n IIHCILIY LIBRARY UNIVERSITY Of CALIFORNIA NOVELS AND TRAVEL BY jRtmm Coles RUTLEDGE. i6mo, $1.25. THE SUTHERLANDS. i6mo, $1.25. FRANK WARRINGTON. i6mo, $1.25. ST. PHILIPS. i6mo, $1.25. RICHARD VANDERMARCK. i6mo, $1.25. A PERFECT ADONIS. i6mo, $1.25. HAPPY-GO-LUCKY. i6mo, $1-25; paper, 50 cents. PHCEBE. i6mo, $1.25. MISSY. i6mo,$i.2 5 . AN UTTER FAILURE. i6mo, $1.25. LOUIE'S LAST TERM AT ST. MARY'S. 761110, $1.00. A CORNER OF SPAIN. i6mo. HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY Publishers, BOSTON AND NEW YORK. A PERFECT ADONIS BY MIRIAM COLES HARRIS AUTHOR OF " RUTLBDGB" BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY fitoerjjibe prep? Cambritrge Copyright, 1875, BY G. W. CARLETON & CO. Copyright, 1903, BY MIRIAM COLES HARRIS All rights reserved GIFT H3IS A PERFECT ADONIS. I. |T was past one o'clock, and half-a-dozen people on the steps of the hotel piazza were looking at their watches, and saying that the stage was late. The coming of the stage was a luminous point in the day at Mil- ford ; even dinner waxed faint compared to it. The corner of the hotel commanded the street that brought the stage a great broad street, with a sparse edging of trees, and little village shops and houses. The street on which the hotel stood was also broad and straight, with again, sparse trees and little houses, and shops and more hotels. Down the street by which the stage should come, a youngish lady with glasses, and a very near-sighted manner, looked intently, if not impatiently. She was the most prominent of the group on the piazza ; in fact she was always that, in most groups. She was about twenty-five, not good-looking, pro- nounced, very pronounced. Her clothes were always hand- some, but so carelessly put on as to be a little outre at the most, favorable moments; she had generally a glory of hair- pins about her head, and shed gloves and handkerchiefs whenever she moved, and, in her near-sighted way, was always seen peering about for lost things, and receiving them back irith an habitual and unmeaning " O, thank you." " For whom are you looking to-day, Miss Yarian," said 563 10 A PERFECT ADON1& one of her neighbors on the piazza, a clever and hard work- ing mother of two daughters. " For whom am I looking ? O, didn't I tell you ? 1 thought everybody knew about it Mr. Hunt, I told ' O, yes, indeed that's why I'm here, Miss Yarian. I'm risking my dinner you see," said a gentleman, very young, very tall, very blase. "But who?" said the mother of the daughters, much aroused. " The prettiest creature," said Miss Yarian ; " Dorla St. John." " I never heard of her,", said the mother briefly. " No, I suppose not. She's never been in society. She is an orphan, has not had anybody to take her out, nobody belonging to her but an oaf of a brother, who is only in the way, no good to anybody ; not a very reputable fellow, I'm afraid. She doesn't know many people. Besides, she'r pious." This, Miss Varian said with simplicity, as if she had been naming her nationality or her parentage. Mr. Hunt thought it funny, and laughed ; when she turned on him rather sharply. " I don't like her any the less for it," she said. " I like people to carry out an idea, to be something, even if it is only pious. Dear devout thing; I'm not sure but that's what I fancy her for more than anything. I like people who own a title; who have pre-empted some adjective. She is the only pretty young woman I know who has the right to this." " Is she so very pretty? " said one of the two daughters, creeping up, interested, to join in the conversation. " You shall soon see for yourself ; she is so fresh, so new to things. I mean to do everything for her. She antici- pates so much pleasure." " Poor thing, I'm sorry for her," said Mrs. Whymple, the A PERFECT ADONIS. H mother of the two. " Such a dull place, and snJi a dull season." " O, I don't know about that," returned her companion. " Fine weather, no end of excursions, and ever so many nice people coming next month." " Well, if she isn't used to much, this may amuse her." " I don't know," said Miss Varian, sharply. " I'm used f,o a good deal, and it amuses me." This, nobody could dispute ; Miss Yarian was used to a good deal, and her opinion had weight. Very few young women had had more amusement, and very few pursued it more deliberately. A great deal of money, an easy, good- natured mother, a temperament favorable to enjoyment, capi- tal health, a social surrounding of the best ; the worst that could be said about her was that she was fond of change, that she took people up violently, and dropped them uncere- moniously, that she only cared to be amused, and that she was unconventional, a little meddlesome, and a good deal sel* willed. At this point in the conversation, her mother came lum- bering up the road from the cottage where they lodged, with a double-column novel under her arm, and an umbrella over her head. " Dinner's late," she said. " And the stage too," said her daughter. " O, I forgot. Your protegee is coming to-day." " O, Mrs, Yarian," exclaimed the languid Miss Whymple, bringing her a chair, " tell me, is she so very pretty." " Pretty, well, I don't know. Yes. I think you'd call her pretty." " O, what a different story ! " cried the young lady with ielight. " Your daughter told us she was lovelier than any creature we had ever seen." " O, my dear, you must learn to take Harriet cwn gratn* wli*. So many swan? ; I've got used to them." 12 A PERFECT ADONIS. " Now, Mamma, that's too bad. You know you said your- self she was a beauty." Did I ? Well then, I have no doubt she is, or ** thought her so, at least." " There's the stage," exclaimed the tall youth, Mr. Hunt. " Now let us take our salt." And he put his eyeglass to his eye. Harriet dropped hers and ran forward. The stage, in a cloud of dust, rattled ip rapidly ; a moment's pause at the post-office across the way, to throw out the mail, and then the four horses drew up before the door of the hotel. f{ My dear, where are you, inside or out," cried Harriet, in near-sighted blindness, springing on the steps to look inside, and then flying forward among the little crowd of porters and loungers who had come out, to command a good view of the top. There were a great many people inside the stage, and a great many outside, and a great deal of baggage, but among the melee of people and things, nobody on the piazza had any difficulty in recognizing the pretty debutante. She had the fatal gift undoubtedly ; what with height and grace, and a lovely freshness of complexion, she justified her memorialist's description. She was shy too, a lovely piquante shyness, that sometimes seemed a sort of fear, sometimes only a glim- mering, laughing doubt how to please and what to say. It was rather an ordeal, to get down from the stage-top before all those people ; and her friend and admirer always had the effect of embarrassing her, with her enthusiastic welcomes tind embraces. Mamma Varian gave her a good-natured kiss, and then Harriet led her across the way to the cottage, a.ud took her to her room. Being excused from dinner that day, and a cup of tea ordered by the maid, Dorla was left alone, and shut herself into her little room, with a sensation of relief. As sensitive people generally are, she was tired by the journey and the arrival, and had an excited headache. She was wretchedly ili indent, and felt out of place, and very much afraid, mon A PERFECT ADONIS. 1J of her friends even than of the strangers she was to meet. She was so much younger than Harriet, that she naturally would never have aj proached her ; but she had been elected to the post of favorite, and had no choice but to occupy it. The life she led at home was so dull, this was step- ping into another world. Without a mother since her four- teenth year, with no memory of her father, and with a brother who was a bitter disgrace to her, and never a companion, she led a singularly restricted life in the midst of a gay city. Her brother was five years older; and his disappointing course had given her, almost in childhood, an unnatural sad- ness. Her world had contained three people, Mamma, Harry and herself. Poor little child ; at fifteen it seemed to her that one-third of the world was silent, senseless and cold, gone some strange whither, one-third reckless and horrible, and the other third amazed and left alone. That is the way things looked to her when she was very young. She was very young still, but she was beginning to acknowledge to herself, there were people in the world whom she had not taken into her account, at fifteen. Harriet, for instance, and all her set of rollicking, merry, pleasure-seeking friends. They were going to do her a great deal of good, no doubt, in setting her right about the smallness of her own experiences, and the extent and variety of human nature, but all the same, they were very foreign to her, nt coHars. Positively I should think the men would de- A PERFECT ADONIS. 15 test tke sight of them ; I know I do. And no force, no origi nality ; just prettyish, fastish, stylish ; that's the best you can say of any of them. Now you, you know, are some- thing in your own way ; a sort of an idea walking about among vacancies, and I hope of all things you won't lose this ; we must try to carry it out. I want you to look f style, and high life, and fashion, albeit in a rickety little Cottage at Milford. A maid followed her about with shawls aid shades, and a man in livery delivered her littlo notes, A PERFECT ADOm& 19 WTien she drove it was in a broad, luxurious carriage, with horses that stepped high and shook their glittering harness, not in a rumbling, ludicrous old hack, such as the cthe* pretty girls in Milford had to drive in, with horses that haunted the imagination sorrowfully. Then, as to Harriet's share in the success. She was na- turally clever, and had seen a good deal of life. She was not jealous of Dorla's good looks, for she had none of that meanness of disposition. What she liked was " a good time," and power, and plenty of people about her ready to acknowledge her importance. She understood character su- perficially, but well enough to make her full of clever de- vices. Nothing pleased her better than to be putting some- body through a summer or a winter, as she was now doing for Dorla. It gave her an aim and an occupation, which things she needed very much. She thought she was doing a great deal of good, and was accordingly complacent. Her creed was humanitarian. Like a great many of the bene- factors of the human family who do not consult heaven, she did considerable mischief. " I don't mind exerting myself," she said, " to give this poor child a little pleasure." And BO she fastened upon her a sorrow that might be lifelong. " It is a shame to see that pretty creature shut up in a dull prison in the city," she said, while she was officiously forg- ing for her the links that entered into her soul. It made it a little better that she did it unconsciously : but it is bitter to take a wound even from a careless hand. * * * Among the men who surrounded them, there was net one who put Dorla's heart in any danger. Indeed they were only society men, loafing away their summer, and were glad to be amused, and even ready to fall in love a little. Dorla's heart fluttered at each new name, but subsided into * very dull and monotonous beat after a little moment of ac- quaintance. " They bore me terribly, Harriet," she said, in confidence ' Can't we do without thorn ? " 20 A PERFECT ADONIB. This was treason, and ingratitude, and Harriet was ver angry. Dorla did not say anything about it any more, but learned to be rather amused by them, and faintly coquettish (rather faintly), and quite eager at times that they should not go over to the enemy. The enemy meant the two Whymples, and a pretty blonde from Philadelphia, and several commonplace and envious young women whom she hardly knew. Dorla became a little blood-thirsty, witnes- sing so many battles raged around her ; she entered into the spirit of the conflict sometimes with an energy that surprised herself, afterwards she was very much ashamed ; all the same, she was injured a little by it, as everybody must be by this semi- watering-place life, in which every man's or rather every woman's hand is against her neighbor, and tongues have utter license, and the business of every hour is only to get rid of it. One day they were sitting in the Glen together, Dorla and her patroness. It was quite a rare thing for them to be alone together, they always had some followers. That morning they had sent away their followers to see about wagons for a picnic, and Dorla was trying to read to Harriet, who was trying to embroider. The Glen was cool and shady, the stream at their feet ran dark and deep under the pines. " Somehow I don't care for reading," said Dorla, listlessly laying down the book. She had laid it down a dozen times that morning, when Harriet had interrupted her to talk about the little hostilities and rivalries of the hotels. " I really think, Harriet, it belittles one very much to live the sort of life we're leading. I begin to feel as if there were not anything in the world of greater interest than the suc- cess of the picnic to-morrow, or more majestic than putting tfovn the Whymples." ** Oh, my dear," said, Harriet impatiently, tangling her silk in her disapprobation, " don't begin to moralize. That's A PERFECT ADONIS. 2J just like Felix, he's always proving the littleness of thicgi to me. For my part I mean to think the thing I'm doing is the most important occurrence of the century, and nobody shall disillusionize me." Felix was Harriet's only brother, two years her senior, a handsome young lordling of twenty-seven, with so much money and so much leisure, and so much good looks, as to >>e greatly bored. He had been for several years in Europe, and did not talk of coming home. In fact, the easy mam- ma and the busy sister were, each in their way, apt to put him out of humor. Of course, though, they were fond of him in their own way, and Harriet talked of him ad nauseum, some of her companions thought. Dorla always was an interested listener ; she longed to see this prince among men ; she kept his picture in her writing desk, and made Harriet read all his letters to her. She had made up a little romance to herself about this brother, and had more interest in him than in all the people round her. When Harriet introduced his name on this occasion, her listless manner vanished, and she said : " Well if he doesn't find watering-place life good for his soul's health, I'm sure I should agree with him." "Oh, yes, I'm sure you and he would suit each other a merveille. But mind you, he isn't any saint, on the con- trary, a quiet young sinner, to the best of my belief; so quiet that you'd probably never find it out, however. But in your aesthetics, your nonsense about the woods, and all that sort of thing, your horror of noisy people, you would agree exactly. I think I'll keep Felix for you, you're just Iris style and just the coloring to suit his eye." " Ah, thank you ! It's so probable he will be kept ; it is U.ore than likely that he is engaged to be married at this very moment." (ThL> was to be assured for the great many-th time that there wasn't a possibility of such a thing occurring, that the only danger was he wo*ald not ever marry ) 22 A PERFECT ADONlb. "Well," with a laugh, "that doesn't make it any bettei for me ; what's the use in talking about him to me if he isn't ever going to marry ? " " Oh, but when he sees you he'll change his mind en- tirely. He delights in hair of just your shade of brown." " Well, that must be because it is so like his own." " His own ! Why, his is light. How often must I tel 1 you." tf It's dark in his picture, I am sure." < Why, here," said Harriet, taking from her dress a locket, " here it is. Do you call that dark or light ?" Dorla bent over it. The locket was a curious old fashioned thing, two large clear ovals of crystal, bound in reddish gold. Pressed between them there was a single yellow curl. The locket wa? fastened to a gold chain, thin 'and fine. " What a quaint, old locket," she cried taking it in her hand. " Yes, but the hair ; I suppose you call that yellow, do you not ? " " Why, I believe I must. But no doubt it was cut off when he was a little child." " The day before he went away to college. It may be a shade or two darker now, but still it's unquestionably light." " Harriet, I think I like yellow-haired men." "You do? Well, there is Mr. Oliver, he will be glad to know it." " I did not say mouse color. Come let me wear this locket, it is so very odd I like it." She did not wait for permission, but clasped the thin 0/iain round her throat, and cast admiring looks down on the locket. " Very well," said Harriet, " you shall wear it till Felix tomes home, or till you hear he has a wife." " Agreed," said Dorla. And then Mr. Oliver, of the mouse colored hair, came iown the path to join them, and Dorla tried to be inter A PERFECT ADONIS. 23 wted in tne programme for the picnic, and was very gentle nd polite, but rather absent-minded, as she let him can? her shawl and book, and give her his arm across the bridge and up the steep path to the village street. He was an el- derly, estimable young man, but very unexciting. [BOUT the middle of August, however, a crisis came in the smooth successes of the Yarian faction ; a certain pretty Mrs. Seymour arrived, accompanied by wagon loads of cribs, mattresses, bath tubs, peram- bulators and nursery appliances. No one could appre- hend social rivalry from such a source. Five children under seven years ought to be enough to occupy the time of even a pretty woman who has been a belle. Everybody took to her, she was naive, she was popular, she talked to everybody a cceur ouvert she dealt sweetness right and left. She took counsel of the old ladies about household grievances ; she talked by the hour to the young mothers about farina, and barley flour, and rational food for in- fants. She sighed a little with the young girls about her past successes, as if they were things of the dim, dim past. The men she coddled ; asking them over to her cottage, and making them nice things in a silver porringer over a little lamp if they were not well, making them very comfortable in her easy chairs, and being devoted to the smell of smoke ; getting them to talk a great deal about themselves, and being very sympathetic. Every one was sorry for her ; it was so hard for such a Delicate woman to have such a host of children, and such sickly children too. According to her story they had the croup, some of them, every night, but she was the heroine f all her little narratives, and vou thought a great deal more about her suffering than the children's. She resolved at 24 A PERFECT ADONI8. these frequently recurring crises to telegraph for the MEJOT, and then heroically resolved not. These things were talked about a great deal. This went on for two or three weeks ; everybody was running about on her little errands, and running to see how the sickest baby was. After these har rowing nights, people sent for her to drive, and she always went. They begged her to come up to the hotel for a little relaxation in the evenings, and she always came. They brought her novels to divert her mind with, and she always read them. It began to dawn on people's minds after a month of this, that Mrs. Seymour's cares did not sit heavy on her, much as she talked about them ; that croup and cholera-infantum had never yet interfered with any of her plans of pleasure ; that her cottage, overflowing with babies and nurses as it was, was beginning to be the most popular cottage in the place. All the gentlemen gravitated to it fatally for their after-dinner smokes and for their after-supper chats ; and a few young women, with disinterested tenderness, were always to be found there, to lighten the burden of her heavy cares. The old ladies were no* quite so enthusiastic as at first, and the young mothers felt they had been swindled. Harriet Varian was angry, no words can tell how angry. "That fraud, Dorla, that fraud. She and her ever- lasting babies have been a corps of sappers and miners, and have nearly done the work for us. Why absolutely, if I hadn't drummed up Oliver last night, we should not have had a soul to speak to all the evening. Rosa says there were twenty people there last night, and they didn't go away till half-past twelve at least. And they are actually going to have a dance to-night, and a supper at Fauchere's. Oi i/ourse they've left us out, for I haven't spoken to her for a week. But all the men are going, and we are in a pretty fix. She has even roped in Oliver, though I know he doesn't to go. We might as well give up ! And it has been sprung upon us." Harriet was particularly bitter A PERFECT ADONIS. 25 for she had been one of the most enthusiastic admirers of Mrs. Seymour on her first arrival. " There is just this about it," she said with emphasis, " We must do something for this evening, or we are beaten off the field. Where shall we go ? What shall we do ? " " We can't have anything very general, can we ?" said Dorla, with a littlo laugh. " Considering we have snubbed all the ladies, and the gentlemen have all snubbed us." Harriet knit her brows. This was too serious for light words. Again she said, " if I can't get up something for to- night, I will go home to-morrow." Then Dorla knew she must not laugh any more, but must apply her mind to business. " I have it," exclaimed Harriet at last, dashing her glasses away from her eyes, and springing up. " I have it, Dorla ; your portfolio." Dorla brought it, begging to know what she had got. " I want you to write a note," she said, " at once, to that young Rotherrnel, who was so taken with you, at the Falls the other day, and invite him to go with us to take tea at the Brewery to-night." " I won't do anything of the sort," said Dorla, flushing, and speaking with unusual promptness. " You must, you shall," exclaimed Harriet with vehe- mence. " Your foolish prudery will spoil everything. You expect everything to come to you and you not move a finger. If all girls did as you do, I'm afraid there would not be much animation in society. Dorla, you've got to write this note for me." You needn't ask me." 11 1 think this is a pretty return for all I've done for you kLis summer." " Harriet, I knew you have been everything that's kind but" " But you won't do the first thing that I ask you to." " Harriet, I cartt do such a thing as that. It would be posi li rely indecent;. I haven't spoken to him more than twice. 96 A PERFECT ADOtflS. " No, but you know he's very much in love with you.* " So much the worse." " Simpleton ! How ! He'll think everything you do is right, and will be in a seventh heaven. Besides, you'll probably never see him after you go away from here, and never hear his name, and if there were anything improper in it (which there isn't), nobody'll ever be the wiser, for Ut won't talk about it ; he is far too shy, and we needn't say my thing if we do not choose. He's just a country fellow, [ know that, but he is very handsome, and has niceish sort of manners for a person brought up here, and the Whymples and the rest of them would have been very glad to get hold of him, but he wouldn't take any notice of their overtures. You know they made a great point of getting him for the tableaux, but he refused point blank." " Maybe he'd refuse us point blank," said Dorla, looking down. " O, no danger," returned Harriet. " You know yourself how he has been hanging round the hotel ever since your little adventure with him at the Falls. Before that, you know he hardly ever came here, and we only saw him driv- ing past, or at his office, and once or twice at church." Dorla knew that perfectly well, and a good deal more. She knew how the handsome young fellow, semi-farmer, semi-lawyer, had haunted her steps, since that little adventure that had made them acquainted. How honest and real his admiration was, and how much more she enjoyed it, than the insipid compliments of the men about her. This had really been a little romance to her, of which she had not talked to Harriet, of course. She thought of the way in which he had colored and been agitated, when she had met him at the steps of the little law office in the village, and had spoken to him, and then fancied how any one could dare to ask of her the enormity of sending him a note. " I'll do anything else for you Harriet, but I won't do Ifaat." A PERFECT ADONI& 97 rt DorU, I think you are as ungrateful as yen are prudish. A.ny other girl would do it." " Get some other girl to do it then." tf I wish from my heart I had some other girl to ask, and that I hadn't turned everybody out for you. This will be the end of everything. If I don't succeed in getting up this party, you may bid good-bye to Milford, foi I'll pack my trunks to-morrow. Think, Dorla, what a nice plan this will be. I've made it all out. It will just upset the Seymour's supper, and give us the eclat of an exclusive, charming little expedition. In the first place, I shall make Jack Cullen break with them, and go with us. I think he's rather taken with the little humbug, but he knows too much to make me angry ; our house in town is something to him; he will not dare say no. Then, there is Oliver. I think he'd rather go with us, it only needs a word to make him come. I'm sure of him. There are three men. Then Mr. and Mrs. Bishop, jolly, clever people and the Da vises, who are always trumps. Then you see it's lovely moonlight. We can drive round the Kamonskill, to the Brewery, take oui tea there about nine o'clock, and come home by moonlight. You know the Brewery is such a queer old place, and the teas there used to be quite famous. Nobody has been there this year it's quite a novelty, ever so much better than a supper at Fauchdre's, where everybody goes at least every week. We'll take some champagne with us, and Oliver shall carry his guitar and sing, and altogether it will be suc- cessful. It is no end of a lark. Dorla, how can you be so obstinate?" (< T am not obstinate about anything but the note, ask the other people " " I won't stir without three men. I will not go unless there are enough to make it look convivial. A miserable Bcraped-together party, with two or three sticks of married men, and a brind or two snatched from tre rival fire. No, unless we have something fresh and noticeable, wp are better 28 A PERFECT ADONI3. off at home, creeping to bed at nine o'clock without lighting ths parlor lamp. I should think you'd have a little pride, my dear. After the fuss people have made about you, it isn't pleasant to see you snuffed out in this manner." " Of course it isn't pleasant," said Dorla, between a pout and a laugh. " It only shows it was a fictitious market : the inflation wis owing to you altogether." " Not altogether," cried Harriet, " but to be frank, it was not all your eyes and hair. All I ask is that you help me out of this. If you will, I'll never be deceived by any one again ! The more babies a woman has, the more I will dis trust her. Nothing but grandchildren will put me off my guard." " The Seymour would flirt if she had the second gen> eration on her knees." " Nobody would flirt with her. She would not harm us then. But now, to block her game. Dorla, here's your paper; write the little note. John won't have more than time to take it, and do all my errands." " Harriet, there isn't the smallest use in asking me." " Now tell me in plain English, why you are so obstinate. What harm is there in asking a man to join a party, in which there are at least two matrons, and in which every- body is older than yourself ? Come, why can't you do it ? Your first reason ? " " Because I don't know him, and because I don't like to." ''Wall, the next?" l< Because he isn't exactly in our sort of life and mightn ' fenow how to take it, and because O, Harriet, well, if you must make me say it, I am afraid, that is, I think he thinks he likes me, and might be unhappy about it, when he found ^it we were only making use of him. He isn't the sort of man fco laugh at, Harriet, he isn't used to our ways of doing things. You had better let him drop, and think of some- body else to butcher for your Roman holiday." Miss Varian left the room at this in a great pet. She A PERFECT ADONIS. 29 renounced JDorla and her interests for the space of half an hour; she even pulled a trunk out and sent for Rosa to come and do her packing. But before Rosa could arrive she had come to a wiser resolution. She did not knoi where to go if she went from Milford, and there was noth- ing better than to reconquer Milford, and begin the cam- paign da capo. As to Dorla's scruples, there was more than one way of getting around an obstacle. She would write the note herself in Dorla's name. She had a right to do it, she had done so much for her ; and then, when it came out, she would laugh and tell her all about it. Really there was nothing in it. It was making a mountain out of nothing. She despised herself for giving herself so much trouble. This was the solution she should have arrived at, at the first. So she pulled out of the portfolio, which in her temper and haste she had kept in her hand when she left the other room, a sheet of pearl colored note paper, with Dorla's initials in lilac on it, and she wrote : " Miss St. John will be very glad if Mr. Rothermel will join Mrs. Varian's party to the Brewery to-night. At seven o'clock the ladies will be ready, if Mr. Rothermel will meet them in the parlor of the cottage." Then Harriet's spirits rose. This was quite to her taste. It was conquering adverse fortune. She scrawled off two other little notes, sent Rosa to lay in wait for Mr. Cullen, and marched forth to reduce Oliver in person. That was very easily accomplished. He was quite soft-hearted about Oorla, and she forged a sweet little message from her, and he was soon flying about, sending orders to the Brewery and put- ting things en train. Jack Cullen was not so easy to subdue. He was quite captivated by Mrs. Seymour, and was moreover deeply implicated in the supper party, was the head and front sf it, in fact, under her direction. How to make him break through all this was Harriet's difficulty ; for she fore- saw cheerfully it would be a permanent break. Amiable as the lady was, sbe would never overlook a slight like that. Jack 30 A PERFECT ADONIS. would never again smoke his after-dinner meerschaum ii the shade of that catalpa, if Harriet carried her point to-diy. And she did carry it. Jack was a society man. He dared not put the Yarians against him, He owed them a good deal, and (what was more to the point) he expected to owe them a great deal more. He basely forswore the supper party, and with a gloomy front marshalled himself again in the Varian following. At half-past six, when Dorla came down into the parlor a little late, she found everybody there. And more than everybody. When she saw young Rothermel, she gave a little start and colored. He was not too much embarrassed to notice her blush. Harriet, looking a little flushed and excited too, managed to whisper to Dorla with a laugh, as she passed her, < you see I managed to get him without you after all." Dorla was in a fever of curiosity to know " how," but there was no time and no opportunity for an explanation. The room was quite full of people, for, all massed, the party was respectable in numbers ; Mrs. Varian and the two young ladies, the three gentlemen so hardly won, Mr. and Mrs. Bishop, and the three Davises, father, daughter and a son. The carriages were at the door. Into the Varian carriage, Harriet put Mrs. Varian, Mrs. Bishop, Mr. Davis and Oliver. Into the large open wagon, went the others. Dorla and the pretty Davis girl were on f he back- seat ; on the high seat of the driver Jack Cullen was put, as being a conspicuous place, and one not involving him in conversation. (His present condition of mind was not favorable to conversation.) The precious object of Harriet's eob mining and forgery was also made prominent, as was the hamper of champagne. Then, amid much laughing and merriment, some of it i ttther . forced, they started from the house, the large wagon leading. Harriet insisted upon making the tour of the vil- vage. It was a lovely evening ; the people were just coming J, PERFECT ADONIS. SI from tea, starting for their walk to t'he Bluff, or sitting about the piazzas. It is safe to say everybody in Milford saw them. And very nice and jolly they looked. A good many people doubtless envied them. They eclipsed the uipper-party, now raging with the defection of its two best nen ; they delighted the popular eye. Admiration and envy followed them neck-and-neck as they swept out of the vil- lage, down the hill, towards the lovely river road. How very few but thought them happy and gay, and that all these pleasures had been tumbled in their lap by a generous and partial destiny. Not guessing at the rancor and envy and deceit that had underlaid the matter, and the little crime of forgery which was the corner stone of the construction. Several of the party felt very uncomfortable ; all were rather silent, after they were fairly out of the village. Jack was in obstinate ill-humor, making very little effort to conceal his feelings. Oliver was dull and a little senti- mental. Young Rotherrnel was constrained and awkward. Poor Dorla felt personally responsible for his behavior, and was miserable every time he opened his mouth, lest he should say something that the sharp-witted citizens by whom he was surrounded could turn into ridicule. She was much perplexed to know how he got there ; nor could she understand a certain shade of difference in his manner, a slight decrease in diffidence, and a slight increase in ardor. When she was left beside him for one moment as they were getting out of the carriages at the Brewery, she was in great alarm lest he should tell her that he loved her on the spot. " Maybe they do so in the country," she thought, in terror, hurrying to get beside some one. His eyes said so much, so unaccountably much, for such a very limited acquaintance. Poor fellow, he was alarmingly, recklessly in love, and before the expedition was over, everybody knew it quite as well as Dorla did. The sudden elevation of hope that he owed to Harriet's fraud had brought his latent passion into full maturity. He was very young and very ignorant, as Dorla 32 A PERFECT ADONIS. had told Harriet, " of their ways of doing things." He as Harriet had predicted, in a seventh heaven; and the added influence of the moonlight, the champagne, the music, and the gay party, (for before the end of the even- ing, the party was gay), made him quite reckless who knew the state of his affections. Sitting out on the piazza of the Brewery, after tea, Olivet sang some love songs, in a slender metallic voice. Huoh music was better than nothing, but not very good. The moonlight was lovely, and the air was balmy. The tea, or supper, also had been very good. The ladies sat on the piazza, the gentlemen leaned about the railing or sat on the steps. Jack, still morose, smoked his cigar a few rods down the path. After Oliver had sung all his little ditties, some one said, who else would sing ? Harriet said, " Would not Mr. Rothermel ? " He consented and took the guitar in his hand. Dorla was in an agony of apprehension, and made Harriet an imploring gesture, which Harriet scorned to notice, otherwise than by urging the singing upon him further. Dorla bent down her head as he began, and wished that she were deaf. She had seen the bright-eyed Davis girl waa preparing to enjoy a little comedy. Even Jack drew near with a shade of interest, and Dorla saw Mrs. Bishop touch her husband's arm. This all seemed absolutely cruel ; she was in a fever of mortification. This man, through her, was being made a fool of; a good honest fellow too, a better man perhaps than some of those who judged him. He waa tolerably well educated (she had found that out already), having spent his four respectable years in a college-town, and having studied law after it with as much result as usual, What he lacked was what both colleges and law schools do not supply, to wit, good breeding. He used correct English when he spoke ; she had never seen him do a flagrantly gauche thing. He seemed to have a general and consistent idea of good manners ; yet she was always uncertain of him, and was always tingling with a sense of discord. But to A PERFECT ADONIS, 33 night she had an agreeable surprise ; in a few moments after he began to sing, she ceased to wish that she were deaf, and presently raised her head, and gazed at him with reassur ance. For he had a voice of great strength, and though uncultivated, quite remarkable for sweetness and expres- Eion. Every one was listening with pleasure. Evidently the study of elementary music had entered into the programme of the respectable four years, and the guitar had been re- garded as part of a " liberal education." His songs were old-fashioned and only of one order, but they were just such as suited the hour and the sarroundings. They were beati- fic, after Oliver's tinkling tenor. "When the swallows homeward fly," " Always of thee I'm fondly dreaming," " I'd offer thee this hand of mine " seemed not a shade too romantic and tender for the hour and the occasion. There was so much reality and abandon in his singing, that every- one (but Jack) was touched. Sitting on the steps at Dor la's feet in that soft air and moonlight, it was easy to put ex- pression into such songs as these. Dorla felt a warmth of pleasure and interest j it is very pleasant to know a man not to be ashamed of has fallen in love with you. There was a great deal of enthusiasm expressed for his songs. He was made to sing everything he had the small- est knowledge of; to sing all the best songs over, and to be recommended to learn everybody's favorite, " which would just suit his voice." Harriet was secretly happy at finding him possessed of such an accomplishment, which rendered him so presentable, and she made out a plan for the new cam- paign, with his aid, in which Mrs. Seymour was to be routed Lorse, foot and dragoon. He was to make her little parties agreeable, he was to raise the falling mercury of Dorla's re- nown ; he was to be their slave. And much more useful and unique a slave than Oliver, or that " Spanish volunteer," poor Jack. Thinking of all this, Harriet coul 1 not be too thankful that she had written the little note. u Didn't I tell you it would be no end D a lark," she g A PERFECT ADONIS. said to Dorla, at her chamber door that night, declining however to enter, and keeping Rosa by her to prevent con- fidential questioning. "No end of a lark." Yes, verily : slang fulfilled a pro- phetic sense for once. It had no end, that lark, as paor Dorla found at last. |HE lost ground was soon regained: Oliver and Rothermel were ready weapons, and poor Jack was always at their command, faute de mieux, to com- mand him. For he could not go back, after that sad day, to the Seymour's care, and all the coddling he got, he got from the sharp-voiced Harriet. The Seymour's temper suffered by these reverses ; she became less soft, less winning to the smokers of meerschaums. The tide of favor turned, wavered, and finally set strong towards the Varians. Their cottage was again the gathering point of all the gentlemen, the resort of the cleverest and nicest people. People talked about Dorla, as they did at first j admired her, criti- cised her, found fault with her, but made her very important. They tattled, they babbled, they grew childish, as only idle people can. What point of smallness would they not have reached, if the summer had been more than three months long. The summer was now at its close, and pleasant as it had been, everybody was a little tired of it and glad to go away. Peo- ple were tired of each other ; intimacies were worn thin, and ne< ded to be used with care. Harriet, for her part, felt that *he required relaxation. She had worked hard that summei Oliver thought change of scene might benefit his suit. Jack had done nothing but swear at Milford since his rupture with Airs. Seymcur ; and as for Dorla, she longed eagerly to get awajr. She knew that going a way was the end of gayety and A PERFECT ADON18. 35 holiday for her ; but she had become involved in a sort of "life that filled her with dissatisfaction, and the only way out of it, was to get out of Milford. It seemed to be entirely without her consent that she was put in the position she occupied, She rebelled against all the worldly code of her set, and yet she went on obedient to it. But it must be re- membered, she was very young, very humble, and a little timid. She could hardly stand up against so many people older than herself, and cleverer by reason of experience. But what troubled her most, was not the belittling of her mind and the blinding of her conscience, that threatened from such a sort of life, but the more positive and tangible perplexity of what to do about young Rothermel. Harriet had used him, had nattered him, had kept him about them, till the affair had grown into serious proportions. Dorla protested and avoided him, fled him, looked wretched when- ever they were together ; but that did not help the matter. Ever since that evil Brewery party, he had seemed to feel he had a right to be in love with her. He and Oliver were ragingly jealous of each other ; that made a charming little play, at which Harriet, the Bishops, and the Davises, never seemed to tire of assisting. Dorla never ceased to be un- comfortable, and the admiration she received from others was quite lost upon her, for this annoyance. She did not mind Oliver ; he seemed conventional and commonplace ; she very much doubted whether he meant anything at all. But this young countryman ; this was cruel, and she hated herself for being the instrument of his torture, though how it bad come about, she was not sure at all. There was a mystery about it all. Surely she had not encouraged him enough to have made all this commotion. For everybody was talking vibout it (having little else to talk about), and even the peo- ple of +.he village were busy in the matter. ]3orla simply longed to get away, and hailed with gratitude the day aamed for their going, when it caev*. She had been almost invisible for a day or two, and so *' declarations " had been in 36 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. order. She was very womanly, if not very adroit, and neither of her lovers had half a minute's interview with her, from the time their going was decided on. She was Mrs. Varian's shadow, and never left her side when out of the cottage. When in it, she generally had a headache, and could not leave her room. The morning of the departure proved bright and cool ; a radiant September day. A large party was going. All Mil- ford stood idle and gazing about the piazza steps to say or look good-bye all Milford, that is, that was not going away in the stage. It was voted more of a lark to go on the top of the stage, than to go in the carriage. So Harriet and Dorla scrambled up to the topmost seat, with Jack and young Davis established at their feet. They were bright with gay cloaks and blue veils, and Harriet had a violent red plume in her hat, (which became the stage top more than it did her). Jack had his gun and fishing rods. There was Russia leather run mad, in every device of valise, bag, lunch-box shawl strap. Altogether, they were a bright and pretty sight, and it looked like the very romance of a journey. Dorla, with a white " breast " in her hat, and a dark blue cloak wrapped around her, looked a little pale, but always pretty. Oliver she was watching furtively, keenly appre- hending an interview at the depot. She knew his farewell on the steps had not been final. For the other, she was in per- plexity. He had not been near them since the day before. Surely he did not mean a depot declaration also. She re- solved to take young Davis' arm when they got down from the stage, and never to let it go till they were past the first station on the road to town, no matter what became of the baggage. All this while, during the formation of this resolution and during this furtive watching, she was bending down like a gracious young princess, and saying good-bye to the people whc stood below and who had come to see them off. At last J l( Crack went the whip, round went the wheels, were A PERFECT ADONIS. 37 never folk so glad." Amid waved handkerchiefs, and scattered kisses, and renewed good-byes, the stage rolled on* of the village. During the drive to the depot, Dorla once grew a little quiet, and stopped talking half a moment, just half a moment, to young Davis. Her quick eye had caught sight of a figure, a man in sportsman's clothes, with a gun at his side, leaning against a tree, on a hill at their right, about quarter of a mile off from the highway. No one else saw him ; it woul J have been difficult to say how she saw him, or how she recognized him a* that distance but she knew instantly ; it was Rothermel, " Poor little Rothermel." Though why she called him little was as mysterious ; for he was honest five feet ten. The sudden sight gave her pain. This was so cruel, and so real, and so wrong. She wished she could for- get all abont it ; no doubt she would when she got away from Milford. No doubt this was the last time she should ever see or hear of him. Ah ! And with that certainty, she said softly to herself, " Good-bye, poor fellow. Forget all about this foolish summer ; and I'll pray for you always for my penance. You'll be happy soon with somebody that you'll think a hundred times better than you think me now." Oliver did not declare himself at the depot, for the same reason that he had not declared himself before. He did not get a chance. Dorla gave a deep sigh of relief as the cars started, and she felt as if she could at last rest upon her arms. The journey was not very different from other jour- aeys of its length, notwithstanding the advantages it seemed to present in the matter of Russia leather and lunch. The cars were delayed a little, the afternoon of the brilliant Sep- tember morning had become hot, and there was a good deal J>f dust. Harriet had a headache, and Mrs. Varian was very matter of fact. When the city was reached, and they dropped Dorla at her door, it, was without much demonstration of seutiirent at 38 4 PERFECT ADONIS. parting ; Mrs. Varian seemed chiefly anxious to get home at the hour she had written for dinner, and Harriet was most concerned about a missing check which Jack had been left at the ferry to fight about. It seemed to Dorla as she went up the steps and rang the bell, alone (the carriage in the interests of dinner having driven on 11 , a very tame and un- exciting ending to her so exciting summer. As the servant opened the door, she smelled the smell of the old familiar soup which the cook would make four days in seven ; one carrot, one turnip, an onion, two tops of celery, two pounds fresh lean beef ; how she hated it. The house was darkish, nobody being expected. Harry she knew was " out of town." O, how dingy, and worn, and dull the parlors looked, as the woman lit the gas (with a horrid match that filled the air with sulphur). Whole weeks, and monohs, and years of se- clusion, and worry, and monotony, defiled before her as she looked down those dim rooms. She wondered she had wanted to come away from Milford. Milford was paradise ; and she had left paradise behind forever. There were some bills lying on the dining-room mantel- piece ; Harry always left the bills for her. There were no letters, no cards, nothing that looked young-lady-like and pleasant. (f I don't want any dinner," she said to the servant. " Just bring me some tea up to my room." Dorla spent the even- ing on the lounge in her own room alone (that was where she would spend a good many). O, Milford was very pleas- ant ! And her holiday was over. There wouldn't be any sequel to it she foresaw, in the winter pleasures which Har- riet could give, for Harriet was going on to Newport the next day. She would be there all the autumn, and be in Washington much of the winter. Moreover, Dorla felt, ber days of intimacy with the Varians were over. Some- how they were all beginning to feel their dissimilarity, and Harriet had never been intimate with any one beyond one season. Dorla was kneeling before her open trunk (which A PERFECT ADONIS. 39 fehe expressman had banged down in the lower hall, and th women had dragged toilsomely up stairs), and was taking out, carefully and tenderly, the dresses and little toilet adorn- ments of the now departed summer. They each had a little separate pathos to her. This was the sash that had goi caught in the bushes at the Glen, and about which Oliver O * wrote the very even rhymes which she had put away care- fully in her writing desk, lower down in the trunk. These were the gloves, and she sighed a little as she pulled out the fingers, that she had worn at the masque ball. Young Davis had carried them in his pocket for a day or two, and had shown some inclination not to give them up. What a nice evening that had been. And here was the skirt, the poor, dear old skirt, that she had worn to the Peak that glorious morning when the wind blew so, and the sky was so intensely blue. She could feel the strong breeze in her face, and the glow that went through her as she climbed the uneven path ; here was the rent that she had made as she sprang over the great tree that lay across their way. Oliver had said a great many foolish things about it, and had given her pins to fas- ten it up, out of a little cushion he carried in his pocket that somebody had made for him " that liked him." O, who could. Dorla tried to fancy the kind of girl that would like Mr. Oliver and make pin-cushions for him. And here, crushed between two dresses was her pretty straw hat, with its faded ribbons; but it was bright with many pleasant memories, and she lifted it tenderly. Wreathed in it, were some ferns and leaves that Rothermel had picked for her one day at the Kamonskill. They were brittle and brown, and broke when she touched them ; but they brought back the smell of the moss and the feeling of the light spray on hei face, as they had stood under the wall of rock, and looke J up at the fall above. O, the blessed, lovely woods and waters the broad, free hfll-tops and the summer wind ! How she longed for them, as she felt herself pent once again in city bounds ; as she smelled the close and stagnant air, and hear/ 1 40 4 PERFECT ADONI& the roar of city noises that came in through the wide opened window. She was kneeling before the trunk with the hat and its ferns in her hand, far away in a revery, when the door was pushed open, and the cook appeared ; a gaunt, dark woman, whose unlovely temper showed itself upon her face. She had lived some years in the house, and was honest and sober and all that is detestable. " So you're back, Miss Dorla," she said. Dorla said yes, and sighed a little to think that was the only welcoming word that had been spoken. She was prevented from trying to be amiable in her interest about the cook's health, by the woman's saying without preface, " And what's for breakfast That's what I came about." ' O, I'm sure I don't know." A shrug and silence. " Anything ; you know what is in the house. I don't care at all." " That's the kind that's always hardest to be pleased." " But you know I'm not that kind, I'm very easy to be pleased." " All the same, I'd like you to say what I'm to make you for your breakfast." "O, well, I don't know; I think I should like some oysters, perhaps." " It's nearly ten o'clock, and the shops are likely shut." " O, then don't think of it. A chop" " We haven't an ounce of fresh meat in the house." " "Well, some cold beef anything cold you have." " The last of the mutton was used up for dinner yes- terday. We do mostly without meat when we're all nlone." "Why, then you can make me an omelette. Your wnelettes are always nice." " There isn't an egg down stairs. I haven't sent to thf grocer's for a week." A PERFECT ADONI8. *\ " Then Amanda, it's very evident, I shan't have much for breakfast." " That's just what I was saying, you'd be certain to com- plain." " Well, I can't complain now, because I know what to expect. If you give me a cup of coffee and a roll I shall not be dissatisfied." u The coffee has been out this week or more ; and SaraL drinks tea and I just take what's made. I don't have things put out much for me" " Why didn't you order coffee. You know you have liberty to order what is necessary." " Liberty. O yes ; I know all about my liberty. Per- haps if you had some cooks you mightn't say that to them. But you're quite safe in saying it to me. I'd like you to look over the books, and see if they are all correct." " I am perfectly sure the books are all right, before I look at them. If I didn't trust you, I shouldn't leave you here." "You needn't be too certain. There's the ice-man Bays" " O, Amanda, wait till to-morrow. I'll look everything over in the morning. I am really tired to-night." Amanda made a sound that conveyed ineffable con- tempt, and turned back to the breakfast. There wasn't any roll, and the French baker had stopped coming since Mr. Harry had been gone. ld enough to guide the house herself. There was sufficient money to do all but make her happy (there had been more than enough to ruin Harry, poor sinful boy). It was a force now to keep the house for him. He seldom was in it, and it was no restraint upon him. The knowledge of hia sins was wasting the youth of his sister, and she was doing A PERFECT U)ONI8. 43 him no good. What she needed was yoang companions hipj healthy interests and pleasures. But there was no one to arraoge it for her, and she had no ability to do it for her- uelf, though she could have done it very well for anybody 3lse. |T was the beginning of Lent ; a chilly, grey, cold day. It was the anniversary of her mother's death, a day Dorla always spent most strictly. That morning she had been in church ; this afternoon she was alone, beside her mother's picture, trying to read, with the weary feeling hours of emotion had produced. Her life had been as quiet as ever this winter. Harriet she had hardly seen ; partly because the latter had been much iway, and partly because a new enthusiasm had taken hold of her. There was a young woman from the West, who had great musical talent, and she was Harriet's duty and pleasure at present. Harriet talked music, gave concerts, went to oratorios, had a box at the opera. There was no room for any other interests now. Dorla went to one or two parties, but she was allowed to languish in a corner while all the world was crowded round the piano. She went to one or two other parties, but they did not give he? much amusement. She knew so few people, and was too timid to get along alone. The pleasures of Milford seemed ery sweet at this distance. One or two experiences, consequent upon those pleasures, however, had been not so sweet. One was the reception of the postponed declaration from Mr. Oliver. The other was a visit from young Rothermel. That had occurred about a month after her return from Milford. She was rotting in her room one day, when the servant brought up ihe card. It was a great surprise, and she was in fright and perplexity. She had begun to forget about 44 A PERFECT ADONIS. him, and felt that she had heard the last of him. She could not see him. She felt that if she did, there could be but cne result. So, hurriedly, she sent the servant back to say, she begged he would excuse her. It was all done in a moment. When she heard the door shut, she was overwhelmed with regret, and saw how harsh it was. It would have been so much better to have been brave and to have seen him, and softened the blow, if it could not be averted. This occurrence filled her with regret and self- reproach for many days. But by degrees she thought less of it, and this February day she was sitting alone again, and hardly remembered that it had occurred. It is very true that the sorrows of others when they are not in our sight, do not break our spirits. Dorla could have been happy if there Jiad been anything to be happy about. There 'came a knock at the door. She unbolted it, and the servant handed her a letter. It was from Harriet Varian, and Dorla sat down by the window to read it. Another letter fell out from it, which had a Milford post mark. She looked curiously at it but read Harriet's first. It began : " DEAR DORLA, Mamma received this strange letter this morning, and I should have brought it round to you myself, but we are just starting for Washington this evening. I don't know what you'll think about it. Of course, I'm very much distressed. Mamma is quite angry, but I tell her it isn't any fault of yours. You never dreamed it was coming to anything like this, and I am sure you did not give him nuch encouragement. Or if you did, you could not be sup- posed to know he was going to take it so to heart. Girls are always blamed for everything, it seems to me. Our Milford laundress (do you remember her? that French woman who used to do our things so beautifully) was here this morning to get a recommendation from mamma, and he says all the people are talking about us, and saying how A PERFECT ADON18. 