that some- 
 where in the world there was a wife, and that he would 
 rather hear any one else speak of her than the bright- 
 haired Marian Grey. 
 
 " Dinah can be very eloquent at times," he said, 
 " but come with me to Alice. She has been sadly 
 frightened on your account," and he led the way to the 
 piazza, where the blind girl was waiting for them. 
 
 Breakfast being over, Marian and Alice sought the 
 parlor, where, instead of the old fashioned instrument 
 which the former remembered as standing there, she 
 found a new and beautifully carved piano. 
 
 "Frederic ordered this on purpose to please you," 
 whispered Alice. " He said it was a shame for you to 
 play on the other rattling thing." 
 
 This was sufficient to call out Marian's wildest strains, 
 and as a matter of course the entire band of servants 
 gathered about the door to listen just as they once had 
 done when the performer was Isabel. As was quite 
 natural, they yielded their preference to the last comer, 
 old Hetty acknowledging that even "Miss Beatrice 
 couldn't beat that." 
 
 It would seem that Marian Grey was destined to 
 take till hearts by storm, for ere the day was done her 
 virtues had been discussed in the kitchen and by the 
 cabin tire, while even the gallant Josh, at his work in 
 the hemp- ti eld, attempted a song, which he meant to 
 be laudatory of her charms, but as he was somewhat 
 lacking in poetical talent, his music ran finally into 
 the well known ballad of " Mary Ann," which suited 
 his purpose quite as well. 
 
 Meantime, Marian, stealing away from Alice, quietly 
 explored every nook and corner of the house, opening 
 first the little box where she once had kept her mother's 
 hair. It was just as she had left it, and kissing it rev-
 
 344 EEDSTOSE HALT.. 
 
 erently she placed it by the side of her silken locks, to 
 see how they compared. It might be that the tress 
 of the dead had faded somewhat, for there was cer- 
 tainly a richer, darker tinge to her own wavy hair, and 
 bowing her head upon the bureau she dropped tears 
 of thankfulness that her childhood's prayer had been 
 more than answered. The library was visited next, and 
 she seated herself again in the chair where she had sat 
 when penning her last farewell to Frederic. Where 
 was that letter now ? She wished that she could see 
 it, though she did not care to read it, and without any 
 expectation of finding it she pressed what she knew 
 was the secret spring to a private drawer. It yielded 
 to her touch the drawer came open, and there before 
 her lay the letter her letter she knew it by its su- 
 perscription, and by its tear-stained, soiled appearance. 
 She had wept oyer it herself, but she knew fall well 
 her tears alone had never blurred and blotted it liko 
 this. Frederic's had mingled with them, and her 
 heart was trembling with joy when another object 
 caught her eye and quickened her rapid pulsations. 
 Her glove ! the little black kid glove she had dropped 
 upon the bridge was there, wrapped in a sheet of pa- 
 per, and with it the handkerchief! 
 
 " Frederic has saved them all," she whispered, shud- 
 dering involuntarily, for it seemed almost like looking 
 into the grave, where he had buried these sad remem- 
 brances of her. He had preserved them carefully, she 
 thought, and she continued her investigation, coming 
 at last upon a daguerreotype of herself, taken when 
 she was just fifteen. 
 
 " Oh, horror !" she cried, and sinking back in her 
 chair, she laughed until the tears ran at the forlorn lit- 
 tle face which looked upon her so demurely from the 
 casing. " Frederic must enjoy looking at you vastly, 
 and thinking you are his wife," she said, and she felt a 
 thrill of pride in knowing that Marian Grey bore 
 scarcely the slightest resemblance to that daguerreo- 
 type.
 
 BEDSTONE HALL. 345 
 
 There was a similarity in the features and in the 
 way the hair grew around tlie forehead, while the eyes 
 were really alike. But the likeness extended no fur- 
 ther, and she did not wonder that none, save Bruno, 
 had recognized her. Returning the picture to its 
 place, she was about to leave the room, when Frederic 
 came in, appearing somewhat surprised to find her 
 there, sitting in his chair as if she liad a perfect right 
 BO to do. At tirst she was too much confused to apolo- 
 gize, hut she managed at last to say : 
 
 * This cozy room attracted me, and I took the lib- 
 erty to enter. You have a very fine library, I think ; 
 some of the books must have been your father's." 
 
 It was the books, of course, which she came to see, 
 and sitting do\vn opposite to her Frederic talked with 
 her about them until she chanced to spy a portrait, 
 put away behind the ponderous sofa, with its face 
 turned to the wall. 
 
 " Whose is it?" she asked, directing Frederic's atten- 
 tion to it. "Whose is it, and why is it hidden there?" 
 
 Instantly the young man's face grew dark, and Ma- 
 rian trembled beneath the glance he bent upon her. 
 Then the cold, hard look passed away, and he re- 
 plied : 
 
 " It is an unfinished portrait of Mrs. Raymond, 
 taken from a daguerreotype of her when she 'was only 
 fifteen. But the artist did not understand his business, 
 and it looks even worse than the original." 
 
 This last was spoken bitterly, and Marian felt the 
 hot blood rising to her cheeks. 
 
 "I never even told Alice of it," he continued, " but 
 put it away in .here, where I hide all my secrets." 
 
 He glanced at the private drawer so did Marian J 
 l>ut she was too intent upon seeing a portrait which 
 could look worse than the daguerreotype to heed 
 aught else, and she said, entreatingly, a Oh, Mr. Ray- 
 mond, please let me see it, won't you ? I lived in New 
 York a long time, you know, and perhaps I may have 
 met her, or even known her under some other name ? 
 
 15*
 
 3-16 BEDSTONE HALL. 
 
 May I see it?" and she was advancing toward the 
 sofa, when Frederic seized both her hands, and holding 
 them in his, said, half hesitatingly, half mournfully : 
 " Miss Grey, you must exquse me for refusing your 
 request. Poor Marian was far from being handsome, 
 nay, I sometimes thought her positively ugly. She is 
 certainly so in the portrait, and a creature as highly 
 gifted with beauty as you, might laugh at her plain 
 features, but if you did " He paused a moment, and 
 Marian's eyelashes fell beneath his steady gaze " And 
 if you did/' he continued, "I never could like you 
 again, for she was my wife, and as such must be 
 respected." 
 
 Marian could not tell why it was. but Frederic's 
 words and manner affected her painfully. She half 
 feared she had offended him by her eagerness to see the 
 portrait, while mingled with this was a strange feeling 
 of pity for poor, plain Marian Liudsey, as she proba- 
 bly looked upon the canvas, and a deep respect for 
 Frederic, who would, if possible, protect her from 
 even the semblance of insult. Her heart was already 
 full, and, releasing her hands from Frederic's, she re- 
 sumed her seat, and leaning her head upon the writing- 
 desk, burst into tears, while Frederic paced the room, 
 wondering what, under the circumstances, he was ex- 
 pected to do. He knew just how to soothe Alice, but 
 Marian Grey was a different individual. He could 
 not take her in his lap and kiss away her tears, but he 
 could at least spealk to her; and he did at last, laying 
 his hand as near the little white one grasping the table 
 edge as he dared, and saying, very gently : 
 
 " If I spoke harshly to you, Miss Grey, I am sorry- 
 very sorry ; I really did not intend to make you cry. 
 I only felt that I could not bear to hear you, of all 
 others, laugh at ray poor Marian, and so refused your 
 request. Will you forgive me ?" 
 
 And by some chance, as he looked another way, his 
 hand did touch hers, and held it, too ! He did not 
 think that an insult to the portrait at all, nor yet of
 
 REDSTONE HALL. 34.7 
 
 the supposed original ; for tnere was something in the 
 way the snowy lingers twined themselves round his, 
 which drove all other ideas from his mind, and for one 
 brief instant he was supremely happy. 
 
 From the first he had thought of Marian Grey as a 
 sweet, beautiful young creature, whom some mar 
 would one day delight to call his own ; but the possi- 
 bility of loving her himself had never occurred to him 
 until now, when, like a flash of lightning, the convic- 
 tion burst upon him that, spite of Marian Lindsey 
 spite of his marriage vow x spite of the humble origin 
 which would once have shocked his pride and spite 
 of everything, Marian Grey had won a place in his 
 heart from which he must dislodge her. But, how ? 
 He could not send her away, for she seemed a part of 
 himself, and he could not live without her ; but he 
 would stifle his new-born love, he said, and as the best 
 means of doing so, he would talk to her often of his 
 wife as a person who certainly had an existence, and 
 would some day come back to him ; so, when Marian 
 replied : " I feared you were angry with me, Mr. Ray- 
 mond ; I would not have asked to see the portrait had 
 I supposed you really cared," he drew his chair at a 
 respectful distance and said : " I cannot explain the 
 matter to you, but if you knew the whole sad story of 
 my marriage, and the circumstances which led to it, 
 you would not wonder that I am somewhat sensitive 
 upon the subject. I used to think beauty the princi- 
 
 Eal thing I should require in a wife, but poor Marian 
 ad none of that, and were you to see the wretched 
 likeness, you would receive altogether too unfavorable 
 an impression of her ; for, notwithstanding her plain 
 face, she was far too good for me." 
 
 " Do you really think so ?" was Marian's eager ex 
 clamation, while close behind it was the secret strug- 
 gling hard to escape, but she forced it back, until such 
 time as she should be convinced that Frederic loved 
 her as Marian Grey, and would hail with delight the 
 news that she was indeed his wife.
 
 348 REDSTONE HALL. 
 
 He seemed surprised at her question, but lie answer- 
 ed, unhesitatingly: 
 
 " Yes ; far too good for me." 
 
 " And do you. really wish to find her?" was Marian's 
 next question, which brought a flush to Frederic's face, 
 and caused him to hesitate a little ere he replied. 
 
 Yesterday he would have said Yes, at once, but since 
 coming into that library he had discovered that the 
 finding of his wife would be less desirable than before. 
 But it should not be so. He would crush every 
 thought or feeling which detracted in the least from 
 his late interest in Marian Lindsey, and with a great 
 effort he said : 
 
 " I really wish to find her ;" adding, as he saw a pe- 
 culiar expression flit over Marian's face ; " Wouldn't 
 you, too, be better pleased if Bedstone Hall had a mis- 
 tress ?" 
 
 " Yes, provided that mistress were your wife, Marian 
 Lindsey,'' was the ready answer ; and, looking into her 
 face, Frederic was conscious of an uneasy sensation, 
 for Miss Grey's words would indicate that the presence 
 of his wife would give her real pleasure. 
 
 Of course, then, she did not care for him, as he cared 
 for her ; and why should she ? He asked himself this 
 question many a time after the chair opposite him was 
 vacant, and she had left him there alone. Why should 
 ehe, when she came to him with the knowledge that he 
 was already bound to another. She might not hare 
 liked him perhaps had he been free, though, in that 
 case, he could have won her love, and compelled her 
 to forget the man who did not care for her. Taking 
 the high-backed chair she had just vacated, he rested 
 his elbow upon the table, and tried to fancy that Ma- 
 rian Lindsey had never crossed his path, and Marian 
 Grey had never loved another. It was a pleasant pic- 
 ture he drew of himself were Marian Grey his wife, 
 and his heart fairly bounded as he thought of her steal- 
 ing to his side, and placing upon his arm those little 
 Boi't white hands of hers, while her blue eyes looked
 
 BEDSTONE HALL. . 319 
 
 into his own, and her rose-bud lips called him " Hus- 
 band !" and, as he thought, it seemed to him more 
 and more that it must one day be so. She \vould be 
 his at last, and the sun of his domestic bliss would 
 shine upon him all the brighter for the dreary darkness 
 which had overshadowed him so long. From this 
 dream of happiness there came ere long a waking, and 
 burying his face in his hands he moaned aloud, " Itr 
 cannot be, and the hardest part of all to bear is the 
 wretched thought that but for my dastardly, unmanly 
 act, it might, perhaps, have been but now, never ! 
 never ! Oh, Marian Grey ! Marian Grey ! I would 
 that we had never met !" 
 
 "Frederic, didn't you hear me coming? I made a 
 heap of noise," said a voice close to his side, and 
 Alice's arm was thrown across his neck. 
 
 She had heard all he was saying, but she did not 
 comprehend it until he muttered the name of Marian 
 Grey, and then the truth flashed upon her. 
 
 "Poor Frederic," she said, soothingly, "I pity you 
 so much, for though it is wicked, I am sure you can- 
 not help it." 
 
 " Help what ?" he asked, rather impatiently, for this 
 one secret lie hoped to bury from the whole world, but 
 the blind girl had discovered it, and she answered un- 
 hesitatingly : 
 
 " Can't help loving Marian Grey. I've been fearful 
 you would," she continued, as he made no reply. " I 
 did not see how you could well help it, either, she is so 
 beautiful and good, and every night I pray that if our 
 own Marian is really dead God will let us know." 
 