45 shamefully you acted towards him. I shall always defend you, my dear, no matter what occurs, for you only did What any other girl would do, in just such circumstances, and it isn't fair to lay it on your shoulders. Write to me al Washington, and don't let this trouble you. Sorry that I can't see you to talk it over. We shall be away about a month. Good-bye. In greatest haste, yours always, "H. H. V." When Dorla laid this letter down, it seemed to her her neart did not beat, her blood did not move. She could not draw her breath, and it was a long moment before she could take up the letter from her lap. It was as follows : " MRS. VARIAN. " Madam, I take the liberty of writing to you. I am in great trouble, and I write these few lines to tell you my son is dying. He was the best son a mother ever had, and it is hard to see him go, for he is my all. I do not reproach anybody for it. It is God's will. But if he had not seen your family ever he would not be now where he is. I meant to write a letter to that young lady, but I do not dare to trust myself. But I forgive her. Ever since he came back from the city (where he went so hopeful and so happy), he has not been like himself, and now for six weeks he has been lying on his bed, with fever, and such sufferings. But he doesn't suffer any now, so the Doctors say, for his mind is never here, and he only talks about her all the time. I hope God will forgive her, and never make her suffer the half of what she's brought into this house. I don't want to say harsh things about her. But Mrs. Varian, it is so hard to Bee him die, and to know it needn't have been so. I hope you will forgive my boldness in writing to you. I am very unhappy, for my boy was all I had, and I am afraid it is more than I can stand. " Respectfully yours, MRS. A. ROTHERMIL." &6 ^ PERFECT AVON18. There were some capitals that were unnecessary in this letter, and the signature was rather unconventional; all this Dorla saw; the cramped handwriting looked so exactly like Amanda's efforts. She sat still, like one frozen, and tried to take in what the strange letter meant. She read it over, time after time, from the date to the signature. The sense of it seemed to creep into her brain slowly ; she did not receive it at once. She took in the sense of it, some- way like this : " Then he is very ill, this young man who was so healthy and strong-looking; very ill indeed. Dying. May be he is dead already ; this letter is dated let me see, dated Mil- ford, the sixth of February. Yes, it is many days ago He may be dead already ; think of it, anybody so strong and well only a few short months ago. I cannot somehow take it in. I never thought about his dying, and it is his mother who writes ; that gentle, pale, worn-out looking woman that we saw once when we stopped at the gate with him. He seemed so fond of her ; and she hasn't any other child. The father is dead too ; she is all alone. Poor woman, it is a terrible calamity. She says he was so good : I'm sure he was, not wild and bad like Harry. O ! is not this a sad thing ! That he should have to go, and so many men who only ruin themselves and give sorrow to those that care for them, to stay ; so young too, with the chance of living such a good life, having children, and making the old house bright and pleasant. She will have to live always by herself, dreary and morbid, with all the windows shut up close, and nobody to look after the cattle and the farm. She will die SOOD herself, it is not likely she can live without him, when she has lived for him only for so many years. Oh, what a train >f miserable things. I wonder how it has all come to pass I lon't understand how anybody can dare to say O God ! If it should be true. If it should in any little way be true. [f I aui any, any way to blame. O Lord ! have mercy upon m don't let me think this thing. Don't let it be true. Save A PERFECT ADONIS. 47 me from this or I want to die. What have I ever done to make it right that I should bear a thing like this. Oh, why O ! it isn't, isn't true. I didn't lead him on to this. I never said a word to make him think I liked him. I hate Harriet Varian. I wish that I had never seen her. I wish that I were dead. I never have any pleas- ure but it brings a punishment. I do not think I am worse than other girls, and yet see the things that happen to me. O, such an awful, awful thing as this. It is like murder ; it is not any better. I shall have the blood of that man always against my soul. Because I liked to look pretty, and be admired, this has all come about. Because it pleased me to think that people talked about me, I shall have to feel that they are talking about me always now in another cruel way. I told Harriet not to ask him to go with us that night, but someway she did ask him, and there the trouble was. It never would have come to this, if he had not gone with us that night and got on such familiar terms. It is so awful to think of what our little schemings bring about. And how well I remember, one day, when we were all sitting at the Bluff, I looked up and saw his eyes on me, as if he could not look away. And it gave me a strange sort of pleasure (O, how wicked I must have been), to think that he was in love with me and never saw anybody else. That was the only time I ever thought so ; but here is this come upon me. All this for that one thought. O, it is ttot just, it is not right. I will not believe I ought to bear this load for that one little sin. O, if I were only dead. O^ if I were the only one to suffer, it might be possible to carry it, but to think of that poor woman, and that man whose soul was gone perhaps even before I read this letter. 0, if he were not ready ! If his soul is lost for want of some prayer, Home preparation. This is more, this is worse than I can luffer Oh, how wicked I am growing how my heart rebels If I had somebody to help me, somebody to say a word, lomebody to tell me what to do. O, mother! mother! pray &8 4 PERFECT ADONIS. for me; pray for ycur poorDorla; ask God to take thia Load away from me, and forgive me all I've done." And with a cry, she cast herself upon her knees, and burst into violent sobs It was an ordeal for so young, so conscientious a person, and one so very isolated in position. There was no one to take a disinterested view of it all, and tell her what she ought to do. With her brain stunned by this calamity, which had fired her conscience with such flaming accusa- tions and left her judgment paralyzed, she was to decide upon what to do ; and what she did, then, was to be the most important doing of her life. When she rose from her knees, ashy white, and shaking all over, she had resolved what to do. She went to the clock to see the hour ; her eyes were so blinded and scorched with crying, she could not see across the room. It was almost five o'clock. She went to the table and hunted among the things there for & morning paper, and searched it hurriedly. But no list of the Erie trains was given in it, and she laid it down and turned over the papers in her desk for a time table. She was trembling so, it seemed to her, somebody ought to take care of her and do things for her. She wished she might call Amanda, somebody to find out for her what she wanted to know, but that was impossible. So putting on her bonnet and cloak, in some way, she made herself ready and went out, alone, into the street. The gas was lit in the street lamps, the outer doors were shut and shades were down. She had rarely been so late outside the house without attendance; this added to her feeling of bewilderment. There was a depot, at which she felt sure she cd*ld find time tables of all the roads, not more than half a mile away. To that she went ; through hackmen and newsboys, and policemen and expressmen, and cars and carriages and baggage wagons, she found her way into the office and at some desk. There, some one took pity on her and told her what she wanted to know, and A PERFECT ADONIS. 49 iven wrote it down on a piece of paper. It is posssble that she looked so agitated, the rnan feared she would not re- member what he told her otherwise. There was no train till the next morning, at least none that it would be possible for her to reach. She must go home and wait till then. She hardly knew, afterward, how she had passed the time that intervened ; some heavy hours of sleep, and a horrid, horrid wakening. ,The day was raw and damp and chilly. After she was in the cars, it began to rain. She felt cold, so cold, all the time. Things looked worse to her to-day than they had looked yesterday. She was used to the thought now, indeed, it seemed centuries old; she felt as if the time had never been, when she had not known poor Rothermel lay dying, and she was the one whose vanity and folly had made it so. But with this thought and its dire train, had joined another, since those heavy hours of sleep, and that was the thought of what people would say about her going to Milford to see him, dead or dying, and throw- ing herself at his mother's feet and crying out for pardon, what the Varians, what the people at Milford, what the servants at home, what everybody would think if they saw her, practically and severely, going on this strange errand ; what in fact, was the character of this errand, and whether she were wise in going on it. A thousand doubts arose ; she shrank from the daylight view of it. But she never thought of drawing back ; only it was like walking to the stake, without any certainty of anything except the pain. She was quite unused to travelling alone the getting her ticket, the watching for the station, were all so many alarm- ing things. When at last they reached the station, she started as violently as if she had not been looking for it for an hour. Somebody called out something about the Milford Etage ; she followed the direction pointed out, and was put into the stage. SLe took the furthest seat inside the coach, two women fc Mowed her, and a man, wrapped up in a great coat 50 A PERFECT ADCNIS. and with buckskin mittens on. These were all the passengers. The women talked a little to each other, and complained of the cold, or rather of the damp, for it was not very cold. The man looked awkward and uncomfortable, and stamped his feet occasionally to keep them warm, and leaned out of the window very often to see if they were not soon to start. But it took a long time to strap the two lean trunks upon the rack, and to get the mail bag from the office, and to settle well under the driver's seat a demijohn, a box of herring and a can of oil. It takes a good while to do things in the country, particularly in winter, and when they have all day before them. But the poor young stranger on the furthest seat some- times she felt benumbed and callous, and then there woulJ shoot across this apathy a fever flush of trepidation. She more than once put out her hand towards the coach-door, with a sudden ungovernable resolve to fly, to hide herso 1 / till the train passed through the town that would take her to New York. She felt at moments as if it were useless for her to fight against the fate that was carrying her step by step towards the bedside of the man whom she had injured, towards the presence of the mother who could not even " trust herself to write to her," towards publicity, towards curious eyes and busy tongues ; then she felt at another moment, as if she had lost all conscience and all care for the judgment of Almighty God, and as if escape from the position to which she had condemned herself in her repent- Mice was what she would fight for, die for, and be therewith content. These were the struggles that went on in her poor brain, as she sat trembling, shrinking back in her corner of the coach, her face hidden by a veil, all alone, a hundred rniJas from home, going on such an errand, naturally so far from brave, and so exaggeratedly womanish in her fear of k>ng"ies and eyes. Of course, the cold, hard hand of con science kept her to the course on which she seemed sent by fete. Tf it had been death to which she was going, she would A PERFECT AI>ONI 51 have gono as she went now, with struggles, but with cer- tainty. At last the coach started, and with little notice from the shut houses and empty sidewalks, rolled out of the town. The rain was now only a drizzling mist, bat it ate to the very bone. A coat of snow must have been lying even yesterday over all the country, and to-day's rain was wash- ing it slowly off. Great patches of it lay on the fields, and along the fences, but "no longer white and fresh. The fields, where they were uncovered, looked sodden and lifeless, the roads were uneven and full of mud, and deeply worn with the winter's travel. The trees were still, there was no wind, their bark was wet with the rain, their roots soakicg in the unwholesome earth. The brook by the roadside was embedded in thick ice, and silent. A dreary thin mist hung low over the land, not thick enough to hide it, or to soften ifcs blank cheerlessness. No cattle were in the fields, no life about the hills. During their long drive they met no living creature. The few farm-houses looked silent and un- tenanted. Dorla looked out of the window, and thought of the last time she had gone over this road. What a contrast to this day was the brilliant sky of that^ the green and vellow fields, the woods smitten with early Autumn, the smooth road, the grassy bank beside them, the glancing brook, the fences touched with moss, and now and thei* twined with straggling vines, the ferns upon the rocks, thf cattle in the fields, the birds about the trees, the squirrels darting along the fence beside them. And oh, the merr* 7 and unthinking people who looked upon it all, and said u good-bye." Dorla said to herself, which day is the dream, that day or this. And not four months apart. The three passengers did not say much : they were shj country people and did not know each other well, and were perhaps a little uncertain of their silent neighbor. Dorla listened eagerly to hear if anything should be said about the ttoth?rmels. She had kept her mind busy with a strange 52 4 PERFECT ADONIS. Bort of speculation, about the way in which she should prob- ably hear if he were already dead. She said to herself, " may be I shall meet the funeral train ; that would be like a novel. Or perhaps some one will call out the news as we drive up to the post-office. Or, I shall not hear it till I get into the house, and the mother will point me to the room where he lies in his coffin, and curse me, and tell me to go out from her sight. Or as is more probable, I shall find he has been dead for days, and the raw yellow clay of some new grave will catch my eye as we drive past the cemetery, Whichever way it is to be, how I wish that I could know, It is so much easier to bear yourself rightly if you know what is to come upon you." But none of these thing were to come upon her, alas. As they drove over the bridge across the Vandermarck, and she felt that they were in the village, the same impulse to escape came upon her, and she stretched out her hand to the door. " Do you want to get out here ? " said one of the women. " Shall I call the driver ? " said the man, glad of some- thing to say and the prospect of something to be done. " No I " she said faintly, sinking back into the corner. " It is further on. No matter." O, the village, with its dismal silent streets, its shut up houses. O would it ever be summer again in it ; would these bare trees ever " flush into variety again." The hotels were partly closed, the cottages shut up. She thought of the little piazzas grouped with gay colored dresses ; of the tirhite parasols flitting up and down the village street ; of the pretty children with their nurses ; parties of pleasure going off in the great wagons to the woods and falls. Around the Btore and the post-office were two or three country wagons tied ; a solitary man came out to get the mail bag from the driver. Another man came to the steps of the coach and put tkis head in at the window to collect the fare, and to know vhere the four passengers were to be set down. The man, A PERFECT tlDONISL 53 And one of the women were to be left somewhere about the village, near. The other woman was to be taken half-way on the road to Dingman's. "And you," said the collector of the fare, with a nod, looking at Dorla. She gasped for breath, and spoke twice before the words came clear. He did not even then quito get the name, and she had to say it over. He said, " which Rothermel," for there were two. She had to explain where the Rothermels lived to whose house she would be taken. " Ah," he said, and he looked at her with a shade of curi- osity. This was the first time that she had spoken the name. It gave her a strange sensation. Hanging by the coach door, he called out to the driver to go on, and so they drove down the main street of the village. One of the passengers was to be left at the last hotel on the street. There, two or three men were standing about the steps, and there the demijohn and the box of herring were to be taken down. The men talked a little to each other. One on the piazza said to a man who had got on the box with the driver : " Have you heard from George Rothermel to-day ? " " No," said the man addressed. " He was alive last night, lying very low." " You've got a passenger inside for Rotherme-1's," said the collector of the fares, looking up to the driver ; he was " settling " with the proprietor of the can of oil and the herrings. " You'll leave her, as you take that other woman down to Dingman's." " AJ1 right," the driver said, and after a few professional details, gathered up the reins and started at a steady pace for Rothermel's. The farm lay about a mile and a half out of the village, on the river road ; Dorla had often walked beyond it in tht summer. Now, as they went splashing and rolling through the rough and muddy road, she felt as if it never were possi- ble that she could have done so. And yet, when she first ]r A PERFECT ADONIS. caught sight of the house, no longer hidden by the surround ing trees, she felt a shock as if they had come too quick, and she were unprepared for being there as soon. *In fact, unpre- paredness was what she felt more than any of the emotions she had anticipated. Though she had had so many hours to prepare herself, and had thoughts of nothing else, she was in a state of bewilderment, and did not know what she should say, or whether she could say anything at all. " Here you are," called out the driver from his seat ; while the woman inside, seeing perhaps her trepidation, pushed the coach door open for her, and offered to help her to get out. She stammered thanks, and got out by herself, and tried to shut the door. The driver, rather impatient per haps at being brought so far out of his way on this chilly driz zliiig day, started forward abruptly, and left her standing alone at the gate. Before she got it open, he was half-wai down the hill. The house stood back about fifty feet from the road ; a path paved with brick and bordered with flower beds led up to the small piazza. The front windows of the house were all closed ; across the fresh paint of the piazza floor tberf was not a single foot mark ; the gate had opened as if unused Of course, bat Dorla did not see it, there was a second gate and a second path that led up to another entrance, that of the* familiar and comfortable region of sitting-room and kitchen. No one had seen her come ; she was all alone before a dead, silent house, must she awaken it ? Even at that moment she felt the impulse to fly and save herself. But instead of yielding to it, she walked to the door, and with a hand that almost refused obedience, knocked. No answer came, the faint sound died away, and she stood, shivering with cold and fear, uncertain what to do. The rain dripped from the dead leaves of the honeysuckle on the lattice ; she thought, How strange that Chinese honeysuckles keep their leaves all winter. She never could lose anything, even in her greatest moments of excitement. Then Inr eyes fell upon some tall A PERFECT ADONIS. 55 llim plants, weJ matted from the winter. " What can coun- try people see in dahlias, that they take such care of them ? w ihe thought. " Tall, stiff, artificial things. Oh, if they don't come soon I shall die of this damp chill stillness. I wish the wind blew. This is horrible. I don't know whether I am alive or dead. I must knock once again." And again she knocked, this time accidentally making a louder noise. Then, after a moment, came a sound of steps within, and the unbarring of the door. At that, her heart stood still ; and when the door opened a little way, and a servant appeared, she was really too choked to speak a syl- lable. The woman asked her what she wanted, and that had the effect of rousing her a little. "I want to speak to Mrs. Rothermel," she said in a low voice. * The servant motioned her to come inside, and took her into a large square room at the left of the hall, that might have been the family vault, for all the warmth and light of it. It struck a horror to the very soul of the youug visitor ; it was as much worse as possible than the raw cold outside. She shuddered from head to foot, and thrust her hands tighter in her muff. The servant rattled and battered for some time at one of the windows, and finally threw back a shutter. Then taking a chair, she planted it in the centre of the room, and told the young lady to sit down, and went away. She was so cold and bewildered, she really had no thought of what was to come; she saw, as in a dream, the ungainly pattern of the ingrain carpet on the floor, and the photographs in their oval gilt frames on the wall, the big un- used books, and the two or three shells upon the table between the windows. In a moment more the woman came back, and iold her she had better come into the sitting-room and warm terself ; she'd have to wait a while, for Mrs. Rothermel was mating something in the kitchen and couldn't leave it for a minute. Thereupon, Dorla followed her into a room at the of the house. This room was long, and rather nar 56 A PERFECT AVONI& row, running across the back of the house, but it was warm, and had many windows, which made it very light. It was home-like and natural, with no attempt at ornament ; no shells, and no oval photographs. There were one or two deep, comfortable, leather-covered chairs, and a " settee " with a turkey red cover on it ; a tall clock ; two or three hanging book-shelves, and an old-fashioned secretary. There .Tere two lamps on the chimney piece, an inkstand and a match stand. And on a little shelf near, were some pipes and a tobacco pouch. And in a corner of the room, with a window on each side, stood a small melodeon, and on it, a pile of old music books, and some newer sheets of music. The sight of these things gave Dorla a strange and sudden emo- tion. She felt cold and dull no longer, but stirred to the very heart. There was such tin oppressive silence : the tick- ing of the clock alone broke it, and the careful movements in the room overhead. Presently, the door leading from the kitchen opened and some one came in. Dorla recognized in an instant the mother. She was a sweet, delicate-looking old woman, Drdinarily pale, but to-day a little flushed with her work about the fire, and perhaps some agitation. " I am sorry," she said, coming across the room, and ad- justing her apron as she came ; " I am sorry you had to wait so long. Sit down, won't you ? I don't believe I know just ~who it is. I find I don't remember faces as I used to do." Dorla stood, pale as ashes. The old woman went on speaking with embarrassment. " You must excuse me my dear, for not being able to call you by your name. I always was a little apt to be fcrget- ful. But since this trouble, I am hardly able to remember what I want to say from one minute to another. I'm all .instrung and helpless." And a little sob or moan closed the sentence, and the pool roman passed her hand before her eyes. A PERFECT ADONIS. 57 "Mrs. Rothennel," began Dorla, in a low tone, starting towards her, and then stopping and clasping her hands to gether, instead of putting them upon the broken and suffer ing old woman, " Mrs. Rothermel, I don't expect you tc know my face, and I wish you did not know my name. You hate me you think that I have done you wrong; and may be it is true. I have come to tell you that I die 1 not mean it that I am broken-hearted to have given any body pain. I never dreamed of making him unhappy, be- lieve me. I am not a girl that could do such a thing as that ; I am not the sort of person that you think me. I may have been foolish and vain. I suppose I was, but it is not in my nature to trifle with anybody. Oh, if you could only know what I have suffered since Mrs. Varian sent your letter to me, you would be sorry for me a little. I came here without stopping a moment, even to think about it. I felt as if I should die, if you would not say you could forgive me. Oh, tell me that you can, and that you believe me ; indeed, indeed I speak the truth." She held her clasped hands imploringly towards the mother, who, steadying herself by the table near which they stood, looked at her bewildered. " And this is Miss St. John," she taid, slowly, " Dorla, that he talks about. 1 thought she was a great beauty, and always very fine." " Oh, no, no, I am not," she exclaimed, eagerly. " I au not beautiful, nor anything. I am very plain and quiet, and try to be a good girl and do my duty when I know what it is. Don't condemn me, don't be hard on me. Do I look as if I could do a thing like that, lead a man on to like me, and then break his heart. Oh, say you don't be lieve it ; say it is not true ! " " No, I don't believe it ! " cried the poor woman, stretch- ing out her arms to Dorla. "I don't believe it; and I thank God it isn't true." Dorla threw herself into her arms, and wept with tnt dwndonment of relief, as if the words had redeemed her 58 4 PERFECT ADONIS. The poor mother clasped her arms about her and wept her. " I could not believe, for a long time," she said, in a bro ken voice at last, " that any one had meant to deceive mj boy." 4< How could they ? " said Dorla. " So kind, and good, and so straightforward." " So gentle and so good a son," moaned the poor woman. " So careful for his mother always ; you might be sure he could love the one he set his heart upon. Poor George ! Oh, if he only knew." " Oh, what a load you have taken from my heart ! " said Dorla, " since you say that you believe me and will forgive me for what I have been so unhappy as to do. If I could only comfort you in any way, or help you in any way to bear your dreadful sorrow. But I know that is impossi- ble." " You have helped me," said the poor woman, with tremb ing arms, still clasped about her. " It helps me to have no hard feelings toward^ anybody in the world. I can bear it from God, but I couldn't bear it from a woman. God Almighty has a right to do what He pleases with us all. I can submit to Him ; it is very different when there is no wrong from any one." " Yes," said Dorla, softly, tl I am sure I know how you ieel about it. Grief is very different from bitterness." " I never was one to have hard feelings," said the poor mother, drying her eyes as she sat down on the settee, trem- bling still, so that she could scarcely stand. " I* have al- ways been one for peace. It has never been my way to havo hard thoughts of people. I have had a good many troubles, first and last, but that hasn't ever been among them. But now, when it came to George when it came to giving him np for for " And she cried again, as if the very memory of the pain irere into] ei able, and Dorla, half kneeling beside her, pressed A PERFECT ADONIS. 5ft ber lips upon her poor shaking hands, and whispered, ct Do not say it, it makes me so unhappy. " "No, I won't say it," she answered, suppressing her gobSj, " For maybe God meant it all along. I know you did not do it evilly, I know you are a good honest girl, ami he only misunderstood. " " That was it indeed," said Dorla, eagerly. " You know how easy it is to be led all astray by some little word, some little bit of a mistake." " Yes " said Mrs. Rothermel, with a deep sigh. " I know how that can be ; for I know how near George's father was to going away and never speaking, for some little thing I did and never meant it. Men are so quick ; they don't stop to reason when they are in love, they think a woman mean^ every thing, and never think that she has feelings too." Dorla felt the blood rushing to her face : she saw she had been misunderstood, but she had not the hardihood to put her companion right, though she tried to say something to correct th3 error without wounding her with the hard truth, But her incoherent words passed for agitation; the poor mother only put her arms again around her, and passed her hand tenderly over her hair ; and she felt her tears fall upon her head. Oh ! how they scorched and burned her ! This was worse than it had been before. The poor mother thought they had a common sorrow. " If I could only ftiake her understand," thought Dorla, in an agony of per- plexity. But it was not easy. She had found one to whom she could speak of her darling, and she poured out her Inart in broken words of confidence. " So handsome," she said, " so clever, so much above all the young men about him. He could have married anybody, anybody that he had wanted. But he had never looked at any of them never could be coaxed or teased into liking any girl in all the country round. People said he held himself above them because he'd had a college educa- tion and had money. But it wasn't that, it was because ha A PERFECT ADONIS. was above them, because he was so different, because he wat himself my pocr, handsome, good boy ! " Then wringing her hands. ff O, don't you think God might hear yet, might listen if we both asked to have him live. Can't you think of some words to say ! Maybe I haven't said everything I ought. My head feels so I cannot think of things. Pray for him if you can my child. Pray for him ask God to let him stay." Dorla had in her pocket a little book, one of the red- edged family that afforded Harriet Varian so much innocent amusement, and she took it and began to look for a prayer she had said many times already for poor George, since she heard of his condition. She was still kneeling by Mrs. Rothermel, with her arms in her lap, and she only bent her head lower, and read the prayer in a voice just audible. There was a long silence ; then Mrs. Rothermel, kissing her, said it had been a comfort to her. "And now, my dear," she continued, wiping the tears from her face as she got up, " you had better come up and see him." Dorla felt the hot flush all over her face again as she heard this. " Perhaps I had better not," she said, recoiling involun- tarily. The mother looked startled and pained. " Why ? " she asked. " Do you think it would make you feel badly ? He is not so very much changed. He is like a picture, he is so handsome and so still." " Perhaps it might shock and startle him to see me sud- denly," she faltered, holding back. " Ah ! " said the poor mother with a heavy sigh. " All the world might come into his room and he wouldn't know it. It is days and days since he has noticed any one. He is past that, my dear, ah, long past that." Dorla's hat had fallen to the floor ; she stooped to pick it up, trembling all over. What should she do ? Mrs. Roth- ermel held out her hand ; she wondered in her heart that Doi la could hesitate a moment about looking upon that fee* A PERFECT ADONIS. 61 again. She began to feel that she, for her part, had been too many minutes out of sight of it already ; precious min- utes of which there were so few left to her. The. pull upon her heart was always felt when he was out of her sight, and had been ever since he was a baby. Dorla conquered the strong feeling that made her recoil from this step. "What difference can it make," she said to herself. " Perhaps I owe it to him to look once more upon him, and pray beside his death-bed for forgiveness for the vanity that killed him." She took the mother's hand, and followed her out of the room and up the stairs. When they came to the door of the sick-room they paused. No sound came from within, but the regular motion of a rocking-chair, in which an el- derly stout woman sat, near the tire. The mother pushed open the door, and they entered. There was a strong smell of vinegar, and Dorla shivered. How she hated the smell of vinegar. " Why do country people always have vinegar about the room when any one is ill," she thought, as they approached the bed. " And why are their souls PC bound up in patch-work quilts." Thus she stood, thinking these very grovelling thoughts, beside poor George's bed, and seeing the stars and flowers of *.h?> pattern on the counterpane with the same eyes that looked on his death-stricken face. The woman by the fre got up and came towards them in manifest curiosity, <>* I^orla's beautiful hair had partly fallen down, and the emo- tions that had been dyeing her cheeks and filling her eye*, made her look very lovely, and the old woman could no* Imagine who she was and whence she came. The mother let go her hand, and stooped with irresistible desire towards the poor sufferer on the bed. She smoothed his hair, touched his forehead with her hand, and laid the sheet softly v.ver his wasted arms. Dorla. stood tall, and erect, and titan t, looking down at him. 82 A PERFECT ADONIS. " How do you think lie looks ? " said the woman, in hei ordinary voice, addressing Dorla. Dorla, shocked at the tone, made some whispered answer. " Oh, you needn't be afraid to speak loud," she said. " He doesn't hear a thing." ." Nothing disturbs him now," said the poor mother, witL tears, speaking low from instinct. The woman whom they had found in the room, and who was a neighbor, was a little deaf, and was quite determined to enter into communication with Dorla, and satisfy her curiosity. She made many observations, and at last, Dorla, shocked and frightened, and anxious to put an end to the conversation, answered her in her usual voice, possibly a little heightened. At this sound, strange and wonderful re- sult ! The figure on the bed moved slightly ; a little con- traction passed over the features, the eyes opened, and after an instant of amazed uncertainty, a smile of intelligence came into the eyes, and lifting his feeble hand, he said, u You have let me come ! " A low cry of joy burst from the mother, who raised her- iself up quickly. The neighbor, with an exclamation of amazement, pushed Dorla forward, who stooped and took his hand in hers. For a moment or two he gazed at her with an expression of earnestness and satisfaction; then, with a long breath, he turned slightly upon his side, and seemed to sleep quietly and naturally. He still held her hand, not re- laxing his hold when his eyes closed. " He'll come round all right now ! " cried the old woman, ai exultation. " He's past the crisis and has taken the right; turn." Poor Mrs. Rothermel trembled and wept with joy, bend- : ng down to kiss Dorla, and whispering she had saved him. " He hasn't noticed any one for more'n ten days now," went on the woman in attendance. " He hasn't heard if /ou shouted at him (she was shouting now it seemed to Dorla). He's been like the dead, but he's taken the right tarn. See how he sleeps there, like a baby, and hif A PERFECT ADONIS. 63 ayes are shut. He'll pull through now, you mark my words." There was no need to mark her words, it was enough to mark the changed and relaxed face on the pillow, and to Aear the even and regular breath that came from his lips. The house was in a tumult. One went to summon the doctor ; the mother was wild with the sudden hope ; even the phlegmatic old woman was restless with excitement. Only Dorla sat as if in a trance, holding the thin, heated hand in hers, feeling the mother's tears and kisses raining on her cheek, praying that God would hear her prayers, and not punish her for her cold and stony heart ; for she was not glad he was coming back to life. It was all like a dream. " I wish I had not come," she said to herself, and then asked God to forgive her, when she seemed to have saved a life by coming; when He seemed to be granting what she had been constantly asking for since since when? This time yesterday she had not heard that he was ill. It was not twenty-four hours since she had been quietly, and complacently, and comfortably at home, and it seemed as if she had been in trouble and perplexity for years, and as if she were now almost hardened and remorseless. It was night, and Dorla was alone in the spare-room of the house, which was unused, C(5id, and strange. A great fire was burning in the stove, but it seemed to make no im- pression upon the dead cold air of the room. The result most forcible to her senses, was an unfamiliar and disagree- able smell of heated iron, and a giddy moving sensation in the air, such as you see when the stove is between you and the daylight. She crept into the bed; it was like lying down in the sea and drawing the ice up around you. <( If I could get warm I really would not mind auy- uing," thought the poor girl, shivering. "If I only could 64 A PERFECT ADONIS. get warm, I really am so tired I know I could get asleep, without thinking of anything at all." There was a slight smell of kerosene oil which came from the lamp which she had just put out, and she buried her head in the icy pillow, with an irritated sense of misery. What was it to her, she thought, all the remorse, and ex- citement, and bewilderment she had gone through ? Noth ing if she could only get warm, and stop smelling disagree- able things. It was nothing to her that the doctor had pronounced this man likely to live, this man whom she had come a hundred miles to see, this man who had held her hand and called her Dorla, whose mother had wept upon her neck, and called her daughter, whose very neighbors had spoken to her as if she had loved him and had come to mourn him. It was nothing to her, all this entanglement and trouble, nothing, if she might once feel warm again and get asleep. Having suffered all she was capable of suffer- ing mentally, the carnal part of her took up the fight, and carried it on with i fierce rancor, It was almost dawn before she slept. n. |T vas nearly five o'clock, a soft lovely afternoon in May, and Dorla was on her knees in church, whsre she had been much and often of late. This was the last time that she would come, till she came to-morrow, to be married. Plenty of time she had had to think it over, since that dreary February day, when she had found George Rothermel was going to live, plenty of time, but not plenty of help; and her own miserable thoughts had always revolved in one dark circle. " I shall never be happy myself. Can I make others so ? Sacrifice is the best thing in the world. I have it in my power to benefit others by a sacrifice." Poor child. It is hard to fight these battles alone, and not always wise. That afternoon, in her agony of uncertainty, she had risen from her knees, and had cast so appealing a look towards the clergyman as he passed out of the church, that he had been startled and perplexed, and had half turned back to speak to her. But it was unconventional ; there were others yet in church. So, full of uncertainty also whether he had not mistaken the glance, he went away into the robing-room, and after he had laid aside his surplice, returned into the church, to find that every one else had gone, and Dorla had sunk again upon her knees. He lingered, wishing that she might look up, and give him a chance to speak to her. But there is such a barrier of ice between priest and jjeople conventionalities, customs, precedent. What young girl would not rather die than go to a distant, dignified gc ntleman for whom she has the veneration of girlhood for \niddle age, Df parishioner for pastor, and pour out her 66 A PERFECT ADON18. miserable heart and ask counsel ? He is a voice speaking to her from the clouds, and bringing her a blessing out of Heaven; but he knows no more of the state of her soul than if she had none. She has never heard of any one who has done the like befo e She does not knew what language to speak to him in ; she has never talked to him except in dist\nt courtesy before, and she does not know if he could understand her. She has always had to keep her own soul herself, and she does not know but that it is her duty to go on keeping it. If she were a criminal, prepar- ing for the scaffold, of Bourse she knows she would have the benefit of a clergyman to help her. It would be con- ventional and right for her to send for one, or for one to present himself and offer help. But being only a pooi young creature, trying to live well and to get ready to dw righteously, at an uncertain date, it may be presumptuous, or worse, ridiculous, to ask for counsel and for help. Undoubtedly it is her duty to live on generalities, and to govern her soul by the broad rules that are given out for the government of the hundreds of other souls in the same cure. Poor Dorla! There wasn't anybody else in the congregation condemned to marry George Rothermel to- morrow from a sense of duty ; and a little particular aid, in the rendering of the law of sacrifice, would have been like a draught of fresh water on a salt sea. As well expect a fever patient to take charge of his own case because he has heard many courses of lectures on medicine since he was a boy. Dorla had heard as many sermons, and read aa many " good books," as most persons of her age, and had a much stronger desire than most of them, to do what was right ; and yet she was on the brink of doing what was most unwise, nay, of what was absolutely wrong, because there was no one to tell her what was duty, and what was not, no one to show her what had blinded her and why she was so confused. And the only one to whom she would fcunij by reason of A PERFECT ADONIS. 67 her isolated position, was one who, by the cold rule of cus- tom and the age, was further off than any other. He longed to help her, longed to know what was going on in her heart, but there was no right by which he felt he could go to her, and ask such confidence, there had been no intercourse before that could sanction him in doing so ; the officer of the bank who paid her over her dividends would have been just as much entitled by precedent to penetrate to the sanctuary of her heart as he. " We are too far off from our people, we Anglicans," he said to himself as he took up his respectable hat and went away, leaving poor Dorla on her knees. w. Why don't they like me when 74: 4 PERFECT ADONIS. George and his mother do so much? sle wondered into cently. ^or-je was so devoted and so good to her, and so proud of her, she would have been a heathen if she had not begun to feel some kind of affection for him. He also had a good deal of delicacy, and did not bore her very much, and was so happy, he was willing to do all that any body asked of him, and that was a good deal, between his law and his farm. He had some tact, and soon saw what pleased her, what expressions to avoid, what occupations to keep out oi sight, what interests to assume. Added to this he was very good-looking, and had learned to dress himself in good taste ; she was less and less offended every day, and was gradually surrounded by the refinements that were necessary to her. If she had put it into words, she would have said, " How thankful I ought to be that I did my duty. Now I am really happy." It was indeed a pleasure to be worshipped and waited on by two such people as George and his mother ; and she felt all the time that without any effort of her own, she was making them entirely happy. And the little shadow of the neighbors' disapproval fell across her path but seldom. Thus June wore away ; and it was like being awakened out of a peaceful dream, when one afternoon early in July, Harriet Varian's shrill voice arrested her half way up the cliffs that rose from the orchard at the back of the house, and brought her down to level ground, and to the realization that the city influx had indeed begun. " Why, Dorla, child," cried Harriet, kissing her enthusias- tically, " we've been here since yesterday, and you haven't been to see us. I surely thought you would have been down before we were through breakfast." " I don't go to the village every day," said Dorla, with embarrassment, ct and I had not heard that you had x>me." " Why, what on earth do you do, if you don't go to tb A PERFECT ADONI8. 7fi tillage ? " Harriet asked. " I should think it woul d be the only thing to do. You must come and stay a few days * t the hotel with us after every body comes." " I couldn't think of that," said Dorla, h. rriedly. " But it's going to be really nice this year," said Harriett r ' Excellent people coming. We shall have a capital time Indeed a good many are here already, but things never get started for a week or two you see. You know you came just in the midst of it all last year. It does seem so funny Dorla, to think of your being married, and settled here, of all places in the world, and of all people in the world, to poor George Kothermel ! If anybody had told us last sum- mer, do you think we could have believed it possible. Ah! what droll things do happen ! " Doiia's very throat grew crimson as these words were spoken, of which Harriet made a note, for it was all she could see under the shade hat of her companion, and tried to turn the subject, but went back to it again from very fascination. " What do you do here all day long ? " she said again, looking curiously towards her. " Do ? why amuse myself and walk and drive as peo- ple generally do in the country," said Dorla, with some dig- nity. " O, then you're not busy, not occupied about about the ; ouse ? " " O, no ; I don't milk the cows, if you mean that, nor make ihe beds, nor bake the bread. Mrs. Rothermel is very fond of housekeeping, and she has two excellent servants, and I tun only in the way about those matters." " Ah," said Harriet much enlightened, (this had been one of the objects of her visit); "and you don't, really, now mind the country so very much ? " By the country she meant George Itothermel, marrying oelow her and marrying from a sense of duly, but Dorla mly chose to take it literally. T6 A PERFECT ADONIS. "Mind it," she exclaimed, "wh^ I think it is a paradise^ und I hope I may live here all my life." Harriet gave an exclamation of delight, and called her a plucky darling; she did not believe her exactly, but she liked to have people stand up to their colors, and she was glad to be relieved of a little weight that had rested on that part of her that she called her conscience. If Dorla declared she was so happy, there was an end of it forever. She gave her a little hug, and proceeded to ask her a great man} questions, and to be very curious in her inspection of every thing. Dorla felt it would have to be endured once, and it might as well be now as any time. So she answered pa- tiently, and explained the surroundings as well as she could. They walked leisurely through the orchard and garden, and came towards the house from the side. " What room is this," she asked. " Is it your parlor? And this, the sitting room ? And that's where the family sit ? " t( The family," said Dorla with a flush, " the family do you mean Mrs. Kothermel. She sits there, yes, sometimes so do I." " Oh, yes, of course. Now let us go and see the parlor."" Harriet was charmed with the parlor, with the porch, with the yard and the old trees in front. In fact she had begun to think of it as a delightful place, and to wonder whether Dorla wouldn't invite her often to make up parties and come out there to tea. She pressed her arm affectionately as this thought passed through her mind. " It is all charming," she said, " you are delightfully fixed, iind you'll have a lovely summer. Everybody at the hotel Is crazy to see you, and you'll be quite the rage." " O, thank you," returned Dorla rather curtly, " I've hau enough of rages." " O, nonsense. Don't talk that way," said Harriet, with slight embarrassment, and then hastened to change the sub- ject. " Now let me tell you my great news. Who do you think is coming in a day or two ? " A PERFECT ADONIS. 77 u 1 can't imagine, unless it is your brother. " Exactly. How came you to guess it ? Yes. Felix ia n the briny even now, and may be expected to appear at any moment." " How very nice for you. Your mother must be BC glad." " Yes ; I really never wanted to see him so much before. He has been away almost three years. And he is a great sensation already. Now if you had not got married, think how you would have been delighted with his coming ; the girls at the hotel are quite excited at the prospect you must know." " I can imagine it," said Dorla, with a smile. " Well, the ranks are thinned by one. I am sorry I cannot be counted." But she did not look sorry, Harriet thought ; and as she drove away she said to herself sagely, that it takes very little to please a woman with a sense of duty. And Dorla, as she was left alone, reflected that if Harriet Varian were to come there often, she should, persuade George to take her to some remoter wild, till the summer invasion was at an end and done. |AKRIET YARIAN did come there, every day, foi the next week ; Dorla found she must get used to it, and George, to her amazement, appeared to like it very much. For she brought a great many people with her, talked incessantly about the beauty of the place, and made George feel of some importance. A very pleasant way to be made to feel. It seemed a very fine thing to him to have two or three carriages before the gate every after- uoon, and to see fine ladies wandering over the yard and orchard, and to hear people in the village say they wew getting to be very gay. He begged Dorla to have a tea-party, and was chagrined 78 .1 PERFECT ADONIS. at her aversion. He wanted her to drive to the village every morning, and (f to see something of people." lie sent baskets of fruit to Mrs. Yarian and Mrs. Bishop, and seemed inclined to assume the duty of showing hospitality to all Milford and its dependencies. Dorla sighed and resigned herself. This was not the way of making him happy that she had promised herself, but she supposed it was a good discipline for her, and that her feelings were selfish. " It was very easy to make him happy when it was only to do as I liked. Now I'll try to be as amiable when it comes to doing as I don't like." At the end of a week a tea party had been forced upon her. " Only six or eight people to begin with, George. If we find it a success, it will be easy to have a larger one next week." George was full of interest about it, Mrs. Rothermel was full of care and business about it, and Dorla tried to be interested and be patient. It was a fine clear summer morning, and when she had watered her poor pining little ferns, and the languishing rhododendron that she had trans- planted from the hillside, she began to think that she had some preparations to make for the fete, and so she adjusted the parlor's toilet with many dainty little touches, and then went out into the garden and gathered an armful of roses and gay flowers and brought them in, putting them in a gorgeous heap upon a table before her, and then collect- ing all the empty vases and glasses, filled them with water, and set them on the table. The parlor looked very pretty ; the windows were open, and a little sunshino came in through the vines without and the muslin curtains within. Everything was so dainty and fair. She lelt very young and happy, notwithstanding the Impending toa-party ; she sang a little as she filled the vases. A.t last there came a sound she did not love, the sound of Harriet Varian's voice, accompanied by other voices, and the stopping of a vehicle outside the gate. A PERFECT ADONI& ft 1 I shall not go," she said, as she heard her name called ihrilly. " If she wants me, she will have to corne in to see me. No doubt there is somebody new she wants me to ask to-nigh tj but I shall not be imposed on. No one else shall come." After a moment more of calling, Harriet was heard open- ing the gate and running down the path. Not waiting to knock, she ran into the hall, and dropping her glasses off her nose when she saw Dorla, she hurried up and kissed her. She was more out of breath than usual. " Why didn't you come out," she said, with a little annoy- ance. " Quick ! call George and get your things on, we're going to the Ramonskill for the morning, and we want you and George to get the pony carriage and go with us. Come, there is no time to lose." " I can't go," said Dorla, " for George isn't here. Be- sides I go to the Ramonskill every day, and it isn't any nov- elty to me." "Nonsense ! It isn't to see the falls, but we've got a jolly party, and we'll have a good time. The Da vises are here, and the Bishops, and that new girl from Boston. And be- sides, Felix has come, and I want to have you see him." "Ah ! " said Dorla, with interest. "Felix! Oh, how glad you must be about it." " Yes, he's outside in the wagon with the others, and he promised to come in," she said, re-instating her glasses and peering out towards the gate. " I thought he was following me. He is so lazy." And she ran out and down the path to the great wagon, where three on a seat and closely packed, was gathered the beauty and chivalry of Milford. " Felix," she said, sharply, " you ought to be ashamed. Why didn't you come when I asked you to ? I don't know what she'll think of you." " But she is coming with us, and it's so early to make a all," said Felix, not moving from his seat. He was sitting by the new girl from Boston, who was very clever and suffi- ciently pretty, and was amusing him. ^ PERFECT ADONI8. " She isn't coming with us," exclaimed Harriet, impa- tiently. "And considering everything, it's the least you can do, to go in a moment and be introduced to her." " Mr. Varian has never seen her, or he wouldn't need a second invitation," said Mr. Bishop from the driver's seat. " It won't take you a moment. Come," urged Harriet, not giving up her ground. " It will, it will take me five," said Felix, quite unmoved. " Felix," remonstrated his sister in a lower tone, " I really am annoyed at this ; you might at least be civil to my friends." " That's always my intention, Harriet, but you have so many of them." " Well, then you won't get an invitation for the tea to- night, and you will be the loser." " O," cried the Boston girl with vigor, " go then, Mr. Varian, and we'll wait for you an hour. Go, for you must get an invitation for the tea to-night." There was a chorus of assent to this, and Felix with a little grimace, got out of the carriage, and followed his sister deliberately up the path, across the threshold, and into the hall. Harriet plunged into the parlor in her headlong way, and Felix stood at the parlor door, and looked in. Dorla got up from the table with its heaps of flowers j she still had a branch or two of roses in her hand, and she came a little forward, looking bright and interested, yet somewhat shy. Felix said quietly to himself, as he looked at her, " It is the prettiest creature that I ever came across," but aloud he said me pleasant commonplace, and then began to rummage in hist memory for all that his sister had told him of this one of her innumerable friends. The circumstances of her mar- riage came out gradually in his rnind, like a half developed photograph, as he went on talking, and his curiosity became quite keen. So keen, that for a moment he forgot himself and Harriet had to say twice : A PERFECT ADONIS. 81 w Isn't it a pity, Felix ; Dorla says she can not go nth m to-day." " A pity indeed. But surely, Mrs. Rothermel, you are no* going to lose this beautiful day in the house." " Why no, but Mr. Eothermel is not here, and I dare not drive myself, since a little accident that happened when 1 was driving alone last week." " But mayn't I drive you ? " he said quite eagerly, com- ing forward into the room. " O, thank you," she returned with a little hesitation, " that would be breaking up the party." " Not in the least. They will be glad of the extra room. The wagon is over-crowded. Mayn't we arrange it so ? " " Why yes," said Harriet, " that's the very thing. And we needn't wait for you. We'll go on, and you'll overtake us, for you'll drive so much faster than we do." ''But," said Dorla, blushing, "there's another thing; all the men are away on the farm, and there's nobody to harness Jenny." 11 O, we can manage that I'm sure," said Felix, firmly. " If you'll only show me the way to the stable, Jenny shall be ready in a moment." (f As to that," said Dorla relenting, " I believe there is a boy down below. the orchard, if we could only make him hear." " I am sure we could, Mrs. Rothermel. Shall we go and try?" " But about the >thers they'll think it very rude." " O, I'll make it all right. You come on as fast as you can," said Harriet, disappearing down the path. The young Bostonian was bitterly chagrined ; Felix had forgotten her clever existence, too much even to come back and apologise for his desertion. He lifted down Dorla's hat from a peg in the hall, and followed her out into the orchard. It was tbe perfection of a summer morning, cool in the shade, warm in the sun, with a fresh breeze from th< 62 ^ PERFEJT ADONIS. west, and a sky without a cloud. They walked across tht orchard, and then looked into the field beyond. " I don't see him," said Dorla, " I'm afraid we've had out trouble for nothing." " O, that would be hard indeed." "Well, but it would, if you had to harness the pony." " I like to harness ponies." A PERFECT ADCNIR. 