 This was an entire change in Alice. Hitherto she had 
 pleaded a living Marian now she suggested one de* 
 ceased, but Frederic repelled the 'thought at once. 
 
 " Marian was not dead," he said, " and though he 
 admired Miss Grey, he had no right to love her. He 
 didn't intend to, either, and if Alice had discovered 
 anything, he trusted she would forget it." 
 
 And this was all the satisfaction he would give the
 
 S50 BEDSTONE HALL. 
 
 little girl, who, feeling that he would rather be alone, 
 turned away, leaving him again with his unhappy 
 thoughts. 
 
 That night he joined the young girls in the parlor 
 and compelled himself to listen while Marian made the 
 old walls echo with her ringing, merry music. But 
 he would not look at her, nor watch her snowy fingers 
 sweeping over the keys, lest they should make worse 
 havoc with his heart-strings than they had already 
 done. At an early hour he sought his chamber where the 
 livelong night he fought manfully with the love which, 
 now that lie acknowledged its existence, grew rapidly in 
 intensity and strength. It was not like the love he had 
 felt for Isabel it was deeper, purer, more absorbing, 
 and what was stranger far than all, he could not feel 
 that it was wicked, and he trembled when he thought 
 how hardened he had become. 
 
 The next day, which was the Sabbath, he determin- 
 ed to see as little of Marian as possible, but when at 
 the breakfast table she asked him in her usual frank, 
 open-hearted way to go with her to church, he could 
 not refuse, and he went, feeling a glow of pride at the 
 sensation he knew she was creating, and wondering 
 why she should be so excited. 
 
 " I cannot keep the secret much longer," Marian 
 thought, as she looked upon the familiar faces of^her 
 friends, and longed to hear them call her by her real 
 name. "I will at least tell Alice who I am, and if she 
 can convince me that Frederic would be glad, I will 
 perhaps explain to him." 
 
 When church was out, Mrs. Rivers, who still lived 
 at her father's, pressed forward for an introduction, 
 and after it was over, whispered a few words to Fred- 
 eric, who replied, " Not in the least," so decidedly that 
 Marian heard him, and wondered what Agnes' remark 
 could have been. She was not long left in doubt, for 
 as they were riding home, Frederic turned to her and 
 said : " Mrs. Rivers thinks you look like my wife." 
 
 Marian's cheeks were scarlet, as she replied :
 
 BEDSTONE HALL. 351 
 
 " Josh and Hefty thought so, too, and it is possible 
 there mav be a resemblance," 
 
 "Not the slightest," returned Frederic, half vexed 
 thai: any one should presume to liken the beautiful girl 
 at his side to one as plain as he had always considered 
 Marian Lindsey to be. 
 
 Leaning back in the carriage, he relapsed into a 
 thoughtful mood, which was interrupted once by Ma- 
 rian's asking "if he believed he should know his wife 
 in case he met her accidentally?" 
 
 "Know her? Yes from all the world!" was the 
 hasty answer; and, wrapping his shawl still closer 
 about him, Frederic did not speak again until they 
 stopped at their own door. 
 
 That night, as Marian sat with Alice in their cham- 
 ber, she said to the little girl : 
 
 " If you could have any wish gratified which you 
 chose to make, what would it be ?" 
 
 For an instant Alice hesitated then her eyes filled 
 with teats, and, and winding her arms around her 
 teacher's neck, she whispered : 
 
 " At first I thought Fd rather have my sight but 
 only for a moment and then I wished, if Marian were 
 not dead, she would come back to us, for I'm afraid 
 Frederic is getting bad again, though he cannot help 
 it, I'm sure." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" Marian asked, and Alice re- 
 plied : 
 
 " Don't you know ? Can't you guess ? Don't you 
 hear it in his voice when he speaks to you?" 
 
 Marian made no response, and Alice continued : 
 
 "Frederic seems determined to love everybody bet- 
 ter than Marian, and though I love you more than I 
 can tell, I want her to come back so much." 
 
 " And if you knew she were coming, when would 
 you rather it should be?" asked Marian, and Alice 
 replied : 
 
 *' Now to-night, ; but as that is impossible, I'd be 
 satisfied with Christmas. Yes, on the whole, I'd rather
 
 352 REDSTONE HALL. 
 
 it w:>uld be then ; I should call her our Christmas Gift, 
 and it would be the dearest, sweetest one that I could 
 have." 
 
 ''Darling Alice," thought Marian, "your wish shall 
 be gratified." 
 
 And, kissing the blind girl affectionately, she re- 
 polved that on the coming Christmas, one at least of 
 the inmates of Redstone II all should know that Marian 
 Grey was only another name for the runaway Marian 
 Lindsey.
 
 CHAPTER XXYIL 
 
 TELLDTO ALICE. 
 
 ONE by one the bright November days went, by and 
 the hazy Indian Summer light faded from the Ken- 
 tucky hills, where now the December sun was shining 
 cold and clear. And as the weeks passed away, there 
 hung over Redstone Hall a dark, portentous cloud, 
 and they who had waited so eagerly the coming of the 
 holidays trembled lest the merry Christmas song 
 should prove a funeral dirge for the pet nd darling of 
 them all. Alice was dying, so the physician said, 
 while Dinah, too, had prophesied that ere the New 
 Year came the eyes which never in this world had 
 looked upon the light would be opened to the glories 
 of the better land. 
 
 For many weary days and nights the fever flame 
 had burned in the young girl's veins, but it had left 
 her now, and like a fragile lily she iay among her pil- 
 lows, talking of Heaven and the grave as something 
 very near to her. Noiselessly Marian trod across the 
 floor, holding back her breath and speaking in soft 
 whispers, lest she should disturb the little sufferer 
 whose side she never for a moment left except to take 
 the rest she absolutely needed. Frederic, too, often 
 shared her vigils, feeling almost as anxious for one 
 as for the other. Both were very dear to him, and 
 Marian, as she witnessed his tender care of Alice, and 
 his anxiety for herself lest her stength should be over- 
 tasked, felt more aud more that he was worthy of her 
 love. Alice, too, appreciated his goodness, as she had
 
 354 TELLING ALICE. 
 
 never done before, and once when he sat alone with 
 her, and Marian was asleep, she passed her hand ca- 
 ressingly over his face and said : 
 
 "Dear Frederic, you have been so kind to me, that 
 I am sure God has some good in store for you." 
 
 Then as she remembered what would probably be 
 the greatest good to him, she continued, "I know 
 what's in your heart, and I pity you so much, but 
 there is light ahead ; I've thought strange things, and 
 dreamed strange dreams since I lay here so sick, 
 and as I once was certain Marian was alive, so now I'm 
 almost certain that she's dead." 
 
 " Hush, Alice, hush," said Frederic, laying his head 
 upon the pillow beside her, but Alice did not heed 
 him, and she continued 
 
 "I never saw her in this world, and maybe I shan't 
 know her right away, though next to mother, I reckon 
 she'll be the first to welcome me to Heaven, if she's 
 there, and I know she is, or we should have heard 
 from her. I shall tell her of her old home, Frederic ; tell 
 her how we mourned for her when we thought that 
 she was dead. I don't know what it was that made 
 her go away, but I shall tell her you repented of the 
 act, and 'how you looked for her so long, and that if 
 you had found her you would have loved her, sure. 
 That will not be a lie, will it, Frederic?" 
 
 " No, darling, no," was the faintly spoken answer, 
 and Alice continued : 
 
 "Then, when I have explained all, I'll steal away 
 from Heaven, just long enough to come and tell you 
 she is there. You'll be in the library, maybe, and 
 I reckon 'twill be dark, though if you'd any ra- 
 ther, I'll come in the daytime, and when you feel 
 there's somebody near, somebody you can't see, you 
 may know that it is me come to say that you are free 
 to love the other Marian." 
 
 " Don't, Alice, don't," said Frederic, for it made hia 
 heart bleed afresh to hear her talk of what he had no 
 hope would ever be.
 
 TELLING ALICE. 355 
 
 But Alice's faith was stronger, and to Marian Grey 
 she sometimes talked in a similar strain, saying " she 
 knew she should meet the other one in Heaven," and 
 Marian, while listening to her, felt that she must un- 
 deceive her. "It may possibly make her better," she 
 thought, and when, at last, the Christmas eve had 
 come, and it was her turn to watch that night, she de- 
 termined to tell her, if she fancied that she had 
 strength to bear it, One by one, the family servants 
 retired, and when at last they were alone, Marian 
 drew her chair close beside the bed, wondering how 
 she should commence, and what effect it would have 
 upon the little girl, who erelong awoke, and said to 
 her: 
 
 " I've been dreaming of Marian, and I thought she 
 looked like you do but she don't of course; and I 
 wonder how I'll know her from my mother, for she, too, 
 was young when she died. If it were you, Miss Grey, I 
 could tell you so easily, for I should look among the 
 brightest angels there, and the one who sang the sweet- 
 est song and had the fairest face, would certainly be 
 Marian Grey : but the other Marian how shall I know 
 her think?" 
 
 Leaning forward so that her hot cheek touched the 
 pale one of the sick girl, Marian said : 
 
 " Wouldn't you know her by her voice ?" 
 
 " I'm afraki not," answered Alice ; " I thought you 
 were she at first when I heard you speak." 
 
 "Plow is it now, darling?" Marian asked, in a voice 
 so tremulous that Alice started, and her white face 
 flushed as she replied : " You are nut like her now, ex- 
 cept at times, and then it's all so queer. There's a 
 mystery about you, Miss Grey and seems sometimes 
 just like I didn't know what to think you puzzle me 
 so !" 
 
 " Shall I tell you, Alice ? Have you strength to hoar 
 who and what I am ?" Marian asked ; and Alice an- 
 swered eagerly; 
 
 Yes tell me do ?"
 
 356 TELLING ALICE. 
 
 " And you'll promise not to faint, nor scream, nor 
 reveal it to anybody, unless I say you may ?" 
 
 " It must be something terrible to make me i'aint or 
 scream !" 
 
 " Not terrible, dearest, but strange !" and sitting 
 down upon the bed, Marian wound her arm around the 
 little girl. 
 
 It was a hazardous thing the telling that secret then, 
 but Marian did not realize what she was doing, and in 
 as calm a voice as she could command, she began : 
 
 " People call me Marian Grey, but that is not my 
 name !" 
 
 " Not Marian Grey !" and the brown eyes flashed 
 wonderingly. "Who are you, then, Marian what?" 
 
 Marian did not reply to this question, but said in- 
 stead : "I had seen you before that night at Riverside." 
 
 "Seen me where?" and the little fingers trembled, 
 with an indefinable dread of the shock which she in- 
 stinctively felt was waiting for her. 
 
 "I had seen you many times," said Marian, "and that 
 is why my voice is familiar. Put ;\our hand upon my 
 face again, and maybe you will know it." 
 
 " I can ? t, I can't ! you frighten me so 1" gasped Alice, 
 and Marian continued : 
 
 " I must have changed much, for they who used to 
 know me have never suspected that I am in their 
 midst again none but Bruno. Do } r ou remember my 
 power over him ? Bruno and I were playmates to- 
 gether." 
 
 Marian paused and gazed earnestly at the child, who 
 lay panting in her arms, her face upturned and the 
 blind eyes fixed upon hers with an intensity she had 
 never before seen equalled. In the deep stillness of 
 the room she could hear the loud beating of Alice's 
 heart, and see the bed-clothes rise and fall with every 
 throb. 
 
 " Alice," she said at last, " don't you know me now ?' 
 and in her voice there was a world of yearning tender- 
 ' ness and love. 

 
 TELLING ALICE. 357 
 
 " Yes" and over the marble face there shone a smile 
 of almost seraphic sweetness. "Yon are Marian 
 my Marian Frederic's Marian Dinah's -Marian 
 All of us Marian /" and with a low. hysterical cry the 
 blind girl crept close to the bosom of her long lost 
 friend. 
 
 Stretching out her feeble arms she wound them 
 round Marian's neck, and raising herself upon her el- 
 bow, kissed her lips, her cheek, her forehead, her hair, 
 whispering all the time, "Blessed Marian precious 
 Marian beautiful Marian our Marian Frederic's, 
 and mine, and everybody's. Oh, I don't want, to go to 
 heaven now : I'd rather stay with you. Call him call 
 Frederic, quick, and tell him ? Why haven't, you told 
 him before ? Ho, Frederic, come here !" and the fee- 
 ble voice raised to its highest pitch, went ringing 
 through the room and penetrated even to the adjoin- 
 ing chamber, where, since Alice's illness, Frederic had 
 slept. 
 
 " Alice," said Marian, " if you love me, you will not 
 tell him now. I am not ready yet." 
 
 " What if I should die ?" Alice asked, and Marian 
 replied : 
 
 " You won't die. I almost know you won't. Prom- 
 ise, Alice, promise," she continued, as she heard Fred- 
 eric's step in the hall vithout. 
 
 "How can I how can I? It will choke me to 
 death !" was Alice's answer, and the next moment 
 Frederic had crossed the threshold of the door. 
 
 " What is it, Miss Grey ?" he asked. " Didn't you 
 call ?" 
 
 Alice is rather excited, that's all." said Marian, 
 ' and you can go back. We do not wish to disturb 
 you." 
 
 " Frederic," came a faint whisper from the bedside, 
 and knowing that farther remonstrance was useless, 
 Marian stood like a rock, while Frederic advanced to- 
 ward the child, who lay with her head thrown back, 
 the great tears rolling down her cheeks, and the great
 
 358 TELLING ALICE. 
 
 joy of what she had heard, shining out all over her 
 little face. 
 
 " Did you want me, birdie?" he asked, but ere he 
 had ceased speaking, Marian was at his side. 
 
 Alice knew that she was there, and she pressed both 
 hands upon her lips to force back the secret she had 
 been forbidden to divulge. 
 
 " Is she delirious ?" Frederic asked, and shaking her 
 head, Alice whispered : "No, no, but happy, so happy. 
 Oh, Frederic, I don't want to die ! Must I ? It' I take 
 a heap of Doctor's stuff, will I get well, think?" 
 
 " I hope so," said Frederic, his suspicions of insanity 
 rapidly increasing. 
 
 " Give me your hand," she continued, " and yours, 
 too, Miss Grey." 
 
 Both were extended, and joining them together she 
 said, " Love her, Frederic. Love her all you want to. 
 You may you may. It isn't wicked. Oh, Marian, 
 Marian." 
 
 The last word was a whisper, and a? it died away, 
 Marian seized Frederic's arm, and said, beseechingly: 
 " Please leave the room, Mr. Raymond. You see she 
 is excited, and I can quiut her best alone. Will you 
 go?" 
 
 The brown eyes looked reproachfully at her and en- 
 treatingly at him, but neither heeded the expression, 
 and \v'th a feeling that he scarcely understood what 
 the whole proceeding meant, {fnd why he had been 
 called in if he must be summarily dismissed, Frederic 
 went out, leaving Marian alone with Alice. 
 
 " Why didn't you let me tell him?" the latter asked, 
 and Marian replied, " I shall tell him by and by : 
 but I am not ready yet, and you must not betray me." 
 
 " I'll try," said Alice, " but 'tis so hard. I had to 
 bite my tongue to keep the words from coming. Where 
 have you beeen ? Why didn't you come to us before. 
 How cume you so beautiful so grand?" Alice asked, 
 all in the same breath. 
 
 But Marian absolutely refused to answer the ques-
 
 TELLING ALICE. 359 
 
 tJon until she had become quiet and been refreshed 
 with sleep. 
 
 " All in good time, dearest," she said, " but you 
 must rest now. You are wearing out too fast, and you 
 know you, do not want to die." 
 
 This was the right chord to touch, and it had the de- 
 si rod effect. 
 
 " Let me ask one question, and say one thing," said 
 Alice. " and I won't talk another word till morning. 
 When you are ready may / tell Frederic, if I ain't 
 dead ?"' 
 
 " Yes, darling," was the ready answer, and winding 
 her arms round Marian's neck, the blind girl contin- 
 ued : " Isn't it almost morning ?" 
 
 " Yes, dear." 
 
 "And when it is, won't it be Christmas day?" 
 
 " Yes, but you have asked three questions, instead of 
 one." 
 
 " I know I know ; but. what I want to say is this : 
 "I wished my Christmas gift might be Marian, and it 
 is. Last year it was of a beautiful little pony, but 
 you are worth ten hundred million ponies. Oh, I'm 
 so glad so glad," and on the childish face there was a 
 look of perfect happiness. 
 
 Even after she shut her eyes and tried to sleep her 
 lips continued to move, and Marian could hear the 
 whispered words: u Our own Marian our blessed 
 Marian." 
 
 The excitement was too much for Alice, and when 
 next morning the physician came, he pronounced her 
 worse than she had been the previous night. 
 
 " But I ain't going tc die," said Alice resolutely ; 
 " I can't die now," and it was this very determination 
 on her part which did more to save her life than all 
 the doctor's drugs or Dinah's wonderful tears. 
 
 For many days she seemed hovering between life 
 and death, while Marian never for a moment left her, 
 and Alice was more quiet when she was sitting by, 
 holding her feverish hand ; she seemed to have lost all
 
 360 TELLING ALICE. 
 
 . x 
 
 her desire to tell, for she never made any attempt so to 
 do, though she persisted in calling her teacher Marian, 
 and a look of pain always flitted over her face when 
 she heard her addressed as Miss Grey. Sometimes she 
 would start up, and winding her arms around her neck 
 would whisper in her ear, " Are you Marian for sure 
 onr Marian, I mean ?" * 
 
 ** Yes, Marian Lindsey, sure," would be the answer, 
 and the little girl would fall away again into a half 
 unconscious state, a smile of joy wreathing her white 
 lips, and an expression of peace resting on her face. 
 
 At last, just as the New Year's morning dawned, she 
 woke from a deep, unbroken sleep, and Marian and 
 Frederic, who watched beside her, knew that she was 
 saved. There were weeks of convalescence, and Dinah 
 often wondered at Alice's patience in staying so long 
 and willingly in the chamber where she had suffered so 
 much. But to Alice that sick room was a second paradise 
 and Marian the bright angel whose presence made all 
 the sunlight of her life. 
 
 Gradually as she could bear it, Marian told her every- 
 thing which had come to her since she left Itedstone 
 Hall, and Alice's eyes grew strangely bright when she 
 heard that the bracelet she had always prized so much 
 was made from Marian's hair, and that Ben's visit to 
 Kentucky was all a plan of his to see if Frederic were 
 married. Greatly was she shocked when she heard of 
 the letter which had almost taken Marian's life. 
 
 " Frederic never did that cruel thing," she knew. 
 
 " But 'twas in his hand-writing," said Marian, "and 
 until the mystery is cleared away, I cannot forgive 
 him." 
 
 For a long time Alice sat absorbed in thought, then 
 suddenly starting forward, she cried : " I know, Ma- 
 rian. I know now, Isabel did it. I'm sure she did. I 
 re.nember it all so plain. 
 
 " Isabel," repeated Marian : " how could she? What 
 do you mean ?" 
 
 " Why," returned Alice, " You say you sent it a
 
 TELLING ALICE. 361 
 
 few weeks after yon went away, and I remember so 
 well Frederic's going to Lexington one day, because 
 that was the time it came to me that you were not 
 dead. It was the first morning, too, that Isabel heard 
 my lessons, and she scolded because I didn't remem- 
 ber quick, when I was thinking all the time of yon, 
 and my heart was aching so. For some reason,! can't 
 tell what, I showed her that note you. left for me. You 
 remember it ; don't you ? It read : 
 
 " Darling Alice ! Precious Alice : If my heart were 
 not already broken, it would break in leaving you." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I remember," said Marian, and Alice 
 continued : 
 
 " She said your hand-writing was queer, when she 
 gave me back the note. That evening, Josh came 
 back from Frankfort with a heap of letters for Fred- 
 eric, and one of them I know was from you. I was 
 standing out under the big maple tree thinking of you, 
 when Isabel came and asked to take the note again, 
 and I let her have it. Ever so long after, I started to 
 go into the library, for I heard somebody rustling 
 papers, and I didn't know but Dud was doing mischief. 
 Just as 1 got to the door, I heard a voice like Isabel's 
 only sounded scared like, exclaim, 'It is from her, 
 but he shall never see it, never ;' or something like 
 that, and when I called to her she wouldn't answer me 
 until I got close to her, and then she laughed as if she 
 was choked, and said she was trying to frighten me. 
 Marian, that her wa you, and that he was Frederic. 
 She copied his writing, and sent the letter back be- 
 cause she wanted Frederic herself." 
 
 " Could she do such a thing," said Marian more to 
 herself than to Alice, who replied : 
 
 "She can do anything j for Dinah says she's one of 
 the , I reckon that I'll skip that word in there, be- 
 cause it's almost swearing, but it means Satan's unao- 
 countdbles" and Alice's voice dropped to a whisper at 
 what she fancied to be profanity. 
 
 Marian could understand why Isabel should do such 
 16
 
 362 TELLING ALICE. 
 
 a wicked thing even better than Alice, and after re- 
 flecting upon it for a time, she accepted it as a fact, 
 and even suggested the possibility of Isabel's having 
 been the author of the letter from Sarah Green. 
 
 "She was! she was!" cried Alice, starting to her 
 feet! "It's just like her for she thought Frederic 
 would surely want to marry her then. I know she 
 wrote it, and managed to get it to New York some- 
 how ;" and as is often the case poor Isabel was com- 
 Silled to bear more than her share of the fraud, for 
 arian, too, believed that she had been in some way 
 implicated with the letter from Sarah Green. 
 
 "And I may tell Frederic now mayn't I?" said 
 Alice. " Suppose we set to-morrow, when he's in the 
 library among the letters. He'll wonder what I'rn 
 coming in there for, all wrapped up in shawls. But 
 he'll know plenty quick, for it will be just like me 
 to tell it all at once, and he will be so glad. Don't 
 you wish it was to-morrow now?" 
 
 Marian could not say she did, for she had hoped for 
 more decisive demonstration of affection on Frederic's 
 part ere she revealed herself to him, but Alice was so 
 anxious, and had waited so patiently, that she at last 
 consented, and when at supper she met Frederic as 
 usual, she was conscious of a different feeling towards 
 him than she had ever experienced before. He seemed 
 unusually dejected, though exceedingly kind to her, 
 talking but little, it is true, but evincing, in various 
 ways, the interest he felt in her, and even asking her 
 to sit with him awhile ere returning to Alice's cham- 
 ber. There was evidently something on his mind 
 which he wished to say, but whatever it might have 
 been, seven o'clock found it still unsaid, and as Alice 
 retired at that hour, Marian arose to go. 
 
 "Must you leave me?" he said, rising too, and ac 
 companying her to the door. " Yes, you must!" and 
 Marian little guessed the meaning these three words 
 implied. 
 
 She only felt that she was not indifferent to him
 
 TELLING ALICE. 363 
 
 that the story Alice was to tell him on the morrow 
 would be received with a quiet kind of happiness at 
 least that he would not bid her go away as she once 
 had done before and with the little blind girl, she, 
 too, began to think the morrow would never come. 

 
 
 CHAPTEK XXVILL 
 
 TELLING FEEDEKIC. 
 
 IT was midnight, and from the windows of the 
 library at Redstone Hall there shone a single light, its 
 dim rajs falling upon the haggard face of the weary 
 man, who, since parting from Marian in the parlor, had 
 eat there just as he was sitting now, unmindful of the 
 lapse of time unmindful of every thing save the fierce 
 battle he was waging with himself. Hour by hour 
 day by day week by week, had his love for Marian 
 Grey increased, until now he could no more control it 
 than he could stay the mighty torrent in its headlong 
 course. It was all in vain that he kept or tried to 
 keep Marian Lindsey continually before his mind, say- 
 ing often to himself: u She is my wife she is alive, 
 and I must not love another." 
 
 He did not care for Marian Lindsey. He did not 
 wish to find her now he almost hoped he never 
 should, though even that would avail him nothing, un- 
 less he knew to a certainty that she were really dead. 
 Perhaps he never could know, and as he thought of 
 the long, dreary years in which he must live on with 
 that terrible uncertainty forever haunting him, he 
 pressed his hands upon his burning forehead and cried 
 aloud : " My punishment is greater than I can bear. 
 Oh, Marian Grey, can it be that you, who might have 
 been the angel of my life, were sent to avenge the 
 wrongs of that other Marian ?" 
 
 He knew it was wicked, this intense, absorbing pas- 
 sion for Marian Grey, but he could not 1'eel it so, and
 
 TELLING FREDERIC. 365 
 
 he would have given half his possessions for the sake 
 of abandoning himself for one brief hour to this love 
 for the sake of seeing her eyes of blue meet Math the 
 look he had so often fancied her giving to the man she 
 loved. And she loved him ! He was sure of it ! He 
 saw it those nights when he watched with her by Al- 
 ice's bedside ; he had seen it since in the sudden flush- 
 ing of her cheek and the falling of her eyes when he 
 approached. And it was this discovery which prompt- 
 ed him to the act he meditated. Not both of them 
 could stay there, himself and Marian, for he would not 
 that she should suffer more than need be. She had 
 recovered from her first and early love ; she would get 
 over this, and if she were only happy, it didn't matter 
 how desolate her going would leave him, for she must 
 go, he said. He had come to that decision, sitting 
 there alone, and it had wrung great drops of perspi- 
 ration from his brow and moans of anguish from his 
 lips. But it must be there was no alternative, he 
 thought, and in the chair where Marian Lindsey once 
 had written her farewell, he wrote to Marian Lindsey's 
 rival that Redstone Hall could be her home no longer. 
 