87 Felix gave her singly, as they went out, she led the way down to the gate. Felix put her in the carriage, and ar- ranged the skirts of her pretty cambric dress, FX> that it should not touch the wheel, and then took his place besid her. A very light-hearted and happy pair, they bowled away. The summer morning was beautiful to them. Life at that moment a happy holiday affair. People called Felix a little blase; he did not look so now. They said young Mrs. Rothermel was too shy and too distraite to be absolutely pleasing. No one could say that of her to-day. It was a lovely drive along the river. Felix never for- got it ; it always came back to him in a glow of sunshine and verdant beauty. The broad valley before them was laughing with corn ; the cliffs above them were dark and green. They quite forgot they ought to hurry. Dorla saw some of her beloved ferns high up on some rocks beside the road, and Felix scrambled up to get them. While the road was even and hard, as it was along the river, they drove or rapidly with the soft wind in their faces ; but when they turned off, up the hill, they loitered and drove very lei- surely. The hill was so steep, Felix got out and walked be- side the little carriage, tenderly mindful of the interests of Jenny. There is a nice little view at one point, where you look over a mile of tree-tops, with a faint blue mountain glimpse beyond ; that they stopped and talked about. And Dorla told Felix why she liked it, though she had driven past it fifty times at least, and had never before felt that she wanted to talk to any one about it. And Felix, though it was but a month since he left Switzerland, felt in it a charm that all that land had lacked. The hill was steep, and though they were not in a hurry, at last the top was reached, and they turned into the grove where the horses are tied, and tr.3 wagons left on the way down to the falls. " TW wagon is not here," said Dorla, in a little conster- nation, hesitating to get out. " Where 3an they have gone ? '' a Perhaps they have left the wagon somewhere else,* 88 A PERFECT ADONIS. urged Felix, insisting upon her getting out, " we snail find them at tLe falls." " But they always tie the horses here," said Dorla. " It U the only place. I think it would be better to go back, 1 urn afraid they did not like it." " Depend upon it they are down below. Besides, being here, are we not wise to see the falls ? It's no novelty to you, but you know I've never seen them." So Jenny was tied to a tree, and they started down the Bteep path through the woods. Halfway down they found a piece of paper pinned upon a tree, informing them that the party had grown tired of waiting longer, and had gone home by the Brewery. It was a testy little document, signed by all the party excepting the young Boston woman, who disdained the pleasantry. Dorla was annoyed, and wanted to go back. " Now see," said Felix, " how foolish that would be, we cannot overtake them, we are within five minutes of the falls, and shall lose a pleasant walk by turning back be- cause they badgered us." So Dorla yielded, and they would have lost a pleasant walk by going back. Having dismissed the spectre of the waiting party, they gave themselves up to tha enjoyment of the moment. They went over the falla an 1 under the falls ; they followed the stream down farther th*n Dorla had ever followed it before ; they found a hun- dred charming spots that she had never seen before. It was so cool and sprayey and musical down below the rocks ; being high noon now, the cool and the spray were welcome ; they could not talk much the water made such a noise. It wa& a very steep path to get up again, and very slippery, for the ground was covered with pine needles ; but Felix had cut a stick for Dorla, and with that, and his hand at tbe worst places, she reached the plateau opposite the fall, und there they sat and rested. " And that is the bridal reiJ, undoubtedly," said Felix. w I wonder if there ever were falls that hadn't a faint A PERFECT ADONIS. * little misty one that they called the bridal veil?" said Dorla. " Co-extensive with* human discovery. A misty, chilly phenomenon loveliest in the distance." " Oh, no ! " said Dorla with a little hesitation. " Well, you have recent and reliable experience. I can only speculate," said her companion with a little shrug, at the same time he glanced quickly at her. She was silent and he saw a faint clouding of her face, a weary common- place look, as if the world were not so brilliant and gay after all ; in truth she was thinking of the incongruous, dull wedding party, and of the smell of fried oysters, and of the racket of the omnibuses and carriages past the house, on that day not two months past, when she had worn the chilly, misty phenomenon of which her companion spoke ; she did not think at all about George, or about anything but the ex- ternals of that dull occasion. Felix did not understand exactly, but he thought it was best to talk about something else at onc6, and the cloud passed away at the first word. All this took time the rocks, and the climbing, and the resting ; Dorla gave a little scream of horror when she saw the hour. " Two o'clock ! why, dinner is over and done in every house in Milford ! ' Whatever ' shall we do ? " " How material! " exclaimed Felix. " Are you so hungry then? For my part I had not thought of dinner." " But you ought to have thought of . it, and so ought I ; poor dear old Mrs. Rothermel ! she will be so unhappy." All this while Dorla was hurrying up the bank, quite out of breath ; but had to stop and rest and acknowledge she ras tired. She looked very pretty, standing with her hand on her heart, her hat fallen back, her cheeks flushed, and wanting for breath. " See how you have tired yourself, and how absurd it is," laid her companion. " Probably no one has thought about is since we've been away." He took off his straw hat, and leaning with one hand 90 A PERFECT ADONIS. against a tree, fanned her with it with the other. Hfi cheeks weie little flushed too with the exercise, but he dU not look tired. They left ** the woods so sweet with birch and fern," and seated once more in the little carriage, drove towards home. It was a very short drive after all, if one chose to make it so. When they reached the gate of the farm house, Dorla said with candor, " Dinner is never a very state affair with us, and less than ever to-day, I suppose, owing to the tea-party. But you will find it better than no dinner at all, or a cold one at the hotel ; so please come in and take it with me, the others wi 1 ! all have eaten theirs." That was a strong temptation ; and she presented to his fancy a tete-a-tete broiled chicken, some fresh vegetables and a glass of claret; possibly some whipped-cream and fruit. But he had a good deal of tact, and he did not want to see her wearied, and to be associated in her thoughts with any- thing mal a propos or uncomfortable. He said he dared not provoke Harriet any further, he must go and be reconciled to her, or she would forbid his coming to the tea that even- ing. "But you will take the pony," she said, as he tied her to the post. " Tim shall go down and bring her back. Please, you surely would not walk all that distance in the sun." He laughed, and said he should have to show her some notes of his walking tour last summer. Then lifting his hat he said good-bye, and she watched him from the porch as he walked rapidly down the road. O, what a happy morning ! She went singing into the house ; she laughed aloud when she saw the gaunt geraniums in their glass alone, and picked up with interest some roses that he had handed her, and she had dropped upon the floor. She threw her arms around her mother-in-law with unusual effusion, and begged her to forgive her for being so late, and ate her little dinner all %lone, as if she enjoyed it thoroughly. The tea-party be- came an interest and an excitement; she entered into thi A PERFECT ADONIS. $\ preparations for it keenly, arranging the flowers and the candles on the tables with her own hands, and giving the tervant many close instructions on the matter of her duty. She forgot all about poor George, and nearly ran over him in the hall, when she was coming down stairs with her arms full of table linen. He was delighted to see she was no longer a martyr, and tried to help her in every way she would permit. " Tell me about this Varian," he said, standing by her uiid holding the steps, while she put some ferns over a pic- ture. t( Oh, he's delightful ! " she said, " so clever, so handsome and so so easy to get acquainted with ; " for she began to think she had only been with him three hours and a half> and yet he seemed more of a friend to her than people she had known all her life, therefore it must be his characteris- tic that he was asy to get acquainted with. " A good deal of a swell, though, I've no doubt," said George, for he felt provincial, in prospect of meeting this* tra veiled creature. ' On the contrary," said Dorla, " he is most unpretend- ing ; he doesn't seem to be thinking of himself at all, but of the person to whom he talks, and he doesn't say anything about tlie places he has been to that tiresome way! Oh, I know you will like him ; I never liked anybody half so well in all my life before in such a little time." George shook his head ; he did not feel her confidence. Then she went to her room and tried to sleep a little while ; but it was not much use to try to sleep ; she was in a daz- zling gay dream whether she slept or waked. When she was dressed and ready to go down stairs, George came to the door and knocked. He had been afraid to disturb her be- tore, and he was net yet dressed himself. He told her she 'ooked lovely, and asked her to give him a kiss ; she gave it to him absent-mindedly and amiably, thinking, meanwhile, whether the hall w*uld be light onough with the lamp, or 92 A PERFECT ADON1& whether she had better not have candles too. George wai not dissatisfied, and went in to make his toilet in great con- tent of spirit. Dorla went to her mother-in-law's room, with some lace in her hand. That dear old lady was nervous about her appearance ; she knew the tea was nice, but she was not so sure about herself. "Now you look just as I want you to!" cried Dorla caressingly. " I am so glad ! Wait one moment ; you must wear this lace to please me. Your cap is quite perfect, pray believe me." She had had a handsome black silk dress made in honor of George's wedding (though she did not go to it), and that, and the fine lace, and the pretty cap, made her sweet old face quite picturesque. Still she was nervous, and that dis- turbed Dorla a little. She hoped George would not be ill at ease, It was so underbred to be so. In a little while he called her up-stairs again, to tie his cravat for him, and to tell him if he were " all right." She felt a little contempt for him, for she knew he was afraid of the criticism of " that Varian ; " and she gave him the kiss he asked for rather less cheerfully than at first. " Now, I do beg," she said, a little less gently than usual, " I do beg you won't be worried about things. Everything is well arranged, and will be nice. Leave it all to me, and try to act as if you were in somebody else's house." Easy advice to give, but very hard to put in practice ; and poor George wandered about the rooms with a troubled face, every few moments coming back to Dorla to tell her of his conviction that the dining-room would not be light enough, >r that the parlor lamp would smoke. "I've thought of all that, George," she said; "You needn't be afraid. It is all right." This was her house, Jhis was the hour of her reign. She felt herself quite capa- ble of doing her part well. It was an excitement and a pleasure % that she had never felt before. She had made up ^r raind just how her guests should be entertained, just A PERFECI ADON18. 93 what every one should do ; and she did not feel at all afraH of any of them, at least, while they were in the house. There was nothing more that she could possibly do, PO sh- Bat down quietly in the porch to wait for them. About half past seven o'clock, the guests arrived (they could not be said to assemble, for they came in one great wagon, which was the Milford fashion). All but Mr. Varian. Dorla felt a pang of disappointment when amid the crowd who came in at the same time, she did not see him. But Harriet relieved her mind. " Felix preferred to walk," she said. " He will soon be here, no doubt." Then the ladies all went up to Dorla's room, and Dorla entertained the gentlemen upon the porch. The evening was lovely. The sunset was still reflected in the valley before them, but the tall cliffs behind the house made it all in shadow. " It is pleasanter outside," said Dorla, " is it not ? " So they all stayed outside, where there were plenty of seats about the grass. Presently the ladies came down, and then she presented them to Mrs. Rothermel, and then she made her sit down in the porch, and kind, dis- criminating Mrs. Bishop sat beside her and talked to he/, and Dorla was free to walk about among the others. George was talking to some one quite placidly, but she saw that he was thoroughly uncomfortable. The Boston young woman, whose name was Grayson, was keenly watching her. The Davises, who had never seen her with her husband, were as curiously wistful as well-bred people can be. Oliver was there, and never took his eyes off her ; she saw it all. Pres- ently, Harriet, who had been hovering about the gate and looking down the road, said " There's Felix," and at the same moment, Felix entered upon the scene. Dorla went forward a step or two in a natural, bright manner, and wel- comed him, and saying quickly, " I want to present you to Mrs. Rothermel," led him up to the porch. That little cere- mony shortly over, she said " George," and moved .towardi him. He came, looking unmistakably ill at ease. 4 A PERFECT ADON18. " I want to introduce you to Mr. Varian." She tried not to feel that Felix was criticising him. After & few words she turned and left them, and asked Miss Grayson t come and see some rhododendron that she Jiad transplanted from the woods. And after five minutes, when they came back across the grass, she had the happiness of seeing George and Felix apparently on the best terms, George quite at case, and looking infinitely relieved. t( I knew he would like Liio," she said to herself. " Everybody does. Who could help it ! " But aloud she said, " O, Miss Grayson, I have done wrong to bring you on the grass ; it is damp already, and you are wearing slippers. We will keep to straight paths in the future. Let us take Mr. Davis, and go and see my rabbits ; by that time, I am sure it will be time for tea." Harriet and Oliver were exploring the orchard; all were sauntering about as they felt disposed. When they were summoned in to tea, it was quite twilight, and the bright lights of the house were welcome. The parlor was really very pretty, with its ferns and flowers and soft wax Ughts. They passed through this, into the dining-room. Every one was hungry, the things to eat delicious, the table extremely pretty. Dorla was perfectly satisfied, as she knew she should be. Her mother-in-law was fully occupied behind the tea-things, and overcame her trepidation. George had concluded to take his wife's advice, apparently, and forgot to be anxious, and became a little important instead, which suited the occasion better. Dorla was seated between old Mr. Davis and Mr. Bishop, while opposite were Felix and his friend, Miss Grayson. Doria was so much prettier than any body else ! No one could help noticing the difference. Shfe vas dressed in white, with a broad scarlet sash, and scarlet geraniums in her hair ; the very ones Felix believed that had looked so ungainly when he put them in great branches in the vase. She was twice as lovely as ever she had been last year, thought poor old-bachelory Oliver, and he could have gaasted his teeth if nobody had been looking, As it A PERFECT ADONIS. 95 was, he was doubly devoted to Miss Davis, who liked it very much and did not divine the cause. In the melee that followed their leaving the dining-room, Felix contrived to speak a word or two to Mrs. Rothermel, but only a word <\ two. " Collect Mrs. Bishop and Mrs. Varian for me," she salt?, " I want them to play whist." Then she herself went to collect Mr. Bishop and Mr. Davis pere, and George brought the whist table, and in half an hour after tea, these four were comfortably playing their beloved game. The younger people were scattered about the parlor and hall ; Miss Grayson and Felix were on the porch. Bye and bye they had some music. Miss Grayson came in and played, and Oliver sang some songs. Miss Grayson played quite remarkably ; it made everything else seem crude. She was quite willing to stay at the piano, with the con- sciousness that she was giving pleasure and excelling every one at the same time. Felix was fond of music and ho stayed beside her for a long while. At last she said she had heard that Mr. E-othermel sang ; she must insist that be sing something for them. Mrs. Rothermel was called upon to play his accompaniments. No ; for that Mrs. Ho therm el was too wise. " I play them so badly, that it would spoil the songs for every one, most of all for you, Miss Graysou. He shall take his guitar and go out in the moonlight, troubadour-fashion, and sing to us from the porch. Please, George, do that; it will sound so much better than if I play for you." And while George obeyed, she said with a little laugh, ' then we can listen or not as we feel inclined." It was very well done the songs did sound much better In that informal way, A ad disarmed criticism ; besides, he Bang twice as well, being from under the bright lights, and &e sharp eyes of a roomfull of people. Harriet was out- iide with him, Miss Davis and Mr. Oliver also. Miss Gray ion and young Davis sat in the window. The moonlight 96 <4 PERFECT ADONIS. was beautiful, and the air sweet with flowers. Felix came across to the sofa where Dorla sat alone. " You do not really play well ? " he said, taking a chair beside her. " Infamously. Sometime I will play for you, when no one else is here, that you may know I speak the truth." " Then you do not care about my opinion, that is clear, as much as for these people to whom you will not play to-night." " Well, not in the same way, certainly. It is true, I be- lieve, I would rather you knew I played badly, than Miss Grayson, or any of the rest ; in fact, I don't mind you know- ing it at all." " That is a doubtful sort of confidence. Am I to be flat- tered by it ? " " Well, that is impossible for me to say, for I have never thought about it before. I only tell you the facts as I find them in my mind." " I shall try to interpret them favorably to myself. Now I am going to pay you a compliment." " Are you ? Oh, how pleasant. I am listening." " Very well. There is no ambiguity about my facts. I think you very clever, and I find you play most skilfully upon one instrument, if not upon the one Miss Grayson does." "And what is it pray? For I cannot guess." " Why, the instrument that one might call Society what- ever part of it comes under your hand. You have a gift, believe me. I have watched you to-night with wonder. See how you have made every one do what you wanted. I almost t biink you've regulated the cards my mother has held ; but of ( ourse I can't be sure of that ! At any rate, you've put her with her back to the light, which always makes her tappy, and given her a good partner, which ensures success. And put a screen behind Mrs. Bishop's back, to relieve her mind from fear of draughts. And given Miss Davis permis- sion to sit in the moonlight with Mr. Oliver. And made A PERFECT ADONI8. 97 Miss Grayson's talent give everybody pleasure, beginning with herself. Besides asking your mother-in-law to wind those skeins of worsted for you (which you didn't want), to make her feel occupied and amused among the younger and gayer people. Yes, Mrs. Rothermel. We are your gamut, ai \ upon us you play." " Oh," said Dorla, laughing, " that may be true. But if it is, I must tell you this, that you are the only irresponsive note, so far, to-night. I have struck you three times, three times I'm sure, and not a sound elicited. For, once, I wanted you to urge Miss Grayson to play again, and you did not take the hint. And another time, I wanted you to make Harriet stop teasing Mr. Oliver; and the third, I wanted you to come and talk to me, for I was very tired of being pleasant to people that I did not care about." And she gave him a smile so bright, so innocent, so full of nameless flattery, that it looked like the perfection, of art. It had the effect upon Felix of making him silent for a mo- ment ; of almost taking away his breath. When he spoke again it was in a lower tone, almost a smothered one. He really did not understand her and he wanted to. "And how did you learn all this," he said. "I thought from Harriet's account you were a sort of nun, and knew nothing of the world." " Oh, to begin with, I beg you will discredit all Harriet's judgments of me. You and I know her too well to make it necessary to call her discrimination her strong point." "Yes. I admit she makes great mistakes in judgment. But I am only talking about her facts in this present case." " Ah, facts ! They are such tiresome things. I feel to- night as if there were no facts worth noticing besides moon light and Beethoven." " Then you do not mean to tell me how you learned to be so clever and to manage people so ? " " No, I'd rather you'd think it a gift as you said l>efore, We don't learn gifts." 98 -4 PERFECT ADONIS. '* No, but we begin to use them." " Well, I am beginning. To tell you tLe truth, 1his is my first essay. Harriet was right, I never had a chance before, nor felt the inclination." " I wonder whether Harriet was right about another thing she said. Will you tell me if I ask you ? " " Oh, I cannot promise," said Dorla, looking frightened. ' Harriet says so many random things." " Yes, I know; but I don't think this was a random thing she said. You can answer it, and I'm sure you will. She said you were a sort of nun, not only from want of expe- rience of the world, but from choice and deliberation. Is it so ? I want you to tell me ; really, I have a reason for wanting to know." The color came into her face, and she sat looking down, but not as if she were going to answer. " Why ? Cannot you even speak of such things to me, Mrs. Kothermel ? Am I such a sinner ? Well, perhaps I am, and perhaps I have not a right to talk about this to you ; but I confess I have a longing to know if there do live women who well there is no use in talking of it. I have been in a bad school. My mother and Harriet don't help me much by their example. I know them to be good and excellent in their way, but it's such a very worldly way ! It's unreasonable to ask people to govern themselves by higher rules, but somehow, you'd like to know that there were a few that did it, just for the exaltation of sentiment it would give you." " Felix ! " cried his mother. " Mr. Varian!" cried Mr. Bishop. "Come here, we have agreed to leave it to you. If you know your adversary holds a short suit, are you justified, etc., etc., etc." Felix went over with reluctant steps to the card table, and Doria sat silent and thoughtful with her eyes upon the floor. It was impossible for Felix to come back to her, for before the whist difficulty had approached solution, Mr. Oliver had come in and taken his place beside her, and A PERFECT ADONIS. ^ there had arisen a noisy consultation about the doings of the morrow, in which everybody talked at once; Dorla alone was silent. She was thinking, not about the picnic, but about Felix, and how sorry she was for him, and how she longed to talk to him about " such things," but did not dare to speak ! Whatever he might lack, she was sure it was not his fault, quite sure. When next she heard his voice, it was not gay and noisy like the rest, but subdued and quiet, just as it ought to have been, after the way he had begun to talk when he sat beside her, and he seemed quite indifferent about the picnic, which was such a matter of interest to all the rest. Where it should be, how it should be, what hour they had better start. What a tumult about nothing, or very nearly nothing. At last it was settled the hour, the edi- bles, the conveyances ; and it was time to go. At the last moment, George remembered he had some business that could not be put off that would take him to. Port Jervis in the morning. But Dorla mustn't lose it. " Dorla, couldn't you drive yourself? Such a coward as you've got to be. Well, Mr. Varian, maybe you won't mind driving her again to-morrow. We'll see that Tim's on hand to harness Jenny up." Mr. Varian would be very glad to do it ; and Miss Gray- son set her lips together, and Miss Davis shrugged her shoul- ders, and said to Mr. Oliver aside, it was such bad taste to break up the party in that way. It was against all Milford precedent to go in pony carriages to picnics or gregarious undertakings. Then they all said good-b^e in the moonlight j the older people drove home in the big wagon waiting 0,t the gate, and five of the j'oungar ones started off to walk. 100 A PERFECT ADON18. [HE next morning, the baskets that the deai old mother had been arranging stood on the dining- room table. Dorla was on her knees, packing some bottles in a pail of ice, when she heard Felix come in at the front door. She had been listening for him without knowing it, since breakfast-time. She started up, and ran out into the parlor. " O, come in," she said, " and tell me if this is not the best plan. To let Tim take these baskets to the woods for us, with one of the farm horses, and then let him stay and build the fire, and get some wood together, and make a sort of table. Picnics are so tiresome when you have to do everything ^yourself ; and besides, I am sure all these things could never be got into the pony carriage." Felix thought they certainly could not, and that Tim would be an acquisition. " And then," he said, " don't you think we had better start at once, and have no possible complaint about our keeping anybody waiting ? I see Jenny has ' her things ' on, as you'd say, and it will not take you very long to put on yours." " Oh, not five minutes," said she. And in eight minutes they were off, Tim being charged with the safe conduct of the baskets, and Mrs. Rothermel giving herself up to the safe starting of Tim. it was such a day as yesterday, only a little warmer ; the wind iu your face was softer and more velvety; you did not want to drive ao fast, or to walk with such determination, and you chose the shade. Still, it was not a hot day ; it was just perfect summer weather. When they reached the Conneshaugh, there was no token of the picnieers. They turned off from the wood road, into an unfrequented wagon track that led to the little valley. The boughs caught Dorla'a veil, and grated upon the top of Felix's straw hat. They down with a tbump into the dry bed of a stream, and A PERFECT ADONIS. 101 Dorla uttered a little scream and looked with solicitude at Jenny. " How are the others to get through here," she said, with some anxiety. " Perhaps they are braver," answered her companion. " However that may be, they have higher carriages, and that is more important than their moral qualities." " When Tim comes, I will get his axe and cut down some of the branches ; that will remedy the carriage difficulty." " And take his spade and fill up the bed of that brook ? That will perhaps assist the courage of my successors." " Well you see I did not tell him to bring a spade, I only advised an axe, dealing with material facts, and not with moral qualities." The valley was cool and lovely. It was now past noon, and the shadows were already stretching across it. It lay, a grassy plateau, surrounded on all sides by tall forest trees, the hill rising steeply from it ; a pretty little stream ran through it ; the grass was green and smooth as a pleasure ground. Felix and Dorla selected the best spot for the table, arranged some logs for seats, picked two or three big leaves full of raspberries, washed their stained hands in the cool brook, and then sat down to wait. " He cometh not," she said. passed through much festivity and has never been accused of scenic effect. You are always safe in a gray mohair." Dorla and Felix laughed ; such a light-hearted, merry laugh, Mrs. Bishop quite enjoyed it. " Dear Mrs. Bishop, I like you better than anybody in the world," said Dorla, putting some ferns in the battered old l sundown ' that that lady wore. (t Thank you, my dear," she returned, and though not given to caressing, she passed her hand affectionately over Dorla's pretty cheek. Dorla felt the look of admiration and the touch of affection, and they brightened for her the already bright hour. " Do you know," she said, making up the rest of the ferns into a bouquet de corsage for herself. (l Do you know, I never really enjoyed a picnic before ; this has been per- fect ; the ideal picnic. I am not tired or bored, and I have been tirer and bored before always." " What has made it different," said Mrs. Bishop, looking s.t her curiously. " Because there was champagne ? or wai foe coffee hotter than at other times ? " " tt can't be the chanrpagne entirely," said Dorla. " Foi 108 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. we had it last year more than once. (O, that maiden-half I've dropped. Thank you, Mr. Varian.) And the coffee was excellent that horrid day we spent at Dingman's just before we went away. No. Maybe it's the weather. It is such a perfect day." " Eighty-two in the shade, I'm sure, my dear. It must be ninety in the open road. Keally, it cannot be the weather." " Well, I don't know what it is. Only / don't think it is too warm. I love a thorough summer day." " And it's dusty too. You have forgotten that." " Dmsty ! Why, dear Mrs. Bishop, if it were ever so dusty we couldn't feel it in here. I am sure the dew never leaves the grass in this deep glade." " Well that accounts for it. I didn't know why I felt the heat so much. Damp heat is so much harder to bear than dry heat," " You are determined to find fault." " And I am sure there are mosquitoes." "Mrs. Bishop! Now that's unjust; the last thing to accuse poor Milford of. I don't believe you could get one if you advertised for it in the Milford Herald. It would be easier to get a bald eagle or a golden pheasant. I do like people to be just." " That is always what I aim to be, my child, and I am only trying to make you see that this picnic is not any better tlian ordinary picnics. I am trying to make you take the middle-aged view of it." t( But I am not middle-aged," said Dorla, plaintively, l< how can I." " That is true ; and that is what I want to bring you to. It isn't the picnic nor the day that is so delightful. It u pcu; and it is you because you're young." " O, but I was younger last year ; and things were not so delightful." Mrs. Bishop shrugged her middle-aged should- A PERFECT ADCNI& 10 ere, and turned to Felix, who lay silent on the grass, smok- ing and gazing into space. " Help us, Mr. Yarian, don't yon see how far we are from shore?" " You should have been more careful," he said. "It ia easier sometimes to get out to sea than to get back to land." " But throw me an oar in charity. Why is to-day's pic- nic so much better than other day's picnics ? Mrs. Rother- inel is a year older " " Perhaps that's the reason," he said, rather abruptly " Mrs. Rothermel is just learning to enjoy herself." " At that rate," cried Mrs. Bishop, " how happy I should be." " What is the use," exclaimed Felix, (f of trying to ana- lyze one's happiness. Finding out what it's made of does'nt help you to get it up again. You may be pretty sure of one thing what you enjoy to-day, you won't enjoy to-morrow. Either it won't come to you again, or you won't want it if it does come." " O, dismal ! " cried Dorla, stopping her ears. " I mean to enjoy every day this summer as I've enjoyed to-day, and to think every picnic nicer than the one before." " May it be so !" said Felix, who seemed to have a ghost of discontent flitting around him at the moment. " It is really disheartening," said Dorla, making a bouton- niere for him out of the tiniest of the ferns and a single wild rose. "I do not think you have enjoyed yourself at Jill. Here is a flower for you. I hope it will make you hap- pier." She tossed the little spray out to him, and it fell upon the ground beside him. He picked it up and put it in uis coat. "I did not say I had not enjoyed myself," he said, in rather a low voice. " But this does make me happier." He had almost forgotten Mrs. Bishop, but she, good soul, _ad not forgotten him. She quite enjoyed them both. Sh* 'aad l>ern very faithful to her Bishop for all the twenty-five !10 A PERFECT ADON18. years that she had been married to him, for she had never seen anybody that shejiked half so well, and hadn't, in fact, had much temptation. But she had very liberal ideas, and thought that a pretty young married woman had every right to her little romances, if she found amusement in them. She thought that Felix was very decidedly in love, which circumstance pleased her, for two reasons ; the first, that he was a man of the world, and it " served him right." The second, that Dorla was a sweet wild rose, whom she ap- proved; and that the greedy young women to whom Felix was an aspiration, were not sweet wild roses in any sense, and she was rather glad to see them overthrown. She did not quite understand Dorla ; but she was sure of one thing that Dorla had enjoyed the picnic very much. Soon, however, her attention to the little play at which she was assisting, was distracted from the harmless, pretty trifling of the talkers beside her : several others of the party ap- proached them. Miss Gray son, who was learned in ferns, was going up to the bed of the stream in search of some, accompanied by two or three Davises and Mr. Oliver. They made a detour with the purpose of breaking up the party in the pony carriage. Mr. Felix got very quickly off the grass as they approached. Dorla uttered a faint little sigh as she shook the last of the ferns off her lap : her " idea of happi- ness " was to have them ^tay away. " Why, how quiet you are over here," cried Mr. Oliver, who thought picnics should be attended with hilarity. ** You are having a stupid time, I am afraid." " Yes, " said Miss Gray son, maliciously, "you all have a look of being bored." "O no," exclaimed Dorla, with bright innocence, " in- (eed we are not bored. We have just been talking of it." " One needn't be Bacchanalian always to enjoy one's self," said young Davis, who had an irritated feeling about the jokfis and songs and loud talking that he had suffered for the lant four hoars. He thought to be sitting under coa A PERFECT ADONIS. Ill ahady trees, with just two people, one pretty, and one clever, was not a thing for a man to complain aboi.t. Miss Gray ion looked at Dorla and said, hardly : (f Mr. Rothermei is not here. Does he never join you in your excursions ? " ({ O, yes, often, and likes them so much." " What a pity he could not come to-day. We must give him longer notice next time we go. You are sure it doesn't bore him ? " " O, quite sure." " Then, let us bring him next time in place of Mr. Varian. For he looks so ennuyd, it really spoils my com- fort." Dorla laughed lightly, and looked at him. " Why, .1 don't think he does. Mr. Varian, what have you done to be so much commiserated ? " " He will have to sing a negro song, and burn his face scarlet over that hideous fire before he can be considered to have entered into the spirit of the thing," said Mr. Davis, mutinously. " Davis, I am afraid you are not the happy man you seem," said Felix. " That has a sound of discontent." " O, yes, I am happy, but I'm tired. " And the audacious young Davis threw himself down on the grass beside the carriage where Felix had been lying. " Mrs. Rothermei, mayn't I stay here and rest myself ? " " O, yes," said Dorla rather faintly. " I think you would all be wiser to stay. " " They are going for ferns; nothing would stop them. They are nob tired at all. " At the mention of ferns, Dorla tried to say something interested and civil to Miss Grayson, tfho stood near her. She told her something about the ferns that grew in the valley, and showed her one that she had found that morning. " But I want some aspidiwm, " said Miss Grayson, hard to satiffy. 1 12 A PERFECT ADONIS. " O, I had some in my hand not half an hour ago; " and Dork looked about the bottom of the carriage to find it among the remnants of her ferns. (t No, I am afraid it is all gone. It must have been in the little bunch I made for Mr. Varian. Mr. Varian, won't you come here a moment ? " For he had strayed off three or four steps and was talking to Miss Davis. He came very quickly, at the sound of her voice ; quicker than husbands and brothers and persons of that sort come; Yes, Mrs. Rothermel ? " " I am going to ask you to let me have back that little bouquet I made for you. There's a scrap of aspidium in it, that I want to give Miss Grayson : we can't find any more." He took it out very quickly and handed it to her ; twenty-seven, and man of the world as he was, he neverthe- less blushed a blush that there was no mistaking, and every one saw it but Dorla, who, intent upon conciliating Miss Grayson, thought of nothing but the scrap of fern which she was disengaging from the others. Felix was in a rage, and meant never to notice her again ; hardened creature, what did this mean ? The distracting coquetry of her words and man- ner when she gave it to him ; (t Here is a flower for you, I hope it will make you happier." And this cool matter-of fact way of asking for it back again before these people, and making such a fool of him, how should it ever be for given ? If he had been self-possessed enough to do it, he would have said something very stinging. But he was, for just once in his smooth life, utterly confounded, and could not command his voice. " Why, that is what the children call being an Indian giver !" cried Mrs. Bishop, who was very much perplexed. " O, yes, I know," said Dorla, smoothing out the fern, w and it oakes the children very angry, doesn't it ? But 1 tnew Mr. Varian's strong point was his temper, and that I *as very safe. There, Miss Grayson, now if you press that A PBRFEOT ADONIS. as soon as you get home, I think you'll have a very decent specimen." " O, thank you very much," said the bitterly-flavored Grayson. " But I'm really in doubt whether I ought to take it. Mr. Varian values it very much, I'm sure." " Not at all," he managed to say, confusedly, and with that general and humiliating confession of defeat, he turned away. " 0, that need not trouble you," said Dorla, innocently. " I'm afraid he doesn't know one fern from another ; it's prob- able he took it for a scrap of parsley, and I don't believe that he could tell the difference between clematis and wild-rose." " Well," said Miss Davis, " then we will give him a les- son. Mr. Varian, you shall go up these rocks with us, and learn all the clumsy names Miss G-rayson has to teach." " With pleasure," said Felix, going to Miss Grayson'a side ; he was very glad of an excuse to get away. His rage towards Dorla expressed itself in this alacrity. He could not believe she was not the most profound, the most unprin- cipled of coquettes, and yet he could not divine any cause he had given her, in their brief and golden friendship, to affront him in this way. He went off with Miss Grayson on the fern hunt, but he made rather an absent-minded and unprofit- able companion. He was continually going over in hia mind the possible causes that could have made Dorla treat him so ; he laughed bitterly at himself for being annoyed about it, and voted it served him right, at his age, for be- lieving in any one's sincerity. He assured himself the only thing that made him feel so sore about it, was the know- ledge that other people had witnessed his discomfiture. And then he pushed it away and became ardently interested in Miss Grayson and the ferns, and then he went back to it ugain, and grew absent-minded and random in his talk. Miss Grayson was a little sharp and shrewish when she found this out ; she and Miss Davis had both burned thei/ faces quite red in the sun, and they looked a little draggled A PERFECT ADONIS. and untidy wi';h their scrambling in the woods, and theu domestic service in the matter of the feast. Also they were a little tired and cross, and Mr. Oliver was a frightful bore to have as a companion all day long ; it was no wonder the climbing up the bed of the brook was a failure as far as pleasure was concerned. All were glad in the recesses of their hearts when it was proposed to go back to the pic- nic ground. Felix, as they drew near to the glade again, grew very silent, and filled his mind with conjectures about how he should find Dorla occupied, how she would receive him, how he should best show her his contemptuous indiffer- ence. He had been away an hour and a quarter; he had left her with young Davis stretched at her feet as her com- panion, and he was disposed to think Davis was inclined to be devoted. How should he find her ? Talking to Davis with the same sweetness and innocence (save the mark) with which she had favored him ? Perhaps she had given Davis a flower for his button-hole ; perhaps she had said, but this seemed the most beautiful of all. A PERFEVT ADONI8. 133 "Think of the people shut up in close dull rooms this beautiful afternoon," she said. " If they can't be out, I pity them but if they don't choose to be, I hold them in contempt," he answered, send ing a stone after a bird which of course he did not hit. " I should like to be a boy, fifteen my next birth-day, with a fishing-rod upon my shoulders, and a pocketful of worms for baii." " How about Latin grammar when the holiday was over, and six hours in a hot school-room out of the twenty- four ? " t( Latin grammar to the squirrels. I should be Tim ; nothing above that you may be sure. " " Well, then, you would be a bound boy." " Bound to Mrs. Rothermel." u Oh, yes. How kind I would be to you. I would tear;h you to spell on winter evenings by the kitchen fire." " ' While the girls are weaving baskets And the boys are shaping bows.' " " Yes : how pleasant it all sounds, but I'm afraid six even- bgs in the week of it would be a trifle dull. Country life has two sides I suppose." " Seriously, Mrs. Rothermel," said Felix, abruptly, " how 10 you think you are going to endure the winter here. I've been wondering whether you have ever thought about it." " Oh, what is the use of thinking," exclaimed Dorla, with a sudden half-smothered sigh. " I have my books. I like to be alone better than people generally do. Oh, I shall get on very well. Don't be sorry for me. I've made my ar- rangements to be extremely happy." " But you will come to the city, perhaps, for a month or two ? " " I don't know about that. I have not been very happy in the city. My life there was very dulL" 134 A PERFECT ADONIS. " But it need not be so always. You know a married woman can have many more liberties than a young girl can ; though I know that is not your way. You are very much afraid of having a good time." der that he won't mind me. There's more l to him ' as the Yankees say, than has come out. He wants a good sharp trouble, Master Felix does. And I sometimes wish it would come and settle him." " O, don't wish that ! " said Dorla, wincing. Things tome soon enough." " Well, maybe I need it too, as well as he. Yes, my dear, if anybody ever says \o you, I am a worldly woman nd ha^e brought up my children badly, you can tell thorn T know it, and have known it a good deal longei A PERFECT ADONIS. 4 139 than any body else. It was too late, though, before I found it out. And what with good health and prosperity, and the power to enjoy my easy life, I am just going on aa I have always gone ; and heaven knows when my reforma- tion is to come. It's hard not to wish things different for 'lie children, but fo-r myself I can bear whatever chances. I'm not a coward when the time comes. But this is idle talk. Here comes Felix for you, and I must be going in." She gathered up her yellow covered book and her fan and her shawl, and lumbered away into the house by the nearest door. Her voice had been husky and Dorla had seen tears in her eyes. It was so sudden and unexpected a manifesta- tion of feeling, that she was silent and abstracted even after Felix joined her. She had, more than is usual at her age, the power of entering into the feelings of others ; and even while the son talked to her, she was going back into the life of the mother, who had shown her for one moment her real heart. " What has my mother been saying to you," asked Felix, in a little while, quick to perceive her abstraction. " Nothing," returned Dorla, coloring. " Nothing of any moment." " But something you will not tell me," he said. " There is no reason I shouldn't, but it was nothing." For if the mother had sworn her on the Four Gospels, she could not have felt more bound than she did to keep that half-involuntary confidence sacred. She wondered whether Mrs. Varian had ever in her life said as much as that to any living being, and she had judged her rightly when she felt that she had not. That keen light, flashed for a moment into the depths of the worldly woman's regret and disappointment, troubled her imagination. How was it pos- sible, she thought, to live comfortably, nay, even with jollity, ever that dark abyss. Disappointment, she knew we all have to live through, but remorse, self-condemnation, that iras insupportable. " I have been a worldly woman, I havs 140 A PERFECT AEONTS. brought up my children badly." That was a failure. Who could bear such retrospect. And then she thought of the comfortable easy matron, with her novel and her foot-stool, her sharp tongue and her lazy wit, taking an interest in everything that was going on in the floating world about her, exacting about all her comforts, absorbed in the present moment; and the stricture at her heart relaxed; there must be some mistake, she could not have understood her words. " We are going over to the cottage bye and bye, for some stupid game or other. Harriet insists," said Felix. " I am sure you do not mean to call Twenty Questions stupid, and I suppose that is the game, for it is Harriet's great delight just now." "Do you like it?" " Better than any way we could have spent the evening, except perhaps, dancing." " And you would have liked dancing ? We will dance. Harriet shall give up for once." " I beg you, please do not speak to her about it. Let me tell you, I had rather play the game, really. I am too tired to dance." Felix sat down reluctantly. " She is so self-willed," he said. " Why could she not have asked you, before inviting those people, and making all the plans." " We are all self-willed I think, as far as that. Who doesn't like to entertain in her own way. And besides, it is always so difficult to get people to play for dancing. I don't wonder Harriet hates to be asking favors of those she doesn't like particularly." Felix looked at his companion as if he thought she were an angel, while she made these excuses for his trying sister. " I will tell you," he said. " We will make up for it to- norrow evening ; we will have a ball, and you shall dance whatever you please and as much as you please." " Whatever Miss Grayson pleases, and as much as we A PERFECT ADONI8. 141 can got music for, you mean. I have been at these balls before," said Dorla, rather languidly. " No," said Felix, " not that manner of ball. 1 will telegraph down to-night for music ; we will have some extra lamps put up in the ball-room j and who knows, some mild decorations. Fauchere shall make our ices, and all shall wear their finest clothes. You shall invite whom you think best, and it shall be your ball." Dorla gave a little exclamation of pleasure, (she was only twenty.) " Now that will be delightful. You are sure nothing else is going on ? " " Nothing. But if there were forty things, they should all give way, and you should have your ball." " Will Harriet take kindly to it ? " said Dorla, who always had misgivings. ce & good deal of the time. This was not particularly objectionable as every one else was talking. Oliver and Miss Davis were on thsir side, and rather led the game, and Dorla and Felix took very little interest in it. " Animal and vegetable king- dom," " yellowish-brown and white," " to sustain life, 51 ' poetic fiction," "present century," rolled meaninglessly trout their ears for some time. They were talking about who they should invite to-morrow. Finally, Dorla saw thej vere needed in the game, Miss Davis was getting fretful A PERFECT ADONIS. 143 and the other side triumphant. So she whispered to Felix, BO please attend to the game, and to get her the list of answers from the umpire. He got them for her. " It doesn't sound like much," she said, <( but let us try to think." Then after a moment, she whispered to him tc please ask what person or persons were principally connected with this yellowish-brown and white object. (For she had a great objection to hearing her own voice in an assemblage of over four persons.) Felix had not this objection, and asked aloud, after getting permission of the party. The answer after an agitating discussion, and much consultation, came. " Two men." " O, I think I know," she whispered, all excitement. Then Felix grew interested. " Tell me what you think it is," he said. "O, I am afraid it isn't right." " You're given to misgivings, I've remarked." " I know it; but just ask this question, and it will decide. Ask the rank of these two men." After a hot battle of rights over the matter, Harriet con- tending that the answer should be given separately respect- ing each man, so making two questions, and Oliver main- taining that they were bound to tell it all at once, the answer was given. " One man was in the lower rank of life, the other in a higher." " Now I do know," whispered Dorla, with enthusiasm. " It is the < One Fish Ball.' " " Shall I roar it through the hall," cried Felix, starting to his feet. There was dismay and confusion well concealed, in the opposite party. "Roar what through the hall," said Miss Grayson, *toutly. Your ODD Fish Ball," returned Felix. 144 A PERFECT ADONIS. " Do you make that as a guess," said Davis, with hypo critical eagerness. " Do you all agree ? Remember yon have but three." " We all agree," said Oliver. " Well, it is," said Davis. " At the sixth question ! " cried Felix, tauntingly. " O, it was pitiful," " It wasn't the sixth, it was th^e seventh," returned Harriet, angrily. " And somebody told. I know you didn't guess it." "Of course somebody told! Mrs. Rothermel told." " Don't be angry, Harriet," said Dorla. " I think it was easy to guess, don't you ? But very funny, and you played it very well." Harriet turned away from this soft pacifying, with a supreme contempt. " If you're going to play on your side you had better choose a subject." " It's early yet," said Felix, provokmgly. " You didn't waste much time, you know." t( What shall we have," said Dorla, all excitement. There were about nine people on each side. The nine on their side huddled together in close consultation. Mr. Oliver, who always approved of the hilarious, was in favor of the wax on Ah Sin's fingers, or the Sour Apple Tree on which the honored head of the late confederacy was to hang. " Too easily guessed," said Mrs. Bishop. Miss Davis and the younger Miss Whymple wanted Jack and Gill's pail, or the malt in the rat's stomach ; and Mrs. Whymple, who read historical works of a weak cast, proposed the dagger that somebody was killed with in the eleventh century. " Stupid," whispered Dorla. ' I never heard of him," said Felix. w Well you ought to," said Mrs. Whymple, seriously. " That may be," he returned, " but I protest against having my mind improved, or my ignorance exposed, in such * mixeu assembly." A PERFECT ADONIS. 145 3 We are tired of waiting," cried the other side. "We must decide on something," said Mr. Oliver, anxiously. "The mirror of the Lady of Shallot," whispered Dorla, in her companion's ear. " The very thing," he said. So he went among the others and told them that must be the subject, and it was acceptei without much demur. " I thought you would like some ' sweet thing ' out of Tennyson," she said, when he had come back and they had settled themselves into their places. The first questions went off rapidly and amicably. It was of the mineral kingdom ; it never really existed ; it was probably of an oblong shape ; it was probably two feet by a foot and a half in size ; its use was to convey intelligence ; it was heard of .in poetic fiction ; the person principally connected with it was a woman. " We are lost," 3aid Dorla, trembling with excitement. " I can see Harriet has caught the idea of it." " We will put her off," said Felix, confidently. Then tho color was asked. " Steel grey," the younger Whymple had begun to say, when Dorla, uttering a cry, flew down the room and stopped Uer. " Don't be such an idiot," she whispered, forgetting decency ; " they almost know now ; you would just be telling them." " I shall play a fair game," said the young woman muck Affronted. " It is steel grey." " It isn't," said Dorla, warmly, under her breath. " It vjn't any more steel grey than any other color. It reflects all colors ; it is one color one moment, another another." In a moment the line was doubled up, and there was a hot discussion, heads all together. Felix of course main tained Dork's rather questionable position ; so did Mr. Oliver and Mrs. Vp-rian. But the others declared them- 146 A PERFECT ADONlti. Belves unable to see it in that light. Dorla argued, hei eyes flashing she went on her knees beside Mrs. Bishop'a chair, and coaxed and reasoned as if her life depended on it. She put her hand on that of the stubborn Miss Why ru pie, and said " Dear Miss Whymple," in a tone that might have melted a heart of steel -grey granite. She finally conquered, and went back breathless to her seat, while the answer was given, " all the colors of the rainbow." "After all, it won't help us much," said Oliver " They'll be very stupid if they don't see through it." " We will at least die game," said Felix. Then the other side, convinced of foul play, were very rancorous and bitter, and would put no further question. " It was very easy to see they would get no honest answers." After they were mollified, and persuaded to go on, there was a forced peace, during one or two unimportant questions and responses. Then came the decisive one, " At what date was this poetic fiction written? " It was Mrs. Bishop's turn to answer ; she was beginning 10 speak, when Felix and Dorla flew upon her. " The fifteenth century," they put into her mouth. lf Now, upon my word, this is trampling on the rights of conscience," she exclaimed below her breath. lf It is bad enough to make us consent to say that black is white, and steei grey all the colors of the rainbow. But to say that Tennyson wrote in the fifteenth century ! that is a step too far." fl I did not know we had anything to do with Tennyson,*" said Felix, loftily. ft Dear Mrs. Bishop," whispered Dorla, sinking down on her knees and putting her arms in Mrs-. Bishop's lap, " Mr. Varian knows all about it. Just trust him. This legend is part of Sir Thomas Mallory's book ; he was a Welshman you know, and he \rrote in the fifteenth century. Tennyson wily v.scd it, like all those Round Table things. As he Fays, A PERFECT ADONIS. 14? ire haven't anything to do with Tennyson that I can see." " But how do I know some Welsh fellow wrote it ? " Baid Mrs. Bishop, dubiously, "and not Tennyson?" "Why, you know it because Mr. Yarian tells you so." " Are we to believe everything that Mr. Varian tells us then?" " I am sure I hope so," said Dorla, with emphasis. " I know I do, and I think it is a very little thing to ask of you, dear Mrs. Bishop; don't be obstinate. Just say this, and it will save us. They will never guess." " I should think not," said Mrs. Bishop with a groan. The scruples of all the others had to be overcome, and at last the answer was delivered. A damp chill fell upon the other party. They were more than half-way through the game, and had not the faintest clue. Harriet particularly was much out of temper, for she had been pretty sure that she had guessed it, and now she was quite at sea. As answer after answer put them further from the mark they became exasperated quite beyond good manners. They grew reckless, some lost interest, while the leaders lost temper. They grew very wild in their guesses, and wasted half their questions. " I have no patience with this sort of playing," said Harriet. " I never lost a game before." " There must be a beginning," said her brother. w But I have never played against this combination," and she shot an angry glance at Dorla, who was held responsible for all the trouble. It is very amusing to be on the winning side of a game uf twenty questions, and Dorla and Felix, and Miss Davis and Mr. Oliver were as merry as their opponents were irritable. The clock struck eleven , the last question had been answered, only one guess remained. The elders began to grow uneasy, and Mrs. Bishop actually put on her cloak. Harriet refused to give up ; the rest of the party were foi A PERFECT ADONIS in. Matters became serious ; Harriet was t'ery angry, Felix most exasperating. It had narrowed down to a family quarrel. " I beg you," said Dorla, getting frightened, aside to Felix, " do try to pacify her. I am sorry we have gone so far." Then Felix began to fear she might say something tha*. would wound Dorla, and he ceased his gibes, but did not help her with her guess. " Make haste, we must go," said Mrs. Whymple, who was getting sleepy. " We give up," said Davis, who was very tired. Then Felix called out the subject, over Harriet's protest, which was loud and sharp. There was of course a shout of deri- sion and rage, and a perfect clamor of voices upon this Every question was declared unfairly answered, and the sleepy ones woke up to wrath, and ior ten minutes no one could be heard above the clamor. Davis and Oliver closed m. single combat as it were, over the list of questions. Mrs. Bishop forgot how late it was in her eagerness to defend herself from the many accusations rained upon her. The younger Whymple almost cried at her older sister's reproaches, and said it was all Mrs. Rothermel. Even Mrs. Varian forgot how damp the floor was, and stood for many minutes by the door convincing Mr. Davis pere, low perfectly correct they were. " Let us escape," said Felix, putting Dorla's cloak on. " I think it is hardly safe for us to say a word." So they went over to the hotel, and waited for the arrival of the others, hoping time would heal their wounds. Mrs Varian came first, and told Dorla to come up with her. She was to occupy a room next Harriet's, and opposite to ners. Dorla waited till she heard Harriet come up, and then she opened her door, and said softly " Harriet, you'll forgive me, won't you ? " *' No, I won't," cried Harriet, in a fury, and slammed hef ioor shut in poor Dorla's very face. A PERFECT ADONIS. " There, there," cried the mother, laughing^, and kissed ihe visitor good-night apologetically. Certainly for damage to good manners there is nothing equal to a game of twenty questions. After breakfast, at which Harriet did not appear, and Mrs. Rothermel breakfasted between Felix and ais mother, it was arranged that Felix was to drive to Port Jervis for something that was needed for the " ball." Mrs. Yarian entered into the plans for this festivity with some interest, and promised to see that everyone was invited that should be, and said Harriet should help. Dorla looked doubtful at this, and Mrs. Yarian said they wouldn't tell her it was in Dorla's honor. "No, for I'm afraid she is my enemy for life," said Dorla. " Oh, nothing is for life with Harriet, except her temper," said her brother, tenderly. " Hush, Felix," said his mother, " you always provoke your sister. She's ten times as self-willed when you are here." " Well, that isn't very often. She has time to become very lovely while I am away." f( She is a great deal nicer when you are not here, how- ever you may laugh it off," repeated Mrs. Yarian. " Yes, that is quite true," said Dorla, very low, with a great look of soft reproach in her eyes. " Well, I'll reform," said Felix. I am in earnest. You will see." Mrs. Bishop was- sitting in the sun on the piazza, trying to get warm, and Dorla went to her for a few minutes. Felix took that occasion to ask his mother to get Mrs. Rotb- ermel to go to Port Jervis with him. " She'll be apt to think she ought to stay here with you and Harriet, if you don't propose it to her." "Felix, what wre you about," said his mother, lay. ing her hand upon his arm. " You know every one is talk- ing of this matter." 