 , " Think not that you have displeased me," he said, 
 " for this is not why I send you from me. Both of us 
 cannot stay, and though for Alice's sake I would glad- 
 ly keep you here, it must not be. I am going to New 
 Orleans, to be absent three or four weeks, and shall 
 not expect to find you here on my return. You will 
 need money, and I enclose a check for a thousand dol- 
 lars. Don't refuse to take it, for I give it willingly, 
 and though my conduct is sadly at variance with rny 
 words, you must believe me when I say that in all the 
 world yon have not so true a friend, as 
 
 " FREDERIC RAYMOND." 
 
 Many times he read this letter over, and it was not 
 until long after midnight that he sought his pillow, on- 
 ly to toss from side to side with feverish unrest, and he
 
 366 TELLING FREDERIC. 
 
 was glad when at last Josh came in to make the fire, 
 for by that toketi lie knew it was morning. 
 
 " Tell Dinah I will breakfast in my room," he said, 
 "and say to Phil that he must have the carriage ready 
 early, for I am going to New-Orleans, and he will car- 
 ry me to Frankfort." 
 
 " Ye-e-es, Sir," was Josh's answer, as he departed 
 with the message. 
 
 " Marster have breakfast in his room, and a goin' to 
 New-Orleans? In the Lord's name what's happened 
 him ?" exclaimed Dinah, and when Marian came down 
 to her solitary meal, she repeated the story to her, 
 asking if she could explain it. 
 
 " Marster's looked desput down in the month a long 
 time back," she said. " What you 'spect 'tis ?" 
 
 Marian could not tell ; neither did she venture a sug- 
 gestion, so fearful was she that Frederic's intended de- 
 parture would interfere with the plan of which Alice 
 had talked incessantly since daylight. Hastily finish- 
 ing her breakfast, she hurried back to her chamber, 
 whither the note bad preceded her. 
 
 " Luce brought this to you from Frederic," said 
 Alice, passing her the letter, " and she says he looks 
 like he was crazy. Read it and see what he wants." 
 
 Marian accordingly tore open the envelope, and with 
 blanched cheek and quivering lip read that she must 
 go again from Redstone Hall, and worse than all, there 
 was no tangible reason assigned for the cruel mandate. 
 The check next caught her eye, and with a proud, 
 haughty look upon her face, she tore it in fragments 
 and scattered them upon the floor, for it seemed an 
 idle mockery for him to offer what was already hers. 
 
 "What is it, Marian?" asked Alice, and recovering 
 her composure Marian read to her what Frederic said 
 while Alice's face grew white as hers had done before. 
 
 " You go away !" she exclaimed, bounding upon the 
 floor and feeling for the warm shawl which she wore 
 when sitting up. " You won't do any buch thing
 
 TELLING FREDERIC. 367 
 
 You've as much right here as he has, and I'm going 
 this minute to tell him so." 
 
 She had groped her way to the door and was just 
 opening it when Marian held her back, saying : 
 
 " You must not go out undressed and barefooted as 
 you are. The halls are cold. Wait here while I go 
 and learn the reason of this sudden freak." 
 
 " But I want so much to tell him myself," said Al- 
 ice, and Marian replied, " So you shall, I'll send Dinah 
 up to dress you and then I will come for you when it's 
 time." 
 
 This pacified Alice, who already began to feel faint 
 with her exertions, and she crept back to bed, while 
 Marian descended the stairs, going first to Dinah as she 
 had promised, and then with a beating heart turning 
 her steps toward the library. It was much like facing 
 the wild beast in its lair, confronting Frederic in his 
 present savage mood. He felt himself as if his reason 
 were overturned, for the deliberate giving up of Marian 
 Grey, and the feeling that he should probably never 
 look upon her face again, had stirred, as it were, the 
 very depths of his heart's blood, and in a state of mind 
 bordering upon distraction, he was making the neces- 
 sary preparations for his hasty journey, when a timid 
 knock was heard outside the door. 
 
 "Who's there? I'm very busy," was his loud, im- 
 perious answer, but Marian was not to be thus baffled, 
 and turning the knob, she entered without further 
 ceremony, recoiling back a pace or two when she met 
 the expression of Frederic's eye. 
 
 With his hands full of papers, which he was thrust- 
 ing into his pocket, his hair disordered and his face 
 white as ashes, he turned toward her, saying; "Why 
 are you here, Miss Grey? Haven't you caused me 
 pain enough already? Have you received my note?" 
 
 " I have," she answered, advancing still further into 
 the room. " And I have come to ask you what it 
 means. You have no right to dismiss me so suddenly
 
 368 TELLING FREDERIC. 
 
 without an explanation. How have I offended ?. You 
 must tell me." 
 
 " I said you had not offended," he replied, " and 
 further than that I can give no explanation." 
 
 " I shall not leave your house, nor yet this room un- 
 til you do," was her decided answer, and with the air 
 of one who meant what she said, Marian went so near 
 to the excited man that he could have touched her had 
 he chosen. 
 
 For an instant the two stood gazing at each other, 
 Marian never wavering for an instant, while over Fred- 
 eric's face there flitted alternately a look of wonder, 
 admiration, and perplexity. Then that look passed 
 away and was succeeded by an expression of the deep 
 love he felt for beautiful girl standing so fearlessly be- 
 fore him. 
 
 " I cannot help it," he murmured at last, and totter- 
 ing to the door, he turned the key; then returning to 
 Marian, he compelled her to sit down beside him up- 
 on the sofa, and passing his arm around her, so that she 
 could not escape, he began : " You say you will not 
 leave the room until you know why I should send you 
 from me. Be it so, then. It surely cannot be wrong 
 for me to tell when you thus tempt me to the act ; so, for 
 one brief half-hour, you are mine mine, Marian, and 
 no power can save you now from hearing what I have 
 to say." 
 
 His looks, even more than his manner, frightened 
 her, and she said imploringly, " Give me the key, Mr. 
 Raymond. Unlock the door and I will go away with- 
 out hearing the reason." 
 
 "I frighten you, then," he answered, in a gentler 
 tone, drawing her nearer to him, " and yet, Marian 
 Grey, I would sell my life inch by inch rather than 
 harm a hair of your dear head. Oh, Marian, Marian, 
 I would to Heaven you had never crossed my path, for 
 then I should not have known what it is to love as mad- 
 ly, as hopelessly, as wickedly as I now love you. 
 What made you come to me in all your bright, girlish
 
 TELLING FREDERIC. - 360 
 
 beauty, or why did Heaven suffer me to love you as I 
 do? My punishment was before as great as I could 
 bear, and now I must suffer this anguish, too. Oh, 
 Marian Grey, Marian Grey !" 
 
 He wound his arms close around her, and she could 
 feel his feverish breath as his lips almost touched her 
 burning cheek. In the words "Marian Grey, Marian 
 Grey," there was a deep pathos, as if all the loving 
 tenderness of his nature were centered upon that name, 
 and it brought the tears in torrents from her eyes. He 
 saw them, and wiping them away, he said: 
 
 " The hardest part of all to me is the knowledge 
 that you must suffer, too. Forgive ine for saying it, 
 but as I know that I love you, so by similar signs J 
 know that you love-^ne. , Is it not so, darling?" 
 
 Involuntarily she laid her head upon his bosom, sob- 
 bing : 
 
 ** I have loved you so long so long." 
 
 But for her promise to Alice she would then have 
 told him all, but she must keep her word, and when 
 he rejoined, " It does, indeed seem long since that 
 night you came to Riverside," she did not undeceive 
 him, but listened while he continued, "Bless you for 
 telling me of your love. When you are gone it will 
 be a comfort for me to think that Maiian Grey once 
 loved me. I say once for you must overcome that 
 love. You must tear it out and trample it beneath 
 your feet. You can if you try. You are not as hard, 
 as callous as I am. My heart is like adamant, and 
 though I know that it is wicked to love you, and to 
 tell you of my love, I cannot help it. I am. a wretcli, 
 and when 1 tell you, as I must, just what a wretch I 
 am, it will help you to forget me to hate me, it may 
 be. You have heard of my wife. You know she left 
 ime on my bridal night, and 1 have never known the 
 joys of wedded bliss never shall know, for even if 
 she conies back to me now, / cannot Live with lier /" 
 
 " Oh, Frederic !" And again the hot tears trembled 
 
 16*
 
 370 TELLING FKEDEBIO. 
 
 through the hands which Marian clasped before her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Don't call me thus," said Frederic, entreatingly, 
 as he removed her hands, and held them both in his. 
 " Don't say Frederic, for though it thrills me with 
 strange joy to hear you, it is not right. Listen, Mari- 
 an, while I tell you why I married her who bears your 
 name, and then I'm" sure you'll hate me nor call me 
 Frederic again. I have never->told but one, and that 
 one, William Gordon. I had thought never to tell it 
 again, but it ie right that you should know. Marian 
 Lindsey was, or is, the Heiress of Kedstone Hall. All 
 my boasted wealth is hers every cent of it is hers. 
 But she didn't know it, for" and Frederic's voice was 
 very low and plaintive now as he told to Marian Grey 
 how Marian Lindsey was an heiress told her of his 
 dead parent's fraud of his desire to save that parent's 
 name from disgrace, and his stronger desire to save 
 him from poverty. " So 1 made her my wife," he said. 
 "I promised to love and cherish her all the time my 
 heart was longing for another." 
 
 Marian trembled now, as she lay helpless iu his 
 arms, and, observing it, he continued : 
 
 " I most confess the whole, and tell you that I loved, 
 or thought I loved, Isabel Huntington, though how I 
 could have fancied her is a mystery to me now. My 
 poor Marian was plain, while Isabel was beautiful, and 
 naught but Alice kept me from telling her my love. 
 Alice stayed the act Alice sent me to New York to 
 look for Marian " 
 
 "And did you never hear from her ? Did she never 
 send you a letter?" Marian asked, and he replied : 
 
 "Never! If she had I should have known where 
 to find her." 
 
 llien, as briefly as possible, for he knew time was 
 Qustening, he told of his fearful sickness, and of the 
 little girl who took such care of him told, too, of his 
 ceary search for her, and of the many dreary nights
 
 TELLING FKEDEJBIO. 371 
 
 he had passed in thinking of her, and her probable 
 fate. 
 
 " Then you came," he said, " and, struggle as I 
 would, I could not mourn for Marian Lindsey as I had 
 done before. I was satisfied to have you here until 
 the conviction burst upon me, that far greater than 
 any affection I had thought I could feel for that blue- 
 eyed girl, and ten-fold greater than any love I had felt 
 for Isabel Huntington, was my love for you. It has 
 worn upon me terribly. Look 1" And pushing back 
 his thick brown locks, he showed her where the hair 
 was turning white beneath. "These are for you," he 
 said. "There are furrows upon my face furrows up- 
 on my heart and can you wortder that I bade you go, 
 and so no longer tempt me to sin? And yet, could I 
 keep you with me, Ma-riau ? Could I hold you to my 
 bosom just as I hold you now, and know that I had a 
 right so to do ? a right to call you mine my Marian 
 my wife ? Not Heaven itself, I'm sure, has greater 
 happiness in store for those who merit its bliss than 
 this would be to me! Oh, why is the boon denied to 
 me ? Why must I suffer on through wretched, dreary 
 years, and know that somewhere in the world there is 
 a Marian Grey, who might have been rny wife ?" 
 
 " Let me go for Alice," said Marian, struggling to 
 release herself. " There is something she would tell 
 you."^ 
 
 "Yes, in a moment," he replied ; " but promise me 
 first one thing. The news may come to me that I am 
 free, and if it does, and you are still unmarried, will 
 you then be my wife? Promise that you will, and the 
 remembrance of that promise will help me to bear a 
 little longer." 
 
 "I do! said Marian, standing up before him, and 
 holding one of his hands in hers. " I promise you, 
 solemnly, that no other man shall ever call me wife 
 save you." 
 
 There were tears in Frederic's eyes, and his whole
 
 372 TELLING FKEDEKIO. 
 
 frame quivered with emotion, as, catching at her 
 dress, for she was moving toward the door, lie added : 
 
 " And you will wait for me, darling wait for me 
 twenty years, if it needs must be? You Avill never be 
 old to me. I shall love you just the same when these 
 sunny locks are grey," and he passed his hands caress- 
 ingly over her bright hair. There was a world of love 
 and tenderness in the answering look which Marian 
 gave to him as he opened the door for her to pass out, 
 and wringing his hands in anguish, he cried to him- 
 self, " Oh, how can I give her up beautiful, beautiful 
 Marian Grey !" 
 
 Swift as a bird Marian flew up the stairs in quest of 
 Alice, who was to tell the wretched man that it was 
 not a sin for him to love the beautiful Marian Grey. 
 
 " Alice, Alice ! Gc now go quick !" she exclaimed, 
 bursting into the irom. 
 
 " Go whar for the dear Lord's sake ?" said Dinah, 
 who had that moment come up, and consequently had 
 made but litr'.e progress in dsessing Alice. " Go 
 whar? Not down stairs 'strue as yer born. She'll 
 cotch her death o' cold !" 
 
 "Hurry do/" cried Alice, standing first on one 
 foot and then upon the other. " I must tell Frederic 
 something before he goes away. There, he's going ! 
 Oh, Marian, help!" she fairly screamed, as she heard 
 the carriage at the door, and Frederic in the hall 
 jjelow. 
 
 Marian was terribly excited, and in her attempts to 
 assist, she only made matters worse by buttoning the 
 wrong button, putting both stockings on the same 
 foot, pulling the shoe lacing into a hard knot, which 
 baffled all her nervous efforts, while Dinah worked on 
 leisurely, insisting that Alice - ( wasn't gwine down, 
 and if there was anythin' kiilin' which marster 'or'to 
 know, Miss Grey could tell him herself." 
 
 " Yes, Marian, go," said Alice, in despair, as she heard 
 Dud bid Frederic good by, and, scarcely conscious of 
 what she was about, Marian ran down the stairs, just
 
 TELLING FREDERIC. 373 
 
 as Phil cracked his whip, and the spirited greys 
 bounded off with a rapidity which left her taint cull 
 of " Stop, Frederic, stop !" far behind. 
 
 "I can write to dim," she thought, as she slowly re- 
 traced her steps back to Alice, who was bitterly disap- 
 pointed, mid who, alter Dinah was gone, threw herself 
 upon the bed, refusing to be comforted. 
 
 "Three weeks was forever," she said, and she sug- 
 gested sending Josh after the traveler, who, in a most 
 unenviable frame of mind, was riding rapidly towards 
 Frankfort. 
 
 " No, no," said Marian, " I will write immediately, 
 so he can get the letter as soon almost as he reaches 
 New Orleans. It won't be three weeks before he re- 
 turns," and she strove to divert the child's mind by re- 
 peating to her as much as she thought proper of her 
 exciting interview with Frederic. 
 
 But Alice could not be comforted, and all that day 
 she lamented over the mischance which had taken 
 Frederic away before she could tell him. 
 
 " There's Uncle Phil," she said, when towards night 
 she heard the carriage drive into the yard ; " and 
 hark, hark !" she exclaimed, turning her quick ear iu 
 the direction of the sound, and rolling her bright eye 
 around the room ; " there's a step on the piazza that 
 sounds like his 'tis him 'tis him ! He's come back ! 
 I knew he would 1" and in her weakness and excite- 
 ment the little girl sunk exhausted at Marian's feet. 
 
 Raising her up, Marian listened breathlessly, but 
 heard nothing save Phil, talking to his horses as he 
 drove them to the stable. 
 
 " lie lias not come,'' she said, and Alice replied, " I 
 tell you he has. There there, don't you hear?" and 
 Marian's heart gave one great bound as she, too, heaid 
 the well-known footstep upon the threshold and Fred- 
 erick speaking to his favorite Dud, who had run to 
 meet " his mars," asking for sugar-plums from New 
 Orleans. 
 
 There had been a change in the time-table, aiid
 
 374 TELLING FREDERIC. 
 
 Frederic did not reach Frankfort until after the train 
 he intended to take had gone. His first thought was 
 to remain in the city, and wait for the next train from 
 Lexington. Accordingly he gave his parting directions 
 to Phil, who being in no haste to return, loitered away 
 the morning and a portion of the afternoon before lie 
 turned his horses homeward. As he was riding up the 
 long hill which leads from Frankfort into the country 
 beyond,, he unexpectedly met his master, who had 
 been to the cemetery, and was just returning to the 
 Capitol Hotel. 
 
 All the day Frederic had thought of Marian Grey, 
 and with each thought it had seemed to him more and 
 more that he must see her again, if only to hear her 
 say that she would wait all time for him, and when he 
 came upon Phil, who he supposed was long ere this at 
 Redstone Hall, his resolution was taken, and instead 
 of the reproof he knew he merited, Phil was surprised 
 at hearing his master say, as he made a motion for him 
 to stop : 
 
 " Phil, I am going home." 
 
 And thus it was that he returned again to Redstone 
 Hall, where his coming was hailed with eager joy by 
 Marian and Alice, and created much surprise among 
 the servants. 
 
 " My 'pinion he's a little out of his head," was all the 
 satisfaction Phil could give, as he drove the carriage to 
 the barn, while Frederic, half repenting of his rash- 
 ness in returning, and wondering what good excuse he 
 could render, went to his own room the one formerly 
 occupied by his father where he sat before the glow- 
 ing grate, when Alice appeared, covered with shawls, 
 and her face all aglow with her excitement. 
 
 She would not be kept back another moment, lest 
 h.e should go off again, so Marian had wrapped her up 
 and sent her on her mission. Frederic sat with his face 
 turned toward the fire, and though by the step he knew 
 who it was that entered the door, he did not turn hia
 
 TELLING FREDERIC. 375 
 
 head or evince the least knowledge of her presence un- 
 til she stood before him, and said, inquiringly : 
 
 " Frederic, are yon here ?" 
 
 " Yes ;" was the answer, rather curtly spoken, for he 
 would rather be alone. 
 
 " Frederic !" and the bundle of shawls trembled vi 
 olently. " I have come to tell you something abou 
 Marian." 
 
 " I don't wish to hear it," was his reply ; and, noth- 
 ing daunted, Alice continued : 
 
 " But you must hear me. Her name isn't Miss 
 Grey. She is a married woman, and has a living hus- 
 band ; and you- '" 
 
 She did not finish the sentence, for like a tiger Fred- 
 eric started up, and seizing her by the shoulder, ex- 
 claimed : " You dare not tell me that again. Marian 
 Grey is not married. She never had a husband," and 
 as the maddening thought swept over him, that possi- 
 bly the blind girl told him truly, he staggered against 
 the mantel, where he stood panting for breath, and en- 
 during, as it were, all the agonies of a lingering, pain- 
 ful death. 
 
 " Sit down," said Alice, and like a child he obeyed, 
 while she proceeded, " Miss Grey has deceived us all, 
 and it is strange, too, that none of us should know her 
 none but Bruno. Don't you remember how he 
 wouldn't bite her, just because he knew her when we 
 didn't ? Don't you mind how I told you once maybe 
 the Marian who went away would come back to us 
 some day so beautiful we should not know her? You 
 are listening, ain't you 2" 
 
 " Yes, yes," came in a quick, short gasp from the 
 arm-chair. 
 
 ' Well, she has come backl She called herself Ma- 
 rian Grey so we would not guess right off who she was, 
 but she ain't Marian Grey. She's the other one she's 
 MY MARIAN, Frederic, AND YOUR WIFE " 
 
 As Alice was speaking Frederic had risen to hia 
 feet Drop by drop every particle of blood receded
 
 376 TELLING FREDERIC. 
 
 from his face, leaving it colorless as ashes. There was 
 a wild, unnatural light flashing from his eyes- -his 
 hands worked nervously together his hair seemed 
 starting from its roots, and with his head bent for- 
 ward, he stood transfixed as it were by the dazzling 
 light which had burst upon him. Then his lips parted 
 slowly, and more like a wailing cry than a prayer of 
 thanksgiving, the words " I thank thee, oh, my God," 
 issued from them. The next moment the air near 
 Alice was set in rapid motion there was a heavy fall, 
 and Frederic Raymond lay upon the carpet white and 
 still as a block of marble. 
 
 Like lightning Alice flew across the floor, but swift 
 as were her movements, another was there before her, 
 and with his head upon her hip was pressing burning 
 kisses upon his lips and dropping showers of tears up- 
 on iiis face. Marian had stood without the door, list- 
 ening to that dialogue, and when by the fall she knew 
 that it was ended, she came at once and knelt by the 
 fainting man, who ere long began to show signs of 
 consciousness. Alice was first to discover this, and 
 when sure that he would come back to life, she glided 
 silently from tiie room, for she knew that she would 
 not be needed there. 
 
 She might have tarried yet a little longer, for the 
 shock to Frederic had been so sudden and so great, 
 that though his lips moved and his fingers clutched 
 eagerly at the soft hand feeling for his pulse, he did 
 not seem to heed aught else, until Marian whispered 
 in his ear : 
 
 " My husband may I call you so ?'' 
 
 Then, indeed, he started- from his lethargy, and, 
 struggling to his feet, clasped her in his arms, weep- 
 ing over her passionately, and murmuring as he did 
 so : 
 
 " My wife my darling ^my wife ! Is it true that 
 you have come to me again ? Are you my Marian ?" 
 
 Daylight was fading from the room, for the Winter 
 Bun had set behind the western hills, and leading hei
 
 TELLING FREDERIC. 377 
 
 to the window, lie turned her face to the light, gazing 
 rapturously upon it, and saying to her : 
 
 " You are mine all mine ! God bless you, Ma- 
 rian !" 
 
 He kissed her hands, her neck, her lips, her fore- 
 head, her hair, and she could feel his hot tears falling 
 amid the shining curls he parted so lovingly from her 
 brow. They were not hateful to him now and he 
 passed his hand caressingly over them, whispering aL 
 the while : 
 
 " My own beautiful Marian my bride my wife!" 
 
 Surely, in this moment of bliss, Marian felt repaid 
 for all that she had suffered, when at last as thoughts 
 of the dreadful past came over Frederic, he led her to 
 the sofa, and said, "Can you forgive me, darling?" 
 she turned her bright eyes up to his, and by the ex- 
 pression of perfect happiness resting there, he knew 
 she had forgotten the cold, heartless words he spoke 
 to her, when once, at that very hour, and in that very 
 place, he asked her to be his. That scene had faded 
 away, leaving no cloud between them. All was sun- 
 shine and gladness, and with her fair head resting on 
 his bosom not timidly, as it had lain there in 
 the morning, but trustingly, confidingly, as if that 
 were its rightful resting-place they sat together until 
 the rose-red tinge faded from the western sky, and the 
 night shadows had crept into the room. 
 
 More than once Alice stole on tiptoe to the door, to 
 see if it were time for her to enter, but as often as she 
 heard the low murmur of their voices, she went noise- 
 lessly back, saying to herself: "I won't disturb them 
 yet." 
 
 At last as she came once she stumbled accidentally, 
 ind this woke Marian from the sweetest dream which 
 ever had come to her. 
 
 '"Tis Alice," she said; and she called to the little 
 girl who came gladly, and climbing into Frederics 
 lap, twined her arms around his neck and laid a cheek 
 against his own, without word of comment.
 
 378 TELLING FREDERIC. 
 
 *' Blessed Alice, I owe you more than I can repay," 
 he said, and Marian, far better than the child, appre- 
 ciated the full meaning these words conveyed. 
 
 But for the helpless blind girl this hour might never 
 have come to them, and the strong man felt it so, as 
 he hugged the little creature closer to him, blessing her 
 as his own and Marian's good angel. Observing that* 
 she shivered as if with the cold, he arose, and drawing 
 the sofa directly before the tire, resumed his sent 
 again, with Marian between himself and Alice, his arm 
 around her neck and his lips almost constantly meeting 
 hers. He could not remove his eyes from her, she 
 seemed to him so beautiful, with the tirelight falling on 
 her sparkling face and shining on her hair. That hair 
 how it puzzled him, and winding one of the curls 
 about his fingers he said, half laughingly, half reluc- 
 tantly, "Your hair was not always this color." 
 
 Then the blue eyes flashed up into his, and Marian 
 replied by telling whence came the change, and re- 
 minding him that she was the same young girl of 
 whom the Yankee Ben had spoken when he visited 
 Kentucky. 
 
 u And you had almost died, then, for me, my pre- 
 cious one," saia Frederic, kissing the sunny locks. 
 
 Just at this point, old Dinah appeared in the door, 
 which, like most Kentucky doors, was left ajar. She 
 saw the position of the parties saw Frederic kiss Ma- 
 rian Grey saw Alice's look of satisfaction as he did 
 so, and in an instant all the old lady's sense of pro- 
 priety was roused to a boiling pitch. 
 
 Since Marian had revealed herself to Alice, the lit- 
 tle girl had said to Dinah, by way of preparing her 
 for the surprise when it should uome, that u there was 
 some doubt concerning the death of Marian that 
 Frederic believed she had been with him in New 
 York, and had taken means to find her." This story 
 was, of course, repeated among the servants, some of 
 whom credited it, while others did not. Among the 
 latter was Dinah. She wouldn't believe " she had
 
 TELLING FREDERIC. 379 
 
 done all her monrnin' for nothin'," and in opposition 
 to Hetty, she persisted in saying Marian was dead. 
 When, however, she saw her master's familiarity with 
 Miss Grey, she accepted of her young mistress's exist- 
 ence as a reality, and was terribly incensed against the 
 offending Marian Grey. 
 