150 -4 PERFECT ADONIS. " Nonsense, mother. At your age to take such a thing KB fchis so seriously. * One would think you had been living in the woods." " Well, well, I suppose she is old enough to take care oi herself," said the easy-minded elder, smothering a move- ment of her sluggish conscience, but giving a little sigh, as she called Dorla to her. " Why don't you go down to Port Jervis with Felix ? ' she said. " I shall have to go over and sit with Mrs. Bishop for awhile at the cottage, as I promised her, and it will make it rather dull for you. Felix seems to think you' will enjoy the drive." " It is such a cool, fine morning," Felix said. Dorla brightened. She had had rather a depressed an- ticipation of a hotel morning, worsted-work and gossip. " I should like to go, but. would not Harriet enjoy it? and let me stay with you and Mrs. Bishop." " Oh, Harriet would not think of it. She abhors my trotting wagon, and besides she has an engagement for cro- quet ; I heard her speak of it last night." So Dorla went to drive. ''What is, the girl thinking about," muttered Mr. Bishop, somewhat troubled, as he saw them drive away ; " She is thinking of having a good time," said Mr. Davis pere, who was sunning himself in the same corner of the piazza. " She has not stopped to think," said Mrs. Bishop, with more insight, and a sensation of compassion. " Do you think it will make any difference when she does ? " asked Mr. Davis, with a cynical little laugh. " Yes," said Mrs. Bishop, thoughtfully. " I think it will, a great difference. But of course I can't be sure." The Whymple girls ran to look out of the parlor windows &t her, and were much chagrined. They hated her. " How absolu tely brazen, " they said to Mr. Oliver. " That young Varian is a reckless fellow, I'm afraid," said Oliver, for he must say something. A PERFECT ADONIS. 151 " Oh, I don't blame him," they cried in a breath. " He really could not help himself. She has no left him a momen to himself since he arrived." Pretty soon, Mrs. Varian came and told them about the dance, and that diverted their thoughts from Dorla for a lit- tle while. Every one was glad there was to be a dance, evei Miss Grayson, who was above it ; for it was something to look at and to talk about, if not to join in. The drive to Port Jervis was charming. Dorla buttoned her jaunty little driving sacque very close up in her throat, and even shivered a little when they started. But soon the sunshine grew warmer. And at Port Jervis they got out o< the wagon, and walked a little to get warm. Then they did their shopping ; that was very amusing, picking their way about the grimy little town, and going into shops where there was nothing that they wanted ; getting, principally, caramels and some wizened looking peaches, though they had come with a long list of other and more necessary things. " We shall have to give up Mrs. Variants worsted," said Dorla, pausing before a shop door. t( I don't believe they have it here." " No, I should think not," returned her companion, " ah it is a druggist's." " O, well, they confuse things so ; such mixtures. I am sure it is not strange that I mistook it for a milliner's." " I am not blaming you," said Felix. " No, but you are laughing at me, which is even worse," returned Dorla, coming down the steps in some confusion. The people in the shops looked after them ; it was not cften they saw any two so gifted with health and youth and beauty, and with fortune too. A poor girl sewing at a heavy machine, in a close, dark room, had come to the win- uow for a moment to breathe, and caught sight of the plume in Dorla's hat that had caught the sunlight. She leaned forward and saw her beautiful face, and her tall lithe figure, ind her happy look. 162 A PERFECT AVOWS " I am no older than she is," she thought bitterly, " and see the difference.^' And she went heavily back to her work when they were out of sight, and thought of her all day with envy. There was a parasol to be mended, and a watch to have a crystal on, and for these they had to wait, but the time did not seem long. It was somewhat after twelve when they were ready to go back, but the day was still so cool that it was pleasant driving. " You will not be too tired for this evening, I hope ? " said Felix, as they drove across the bridge. " I ought not to have brought you here, perhaps." " O, I shall not be tired. I shall rest to-morrow ; for these last few days I have not stopped to think or breathe. Do you see! I have been almost rushing. And I am not used to this sort of dissipation, and I shall stop to-morrow." " O, it is good for you," said Felix, rather uneasily; " do not stop to-morrow. We shall have something new for then." They reached the hotel just in time to go to dinner with Mrs. Yarian, who hadn't waited for them, but who happened to be just passing through the hall. Harriet was decidedly cold, but less offensive than they had dared to hope. After dinner, they sat awhile on the piazza, with a number of others, talking of the evening's entertainment. A favorable answer had come in the matter of the music ; the ball-room was being put in order even while they talked. " Now I must go home," said Dorla, getting up as the clock struck half-past three. " Mr. Yarian, am I going to walk, or are you going to drive me ? " " Exactly as if she owned him and his horse, and every- thing that belonged to him," muttered Miss Grayson, sotto voce to her nearest neighbor. When the horse had been brought around, and Dorla had come down stairs with her hat on, ready to go, Mrs. Yarian patted her on the shoulder, and gave her a motherly kiss, A PERFECT AJ)ON18. 153 and said she must look her prettiest for the evening. Mr Bishop put her in the wagon, and Mr. Davis paid her some old-gentleinanly compliment as they drove away ; and poo* Dorla was very happy, quite ignorant of all that was being said and thought about her. Felix tried to persuade her it was just the time for a lit- tle drive along the river, but this she resisted, only consent- ing to go the longest way, which was more than double the length of the ordinary route, because it was more shady (which it wasn't). The horse was as fresh as if he had not gone sixteen miles in the morning, and Felix thought Dorla was too. " But there will be no dancing for me if I do not rest," and then Felix consented to drive directly to the farm. At the gate she said good-bye to him, and went in the house. {( Why, George," she cried in surprise, meeting him upon the stairs, " you here ! I thought you were not coming till the evening train." He kissed her, and told her his business was over sooner than he thought, and now he was to be at home for a week or two, at least. (( Tell me all you have been doing," he said as they went up the stairs together. " George," she cried, clasping her hands over his arm, " I ha^e been having such a lovely time. And what do you think we are going to do to-night. Mr. Varian has tele- graphed for music, six pieces, and we are to have a dance and it is really to be my ball, though we don't say so, for Harriet is such a perverse thing, we can't depend upon her not to spoil it all." "Why, I thought you were great friends." " O, we were, but some miserable pique about playing twenty questions has put her in such an odious temper, you'd be ashamed of a child of ten years old that acted sa Bui no matter, she can't stop the dance." 154 A PERFECT ADONI8. " What are you going to wear ? " said George, interested, out feeling a little as if he were out in the cold. " My pink dress, don't you think so ? It is the prettiest thing I have, and the most dressy." " Did you miss me very much ? " said George, sitting down by the window, and keeping Dorla's hand. He was yearn- ing for a little sentiment, and something that belonged to him more than these high spirits. " O, yes that is," said truthful Dorla correcting her- Belf, " I should have done so if I hadn't gone down to the hotel. I thought I was going to have a dismal time all by myself in such a pouring storm. It was very kind of Har- riet to send for me, even if she did quarrel with me after- wards." " It seems an age since I was away," said George. " It does seem a good while, doesn't it ? so many things have happened." " I travelled all night," said George. " You did ? " said Dorla, " you must be tired to death. tk> and lie down, and take a rest, or you will not enjoy /ourself to-night. That's what I am going to do myself." But George would not lie down ; he closed the shutters for Dorla, and kissed her, and left her alone to sleep. She was really so tired that she fell fast asleep, and did not waken till half-past seven o'clock, when dear old Mrs. Roth- ermel came up with her tea ; then she lifted herself upon her elbow, and looked around the darkening room bewildered ; but everything came back in a moment in a rush of pleasure. She threw her arms around Mrs. Rothermel, and exclaimed, " You dear, good mother, to bring up my tea ! This is my last dissipation. I am going to be quiet to-morrow." Mrs. E-othermel kissed her, and told her she hoped noi,, Chat nothing pleased her so much as to see her happy George came up, and buttered her toast for her, and put th cream upon her berries. " Everybody is so good to me," thought Dorla, and she was so sweet and affectionate tha* A PERFECT AVONI8. 15fi George was supremely happy, and forgave her for being in such good spirits while he was away. The servants ah-ed and oh-ed when Dorla was, dressed, Old Mrs. Rothermel almost cried with excitement and joy, rla, with a shade of trouble on her face. ff Harriet says Uiy dross is too handsome to wear here." " It isn't," said Felix. " Harriet knows nothing about iress. You should always be magnificent. You know J think you ought to be a queen." She laughed a happy, innocent laugh, and the shade was nil gone from her face. They went gliding away in a waiiz, with the smile yet on her lips. The music was so delight fill ; it was such a pleasure to dance to it. The room waa A PERFECT ADON1'8 157 not crowded, there was plenty of space ; the air was fresfc and good, from many opened windows ; the lights were bright ; the dancing did not drag. " There is but one way for me not to have to give you up ; it is to keep you dancing all the time," s*id Felix, watching jealously the movements of young Davis, who had l>een thwarted in many efforts to get near her. When the evening was half over, Mrs. Whyrnple communi cated to Mrs. Bishop, sitting by her side, in the matrons' tow along the wall, that Mr. Varian had not danced with any other person all the evening ; she had counted, and had not missed a dance. Once Mrs. Rothermel had danced with Mr. Davis, and once with that young cousin of the Morrises, and Mr. Varian had stood aloof and watched her, and then darted up and claimed her the moment they had stopped. " What do you think of such a state of things as that," Mrs. Whymple said, with suppressed virtue in her voice. " At least they might regard appearances a little. 11 (( O, nonsense," said Mrs. Bishop, good-naturedly " They're young and thoughtless ; it's just the amusement of the moment. A month hence and they'll have forgotten all about each other." Still she looked a little troubled and wished in her heart that her favorite had had more discretion. " It's a tempta tion to have such an amiable piece of insignificance for a husband," she reflected, making an excuse for the younwn mechanically where he placed her chair, and drew her cloak about her ; the air was chilly after that of the ball-room, but she did not think about the cold. Felix stood near her, leaning against a post that supported the piazza. Neither of them Bpoke ; her face was white and fixed ; he could see that partly by the grey shrouded moonlight, and partly by the lamplight from the hall, for on account of this festivity the lamps had been put about abundantly. He knew very well why she looked so. He knew what his eyes had said to her, and that she had awakened from her dream and knew she loved him. His heart was full of passion ; he could not speak ; hia words would have choked him ; he could only stand and watch her face in silence. He was not even composed enough to wonder what would be the result ; he did not speculate upon her feelings. He was not glad or sorry that the moment had come that had revealed her heart to him and to herself; he aid not feel triumphant or alarmed ; he felt nothing but a hot passion that had risen above thought and apprehension and had covered everything. Dorla did not look at him ; you might have thought she did not remember he was there. With one hand holding the cloak about her throat, the other grasping the rail of the balcony, she sat perfectly still, gazing before her with a strange look that was both intent and vacant. But the hand that held her cloak rose and fell with the deep breath she drew. The street was very silent ; the village all asleep : a faint breeze stirred the trees, faint sounds of the music from the ball- room came up to them where they were. This poor young roman had unusual power to suffer. When another would lave seen only Ler love, or only her sin, or only the present, wie saw all, past, present and future the sin, the danger, the hopelessness. Her imagination was so intense in its power, there was nothing left unlighted by it. At on* 160 A PERFECT ADOm& instant she .was hard and bitter at the thought of the sacrifice that she had made so honestly and so fatally ; at another she was thrilled to the heart's core by the memory of the innocent happiness that had an hour ago been hers. She was going back into her childhood one moment into her bruised, wounded, unblest days ; at another, she was reaching forward to gaze at the cruel and impossible path that lay before her in the future. There was a great cry of reproach to Heaven, mingled with many cries for help. And foremost, and before all other things, stood the horrible form of sin. The purity of her nature, the whole teaching of her life, made a great white background for this awful shape. And all this in such stunning quick succession. It was such a moment since she had been happy ; it was such an abyss of sin and sorrow into which she had been plunged. More than half her soul was conscience. " It was not my fault ! " she cried in her agony. ' O, Save me ! Save me ! How came I here? How can I get out? Kill me ! anything to stop this pain save me ! save me ! save me ! " She was a coward in one way ; she was afraid of pain ; and to look forward to suffering set her brain on fire. Felix could not see all this on her ashy face. He was not think- ing of the sin, he was not thinking of the future ; his whole soul was filled with her, and it seemed, without the help of thought. How long it was they thus were there, neither of them ever knew ; bye and bye the near silence and the dis- tant sounds were broken by the approach of voices, people speaking as people speak in e very-day life. Dorla started and half arose as if she had been suddenly awakened from sleep. Felix moved uneasily and turned his glance from her to the door through which the voices came. Presently two persons appeared in the doorway. " What are you two doing here by yourselves ? " cried Harriet, shrilly. And then Dorla saw George beside her. Bhe got up quickly and went to his side, as if for protec don. A PERFECT ADONIS. 161 " I do not feel well," she baid, speaking like a person roused from night-mare. * l I want you to take me home." "Nonsense," said George, who seemed unusually ani- mated, " no one is going yet. They want a German, or a reel, or something to wind the evening up. Every one is asking for you." " Please don't, George," said Dorla, faintly, while Harriet exclaimed above her : " It's nonsense to talk of a German, of course ; you ought to have been at that an hour ago, if you had wanted it. But we'd better all go down and have a Lancers, or something short, and let it be understood that that's the end, and send the music off. You're very thoughtless, Felix ; you go away and leave no one to manage anything." "Yes, come, that's the best thing to do," said George. " Miss Harriet has promised to dance with me, and we want you two for our vis-a-vis." "I really don't feel well enough," said Dorla. "The room is so very warm." " O, we've had several more windows opened, and some of the people have gone, and it is very cool and nice," said Harriet, who meant to have her way. " But I will sit in the parlor and wait for you. I do not think I'd better " urged Dorla, with a last effort. " Why don't you excuse Mrs. Rothermel," said Felix, in a low voice. " I don't think she feels well enough to dance." The color rushed in a great flood over Dorla's face. It was the first time he had spoken since she knew the full, full truth. Then the blood went back again, and she felt {aint and giddy. " Will it be always so when I hear his voice?" she thought, in that cruel anticipation on which her mind was bent. " Why, my dear, you know it's only for a few minutes, und excitement always agrees with you," aaid her husband u But still if jou are not really able " 162 -4 PERFECT ADONIS, "O, come, Dorla, don't be sentimental," cried Harriet, starting forward. " You can generally bear as much as any one, if you want to do it. Come, let us wind up this pre- cious ball respectably, and then never have another." She pushed Dorla before her, and they all went down the stairs. When they reached the ball-room door, Harriet told Felix to go and tell the men to play a Lancers, and then she and George went in the room, and told the people what tc do, leaving Dorla alone in the entrance. Mr. Bishop seeing her look very pale, came and took her to a seat, and talked to her till the music began. He saw that there was some- thing amiss, but he was a good, kind man, and did not speculate ; and being unused to tragedy, thought it likely Harriet had been saying something disagreeable. Harriet was equal to anything when she wasn't pleased. The set was forming, and Felix came up and said, with his eyes on the ground " I believe we are to dance." Again the blood swept over her face, and back again to her heart. It is to be hoped that no one saw it, but Mrs. Whymple was sitting just be- hind them. Felix offered her his arm, but she did not ap- pear to see it, and they made their way to the top of the room, where their places were. The dance began. Very soon Felix saw his companion had need of all the help that he could give her. The eyes of all the room were on them ; the people sitting en spectateur around the wall, and the dancers in the set before them ; and Dorla saw and felt them all. Her poor face was pale ; the blood had settled in great spots about her throat and neck, her hand shook, and her eyes fell before the gaze that met her on every side. She could not command herself at all ; she forgot the figures in the iance ; she forgot to try even to speak to her companion. " This way ; you are to go over there now ; see, you must fcake Harriet's hand." This was all the sort of conversation thab ho attempted with her in that ghastly dance. He had but one though b that she would swoon beforo them all ano A PERFECT ADONIS. make a cruel scene. The necessity for taking care of iiei brought him to his senses, as perhaps nothing else would have done. He looked round upon the people with a defi- ant, easy air ; he chatted with his neighbors as he joined them in the dance ; he even asked Miss Whyople for & waltz, when the set was over. Bat there was a flush upon his cheek, a restlessness in his eye, a constraint in his man- ner, that he could not quite conceal from those that looked upon him critically. His mother knit her brows, and divided her solicitude between his affairs and a pain in hei left shoulder. " Poor lad," she thought. " He takes it a little hard. It's a miserable complication. She needn't have married that Rothermel at all. But maybe he wouldn't have cared for her if she hadn't." Then she wondered with equal ear- nestness if that pain were the result of those damp rooms, or if these late hours had upset her digestion in some degree. In any case she meant reform, and should apprise Harriet and Felix to be ready for a move, if in a day or two she found herself no better. " Health comes first," she thought, " and I shall try the sea." " What on earth's the matter with you, Dorla ? " cried Harriet, screwing up her eyes. "One would think you'd never danced a Lancers in your life." This shocked George, who heard it, quite beyond expres- sion, and he looked anxiously at Dorla, and said low, " Pray, look what you're about. You're making such mis- takes, and every one is noticing." This did not lessen her agitation. It seemed to her this horrible scene was to be gone through as a punishment for the vanity and joy with which she had been dancing all thf evening, and she was to be a spectacle now because she Uad desired to be admired before. She need not have blamed herself so much ; it is hard not to feel some pleasure when every one is gazing after you, and whispering, " What A "Scanty ! " It lies all back o^ *hat; not to put on voui 164: -4 PERFECT ADONIS. French dresses, and not to go to places where there's danc- ing and temptation. Finally, the set was over ; and some- bow she got her husband's arm, and made him take her from the room. He wished very sincerely he hadn't made hei dance, for it was evident that she hadn't done him any credit. He left her with Mrs. Bishop, while he went to see about the horses. 11 You poor child ! " said that kind lady, putting her hand on Dorla's. " You looked tired to death ; these late hours are too much for you." Dorla's voice choked, and she gave a kind of low, hysteric sob, as she clung to her companion's hand ; the voice of kindness touched her so. But that was soon counteracted by the tone of Mrs. Whymple, who pressed up to her side, and made a similar remark. Mrs. Bishop answered for her, and managed to save her till she could command herself. Then George came, and she went away with him, saying faint goodnight s to both. Felix went down to the carriage with her cloak, which he handed to George, but he did not go any nearer her, and only bowed to them as they drove away. It seemed to Dorla that they drove very slow, that the carriage was close and hot ; only of one thing she could not complain, and that was of the darkness. George was full of interest in the events of the evening ; told her of the envy of this one, of the admiration of that, what he had over- heard, what had been said to him, of that contretemps, of this success. She tried to listen to him, and to make some sort of answers. At last they were at-home. She went into the house and up the stairs before him. When he entered the room, she was tearing off the ornaments from her neck and arms, fiercely, as if she loathed them. He caught sight of a fracture in the lowest flounce of her beautiful dress^, and stooped, with many lamentations, to examine it. She almost kicked him away with her foot ; at least, she kicked die flounce away, and with it went his hand. He stepped hack, looking much annoyed, while Dorla flushed deeply A PERFECT ADONIS Mid said in a softened voice, "I bg your pardon, George, only I hate the dress so. You can't think how I hate it." Of course, George entered a remonstrance, and then she ceased to listen, and forgot to speak to him till she did something else to hurt him, and had to be humble and speak him fair again. In a little while she said, pushing her fswelry away into the box, and taking a candle in her hand, while her pretty dress dragged disarranged about her, u My head aches so, George, and I feel so restless, I am going to throw myself on the sofa in the spare-room, and sleep there to-night. It is so much cooler than in this room." " Cooler ! " cried George. " Why, it is cold to-night. I don't know what you're talking of." When she was fairly in the room, she slid the bolt ; she longed to barricade the door, to pile the furniture before it, to make sure that no one ever could get in. Then she walked restlessly across the room a few times, pushed up the window and leaned out and tried to get some relief from the fresh cold air. But though the night was grey and chill it did not ease the pain she felt. She drew back and pulled the blinds shut after her. Then with a sudden, fierce, IOTP cry of pain, she threw herself upon the sofa and hid her face in her hands. There is no use in analyzing such conflicts as these ; it does not take much imagination to follow one so placed through all the windings of her prison house; one could hardly suffer more and be alive. She thought of the dread- ful time when the news of George Rothermel's illness had been brought to her. That had seemed a conflict, but it was nothing when compared to this. Then the bitter days before her marriage, when she was resolving on the SA orifice. But she had never known what happiness was, and the sacrifice looked small; it is so easy to resolve to live for duty when you do not know what pleasure is. She had never fancied that she loved any one before ; had not wasted 166 ^ PEBFEOT ADONIS. her lieait in tliat miserable plagiarism of true pasion that occupies so many minds in youth. The full sense of surren- der to another, the perfect satisfaction, the complete feeling of companionship these had taken possession of her before she dreamed that they meant love. If she had not been so pure she could not have been so deceived ; if st.e had been looking out for emblems of that passion of which so many dream incessantly, she would not have been at a loss to find them. But she was like those children who learn their les- son in a play. The play was over ; in bewilderment she finds that written on her heart which all time cannot efface. It is so hard to be just to yourself in moments such as these, and to be just to fate. Dorla was apt to accuse her- self, was prone to think her own wrong-doing at the bottom of every trouble j she tortured herself to know what she had done to bring this on her. She looked back to the moment, sweeter from the first than all the moments that had gone before in all her life, when she first saw Felix. 8he went through all the hours that they had spent together, step by step ; a dangerous retrospect, if she had not been bent on self-accusation and remorse. She found herself guilty of vanity, of misspending her time, of shortened hours of devotion, of too much pleasure in the admiration excited by her beauty ; but more than this, even she could 7iot find. " How deadly a sin vanity must be," she thought," when it can bring one to such a strait as this." And then she could not help contrasting her life with those of the young women who surrounded her. It did not require much im- agination or much presumption to find them fuller of such sins than hers. " But that is not my business perhaps God means to help me to a higher place, through all thiu bitter chastisement." But this little bit of saintly wisdom did not at all comfort poor Dorla in her pink dress, and with her fleshly heart all wild with love for Felix. The k ouch of his hand, the sound of his voice, was more to hei A PERFECT ADON18. than all the palms and crowns of heaven. "Oh, why why I " she cried with incoherency, going back to the prob lem of temptation. " T would have been good without it. I meant to be good with all my heart. I did not bring him here. I never asked to see him. I had not a thought hut to serve God and to be a faithful wife to George." It ia very hard to be coherent when you are frantic with pain. The next moment she was thinking of the yellow curl of hair in the locket Harriet had lent her. She longed for it to have it in her hands, to keep it, to wear it ever. "But I must never touch it. 1 must never even look at it again," she moaned. Then she thought that he had nothing that she. had ever given him, nothing that she had touched, co keep and wear, in this long lifetime of separation that had come. Yes, there was a rose that had fallen from her dress to-night, that he had claimed and kept. Perhaps at that moment he had it in his hand, had held it to his lips ; for was not this hour to him what it was to her ? She covered her face with her hands as she felt the blood rushing through her veins with the bare thought of this. Then, starting up witli shame and horror, as she remembered her husband, she tore from her breast the sister rose that clung there still, and threw it from her with a sense of fear. " My God ! " she said, kneeling passionately with her forehead on the floor, " let me die if this cannot end. I ask, I pray to die, for there is not any other end." Poor child ! She could not believe that any other way could be made for her to escape ; it is difficult to have faith when temptation is upon you. When she was not fighting away the thought of thia inholy love, it seemed to her she was falling into the sin of cowardice, of want of trust in Heaven, of absolute and bias- pLemous reproach. She thought of all her prayers, of the aours upon her knees in church ; of all her supplica- tions to be guided, that had resulted in her marriage, tod sh9 felt her heart grow hard. Tnen she felt her 108 4 PERFECT ADONIS. helplessness, Iier utter ruin if she lost hei faith, and ah melted into tears and prayers again. But in all the tumuli of thoughts that came to her, this thought came not : namely, that she might go on in this sin in ever so disguised and subtle a form ; that she might be George's wife, and keep even in thought, even in the whispers of her secret heart, a place of love for Felix. This thought was impossible to her ; it did not even come into her mind. How to cast out this sin, and to free herself forever from its bondage, was her problem and her prayer. She found herself caught, trapped, in a deadly snare; as she writhed in the sudden torture her whole nature concentrated itself in the effort to escape. If she could have blotted Felix out from her mem- ory and from the future, she would have done it eagerly. She did not dally with the thought of him ; she feared him too much now ; she feared herself too much, " her evil, evil heart " poor child. She had that keen and terrible imagination though, that taught her it was not a work that could be done in one moment, at one will. " I shall have to meet him, I shall have to hear his name. I shall have to feel that he is alive and walking the samo earth with me, and suffering perhaps the same misery that I do." It was this thought that she found herself least able to endure : the companionship in suffering. It always ga^v 3 her the same thrill and rush of feeling that she had had when she first thought of him cherishing the rose that had fallen from her breast. " I must pray that he may be happy, and that he may marry ; maybe it would help me if he did." But a long space lay between that possibility and now. After fancying the poignant and suffering to -morrow, after groping blindly in the blank and dreary future years, sho came back pitifully and humbly to say her evening prayer her evening prayer, while the dawn was struggling through the shutters, and the birds were twittering about the vines outside. It was in keeping with the disarrange tnent aud discord of her life, ro more out of joint and A PERFEOT ADOHI8. 169 itrange than everything looked to her now. She got *ap and lit another candle from the dressing-table (for the one she had brought in with her had long since burned away without her notice), and kneeling down with her book of devotion in her hand, she said the prayers that she always said at night. This was the room to which she always came for her devotions, for it was seldom used, and on a little- table in the corner stood a cross, and by it, her books of prayer. She was worn out and quieted by the excess and length of her emotions ; and everything she did now seemed commonplace, yet strange, by the comparison. She turned over the pages of her book, and read a prayer " For Patience," and then one " In Temptation," and put a mark in at the place, with a humble sigh, knowing this must be daily praying now. Then she got up from her knees and took off her bright dress, and putting on a wrapper, brought a pillow and a blanket from the bed, and lay down on the sofa, putting out the light. She felt as people feel who have seen their dearest die, and yet live ; and who, after a few hours of passion, resume the dull and fettering routine, and go despairing on again. . | HE next day Harriet came ; and the next, the Bish- >ps and some other visitors from the hotel, but all hey heard was that Mrs. Rothermel was ill, and did not leave her room. And on the third day Dorla came down-stairs, and walked strangely and dreamily out into the open air again. It seemed to her a lifetime since the night she had gone panting up those stairs in her pink dress, with Buch a tumult of passion in her heart. Everything seemed old to her, old and worn out. Her limbs even ached and aiade her think of them, as she moved about. Her eyes had A sere, dull pain in them, as if she had shed all the tears that 170 A PERFECT ADONIS. a woman could shed while she lived. Her hands and feet were cold, and she pulled a cloak about her shoulders, which were so chilly she could not understand the brightness of the sunshine and the softness of the air. She looked into the parlor and wondered vaguely ho^ she could ever have seen anything to please her in that cheerless and uncolored room. Ann was dusting it, and putting it in heartless order. She told her to take the flowers away, for they were faded ; and no flowers after that went into those empty vases. Then she strayed out into the garden, hoping to get warm. The flowers that she had loved were blooming gorgeously along the path ; but she did not put out her hand to gather one. She saw them, but they gave her no pleasure, raised no feeling of interest in her mind. She passed the bed of ferns that she had watched and sheltered for so many weeks. They were withering and parched for water, but she did not go to get it, or send any one to bring it to them, as it was nothing to her whether they died or lived. All things seemed old and dull and lifeless. She had been patient when George caressed her, but vaguely glad when he had gone away ; gentle when his mother busied herself by un- necessary cares about her, but tired, tired of everything. She went into the porch, and sat down awhile, where the sun shone on the step. But presently she heard the sound of wheels, and that gave her a vague sense of fright and she got up and crawled away, down among the trees in the orchard. That was all the interest she seemed to have left in life, to hide herself, to get away from people. There was a seat in the orchard under one of the old trees. She went through the grass, and reached it and sat down. A favorite kitten followed her and sprang into her lap. " Poor little cat," she said and took it in her hands, more because it warmed her fingers than because she cared about it. The day was beautiful, soft and sunny; it gave one the sense Df the full bright flood of the summer rushing swiftly to its close ; there is such misery in being out of harmonj A PERFECT ADONIS. 171 irith nat ire ; in being frozen and chilled and heartless in the midst of such wealth of warmth and sunshine. Presently the kitten saw a moth fluttering above the grass and leaped away to get it, making a pretty play in her pursuit. Dorla's weary eyes followed but a few minutes and then tired. The orchard was at the very foot of the cliffs, the seat at the edge of the cliffs themselves ; a path led down from them about a stone's throw from where she sat, but it was little used, being very steep and rough. It was not long before she heard a stone rattling down from above, and then another, then steps and voices. Some one was coming down the path, was almost upon her. She rose to go, then sat down irreso- lutely. She could not escape except by running, and even then must be seen. And she really felt too weak to walk. Besides it was not likely to be any one she knew ; some stran- ger perhaps, who had been at the Peak, and had stumbled upon this path and followed it down, only knowing that it would lead him to the valley. It was not likely to be any of the hotel people, any of those who knew about her, for they were all gone to-day, according to George's report, on a distant expedition, from which they could not return till night-fall. George had wanted to go himself, had bewailed her illness, and seemed to be really disappointed. His inter- est and pleasure in the small gayeties of the place were on the increase. lie could not talk of anything else, and was al- most boyish in his gossip. " I want you to get well, Dorla, and we will have a fete. They are all expecting something, and we must make the effort." He was so much more endurable when he was quiet and grave. Dorla wished Harriet would leave him alone, and not get him wild about society. It made him seem so small and so provincial. The steps approached rapidly ; the voices were those of men; in a moment she recognized George's, and sat dowp quieted, for she had a second time arisen to get away. " J thought he went to the village," she thought languidly, and iid not even turn her head. 172 4 PERFECT ADONIS. " Why, Dorla, are you here," he said, coming up to her She turned as he spoke and looked up. With him waa Felix Varian. She got upon her feet, somehow, and her thought was flight. Impotent, silly thought. She grew very white again and sat down, not having opened her lips to speak, nor having looked a second time at him. " You're ill again," said George, in a disappointed, almost a vexed, voice. " I thought you were really better when I left you. I've been promising for you that we'd go to Brink Pond to-morrow. Here is Mr. Varian." f( Yes," said Dorla, and she panted as if she could not get her breath, looking down upon the grass below them. He stood before her with a deprecating, humbled, almost penitent look, that was mixed with an expression of alarm and dis- tress at her appearance. " I met Mr. Varian in the village," continued George, not at all abashed by Felix in these times, for he did not look anything of a swell, " and we concluded we'd take a stroll across the cliffs, and get our guns and go off for the day into the woods." "I am afraid we frightened you, coming down so sud- denly," said Felix, when he could command his voice, for he was, in his way, as agitated as poor weak Dorla was in hers. Satisfied and small-soul ed George went on and filled up all the gap with his discourse. He told Dorla how he had found Felix wandering about alone, having refused to go on the excursion, and by what steps they had been led to settle on the gunning expedition. It was plain he was a little elated with having Felix as his guest and companion for the day. " And now sit down," he said, motioning him to the seat by Dorla, " while I go on to the house and get the guns. For I'm sorry to tell you, we've got to go up that path again ; it's the shortest way into the woods." " I don't mind the climb at all," said Felix, sitting down, for what else could he do : " but I am afraid \ve are disturb- ing Mrs. Kothermel." A PmPECT ADONIS. 178 " O, no, we're not," said George, comfortably. " She' rery glad to have somebody to talk to ; aren't you, Dorla ? I won' t be gone five minutes " and away he started for the house. Dorla's very hands, as they lay helpless on her lap, were tinted with the crimson that had spread over her face and throat. Felix could hardly look at her ; he had no etfrontery now; but he knew that she had turned from pallid wnite to red, and that her breath was quick, and her lips parted. She was turned a little from him, as she had been sitting when he came, but she did not move an inch, did not stir, except as her breath came and went. He could hear the rustle of the silk lining of her cloak against the back of the seat on which she leaned, as these heavy, quick breaths came. It was a sound almost imperceptible to the sense ; but Felix heard, and felt it, even though his own pulses were rushing, and his hand unsteady. There was such a silence. Felix tried to speak, but his voice would not clear itself ; he sat looking before him, his straw hat in his lap, and in his hand a stem or two of wheat that he had pulled up in some field that they were passing. In the grass at their feet played the kitten ; she caught sight of the yellow wheat moving slightly in his haod, and she jumped at it, and fell, and jumped again. He stooped and put his hand upon her, stroked her, and lifted her up to his knee. " Poor little cat," he said, unsteadily ; and then he found his voice. Three minutes of the five that George had said he would be gone, had passed ; and he had not forgotten it. " I am sorry that you are not well," he said, and then he looked at her for an instant. Her eyes were on the ground ; she seemed to try to speak and failed, and then she said, not unlike herself, but with agitation : " It is nothing ; I think 1 am quite well." 11 1 wanted to know Harriet could not see you that "nade me think you might be really ill things always seen *oree Then YOU cannot hear the truth about them-" 174: -4 PERFECT ADONIS. This was incoherent, but Dorla understood it well enough, only too well. The kitten struggled out of his grasp and sprang down and gambolled about the grass, then came back to his feet, and rubbed herself against them to attract hii notice. He stooped down and stroked her, and said, without changing his attitude, as he continued absently to fondle her. " I am afraid you had got over -tired ; I've been ashamed of myself for being so thoughtless; but I hope you're not going to be any the worse for it any time." " No," said Dorla, almost steadily, as she drew a quick breath, and looked away over the wide, sunny fields. " I hope I shall not be ; but I am not very strong, somehow, and I must be more quiet. I am going to be." " Of course," he said, glancing half frightened at her, for there was a depth of resolution in her tone, of which she was unconscious. u But it is good for you to be in the open air. You surely are not going to shut yourself up in that house." " No I always am a great deal out of doors, but I can- not go on excursions and such things and I hope that George that Mr. Rothermel will not promise for me that I will, for I cannot go. Indeed I am not strong enough. And I hope they will not be sending down for me." This she said hurriedly and almost inaudibly. " I will not let Harriet bother you any more," he said, in a low tone. " But I am very sorry. I shall miss that is I mean it was very pleasant all those days " That terrible scourge of blood flamed again all over poor Dorla's face and throat ; and a deep dark flush mounted to her companion's very brow, and suffocated his voice. Not another word was said, and it was several minutes before George came back from the house ; unsuspecting, poor small soul, the demon that his absence had called up. He wa& not very quick in reading faces, and he saw nothing in those before him to excite unusual interest. Dorla indeed, made i movement as if relieved and glad to have him come. But A PERFECT ADON13. 175 lhat was no more than was natural, surely. She got up a* he approached with the guns in his hand, and so did Felix. " Sit down," he said. " Yarian, I've told them to bring as out some sherry and a biscuit, for we won't get back to dinner at the ordinary time." " I will go in and see about it," said Dor la, faintly, turn ing towards the house. " No, no, stay," he said, pointing to her seat. " Stay and see us off. Mother is attending to it. There's nothing you can do." " But I was going into the house anyway," said Dorla, hurriedly. " I am feeling tired good-bye." She tried to glance back at both of them as she said this, but her eyes never reached beyond the level of the seat on which they had been sitting, and she looked so faint and giddy and her movement was so unsteady, that Felix could not help start- ing forward as if to offer her his arm. Then he drew back and half turned away. George said, " Don't you feel well, Dorla ? Shan't I go in with you ? " " No," she said, hurriedly, already several steps away ; and George, for the moment much more interested in his guns and in his guest, began to talk about them. if This is a Man ton that my father had when he was a young man ; and this is a gun I bought before I went to college, both fair pieces in their way. You must take your choice. I'm sorry we haven't any better." George felt very conscious of the importance of the fact that his father had had a Manton, and that he had been to sollege, and he could not be expected to know that Felix was not listening to him, but was watching covertly the progress of Dorla to the house. On her way she passed the servant carrying the tray of luncheon ; to which she did not Beem to give a glance, and Felix saw her disappear into the house. Then he wished the guns and tho luncheon and the lost at the bottom of tho sea, and raged inwardly at the bon- 176 ^ PERFECT ADON18. dage he was in to them. But soon he reflected it was part of the matter that he should come back there to dinner, and so he managed to be as " mild mannered a gentleman " as was befitting and was wise. At four o'clock that afternoon, old Mrs. Rothermel came bustling into Dorla's room (a faint bustle to be sure, for she was always gentle and unoffending), and said, " Come, my dear, they have got back, and the dinner is going on the table, and George is asking for you." " I can't go down, dear mother, really I cannot. Make some excuse for me to George." " I am afraid, dear, it will hurt his feelings if you don't. He seemed to think it odd you weren't down looking out for them." " He has forgotten that I am not well. Say that to him ; and that I am lying down to rest." ^ " He's so afraid of offending this young gentleman," said the mother, doubtfully. " He needn't be afraid," returned Dorla, turning her scornful face down on*the pillow for an instant, then raising it, kissed her mother-in-law. " You know I would, if it were possible, dear mother. Tell George so, if he asks about me." " Do you think he will expect me to be at the table with them ? " asked the mother, hesitatingly, still in awe of the city people when called upon to meet them. "No, I should think not," said Dorla. "They know we've had our dinner hours ago. Only see that Ann takes them everything in order." "O i I'll see to that," said the mother. "Everything is very nice; but I never know about city people's ways." " Don't be afraid," said Dorla. " Your ways are good enough for any one." Then the mother, comforted, went down stairs, and Dorla heard her going softly to the dining-room to make sure that nothing was out of order or wanting to the comfort of het beloved George. The dinner at which she had been at work A PELFECT ADONIS. 177 for hours, WAS going hot on the daintily spread table ; and soon Dorla heard George and Felix enter the room. She got up and crept to the door, and shut it ; she did not want to hear, nor to remember who was in the house. She went back to the bed, and lay down, and tried to read Scupoli'a book. It had been dear to her, and sacred in the times past, but now it failed to touch or reach her. She turned back to the little memoir in the front of it, and read that ; and something in it swelled her heart with something like feeling. She thought of that dear servant of God,' in his frightful combat of twenty-five years' length, and of the reality of his victory, and of the patience with which he had lain down beneath the rod, and given up all earthly hope and com- fort. Here was something tangible ; what seemed so impos- sible to her had been done. " This is what I must do I must read people's lives that nave conquered ; I am too hungry and wild to bear with maxims and sentiments ; I must see what has been done." And sitting up, with eager, feverish hand, she wrote out a list of books that she meant to read. Some she had, and some she meant to send for. She wrote the letter ordering them ; then searched for the ones she had ; then went back to the bed, and at last, tired out by the effort, fell asleep for a little while. When she waked, it was almost twilight ; she started up, uncertain of the hour and place ; she went to the window ; a sound of voices on the porch below, and the scent of cigars, told her that Felix was not yet gone, and that she had not out-slept temptation. Then she went away, and threw her- self upon her knees, and wept and wondered when it would ever, ever end. Bye and bye her mother-in-law came up f and Dorla clung to her almost piteously in her loneliness. She longed so to speak to some one ; she was one who could have really lightened her burden by speech. But here was the kindest, tenderest soul, and she must never ask her to pity her, and must never let her know what she endured. 178 A PERFECI ADONIS. *' Stay ap here a little while," she said, for she was grow* ing afraid of herself, "and let us talk a little, I'm so lonely." " My dear ! " said the mother, with solicitude, " I've been wanting to come up, but I was afraid of troubling you. I thought you wanted to be alone." " I don't want to, now," said Dorla, restlessly. f( It's so weary to think the same things all day long. Let's talk about what we're going to do. Mother, I want to tell you something. I feel I shall be happier if I have something to do. I want you to teach me to do something useful, to be busy in the house. You see it is my duty." " O, my dear ! You are not fit to do this sort of thing. You had better leave all that to me. You know I can't da anything better." " Nor can I," said Dorla. " I am of no use to any one in the world, and am a torment to myself. O, don't say no to that ; you don't know. But I am going to learn to be use- ful. You shall teach me to cook things. Let me see. To- morrow morning we'll begin. You'll show me after break- fast, just how, to the very least thing, you get every thing made for dinner, and I'm going to have a blank book I'll take my new journal I'm never going to use it any more and write down everything. Yes and we'll look over the towels, and sheets, and all the linen and make lists. It's very good to have lists, isn't it? I think I've heard it was." " I never had any," said Mrs. Rothermel, meekly. " I always remembered." " O, I am sure I couldn't, and now I'm going to helj; about the housekeeping; don't you think it would be better ? " " Perhaps it would," Mrs. Kothermel said, with a little igh, very much bewildered. " Then we vill have regular sets of everything, and them out just so often. And don't you want me to A PERFECT ADONIS. 179 keep the accounts for you, mother? I could do that, you know," " O, my dear, George does that ; he always has done it lince his father died." " But I could relieve him, maybe." " He likes it, my dear ; I think it would trouble him to give it up, and he hasn't very much to do, you know." Dorla sighed; she did not see that she was very much needed in the household, but she determined to keep up her effort, and talked and made plans till her mother, poor lady, was much oppressed by it. All this time she was trying not to hear the voices in the porch below : trying not to think that Felix was watching for her. When at last she heard the gate shut, and knew that he was gone, the relief was so great she could have cried. She had felt his nearness, and had held herself in such sharp tension, it was like resting after suffering. The next morning she went about her plan of work. But, poor child, she had not much heart in it. She was so weary, and alas, so easily irritated. It seemed to her she hated all who came near her, even her dear, old mother. The details of her work were endless ; she had never dreamed there were so many steps to be taken, so much work to be done about one paltry, simple, country meal. Six things to be remembered about making an insignifi- cant custard, and ten, twenty, about stuffing and roasting a pair of fowls. And all the time her mother looked troubled, and the servants were quite thrown out of their course, and she knew she was very much in the way. But shs ]rsevered for several hours, and wrote down all the \ ainteresting details in her memorandum book, and made her head ache cruelly. She went to bed, and of course, could aot eat any of the dinner, and it was so much less good than usual, owing to the many cooks, that George was a little >ut of temper. In +he afternoon, he took her to drive ; when they go< 180 A PERFECT ADONI8. back, Tim told him Mr. Yarian had been there to take him out with his " fast horse." Tim thought it a great pity he was out ; he shared in George's admiration for the fast horse and Mr. Varian. Felix had given him some money, and Tim was not accustomed to the gifts of fortune. In the evening, George went to the village, not quite reconciled to the idea that Dorla was not well enough to go. He came back in high spirits, having evidently been patted on the back by the gay people, and full of messages for Doria, inquiries and regrets. He was replete with gossip and plans of gaiety. " Really, Dorla, you must exert yourself a little ; we're falling all behind, my dear. You know you're always better for excitement. All you want is the energy to make the effort. I never saw you look better than you did last week, and you kept going all the time." He had made an engagement to go out with Yarian gun- ning in the morning ; Yarian would be down at nine o'clock, and they would be back to dinner, probably, at four. George was talking, as he pulled off his boots, about what had better be made for dinner, as if it was a very important matter. " Something better than we had to-day, I hope," he said. " I'd never hold up my head again, if Yarian chanced on such a wretched failure." In the morning Dorla did not get up, and had a cup of tea brought to her room. The two men went away at half- past nine ; she heard all the preparations, all the talking in the hall below ; for everything was so still about the place, and the door would not keep out the sound. After they had gone, she got up and dressed, and went down to her weary lesson in the kitchen. This time she only looked on, and did not ask to give any practical assistance. At one o'clock she had a light dinner with her mother-in-law, the strength of the kitchen being reserved for the four o'clock repast, and it half-past three, according to a plan she had formed the A PERFECT ADONIS. 1S1 bight before, she got into the pony-carriage, and Irove her- self towards Dingman's. George's last commanc had been that they should be ready for him at four. Mrs. Rothermel looked doubtful and unhappy at Dorla's going out, but that could not be helped. She should make the best of it to George, but the could not think what it all meant. To be sure Dorla was going on an errand of mercy, so to speak t but why she should not nave cnosen some other day and hour troubled her extremely. Dorla got into the little carriage, shaking all over wih fear. She was a coward, and she had no confidence in Jenny. Her lips were white, and her hands and feet were cold. She longed to take Tim at the last moment ; but Tim had orders from George to be " on hand " at four o'clock, and besides the carriage held but two, and her present busi- ness was to take a sick girl out to drive. " If I break her neck it will be doubtful charity," thought Dorla, as she started down the hill, hardly seeing the way before her for her dazzled fear. But Jenny went very soberly, and before she reached the small house by the roadside, where the girl Jived, she felt more steady in nerve. This girl was the only object of charity poor Dorla could find in all the country. She had been faithful in her visits to her, rather over-doing the matter in fact ; but what are people to do when the poor appear to have ceased out of the land ? Nobody wanted anything ; it was very hard on her. She was very glad there were so many ferns ; but she would have liked a few poor people. These were her reflections when she was first acquainting herself with her new home. Melvina, as a sole object of her sympathy, was miserably un- interesting. She was very ill to be sure, but very wearisome in talking of her illness, very selfish, and possessing no fine feelings. She would not read the good little books Dorla brought her, but preferred illustrated papers and very com- mon ones at that. She did not appreciate the bouquet* Dorla made for her, and would eat things that were very in- 182 A PERFECT ADONIS. digestible. She did not dare to sing her hymns, for some of the family were always in the room, and were very unde- votional. She finally gave up all attempts upon her soul, and confined herself to bringing her good things to eat, and taking her out to drive occasionally. This drive was a long promised and important one ; many times it had been planned but the invalid had not been well enough to go. To-day was one of her good days, and she had sent word by the mes- senger that she would be ready. They were to go to Ding- man's, cross the ferry, and spend the afternoon at the house of a married sister of the girl's in " Jersey," returning before evening. It was quite an event in the family ; poor Melvina had not been to her sister's in two years, and would in all probability never go again. She was feverishly excited (and rather cross) when Dorla drove up to the door. Her sharp- voiced mother, and her idle half-grown brothers and sisters shared in the excitement and the crossness. They did not treat Dorla with any particular courtesy or respect, after the man- ner of Americans on their native heath, and she always felt much abashed in their presence and not at all comfortable. She was very glad to get away. " Now, Melvina, we are going to have a nice time," she said, cheerfully, as they started off. " I don't know about that," said the girl, ungraciously. " If the sun comes out hot, it's sure to make my head ache awful ; and I never liked those ferries." Dorla laughed ; Melvina must have such a funny code of manners, it amused her to think of persons who could as a rule, say such things to those who were bestowing favors on them. It grew rather tiresome after awhile, but there was, amid her fretfulness and the trouble occasioned by her really luffering state, an occasional touch of pathos in her eager in- terest in some land-mark, familiar and forgotten by those that passed it every day, in her evident strangeness to these scenes immediately surrounding her poor home. For three A PERFECT ADONIS. 