 "The trollop!" she muttered. "But I'll bring 
 proof agin her," and hurrying back to the kitchen, she 
 told to the astonished blacks, " how't marster done 
 kissed Miss Grey spang on her har, and on her mouth, 
 and hugged her into the bargain, when he didn't know 
 for certain that t'other one was dead ; and if they 
 didn't b'lieve it, they could go and see for themselves, 
 provided they went mighty still." 
 
 " Tole you he was crazy}" said Uncle Phil, starting 
 to see the wonderful sight, and followed by a troop of 
 negroes, all of whom trod on tiptoe, a precaution 
 wholly unnecessary, for Frederic and Marian were too 
 much absorbed in each other to heed the dusky group 
 assembled round the door, their white eyes growing 
 larger as they all saw distinctly the arm thrown across 
 Marian's neck. 
 
 " Listen to dat ar, will you ?" whispered Hetty, E8 
 Frederic said, " Dear Marian," while old Dinah chimed 
 in, " 'Cl.ir for't, it makes my blood bile, and he not a 
 widower nuther 1" 
 
 "Quit dat!" she exclaimed aloud, as her master 
 showed signs of repeating the kissing offense ; and, in 
 an instant, Frederic sprang to his feet, an angry flush 
 mounting to his face when he saw the crowd at the 
 door. 
 
 Then, as he began to comprehend its meaning, the 
 frown gave place to a good-humored laugh, and taking 
 Marian's hand, he led her toward the assembled 
 blacks, saying to them : 
 
 "Rejoice with me that the lost one has returned to 
 us again, for this is Marian Liudsey my wife and 
 your mistress changed, it is true, but the same Ma- 
 rian who went from us more than six years ago."
 
 380 TELLING FREDERIC. 
 
 " Wondei if he 'spects us to swallow dat ar ?" said 
 the unbelieving Hetty. 
 
 Dinah, on the contrary, had not the shadow of a 
 doubt, and she dropped on her knees at once, kissing 
 the very hem of Marian's dress, and exclaiming through 
 her tears : 
 
 " Lord bress yon, Miss Marian. You've mightily 
 altered, to be sure, but ain't none the wns for that. 
 I'm nothin' but a poor old nigger, and can't say what's 
 in my heart, but it's full and runniii' over, bless you, 
 
 Dinah's example was contagious, and more than 
 one prostrated themselves before their mistress, while 
 their howling cries of surprise and delight were al- 
 most deafening. Particularly was Josh delighted, and 
 while the noise went on, he took occasion to " balance 
 to your partner," in the hall, with a young yellow 
 girl, who thought his stammering was music, and his 
 ungainly figure the most graceful that could be con- 
 ceived. When the commotion had in a measure sub- 
 sided, and Hetty had gone over to the popular side, 
 saying, " she knew from the first Marian was some- 
 body," Frederic madeaf'W brief explanations as to 
 where their mistress had been, and then dismissed 
 them to their several duties, for he preferred being 
 alone again with his wife and Alice. 
 
 Supper was soon announced, but little was eaten by 
 any one. They were too much excited for that, and as 
 Boon as the meal was over, they returned to Frederic's 
 room, where, sitting again between her husband and 
 Alice, Marian told them, as far as possible, every- 
 thing which had come to her since leaving Redstone 
 Hall. 
 
 " Can't I ever know what made you go away ?" 
 Alice asked ; and Frederic replied : 
 
 u Yes, birdie, you shall ;" and, without sparing him- 
 self in the least, he told her all. 
 
 " Marian an heiress, too !" she exclaimed. " Will 
 marvels never cease ?" and she laid her head which
 
 TELLING FREDERIC. 381 
 
 was beginning to grow weary, upon Marian's lap, 
 saving, " I never knew till now one half hrw good 
 you are. No wonder Frederic thought that he had 
 killed you. It was wicked in him, very," and 
 the brown eyes looked sleepily into the fire, while 
 Marian replied : 
 
 " But is all forgotten now." 
 
 It did seem to be, and in the long conversation 
 which lasted till almost midnight, there was many a 
 word of affection exchanged, many a confession made, 
 many a forgiveness asked, and when, at last they 
 parted, it was with the belief that each was all the 
 world to the other. 
 
 Like lightning the news spread through the neigh- 
 borhood that Frederid Raymond's governess was Fred- 
 eric Raymond's wife ; and, for many days the house 
 was thronged with visitors, most of whom remembered 
 little Marian Lindsey, and all of whom offered their 
 bincere congratulations to the beautiful Marian Grey, 
 for so she persisted in being called, until the night of 
 the 20th of February, when they were to give a bri- 
 dal party. Then she would answer to Mrs. Raymond, 
 &he said, but not before, and with this Frederic was 
 fain to be satisfied. Great were the preparations for 
 that party, to which all their friends were to be bidden, 
 and as they were one evening making out the list, Ma- 
 rian suggested Isabel, more for the sake of seeing 
 what Frederic would bay, than from any desire to 
 have her present. 
 
 " Label," he repeated, " never. I cannot so soon 
 forget her treachery," and a frown darkened his hand- 
 some face, but Marian kissed it away as she said : 
 
 " You surely will not object to Ben, the best and 
 truest friend 1 ever had." 
 
 " Certainly not," answered Frederic. " I owe Ben 
 Burt more than 1 ever can repay, and I mean to keep 
 j ;m with us. He is just the man I want upon my 
 farm your farm, I mean," he added, smiling know-
 
 382 TELLING FREDERIC 
 
 ingly upon her, and catching in his the little hand 
 raised to shut his mouth. 
 
 But Marian had her revenge by refusing to let him 
 kiss her until he had promised never to allude to that 
 again. 
 
 " I gave you Redstone Hall," she said, " that night 
 I ran away, and I have never taken it back, but have 
 brought you in instead an incumbrance which may 
 prove a most expensive one." And amid such pleas- 
 antries as these Marian wrote the note to Ban, and then 
 went back to her preparations for the party, which, 
 together with the strange discovery, was the theine of 
 the whole country.
 
 BEN. 
 
 BEN sat among his boxes and barrels cracking hick- 
 ory nuts and carrying on a one sided conversation with 
 the well fed cat and six beautiful kittens, which were 
 gamboling over the floor, the terror of rats and mice 
 and the pride of their owner, who found his heart alto- 
 gether too tender to destroy any one of them by the 
 usual means of drowning or decapitation. So he was 
 literally killing them with kindness, and with his seven 
 cats and odd ways was the wonder and favorite of the 
 entire village. 
 
 The night was dark and stormy, and fancying he 
 had dismissed his last customer he had settle'd himself 
 before the glowing stove with nearly half a peck of 
 nuts at his side, when the door opened, and a little boy 
 came in, his light hair covered with snow, which had 
 also settled upon other portions of his person. 
 
 " Good evenin', Sandy," was Ben's salutation. 
 
 <% What brung you here to-night ?" 
 
 " Got you a letter," returned Sandy, who was the 
 chore boy of the Post Master. " It's been a good 
 while coming, too, for all it says 'in haste,' " and pass- 
 ing the note to Ben, he caught up live or six of the 
 kittens, while Ben, tearing open the envelope and 
 snuffing a tallow candle with his fingers read : 
 
 " DEAR BEN, 
 
 " Frederic knows it all, and we are so happy. We 
 are to have a great party on the 20th, and you must
 
 384 BEN. 
 
 surely come. Don't fail us, that's a dear, good Ben, 
 but come as soon as you get this. Then I will tell you 
 what I can't write now, for Frederic keeps worrying 
 me with teasing me to kiss him. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 " MARIAS. 
 
 " P. S. Alice sends her love, so does Frederic, and 
 BO do I, dear Ben." 
 
 " 1 'most wish she'd left off that last, and that 
 about his kissin' her," said Ben, when, after the boy 
 Sandy departed he was alone. " It makes me feel so 
 streaked like. Gruy, wouldn't I give all my groceries, 
 and the six cats into the bargain, to be in Fred Ray- 
 mond's boots ;" and, taking up the kitten he called 
 " Marian Grey," he fondled it tenderly, for the sake 
 of her whose name it bore. " I shall go to this party," 
 he continued, as his mind reverted again to the letter, 
 " though I'll be as much out of place as a toad in a 
 sugar bowl ; but, I can see Marian, and that little 
 blind girl, and Josh. Wa'n't he a case, though ?" 
 And leaning back in his chair, Ben mentally made the 
 necessary arrangements for leaving. 
 
 These arrangements were next day carried into ef- 
 fect, and as he must start at once if he would be there 
 in time for the party, he took the night express for 
 Albany, having left his feline family to the care of 
 the boy Sandy. The second night found him on the 
 train between Buffalo and Cleveland, and as the wea- 
 ther was very cold and the seat near the stove unoccu- 
 pied, he appropriated it to himself, and was just tall- 
 ing away to sleep, when a lady, wrapped in velvet 
 and furs, with a thickly dotted vail over her face, 
 came up to him, and said, rather haughtily : 
 
 " Can I have this seat, sir? I prefer it to any other." 
 
 " So do I," returned Ben ; " but bein' you're a wo- 
 man, I'll give it up, 1 guess." 
 
 And he sought another, of which there were plenty, 
 for it was the last car, and not one-third full.
 
 BKN. 385 
 
 " Considerable kind o ? toppin','' was his mental 
 comment, as he coiled himself in his shaggy overcoat 
 for a second time, sleeping ere long so soundly that, 
 nothing disturbed him, until at last, as they turned a 
 short curve, the car was detached from the others, 
 and, leaving the track, was precipitated down an em- 
 bankment, which, fortunately, was not very steep, 
 so that none were killed, although several were 
 wounded, and among them the lady who had so un- 
 ceremoniously taken possession of Ben's comfortable 
 seat. 
 
 " Wall, now," said Ben, crawling out of a window, 
 and holding fast to his hat, which being new, was his 
 special care, " if this ain't a little the imperlitest way 
 of wakin' a feller out of a sound sleep, to pitch him 
 head over heels in among these blackb'ry bushes and 
 stuns ; but who the plague is that ascreechin' so? a 
 woman's voice, too !" 
 
 And with all his gallantry aroused. Ben went to 
 the rescue, feeling his way through briars and 
 grass and broken pieces of the car, until he reached 
 the human form struggling beneath the ruins, in close 
 proximity to the hissing stove. 
 
 " Easy, now, my gal," he said, lifting her up. " Haul 
 your foot out, can't you ?" 
 
 " No, no, it's crushed ;" and Ben's knees shook be- 
 neath him at the cry of pain. 
 
 Relief soon came from other sources, and as this 
 ladyvseerned more seriously injured than either of the 
 other passengers, she was carried carefully to a dwell- 
 ing near by, and laid upon a bed, before Ben had a 
 chance to see her features distinctly. 
 
 "Pretty well jammed," said he, examining the bon- 
 net, which the women of the farm-house had removed. 
 
 Supposing he meant herself, the lady moaned, 
 
 "Oh, sir, is my face entirely crushed?" 
 
 " I meant your bonnet," returned Ben, " though if I 
 was to pass judgment on you, I should say some of your 
 feathers was crumpled a little ; but law, beauty ain't 
 
 17
 
 386 BEN. 
 
 "but skin deep. It's good, honest actions that makes 
 folks liked." 
 
 And taking the lamp, he bent to investigate, discov- 
 ering to his utter amazement, that the lady was none 
 other than Isabel Huntington.l 
 
 Some weeks before, and ere Marian's identity with 
 .Frederic's wife had heen made known, Mrs. Rivers had 
 invited her to visit Kentucky, and as there was now 
 nothing in Yonkers to interest her she had accepted, 
 with the forlorn hope that spite of Frederic's improba- 
 ble story about a living wife, he might eventually be 
 won back- f o his old allegiance. Accordingl} r she had 
 taken the same train and car with Ben, and by rather 
 rudely depriving him of his seat near the stove had 
 been considerably injured, receiving several flesh 
 wounds, besides breaking her ankle. For this last, 
 however, she did not care ; that would get well again ; 
 but her face was it so disfigured as to spoil her 
 boasted beauty ? This was her constant thought as she 
 Jay moaning upon her pillows, and when for a few mo- 
 ments she was alone with Ben, whom she knew to be 
 the Yankee peddler, and who considered it his duty to 
 Btay with her, she suid to him : 
 
 fc ' Please, Mr. Butterworth, tell me just how much I 
 am bruised, and whether I shall probably be a fright 
 tiie rest of my days." 
 
 " Wall, now," returned Ben, taking the lamp a sec- 
 ond time and coming nearer to her, " there's no know- 
 in' how you will look hereafter, but the fact is you 
 ain't none too hau'some now, with your face swelled 
 as big as two, and all scratched up with them pesky 
 briars." 
 
 " Yes, yes," interrupted Isabel, " but the swelling 
 will go down and the scratches will get well. That 
 isn't all." 
 
 " You're right," said Ben, peering curiously at her ; 
 "that ain't all. You know, I 'spose, that six of your 
 front teeth are knocked out." 
 
 " Yes, but false ones will remedy that. I'll have
 
 BEN. 387 
 
 them made a little uneven so as to look natural ; go 
 on." 
 
 " Wall," continued Ben, " you've fixed your teeth, 
 but what are you goin' to do with your broke nose ?" 
 
 ', Oh !" screamed Isabel, clasping her hand to that 
 organ, which, from its classic shape had been her spe- 
 cial pride. "Not broken is it broken, true?" 
 
 " Looks mighty like it," answered Ben, " but law 
 doctors can do anything. They'll tinker it up- so it 
 will answer to sneeze out of and smell with as good as 
 ever ; and they'll sew up that ugly gash, too, that runs 
 like a Yirginny fence from your ear up onto your fore- 
 head and part of your cheek. Looks as though there'd 
 been a scar of some kind there before," and looking 
 closer, Ben saw the mark which the hot iron had made 
 that night when the proud Isabel had given the cruel 
 blow to the blind girl. 
 
 This she had heretofore managed to conceal by comb- 
 ing over it her hair, but nothing could hide the s*eam 
 she knew would always be upon her forehead and 
 cheek. 
 
 " Oh, I wish I could die," she groaned, " if I must 
 be so mutilated." 
 
 " Pshaw! no you don't," returned Ben, now acting 
 the part of a consoler. "Your eyes ain't damaged, 
 nor your hair neither, only singed a little with the 
 stove. There's some white ones, I see, but they must 
 have been there before. Never used Wood's brim- 
 stony stuff, did you? That'll keep it from turnin.' I 
 knew a chap once with a broke nose that looked like 
 the notch in the White Mountains, and nobody thought 
 of it, he was so good. Maybe your'n ain't so bad. 
 Perhaps it's only out of j int. The doctor'lb-know 
 here he comes," and Ben stood back respectfully, while 
 the physician examined the nature and extent of Isa- 
 bel's injuries. 
 
 There was nothing serious, he said ; nothing from 
 which she would not recover. She was only stunned 
 and bruised, besides having a broken ancle. The cut
 
 388 BEN. 
 
 on the face would probably leave a scar, and the noso 
 never be straight again, otherwise she would ere long 
 be as well as ever, but she mast of course remain 
 where she was for two or three weeks, and he asked if 
 she had friends with her. 
 
 " No," she said, while Ben said : " Yes, I'm her 
 friend, and though I want to go on the wust*way, I'll 
 stay till her mother comes. We'd better telegraph, I 
 guess." 
 
 This brought the tears from the heartless Isabel, for 
 she appreciated Ben's kindness in not deserting her, 
 and when again they were alone, she thanked him for 
 BO generously staying with her when she heard him say 
 he wished to go on. 
 
 " Were you going to Kentucky ?" she asked, and Ben 
 replied : " Yes, goiii' to see how Miss Raymond looks 
 at the head of a family. You've heard, I s'pose, that 
 Marian Grey was Fred's run-away wife, and that they 
 are as happy now as two clams." 
 
 Unmindful of the fierce twinges of pain it gave her 
 to move, Isabel started up exclaiming, " No, no, how 
 can that be ?" 
 
 "Just as easy," said Ben, proceeding to narrate a 
 few particulars to his astonished listener, who, when 
 he had finished, lay back again upon her pillow, weep- 
 ing bitterly. 
 
 This, then, was the end of all her secret hopes. 
 Frederic was surely lost to her ; the beautiful Marian 
 Grey was his wife, and what was worse than all, her 
 treachery was undoubtedly suspected, and what must 
 they think of her ? Poor Isabel, she was in a measure 
 suffering for her sins, and she continued to weep while 
 Ben tried in vain to sooth her, talking to her upon 
 the subject uppermost in his mind, namely, Marian's 
 happiness and his own joy that it had all come right at 
 lasi. Isabel would rather have heard of anything else, 
 but when she saw how kind Ben was, she compelled 
 herself to listen, even though every word he said of
 
 BEN. 389 
 
 Marian and Frederic pierced her with a keener pain 
 than even her bruises produced. 
 
 " I shan't be in time for the doin's any way," thong] it 
 Ben, when Mrs. Huntington did not come at the ex- 
 pected time, and as he fancied it his duty to let Ma- 
 rian know why lie was not there, he telegraphed to 
 her, " We've had a break down, and Isabel is knocked 
 into a cocked hat." 
 
 This telegram, which created no little sensation at 
 the office, was copied verbatim and sent to Frederic, 
 who read it, while Marian, in her chamber, was dress- 
 ing for the party. He could not forbear laughing 
 heartily, it sounded so much like Ben, but he wisely 
 determined to keep it from his wife and Alice, as it 
 might c"ar.se them unnecessary anxiety. He accord- 
 ingly thrust it in his pocket, and then, when it was 
 time, went up for Marian, who, in her bridal dress of 
 satin and lace, with pearls and diamonds woven among 
 her shining hair, and flashing from her neck and arms, 
 looked wondrously beautiful to him, and received 
 many words of commendation from the guests, who 
 soon began to appear, and who felt that the bride of 
 Redstone Hall well became her high position. Many 
 were the pleasant jokes passed at Frederic's expense, 
 and the clergyman who had officiated at his wedding 
 more than six years before, laughingly offered to repeat 
 the ceremony. But Frederic shook his head, saying, 
 he was satisfied if Marian was, while the look the 
 beautiful, blushing bride gave to him, was quite as ex 
 pressive of her answer as words would have been. 
 And so, amid smiles and congratulations, the song and 
 the dance moved on, and all went merry as a marriage 
 bell, until at last, as the clock told the hour of mid- 
 night, the last guest had departed, and Frederic, with 
 his arm round Marian, was calling her Mrs. Raymond, 
 on purpose to see her blush, when there came up the 
 avenue the sound of rapid wheels, followed by a bound 
 on the piazza, and the next moment Ben burst into the
 
 390 BEN. 
 
 \ 
 
 room, holding up both hands, as he caught sight of 
 Marian in her bridal robes. 
 
 " My goodness !" he exclaimed. " Ain't she pretty, 
 though. It's curis how clothes will fix up a woman," 
 and the tears came to Ben's eyes in his delight at see 
 ing Marian so resplendent in jewels and costly lace. 
 
 The meeting between Frederic and Ben was like 
 brother greeting brother, for the former felt that he 
 almost owed his life to the great-hearted Yankee, and 
 he grasped his hand warmly, bidding him welcome to 
 Redstone Hall, and, by his kind, familiar manner, 
 putting him at once at his ease. Alice, too, did her 
 part well, and, pressing Ben's hand to her lips, she 
 said : 
 
 " I love you, Ben Burt ; love you a heap, for being 
 so good to Marian." 
 
 ' Don't now," said Ben, whiningly. " Don't set me 
 to bellerin' the fust thing. I only did what anybody 
 would have done, unless the milk of human kindness 
 was all turned to bonny clabber !" Then, as lie thought 
 of Isabel, he continued, " I tried to get here sooner, 
 but Miss Hantington didn't come till the last minute, 
 and I couldn't leave Isabel. How she does take on 
 about her sp'ilt beauty." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" asked Marian. " "Where is 
 Isabel?" and as Frederic then passed her the telegram, 
 ehe continued to ask questions, until she had learned 
 the whole. 
 
 " Poor girl !" she sighed ; " I pity her, and if she 
 were here, I would so gladly take care of her." 
 
 Instantly there flashed upon Alice's mind an idea 
 every way worthy of her, but she would not suggest it 
 then, as it was growing late, and when she heard ere 
 long a loud yawn from Ben, she thoughtfully rang the 
 bell, bidding the servant who came "show Mr. Burt 
 to his room ;" then, kissing Frederic and Marian good- 
 night, she, too, departed, leaving them alone. 
 
 Next morning, at the breakfast-table, she said to 
 Frederic :
 
 BEN. 391 
 
 " Don't folks most always take a bridal tour?" 
 
 " Sometimes, when they can't be happy at home," 
 returned Frederic. ""Where does my blind birdie wish 
 to go ?" 
 
 " I don't really wish to go," answered Alice ; " but 
 wouldn't it be nice to surprise poor Isabel, lying so 
 bruised and sick in that old farm-house in Ohio? 
 Maybe she wants money ? I heard them say at Yon- 
 kers that she had spent all Mr. Rivers left her, except 
 the house, and that was mortgaged. I've got ten dol- 
 lars that I'll give her." 
 
 " Blessed baby 1" said Ben, bringing out his pocket- 
 handkerchief, which he was pretty sure to need. 
 
 This suggestion was warmly seconded by Marian, 
 and after a little further consultation, it was decided 
 that they should start the next day for the place where 
 Isabel lay sick. 
 
 "She may confess about the letters," said Marian, 
 " and that will make me like her so much better." 
 
 This being settled, A-lice's next inquiry was for her 
 cat, and her brown eyes opened wide with wonder 
 when told of the six young kittens which had a home 
 in Ben B art's grocery, and one of which was called 
 for her. 
 
 " It ought to be blind," said the little girl, and, with 
 a quivering chin, Ben answered : 
 
 " That's it, though I shouldn't have told you for fear 
 of hurtin' your feelin's. The little cat is blind, and 
 when Sandy that's a boy who lives there said how 
 he would kill it for me, it struck to my stomick to 
 once, for that little critter lies even nigher to my heart 
 than the handsomest, sleekest one, which I call ' Ma- 
 rian Grey,' and 'tis grey, too, with mottled spots all 
 over its back, while Alice is white as milk !" 
 
 The cat story being satisfactorily concluded, Ben 
 went out to renew his acquaintance with the negroes, 
 who vied with each other in paying him marked at- 
 tention. Though they did nut quite understand it, 
 they knew that he was in some way connected with
 
 S92 BEN. 
 
 the return of their yonng mistress, and neither Dinah 
 nor Hetty made the least objection when, before night, 
 they saw the two black babies which had usurped the 
 rights of Dud and Victor//, seated upon his lap and 
 " riding to Boston to buy penny cakes," at a rate 
 which bade fair to throw them to the top of the ceil- 
 ing at least, if not to land them somewhere in the vici- 
 nity of the bay state capital. 
 
 The next morning, Frederic, Marian and Alice start- 
 ed for Ohio, leaving Ben in charge at Redstone Hall. 
 
 " He'd tend to the niggers," he said, and he bade 
 the "Square," as he persisted in calling Frederic, 
 " not to worry at all about things to hum." 
 
 The family had scarcely been gone an hour when 
 Dinah came in quest of Ben, whom she found in the 
 parlor drumming Yankee Doodle upon the piano with 
 one hand and whistling by way of accompaniment. 
 
 "Thar was the oueerest actin' man in the dinin' 
 room," she said, " and he done ax for marster, and 
 when I tole him he had gone to the 'Hio with his wife, 
 he laughed so hateful, and say how't she isn't his wife, 
 that I come for you, 'case thar's a look in his eye I 
 don't like." 
 
 " Catch him tellin' me Marian ain't a lawful wife," 
 said Ben, starting from the stool and hurrying to the 
 dining-room, where very much intoxicated, Rudolph 
 Me Vicar was sitting. 
 
 He had landed not long before at New Orleans, and 
 coming up the river as far as Louisville had stopped 
 in that city, where he accidentally heard a young man 
 speak of Frederic's wedding party, which had taken 
 place the previous night. 
 
 " Who is the bride ?" he asked eagerly. " Is it 
 Miss Huntington ?" and the young man who knew 
 none of the particulars, and who had once heard that 
 Frederic was to marry a lady of that name, replied : 
 " Yes, I believe it is, or at all events she was his gov- 
 erness." 
 
 Rudolph waited for no more, but started. at once for
 
 BEN. 393 
 
 Redstone Hall, chuckling with delight as he thought 
 of the consternation his visit would create. He did 
 not at first recognize Ben, neither did Ben know him, 
 so bloated had he become with drink, and so rough 
 and red with exposure upon the sea. 
 
 " Where is the woman they call Mrs. Raymond ?" 
 he asked with a sneer; and Ben replied: "Gone with 
 her husband to Ohio." 
 
 " Her husband !" repeated Rudolph. " He isn't her 
 husband. She has no right to be his wife, and I have 
 come to tell her so." 
 
 " You say that again if you dare !" said Ben, brist- 
 ling up in Marian's defense. " You say that Marian 
 ain't Frederic's lawful wife, and I'll show you the door, 
 plaguy quick. I'm boss here now." 
 
 As Ben was speaking, Rudolph remembered that 
 they had met before, but he scarcely heeded that, so 
 intent was he upon the name which Ben had uttered. 
 