183 jrears she bad been bound to a be I of pain, in that wi-etched place, and had forgotten many details in all that weary time j how wide the river was at one point, how "scant" the brook seemed as they crossed the bridge over the Conne- shaugh, how close the trees grew to the road. It gave Dorla a pang to think this was, with scarcely a doubt, the last earthly journey that the poor soul would ever go, and so unready for the unearthly one, alas. In her present state of feeling, Dorla could not think with sorrow of going, ii only one were ready ; a bitter tangled conflict, she was sick with fear of its results. When they reached the river, and crossed on the rope ferry, she had to master her fears and stand by the horse's head, for poor Melvina was aghast at all the perils of the way, and wished herself home, without reserve. Jenny wa* much quieter than usual, and the duty of extending protec- tion to Melvina had in some way strengthened her nerves ; she was quite assured. " Now that was not so bad," she said, as they drove up the green bank under the trees. " No accident ever has happened there, and you won't mind, going back, I'm sure." Melvina wasn't sure and said so. The road was very heavy, and the sun was very hot, but in the course of twenty minutes, they reached the farm house where the sister lived, and were made duly welcome by an irregular battalion of un- combed children and a yellow dog. Before Melvina was out of the carriage, the sister appeared, a hollow-chested, beavy-eyed, yellow-skinned woman, * who was thirty, and looked forty-five. She devoted her life to the making of un- wholesome pastry, and the copying of patten s out of fash ion books, so that the lean kine who called her mother aiight go to the white meeting-house on the hill once a week, clothed with merino intricately braided, with Marabout fathers in their hats, and their stomachs filled with buck* tvheat cakes and doughnuts. The children, in all stages of sbabbiness, stood around, and 184 A PERFECT ADONI8. distracted their mother's attention from the poor sufferer; she could do nothing but apologize. They went into the house, into a wretched, damp, shut up "best room," " O, don't," said poor Melvina, with a shudder. " Let's go into the sittin' room ; she ain't one that minds." Dorla urged this, and they went into the familiar well-used and not over-tidy room, where the sewing machine stood, at which the poor mother wore her life out in the manufacture of spurious finery for her ill-taught children. Then Dorla, to leave the sisters together, went out with the children to the orchard, and strayed on to the woods, and did not come back till the horn was blown for supper. This meal was so ill- cooked, and viciously evil, she could only pretend to partake of it, but Melvina ate voraciously and indiscriminately, and there were packed into the pony-carriage, for her further de- lectation, two jars of pickles, a bottle of maple syrup and some hideous fruit-cake. There were many delays in starting ; it was a good deal later than Dorla meant when they got off ; and they crossed the much dreaded rope ferry in the grey of the twilight. It was about this time MeL ina began to feel the reaction from the excitement of the visit, and possibly some protest of na- ture against the outrage that had been put upon her in the matter of the tea. She began to cry, and to say she felt sure that she was going to die. As nothing was more probable than that she would die soon, and suddenly, Dorla was in terror ; it was a strange experience, driving along the dusky, lonely road, perhaps with Death as her companion. They met no one ; and whenever anything was said about stopping for assistance at one of the straggling farm-houses aear the road, the poor girl moaned and begged her to go on, to get her home before she died. She was plainly in great anguish, enduring one of those strange, nameless agonies, which seem to the sufferer like death, and are perhaps more terrible. Dorla was very inexperienced in sickness, and very lympathebic; she seemed standing at the very threshold of A PERFECT ADONIS. 185 the unknown, as she held the poor child in her arms, and tried to reassure her. " It is so awful," moaned the sufferer, as she gasped for breath. t( What is so awful ? " said her companion, longing to get the clue to her sensations. " I don't know everything it's like going down down sinking away it's a dark, dark place." " And where is the pain you suffer most ? " said Dorla, in her healthy ignorance. " I don't have any pain," cried the girl, in a horror. " It's my feelings it's something in me it isn't my back and my head and all that. It's like being frightened, only there's nothing happened, and I never can get used to it." (( Were you ever so before," said Dorla. Yes, she had been so before, only this was worse. But then she said honestly, she always thought it was worse, and it never seemed just alike. Poor creature ! The doctor being a strong healthy man, held these -attacks in great contempt, and left chloral and other poison to be given to her, not because he thought her sufferings worthy even of this treatment, but to prevent the possibility of his comfortable sleep being broken up some night by a summons to her bedside. Her mother soon lost patience with her, never having had any experience that way herself; the children even ceased to mind when she was moaning and crying in her nameless agony, clutching some one by the wrist, and praying that they would not go away and leave her by herself. As she said, she never could get used to it. It was as awful now, as when it first came ; there was always a fresh fearfulness spread over the old experience ; she promised herself next time she would not be so frightened ; but next time it waa as bad or worse. She was unimaginative and ignorant; a very clod ; if she had been a fine lady, she would have been counted full of affectation, and a hypocrite, trying to play on th seDsibilities of those around he". When it came tc 186 A PERFECT ADONIS. bearing a sharp pain, she was as good and dogged as any body, and wanted to be "let alone; " but she cried 01 1 foi human help when these attacks came on. That might hava shown to any one of common sense that they were more rea? than reality itself, but it was her misfortune to be surrounded by very blunt, coarse people. Dorla, perhaps, was the first person who had entered with her into the cloud, and pitied her with all her tender soul, though as ignorant as they of the mysterious visitation. There was something in the close, firm grasp of her hand, the pity and gentleness of her voice, that gave her as much help as could be given by any one. She asked her no more questions, but acquiesced in the dire conflict, and assured her that she would stay by her till it was over, and that they would soon be home. All this time, Jenny was going steadily and irreproach- ably, Dorla driving with one hand, and not always that; the twilight was long, but the road was very lonely. Bye and bye they met a wagon-load of men, laughing and shout- ing in drunken hilarity ; there was -still light enough to see them when they came side by side. Strange to say, they did not notice the little carriage, being in a tipsy wrangle about a seat. Dorla breathed freer when they were out of hear- ing. She was not afraid as she ordinarily was, but oppressed by some vague and mysterious dread, that made these more prosaic dangers dim. Still, the deepened twilight, and the solemn silence, and the distance from human help, all had their effect in awing her. It seemed very, very long before the welcome light in the window of Melvina's home appeared. The poor girl was re- lieved by the sight for the moment, but her nervous suffer- ing was too great to be forgotten long, and when they reached the gate, the little sister on the watch for them called out the unwelcome news to her mother, that Melvina had one of her bad " attacks." These " attacks " always roused a spirit of rebellion in the tender mother ; she flounced and jerked a good deal, for a Florence Nightingale, and put her A PERFECT ADON18. 187 ftps together in a steely manner. After the delinquent had been got into the house and into her bed, she tossed somt chloral into a glass, which she had to drink " at her peril. 1 * Then she warned Mrs. Rothermel she'd better go, as Melvina needed quiet, and Melvina told her briefly that she had, be- ing quite cowed by her mother. When she got to the door, however, the poor thing called her back and whimpered a good deal, but the mother was peremptory. She did not want to be kept up all night ; it might be the case if the blessed chloral was not allowed to do its work. So Dorla had to go, with the consent again of Melvina, who called her back the second time to make her promise in a whisper, that she'd come to her if she sent for her any time when she was " bad," even if it were at night. A small urchin, with tan-colored hair, no color now in the dimness, had been holding Jenny's head. When Dorla got into the carriage and took the reins, she called him up close to her, and asked him in a low tone if he wouldn't be very good to his poor sister, who was so sick and suffering ; and he laughed and seemed to think it was a good joke, and said " that wasn't much ; " but maybe he was impressed. Dorla shuddered, and drove away. They all seemed brutes to her, and poor Melvina's strait a frightful one. She forgot how irritable and unlovely the creature really was ; all her heart had gone out to her, since she had been che companion of her sufferings, and since she had clung to her so pitifully. The reality of the great end, the strange nearness and yet distance of the unknown life to come, filled fgr with solemn thought. She forgot the lateness of the Lour, the loneliness. The horse was going on at her own pace. Just at the as cent of a little hill, from the path beside the road, some one teemed to come out from the darkness, almost upon her, oefore either wer3 aware. Dorla started, and repressed a low cry. " Mrs. Rothermel," said a voice, and Felix stood by the 188 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. ride of the carriage. Jenny halted, maybe it was because she was glad of any excuse going up the hill ; maybe her mistress' start had reacted on the reins ; maybe she thought it was good manners to stop when any one came up to talk to people in the carriage. " I'm glad to find you safe," he said, hurriedly. " It is very late for you to be out all alone." " Is it," said Dorla, strangely, coming back into her world. " I do not mind it now. I wasn't thinking about being frightened." " But you ought to mind it is not right, it is not safe," he said, in a sort of wrath, as people worked up by suspense and search are apt to speak. " It should not be allowed I am astonished I it is wild, this sort of carelessness you don't know the danger yourself, but others ought to know it for you. Promise me you won't do this again." " I can't do that," said Dorla slowly, thinking of her promise to poor Melvina to go to her " any time " if she was very bad. She thought it not unlikely she might be called to her again this very night, and she should surely go. " You cannot ! " he said under his breath. " Then it is because " 4< It is because," she said quickly, taking the words from him, " it is because I have promised a poor sick girl to go to her when she needs me. And she might send at night." " But you need not go alone." " No, only it might happen." " But you don't know the danger. A crowd of drunken men passed down this road not half an hour ago." " They did not even look at me," said Dorla with a little acorn. "You are almost like a child," said Felix, hotly. And the sight of his anger, which had come of his solicitude and suspense, smote Dorla with a terrible and dangerous pang A. strange spasm came about her throat; she was fright- sued now. Felix stood close by the carriage step. Sh .1 PERFECT ADONIS. 189 knew in another moment he would get in beside her and bfl her companion througn the two miles that lay between her and her home. With a sudden resolution, she touched the reins. " Good-night, if it is so late," she said, in a smothered voice, and drove away, leaving him standing bewildered by the roadside. She could almost see the fire that leapt from his eyes as he drew back. " It is best," she said to herself, again and again, " it is best that I should offend him that I should seem rnde and ungentle to him, hardly like a lady." But all the same it left her heart as sore and wounded as if it had not been best. When Dorla reached the house, she was met by George, who seemed to be waiting for her at the gate. He met her with much mild affection, and said she was very late and he had begun to be uneasy. " Didn't you meet Varian ? " he asked. " Yes." l( Why didn't you bring him back with you ? He went to look for you." "Why didn't you come for me yourself ?" said Dorla, almost fiercely, as she got out of the carriage. " I ? Why Tucker had just come in to see me about the winter wheat, and I had to attend to him, and Varian said he'd go, he seemed so restless walking up and down the path and so he went. I knew of course you were all right." Dorla went into the house, her brain in a tumult ; she did not stay to listen to his justification. " He will be com- ng back," she said to herself, " and George will watch for Lim, and speak to him, and bring him in. Where shall I hide myself?" But she need have had no apprehension. Felix was striding across the fields, as far from the house as he could go, angry and bitter, trying to make himself believe h* aever would speak to her again 190 -4 PERFECT ADONIS. The next day was a long one ; Dorla had one of hei .frightful headaches. She lay on the bed with the room darkened till you could not see your way across it, and nobody must speak a loud word, or shut a door in less than five minuses. She hated acutely and viciously every one in the world, Felix included. The highest virtue that she could set for herself was to be silent when any one came near her. Every vein ran fire ; she felt as if liquid pain circulated through her entire body once in every two minutes. She did not care what went on outside her room ; people might smoke their cigars now and wait for her ; might live and love and die, and she was indifferent and more. But she was young and vigorous, and these head- aches lasted a less time than they did with older women. At night she almost always slept, worn out by the horrid battle, and the next morning awoke, pale and languid and depressed, but in no suffering. As the day wore on, she would gradually regain her tone of nerve, her appetite, her interest in what went on around her, recovering in a day what would have been the work of a week with a less healthy woman. It was on the third day; she had gone out about five in the afternoon, to sit under the trees near the gate, still pale and weary, but as it were awakening. She had almost for- gotten Felix, she had been so occupied with herself, poor thing. She had not heard his name, and did not know whether he had been at the house. She had a book in her hand, but she could not read; her eyes had a sore hurt feeling, from J Jie pain of the two days past, and so she sat idle, with her hands in her lap, two fingers between the pages that she had not energy to read, he/' head leaned back against the tree under which she sat. She heard the sound of wheels, and looking up, along the road not ten feet from her, passed what, for her peace, she had better not have seen ! It was Felix, in his high wagon, driving his fast horse ; and beside iiim sat a young woman, one whom Dorla had never seea A PEKFECT ADONIS. 191 before, as young as Dorla herself, and prettier pei-haps. She had light hair, and wore a charming sort of French hat f all white chip, and blue bows and pink roses. She looked as if she had come down off a Dresden vase, to dazzle poor sick Dorla's sight, and to carry away Felix from hei . It is surprising how much you can see in a minute; but if you are looking with all your senses as Dorla was, you can carry away a pretty strong impression. Felix was lean ing towards this pink and blue divinity ; she had all the co- quetry and complacency imaginable in her face as she half turned from him, but only half. During the moment in which they had flashed before her gaze, she felt that she had read the whole story. They were so absorbed that the young lady did not see her at all. Felix as an after thought, an interruption, turned his head in the direction of the house, saw her, and lifted his hat. The gesture caught his companion's attention, she started and turned to look at whom he bowed, but it was too late, for they were already past the house. Dorla started up, and in a sort of anger hurried to the house, trembling all over. " They will be coming back in a few minutes, and they shall not see me," she cried to herself. These headaches leave one petulant and childish. Dorla flung herself upon her bed and cried. tl I only want to be left alone," she said. " Why did he come this way ? I want him to be happy, but I want to be let alone myself. I don't want to see him, I don't want to hear about him. I don't want to be tortured in this way forever. O, if George would only take me away from here awhile ! " Then she wished the headache back. If it had only been yesterday, she would not have cared. Bye and bye they came back ; she heard the wheels a long ray off down the road, and she sprang up and started to ne window, and then went back as suddenly, and pressed aer hands before her eyes. For she had bound herself by a vow never to look at him voluntarily. If she had looked, 192 A PERFECT ADONIS. the would have seen he gazed intently towards fcl.e houaf this time, and that he drove slowly while he passed it, and that his companion looked a shade less radiantly happy. But she did not look ; poor, frantic, petulant child, she tried to say her prayers, but she did not feel much like praying. Fortunately, to have our prayers heard it is not always necessary to feel like praying ; else the devil would only have to stir us up with some temptation and take our arms away. The next day at dinner, George said, " I've heard a piece of news." And Dorla knew what the news* was as soon as he had said the words. She turned rather white ; but she had gone a long way since Felix drove by with the pink and blue enchantress in the afternoon sunshine of yesterday. She was not jealous any more, only a little bitter, and very much ashamed and humbled. " Varian has plunged into a violent flirtation, and they think it is in earnest now. This is an old flame ; somebody he met in Europe. They say she has followed him up, and doesn't mean to let him slip. Harriet is quite excited." " Does she like her ? " Dorla said, quite calmly. " Yes, I believe so. At any rate she seems much pleased, and Mrs. Yarian has quite set her heart upon it. She has a good deal of money, and it is altogether just the thing for him." " I shouldn't think the Yarians needed money urgently," said Dorla, coldly, putting some sauce upon the plate of pudding that she handed to her husband. " I don't suppose they do, but the more people have the more they always want, I've noticed." And he said it as if nobody had ever said it before him. Seeing Dorla some- what interested, he went on to tell her her rival's name, her age, what people said about her, how Felix had shown his devotion, how the family were showing theirs. " And we ought to do something for them," said George A PERFECT ADONI8. 193 deeply convinced that he ow ed a duty to society. " That fdte now; something to make it pleasant for her." " O, spare me ! " cried Dorla, with a hard ring in her voice, pushing back her chair, and making a little gesture of protestation with her hands. She could not help thinking this fortunate young woman had enough to make it pleasant for her already. George resigned his plate of pudding (he was something of a gourmand, and it cost him quite an effort), and got up and followed Dorla, who had arisen from the table. He wanted to get her up to the point of doing something in the way of entertainment. " The Varians have done a great deal for you, Dorla," he said, insinuatingly. " I can't help thinking it would be well to make them some return." " I am not overwhelmed with gratitude for what they've done for me," she answered, standing in the door of the hall with her back to him, and looking moodily out into the sunny yard. " Well, I am, if you are not," he said, with a little feeble pomp. " They have shown me great courtesy ever since they knew me ; and I feel a desire to offer them some hospitality. This is just the occasion; here is this young lady who, in all probability, is engaged to Felix, or soon will be. She is a stranger here ; of course, it's very dull for her in this quiet little place. She has just come from Newport, and must feel the difference." " Why did she come then, if she objects to quietness and littleness ? She must like it, or she would not stay." " I didn't say she didn't like it ; but that is not the point. The point is that the Varians want to entertain her, and help the thing along, and we have it in our power to give them some assistance. Now, I am not speaking from conjec- ture ; Harriet said as much to me this morning." " She did ? " cried Dorla, quite virago-like, turning round tpon him. " She did ? then you may say to her, she may rait a long while for me to ask hei here. I have had A PERFECT ADONIS. enough of Harriet Varian. She had bettor leave me atone. That is all I ask." George essayed to look profoundly shocked, but did look, in reality, very angry. m Port Jervis; that he would b A PERFECT ADONIS. 218 back as soon as possible, and that she must wait for him if ae should be late. That was the last straw. She had been counting the minutes till he should come back and get her out of this frightful place. It might be hours ; she knew what his " soon as possible " had sometimes been. She might be dead before he came. She began to feel worse, so much worse. This was the effect of her alarm in great de- gree, but also the good air that had come in through the briefly opened window, had all been used up, and the room was growing very close indeed. Would nobody come to help her out of the crowd ? She half rose, and gave a wild look around. The seats were jammed as close as they could be together. People were standing with their backs against the wall. People were putting their heads in at the windows ; all gaping at the mild pageant presented on the stage. She saw no one that she knew ; but Felix, standing moodily with his arms crossed, just behind her, his eyes fixed on her, mounting guard, saw her and her look of illness, and made his way quickly to her. When she saw him, she felt a great deal nearer dying than she had done before, and sank down in her chair so white and trembling, that the lady next her thrust the salts again upon her, and tried to ask her what was to be done. But Felix made a way fiercely for her through the crowd, scattered the people without ceremony from their chairs, and led her from the room. There was a side door which he forced them to open, and so she was spared making her exit with much publicity. Only two or three persons who knew her, saw her go out, white and ill, on Felix's arm. They elevated their eyebrows, and thought she was doing it on purpose. Probably they had not tried to do it ever, themselves, or they would not have thought it was BO easy. Whatever else people can do on purpose, they can't grow white and yellow, and grey-green on purpose, at least, not while you are looking at them. When they got outside, in the cool air and the dim starlight, Felix said, " Do you fel better?" 214 ^ PERFECT ADON18. " No, no," she said, struggling to speak. " Get me *here I want to lie down I am very ill " Then Felix drew her arm through his and took a firm grasp of her hand, for he felt afraid she was going to fall upon the grass, over which they were making their way. " If you can get as far as that piazza, you will be all right," he said. " See, take hold of my arm ; go slowly, you will soon be better. Don't be frightened, it's only a step more." When they got upon the piazza, (that of an adjoining cot- tage), Felix led her to a chair. She sank down in it, lean- ing her head back. " Can't you get somebody," she said. (( I want water." Felix hurried into the house, but everyone was gone to gape at the mild pageant. A pitcher of ice-water and some glasses were in the hall however. He brought some water to her in a glass, and when she had taken it, she was revived a little. " It wab the air of that place," he said. " I never felt anything like it in my life before. I wonder all the people are not carried out insensible." " Yes," said Dorla, drawing a long breath, and leaning exhausted back in the large chair. (< Yes, it was a dreadful atmosphere." She began to feel a great deal better, but even then she was too much occupied with her recent sensations and the possibility of their return, to think a great deal about Felix. The light from the window by which they were sitting fell upon her face, and he watched her silently. This was the first and only time, since they had danced together that last flight, that she had not shunned him and seemed frightened. The change was a Aystery to him, but he took it as a favor able sign. Though she did not seem to be thinking of him, At least she was not fearing him. He made a feint of calling for some one up and down the halls ; then coming and sit- ting down, said nonchalantly : A PERFECT ADONI8. '* Some one will soon be here ; you will feel better if you lit quietly and rest for a few minutes." " Yes," she said, placidly. She was thinking what heaven it was not to have that hideous, hideous sensation about her chest arid heart. " It is surprising," said Felix in his coramon-placest tone, " what people will endure, if they think they are amused. That room has been packed full of human beings for the last hour and a quarter, and they will endure the torture for half an hour more at least. And all for what ? " " For what indeed ! " sighed Dorla, drawing another long, long breath. " Could you imagine anything more insipid than the act- ing of Miss Whymple. And Miss Grayson was only a shade better." " I didn't hear what it was all about," she said. " I don't believe I even know the name of the play. I felt so ill from the very first." " You are better now ? " asked Felix, looking at her keenly. 11 Yes," she returned, uneasily. She was too much better to be placid any longer. " Yes, I am better, and I think I I will go back now," and she half rose. l( May I ask where ? " said Felix in a cold voice. He had been sitting between her and the window, and he 4 did not rise. She sat down again confusedly, and did not answer. " Are you so anxious to see the end of the play ? " he said cynically. " I have seen it better played a dozen times in my life, and I will recount you the plot, and we shall have better air, if you will be contented to sit here." " I don't care for the play," she said faintly (and not very wisely ; but who can be wise always.) " But I think I had better go." This time she got up upon her feet, and pulled her cloak iround her, hardly knowing what she did. " Mrs. Rothermel," said Felix in a low concentrated voice, 216 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. " will you sit down a moment ? I want to say one word and then I will take you anywhere you wish." She sat down in her chair trembling all over. Felix ir his angry passion did not see this ; he went on speaking in thick agitated tones. " I want to say this to you, if you vill listen to it ; I understand you perfectly ; it is not neces- sary for you to show me any further how you feel, that is all accepted. I only ask that you will cease to treat me in thin sort of way. What have I done ? My offence has been in- voluntary. I am not happy that is not my fault. Need I promise you I will never say a word you would not wish to hear ? Only let this strange state of things be at an end. I am human I am a man I cannot bear this any longer you ask too much of me " But this foolish incoherent speech came to an abrupt con- clusion. Dorla had not looked at him. She only looked away, but over her face passed such a frightful change that Felix catching sight of it, started forward and stayed his angry, unwise words. " You are ill," he said, in a changed, awe-struck voice. " What have I done ? I am a brute." For that deadly, grey-green look came over her features, and they looked sharp and thin, and her head was sinking back upon the chair. " Ge somebody," she tried to say, (t I believe I am very ill," and then she said and thought no more, poor child, for that hard time at least. " Somebody " came by that moment; and it was not the work of many seconds to get a doctor and half a dozen women round her. But in those seconds, while he stood alone beside her, Felix learned the text of a great and search- ing lesson. Not all that she could have said or done, could have served poor Dorla so well, as that fainting fit. Such object- teaching reaches where words cannot. It is easy to lay, (t this is killing me ; " but when you see that play of death, you believe it. It was nothing but a fainting fit afbex A PERFECT ADONIS. 217 all ; though the doctor said it was a pretty serious matter, and she would need much care. He stayed by her an hour or two after she came out of it, and would not hear of her being taken home that night. When George returned from his business matter, he found Dorla established in a room ir> the cottage, with Mrs. Bishop sitting by her, Mrs. Varian anxiously pacing up and down on the piazza, and the doctor walking away accompanied by Felix. What did it all mean : They explained to him how hot the room was where the the- atricals had been, reminded him how delicate and prone to faint Dorla had been for the last few days ; and how serious a matter the doctor had assured them it might be if she were lot. kept from all excitement and fatigue. Still he did not understand it, and went into the room unprepared to find her looking as she did, and of course startled her by his alarm. She was not thinking about him, or anybody or any- thing save her own suffering, but it almost sent her back into unconsciousness to see how shocked he was. Mrs. Bishop made him go away, and stayed with her all night. By the afternoon of the next day, she was well enough to go home. Harriet came to the carriage and Mrs. Bishop was putting her carefully in it, while George stood by, look- ing much troubled and a little injured. It was a dull after- noon, grey and chill ; it would have been much less dreary if it had rained ; the weight of dampness in the atmosphere rppressed one like a coming trouble. Harriet pulled her cloak around her shoulders. "It's like November," she said, "I hope you're well wrapped up, Dorla." " Very well," said Dorla, faintlv, anxious to get away. " Mamma sent her love to you. She thought it would only trouble you, if she came over to see you. She thinks you ought to be so quiet. But she wilt be down to see you in a day or two. Felix is gone away," she said, turning to George, " and we feel quite desolate." 218 4 PERFECT ADONI8. " Your brother gone ? " said George. " WLy, when that ? I thought I saw him here last night." " O, yes, he only went this morning." " Wasn't it rather sudden ? " George inquired. " Well, I don't know exactly. Possibly it was." " He is coming back again ? " "Yes, I think very possibly, sometime before we go away." " And where has he gone ? " asked George with interest. Felix was the object of his high esteem. " Canada and the Lakes, I believe," said Harriet, with sisterly indifference. " Good people, it strikes me while you are chatting, poor Dorla is getting cold," cried Mrs. Bishop, anxious to make an end of the matter, watching her patient's whitening cheeks. " Come, George," said Dorla, faintly, " I want to get home as quickly as I can." " By the way," cried Harriet, just as they were starting. "To-day is the anniversary of our Brewery expedition. Just a year ago to-night, since that memorable occasion. Do you remember, Dorla ? " " Yes, I remember," answered Dorla. " Ha, ha, how many things have come to pass since then ! " cried Harriet, while Mrs. Bishop, with half-concealed impa- tience, called out, " Mr. Hothermel, if you don't drive on, Dorla must get out." Animated by this recollection, that dreary afternoon, as Dorla was lying on the sofa by the window of her room, George brought to her a letter which he had taken from his desk. " Here's the first letter you ever wrote me, Dorla," he said, with a little touch of sentiment. " See, I had put it away among my treasures." " I don't believe it was worth it," she answered, with ft lickly feeling of contempt for him and for herself. A PERFECT ADONIS. 219 " Yes, just a year ago to-day, as Harriet said," he went on, tpening the letter. " A year ago to-day ! " exclaimed Dorla, flushing and put- ting out her hand for it. " I never wrote to you till till we were engaged." " O, you forget," said George. " The note you sent rat* - ubout going to the Brewery. I never shall forget it.. 1^ *vas the happiest day of all my life." Dorla took the note in her hand, recognizing the pearl colored paper, and her own monogram ; and alas, her own. name too, and Harriet's large and commonplace handwriting. Her eye passed over it again and again, and a hard and bitter feeling came into her heart. This was the way in which " young Rothermel " had been secured for the Brew- ery festivity ; and the way in which her life's misery had been begun. At last she handed it back to George, and said coldly, '* don't trouble yourself to keep it any longer, for I didn't write it." " You didn't write it," he exclaimed surprised, looking at it carefully. " Why, that is very true, I haven't looked at it since I have known your writing. Who did write it, pray? It's in your name, you see." " Yes, I see it is," she answered with a languid scorn. " But that is Harriet Varian's hand." " Is that the way young women do, writing each other's notes, and putting people on wrong scents ? " " It seems it is the way some young women do," said Dorla, turning her face down on the pillow, and pressing her lips close together. | AN AD A and the Lakes. That was all very well; but Canada and the Lakes do not last very long if you are travelling as if you were a fugitive from justice. Felix had made up his mind what route to take in 220 A PERFECT ADONIS. the first fervor of his generous resolution. Nothing could have turned him from it ; he went to the furthest " point of Interest " that he had laid down for himself. But he had not bargained with himself how he should do it. And the further he found himself from the night of that gener- ous resolution, the more did he neglect its spirit, while ad- hering to its letter. He travelled day and night ; he turned not to the right hand nor the left, save as the right hand or the left was laid down in his programme. Like a man blind and deaf to nature, he sped through its richest ex- panses, moody, self-contained, unresting. And at the end of ten days he found himself back in New York, in the great vacant house, with heat outside and si- lence within. Then began a miserable conflict with himself, which he endured for just five days a long battle for a man who had always done as he wanted to before. Why should he not go to Milford ? At least for a day or two. He need not go near the Rothermels ; he should not go near the Rothermels. He would just run up and see his mother for a day or two ; settle about their movements for the rest of the season, bring away his horse, and go somewhere else till the hot weather suffered him to come back to town. And so at the end of the five days' battle, he found him- self again in Milford. He felt as if he had been away for a year or two. It was late in the afternoon when he arrived, after six o'clock ; no one was in the shabby, shady cottage. He went to his room, and dressed himself, deliberately and leisurely. It was the first time that he had done anything deliberately and leisurely since he went away. Now he beg-in to feel as if there was a cessation of that desperate rushing haste. The evening was very warm. When he was dressed, he walked about the premises till he found his mother's maid. Mrs. Varian was driving, she said. Misa Harriet, with a party of ladies and gentlemen, had walked down to the Bluff. All were well. They were not expect ing Mr. Varian. Then Felix walked over to the hotel and A PERFECT ADONIS. 221 got his tea, still leisurely, as a man who has reached the " point of interest " in his journey and has no further need for haste. After tea he sauntered towards the Bluff. The rest of Milford had sauntered thither too. The evening was lovely s the sky full of beautiful sunset tints. He felt cool ai*d fresh himself; expectant, but not excited. He should not %ee Dorla, that was impossible ; but in some way he should hear of her before he slept. Before he reached the Bluff, he saw his mother's carriage standing by the side of the road. Mrs. Yarian, who never trusted herself for many minutes on damp grass or in night air, was doubtless won by the warmth and beauty of the evening, to one of the seats that overlook the river, and he should meet her there. There were one or two light shawls in the carriage, but no person. Felix walked slowly across the wide, grassy space that tops the Bluff. How charming a scene he was approach- ing. Gay groups of people stood and sat about. The river far below, and winding away in the distance, was pink and pearl with the reflection from the sky. The fields and woods on the other shore were still yellow with the sunset ; the point of headland where the river turned, was deep in even- ing shadow. It was a wide, calm, lovely picture. The air came cool and soft from off the river ; there was a sound of pleasant voices and of laughing. Some children were play- ing about the edge of the bank ; the three or four benches were all occupied, but some people were sitting on shawls upon the grass, and some were standing up. Felix ap- proached, unnoticed by the various groups ; for the moment every one was looking at a raft upon the river, guided by a woman Pausing a little back from the nearest bench, Felix glanced about him. Not three feet from whers b stood, sat Dorla ; lovely, calm, and smiling, watching with :he others the movements of the raft. Beside her sat his nother; around her stood two or three gentlemen. His first feeling, no, his second (for his first was only the A PERFECT ADONIS. sudden intoxication of surprise), was angry chagrin that he had stayed away so long, and that she was so soon restored, and so surely cured by his most generous absence. She had never looked lovelier paler, but without that harassed, worn look that had pursued him so. " I might have saved myself the trouble," he thought, biting his mustache. A" that moment some one spied him. "Mr. Variant" "Felix!" And he was the centre of all eyes. While he spoke to every one, and kissed his mother, and answered Harriet's hundred questions, he lost not one of the changes that took place on Dorla's face. She grew steadily, surely paler for a moment ; then the color came in spots and flecks about her face and throat. She tried to answer the gentleman who was standing by her, but her voice was not very steady, nor her words very ready. The gentleman was a stranger, and rather a distinguished looking man. Felix had no mercy on her, and stood near her, overhearing and agitating her by standing there. He was bitterly pleased to see her agita tion, and as bitterly jealous of the good-looking, unoffending man. There was a good deal of chattering and talking on all sides of him, but by some magnified sense, he managed to keep up with it, and do his part in it, and yet not lose a word of hers. Pretty soon a soft breeze from the river, a little less warm than its predecessors, roused Mrs. Varian to her duty. *' It is surely damp," she said, getting up heavily with the help of Felix's arm " Dorla, come, my child. This is (\iS first time you have been out for a fortnight. A pretty piece of business, sitting here after sundown, as ill as you have been. Mrs. Rothermel will never let you drive with me again, if I don't watch you better." Dorla rose with a sense of much relief, and followed Mrs. Varian and Felix at a few paces distance. The distin- guished looking man was only too happy to walk beside hei A PERFECT ADONI& 223 lo the carriage. Many eyes followed them as ;hey left the bank, and many whispered comments, scarcely restrained by the presence of Harriet Varian, who was a little silent for once in her diffuse career. " "Yhat a mercy Florence Estabrook has gone away," she thought. That that young person was got rid of, gave her cause to hope things might improve if one gave them time enough. But what could have impelled Felix to come back so soon. Meanwhile, Felix had put his mother in the carriage, and was waiting for Dorla and her companion to come up. " It's such a nice evening," he said to Mrs. Yarian, as they waited, " you'd better drive a little further. It's all stuff about the dampness, if you'll allow me to be frank." " It's not stuff at all," said his mother, very seriously. "That girl's extremely delicate, and needs the greatest care." Felix shrugged his shoulders, glancing towards Dorla, who had stopped to speak to some one. " A little further drive won't hurt her." " Well, possibly we may go but mind, Felix, don't go with us. You know as well as I, that this sort of thing won't do. But here they come. Well, Dorla! (mind, Felix, what I say,) you shouldn't stop to speak to any ono on the damp grass. Who were those girls, my dear ? O, the Whymples ? Think of my not knowing them. They mast have new dresses, I am sure. Get in, my child, get in; the grass is damp, whatever they may say." So Dorla got in, and her cavalier bowed himself off, and Mrs, Yarian saying carelessly, " I suppose, Felix, there's QO use in asking you," gave the sign to the coachman to ga m. t( No use, unless you wait for me," said Felix, salmly. " Stop a moment, James ; there," shutting the carriage dooi rith a defiant snap, as he took his seat vis-it-vis to Mra Varian, "now JDU may go on." 224 A PERFECT ADONIS. Mrs. Yarian frowned darkly, but her son did not permit himself to be affected by it. " The river road ? " James would like to know, with two white cotton fingers in contact with his hat. " I don't know ; no, I think not. Dorla, my dear, you can drive a little further, can't you ? " u No, thank you, Mrs. Yarian," Dorla said, gathering voice. " I am a little tired, I think. If you don't mind leaving me at home." So James has his directions, and the horses' heads are turned. " It is well to be prudent," says Mrs. Yarian, secretly pleased that Felix has not had his way for once. " And there is a sort of chill creeping through the air." " The air is like velvet, and not a particle of dew will fall to-night; but if Mrs. Rothermel is tired, that is another question." " I think, Felix, you grow worse-mannered every day," exclaimed his mother, pacified. She never seemed so well satisfied with him as when he was a little brutal ; or, as they say in novels, " masterful." Felix bowed, and with the bow dismissed the subject finally, (( I am sorry you have not been well," he said to Dorla. lf I thought when I first saw you that you were looking much improved." " Oh, I am better," she said, uneasily, (( I do very well if only I keep quiet. Didn't you like your journey- I mean did you stay as long as you meant to stay that is I mean I understood you were going to stay a month or two-" Poor Dorla did not know what she meant to say, and had said what she did not mean to, evidently, but that was not her fault, and no one could blame her; for Felix, jealous and angry, was wickedly self-possessed and bent on making up for his mistaken generosity. " Like my journey ? Oh, yes, in a way. Your saints like their hnir cloth, don't they ? I am sorry it has seemed sc A PERFECT ADONIS. 225 short a time to every one but me. For my part, I don't mind saying, it seems to me a long while since I went away from Milford." " Nobody said it had seemed short," cried his mother, with impatience. " Only when a man bids his family good- bye for a month, and comes back in a fortnight, it's natural they should be surprised to see him." " Well ; only let them be civil to him when he comes. He is not to be blamed if he has overrated his strength. II is not possible to be always what we'd like to be," returned Felix, with a malicious determination to say before his mother what he would not have dared perhaps to say with- out her. " Felix, you are making a fool of yourself," she saidj hotly and bluntly. And then there was a silence. That was perhaps the wisest thing that had been said that even- ing ; nothing else could have ended matters better. Felix could say nothing more ; Dorla was as wretched and uncom- fortable before as it was possible to be ; and this added very little to what was already a full cup. The carriage rolled on "or a quarter of a mile, and not a word was spoken. Then Mrs. Varian forced herself to speak. What she said waa something about the scenery, some commonplace about the river at this hour. Felix said nothing ; and Dorla, in a humble, agitated voice that ought to have touched him, tried to answer ner and carry on the commonplace. The voice and effort touched the mother, if they did not move the son; and after a moment she said warmly, and rather abruptly : " I shall come for you to drive with me soon again, my dear, if you will go with me. I always like to have you ; you're not like Harriet, forever fuming for a new excite- ment. You suit me better than most people, with your nice, quiet little ways. " Thank you," said Dorla, looking down, with sudden tears "veiling up into her eyes. For into her mind came, 226 A PERFECT ADONIS. and into the minds of Felix and his mother came, as soon as this was spoken, the thought of what might have been; of what should have been. Strange that they could toucb nothing but edged tools to-night. Another silence, during which all these three people thought, in his or her own way, of the companionship and pleasure which had been made im- possible. Not knowing that the others were thinking of the same thing, Mrs. Yarian said, following out her train of thought. " You will not stay here all the winter, will you, Dorla ? " " O, I don't know, I fancy so," answered Dorla, flushing. She had been thinking a thought to which this joined so fitly. And Felix said : "I was just thinking it would be a savage place for you, with your city habits and your natural delicacy; you don't know what it will be ; you were never here in winter." " Yes, once," said Dorla, with a scorching blush. Then fearing lest they should ask when, she rushed on to say, " she did not mind it and there was nowhere that she cared to go." " Mr. Rothermel ought to take you south for two or three months at least. I shall speak to him about it. I am sure he ought. He is you'll excuse rny asking such a question he is quite well off, isn't he, my dear ? Able to do it, I mean, if he thought it best ? " " I don't know," said Dorla, confused, " I should think BO ; but I am afraid I don't know much about it. I never have asked anything about it." "Ah," said Mrs. Varian, with an honest sigh, "you were never very worldly-wise, my dear. Sometimes I get t:ck of worldly wisdom, but I don't know but what it's very necessary after all." She was thinking that a girl of Dorla's looks ought to have commanded almost any price, and it is quite a wonder 'ay mere foolishly. I really don't blame her for being pn bty desperate. It is a thousand pities." " And whose work was it ? " said Felix, with set teetl . " Whose ? I don't knoV. Some ibolish scruple thai she had about his illness." "Harriet has boasted over Milford all the summer I hat she made the match." " Well, yes well, I suppose she had a good deal to do about it. But, dear me, it doesn't do to look into things too closely. We might all be responsible for more things than we'd like to be, going at that rate. For my part I think if people mean well, that's all that should be asked of them, and no further criticism. Harriet wouldn't hurt a fly but, somehow " " Spare me any word of Harriet now." " Don't be unjust to her at any rate." " I feel as if I never wanted to look at her again," said Felix, low between his teeth. (t She's your sister, and that's a frightful way to talk. Don't, Felix, let this thing come between you, don't." " Mother, we will not talk of Harriet." " No, that isn't what we began about, and isn't what I want to say to you. I may not have another chance ; and I want to put it to you, seriously, Felix. Are you doing right, and do you mean to go on this way any longer ? " " I don't know, mother, what I mean to do. And at this moment I don't care one atom whether what I do is right or wrong, or who is hurt or who is pleased, or who maj lake offence." The tone was so abandonedly miserable and the maimei A PERFECT ADONIS. 233 o different from his unmoved habit, that Mrs. Varian felt a sort of fear. "This wretched complication! " she said t3 herself again and sighed. " But Felix," she said, presently, aloud. " This sort of talk doesn't do any good. You know you do care whethei you do right or wrong, and what people think of her, if not of you. One would think you were a boy from what you say, a boy, and something of a coward too. Don't you know people can't live many years without coming up against some wall like this. Things you can't help, things you can't get over, sometimes of one kind, sometimes of another. What would it look like, if we all sat down and cried ? A pretty crowd we'd be ! No, Felix. Be a man about it ! This thing can't be helped and you'll have to do as better people have done before yoti, go off and forget it. This time a year, 1*11 ask you if I am not right. You'll be ashamed even to remember that you talked to me about it. I know some- thing of life, my son ; I know what people can do if they make up their minds to do it." Felix moved his hand with an impatient gesture. Thia was not what he wished to hear. " O, I know. You think I am not half as wise as you are, and a woman into the bargain, and you don't care to listen to iny views of life. If you think so, I know there is no use in argument. But at least you'll let me ask your mercy for another woman, who may be as ignorant as I am of your superior code, and who is much younger than I am, and I am afraid a good deal weaker. Have a little pity upon Dorla, Felix. Don't make things any worse for hei than they are already. Don't turn the world against her, It wouldn't take many more scenes to do it. Don't torment her with the sight and thought of you ; give her a chance to get over this if it is possible." " And if it isn't possible," said Felix, fierce and low below his breath. " It is possible ; it is possible. How many women ha v 234: A PERFECT ADONIS. to get over the same thing. Why is Dorla any different from other women except that she hasn't any pluck. I am sure she can get used to disappointment like any other, and go on and lead her pious life if it comforts her, just as 1 should have gone on and led a jolly one if it had been my luck. It all comes to the same thing. She can get over it soon enough if you will only let her alone." " And how if I won't let her alone ? " asked Felix, with tin same suppressed vehemence of intonation. " How if you won't ? Why, then, I shall say you are a worse man and a more foolish one than I had ever thought you. Felix ! [By this time the mother was frightened and gave up her arguments.] Felix, you haven't had the chance to refuse me many favors, for I haven't asked you many. Do this thing for my sake ; remember who it is that asks you ; remember that I am your mother." " Some very trifling thing to ask, no doubt," said Felix, with a bitter laugh. ;< Trifling or no, I ask it, and I don't believe you will refuse me. You've been a good boy, Felix I'm not one to say much but if I haven't you what have I ? Don't let me be disappointed in you j don't ! I am an old woman now. There mayn't be many more things that you can do for me." uld not even guess. He hau a feverish interest in life, so long as that meeting was still to come. He did not look beyond it. It was to be all blank. But it waa noi ;>lank yet. He could be patient, civil; could talk with people whom he met; he wondered at himsel But in 236 A PERFECT ADOV18. truth, though he thought he had made the sacrifice in his heart, he was still counting like a madman on the issues of that meeting. If she wavered, if he saw anything to make him change his mind, his assurance to his mother would have been but idle words. " Neither better nor worse thar most men of his generation." He would have gone away, it is true, at the end of his three days ; but he would have fulfilled but the letter of his promise in so going. He said to himself that he was on the eve of parting for ever from her, and yet so tenacious was the hope within him, that he did not feel that what he said to himself was to be the truth. And so baffled had he been in every attempt to see her, so few words had he ever had with her since that last night that they had danced together, that he was living a false life of excitement in the prospect of that interview, that half hour that he had demanded of fate, that he had secured so that no one should take it from him. He tried to prepare himself for not seeing her alone ; that might be beyond him to prevent. But at least he should see her, should hear her speak. It would go hard with him but that he should have a few words with her by himself ; he lived over the interview in a thousand different shapes, and planned a thousand different expedients. About the chance of her refusal to see him he did not allow himself to think. He sent her a note which said so plainly and yet so blindly that till she saw him he should not go away, he could not doubt her taking the wise course of granting him the interview. " He should hope to find her at home on the following afternoon at half-past five o'clock." The next morning had come, and he had received no answer ; which surely meant that she did not refuse him. How to get through the long morning ! He felt that he must do something to occupy himself. James brought his torse to the door ; it was a close August morning, the sky was clouded and no air stirring, but Felix could hardly A PERFECT ADON1& 237 have told whether it stormed or shone. (Xivei (he had always hated Oliver for a priggish fool, but no matter for thia once) Oliver was standing near. " Get in and drive with me to Port Jervis, if you've noth- ing else to do." Oliver had nothing else to do, and was very glad to go. He was getting tired, even he, of hammock and glen and worsted work and Tennyson. For the summer was draw- ing to a close, and every one was feeling moderately weary. The drive to Port Jervis was much better than sitting still ; there was quite a freshness in the air when you were rushing through it at the rate they went. It was quite a stimulant, and revived Oliver while it was quieting to the nerves oi Felix. When they trotted airily into the town and drew up be- fore the railroad inn, the people were j ust collecting for the New York train. It gave Felix a feeling of surprise to see the Rothermel horses and the rockaway standing before tho door of the hotel. A moment more, and Dorla got out of it, dressed for travelling, and with some shawls strapped, and a bag in her hand. She had not seen them, and went np the steps and into the parlor of the hotel. Neither had Oliver seen her, for he was busy lighting his cigar, and three matches had failed to produce the coveted result. Felix sat for an instant stupefied; then throwing the reins to Oliver, (putting out, alas, the fire of the fourth match) said, " Sit here a moment, will you. I've got to go to the telegraph office just across the street." He hardly knew what he did, or how the plan came so ready-made to his hand. He was steel-cold in all the fury of his disappointment and chagrin. It was so that he was to be cheated of his half hour of farewell ! But she had not triumphed yet. Oliver sat waiting for him tranquilly ; in about four min- utes he came out of the telegraph office and approached the yagon, tearing to bits and throwing to the winds a yellow 238 A PERFECT ADONI8. envelope. It was addressed to the Honesdale Mam. facturing Company and had been lying opened on the floor of the office for the last three days, but it served equally the purpose ol this wily person. " I find I'm called down to the city," he said, folding up and putting in his pocket a sheet of telegraph office paper, (blank, but Oliver was not near enough to see.) " I'll have to get you to drive my horse back for me, if you will. And say to my mother, that I've gone down on business, and that I'll be back in a day or two, just as soon as ever I get through with it. I'll write her if I am not back to-mor- row." " All right," said Oliver. " 1 hope it's nothing of an un- pleasant nature." " O, no," returned Felix, " hardly of importance enough to be unpleasant, but just one of those things that must be attended to on the spot if it is attended to at all." " You haven't much time to lose," said Oliver, looking at his watch. So after a few words the two men parted, the elderly mouse-colored Oliver, much deceived, back to Mil- ford, not without -some misgivings as to his personal safety behind that fleeting steed; and Felix, with a storm of passion under good control, into the waiting-room of the hotel. Dorla was sitting listlessly near an open window. She did not see him till he stood beside her. He feigned surprise. Was she going to the city too ? Was she all alone ? Then he should ask the pleasure of taking care of her while they were en route. And with that he took possession of the travelling-bag beside her. She was very pale and hardly answered when he spoke to her, but that did not surprise him. He took a seat beside her. There were two or three people, strangers, on the other side of the room. Felix took out his watch. " We have just eleven minutes. I need not have hurried jo, I have just been to the telegraph office. I find my sell A PERFECT ADONIS. 239 called to tom on business. But I shall not regret it, if I pan be of any use to you." Dorla drew a long breath. Then it was fate and not his cruel purpose. " Is not your going somewhat sudden," he asked, looking at her intently as he spoke. Yes no I have thought of it for a day or two." " Ah ! such a disagreeable season to go to the city. I fan- cied you rarely or never went." " I have never been before, since since I have lived at Milford." There was a silence of several moments. " You could scarcely have chosen a worse day," he said, putting out his hand for a palm-leaf fan on the table near him. " 1 am afraid it will be very close." " I did not choose it," said Dorla, speaking with an effort. " I thought I ought to go. I have had bad news ; it seemed a duty." "You have had bad news," repeated Felix, eagerly, his heart softening with a sudden melt (how ready it was to soften). " I hope it is not anything that really pains you. I am very sorry " " It is Harry," and her voice broke down. " Your brother ? " asked Felix, gently. " He is ill ? " Dorla assented, but she could not speak. At that mo- ment the whistle sounded, and the people in the waiting- room all hurried out. " It is not our train," said Felix, as he took her shawls and bag. "But ours is due in another minute and we had better go across, and be on the spot." She followed him humbly. What else was there for her to do, poor child. And he, in hot torment of remorse and self-reproach, led her across the maze of railway tracks, into the crowded depot. He had been blaming her, and she had had no will to baffle him, but had been suffering cruelly. She semed born to suffer. His heart swelled with th 240 A PERFECT ADONIS. pain it gave him to know she was unhappy. Presen i\y their train came thundering up ; in another moment they were in it. He put her in a seat. " I will see if we cannot do better," he remarked, laying down the shawls and bag beside her, and going away for a few moments. When he cams back he said, " I find there is a Pullman car on the train, and there we shall be more comfortable." He had found to his great satisfaction one of the larger compartments vacant, and into that he led her. He took her bag and shawls, and put them out of her way, placed a footstool for her feet, arranged the window. " There is a nice breeze coming in here now," he said, " we shall not find it half as warm as I had thought." If he could only make her comfortable, protect her, and for a moment make her life less dreary. But she looked BO wan and wretched, he had not much heart. He was so relieved and yet so conscience-stricken ; it was such a strange bliss to be here with her alone, as much alone as if he had had his way about seeing her at home. And yet it was so har- rowing to see her face so sad. He had not yet seated himself. He stood opposite her by the window. She was gazing vacantly out upon the beautiful hills and the forests below them ; but he could see that she looked at nothing. " Harriet has told me of of your brother," he said at last, in a hesitating tone. " I am truly sorry to know you are so anxious. Maybe there is not cause, and it has been ex- She shook her head. " I wish it were that," she " But I believe I shall find I do not know the worst." "It is so natural to feel so," he said. "But often it turns out we have imagined the worst when it really wasn't coming." " I might as well imagine it it always comes to me/' she said, in a bitter tone. And then she quite broke down. " I don't see why I have such trouble I wish that I could A PERFECT ADONIS. 241 die n And bowing her head down upon the table before heV, she sobbed without restraint. And Felix ? He stood with his arms folded, looking down at her. He dared not trust himself to speak. He held his lips tightly pressed together, almost white with the intensity of his control. No, he could not help her : he was her torture ; he had made her life what it was ; it was not for Harry that she cried alone. It was all before him, and his soul was desperate in the vision. No words of his could help her ; he was more than useless to her ; he, a strong and clever man, whose life lay at her feet. Her weakness, her misery, her beauty ; how they made him love her. Impotent, damning, fatal love. There was one thing that he could do to help her ; just one thing. How could he make the sacrifice ? he who thought that he loved her well enough to die for her ? Yes, he could leave her ; go away and never cross her path again. He looked down at her so fair, so helpless, so suffering. Wealth, strength, intellect, love all his gifts he could not use for her. He could only go away. She had thrown one arm across the table, and her head was buried in the other. The ungloved hand that lay upon the table was so slender, white and un- nerved. There was something plaintive in it. It lay within a few inches of Felix's own. And yet he dared not touch it. In the tempest of feeling in his mind, he said to himself, as he looked at it, that he would be willing to die to hold it in his grasp a moment, yes, a moment, a tangible, definite, time-recorded moment, made up of sixty seconds. And yet he dared not touch it. And life might pass over him, and all of time and death, and he should never touch it should never stand any nearer to her than he was standing now. Very much of what was in his soul was on his face ; too much, alas! There was a glass door to the compartment, which Felix had closed after him as he came in. There was ground and cut glass above and below, but the two central panes were 242 A PERFECT ADONIS. of clear glass. Felix, turning suddenly, saw thro igh this glass, the face of young Davis looking in with an expr&- sion made up of curiosity, malice and amusement. In an instant it flamed through Felix's mind, the horrible posi- tion in which he had placed his innocent companion. All his mother's words, all Dorla's ineffectual struggles, all his own reasoning, had not done it; but that one sight of Davis' face revealed the black abyss to him. Their sudden disap- pearance at the same time, the grief of Dorla, the whole scene, in fact, on which Davis had intruded, would make a story that would fatally compromise her honor. His selfish- ness and his sin were fully revealed to him at a glance. He hated himself, and was in mortal terror for a moment. The sacrifice that he had played at making, he made now with all the fervor of remorse. " If I can free her from this devil's net into which I hav* pushed her, I will never trouble her peace again, if it costs me all my own." All the reasonings of his quick brain were none too great. It was, indeed, a desperate situation. But before Davis 1 face had disappeared from the window (and ho moved awaj the instant he caught the eye of Felix), Felix's plan was made. He made a quick sign to Davis, and letting himself out of the door, closed it and joined him outside. '* I had forgotten you were going to town to-day," he said. " You said something to me about it yesterday, I remember. But I wasn't thinking of going then myself." An incredulous laugh lit Davis' eye. "No, I believe you didn't mention it." " I had an unexpected cull to town, and had to send back :ny horse by Oliver, from the station. I hope he will not come to grief before he gets to Milford." " Hope not, indeed." returned Davis, with un appeased tnalice in his tone, " Oliver isn't much of a whip, I've al- rays understood." had been so sniggered by the sudden danger of the A PERFECT ADOjxfS. 2-13 rituation, that he had hardly gained control of liis voice; but now he went bravely at the business. " Where are you sitting ? " " Here's my chair, I believe," said Davis, moving towards the saloon or open portion of the car. " I was on my way to find my number, when when I caught sight of yon in the compartment." " Here's another vacant chair I'll take it till some one comes to claim it. To tell the truth, I think poor Mrs. Rothermel is better off by herself for a little while. You've heard about it, I suppose ? " " Heard about it what I don't know what you mean." Felix fixed his eye intently, keenly on the youth whom he was' resolved to master. " About her brother. Some- thing grave has happened, but I didn't like to question her ; I think she fears she may not find him living." "Ah! Is that it? I I really didn't know." And then there came a cynical look across his youthful features " Yes," said Felix, with a manner of indifference, twist- ing his chair to the right point for the breeze. " But a mis- erable fellow, I have understood, a disgrace and trouble from the very first. I shouldn't wonder if it were a suicide or some sort of serious complication. I'm sorry for his poor sister; it's a miserable business." " Fes," said Davis, a little staggered for the moment. " Yes, it's a nasty piece of work." Felix hummed a tune, and sat looking out of the window stolidly for several minutes, as men do. He was desperately revolving in his mind what to say next ; he dreaded so to overdo the matter. Davis, in the meanwhile, was getting a little over his surprise, and found himself, the more he thought about it, quite unconvinced that his first suspicions were without foundation. It must be remembered that Dorla and Felix had been town talk for several weeks, and fchat he had been once snubbed by Dorla, and many times by Felix. That did not make him sweet tempered. Last 244 A PERFECT ADONIS. summer he had rather fancied himself in love with her, and he had not been without aspirations even later. Besides which, he was not a fool, though by no means a match for Felix on an even ground. But things were so much against Felix in this encounter, it would be difficult to say how it was going. A boy came by with papers ; they each bought one, and each buried himself behind the one that he had bought ; and each knew very little of the news of the day, when he emerged from that retirement. " Not much to be got out of that sheet," said Felix, wi fcb a yawn, laying his down upon his knee. " No, not much stirriog in the way of news," replied the other, folding his with nonchalance. " When do you go back to Milford ? " he continued, looking covertly at Felix. " To-night," said Felix, promptly. " I shall get through all I've got co do in half an hour, at least. It is doubtful whether I'll have to go up town at all. I mean to get off by the 7:50 train." ff Ah, then we shall meet again. That is, if you are able to get off. I'm going back by that train too." " Then, if you get down first, engage a seat for me, if you think of it. There's sometimes a great crowd at that hour." t( Yes, certainly, if you think you won't be kept ; I mean, if you think it at all likely that you really will get off." " I don't know anything to prevent my getting off unless I break my leg, or get jammed between the wharf and the ferry boat. Such things have overtaken better men ; bc.t I can't help a sort of confidence that I may slip through safely. Not because of my many virtues, but because 1 generally look where I am going." " Certainly," said Davis, a little abashed, but generally vicious. (t I hadn't thought about your coming to grief in that vray. But I didn't know whether this affair of Mrs. Rothermel's might not keep you. There might be som A PERFECT ADONIS. 245 thing that you'd have to do for her, if it's such a serious matter." " I am afraid it is such a serious matter that I could not even make an offer of my services. I am a comparative stranger, and in a family trouble like this, it is a delicate matter to attempt intrusion. There is nothing that I'd do with greater pleasure though, and I hope she understands it." " O, I'm sure she does," said Davis, carelessly, but with an intonation that made Felix dig his fingers into the cush- ion of his chair ; they tingled so to get about the fellow's throat. Davis was getting brave. He had always been secretly afraid of Felix, but to-day he vaguely felt that he could go great lengths. He knew that he could not have spoken thus with impunity at any time before during their acquaintance. Felix was rather at a loss; there was no need for any further statements ; and general and desultory conversation is difficult with a man whose throat is a temp- tation. He covertly watched the time. There was an hour and three-quarters yet to be disposed of. < Do you feel like smoking ? " he said rising. Davis felt like it, rose and followed him. As they passed the door of the compartment where Dorla sat, " stay," said Felix, f< where are our papers ? I will take them in to Mrs. Rother- inel, and see if there is anything that we can do for her." He went back fco look for the papers, leaving Davis stand- Lag at the door. " Shall you go in ?" said Felix as he came back, smooth- ing the papers out in his hands. " Certainly not } " returned Davis with abominable prompt- ness. Dorla was sitting by the window leaning her head back, and gazing out with the same absorbed expression, Davis watched narrowly while Felix approached her There was not much to see. Felix purposely stood between her and the door j but Davis might have seen her face, foi A PERFECT ADONI8. fcll its change of color. It was deep wretchedness, And nothing, nothing else. They went away to smoke ; and in the smoking car Felix met a person whom he knew, to his extreme relief. Ha abandoned Davis, and talked with the new-comer as if he had no other interest in life. Davis meanwhile watched him narrowly, and began to feel quite young and unimpor- tant. When they were nearing the city, Felix threw away the remnant of his last cigar, and seeming just to have recalled Davis' existence, joined him and said, " Are you going back to the car just now ? " Davis, quite restored to his ordinary good manners, assented, and they went into the car that they had quitted. By this time Davis had begun to doubt exceedingly the correctness of his first impressions. This doubt was rather deepened by the easy way in which Felix, stopping at the door, said to Dorla, " We are nearly at our journey's end, Mrs. Rothermel. Can I not take your checks, or has the expressman been to you? I should have thought of that before." " The expressman hasn't been. At least, I haven't seen him," said Dorla, very wearily. " That's odd ; Davis, has he been through the car ? " Thus addressed, Davis had to bow, and suffer himself to be drawn into the conversation. " I will go and look him up," said Felix, and Davis, to his chagrin, found himself left beside Dorla, and obliged awk- wardly to talk to her till the return of Felix. Beside the natural dread which a man has of talking to any one in (rouble, particularly if it is a woman and liable to cry, he felt exceedingly ashamed of himself for all the naughty things he had been thinking of her. He would have been a brute, if he could have thought anything that was not good and pitiful of the poor girl before him ; and he certainly had no thoughts that were not such. When Felix came back, just as thev reached the depot, there was so much to be said A PERFECT ADONI8. 247 about trunks and expressmen and checks and nnmben (new and old) of streets, that Davis could not see much room left for sentiment. " I must see if I can't find the man, for you don't want to wait till the baggage is taken over," Felix said. " Davis, if you'll take Mrs. Rothermel on the boat, I'll see what can be done. Give me your checks, Mrs. Rothermel. Let me see. I have the address all right ? " He read it over to her. So Davis found himself giving his arm to Mrs. Rothermel, and carrying her shawls, and getting her safely through the jostling crowd. It was very warm ; the depot was suffocating. Dorla looked very pale. On the ferryboat it was better. Davis got seats near the door, and the fresh breeze from the water was restoring. Felix came after a while and stood beside them, for there was no seat. He had found the expressman, and that was all right. They talked about express companies, and the bad management of ferryboats, and all the dozen things that people talk about when they are travelling and haven't much to say. When they reached the other side, there was a worse crowd than usual, people pouring on and people pouring off the boat at the same moment. Felix saw with agony that Dorla was growing very pale again. " I will find a carriage for you, if you will stay with Mr. Davis. Davis, don't let them take you off your feet. Wait there for me. I will not be many minutes." So Davis waited, and he couldn't help thinking it looked more as if Mrs. Rothermel was eloping with him than with Felix Varian. He began to wonder if he were being made a cat's-paw of. Felix soon found the carriage, and beckoned them to come. He held the carriage-door open for Dorla, and Davis raised his hat. 11 Wait for me a moment," Felix said to him, as he thowed a disposition to move off. u I thought perhaps you'd be going to ride," Davis said, 248 * PERFECT ADONIS. looking at him sharply, as he delivered up the shafrls and ba. " No, I'll walk along with you, if you'll wait a moment.' 1 Dorla was in the carriage, but she was looking ghastly white. The heat indeed was great ; the men about the wharves were wiping the perspiration from their faces, and gasping for fresh air. The sun was obscured, but the air was motionless. " You don't feel faint," said Felix, hurriedly. " N-no " said Dorla, trying to speak firmly. " I shall be better but this heat is frightful." " I wish I could do something for you," he said. " Good- bye !" He shut the carriage door and told the man where to drive. He did not look at her again, he dared not. For this was in truth Good-bye. He never meant to see her again. It was almost more than he could bear to see her go away uncared for and alone, through the great cruel city. He had a feeling that at all moments of her life she should be guarded and watched over, that she was too precious and too dear to walk the common ways of life. But to-day, in all this storm of trouble, and with that white and suffering face, to let her go alone was an act that seemed to rend his heart. He knew that she had no one on whom to depend ; he thought of all the dark maze of trouble in which she would be involved when she once reached her brother ; no one to do anything for her, no one to decide for her what should be done in all the matters that arose. He did not know where this brother might be, into what dangerous and vile places she might not have to fol- low him ; as he had thought it over, on the ferryboat, while he was talking of express companies and crowds so commonplacely, he had almost resolved, he coul I not leave her, come what might. But another doubtful look on Davis' face had settled it ; she must go alone, if she died as the result of going so. And indeed her face would have A PEKFEGT ADONIS. 249 given a more unconcerned person a feeling of alarm. She certainly was not in a fit state to drive three miles alone through this terrible heat, with a strange driver on the box, who would probably give neither eye nor ear to her till they reached their destination. She might well die and he be none the wiser. " Well, I don't know but that's the best thing she can do," thought Felix bitterly, as he watched the carriage whirl around a corner, while he walked by Davis' side, " and then Til try the temperature of the river, and there will be ar end." Yes, he had said good-bye to her forever, and his heart was as sore as if he had known that she was dead; it seemed to him as he walked along the miserable, crowded, dtining street, that no greater sacrifice had ever been asked of any living man. Very black and hateful his life looked to him at that moment ; it only might have been darker by one shade ; he still had something that he must do for her. And something so imperative, that unless he did it faith- fully, she might much better have been dead. He knew that unless he were seen in Milford that night, she was a ruined woman : that unless he made clear to the senses of this tattling boy, that no moment of the three hours that he spent in town was spent with her, her honor and her posi- tion in the world were compromised beyond redemption. When he thought how innocent and how sinned against she was, he felt as if no pain would ever be too great to be put upon him. His infatuation and cruel selfishness overwhelmed him with remorse. He felt the cold sweat start on his fore- lead when he thought of the danger he had placed her in. " You look quite fagged out," said Davis, looking at him askance, as they toiled through the reeking streets that bor- der the city front. " Upon my word, I believe there never was a worse day iince the world was made," said Felix, wiping his forehead nn, when Felix took her mother's hand, entirely re- stored the latter's self-possession, the startled look disap- peared, her whole interest was centred on the child. " Baby, what is it ? " in an unutterably tender voice, that filled Felix with impotent wrath aud jealousy. " What is it," putting her hand over the struggling little feet, and holding her closer as she sank into a sofa near. The baby, reassured, became quiet, but never lifted her head, and con- tinued to gaze at Felix from her curious eyes. In a mo- ment, for nothing beyond the most simple words of greeting had passed between them, Dorla said : " I was not expecting to see you. I did not know that you were coming back. I wonder Harriet has not spoken of it." " Harriet did not know that I was coming. It was quite a sudden movement." " How happy it must make your mother ! I think she al- ways wishes you would stay at home." " I have not seen my mother. You know they are in Washington." " Yes, but I supposed you had been there." " I only landed yesterday at six." Dorla gave a quick sort of breath. She almost knew why he had come home, from that. " You will give them l great surprise. Do you go on to-day ? " " Probably not," he answered coldly . " There is time mough." " T think you will find Mrs. Varian looking a little 260 A PERFECT ADONI& older," said Borla. " She has not been quite as well thii winter. Still it is possibly not much. The change to Washington may do her good." " The last thing to do anybody good as I remember it." "But you know Mrs. Yarian is different. She likes change, and is the better for excitement. And you, I think I've heard you say, only want rest and quiet, when you are not well." " It is so seldom that I am not well, I scarcely know what do want in that condition." " You look well," she said, raising her eyes, unembarrassed, to his face, for a moment. Felix felt as if he were in a strange land indeed, everything was slipping away from aim, the past, and what he had assured himself would be the future. That quiet, simple look of Dorla's eyes, as she said " you look well," and studied his face for an instant, abso- lutely stunned him. " I wish that I could say the same of you," he said. " I am much better than I have been," she answered matter- of-factly. " I believe I should have been better, if I had been in the country more last summer. But I was so weak, and it was such an effort to get away, and it was comforta- ble here. The doctor said it did not make any difference to baby while she was so young, and foolishly I stayed till August. I ought to have taken Mrs. Yarian's advice. She urged me not to do it." " Yes, Harriet wrote me of it. She said my mother was quite worried." "Your mother has been so good to me," said Dorla, with sudden warmth of feeling. t( I am very much alone, having no relatives and so few friends ; I don't know what I should have done without her at at the time of my great trouble." And here the tears swam in her eyes. " I never can forget her." Felix felt a stony sort of wrath come over him. At the time of her great trouble ! at the time of her great deliver- A PERFECT ADONI8. 261 ance, he should have thought she might have said. What was she thinking of that she failed to praise Providence for setting her free so soon ? Were women all false, or were they all fools ? Was there an accredited time of weepkigj, from which there could be no exemption? He found him- self growing bitter towards this dreary widow. His faco gr*>w so hard and dark that baby grew afraid or peevish, and set up a little whine. She was not a baby to cry ; she moaned and whined when she was not pleased. Instantly the little whine roused her mother to the keenest life. " It is her teeth that trouble her, I am sure," she said. The child kicked again with her very small feet, and fretted with au added emphasis, and Dorla' s face was clouded with anxiety. She rose and walked once or twice up and down the room, Boothing the child with soft words, quite forgetting Felix. " Excuse me one moment," she said, remembering him as she went towards the door. Felix hoped that it was to send the little torment to the D.urse up-stairs. But it was no such thing. It was only to have the rattle and some playthings brought to her. The nurse sat up-stairs all day blandly sewing, and all day and all night the baby was in Dorla's arms. When the nurse took her out into the street, Dorla walked in sight of the little carriage. When she drove herself, the baby was be- side her. While she stood at the door, and gave her orders to the nurse, Felix got up and walked impatiently about the room. And as he did so, his eye fell on a picture the picture be- fore which Dorla had been standing when he entered. It was a portrait of George Rothermel ; strongly resembling Jm, but indefinably flattered. It was the face of a very handsome man, young, grave, thoughtful. It was difficult to remember his smallness, his provincialism, and be patient with the artisc. But there was no denying the resemblance : it was George Bothermel who looked down at you, only with an important element subtly interlined. Such an artist 262 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. ought to be crowned with bays immortal. The picture hung beside the window, where the day's best light shone full upon it; below it and beside were . fastened brackets, and on these stood flowers, fresh and lovely, drooping before it, t seined around it. It was a sort of shrine. When Felix turned to meet Dorla re-entering the zoom, his face was cold and hard, and his voice as he addressed her, cynically measured. The detested baby was still in her arms. " You must find the the child a great care, Mrs. Rother- mel." " A care ! O, no ; " and Dorla's voice trembled with its unspoken feeling. She did not say in words, she is my life, my comfort, all I have to live for, as a more diffuse person would have said ; but Felix could not misinterpret the trem- ble of her voice. fl It is a pleasure to see you so occupied and interested," he said with a bitter smile. " Thank you," said Dorla with her eyes down, her pretty, slender hand passing and repassing softly pver the baby's downy head. "I had thought of you as as alone and dreary. I see that is not so." " No," said Dorla in a low tone, " I am never alone while I have my baby." They had reseated themselves, when Dorla came back with the baby's toys. There was a moment's pause. Then Dorla said, making an effort to speak, so as to turn the con- versation from herself before anything dangerous should come up : " You have not told me anything of yourself your jour neyt Has the winter been a pleasant one ? I think Harriet said you were in Rome." " Yes," said Felix with easy indifference. " I have beer in Rome ; the third winter I have spent there, and I thinV the pleasantest." A PERFECT ADONIS. 263 Dorla involuntarily glanced at him to see if he mean/ this ; and her eyes fell quickly. There was nothing in Felix's face to assure her that he had come home on her ac- count. She did not understand exactly what she saw th ere. They talked a little more, about indifferent things ; an-1 then the baby fretted again, and after she had soothed i* anx- iously into quiet, Felix saw on her face a little look of weari ness. He started to his feet ; this stung him more than all. In the half hour or less he had spent here, he had seen her, a little startled, a little cold, a little frightened and a little weary. All the life, all the interest that her face had shown, had been called there by the fretting baby in her arms. He left her, he hardly knew how ; he hoped afterwards that he had not betrayed the passion that he felt. But it was some bitter comfort to think she probably had not been at the pains to speculate about it. And this was the end ! Harder, harder far than " the end " before. He went out into the street and set his face against the biting March wind, and walked fast and fierce. The disappointment was very cruel. When he was in her presence he had been too angry to feel the whole weight of his sorrow ; though he was still as angry, he began to feel what it meant to him, and what a chasm had opened in his life. The belief that she loved him had been the food as well as the poison of his soul. Now the food and the poison were both gone, and he already felt the agony of starvation seizing on him. He had been living in a dream this year and a half a hopeless, enervating dream. No woman had ever been more constant, even in hourly thought, than he had been He had carried the thought of her through every land ; things present had passed before him as a misty pageant ; and she had been the one reality. And he could not understand it ; he was so angry that he would have been glad to have believed her false, light and trifling, feigning a love she did not feel, and then feigning i sorrow as unreal. But thia he could not, after his first fury 264 A PERFECT ADONI8. of disappointment, bring himself to think. Dorli vra true, whoever might be false ; she had loved him once, she loved him now no more. Her nature was so transparent to him, he never could doubt that he read aright. But what had wrought the transformation ; what had chilled her towards him, and put in his place this shadowy ideal of the husband whom she had never loved ? Felix thought he knew Dorla well ; but no one person can know another unless he has entered into the other's life, lived with him in imagination, or beside him in reality. This was what Felix failed to take into account. The year and a half had been to him a smooth, uneventful period out- wardly ; inwardly, simply and entirely full of her. It had been to her a cruel and suffering time, filled with hard and bitter events, crowding upon each other. Imagination had had little room for play ; physical suffering, and the sight of physical suffering ; a burden of care, an overtrial of strength ; suspense, fear, death ; the hard minutiae of bereave- ment ; the grinding details of funerals and burials ; the coarse trial of necessary household changes ; all these had been in Dorla's lot, and had made imagination dead in her. And this without counting the dark places she had passed through in her succeeding illness ; the abyss of suffering into which she had been plunged ; the entrance into a new heaven of love by a roadway worse than death. All this Felix failed to take into account. He could read her face, but he iad not read her life, and so he failed to understand. Dorla held the baby in her arms, and whispered " we are glad that he is gone ; " and involuntarily drew near the win- dow and watched him go away, holding the child's atom of a hand against her cheek, and wondering in her heart that she ha<5 no feeling no feeling good or bad. She was in truth * little weary, and was glad that he was gone. " George is avenged, poor George," she said to herself, walking to the picture and looking long at it. Sho tried t think sb 3 had strong feeling as she looked ; she had, in a A PERFECT ADONIS. 265 uray ; he was the father of this child who had transformed her life, and he was, in a measure, glorified. Between the time that he had disappointed and disgusted her, and now, there had been a time of great and cruel suffering to witness. He had been thrown upon her tenderness and care ; she had passed with him through deep waters ; she had stood by him when the awful tide rose over him, and he had gone down with his eyes fixed on her. One does not forget such com- panionship. Dorla thought that she had grown to love her husband before she was parted from him ; after he was gone she had not any doubt of it. When her child was born she had wept his death afresh, and vowed to make reparation for her want of love by devotion to his memory and by mak- ing him a reality to the child he had never seen. Her im- agination and her conscience had done him good service, aided by "the artist whose work had roused so bitter a con- tempt in Felix. She was living an unreal life, but there did not happen to be any one to tell her of it. Unreal, that is, as regarded the memory of her husband, and unhealthy as regarded her excessive devotion to her child; but as far as her physical life was concerned, as matter-of-fact and inevita- ble as if she had had no imagination and no conscience. Her illness had left her prostrated in strength; the child for whom she chose to live, drained daily from her, her little stock of health and vigor. Who does not know the weariness, the dulness, that comes with loss of bodily strength ? how differently the world looks, how low the tide of love and hatred ebbs ! Dorla was " aweary." She was low in tone, she was dull in thought, she was listless and unenergetic. She thought it was wholly because George was dead, and her life had suffered a great change because she had turned from her appalling sin and been received repentant back to virtue ; but it was partly too because the rich current of her blood was paled and chilled, and nerves and tissues, of which she did not 5ven km w the name, were weakened and degenerated. She felt feebly thankful for her emancipation, and touched he? 12 266 ^ PERFECT ADONI& dreary widow's dress with a sort of reverence. She thought of herself as no longer a young woman ; and the future had only Baby in it, and poor people, and church, and humble weary work. And so she sent Felix away, not quite sure thai she had Bent him, but feeling it vaguely, and seeing it in his fierce, quick walk, as he went down the street, and in his com pressed lips and fiery eyes. "George is avenged, poor George ! " she said to herself, holding the baby tight, and walking up and down the room. Yes, in a way, poor George was signally avenged. JEW YORK is a big place ; it is quite possible to live in it a good many years, and never see a per- son whom you do not seek, who may be living there as well. Felix, after he saw his mother, had not the heart to go away again. Dorla was right; she had aged very much. She clung to Felix, and he never even hinted at the possibility of going away again. Fortunately for him, Uiey were not very much in the city. There were the usual fcummer absences, and the winters now must be mostly spent in Florida. He was henceforth a good son, and did his duty with tenderness, but he had a very bitter and desolate heart, which even his mother's newly shown affection could not soothe. He would have been glad to go very far away. He felt as if it kept him sore to have to know that Dorla lived so near him ; he had to hear her name sometimes, and to know that she had been at the house. He had to answer Harriet's questions, and to sustain himself under his mother'a more penetrating eyes. But he managed to deceive them both. " You see," said Harriet, with a good-natured sneer, if fcuch a thing is possible ; " you see it is as I told you it would bo. He doesn't want her now that he can have her " A PERFECT ADONIS. 267 " Yes, I see/' said Mrs. Yarian, with a little sigh. It W&B a disappointment to her, but she did not talk about it. Poor woman ! Everything was growing a vague and weary disappointment to her, with the receding strength and spirits that had made her life so comfortable. But she was not bit- ter, and she made no moan. Only she began to see things differently, and to wish deep down in her heart that she had seen them so before the days came when she " had no pleasure in them." Harriet could not give up the world, and so for the two years that she still lived, the house was not a dull one. There was a dull sick room in it, though ; ah, such a dull and weary one ! But no complaint came from it, and the house- hold life went on as usual. At this time Felix would have been very glad if he could have married, or could have found any charm in society. But there is a point beyond whicl one cannot force one's self : and it was all worse thaD wearj to him. Not that he fancied that he still loved Dorla. He was too angry and bitter and disappointed, to fancy that ; but somehow, that year-and-a-half-long dream had taken out of reality all flavor of enjoyment. It was a mercy that he had one duty and that he recognized it. He perhaps was laved, by the performance of that duty, from much evil and despair. And when the two years were ended, and in a dreary Bouthern exile the poor mother passed into a longer exile from the things that she had loved, Felix rose up manlier and more courageous then he had given promise. Business life is not very exalted or exalting, but it is better than idle- ness. He was freed from New York ; he was tired of Eu- rope. A chance word at a ripe moment turned his thoughts to a life in California. He did not turn pastoral and buy ft sheep farm as the heroes in English novels do in Australia, liter they have suffered disappointment in matters of the heart at home; neither did he do anything poetical orpasto- 268 ^ PERFECT ADONIh. ral. But he went into business in San Francisco in a most prosaic way, and made a great deal of money, which isn't at all to the purpose, as he had plenty of that before. But he also made occupation and interest for himself, and developed a business ability that helped his self-respect, and entered upon a life that was really, in its way, useful and invigora- ting. Harriet, meanwhile, had not much need of him or of any one. She led much the sort of life that she had led before, except that she took rather a wider range, sad allowed her enthusiasm to lead her somewhat further away than formerly from the strictest good society. But she had always been eclectic, and nobody was ever surprised at anything she did. Also no one criticised her with any great severity, because she had plenty of money, and used it very lavishly. She never ceased to be of importance wherever she appeared. Felix did not feel uneasy about her, neither did he feel any great desire for her companionship. It would be hardly possible for sister and brother to love each other less, and yet be friends. They wrote to each other with regularity, and Felix was scrupulous in the care of her property, bv, t there it seemed to end. Finally, after three years of this expatriation, Felix felt a sort of undefined desire to see home again. He could not quite account for it ; possibly, it was because he was getting a little restless. He had never been so long in one place be- fore. He tried to put it on his duty to Harriet. " Anyway, I'll go for a month or two at least, and take a little rest." And so he went. This was five years and four months ifter the day when he had left Dorla before George's picture, with the black dress and the widow's cap, and the heavy eyes, and the white atom of a baby in her arms. He had never seen her since that day, and he always thought of her with these adjuncts. Since his mother's death, he had never even heard her name. He sometimes thought it possible A PERFECT ADONIS. 269 that she was no longer living. At times he had a dreamy Bort of desire to know what had been her fate, and what the fate of her little child. But it was only at times. By-gene* were by-gonea, and life was full and buaj. IV and the Lakes ! It seemed to Felix likf a dream, to be passing through these scenes again. He lived more in that past vision than he had done for a long time ; he sauntered leisurely where he had once hurried fiercely : he philosophized over his infatuation, he compared himself with the man he had been then, with j shiver of fear and a sigh of regret. For while he felt him self healthy and sound again, far removed from such passion- ate folly, he felt in his heart the sweetness of the madness ; he sighed to remember it was a delirium that could never come again. He had long ceased to feel bitterly towards Dorla. He now began to think of her with a tender sort of remembrance. He felt that he could estimate her character more truly, her mystic strength, her pitiable weakness. He could almost forgive her that she had ceased to love him, though he could not understand it. He began to think less and less of her as the cold widow in her dreary weeds, the absorbed mother with her fragile oaby, and more and more of her as the Helen of his imagination, 41 Daughter of the Gods, divinely tall And most divinely fair " He thought of those brief, gay days " when they were first icquaint," of those passionate and wearing weeks, when she was struggling against his cruel and sinful love. He began to wonder about her : he admitted to himself that he should 'ike to see her, if chance threw him in her patii. tc When I see Harriet, I must remember touak iier whr A PERFECT ADONIS. 271 he is," he said to himself, with a funny attempt at self-de- ception. As if there was any danger that he would not re- member to ask Harriet. Harriet was at Lake Memphrema- gog. She had found a new place and was enraptured with it. She had also found i party of artists who afforded her amuse- r\ent; she was very glad to know Felix was coming, lut she did not seem to be impatient to see him. So Felix took his tirno and made the circuit of the. Lakes on his way to her. The weather was unusually good. He felt in fine health ; he had been out of the way of travelling just long enough to make it an enjoyment ; there was nothing but the fact that he was alone, to take from the pleasure of the journey. At Montreal that objection was removed. Late in the afternoon of the day he arrived there, he was leisurely making his way along Notre Dame Street, when his eye was caught by the troubled face of a young and pretty girl, who was hurrying along the sidewalk, and peering into the maze of vehicles that obstructed the street. Then she ran back towards a shop and called out, " Mamma, mamma, the fellow has gone off, and we shall be left ! " But mamma was too far back in the shop, and too en- grossed with her traffic to give heed, and the girl ran out again, and looked again, and went around the corner, and came back looking as if she wanted to cry. That was too b4. She was too pretty to be allowed to cry. So Felix approached her, and said with such distinguished courtesy as to make it impossible to doubt him, " Can I be of any assistance in finding your carriage for you?" Her face brightened, the cloud passed away, and the sun burst out, (she was only seventeen, and Felix was still the aandsomest of the handsome.) "Yes, I think so, that is, I nm much obliged to you. We have only half an hour before the starting of the boat, and ever so many things to do. 1 ion't know where the man has gone." 272 A PERFECT ADO&I8. " Perhaps to see what the crowd is about on the block be- low," said Felix. " I have no doubt I can find him if you will tell me what sort of a carriage it is." " O, it is one of those one-horse things, all gilt and glass," returned the young lady. " I don't know what you call them. And the driver's a Canadian with black eyes and reddish hair, and speaks abominable French. They aU look alike ; I don't know how to make you understand." " Perhaps if you went with me " said Felix. She gave him a doubtful look, and then moved forward across the street. " This is rather droll," she said naively, with a little laugh, after they had walked a few steps quickly and in silence. " But better than being left, perhaps," he said demurely. " O, yes, a good deal." They reached the opposite sidewalk, and Felix found a doorstep for her, that commanded a good view of the crowd of vehicles beyond. " Can you ee him anywhere among them ? " he said, watching her eyes. She looked rather disheartened, and said no. {( What shall I do ? " she exclaimed ; " and there were a dozen parcels in the carriage, and a sealskin sack and two silk dresses. We have been shopping all the afternoon." Felix thought the fellow had made off with the " plunder," and began to be in earnest. " What sort of a horse was it ? Can't you remember ? I will go and find an officer." " I can't remember," said the girl, following him. " I do not think I looked. O, yes. Now I do remember ; the horse was grey, and had such hixleous shoulder-blades." Felix was amused. They hurried forward, and in a few moments, out of sight, behind a loaded truck, Felix found fche grey horse with the shoulder-blades, standing with his head down and his worst foot lifted patientlj before the vehicle " all gilt and glass," quite unconscious of the seal, skin sack and the two silk dresses in his charge. The young lady gave a i ry of relief. 4 PERFECT ADONI8. 273 " Ne.w to find the driver," said Felix:. But that was not 10 easy to do. The plot had thickened evidently in the di- rection of the crowd. There was no officer to be fcund of course. Felix went in and out among the outer loungers, and shouted and asked questions, but all to no avail ; in a moment he came back to the young girl, who stood with her watch in her hand, and an anxious expression on her faco.** 4 " We shall be left," she said. " The wretch ! " t( I don't know what to suggest," said Felix. " Unless you let me drive you to your hotel or wherever you want to go." (( We want to go to the Quebec boat," she said. " We have just left the hotel and sent our baggage down, and we were doing some last shopping on our way." Felix wondered what the first shopping must have been when the last included a sealskin sack, two silk dresses and nine other packages. " Well, I see nothing for it, but for you to let me drive you." Between anxiety and amusement, the young girl knew hardly what to do. ll We'll see what mamma says," she answered slowly. " Very well, I will lead the horse if you will go on," re- turned Felix, taking the beast by the head and walking along as near the sidewalk as was possible. Meantime, his companion hurried forward, and met on the corner, a stout, elderly, well-dressed person, who fell (apparently) to upbraiding her for having given her so much anxiety. The mother and daughter were both evidently ex- citable and given to speak their minds ; though he could not hear, he could see from the gesticulations and flushed faces, that there was much difference of opinion. He went as slowly as possible, to let the agitation cool before he joined the party, but in their own interest ho felt he should not linger. It was just eighteen minutes now to seven He could not help hearing the mother say, as he 274 A PERFECT ADONIS. brought tho ungainly horse to a stand-still in front of th* corner shop, " Better be left a hundred times, than do such a crazv thing as this." " Well, then, be left, and break up the party," cried the girl impetuously. And again she looked as if she certainlj would cry. That mollified Felix, who caught sight of her face& lie had meant to petrify the ungrateful mother, by bowing and withdrawing, and leaving them to get to the boat as best they could ; but the girl was much too pretty to be made to cry. He assumed his most distinguished and high-bred manner, and turned to the elder lady with a bow. She moved forward to confront him with flushed dignity and p frown. But the words died on his lips, and the frown van ished from her face as their eyes met. " Mr. Varian ! " she cried, and bursting into a laugh, pu< out her hand. " Well, Mrs. Glover," said Felix, laughing as he took it, " you looked as if you were going to send me off." " I was, indeed," she said, good-humoredly. t( I don't like my daughter to be so eloquent about anonymous hackmen. For she is grown up. See ! This is Abby, the little girl you helped to write French exercises, seven years ago. Imagine It ! What a little fright she then was, with her hair d la Kenwigs." " Well, I don't remember that? said Felix, bowing to the young beauty, whose eyes were dancing with interest and excitement. " Mamma ! And you know him after all ! It ought to be a lesson to you to believe a person is a gentleman when I tell you so." " Come, come," said the mother, too much pleased with the encounter to be severe upon her daughter, "there is no lime to lose, if we am going to Quebec to-night, and if Mr A PERFECT ADONIS. 275 Varian is still willing to drive us to the wharf, now that he knows so much about us." They got into the carriage quickly,, and Felix took the i sins. " You'll have to tell me the streets," he said, " for it is five years smce I have been in Montreal." " This way," said Abby, pointing ; but somehow her zeal for catching the boat was fast abating. " How long are you staying in Montreal, Mr. Varian ? " said the mother. " O, a day or two, perhaps. I have no fixed policy, I am only drifting." But at this moment they found themselves the centre of an excited crowd. It is surprising how Canadian cabmen gather, from all points of the compass, like "birds of evil wing ; " they are around you in a moment ; you cannot tell from whence they come. This time they were headed by the enraged and terrified owner of the grey horse, and much be-gilded carriage. They were present to sympathize with him, and also to take the chance of a fare, if he and the travellers should come to open rupture. It was very dim- cult to understand his Canadian jargon, or to make him un- derstand that he deserved a horse- whipping. Still, Felix was fierce enough in correct French to make the ladies turn pale, and the man, quite subdued and very repentant, crept up to the seat beside him, and assumed the reins, with liberal promises of getting them to the pier five minutes before the steamboat started. The crowd dispersed, the carriage bounced and rattled fiercely over the stones, and Felix ) urned to resume his conversation. "Now," said Mrs. Glover, clutching the side of the car- riage, " is not this reckless driving ? " " He will break our necks for us," said Abby, discontent edly. It was evident she was in less of a hurry than she had been before. Felix ordered him to go raoi carefully, %nd then it was possible to talk. 276 A PERFECT ADONIS. " Why don't you join us, Mr. Yarian ? " said Mrs. Glover, " We have a pleasant party, rather scattered to be sure at present; but we are to meet at Quebec and go up the Saguenay. Why cannot you come down the river to-morrow night and join us ? Some of our party are coming on to-night, and some of them possibly to-morrow night. We shall not certainly start for the Saguenay till the day after. It realty would be very pleasant." " I am sure it would," said Felix, non-committal. But Abby looked so anxious and so breathless, he had not the heart to be non-committal long. There was also no earthly reason why he should refuse. He had meant to go up the Saguenay, and probably if he had not met them, would have taken the boat that they would take the day after to- morrow. So he had no excuse for keeping the pretty Abby any longer in suspense. (It is probable if it had been very inconvenient, he would have gone, she was so very pretty.) In a moment's time it was all arranged, and Abby was radiant. She had the most ingenuous way of not disguising any of her emotions ; a delightful way, when they were all as flattering as this last one to Felix. He thought her a most charming creature, and tried to remember all he could about the French exercises and the long braids. But in those days she had made no impression. There were a hun- dred things to ask and to plan about the projected journey, and they found themselves at the wharf sooner than had seemed possible. Felix carried on board the most bulky of the precious packages ; saw to their luggage ; got the key ol their state-room ; paid the cabman ; in short, made himself guide, philosopher and friend. There were yet three minutes to spare. " How I wish you were going down to-night ! " said Abby following him out upon the deck, where he had gone to hunt op chairs for them. " Yes," said Felix, thinking drearily of the reading-roow A PERFECT ADON18. 277 and his stuffy apartment at St. Lawrence Hall. l Yes, if I only were, I should be very glad." " You'll surely come to-morrow night ? " she asked, with momentary distrust darkening her eyes as she fixed them keenly on him. Probably she had been disappointed before by people who had made fair promises. " Surely," he said, amused and fascinated, returning he> gaze in a way that made her blush, and that was quite un justifiable after an acquaintance of something less thai three-quarters of an hour. When he parted from her, 1 am ashamed to say, he would have liked to kiss her ; and he held her warm, ungloved hand in his for a quarter of a min- ute, while he was making some unnecessary adieux to her mamma. She leaned over the boat and talked to him ou the pier ; and when the boat moved off, looked so childishly sorrowful, it stirred his very heart. " It is better than being alone," he said, as he mingled with the crowd again, " to have some one glad when you come and sorry when you go, even if it is a child." Then he reflected that he had been a fool for being flat- tered; and before he was back at the hotel, was quite ashamed for having committed himself to what opened like a most pronounced flirtation. "This comes of living out of the world for a little while," he said, as he remembered the look of satisfaction on the mother's face. " I had for- gotten how desirable I was : it will be a regular pursuit." He resolved to be on his guard ; he even determined to give up the Saguenay. Mrs. Glover he remembered ag a gay, good- natured woman of society, harmless and rather headstrong ; but that was when her only daughter was eating bread and butter in the nursery. There was no knowing what might be developed by the maternal instinct set a hunting ; she might be a very dangerous person. He even wrote a telegram, regretting that he could not come. But that he tore up the next morning; he began to feel very m ich as if he wanted company it was dull work travel] irg alone. Beside, he 278 A PERFECT ADONIS. had intended to go up the Saguenay : it was rather weak ta be turned from it by a pair of women. Probably he could protect himself. So he did his duty by the nunneries and churches, and went drearily around the mountain ; and be fore dinner was quite weary of the place. He could not possibly have stayed longer ; he was not going to Quebec to meet the Glovers, but to get away from Montreal. During the afternoon, there was 'nothing to do but to shop, so he laid in a supply of storybooks and bonbons, to ameliorate the dulness of the Saguenay journey for the youthful Abby. To avoid all danger of being left, he went on board the steamboat at twenty minutes before seven, settled his valise in his state-room, and went out upon the deck. " There is nothing like having plenty of time," he said, a little ashamed of himself, looking at his watch. But after all he could not have done better ; this was the best view he had had in Montreal. The evening sky was cloudless ; in front of him, upon the wharf, was a busy crowd of wagoners and teams- ters shouting in Canadian. French ; far behind them rose the heavy stone- work of the Pier Richelieu and the pier Jacques Cartier ships lay at anchor both up and down the stream ; a canal boat lay snugly up beside the pier, bare-armed and bare-headed women leaning over her sides to enjoy the even- ing breeze ; the men in the rigging of the ships were mov- ing listlessly about ; you might have heard them singing if you had been near enough to hear, and some gay flags were flying. There was great breadth and freedom in the pros- pect ; no huddling of ships together ; no crowding of boats about the pier ; the wide river was spanned in the distance by the Victoria bridge, but that seemed far away. Beyond the pier rose splendid warehouses ; a wide place opened up ihe hill, and upon the top stood the Nelson statue, in fine relief against the evening sky. The carriages and people who moved along the street beside the monument, looked coal-black ; the trees stood out like charcoal sketches. The sky Alas most pure and cloudless; there was no wind; tht A PERFECT ADONIS. 279 day had been hot, but the cool of evening *ras stealing over the water and through the air. Even with the gesticulating crowd of Frenchmen at their wagons below, it was impossible not to feel cool and quiet, and as if the ena of the day had come. There were no evil smells, no crush- ing, crowding and bustling. An ideal way of doing business with all that sky and river, and fine masonry and open space. Felix thought of some blocks of New York water front ; the contrast made this entree to commercial Montreal like the frontispiece in a fairy tale. He walked up and down the deck, penetrated and soothed with the beauty of the hour. Gradually more people came on board, and half a dozen came near where he paced, and fook their seats. One well-dressed man sat down and turned his back upon the Pier Richelieu and the broad place, and the Nelson monument, and the evening sky, and read a yellow-covered novel; another took out his pocket-diary and spent fifteen minutes in adjusting the record of his 'ravelling expenses. He thought them very inferior crea- tures what we generally think of people whom we meet in travelling. At length the time approached for the mov- ing of the steamer down the river. One bell had sounded, and there was an increased fervor in the oaths of the French- men below among the barrels of cabbages and melons. Felix, in a little maze, stood leaning over the rail and gaz ing back upon the city, thinking of the last restless, unob- servant voyage he had made down this same broad river, five years ago ; when he was made aware of some little ex- citement among his fellow-passengers. He of the yellow- covered novel had shut his book, and the accurate traveller had put away his memoranda, and both had started towards the other side of the boat. Another boat had neared them, was drawing minute by minute closer to their side. " The boat that's just come down the rapids," said the yellow-covered man; "she's going to transfer some pa* tengera." 280 A PERFECT ADONIS. Then Felix filt but little interest, and wondered at thf mriosity of his fellow-travellers ; still he idly drew r ear and stood among a line of others, face to face with the voy- agers on the other boat, which was still rocking slightly ana was still not quite alongside. There were many calls below, and much throwing of ropes and clanking of chains. The boats were separated by but a few feet now ; nobody was talking all were looking. The passengers on the other boat had a sun-burned, flushed, excited look, as if they had just come down the rapids (which they had). Felix's eye ranged carelessly down the rows of faces op- posite him. Then he gave a start and gazed again, steady- ing himself with his hand on the rail. It was so unex- pected, he explained to himself afterwards. It always gives one a feeling of excitement to see the face of a friend or even an acquaintance without any warning among the strange faces of a crowd. It was Dorla whom he looked at Dorla, not as he remembered her, not as he saw her last, but so uniquely herself that he had not had a moment of misgiv- ing. Her face was a little sunburnt and flushed, and her eyes had a startled look, for no doubt she had been frightened coming down the rapids ; it had taken much less to frighten her in days of old. She stood gazing before her with an absent sort of look, as if she had gone through so much in the matter of the rapids, she did not think it worth while to interest herself in the landing of the boat. For a moment Felix saw no one else ; then she moved slightly, and turned to answer some one beside her who spoke, still absently, though amiably. This one who spoke to her (Felix looked at him with fierce and sudden suspicion) was apparently little occupied tfith the objects that occupied the others, but solely and utterly with her. It is so easy to see a man's devotion ; even the porter who stood laden with bags and shawls behind them, saw this one's. There was something in Dorla's pre- occupied manner that struck Felix wih the sudden convio A PERFECT ADOXIS. 