 " Marian !" he repeated, a light breaking over him ; 
 "Is not Isabel Huntington the bride?" 
 
 " No, sir," answered Ben, snapping his fingers al- 
 most in the stranger's face. " She didn't come that 
 game, though she tried it hard enough. But what do 
 you know about it, any way?" 
 
 " I know I've been a fool," answered Rudolph, ex- 
 plaining, in a few words, what he once had done. 
 
 "So you wrote that letter, }ou scullion," returned 
 Ben. "But it didn't do no good; and the smartest 
 trick you ever done was to sign yourself green. Ugh! 
 and Ben's voice was quite expressive of his contempt. 
 "I don't blame you so much though," he continued, 
 "for wilntm' to pester that Isabel, but you'd better le,t 
 the Lord 'tend to such critters in his own way. He 
 can fix 'em better'u we can," and Ben proceeded to 
 give an account of the accident in which Isabel's 
 beauty had been seriously impaired. 
 
 " I am so glad," was Rudolph's exclamation, and he 
 was proceeding further to express his malicious joy, 
 when Ben cut him short by saying :
 
 BEN. 
 
 " It don't look well to rejoice ovei anybody's down- 
 fall, though I'm none too friendly to the gal, I shan't 
 hear her berated, and you may as well quit." 
 
 On ordinary occasions, Rudolph would have resent- 
 ed any attempt at restraint, but he was too much in- 
 toxicated now fully to realize anything, and staring 
 vacantly at Ben, he made no reply, but ere long fell 
 asleep, dozing in his chair for several hours. Then, 
 with faculties somewhat brightened, he announced his 
 intention of leaving. With an immense degree of sat- 
 isfaction Ben watched him as he went slowly down 
 the avenue, saying to himself: 
 
 " Poor drunken critter, he's disappointed, I s'pose, 
 in not gettin' revenge his own way ; but I don't blame 
 her much for givin' him the mitten. Wouldn't they 
 have scratched each other's eyes out, if they'd come 
 together ! Better be as 'tis she a nervous old maid, 
 and he in a drunkard's grave, where he will be mighty 
 soon the bloat !" and having finished his soliloquy, 
 Ben returned again to his music. 
 
 Meantime, in a most unenviable frame of mind, 
 Isabel was chiding her mother for doi-ng everything 
 wrong, and bewailing her own sad fate : 
 
 " Oh, why didn't I stay at home," she said ; " and 
 so not have become the fright I know I am?" 
 
 It was in vain that her mother made her feel thank- 
 ful that her life was spared. Isabel did not care for 
 that. She thought only of her lost teeth, her disjoint- 
 ed nose, and ugly scar, and turning her face to the 
 wall she was wishing she could die, when the woman 
 of the house came in, telling her " some friends were 
 there from Kentucky.' ' 
 
 " Who are they ?" she asked ; but ere the woman 
 could reply, a sweet voice said : 
 
 "It's me, and all of us;" and Alice's little hands 
 were tenderly pressed to Isabel's feverish brow. 
 
 Then, indeed, the haughty girl wept aloud, for she 
 knew she did not deserve this kindness either from 
 Alice or Marian, the latter of whom soon came in,
 
 BEN. 395 
 
 greeting her as pleasant^ as if she had never received 
 an injury from her hands. Frederic, too, was per- 
 fectly self-possessed, expressing his sympathy for her 
 misfortune, and with these kind friends to cheer her 
 sick room, Isabel recovered in a measure her former 
 cheerfulness. But there was evidently something rest- 
 ing heavily upon her mind, and that night, when alone 
 with Frederic and Marian, she confessed to them her 
 wickedness in opening the letter, and sending it back 
 with so cruel a message. 
 
 " We knew you must have done it," said Frederic, 
 at the same time assuring her of his own and Marian's 
 forgiveness. " It kept us apart for many }'ears," he 
 continued, " but I have found her at last, and love her 
 all the more for what I suffered." 
 
 And Isabel, when she saw the look of deep affection 
 he gave to his young wife, covered her face with her 
 hands, and wept silently, until Marian asked "if she 
 knew aught of the letter from Sarah Green?" 
 
 " No, no," she answered ; " I am surely innocent of 
 that," and they believed her, wondering all the more 
 whence it could have come or why it had been sent. 
 
 Toward the close of the next day, they took their 
 leave, cordially inviting Isabel to visit them at Red- 
 stone Hall, should she ever feel inclined so to do. 
 
 " We will let bygones be bygones," said Frederic, 
 taking her hand at parting. " You and I have both 
 learned that to deal fairly and openly is the best policy, 
 and it is to be hoped we will profit by the experi- 
 ence." 
 
 Isabel did not answer, but she pressed his hand, and 
 returned warmly the kiss which both Marian and Al- 
 ice gave to her. As the latter was turning away she 
 detained her a moment while she whispered in her 
 ear, u Will you forgive me for that blow I gave you 
 when I thought I was about to be exposed ?" 
 
 tk Yes, willingly," was the answer, and thrusting the 
 golden eagle under the pillow, Alice hurried away. 
 They found it after she was gone, and when at last
 
 396 
 
 Isabel was abie to go home, they found their hills 
 paid, too, and were at no loss to know to whom they 
 were indebted for the generous act. u I do not de- 
 serve this from him of all others," said Isabel, and 
 drawing her thick, green veil close over her marred 
 face she entered the carriage which had come to take 
 them to the depot. 
 
 Not once during the journey home did she remove 
 the veil, but in an obscure corner of the car she sat, 
 a forlorn, wretched woman, brooding drearily over 
 the past, and seeing in the future no star to cheer her 
 pathway. Frederic lost, Redstone Hall lost, her little 
 fortune wasted, and worse than all, her boasted beau- 
 ty gone forever. Poor, poor Isabel 1
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 SUMMING UP. 
 
 IT is early June, and the balmy south wind is blow- 
 ing soft and warm round Redstone Hall, which, with 
 its countless roses in full bloom, and its profusion of 
 flowering shrubs and vines, looked wondrously beau- 
 tiful without, while within, the sunlight of domestic 
 peace is shining with no cloud to dim its brightness. 
 Frederic and Marian are perfectly happy, for the dark 
 night which enshrouded them so long has passed 
 away, and the day they fancy will never end has 
 dawned upon them at last. 
 
 Ben, too, is there, ostensibly as an overseer, but 
 really as a valued friend, free to do whatever he 
 pleases, and greatly esteemed by those whom he wor- 
 ships with a devotion bordering upon idolatry. Ev- 
 erything pertaining to the phice he calls his, and Fred- 
 eric hardly knows whether himself or Ben is the mas- 
 ter of Redstone Hall. The negroes acknowledge them 
 both, though, as is quite natural, the aristocratic Hig- 
 ginses give the preference to Frederic, while the dem- 
 ocratic Smitherses, with stammering Josh at their 
 head, warmly, advocate Marster Ben, "as sayin' tho 
 curi.sest things and singin' the drollest songs." 
 
 There is no spot in the world where Ben could be so 
 supremely happy as he is at Redstone Hall, with Ma- 
 rian and Alice; and when Frederic, on his return from 
 Ohio, suggested his remaining there, he evinced his 
 delight in his usual way, lamenting the while that his
 
 398 SUMMING UP. 
 
 extremely tender heart would always make him cry 
 just when he did not wish to. 
 
 " I was never cut out for a nigger driver," he said ; 
 " but I guess I can coax as much out of 'em as that blus- 
 terin' Warren did ;" and making his visit short, lie 
 hastened back to New England, where he found no 
 difficulty of disposing of his grocery, and five of his 
 numerous family. 
 
 Tlu'se last he bestowed upon different people in the 
 village, taking great care that none of them should go 
 where there were children, and numerous were his in- 
 junctions that they should be well cared for, and suf- 
 fered to die a natural death. Marian and Alice were 
 destined for Kentucky, where they were welcomed 
 joyfully by those whose names they bore. Particu- 
 larly was the white one, with its bright, sightless eyes, 
 the pft of the entire household, negroes and all ; while 
 even Bruno, who, on account of his recognition of Ma- 
 rian, was now allowed more liberty than before, and 
 was consequently far less savage, took kindly to the 
 little creature, tossing it up in his huge paws, licking 
 its snowy face, and sometimes coaxing it into his ken- 
 nel, where it was more than once found by the de- 
 lighted Alice, sleeping halt' hidden under the mastiff's 
 shaggy mane. 
 
 Frequently on bright days could Alice and her kit- 
 ten be seen seated in a miniature waggon, which the 
 Yankee ingenuity of 'Ben had devised, and in which 
 he drew his blind pets from tield to n'eld, seeking out 
 for them the shadiest spot and watching all their 
 movements with a vigilance which told how dear to 
 him was one of them at least. In all the wide world 
 there is nothing Ben Burt loves halt' so well as the 
 helpless blind girl, Alice not as he loved Marian 
 Grey, but with a tender, unselfish devotion, which 
 would prompt him at any time to lay down his life foi 
 her, if it need must be. All the fairest flowers and 
 choicest fruits are brought to her. And when he sees
 
 SUMMING TIP. 399 
 
 how she enjoys them, aud how grateful she is to him, 
 he murmurs softly : 
 
 " Blessed bird, I b'heve I'd be blind myself, if she 
 could only see." 
 
 But Alice does not care for sight, except at time , 
 when she hears the people speak of Mrs. Raymond's 
 beauty, and she wishes she could look upon the face 
 whose praises so many ring. Still she is very happy 
 in Frederic's and Marian's love, and happy, too, with, 
 her faithful friend, around whose neck she often twines 
 her arms, blessing him for all he was Lo Marian and 
 all he is to her. 
 
 Once she hoped to improve his peculiar dialect some- 
 what by imparting to him a greater knowledge of 
 books than he already possessed, and Ben, willing to 
 gratify her, waded industriously through the many 
 volumes she recommended him to read, among which 
 was u Watts on the Mind." But vain were all his ef- 
 forts to grasp a single idea, and he returned it to Al- 
 ice, saying that " he presumed it was a very excitin' 
 story to some, but blamed if he could make out a word 
 of sen?e from beginnin' to finis." 
 
 "'Taint much use tryin' to make a scholar of me," 
 said he, winking slyly at Marian, who was present. 
 " It's hard enough teach in' old dogs new trick*, and if 
 I's to read all there is in the Squire's library, I shouldn't 
 be no better off." 
 
 Marian thought so, too, and she dropped a few well- 
 timed hints to Alice, who gradually relaxed her ef- 
 forts to teach one who, had he been educated, would 
 certainly not have been the simple-hearted, unselfish 
 man we now know as Ben Burt. 
 
 Away to the northward among the New England 
 hills there is a forsaken grave, where the inebriated 
 Rudolph sleeps. His thirst for revenge is over and 
 the forlorn girl who, in her mother's kitchen washes 
 the dinner dishes for college students just as she used 
 to when Frederic Raymond was a boarder there, has 
 nothing to dread from him. Mrs, Huntington's house
 
 100 SUMMING TIP. 
 
 on the river has been sold to cancel the mortgage, and 
 in the city of Elms she has returned to her old voca 
 tion, and Isabel, with her broken nose and ugly scar 
 has scarcely a hope, that among her mother's boarders 
 there will ever one be found weak enough to offer her 
 his hand. An humbled, and it is to be hoped, a bet- 
 ter woman, she derives her greatest comfort from the 
 letters which sometimes come to her from Marian, and 
 which usually contain a more substantial token of re 
 gard than mere words convey. 
 
 One word now of William Gordon and our story is 
 done. Ben had claimed the privilege of writing the 
 news to him, and he did it in his charactistic way, first 
 touching upon the note which, he said, was safe in his 
 wallet and sure of being paid, then launching out into 
 glowing descriptions of Marian's happines with Fred- 
 eric. 
 
 This letter was a long time in finding "Will, and the 
 answer did not reach Redstone Hall until the family had 
 returned from their summer residence at Riverside. 
 Then it came to them one warm November day, just 
 as the sun was setting, and its mellow rays fell upon 
 the group assembled upon the piazza. Frederic, to 
 whom it was directed, broke the seal and read the sin- 
 cere congratulations which his early friend had sent to 
 him from over the sea, read, too, that 'mid the vine- 
 clad hills of Bingen, in a cottage looking out upon the 
 Rhine, there w;is a fair haired German girl, with eyes 
 like Marian Grey, and that when Will came next to 
 America he would not be alone. 
 
 " For this fair-haired German girl," he wrote, " has 
 promised to come with me. I have told her of my 
 former love, and when last night I read to her Ben's 
 letter, the tears glistened in her lustrous eyes as she 
 ^whispered in her broken English tongue, 'God bless 
 sweet Marian Grey,' and I, too, Fred, from a full 
 heart respond the same, God bless sweet Marian Grey, 
 the Heiress of Redstone Hall."
 
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