281 tion fchat this was her husband, and that she had married Again without affection. She certainly looked well; she certainly did not look unhappy. This was the end ; Felix could have wished the last few days undone, and that he had not wasted a dreaming thought upon her. In a moment more, the boats were securely fastened, the plank thrown across, and the two whom he was gazing or. as in an unwilling spell, moved forward ; and he started and turned away and gazed upon the city, and tried to blot out from his memory that sight of Dorla, leading on the stran ger's arm. But though the " evening fair as ever Shines on ruin, rock, and river," its peaceful charm was at an end for him. What had Dorla, living or dead, to do with it ? Nothing, logically ; but here it was spoiled by her shadow falling on it, as she had spoiled many a morning and many an evening for him "before. Why had fate not been content to let him rest ? He laughed a little bitter laugh to himself as he turned away ; at least, he would not disturb her serenity for the second time, if he had the power. It would be too bad to trouble the peace, too, of this respectable gentleman; he would have a care. He might be more sensitive than the lamented George. He would try to avoid them. He hoped . hey had not set their hearts upon the Saguenay ! No doubt if Dorla found there was any such complication proba- ble, she would go into a fainting fit, like one of those she had done so handsomely in that remote period prior to her widowhood, and would have to keep her state-room, or be taken off the boat. Surely, they need not get into high tragedy at their time of life. It was very base and low in Felix to have thoughts like these, but indeed he was so wigry and so stung by a man's silly pride and dread of usur- pation, that he scarcely knew what he thought or what he 'ooked. He walked rapidly up and down the deck, after th A PERFECT ADONI8. steamer blew her whistle and swung off into the stream ; hi* coat was buti oned up, and his hands plunged into his pock- ets ; his face was hard, and his step almost vindictive ; he ' looked neither to the right hand nor to the left. A little child flitted acrobs the deck, followed languidly by a white- capped French nurse. Her broad Leghorn hat flapped over her eyes at an inopportune moment ; she was prostrate .'it Felix's feet, and his heavy unobservant tread came dowii upon her tiny, outstretched hand. She gave a shrill cry of pain and fear. Felix, suddenly and unpleasantly recalled to the present, stooped over her and picked her up. It put him in an agony to think that he had hurt her, but at the same time he was angry and unreasonable. " You should take better care," he said. " Let me see your finger." Her only answer was a passionate cry, and a violent struggle to get out of his arms. " Ha ! " he said, holding her tight, ft you want me to put you down on the deck again, for the next person to walk over, do you ? " Then the slim little creature writhec herself almost out of his arms, but he was angry and cruel, and meant not to put her down till he was ready. She used her hands and her feet too, and kicked him with all her tiny strength. " You are a little vixen," he said, standing her down upon the seat that encircled the deck, but still holding her by one arm. *' Now show me your hand, and let me see if you are hurt." For all answer, she thrust her hand out of sight in her dress, and twisted her face away from him. She was white with pain and anger, and she shook all over, but she did not cry. By this time the pensive French nurse came up to where he stood, and shrugged her shoulders as if in sympa- :hy with him, and as if the child were hopeless. " It will be better for Monsieur to go away," she said , uid Monsieur went away, saying as he went, A PERFECT ADONIS. 283 u I see I cannot do her any good. I am very iortj if I hurt her." He watched the nurse go away with her. The wind ble* her hat off, and he saw her face. She was not a pretty child ; she was very fair, with blonde hair, soft and thin rnd fine, that stood out in a little frizz like a glory round der head. Her nose was retrousse, her eyes were light and passionate. She warf very small, she had felfc like a doll to Felix when he lifted he*". She was dressed \ery daintily in white, with a great browi* ssh around her waist, which the nurse straightened, instead of paying any attention to the hurt little hand. They disappeared into the saloon, Felix's glance following them with a wish that that might be the last that he might see of them. He had not even the satisfaction of marching up and down like a caged lion any more ; this encounter had spoiled even that for him. He was afraid of walking over another child ; he felt thoroughly ill-tempered. " Maybe I could find rest in the baggage-room," he said to himself, in wrath, as he begged a lady's pardon for moving a chair that she had appropriated in her mind to some companion who had not yet appeared. He endured this for half an hour, and then made a surly resolution, to get his tea, and bolt himself into his state-room afterward, to escape the persecutions and temptations of the world. This monastic fury was not abated when he found himself at the door of the saloon, face to face with the stranger wh'om he had seen with Dorla. This time he had a different companion, an elderly woman in deep widow's weeds. She was leaning heavily on his arm, and he was also carrying several shawls. Not having that lively interest in Felix that Felix had in him, he said : " I beg your pardon," with ;>ut looking at him particularly, which begging of par- don was an invitation to get out of the way, and let him pass with his heavy freight. Felix was a gentleman, but it took all Df Ms traditions wid instincts to prevent him from being very rude He 884 A PERFECT ADOM8. stood aside ; as the lady passed him, she glanced into his face ; and then glanced again, and made a half movement tc put out her hand. Felix saw at once that it was some one that he knew, but who, it was impossible for him to say. His first impulse was to appear not to see ; he was just in the mood to resent bitterly the common bondage of society. But he was too good a gentleman to follow out this impulse ; he could not prevent himself from giving a faint and distant salutation. But elderly women are persistent. " I am sure I cannot be mistaken," she said, stopping in the doorway. " It is Mr. Yarian." As soon as she spoke, Felix knew that it was Mrs. Bishop. A host of recollections came over him, of his mother, and of their long kind feeling. He put out his hand ; " For the moment, I was not sure. I am so glad you spoke." Some one came pushing through the door, and she was obliged to move on ', Felix followed her. She sat down, as if tired, in the nearest chair, and motioned Felix to a se#t beside her. " You have been living in California ? I hear of you sometimes through Harriet. Harriet is not with you, my dear, is she ? " It was so long since any one, young or old, had said " mj dear " to him, that his heart relaxed. " No," he said, gently. " I have not seen Harriet since I eame back. I am on my way to her." " Aunt Hester," said the unnoticed and patient bearer of shawls, " I will leave you here a moment and see if they are read} to come out." " Yes, and Henry," returned Mrs. Bishop, " tell ner to come at once ; and see if she cannot be persuaded to leave Missy, and come down to tea." This observation filled Felix with chagrin, and broke up all his feelings of satisfaction in peeing Mrs. Bishop. She also seemed recalled to something painful, and looked fur- A PERFECT ADONIS. 285 fcively at him. It was evident that in the pleasure of see- ing him, she had forgotten the entanglements of that last Milford summer; for some reason she seemed much per- plexed and troubled. Felix's pride instantly took alarm. " She is trying to prepare a speech to soften the blow to me," he said to himself, with disdain. " I shall be the ob ject of much female pity. It is supposed, no doubt, I have been dragging a miserable existence for the last five years, and have come pitifully back to be stabbed by the cruel news, before my foot is absolutely on my native heath." Following the sarcasm out, he prepared himself to meet Dorla with suavity ; he allowed Mrs. Bishop no moment to preface the meeting. He talked so glibly on subjects of in- difference that the poor lady was bewildered and followed humbly, not being so agile of mind as formerly. In about a quarter of an hour, there was a sort of pause ; Felix him- self was a little remiss, he had been watching the door of the saloon so intently that he lost the thread of his discourse. f( I don't know why Henry doesn't come," Mrs. Bishop began, uneasily. " Perhaps " " I am afraid you are feeling the evening air," said Felix, with assiduity. " Shall I put this shawl over you ? One feels the chill so soon after the sun goes down, and there is quite a breeze to-night." " Yes, quite," returned Mrs. Bishop, reminded of her elderly infirmities. "I don't altogether fancy these niglit boats but Henry and Dorla both assured me I should be quite comfortable By the way, Mr. Yarian, did you know" But what it was, did not transpire ; at that moment, the taro people for whom he had been watching, appeared in the doorway, " Henry " preceding and clearing the way for her *s for his sovereign, and standing aside and offering her his hand as she stepped across the sill of the door. The evening was still clear, though the sun had gone down nearly ar- bour. The river looked dark and broad, and the steamei A PERFECT ADOfflB. moved steadily onward with little noise or movement, Dorla glanced around for Mrs. Bishop, and catching sight of her oame forward with a bright, affectionate face. " You are tired of waiting for me," she said, t( but Missy would not let me off a moment sooner." Felix had arisen when he saw them coming, and, standing behind Mrs. Bishop's chair } had appeared to Dorla as any of the passengers, of whom there were a number on the deck. " No, I am not tired of waiting," said Mrs. Bishop, with painfully evident constraint. " I have found an old friend on board. It will be quite a surprise to you, Dorla. Here is Mr. Varian." It was quite a surprise to her. She looked up suddenly towards him, as Mrs. Bishop turned to indicate him, and the bright, easy look died out of her face ; there came an expression with which Felix was familiar. Then all feeling, good or bad, went under swift control, and she put out her hand unaffectedly to him, and said some commonplace, but sufficiently cordial, words of greeting. Felix, notwithstanding that he had been getting up his part for half an hour, did much less well than she. He only succeeded in being stiff, and then unnaturally easy, if the thing is possible. There was, after the first few moments, something subtly detestable in his manner. Dorla alone felt it, in wonder and distress. She was quite pale, and almost silent. The two gentlemen and Mrs. Bishop kept up the few mo- ments' desultory talk, before going (Jown to tea was can- vassed. Dorla was appealed to ; Felix had arisen. " It is so beautiful out here now," said she, keeping her seat. " Tnen let us wait a little longer," said Henry, with fervent acquiescence. " Bat there will be nothing left," said Mrs. Bishop, plain* lively. " Those hungry creatures rushing down the stairs rill eat up everything." ** I am afraid, from what I hear, Mrs. Bishop," said Fe A PERFECT ADONIS. 287 lix, " lhat you tfill wish they had eaten everything up, when jrou go down." " Now, Henry assured me I should have a very decent meal. Henry, what do you say to this ? " While Henry was reassuring his aunt on this vital point, Felix excused himself, and went down to the heated and noisy dining-room. He spent but a few moments in it, and then went away to smoke. For half an hour he smoked, and then went forward, meaning to go directly to his state- room. He did not feel equal to the renewal of this inter- course, and hoped, with a bitter vehemence, that he might escape, ever in this life, Another meeting with one who brought so many unhappy memories with her. A crowd of people were about his state-room door, inspecting (( views " and Indian curiosities so-called. He could not enter it without asking persons to move, and quite possibly those he meant to avoid might be among the group. So, having left them on the forward deck, he thought himself safe in going to the stern of the boat, and walking for a few moments, till he saw the way clear to his room-door. The moon had come out in full splendor, and a long track of light lay behind them on the water. The sky was still faintly yellow about the clear horizon, and darkly blue above, and the lights along the shore seemed distant. The air, too, was fresh and delicious to one coming from within. Felix walked to the stern of the boat with a freer feeling. It seemed so dark, coming out of the lighted saloon. All the passengers walking about or sitting in groups, were like maskers. He could have told no one's face. He stood still for a moment, at the stern, looking steadfastly back upon the glittering waters. A soft voice said, exactly at his elbow "I had no idea the country was so level here, had you?" It was Dorla's voice, and it might have been said to him, w to her Henry who stood close beside her. Felix ground 288 A PERFECT ADONTS his teeth. This was fate ! He had walked directly into th very group he had been trying to avoid. He did not care what they thought, he only wanted to spare himself the sting of feeling that the sight occasioned. They talked to- gether (as was unavoidable,) for a few moments, about the river, and then, as he was planning to get away, Mrs. Bishop arose and proposed to Dorla to go in. Mrs. Bishop had been so thrown back by Felix's changed manner, and by other reasons possibly, that she had not much pleasure in his sosiety, it was evident. as to that, I don't suppose she has anybody elsa WTiy,you koow, at her age, of course it would not be nati* A PERFECT ADONIS. 308 u Not if she were very rich ? " said Felix, with a smile. Then Abby, seeing a movement of restlessness on his part, began to fear that he would yet escape, and hurried te change the subject, and to interest him in the matter of thd Saguenay. " Mamma thinks we had much better go to-morrow," said she, " and make our stay here on our return. It is no use waiting for the Collinsons ; they would have telegraphed if they had been coming. But I am sorry ; they would have been jollier than Mrs. Rothermel and Henry Stanfield." At this moment Mrs. Glover came walking briskly in ; she was stout and heavy but incredibly brisk always. Dorla and Mr. Stanfield followed her. She looked much pleased to find her daughter still so well engaged. " We have found such an excellent place," she said. " I really wish we could all go there. But that is quite impos- sible," she added promptly, seeing Felix interested. " Yes, it is just the thing I wanted," said Dorla, looking so relieved. " Now I'm willing to stay as long as anybody wants to in Quebec." "You were very homesick, I could see," said Henry, looking as happy as before he had looked anxious. " You were very kind about it," answered Dorla, sud- denly remembering his part in the matter. " I suppose we should never have heard of it, if you had not taken jo much trouble. " A parlor and two bed-rooms," interrupted Mrs. Glover, " all so neat and old-fashioned, and a general air of respecta- bility about the house." " A parlor, how swell ! " exclaimed Abby ; " we shall come and spend our evenings with you." " Well, you may, if you do not make a noise and wake up Missy. For my room opens from the parlor." " I won't go anywhere that 1 can't make a noise," said Aobj. 304 A PERFECT ADONIS. " I must go and tell Mrs. Bishop," said Dorla, '< and Mr S t&nfield, will you have my luggage sent around? ?J Away went Dorla with scarcely a nod to those she left behind, and away went Henry in another direction to see that her baggage was properly bestowed. ft Well, really," said Abby, " she takes it very coolly, going away from us. I think she actually is pleased, and she hasn't said good-bye." " O, it is only a step. And it is quite as well. The child would be worrying all the time in the hotel. And theie she will trouble no one," answered Mrs. Glover. " What shall we do, now that we have disposed of Mrs. Rothermel ? " said Abby with an anxious eye on Mr. Yarian. " Why you forget, in our care for Mrs. Rothermel, that we have not heard whether Mr. Varian has any room." " They tell me there are several single rooms on the fifth floor. I am sure any of them will do for me." " O," said Abby, " what a comfort, to hear any one say that. Not like Mrs. E-othermel, who must have a parlor and no end of comforts before she can make up her mind to stay a week." (( But I haven't a Missy or a Marie or any of those luxu- ries." " Be thankful that you haven't, then." While Felix asserted his gratitude for the freedom he en. joyed, the two who were the subjects of their criticism were being taken to Mount Carmel Street, under convoy of Henry and a porter. Missy was as well contented as her mother, but her satisfaction arose principally from the hope of get- ting rid of Mr. Felix Yarian, who had walked over her. Mount Carmel Street consists, apparently, of two steep blocks, cut off above by a gateway that encloses a garden and at the lower by the street and railing that cut th* Governor's Garden in two. The two narrow blocks are quietness itself, like all of Quebec ; the houses are plain old brick buildings ; the sidewalks are about the width of a cow A PERFECT ADONIB. 305 path. Over the iron railing at the end you look down upon the tree tops in the garden below, and beyond you see across the river the glittering roofs of Point Levis. The Governor's Garden abuts on one of the two blocks, and on that side there are no houses. If this is all of Mount Carmel Street there is very little of it. But there was quite enough to charm Dorla, and make her willing to stay in it a great while. When in the three rooms that were her own possession, she was quite full of pleasure. The trunks were soon unpacked ; a great chair wheeled up to the wide, deep window ; the table strewed with books, the little old slender champagne glasses, that the French servant brought them for the purpose, filled with flowers that Missy had heaped her apron with in the garden below. There was an old-fashioned mirror the length of the mantelpiece, long and narrow ; and a deep fire- place, with a grate adorned with brass. Indeed, wherever there could be brass about the room, there was brass, and it all shone like gold. There was a great deep sofa ; and great generous chairs, and acres of table room ; a table where you could have your work-basket and your lamp, and piles of books and papers and a writing desk, and your pressing boards and six glasses of ferns if you wanted them, and whence you need never go for want of room, whatever were your occupation. " Ruddy and strong and firm on its legs," a John Bull of a table, worth a dozen rickety fragile things all gilt and enamel and quiver. Dorla thought it all delight- ful. There was room enough in her bedroom for the trunks, and there was nothing to remind her that she was a stranger fcnd a pilgrim, and could tarry but a night. It was afternoon, and Missy, worn out with walks in the Governor's Garden and climbings up the narrow street, had fallen asleep on the wide sofa. Her mother had drawn up a chair to the side of the table, and was dreamily reading or eeming to real. The day was warm outsid?, and the light 806 A PERFECT ADONIS. was shaded to a cool dimness. A servant brought in Mr Varian. Dorla started, and laid down her book. "To what are. you indebted for the honor, etc.?" begai Felix ; " I will tell you. Mrs. Glover and Mrs. Bishop want to go to the falls of Montmorenci this afternoon, and they hope you are ready to go with them." Dorla had a sudden, wicked suspicion that she was to go with the elderlies, and that Abby was to be driven by Felix, and this she resented hotly. Not that she was not elderly, but Felix was much more so, and Abby had become intoler- able in her youthfulness. " No," she said coldly, " I am afraid I cannot go with them. I am a little tired and want to rest." Felix bowed. " Miss Abby said she was quite sure you would not go." " Miss Abby is very wise, considering her tender years." " Yes, very wise," said Felix " and you cannot go ? " " No, I am very sorry ; but it would be a bore to me, and I only want to rest. We have been travelling for two weeks. It is a luxury to have a room of one's own to rest in;" " You look very homelike here," said Felix, glancing around the room. " I don't wonder you want to stay. I hate a hotel. I always feel so restless in one." " I should have thought you would have got used to them by this time." " No," said Felix dreamily, " I never have got used to them, and have not even learned to fancy that I am con- tented with my way of life. But I go on in it, and very likely shall go on in it to the end." There was a pause ; it was impossible for either to doubt of what the other thought. Dorla thought she knew that Felix was thinking of the different life he would have led if that March day had had a different ending, thinking of the prosiness and dulness of a life with her he who was compan- ionable to girls of seventeen. And Felix felt sure she was full of cold and slighting thoughts of the past that they might A PERFECT ADONIS. 307 each despise but never could forget. Her voice had been always cold since her rejected kindness of the night before, but it was a shade colder when she came out from this re very. She reverted to the drive and said, with the manner of one who does not want to keep a district telegraph boy an unneces- sary length of time in waiting, " I am sure Mrs. Bishop will understand, for she knew that I was tired. I hope it has not detained them, sending in for me." tf No, I think not," answered Felix, determined not to be rebuffed. There was something in the shaded, cool room, .hat was much more attractive to him than the hot hotel parlor, with servants passing and repassing, and a few bored sojourners occupying the best sofas. Besides, it was rather a rare chance to see Mrs. Rothermel without interruption from her daughter or the aspirant for her hand, and he was self-willed enough to be resolved to make the most of it. So he did not take up his book, like a district telegraph youth, and make his exit, R. C., but he sat quite still and looked at Dorla, as he said, " No, I think their going depended much on yours. But it is too warm to go for pleasure yet. I think Mr. Stanfield will strongly advise giving up the expedition." Dorla was very angry with herself for coloring. She would gladly have met the insinuation with the coldness that she felt, but instead of doing so, she was reddening like a girl of seventeen, and was sitting before Felix with her eyes cast down and cheeks in a glow. He did not take his eyes off her, the insolent. And there was a kind 3f amused triumph in his voice when he spoke, as if he thought it most diverting that a person of her age should blush so, or have a suitor, or do anything that implied the existence of life and feeling. At least so Dorla looked upon it "And he is so busy preparing for the Saguenay to- sorrow," he said, at last breaking the oppressive silence. * I heard Miss Abby tell him thaf Missy would need a ne* 808 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. doll, and various illustrated nursery books, to get her through the journey. And I interrupted a caucus over guide -booki and Canadian literature." " You will need it all," said Dorla, " if you have not read up recently. I was going to offer you my Parkman, and two or three stray books which I have picked up here." " But you will need them yourself." " No, I shall not," said Dorla, looking up full at him, " for I am not going up the Saguenay." " Not going! " said Felix, with a blank expression; for he had not thought of such a possibility ; and he had not prepared his mind for two days and a half of seventeen ; caramels and story books might possibly pall upon his senses. tf Surely you will change your mind." " No, it is not possible. I do not want to go, to begin the matter, for I am tired and want to have a quiet time. And besides, it is 110 place for Missy. She is not strong enough to go about on such expeditions, and she would be unhappy all the time." " Could you not leave her here ? " asked Felix. " It would be for such a little time." Dorla gave him a look which would have been contemptu- ous if she had not been well-bred. " No," she said very quietly. " It would be impossible. I never am separated from Missy." And the contemptuous glance, in all its cold repression, wandered to the sofa, and changed to a solicitoua and loving one as it fell upon the figure of the child. Felix shrugged his shoulders. " I confess my ignorance," he said, " both of the necessi- ties of children, and of their attractions. I never realized a parent's cruel bondage before. Do all mothers and fathers endure this sort of thing ? " " What sort of thing ? " she said, really almosi tartly. ** Giving up the bliss of going up the Saguenay, for the health and comfort of a child ? Yes. I imagine A good many are capable of even that tremendous sacrifice." A PERFECT ADONIS. 309 * Well," he answered, " I think it must be a w /etched life, that's all." " Yes ? " And when she said " yes " interrogatively, it was a clash of silvery icicles, and was meant to put an end to further conversation on the subject. A sort of " Finis " in a frost work. But Felix was not in a mood to be put an end to in that fashion. He defied Dorla and her interrogatory yes-es, and boldly laughed and said : " Most people who have children are depressed and dull, I know ; but I always thought it was because they had grown old, and not because they were under such an iron rule." " I suppose it must be both," retorted Dorla. " People who have nothing to live for, slide along glibly, and have a sort of perpetual and unmeaning youth." " That is possible, if parental affection is the only devel- opment that is worth speaking of in the history of the heart." " It certainly is the only one that produces any marked and lasting revolution." At this moment Missy turned and threw herself into an- other not ungraceful attitude, and muttered a little in her sleep ; which had the result of bringing Dorla quickly to her side, and dispersing the cloud upon her brow. Missy's cheek was flushed, and Dorla laid her hand quickly and lightly on it, with attentive touch, and then went across the room and brought a light embroidered blanket and threw it over her. Felix and his hateful speeches were quite forgot- ten in the satisfaction of feeling that soft moisture on the baby skin. Felix saw it and it almost put him in a passion. At that moment, the servant brought up Mr. Stanfield'a name. In the interval that elapsed before she could return with him, Dorla said, " Please do not say anything about my dot going with the party to-morrow. I do not want any dif feren 36 made, and it will be time enough to mention it to night" 310 A PERFECT ADONIS. " I doubt whether that will soften the blow," said Fell* with perverseness. " But of course I will respect your wishes." Mr. Stanfield came in, truly enough, laden with a bundle that had the unmistakable outlines of a big doll indeed, the feet were sticking out and bearing also a number of colored nursery books. His face had an expression of anxious fervor. He had, as Abby said, no sense of humor, and was not suspicious. He did not look displeased at sea ing Felix, (though probably he would rather not have found him there,) and but faintly surprised. He had not the least idea of being ashamed of his devotion, and his open honesty in the matter was a great trial to its object. While she approved of his singleness of purpose, and unquestionable Bincerity, she was constantly embarrassed by their manifes- tation, and saw always the ludicrous side of the situations into which they led her. Still, this was perhaps in the end in his favor, for she felt so angry with herself for returning such loyalty with ridicule, that she was doubly kind to him on the next occasion of their meeting, and was being slowly drawn into a net-work of gratitude and penitence. His tenderness for Missy, and the child's great love for him, gave him of course a place that nothing else could have done. And when he entered the room, where Felix, cool and taunting, Bat spectator, with the huge doll and its droll feet in one hand and the gaudy pictures in the other, she felt in a rage with him for making himself absurd, and yet in a moment was melted with shame at so rewarding his affectionate de- votion to the child. It was felt to be a relief by both when Felix, a moment after his entrance, rose to go. Certainly he could do nothing else. " I am sorry, Mrs. Rothermel," he said, " that you will positively refuse our drive." " That is one thing that I came about," said Henry, put- ting down the doll with care. " They are waiting, and A PERFECT ADONIS. 311 Mem to take it for granted that you mean to go. Misi A.bby and Mra. Bishop are already in the carriage." Then Dorla felt ashamed of herself, when she found her suspicions were unjust, and that Abby was really going in the carriage, and not ttte-h-tete with Felix. She also began to feel that it would have been very nice to go out to the Falls, but it was too late to entertain the proposition. So Bhe could only reiterate her refusal and send first one and then the other away, respectively, exasperated and dejected. The next morning at seven, Mrs. Glover and Abby and Felix were waiting on the steamer for the coming of Henry Stanfield. The defection of Dorla was made known to them late on the night before. Mrs. Bishop had at once given out, and poor Henry was rent with anxiety and disap- pointment. Having headed the party as it were, even to his single eye, the situation was perplexing. " He will not come, you may be sure," said Abby, lean- ing over the rail and gazing into the crowd below. "And I am sure I hope he won't. We shall have to be comforting him all the time. It will be like taking a family in affliction for an airing. Our spirits will be extinguished, and he will not be revived." Speculations were soon superseded by certainty; as the last whistle blew, the figure of Henry Stanfield was seen hurriedly making its way down across the wharf. "He has not any valise," cried Abby, clapping her hands. " Be- hold the President of the Widows' Society! He cannot eave his post." It was even so. He hastily explained that tho last few days of travel seemed to have told upon his aunt, and thaf she was really unfit to be left alone in a hotel, and that she could not make up her mind to go without Mrs. Eothermel. Altogether, he thought it was best for him to stay; it would ta so uncomfortable fo ? both of the ladies to be left without protection in a strange city. It was all very transparent "tLin," Abby was vile enough to call it. But the with- 312 A PERFECT ADONIS. drawal of the plank cut short the awkwardness of the situa tion, and their regrets were vaguely ended in a shout of all aboard. Henry regained the wharf with alacrity, and wal seen hurrying away without a look behind. " Glad to be quit of us," said Felix, with a sardonic laugh. A nd so the Sagu^nay party was cleft in twain : Abby, Mrs, Glover and Felix launched upon the waves, and Dorla, Henry and Mrs. Bishop anchored by Missy in the harbor of Quebec. It was the third day after this unwept parting, that Felix, bathed and dressed and rested from his journey, sauntered out from the Hotel St. Louis. The afternoon was beautiful ; the long shadows were lying across the market-place, and vhe soft air was freshened by the low sinking of the sun. He sauntered down past the Jesuit Barracks, not caring where he went. He had nearly an hour before dinner, and he had nothing better to do with it than to saunter up and down the precipitous old streets, and feast his eye upon the picturesque and venerable. A little crowd was gathering in the square, and he idly drew towards it. The centre point was a tall Frenchman, with blonde beard and black eyes, who stood upon a sort of cart, and marshalled about him a flock of trained doves. He held up a white flag and called out in a not unmusical voice, " a vous, Capitaine," and from the flock flew the Capitaine and perched upon it. Then he shook out another of another color, crying, (( a vous, Caporal," and the Caporal fluttered down upon it : and so on, till all the many colored flags were claimed by the gentle little army. The crowd never seemed to tire. Felix watched their faces with amusement. And after a few moments, his glance wandered to the sidewalk, where people, who had not energy to come aearci to tne show, were gazing at it listlessly. Girls leaned out of the wide-open casement windows, men lounged about the doorways Time is not gold in the City of Quebec And upon somo stone steps sat Porla, making a verj A PERFECT ADONIS. 313 pretty picture in her light summer clothes, holding entranced, beside her, and with Marie cap and big parasol most prominent standing just behind her. In an instant Felix made his way to them ; for by some oversight Henry was not there. Dorla greeted him pleasantly, and Missy was too much enthralled by the Caporal and Capitaine to do more than twist herself away from him and fling her head against her mother's shoulder. " You are safe back," said Dorla. " Yes." "And how are the rest of the party ? " " O, well, I think, only a little tired." "You were enchanted with the scenery, I suppos*? Everybody is." " Yes, that is, I felt that I ought to be, but I was not. The fact is, there were noisy people on the boat. And I have confided to you many times that I don't like noisy people." "I remember," said Dorla, with the sweetness of old days. " You would like to go up the Saguenay in a bark- canoe or in a special steamer." But this was too pleasant to last; Missy began to pull her mother's head down with both her hands, and whisper something eagerly. " You can't," said Dorla, a shade less gentle in tone than usual. " I cannot go in such a crowd with you. You can see very well from here." But Missy was persistent and eager, and there was very little prospect of more conversation. At last Felix finding the drift of her whispered frettings from her mother's an- swers, offered to take her out into the neighborhood of the doves, and bring her safely back when her curiosity should be satisfied. Missy looked at him askance, when her mother said he was very kind and that she might go with him. She bated him as ever, but she longed with all hor vehement little soul to see Caporal and Capitaine face to face, and to 14 314 A PEHFECT ADONIS. hear exactly what the Frenchman said from under his blonds beard. She was so little, she went through life, at least had gone through it so far, under a disadvantage people from their waists up were always in her way. (( And I will put you on my shoulder, Missy," said Felix, suavely. " You will be higher than anybody in the crowd. And we will go quite near." This was more than she could resist ; she would not con- sent in words, but she permitted herself to be lifted in his arms and carried towards the coveted position. Dorla looked quite happy as she waved her hand to them. Felix was doing his best to explain the pageant to her, and to amuse her and make the most of his time, and Dorla was watching them with an amused smile ; when Henry Stanfield, drawn by envious fate, crossed the square, and Missy, following the downward swoop of one of the frrds, caught sight of him. She called his name in a shrill voice, and when he ap- proached her, stretched out her arms and demanded to be taken. Felix, looking upon Mr. Stauneld's joining them as an impertinence, tried to ignore him and divert her. But Missy was not the sort of child one " diverts " with success She made it evident with feet and hands, though she scorned to speak to him, that she meant to get away from him. In fact, she kicked him quite defiantly in the chest, before she succeeded in getting herself transferred to the arms of her slave. " You will not be so high, Missy," said Felix, with the double purpose of covering his wrath by speaking carelessly, and of annoying his rival by an allusion to his undersize. Missy's answer was to put her arms around her bearer's aeck, and kiss him defiantly. Felix laughed, and went back to the sidewalk where Dorla sat. But he was flushed, and Dorla knew he was angry. " I am so sorry," she said, looking distressed. " Missy ia 10 wilful." The gentleness of her tone soothed Felix, and he sat A PERFECT ADONIS. 315 beside her, feeling that he had the best of it. and hoping Missy would insist on keeping her servant in the ci owd for fin hour at least. " Yes, it is true, Mrs. Rothermel," he said, " I have been thrown over with contempt. In fact, I have been kicked into the bargain." " Oh ! " she exclaimed, coloring and looking infinitely distressed. " I hope you will use your influence with your daughter to treat me with more leniency." " I shall certainly punish her," said Dorla. " And I think you are very kind to bear it, and not be angry. She is very naughty." " Well, if you will only be good, I'll agree not to think anything more about it." This Felix said in a natural, boyish sort of way, taking off his straw hat and fanning himself, for carrying Missy through the crowd had made him warm, to say nothing of his rebuff. Dorla laughed, a little uneasily, and did not push the dis- cussion any further. They talked a little, and watched the doves idly, with the rest of the people. Capitaine and Caporal performed their duties with diligence and vigilance. But bye and bye at a signal, the flock all flew away, up to the chimney-pots and the ledges of the neighboring houses, and Missy's eyes grew amazed and disappointed, for she thought the end had come. Then the man blew a shrill whistle, and the obedient birds, fluttering from the ledges and roofs, swept down in a graceful circle against the blue sky, down above the heads of the gazing crowd, and settled around their master's hand. Then Missy gave a shrill cry of delight, that made every- body turn and look at her. She saw the show was going endlessly on, and it was to be hoped Henry's arms were not tired, for she had no idea of going away at present. Felix with inward satisfaction saw him shift her from one shoul- ier to the other, and furtively wipe the perspiration off hii 316 A PERFECT ADONIS forehead. How comfortable and cool he felt, in the shadow of the old stone house ! And how gentle Dorla was, and how beautiful she looked, in her pretty summer dress ! They did not talk much : he occupied himself in making out the legend on a bracelet she wore on the arm that lay nearest him. She did not move for many minutes ; and he read it quite perfectly. And then he thought of the day that he had looked at her hand as it lay outstretched on the table in the car. How strange, that he should be again beside her, with such strangely different feelings ! Were they two the same beings who had gone through that storm of passiou and temptation ? It all seemed like a dream. But her hand was very beautiful, even though he might not feel ready to risk time and eternity for the touch of it, as he once had been. Bye and bye she stirred it, and beat a little idle tune with it, following the notes of a violin within. Then some one wanted to pass, and she had to rise. " It is twenty minutes to six," she said ; " I must go home to dinner." " Must Missy go too ? " he said rising. " She looks as if it would break her heart." Tender Felix ! How much he cared about her heart. " No," said Dorla, looking at her wistfully. " She has had her dinner. She can stay with Marie. Marie, be sure not to lose sight of Mr. Stanfield, and to bring Missy home as soon as she is willing to come away from here." Then they moved slowly along the sidewalk, looking back at the patient Henry and the absorbed Missy, neither oi wiiom saw them go. " You're not afraid she may enlist ? " said Felix. " No," said Dorla. " She doesn't look unlike it," continued Felix, " such a white mite, perched on Mr. Stanfield's shoulder. She might fly off at any minute." " I'm reassured by thinking that she would not be likelj to pass muster in a regiment of doves," ret irned her mothez A PERFECT ADONIS. 31 7 Then Felix laughed and said he must admit it, remem- bering the rancorous way in which she had pecked at him, They walked up the steep little street, and past the hotel. " Dreary place ! " cried Felix. " Five and seventy diffct ent smells from every window of the kitchen." " But, hear this cheery little song. I always stop for it,*' said Dorla. From the window of the laundry came a gay, young voice, so full of energy and vigor, that it gave one fresh life to listen to it. Stooping down and looking in the basement window, they saw a be-soaped and hard-at-work young figure, bending and lifting itself again monotonously over a wash-tub, and trilling out this careless merriment. " She knows me," said Dorla, giving her a nod, as they moved away. ff I hear her every day. It makes me ashamed to think what a different song I should sing if I were shut up there." " Probably you would not find the policemen and the hackmen as inspiring an audience as she does." " Oh, don't say you think she sings for them to hear her." " Mrs. Rothermel, I fear to tell you that I think she does." " Well, I am sorry that I called your attention to her. I shall always believe she sings because she is light-hearted ; but your hateful suggestion will always come into my mind to spoil my pleasure in her song." " Then I am very sorry that I made it, I am sure. I am quite willing to modify it, and say she sings because she hasn't anything to worry about, a/nd because the policemen are standing just outside." Dorla felt sure she was meant to suffer from the allusion to worry, so she did not pursue the subject. " May I come in ? " said Felix, as they stood on the steps of the house in Mount Carmel Street. " It is still ten min- .tes to your dinner hour." " Oh, yes," said Dorla, " and we are not rigid as to punc- tuality." 318 * PERFECT ADONlfL "When Felix found himself in the great, easy chair by th open window, he could have wished dinner an hour off. Dorla sat down and began to change the paper between gome ferns that she was pressing, taking off her hat and laying it beside her on the sofa. " This we got on the way from Lorette, where wo went yesterday to drive," she said. " It is a meagre little speci- men ; but I suppose you don't know anything about ferns." " No," he said, " very little. I have never had a lesson since that picnic in the Conneshaugh." Dorla felt his eyes upon her as she bent over the press- ing board. " The drive to Lorette is very pretty," she said : '< we went in the morning." Then there was a silence, for Felix would not talk about Lorette. A silence, but a short one, for the door burst open, and in flashed Abby, who fell upon Mrs. Rothermel with kisses. " I had six minutes before dinner, and I ran around here to tell you what a lovely time we've had." Then she gave a start and said, " you here ! " when she caught sight of Felix. " Yes," said Felix placidly ; and the sight of him seemed to take away her exuberant enjoyment. " I supposed you were resting, you talked so much about your terrible fatigue," she said, taking her arm off Dorla'a waist and turning from them. " I have been walking about an hour or more with Mrs. Rothermel ; I found being in a civilized place rested me immediately." Then Dorla felt sure he was playing her off to make hi young victim jealous, and she began to freeze at once. '* We have not walked very much," she said, " and Mr, Varian has not exerted himself much in the matter of con- versation ; I think that he has rested." " What is all this about ? " thought Felix, puzzled and a little angry. For though he was very quick he could not A PERFECT AD01TI8. 319 follow the delicate intricacies of Dorla's jealous distrust. II was certainly rather hard upon him ; but the very sight of Abby's shining youthfulness, and the confident brusque- aess of her manners, changed Dorla instantly into coldnesi and suspicion. It was impossible for him to do right, for Abby's presence in itself put him in the wrong. And Dorla, keenly alive to her own errors, knew very well that it was BO, but felt sure she could not help it. " Now, I shall have no more peace," she sighed. " How I wish the girl would go away and leave me at least Quebec ! I do not care whom she takes with her, I only do not want to see her and be put out of temper." The ten minutes were soon up, and Abby rose to go, and Felix rose to go with her. Dorla saw them walk down the street together, Abby laughing in restored good humor, and she hated herself for the feelings that the sight engen- dered. After dinner, and after Missy's prayers were said (no inconsiderable matter), and she was fast asleep, Mrs. Glover and Mrs. Bishop came to interrupt Dorla's quiet twilight hour by the open window. 11 1 thought you might be lonely," said the first lady, who never permitted herself to be alone, " and I thought we had better run over to sit awhile with you. The young people are gone to walk on the terrace ; and we will have a quiet time by ourselves." The mother of a handsome young girl is willing to have a great many quiet times, and to be put very far back on a very high shelf; not unfrequently, she classes all women out of girlhood with herself, and that is not always pleasant. That Dorla was offended was certain, but Mrs. Glover, in the magnitude of her complacency, did not find it out. After Mrs. Bishop was comforted by an easy-chair and a footstool and the closing of a window, Mrs. Glover said, " Now, I'm sure you want to hear all about our journey " " Yes," said Dorla sweetly, " <*V thai I haven't heard from Mr Variiw and Abby " 320 A PERFECT ADONIS. "Oh, as to what you heard from them," cried Mr*, Glover, " I should not consider it very worthy of belief. They were in such a state, laughing at everything like a pair o 1 children, and so engaged in their jokes and nonsense, that 1 do not believe they could tell a thing about the Sagurnaj without looking at the guide-books. You know what young people are." *' It must have made it very dull for you," said Dorla politely. " O, you know we must get used to that," returned Mrs. Glover laughing. " It is the fate of mothers to be put quite aside. You will find that out when Missy comes upon the carpet." " It will be happily some years yet," said Dorla. " The years go by quick enough," answered Mrs. Glover, and she sighed a little. " It seems but yesterday since Abby was to be tucked up in her little crib at night, and there was an end of bother about her till to-morrow morning." Mrs. Bishop laughed. " That's over, sure enough," she said, " and you may consider the bother has but begun. Ab- by's irrepressible. I don't believe you will have much peace till she has settled down into a married woman." Mrs. Glover and Mrs. Bishop were old friends, and it was quite allowable to discuss the daughter in this way, provided always the faults mentioned were of an engaging nature. " Abby is a good girl," said the mother, " but she is so full of spirits, it is really a hard matter to control her." " What can you expect ? " returned Mrs. Bishop. " You and Charles have always let her have her own way, and she is cleverer than you both, you know." " Upon my word," said Mrs. Glover laughing. " And she is so handsome, sjie will always find plenty of people to humor her, if you don't ; so you had better make up your mind to letting her be captain. Nothing will be gained by disciplining her now ; you ought to have done that j*prs ago." A PERFEC1 ADONIS. " Mrs. Bothermel, she is reading you a lesson over my ihoulder." Yes ? I did not take it so." " O, no ; I give my lessons to Dorla at first hand. She is spoiling Missy. She knows my opinion about that. But Missy L very differeiie from Abby." " In age," said Dorla coldly. " Yes, of course in age, but in character, in in circum- stances. Now Abby, with such remarkably good looks, ought to have been trained with more than usual strictness. But dear me ! What's the use of talking ? I never knew a mother yet that had a particle of sense. Dorla, my dear, those tuberoses are giving me a headache. Will you put them in the hall till I go away ? " When Dorla came back from expatriating the tuberoses, she found them still on the same subject. Mrs. Glover could not possibly talk of anything else. " She certainly seems to have made a good beginning," Mrs. Bishop said laughing. " Most girls would have opened the campaign with a college boy or two. But she has flown at the higher game at once. She couldn't have done better. Felix Varian is worth an effort." " O, Abby doesn't think of that. She is only taken with his good looks. She is too thoughtless, I'm sorry to say. II he had been a music teacher, it would have been the same." " Then it's lucky he isn't a music teacher." " Absurd, all this. You're talking as if it were a serious matter." (Mrs. Glover longed to be assured that it was a serious matter.) " Well, as to that, of course no one can say as yet. But I must confess I think ho seems to be unusually absorbed." " Men of the world like Mr. Varian are apt to be taken with very young, fresh girls," said the mother modestly " It isn't anything about Abby that is different from others, but she is so fresa and full of life. She really makes you forget that you've ever been bored or worried." 822 A PERFECT ADONIS. "Well, we'll see, we'll see," sid Mrs. Bishop. "Tliej might both do w^rse. Abby's a good girl at heart, andshe'i handsome enough to satisfy an} body. And Felix has got more money than he knows what to do with, and an old name, and a handsome face. And I suppose he is no better and no worse than most men of his age. Altogether, I should let things take their course if I were you." " O, as to that," cried Mrs. Glover, with an honest little laugh, " I am very willing to let things take their course. I am not such a hypocrite as to say that I should not be pleased." Then she began to be ashamed of herself, and a little frightened, perhaps, by Dorla's silence. So she hastened to exclaim, " But bah ! What nonsense ! When he, they I mean may never have thought of such a thing. Mothers will be mothers. If a man looks at your girl, you begin to wonder whether he is to be your son-in-law. I began my speculations before Abby wore long dresses. I have no doubt, Mrs. Rothermel, you have had your apprehensions about Missy for a year or two." <; No,", said Dorla calmly, " I do not remember any." 11 0, don't take it seriously," exclaimed Mrs. Glover quite uneasy. " Really you know, we have only been joking about the whole matter. I hope that is I believe you haven't any dislike for Mr. Varian ? I notice you do not talk very much with him. And I think he told me that he used to know you. It was rather awkward, forcing him upon the party so. But Abby is so impulsive. It was all done be- fore I thought much about it, one way or the other." " I am sure," returned Dorla, frightened in her turn, " it san't be anything but a pleasure to have Mr. Varian. He is so good a ^raveller and so entertaining. It is a good many pears since I have seen him, but I never should feel as if h vcre a stranger, I knew his mother and his sister so welL" It was Mrs. Bishop's turn to be uneasj now. Somehow *he did not like the feeling she detected in Dorla's voice. A PERFECT ADONIS. f 323 She began to tremble for her beloved Henry. She felt it in her heart to hate Felix, who had come in to spoil the little family arrangement, upon which she had spent so much ex- ertion. So she said, like a wily old diplomat : " Why, no ; nobody can have any objection to Felix Va- rian. I never heard anything against him in my life, except, it may be, some angry speeches from girls he had flirted with ; one can't blame him for that. I truly hope he has got tired of flirting, and may make up his miud to be very much in love with Abb}'." " That would certainly make him a very much pleasanter travelling companion," said Dorla, with a careless laugh. She was quite on the defence now, and began to take an active part in what was said. She was quite vivacious for the remainclei of the evening. About ten o'clock the faith- ful Henry came to take the two ladies home. She was quite unkind to him, and the poor fellow went away with a woun- ded spirit. " Where did you leave my daughter, pray ? " Dorla heard Mrs. Glover say as soon as they got out into the hall. She did not hear the answer. She went back into the room, and shut and bolted the door, and opened wide the windows to the summer night. As little of her kind, and as much of air and stars and sky as she could get. She sat silent and absorbed, gazing out into the star-specked dark- ness, for an hour. Then Missy moaned and moved in an adjoining room, and the re very was at an end. Since Mrs. Glover had observed that she avoided Mr. Varian, and since Mrs. Bishop had so unnecessarily given ii as a part of her experience that no one ever did avoid him, except those with whom he had once flirted, there was no Bourse for her but to make it very apparent that she did not &void him. At an early hour next morning, the humble and . harassed Henry came to know if she would take a walk. They were all going to take a walk, even Mrs. Bishop. With alacrity, Dorla said that she would go, though she Lad 324 A PERFECT ADONIS. been secretly hurrying Missy's breakfast in the hope thai she could get away before any " party " plans were forced upon her. At the corner they were met by the two old ladies ; in the distance were Abby and Felix lounging at a shop door. " This way," signalled Abby, and led the way. It WAS quite natural that she should choose the walk, and that they all should follow. Nobody objected but Dorla. She had to be silent, but every step after the gay, flaunting figure in advance, was a bitter penanpe to her. Mrs. Glover and Mrs. Bishop fell gossiping and mumbling to the rear. Henry, with Missy by the hand, followed Dorla, at her side when the exigencies of the march permitted, and the width of the side- walk, but always very near. It was a cold, bright day, the wind keen, the sky cloudless and very brilliantly blue. " I'm cold," said Missy shivering, and Henry stooped and tied his handkerchief around her throat, and Dorla looked anxiously to the buttons of her stout little walking jacket. " Let us have a race, and that will warm you," said the unselfish guardian. So quite unconscious of the fact that he did not appear to advantage on a jog trot, he started off at this pace to match Missy's feeble run. Dorla felt herself crimsoning with vexation, when Felix and Abby turned and watched them. Finally the race ended by a return to c< mamma," who was the stake or goal. It had had the ef- fect of putting a little tinge of color on Missy's cheeks, but her retrousse nose was still blue with the cold. " That will do," said Dorla ungraciously, stung by seeing that her darling was not beautiful, and that the man she wanted to like was making himself absurd. " I thought it would do her good," said Henry apologeti- cally. " T have no doubt it has," returned Dorla, moving for- ward, " but I do not want her to be tired, and we may have to walk a long way ; Miss Glover has not told us." A PERFECT ADONIS. 325 They were not within speech of the two leaders yet, who were nearly a square in front of them. " It is thoughtless of Miss Abby," said Henry, seeking for some excuse for his sovereign's ungraciousness. " I will go and ask where they are going, and why they walk so fast.' 1 " If you please not," exclaimed Dorla almost with impa- tience. Then Henry sighed, and walked after her humbly, and thought her more beautiful than ever. A great Cana- dian with red whiskers who passed them evidently thought so too, for he turned and looked after them with great sim- plicity. She had never given up wearing black; greys, lavenders, and pearl were the amelioration. This day she was all in black, black silk, velvet, embroidered cash- mere and lace, all in graceful sweep about her, and her hat, with its velvet band and long black feather, gave her quite a regal air. Presently Abby and Felix paused and waited for them to come up. " How slowly you walk," cried Abby, as they joined them. " Is it to be queenly, or do you like it ? " " It is not to tire Missy, I believe," said Dorla calmly, looking at her. Dorla was taller than Abby, and that an- noyed Abby, who was used to being the tallest among her companions. " I should think you would freeze, creeping so," she said. ' It is chilly," returned Dorla simply. All this time Felix had not spoken, but had been looking at her. Now he moved to her side. "What are we going to see ?" she said, not waitir;., for him to speak. t( I hope we are not wasting our tir^e." " O no, this is to see a sight," he answered. " I supposed that you all knew you were doing your duty by history." " This does not look like history," said Abby, going to- wards the door of a little old wooden house, with a window pn each side of the door, and in the steep roof two dormer windows, that opened like casements. It was built between % house of stone and one of brick, both looking very high. B26 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. because it was so low; but neither of them modern, (ai nothing is in Quebec.) In one of the windows of the little old house, was a small display of cakes and apples ; across the other a curtain was drawn, as if private life and public were divided by the door. " But may I ask," said Mrs. Rothermel, while Abby knocked, " what makes this old house of more interest than all the others?" " O, don't you know ? " cried Abby ; " why, it's the house where Montgomery's body was laid out." Then Dorla's face took a strange, wistful look, as she gazed at it, without speaking, while Henry and Abby in turn thumped upon the door. Missy pulled her mother's dress, " What is it ? " " What is what ? " said her mother, absently, still looking at the house as if she saw the forlorn procession of that De- cember night filing through the narrow doorway, with its stark and silent hero borne feet foremost by worn and gloomy men from the " lost battle." " What does she mean what is it to be laid out ? " fret- ted Missy, in awe of a mystery, and in anger at a want of attention. Abby, who had stopped shaking the door, heard her shrill whisper, which was not meant to be heard but by her mother, and exclaimed with a little laugh, (f To be laid out is to be a cold corpus, and to have no voice in the arrangement of your last grand toilet." Dorla shuddered. The laying out of dead bodies sug- gested more to her than it did to the speaker, possibly. Missy whimpered and began to twitch at her mother's hand io a way that foreshadowed a scene. She was nervously afraid of everything connected with death, and wilfully op- posed to having her questions made light of. So her mother, with patient care, began in a low voice to explain to her about the attack and its failure, and the death of ttanera* Montgomery. A PERFECT ADONI8. 327 "But what did they bring him here for?" persisted the child, morbidly bent on hearing details. "To to wash his wounds, and change his clothes, and make his poor body ready for the grave, Missy," said her mother in a low voice. " What good would that do ? " said Missy, beginning ta cry, and kick. Her sensitiveness had this unpleasant man- ner of expressing itself. This new and terrible subject had overwhelmed her, and she was in a rage of nervous shame at being seen and laughed at. Henry, who hurried to her, was driven off with the announcement that she hated him. She even included her mother in this condemnation. Dorla sighed and attempted no pacification. It is needless to say she wished that they had stayed at home. The storm would perhaps soon spend itself ; but her comfort was at an end. (Though, to be sure, she hadn't been too comfortable be- fore.) It was impossible to attempt to explain or excuse the child to such an audience. She even saw, or thought she Raw, a merry, meaning look of derision pass between Abby rtnd Felix ; whose attention however was happily diverted by the opening of the door by a small Irish boy. She kept Missy quietly by the hand till they reached the threshold ; farther than that, Missy refused to go. Abby was in the advance. From the room where the curtain hung, came an old Irish woman in a cap. She proceeded to cross the room, and install herself behind a little counter; probably with the intention of being official. The intruders took but little notice of her, but gazed about the little, low, dark room, which they almost filled. " And this," said Abby, glancing about her with a mo- mentary thoughtfulness, " is where poor Montgomery was Drought I " " No," said the woman, with emphasis, " it isn't the room rt all. It's another room entirely. And we've made np our minis," she went on, taking an attitude of great resolu 328 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. fcion, " we've made up our minds that the gentry must pay ben cents, if they want to see the room." Abby burst into a laugh, and walked towards the door. " Come," she said, " this is extortion." " If it's worth seeing at all, it's worth ten cents," said the woman, angrily. " I consider that we have seen it," returned Abby, going out, followed by all but Dorla. " There is no doubt in my mind that he was laid out in this very room. In fact, I don't believe there is any other room in the house. Good- bye." And the young lady made her a very absurd salutation as she stepped into the street. Henry, engaged in the pacifica- tion of Missy, stood outside. Felix, on the threshold, awaited Mrs. Rothermel, who walked up to the little coun- ter, and laying down some small Canadian coin, said, civilly, " I am sorry we intruded. I am much obliged to you." Then the tide set in the opposite direction. With profuse, Irish gratitude, she implored Dorla to stay and see the room. But Dorla had got enough of it ; between Missy, Abby and the Irish woman, she felt as if her poor little bit of senti- ment had been quite crushed out ; and she stepped upon the pavement with a sensation of relief. Abby was so diverted by the occurrence that she said a dozen tolerably good things, and laughed at them and made Felix laugh so much that the few passers-by turned to look at them in amazement. This time Dorla took the lead, for she had quite made up her mind that she was going home Felix and Abby followed close behind. About half a square off, they met Mrs. Bishop and Mrs. Glover, who stopped them to hear particulars, and insisted upon going on. " Why, yes, you can go in and see all Mrs. Rothermel'i money's worth," said Abby. " I shouldn't wonder if il en- titled you to spend the morning there, she was so lavish, Shall we come back for you about four o'clock ? " '* Nonsense, Abby," said her mother, " you must comt A PERFECT ADONIS. 329 bock with us now ; it will serve you right for leaving us so far behind." " Indeed I shall do no such thing. At this rate we shan't ee anything to-day ; the morning is half gone already. We are going to the Ursulines now ; and you can come after us, or you can give up going to see the trumpery old place." " We don't know the way to the Ursulines, and it will not take you five minutes to walk back." " Five minutes ! You will be twenty minutes mooning about the old shanty, asking questions ; and we haven't got the time. Come, Mr. Varian." Missy looked from one to the other in amazement, as Abby, putting her hand in Mr. Varian's arm, moved away with resolution. " You're a self-willed girl," said her mother, forgetting diplomacy in anger as she turned to follow. " I will go back with you. I don't care for th Ursulines f o-day," said Dorla. " No," returned Mrs. Glover, hardly grateful. " It is best not to break up the party." " Henry, dear, you must give me your arm," sighed Mrs. Bishop, very tired and not much pleased with the little family scene, At the corner, Dorla said, in dread of having the Chapel of the Ursulines desecrated by such associations, " I think I irill leave you now, and take Missy home." Thereupon Missy cried and insisted upon not being taken home. And the general clamor was too much for Dorla, who yielded and went on. Abby was by this time out oi sight, around the corner of Parloir Street, down which they followed her. Before they had reached the entrance to the Convent, Felix met them, saying the Chapel door was opened by some visitors coming out, and they could enter at nce. " What is it particularly about the Ursulines' Chapel ? * %sked Mrs. Glover, who, in a sort of mother-in-law appropri 830 -4 PERFECT ADONIS. ation, joined herself to Felix. She had got over her rage at Abby, and thought her a clever creature for getting her own way and making a conquest of Felix. Fejix for his part was not actively attentive to Mrs. Glover ; perhaps that grati- fied her, as being son-in-law-ish. She took his arm coming down the narrow street. " The ridiculous old place," she said, as he had to walk in fche middle of the street, or near it, to give her the benefit of the sidewalk. " Well, what have we got to go to this chapel about ? " she reiterated. " Why, to see Miss Abby, who is waiting for us there." " O, absurd, I don't mean that. But what is there to see, or hear about ? " " Well, there is to see, several passable pictures, and much curious old gilding and decoration." " O, but I thought there was something remarkable something historic, and all that." " WV 1 ], if you put any historic value on poor defeated Mo?itcalm's bones." " O," cried Mrs. Glover all afire, " why, of course. I wouldn't have missed it for the world." Then Missy, who always heard what was unprofitable for her to hear, was thrown into great agitation by the prospect of more mortuary details. Her little face was puckered into anxious distortion. As they entered the chapel door, a shiver ran through the hand her mother held. She had in- tense feeling for chapels and churches, and always came out of them so overstrained as to be detestable. " Missy, you are tired ; we had better go back. " But Miss> pushed her way into the door, and dragged at her mother's band. In the chapel they were met by Abby, accompanied by two young pupils of the pension. They had just bid adieu to Borne friends who had gone out the door, an$ were very glad of *he presence of a few strangers to break the monotony ol A PERFECT ADONIS. 331 shcir long vacation days. One was a pretty, red-jheeked English Canadian, the other a ve:y plain young French girl Each had about two yards of black lace like a veil or scari over her head. One was a Protestant, the other a Catholic. Neither showed much reverence or devotional feeling, but both were well-behaved and modest. Abby fraternized with the English girl at once, and with eager curiosity drew her about from one spot to another. Henry, with Mrs. Bishop leaning heavily on his arm, walked business-like down the aisle, as if they were going to hail an omnibus, or put a let- ter in the Post Office. Mrs. Glover, who had seized the young French girl, was making discoveries and inquiries in a very naive manner. She made many shrill exclamations of wonder, and went from one picture to another more rap- idly than was consistent with much appreciation. Felix from some reason kept aloof from the rest, remaining near the en- trance. Dorla sank into a seat, and holding Missy beside her pointed to the tablet in the wall, " Honneur a Montcalm ! " and made her translate the sentence, hoping to divert her horror-struck attention from Abby. But this was in vain. History was little to Missy, and church was much. She was very simple and sincere in her own devotion, and Abby's conduct filled her with amazement. 11 What is she going to do now ? " she said in a shrill whis- per, as Abby ran up the altar steps, followed by the Cana- dian at a little distance, who, with a mechanical and unmean- ing reverence as she passed in front of the altar, answered her questions in a common conversational tone. " Is she wicked ? " said Missy, coming to the point at once. " 1 should not like you to do so, Missy." " But is she wicked ? " reiterated Missy. That was an unpleasant habit of mind with Missy. She reached her point without circumlocution, and she insisted upon having it settled. Her mother was inclined to be rague from motives of charity and goc d-breeding, but thii always enraged her. 832 A PERFECT ADONIS. M Is she wicked? " she cried, twitching hex mother's hand, with her light eyes dilated, and her face white. Missy's faith was a very real one, and it was suffering a sharp trial at the moment. " Let us go," said her mother, rising hastily. " I won't," cried Missy, pulling away her hand. There- upon Dorla secured the other hand, and half dragged her to the door. 11 You are all of you wicked together," cried Missy, burst- ing into passionate tears, as her mother led her out into the street. " I don't know any one more wicked than you, speak- ing to your mother in that way, and acting so in a church." That sent her off into a rage of crying ; it was a real stab to her unhappy little conscience, and Dorla was sorry she had said it when too late. Felix followed them. " Can I go home with you ? " he said. His presence seemed to add fuel to the flame. She showed herself a little vixen, pushing her mother away from her, stamping with her feet, and screaming with rage. Dorla tried to ignore it, leaving her standing in the middle of the street, and walking on quietly with Felix. Missy would have stayed there till Christmas. As they reached the corner of the street she said, turning back : " I will leave you. Come to me at once." " Not till he g ^es away," cried Missy, frantically. Then l)orla, with wretchedness in her face, said to him in a lo"w voice, not looking at him for very shame : " Please go away. I can manage her best alone." , Felix bit his lips, lifted his hat coldly and walked away, not going back to the chapel, nor giving a second glance towards the miserable child in her fury. (t Friend Stanfield's joy will not be unalloyed," he said to himself derisively, as he joined a newly arrived friend on the steps of the St. Louis. A.8 to Dorla, who can say how bitter that whole morning A PERFECT ADONIS. 333 had been. These contests with Missy were wearing enough when she was alone with her ; now she had the sharp morti- fication of knowing that mother and child were both criti- cised and condemned. And not without justice. Dorla felt herself a failure. Surely Missy could not have been what she was, if there had not been some fault in hei training. "Not one fauU, but a thousand," cried poor Dorla in her self-accusation. An hour later, Missy, forgiven, had sobbed herself to sleep, holding fast both her mother's hands. Her mother, with tear-stained face and eyes no prettier than eyes are apt to be after crying, sat motionless beside her for an hour, full of biting self-contempt. The unfortunate outburst had made the child almost ill. She awoke peevish and unstrung, and could not eat her dinner. That put the mother in a state of anxiety and restlessness. And so they managed to make themselves very miserable. Some beautiful days followed this ; on one of them, Missy in a caleche with Henry Stanfield, and Dorla, Mrs. Glover, Abby, and Felix in a barouche, went out at Palace Gate, with the Falls of Montmorenci as a destination. Mrs. Bishop was left at home. "It was an anniversary or something," Abby said, and she didn't see why there need be anniversaries. Old women were tiresome enough without that. For her part, she meant to be jolly when she was an old woman. People lived twice as long if they were jolly. " That might be a reason for not being jolly," Felix said, who occasionally became a little cynical (whenever he had a quarrel with Abby, Mrs. Glover had told Dorla). " At any rate, they make themselves less of a nuisance to their neighbors. Whatever happens to me, I shall not shut cayself up in my room every few days, because it is an anni- versary, and cry over something in a locket." " I am sure you will not," said Dorla, quietly. " Nonsense, Abby," said Mrs. Glover, uneasily. M You 334 4 PERFEOT ADONIS. will be as broken-hearted as anybody when year time comes." " I ! Broken-hearted ! " and Abby laughed a gay laagh ; there was no past for her, no anniversaries and no regrets. She ' felt her life in every limb ' ; even Dorla, who did not love her, looked for a moment with admiration on the fresh and unstained beauty of her face. She saw Felix looking at her too. No wonder ; she could almost excuse him. The day was bright and cool ; the sort of day that you drive in an open carriage with the top down. Dorla leaned back in her seat, with a parasol over her head, but more to keep off the eyes of Felix and Abby opposite, than the sun. It was four o'clock. " This is neither entertaining, nor instructive," said Abby, who was perfectly happy, but ready to deny it. " We ought to know the objects of interest that we pass. Here is a great edifice on our right. Hasn't anybody a guide book, or doesn't anybody remember ? " " I don't," said* .tfelix, " though I came here once before." " Was it on the occasion of an anniversary ? " said Abby. * For the recollection of it seems to make you very glum." " No, I hadn't begun the anniversary business then." " Mrs. Rothermel, do tell me, did you know Mr. Yarian then ? I've the greatest curiosity to know what there was about that journey to Canada. He was here, but he doesn't remember anything about it, and he never seems to want to talk about it." " Abby ! that's impertinent." " Hush, mamma ! tell me, Mrs. Rofchermel." " I don't know anything to tell you," said Dorla, faintly. (( Perhaps I didn't ask questions enough, nor buy guide books enough," said Felix, steadily. " Don't let us fall into tle same error again. Let us ask Jehu what the building fc." The driver was an Irish boy of fourteen, who wore a black and white check coat ard a low cap, and who talked A PERFECT ADONI8. 835 without turning his head. Nobody could understand a word he said. " The stupidity of getting such a creature ! " cried Abby, who seemed to think, as he spoke Irish, he could not under- stand English. " That was one of Mr. Stanfield's blunders." " You didn't like the Frenchman he got yesterday," re- turned Dorla, with an instinct of defence. " No ; because he spoke such beastly French, and so fast no one could understand him. I suppose there are coachmen in Quebec who can make themselves understood in some modern language." " Miss Abby," said Felix, who did not see the necessity of defending the absent in all cases. " ./will engage your, coachman to-morrow, and we will go with him in a caleche you and I, and study every inch of the ground that we pass over." Abby's face glowed with pleasure, but she tried not to betray it. . t( That will be very nice," she said, " but it won't console me for not knowing what that great grim building is." " Let us try him again. Stop a moment, Patrick. What did you say that building was ? " " It's a 'sylum," said Patrick, slacking up ; (he drove very fast and his horses were white with foam.) " What kind of an asylum ? " Patrick hunted for the word a moment, then gave it up. w For the people that's bad in their heads," he said, and then turned back to the horses and drove on more slowly. Abby burst into a merry laugh. " The people that's bad in their heads ! " she echoed. " I think there must be ' many ' of them to nil such a palatial residence. Look at that old woman cm troisieme waving her handkerchief to us. And see those two workmen on ladders, busy at the grat- ings. What fun to go in, if we had only time enough !" Dorla's face grew pained, and she turned from the sight There had been a few hours in her life when mental pain 836 ^ PERFECT ADONIS. and physical prostration had come upon her together ; and she had had a dim and faint perception of the tortures of a brain rerging to its final wreck. The thought of 44 Those cells where fettered spirits moan and pine, Where madness shakes its chain," took from her for the moment all joy in health and freedom, and made the brilliant sunshine misery. For Abby, healthy child, it was only another form of entertainment, a novelty that struck no exposed and sensitive remembrance. If anything could wash out the recollection of such a drear abode, it would be the charming little French village into which they drove. The quaint houses stand with their faces turned away from the street, and trimness, and small thrift and humble content abide beside every threshold. Surely Beauport Asylum is not recruited from Beauport village. " The prettiness of it ! " cried Dorla, leaning forward. " There isn't a house that 1 wouldn't be glad to live in ! " " I confess that I should have a choice," said Felix. " There, for instance, that shop with the paper shades simu- lating lace doesn't look inviting." " But I didn't say anything about a shop." " It is all the same thing in Beauport." " And oh ! the delight of that old two- wheeled cart ! * " Which is entirely new." " And the women sitting at the windows with their knit- ting. How quiet and afternoonish ! Nobody looks tired, and everybody is clean. See, see that bit of coloring ! Tell Patrick to drive slow." Patrick consented to drive slow, past a house which might have been built in Normandy. The casements were all wide open, and the passers-by could see into the barely furnished but cheerful room, where a tidy young woman in petticoat *nd short-gown moved about the great stove set in the wall At thv, shaded doorstep sat an old woman in a white cap A PERFECT ADONIS. 337 Mid at her feet played a child in a red dress, with round brown head and black eyes. A cat slept on the stone The old woman's knitting needles moved monotonously. " I think they are happy," said Dorla, drawing a long breath. tf Very likely," said Abby, who didn't see much in it. " But you wouldn't be, if Missy were sitting on the grass, like that scrap." " It would not hurt her, if she had always lived in Beau- port," returned Dorla, coloring a little. Then they came to a larger old stone house, standing back from the road, on a sort of elevation. It had an affiche in the window, ot explain it. His anger had been kindled by her defence of Henry Stanfield, at the beginning of the drive, and had been suddenly revived by her trifling tone, when he had chosen to be sentimental. At last the drive came to an end ; the reeking horses drew up before the little inn. Dorla sprang out of the car- riage without waiting for hin\ and hurried to meet Henry and Missy, who ran across the street to her. Missy grasped A PERFECT ADONIS. 341 ber hand, and she took the arm of Henry, and vanished from Bight into the woods that border the enclosure round th Falls. That was a pleasing sight to Mrs. Glover, who made the most of it. To Abby, who watched the face of Felix, not half as pleasing. She was in no hurry to follow them, though Felix was, alas ! He was very absent-minded, and forgot to be devoted as he had been when Dorla was their vis-a-vis. After many delays, they passed through the bat- talion of little beggars at the entrance, selecting one as guide, and going along, grimly enough for a party of pleas- ure. It is a bad sign when pleasure-seekers begin to look at watches. " We shall have a late dinner," said Felix, taking his out of his pocket. " It is past five, and we have no chance of getting off on our return, for half an hour, at least." " Are you hungry ? " said Abby, spitefully. " There is no law against looking at one's watch," said Mrs. Glover, trying to make peace. " O, let us hurry," cried Abby, tauntingly. " It will not take many minutes to glance at the Falls. Anything rather than interfere with dinner." " The horses have got to rest," said Felix nonchalantly. " Shall we go through this wood-path ? I believe there is rather a pretty ramble." Abby, divining that the object of going there was to meet the others who had disappeared so suddenly, wisely de- clined to do anything but go to the Falls by the route the nost direct. The grass was slippery and dry, and the path well worn. The little French guide was rather unnecessary. " If you are willing," said Felix, " I will pay you and let you go back. For I feel that we are trespassing on your time unjustifiably." The boy laughed a little, though it is probable he did not understand, and took his money, and made rapidly cfF on his bare fee*/. At one point, through the woods, they caughr beautiful view of the Falls. 842 & PERFECT ADONIS. " There, we have seen it," said Abby. " Now we can go back." " No," said Felix, drearily, " there is more we have to see, You go down steps or something opposite the Fall, if I ro member right." " Is one permitted to be tired and hungry ? " said Abby. " For I am that." "It is only a few yards further. Ah ! here are our com- panions." " Why, no, I don't think they're exactly our companions. They are each other's companions," said Abby, with malice. " They will be our companions, then, when we join them," said Felix, walking determinedly up to them. Abby and fjer mother could not do anything but follow. Mrs. Glover began to talk a good deal, no one cared much about what. Dorla had regained some composure, and could answer her sufficiently. While they were talking together in this way, standing on the bank of the ravine, no one thought of Missy for a few moments. " Where is Missy? " suddenly cried Henry, in the midst of one of Mrs. Glover's involved sentences. Dorla gave a start, and looked around. Every one was startled not to see her ; it was not just the place to lose sight of a child of six. The precipice beside the path was very abrupt, and so it had been for some distance, though no one had noticed it with inter- est. " She has gone back into the woods for some anemones; I am sure she has gone there," cried Dorla, flying back in the direction of the woods. Henry shook his head and hurried awjiy towards an opposite point. Abby, with a wrathful protest, went one way, her mother another. Felix followed Dorla. It smote his heart to see her terror, and t.-r effort In conceal it. " 1 do not see her," she said, her teeth chattering. " Call for her." Poor thing ! she could not call herself. They hurried up and down the paths, asked two or three personf A PERFECT ADONIS. 343 whom they met if she had been seen ; called, but no misera ble little Missy. ' Do not be frightened/' said Felix. " There are a hun- dred places where she may be innocently at play. We shall Snd her, in a few minutes, some of us. Really, you are un necessarily frightened." Dorla had been flying along the paths of the shaded little civilized forest, at a pace at which even he could not have long continued. Now she began to tremble and grow white. [f the others had found her wouldn't they call out ? " she tried to say. " Yes," answered Felix, " but maybe we could not hear them. It is better to go back. I don't think we shall find she is in this wood." He enlisted the services of two obliging English gentlemen, to beat up the wood, and then came back to Dorla, who shook all over, but refused to rest. Then he told her to take his arm, which she humbly did, and walked on as well as she could, back to the spot whore they had been when they missed the child. Mrs. Glover and Abby were standing there, and they shook their heads with anxious looks. " Those steps, those horrible steps," she said in a moment. " I know she has gone down them." The steps were very steep and dizzy things, which had made Dorla shudder when she looked at them ; rickety too, and uncertain with age. The first flight looks interminable seen from above ; then the little platform with a roof, and then another flight sheer down, among the rocks and debris at the bottom of the ra- vine at least, so it had looked to Dorla, who was never strong of nerve. Inspired with this new certainty, she drew Felix to the edge of the bank, which commanded a view of the descent. At the moment that Felix was saying, " No, you see she is not there," there was a flutter of a bit of white, far down al- most at the bottom, and there was Missy, toiling painfully 344 -<* PERFECT AVONI8. up, with her arms full of weeds and flowers. Dorla gave scream and sprang forward. The child, unconscious of their eyes, was climbing up the steep ascent only careful of her leaves and flowers, not even taking hold of the railing, and making little childish irregular steps ; but even with this, it seemed to those who looked, the frail fabric shook and rocked. One misstep : Ah ! At the same moment that they had seen her, Henry from the top of the steps had seen her too. Dorla saw him dart forward, and go quickly down the stair ; and her heart stood still as she watched him. If Missy caught sight of him sud- denly, sha might be startled and lose her footing. At the platform they saw him pause, and call her softly. Dorla grasped Felix's arm to steady herself, and watched breath- lessly. " Ah ! " cried Felix aloud, with a tone of some relief as the child looked up and moved towards him without affright or unsteadiness. Henry must have told her to take the railing, for she dropped some of her flowers and grasped the balus- ter. But she looked such a mite ; she could hardly reach it ; and she climbed on child-fashion, bringing both feet on each step, and taking a fresh start each time. Henry came down quickly and steadily to meet her ; she toiled on with occas- ional pauses. At last, as they met and he lifted her in his arms, Dorla's nerves gave way, and she began to cry. " Really," said Abby, sharply, " I shouldn't think thero was anything to cry about now." The offence was, Felix seemed so sorry for her. Mrs. Glover had more feeling, and went up to her and talked kindly. But kind talk came upon unheeding ears. She cried with her face hidden in her hands, and heard and answered no one, till Missy's shrill voice sounded in her ears. Henry came hurrying up the path, with the child in his arms, who leaned forward to her mother. Dorla stretched out her arms and caught her, and turned away from them all as if she hated them, and kissed her and cried still. Missy, frightened and subdued by thi? A PERFECT ADONIS. 346 {mutual violence, was quite silent. If Henry looked foi my thanks, he did not get them. Indeed he seemed quite satisfied to be forgotten since he had seen her happy. " Well, may we go now ? " said Abby, with a contemptu- ous gesture of the hand to the others, as if to say she had seen quite enough. " I think we are all ready," said Felix, coldly. And Mrs. Glover and Abby moved away with him. Henry stayed behind with Dorla and Missy. Ten minutes later, these three came across the road to the little inn. Dorla had a Tceil very tight across her face, and had abjured crying. Missy, like a dutiful little daughter, was looking up at her and being very silent. The carriage and the oaleche were standing before the door ; in the former sat the two ladies with ill-disguised impatience. Felix stood with the carriage door open. " I think you must have forgotten we were going back to Quebec, to-night," said Abby, tartly. " I ? O, I am sorry you waited for me. I am going back in the caleche," returned Dorla, walking towards that vehi- cle, as if it were amazing that they had not known where she had made up her mind to drive. She did not attempt any apology, nor in fact look again towards them. Felix stepped quickly into the carriage, and pulled the door to sharply, and they drove on. Looking back, however, from where he sat, he could see Henry putting her into the caleche with tenderness and care, and could see him take his place beside her, with the mite Missy on his lap. " I really think it would have been more civil to have made some apology," said Mrs. Glover, much out of humor, " I suppose it is to reward the faithful Henry for his feat >f gallantry," returned Abby. " Ton shall have sprats For your humanity, My seven fine cats, Said Dame Wiggins of Lee." 46 ^ PERFECT ADOXI& " I do not see the prowess, though, in walking down a flight of steps that every tourist walks do WE every time he comes to Montmorenci." " No, you do not see it, because he is not your Henry." " But it is quite impossible to say what it may result in," said Mrs. Glover. " With these deadly sentimental women, such things are often made the turning-point." Felix had not much reverence for Mrs. Gfl over's judgment ordinarily, but on this occasion he felt that she had spoken sooth. It was quite impossible to know what estimate Dorla was going to put upon the walk of Henry down the steps ; but it was not possible to doubt that it would be an exaggerated one. " I do like common sense," said Mrs. Glover, leaning back in the carriage, as they rolled over the white road through Beau port village. Abby was eminent for common sense, or rather for the absence of sentiment, and Mrs. Glover hoped that that quality would strike Felix favorably after having been put through a scene. She knew men hated scenes ; and Dorla had made such a fool of herself. " The future of that child Missy really weighs upon me," she went on, as no one responded to her praise of common sense. " I think her present is enough of a nuisance without troubling one's self about her future," said Abby. " Don't you think," said Mrs. Glover, addressing herself to Felix, " that a child so situated is certain of an unhappy womanhood ? " "I know so little about children, I am sure I cannot judge," Felix answered, non-commital. " But think," said Mrs. Glover, meditatively, " of such a temperament remaining so ungoverned. Think of the mother's foolish fondness, of her foolish apprehensions, and her emotional tendency. I really don't know what will happen to the child, if she finds herself in a different posi tion some day. If her mother marries Henry Stanfield " A PERFECT ADONIS. 347 " I am sure he wouldn't hurt a mosquito," cried Abby. " But if there are ever other children," persisted Mrs. Glover. " Then undoubtedly, Missy will be let alone a little more,' 1 said Felix in an irritated tone, and as if he had heard more than he wanted of the matter. ^ Mrs. Glover found herself snubbed, and not being a prac- tised diplomat, subsided into silence and brooded over her woiinds. She had yet to learn that the walks of diplomacy require complete self-abnegation. People must not brood over their wounds, if they want to gain their point in any matter. The summer twilight was gathering faintly ; the green fields and the quaint Norman houses lay quiet by the road- side ; men sat in the doorways now, smoking after the labors of the day ; now and then, a little black-eyed child ran forward and held up a bouquet to the silent carriage, as it rolled by. No one noticed the little offerings. Abby waved the first away contemptuously, and after that showed her contempt by not looking towards the offerers. The pre- valence of ill-humor was apparent even to the little Irish driver, who looked around occasionally, in wonder where were the gibes, the jests that had made the outward voyage HO noisy. As they passed over the Bridge they came up \vith a party of acquaintances from the hotel. " What makes you all so quiet ? " cried one. " I hope you haven't quarrelled," said another. " Those people are insufferable in their familiarity," said Abby, drawing farther back into the carriage, though sh had played whist with them for hours the night before. When at last they drew up before the door of the hotel, he said, " thank Heaven," with irreverent ill-temper between tier teeth, and sprung out spurning the offered hand of Felix. This was tne second time that afternoon that Felix had had that experience ; and Mrs. Glover took his hand as if phe would not have done it if it could have been avokled B48 A PERFECT ADONIS. " I am becoming unpopular," thought Felix, with grim humor. " Come," cried the officious friends of the Bridge, meeting them at the door of the reception room. " We shan't have time to lovelify for dinner, let us go in shabbily together." Abby was ready tq cry " I don't want any dinner, let me alone," when she bethought herself this was not the way people acted when they were jealous, unless they wanted every one to know about it. So, as there was a young man in the offensive party, she wisely concluded to make him of use, and they all went in to dinner together, Abby very much engrossed by the young man, and Mrs. Glover restored by the sentiment of admiration with which her daughter's conduct inspired her. By which means Felix was left at liberty ; and after din- ner, " when all the ways were dim," he wandered with his cigar up and down Mt. Carmel Street, and had at last the doubtful recompense of seeing Henry come out from the house where Dorla lodged, with, as he fancied, a brisker step and a more uplifted head than was his wont. " Then it's all settled," he said, knocking the ashes off his cigar ; and with a shrug of the shoulders, he resumed his walk. " It's all settled, but if there is such a thing as Fate, why did it bring me here to this dull town, to assist at the denouement ? If I had read it in an Eastern paper while I was off in California, it would not have impressed me my ch." That was not true, but it was his belief, or at least h was the belief he meant to hold. And he tried in tho same breath to convince himself that he only felt sorry tkat she was throwing herself away, because of a lingering tender in- ,/erest that a man must always feel for a woman after he haa loved her. It was a pity, as he had rudely told /aer, for a woman to marry twice from a sense of duty. HeLry seemed mch a pitiful piece of mediocrity to him, in this wise only better than his predecessor, that he was a gentleman. And thn child was so miserable an object for which to sacrifice w A PERFECT ADONIS. 349 rare and beautiful a mother I The idea that she TIB fur- nishing a protector to Missy, and securing her future happi ness and safety, was, he saw, leading Dorla into this second misery. The child's unreasonable fondness for him wa^ making the tangle more complete. " If he had only stepped on her hand, alas ! " But there was no use in wasting words or thougLbs about it ; he had better go away from Quebec at once, and forget about this hazy, passing vision, this dream of a dream that he had had. To-morrow he would go. So he strolled again up Mt. Carmel Street, and felt that it was his last night in Quebec. He looked at Dorla's windows, where the light burned dim ; and then he passed on up the street, and leaned over a low wall, where two poplars stand guard over a garden, and looked across a sea of roofs, where many lights twinkled through the dim soft air. " T am glad to have been here," he said to himself. " There is nothing to be sorry about." And so he flung the end of his cigar away, among the trees and roofs below him, and, with a sort of sigh, went slowly from the spot r ERY one knows it is not so easy to get away from places as to go to them, (especially if you are not % ery determined about it.) Felix thought he surely would go away from Quebec that next day, but many tilings combined to make him stay. In the first place, every- body had recovered his or her temper ; the weather was fine, in the second ; no one expected him o go, in the third ; and in the fourth, he didn't want to. It would surprise tkeru all, to have him go away, and all would say there was a cause in his disappointment about Mrs. RothermeL He re- sumed his old place with Abby. Indeed she was a little softer and more attractive since her passionate fit of jeal- ousy, %n/i he was in proportion more gentle in his manner to 350 A PERFECT ADOJilS. her. Mrs. Glover's hopes revived, and Mrs. Biihop seemed perfectly well satisfied with the progress of events. Dorla refused to go out with them at all that day, and Felix only saw her once, on her knees in the Seminary Chapel, whither he had strayed in the unannounced hope of finding silence, and a half hour to himself. She had been crying, he saw, when she passed out of the door ; he took pains that she should not see him. The next day he encountered her in Fabrique Street, but she had Missy, Marie, and Henry with her, and that was reason eL.ough for passing with a bow. There was time enough for him to see, however, that she flushed painfully. And so the next day passed. Henry was becoming insufferable. Not from airs of suc- cess; blessed soul, that was not his way of sinning; but from unspeakable in-love-ness. He was so absent-minded, so engrossed in his own thoughts, that at the table, Abby never addressed him without making several loud raps with the handle of her knife or fork to ensure his attention, before beginning her observation. This always had the effect of making Felix furious, and of giving Mrs. Bishop's nerves a great shock, and of irritating even Mrs. Glover. Only Henry was entirely unmoved, and seemed to forget she had ever done it before. But nothing interfered with the practice, as Abby was in the habit of riding rough-shod over the prejudices of her associates. Felix sometimes said to him- self, he would alter his dinner hour and let them have the round table and the scarlet geranium to themselves ; but he never had the resolution to break away from them. It be- gan to be quite apparent, however, that he had little to gain from their connection with Dorla. Of course he dared not go to Mt. Carmel Street, and she had completely withdrawn (HN self from them, when there was any danger of encounter- ing him. Henry and Mrs. Bishop were with her incessantly, it seemed to him, from the talk at the table ; Mrs. Glover tnd Abby occasionally, though with much distaste. Still it A PERFECT ADONIS. 351 iras " amusing " enough to keep him in Quebec, these little chances and glimpses. On the fourth morning, however, after the drive to the Falls, Felix came down early, after rather a hot and sleep- less night. It was an hour before the breakfast time ob- served by the party, and while walking up and down the reading room, and debating in his own mind the wisdom of getting through with that meal in peace and taking th morning to himself, he caught sight of a well-known figure, crossing the dark hall, from the reception room, through trunks and porters and news stands. Dorla moved with the hesitation and discomfort of a young woman, unaccustomed to take care of herself in such places. She told a porter to bring a clerk to her, and then she grew frightened and told the porter to bring her to a clerk. All were very busy, as a train or boat was just arriving, and no one paid much heed to her as she stood beside the desk among a dozen dusty, hurrying, and ill-humored travellers. Felix threw aside the newspaper he had taken up, and went out to her. " Can I do anything for you, Mrs. Rothermel ? " he said, speaking in his ordinary tone ; but when she turned hei face to him, he saw there was something the matter. " O, yes," she said, " I want a doctor Missy is very ill. I am trying to get them to send a servant up to Mr. Stan- field." Felix said, " Come back to the reception room. I will Bend up." She followed him, and while he called a servant to him, ihe exclaimed : ** Oh, it will be so long ! He may not yet be up." 61 What do you want him for ? " asked Felix abruptly, " To get the doctor for me." " Well, I suppose I can do that as well." " Oh, if you only would." Then Felix dismissed the servant, and getting from the mcothe address of the only homoeopath ID the city, sprang 852 A PERFECT ADONIS, into a caliche, and departed on his mission, Dorla being al- ready on her way back to Missy's bedside, without so much AS a look at him. The doctor lived outside the gate ; it was a long drive, and the end of it was not reached when his house waa found. Felix hunted him out of the abode of a desper- ately sick man at some distance, and bore him back with him in the caliche. He bribed the Frenchman to drive fur- iously. When they rattled up to the door in Mount Carmel Street, the maid opened it as if she had been watching for them, and said : at least." " Yes," said Dorla, turning away. " I suppose so." Then catching sight of Henry, who had not spoken, but who stood with Lonest grief upon his face, she suddenly broke down ; and stretching out her hand to him, said brokenly, M I believe you would care if she did not get well. My poor little Mssy ! O, how can I live through this ? " 858 4 PERFECT ADONIS. Henry caught her hand and led her to the sofa. Fella could not hear what he said, but it was evidently jnort acceptable to her than .his wise words had been. "Wisdom, to cure a broken heart, Must not be wisdom preached." Henry had sympathy where he had only pity. Mrs. Bishop and he had not loved poor little Missy, and they both felt conscious of the shortcoming. But Dorla and Henry were not aware of their confusion. They could only think of one thing. In a few moments, Henry followed Dorla to the door of Missy's room ; and, horror to behold, followed her, after a moment's pause, into the room and oat of sight. Felix walked about and looked out of the window. He knew he ought to go away, but he was enraged to think of Henry left in charge. Mrs. Bishop took off her shawl and gloves and settled herself in an easy -chair as if she meant to be permanent. " This is a sad business," she said to Felix, with a sigh. " There is no knowing how long we may have to stay, even if she should get better." " I trust there is no question about that," returned Felix, with the chilling superiority of a man of sense. Mrs. Bishop at once felt ashamed of herself, and began to wonder whether Missy were really very ill. " But the Doctor," she went on humbly. " The Doctor seemed to think it was pretty serious." Felix shrugged his shoulders. At this moment Henry came out of the room, with a face of great anxiety. " She is very ill, 1 am afraid," he said, going up to his aunt. " Dear, dear, Henry, this is a dreadful piece of work. [ wish we had gone home a week ago." "It is time the Doctor came, I should think," said Henry, looking at his watch. "Aunt Hester, if there is waything you want frora the hotel, Marie can go round and A PERFECT ADONIS. 859 get it. I of coirse shall stay; and you will have to be here all the time." " Dear me. Yes, of course. But this upsets one so. There are my pills to take at twelve. And I did not bring a cap ; and my slippers and the tonic and my glasses and that little breakfast-shawl, if I have to sit by a win- dow" " I should think Marie could get them all," said Henry, anxiously, ft if you told her just what it was you wanted." " Ah, my dear Henry, I would not send Marie to my trunk. I never felt confidence in that woman." " Perhaps Mrs. Rothermel can lend you the things." "Her slippers would not fit me." " No, of course they wouldn't." " And I am suffering torments already with this boot." At this moment Dorla came out, her eyes red with cry- ing. " Hasn't he come yet ? " she said. That meant the Doctor. " No," said Henry, looking at his watch, which was still in his hand. " My dear," said Mrs. Bishop, " I am going to stay with you of course, and I was just arranging with Henry. Now don't you think you could go to another room, and rest a little while, and let me sit by Missy ; you look so very tired." " No ! oh, no ! " cried Dorla, as she started backward to the door. " I don't want to rest. And I am sure yor> leedn't stay." " Of course I shall," said Mrs. Bishop, with great firm- ness. " I shall not leave you while she is so sick. And I am talking of sending Marie around to get some things." " Yes ? " said Dorla, wearily, retreating to the door. " I wish I could avoid it though. I suppose you haven't juch a thing as a light worsted shawl ? " " I don't know," said Dorla, looking distressed, l< Marie will ae." 860 A PERFECT ADON18. t( And the slippers, of course you haven't any that would do. I really am afraid I shall have to send Marie for tbf slippers, if for nothing else. These walking-boots are so un comfortable. I suppose it is the warm weather." "Dear Mrs. Bishop, don't stay; really I do not need anything. Henry will be here, and that is really all I need." At this moment the doctor entered, and Felix took occa- sion to withdraw, washing his hands of the whole business. It was the very last chapter of his interference and his hopes. If the child died, she would marry Henry from gratitude ; ii she lived, she would marry him from duty. A woman that had set her heart upon sacrificing herself, might as well be let alone ; there was not any hope of turning her. For the next two days there was a great doubt about poor Missy. Mrs. Bishop never got away for a moment, and Marie and Mrs. Glover had to be trusted to get the tonic, and the slippers, and many additional details of comfort. Henry was not seen at the hotel, and Abby with amiable merriment wondered if he carried up Mrs. Kothei- mel's meals to her and fed her with a spoon. But while a woman's child is lying in danger of death she is not apt to give much thought to meals and spoons as connected with herself, nor to the appearances of things in the eyes of the world. That Mrs. Bishop was there, in her heavy imbecility, for the purpose of making it proper that Henry should be in the chamber of anguish beside the unconscious sufferer, never entered Dorla's brain. There was no room for that. The doctor was there many times a day. The people in the house were very kind. The weather was unbearably hot. Mrs. Glover came often, but rarely saw Dorla, and Abby, if she had not had the companionship of Felix and a party of friends recently arrived, would have been much bored. " How is the little thing ? " she would say to her mother as she came in from a drive and drew off her glovf-s sitting town v x> lunch. And Felix could not forgive her that she A PERFECT ADONIS. 361 iometimes spoke to the waiter about the cold chicken before she heard her mother's answer. What a good appetite she had. How merry her laugh was. And how handsome she looked. Felix wondered whether she would ever bend over a little child in a fever and forget cold chicken and lockets and round hats and the opinion of the world. But after two days of this suspense, Missy suddenly rallied, and without explanation began to get well. The doctor could not account for it; it was probably one of those unheralded attacks of fever to which many children are subject while they are " amang the teeth," as the Scotch say. It was very possible that she had not been in as great danger as she appeared. Every one, a little out of temper, began to be peevish about the fright she had given them. Mrs. Bishop came back to the hotel, slippers and all, and felt that she had been wronged. Felix felt that Abby had been the wisest of them not to let anything interfere with the cold chicken. Mrs. Glover sneered at the doctor, and did not believe she should have been deceived a moment if she had been admitted to the child. Even Henry came back, looking worn out and indifferent, and went to his room and slept hours on the stretch. Only Missy's mother did not blame her for the unnecessary expenditure of emotion incurred by her illness and recovery. She felt indeed bruised and wounded, as if she had been cast up on the hard shore of every-day, aft^r a desperate storm that had been beyond her strength ; she could have the joy of reason not the joy of feeling, after such a struggle. Missy was troublesome as a convalescent. But then she was troublesome in all estates and conditions. Her exactions alone would have prevented those about her from feeling unalloyed happiness in the sight of her recovery. Marie made no secret of her feelings and gave warning publicly. " As soon as we reach home, Madame will please look out another maid for Missy." This is such pleasant news to bear, two or three hundred miles from home, and with a sick 16 862 ^ PERFECT ADONI& child upon your hands. A servant of Bourse, undei them circumstances, feels that she has discharged her conscience when she has said this, and seeks no more to please or mollify. Though it was the best thing that had happened to Missy for a long time, to get rid of Marie, Dorla took it quite to heart. She had a great dread of strange faces about her, and would have endured the dull-eyed Marie to the end of 1 ime rather than have made the change. A week after Missy's illness, Dorla was so dejected that she had to remind herself what she had escaped, in order to be thankful. On the day before, Missy had driven out ; she was unmistakably as well as she ever had been. This morn- ing, she was to be taken to sit for an hour or two in the Governor's Garden across the way, when a hasty summons came from Mrs. Bishop. Dorla, establishing her with Marie, in the Garden, went hurriedly around to the hotel. In her own room, she found Mrs. Bishop in much agitation; a despatch had just been received, which Henry was even now answering, communicating the news of the severe illness of Henry's mother, the sister of Mrs. Bishop. They were to start in the train at one o'clock. Dorla surely would go with them ? There was but one answer to that, but it took a long while to convince Mrs. Bishop that it must be. Missy could not take such a journey. Dorla was down on her knees packing Mrs. Bishpp's trunk while she said ttds. The poor old lady was quite unnerved. ( ' I am sure there is no time to lose," said Dorla, folding up a wrapper. " Henry said we must not waste time," she said. " Poor Henry ! Dorla, I think you ought to go." " I wish it were possible," she returned, " for your suke. But it cannot be. Dear Mrs. Bishop, which hat shall you put on?" " The black straw. I may need my crape one fresh. Oh, dear ! But when shall you come home yourself ? and will you get home alone? " A PERFECT ADONIS. 363 " O, I shall manage some way. The others are all going, I suppose ? " " Yes, I believe so. It was all quite hurried but I think the Glovers are very tired of Quebec. And I think Felix only wanted an excuse to get away. He and Abby are out now, paying some bills and getting some things they had ordered, and Mrs. Glover is busy packing. Lunch at twelve, you know. And dear me, it is now nearly half-past eleven ! " At quarter before twelve the trunk was packed, the shawls strapped, and while Mrs. Bishop sat down by the window and fanned herself and cried softly, Henry entered the room, looking pale and harassed. He showed surprise at seeing Dorla. " I have been in Mt. Carmel Street and through the Gar- den, looking for you," he said. Then Mrs. Bishop upbraided him for this waste of time, and asked him if he had sent the telegram and paid the bill and engaged the omnibus and ordered the lunch. The worm turned at this a and said that was his business, if she would only attend to her part. Thus grief affects the most amiable minds. Mrs. Bishop cried more at this, and said she felt a presentiment she should never live through this dreadful journey. She even spoke reproachfully of Missy's illness, which alone had kept them from going home a week ago. She was as unreasonable as a woman of any age can be. u We are wasting time. You are positive you cannot go ? " said Henry to Dorla. He had no hope that she could, but he gave her a very appealing look as he spoke. The worst of poor Henry wap, he was so genuine. He looked all he felt : a mother dying, a sweetheart to be left behind. His face expressed those (acts. There came a knock at the door. "Trunks ready?" Another, with the bill. Another, with a telegram. Tho next fifteen minutes were a turmoil. At twelve, Dorla took Mrs. Bishop down to lunch, Henry being absent on some of 364 A PERFECT ADONJ8. the endless business of preparation. Soon .the Glo\ers came in, and then Felix, not in any hurry, and then Henry, white and in a hurry too. Poor fellow, he could not eat anything. Felix said it was rather early for lunch, but ate some soup. Abby, who was in high spirits, called for her favorite cold chicken. " You have concluded not to go," said Felix to Dorla, who sat watching Mrs. Bishop's efforts at a meal. " O yes." " And how is the little girl ? " " A great deal better, thank you." " Well," said Abby, " I hope you will pay us the compli- ment of missing us." " Abby," cried her mother, with a sudden misgiving, known only to women on a journey ; " did you lock the can- vas-covered trunk ? " " O, what a shock you gave me ! Yes, of course I locked it. Here's the key." " There ! There ! " cried Mrs. Glover, " those photo- graphs at the shop opposite. I knew there was something that I had forgotten." " Let me go for them," said Dorla, getting up, " while you all get your lunch." There was a hubbub and a discussion about permitting her to go, and then a catalogue raisonne of the photographs ; and then Dorla got away. In a moment Henry arose, saying he must see about the omnibus, and followed her. Felix shrugged his shoulders, and Abby laughed. " It would be too bad," she said, " not to have had a ohance to say good-bye. But I hope he won't forget about the omnibus." Felix, from the parlor window, a few minutes jater, saw Dorla and Henry come out of the shop, silent, and both rather pale. " Well, did you get the photographs ? " said Abby, meet- ing them at the door. Mrs. .Rothermel had the package, and told her the prices she had paid, without any appear A PERFECT ADONIS. 365 jtnce of indecision. But poor Henry wa& not so self-pos- " When will the omnibus come around ? " said Mrs. Bishop ? "I will go and see about it," he answered, turn- ing towards the door. "That is just as I supposed," cried Abby. " He hasn't been to order it, and we shall all be left." Such a thought put Mrs. Bishop in great excitement. She insisted that Felix should go and see about the omnibus himself. " Now I am going to bid you all good-bye," said Dorla, quickly, as soon as he went away. " I cannot do you any more good, and I have left Missy longer than I ought al- ready. You will not be off for fifteen minutes yet." Thereupon Mrs. Bishop was agitated again, but the adieux were hurried through, and Dorla left the three ladies in the parlor and went down the stairs. At the foot of them she met Felix. " You are going ? " he said, taking off his hat and stand- Lag aside for her to pass. " Yes," she said, " I can't be away from Missy any longer." " Well, good-bye, then," he said, putting out his hand. " I hope Missy will continue to improve." " Thank you ! Good-bye," said Dorla, giving her hand without looking up, and in a moment half a dozen people %-ere between her and him, and she passed out of the door into the midday heat, with a strange feeling of disenchant- ment. And so it was all over. And this was the end. And how hot the pavements were ; and how steep the street. Missy must be wanting her gruel. And this was the end. What else had she looked for, she said ; and yet .t seemed miserably prosaic. It was with a feeling of im- patience and of shame that she pulled the brass bell-handle jit the door of her lodgings. It was so hot to stand there while the servant cleaned her last knife, or laid her last plate. Every one took Lis o r her time in Quebec. But no me had ei er been blamed for it before by Dorla. Every- 366 A PERFECT ADON18. thing Jraggsd and worried to-day. There was Missy's gruel nt twelve, and her chop at two, and her nap at three, and ht,r walk at five, and her tea at six, and at seven her going to bed. And between them all, a good deal of story-telling, and entertaining and exercising of patience. But through it all, Dorla felt a weariness that was unusual, almost a want of interest in what had been, and what she had chosen should be, her life. Missy, finally, was soothed to sleep ; the room seemed warm and close to Dorla, as she stole out from it into the fresher air of the parlor. There the large windows were open, and all was very still. She walked about the room, and failed to interest herself in anything. After all, it did feel lonely to be in a strange city without a single friend. She had called them bores, sometimes, but she would really be glad to see Mrs. Bishop coming in, with her cap in her hand, and her slippers in her pocket. Inde- pendence and time to rest your brain are all very well, but there is such a thing as having too much of them. f women." " Ah, Felix ! You do not understand." " Then you really wish you were on your way now to found an ordsr of nuns ? " 380 A PERFECT ADONI8. I didn't say that." " What did you say then ? " w I said you didn't understand." " Maybe I don't. But it is too late now for you to whangs four mind. You must make the best you can of what you've done, and try to be contented." " AH ! I am afraid it will be only too easy ! " said Dor la, with another sigL. " Well." said Felix, " you may add again, that I do not understand. For I'm sure I don't." " This you may understand, at least," said Dorla, " that I am not fit to be a nun, or I suppose I should have been one. I am a failure, don't you see, Felix. I've spoiled Missy. I've never been able to make a good housekeeper. I am afraid I never helped poor Harry any. I don't know that I was ever any comfort to mamma. And I wasn't I And perhaps, I shall not make you happy after all. I can't see what I was created for." 4 " I can't either, except to make people want to possess you. To have and to hold you," he said, with a fierce sort of satisfaction. "But "said Dorla. " But " said Felix, kissing her. And then she forgot all about S. Jane Frances de Chan- tat, and the Order of the Visitation, and for the moment about poor Missy, too. It is a blessing that when you are a failure, you can forget it sometimes for a while. But the fact remains the same. RETURN TO the circulation desk of any University of California Library or to the NORTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY Bldg. 400, Richmond Field Station University of California Richmond, CA 94804-4698 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS 2-month loans may be renewed by calling (510)642-6753 1-year loans may be recharged by bringing books to NRLF Renewals and recharges may be made 4 days prior to due date DUE AS STAMPED BELOW JAN 2 2 1994 Ybi