-> f^ ^. S POPULAR NOVELS. By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes. I. TEMPEST AND 80NSHINB. II. ENGLISH ORPHANS. IIL HOMESTEAD ON THE HILLODB. IV. LENA RIVERS. V. MEADOW BROOK. VI. DORA DEANE. VII. COUSIN MAUDK. VIII. MARIAN GRAY. IX. DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. X. HUGH WORTHINGTOH. XL CAMERON PRIDE. XII. ROSE MATHER. XIII. ETHELYN'S MISTAKB. XIV. MILLBANK. XV. EDNA BBOWNING. (New.) Mrs. Holmes Is a peculiarly pleasant and fascinating writer. Her books are always entertaining, and nhe has the rare faculty of enlisting the sympathy and affections of her readers, and of holding their attention to her pages with deep and absorbing inter- est. AD published uniform with this volume. Price $1.50 each, and sent free by 'mail, on receipt of price by G. W. CARLETON & CO., New York. DARKNESS AiND DAYLIGHT. BoktL BY MRS. MARY J. HOLMES, AXJTHO* Of ''LENA. RIVEB8," " MARIAN GBEY," "MEADOW ," " DOBA DEANE," COU3IN MAtTDE," " TKK~ PEST AND SUN3I1INE, " ENGLISH ORPHANS, ETC. NEW YORK: Carleton, Publisher, Madison Square. LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO. M DCCC LXXin. Satercd according to Act of Congress, in tl.e year 1334, by DANIEL HOLMES, 4 tto Clerk's Office of the District Court ot the Korfheru District o Mew York. Stack Annex 5 CONTENTS. I. COLLINOWOOD . . ,7 H. EDITH HASTINGS OOE3 TO COLLIHO WOOD. . . J 8 til. QSACE ATHERTON . . 20 if. RICHARD AND EDITH . . . . . 2f T. VISITORS AT COLLINGV70OD AMD VISITORS AT BEIS2 Hill . 38 YI. ARTHUR AHD EDITH. 47 VH. RICHAIID AND ARTHUR. 63 Till. RICHAED AND EDITH. ....... 69 IX. -WOMANHOOD. 68 X. EDITH AT HOME. ........ 79 XI. MATTERS AT GRASSY 8PRIN"O. ..... 89 XII. LESSONS. . . . . . . . . .104 XIII. FRIDAY Ill XIV THE MYSTERY AT GRASSY SPRING 117 XV. NtNA. 127 xvi. ARTHUR'S STORY. . . . . . . . .136 XVTI. NINA AND MIGGIE 150 IVllI. DR. ORISWOLD. ........ 161 XIX EX OFFICIO . . . 174 XX, TUB DECISION 181 XXI THE DEERINO WOODS. . . . . . . 188 XXII. rHE DARKNESS DEEPENS . 197 XXIII PARTING. ..... ' 20I XXIV THF NINETSame BJBTHDAT. , 218 1630464 VI CONTENTS. Chap. Pag XXV. DESTINY. 236 XXVI. EDITH AND THE WORLD. ..... 248 XXVII. THE LAND OF FLOWEK3 264 XXVIII. SUNNYBANK. ....... 275 XXIX. THE SISTERS. . . .... 284 XXX. ARTHUR AND NINA 803 XXXI.. LAST DAYS 810 XXXII. PARTING WITH THE DEAD AND PARTING WITH THE LIVING. 320 XXXIII. HOME. 830 xxxiv. NINA'S LETTER. 838 XXXV. THE FIERY TEST. 846 XXXVI. THE SACRIFICE. .... 852 TXXVII. THE BRIDAL 860 XISVIII. BIX YEARS LATE*. . . 306 DARKLESS AND DAYLIGHT. CHAPTER I. COLLINGWOOD. Collin EDITH. 21 became BO light that none save the blind could have .ie tected it. To Richard there was something half amusing, half ridiculous in the conduct of the capricious child, and foi thfe sake of knowing what she would do, he professed to be ignorant of her presence, and leaning back against the lattice, pretended to be asleep, while Edith came so near that he could hear her low breathing as she stood still to watch him. Nothing could please her more than his present attitude, for with his large bright eyes shut she dared to look at him as much and as long as she chose He was to her now a kind of divinity, which she worship- ped for the sake of the Swedish baby rescued from a watery grave, and she longed to wind her arms around his neck and tell him how she loved him for that act; bivt she dared not, and she contented herself with whispering softly, " If I wasn't so spunky and ugly, I'd pray every night that God would make you see again. Poor blind man/' It would be impossible to describe the deep pathos of Edith's voice as she uttered the last three words. Love, admiration, compassion and pity, all were blended in the tone, and it is not strange that it touched an answering chord in the heart of the " poor blind man." Slowly the broad chest heaved, and tears, the first he had shed since the fearful morning when they led him into the sunlight he felt but could not see, moistened his lashes, and drop- ped upon his face. " He's dreaming a bad dream," Edith said, and with her little chubby hand she brushed his teare away, cau- tiously, lest she should rouse him from his slumbers. Soilly she put back from the white forehead his glossy hair, taking her o\*n round comb to subdue an obdurate lock, while he was sure that the fingers made more than one pilgrimage to the lips as the little barber found mois ture necessary to her task. 28 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. " There, Mr. Blindman, you look real nice," she said, with an immense amount of satisfaction, as she stepped back, the better to inspect the whole eifect. " I'll bet you'll wonder who's been here when you wake up, but 1 shan't teU you now. Maybe, though, I'll come again to- morrow," and placing the bouquet in his hands, she ran away. Pausing for a moment, and looking back, she saw Richard again raise to his lips her bouquet, and with a palpitating heart, as she thought, " what if he wern't asleep after all ! " she ran on until Brier Hill was reached. " Not any message this time either ? " said Grace, when told that he had kissed her flowers- *^nd that was all. Still this was proof that he was pleased, and the infatu- ated woman persisted in preparing bouquets, which Edith daily carried to Collingwood, going always at the same time, and finding him always in the same spot waiting for her. As yet no word had passed between them, for Edith, who liked the novelty of the affair, was so light-footed that she generally managed to slip the bouquet into his hand, and run away ere he had time to detain her. One morning, however, near the middle of October, when, owing to a bruised heel, she had not been to see him for more than a week, he sat in his accustomed place, half-expecting her, and still thinking how improba- ble it was that she would come. He had become strangely attached to the little unknown, as he termed her; he thought of her all the day long, and when, in the chilly evening, he sat before the glowing grate, listening to the monotonous whisperings of his father, he wished so much that she was there beside him. His life would not be so dreary then, for in the society of that active, playful child, he should forget, in part, how miserable he was. She was blue-eyed, and golden-haired, he thought, with soft, abundant curls veiling her sweet young face ; and he pictured to himself just how she would JOOK, Hitting BICHAED AND EDITH. 29 tb rough the halls, and dancing upon the gieen sward neai the door. "But it cannot be," he murmured on that Octobei morning, when he sat alone in his wretchedness. " Noth- *ng I've wished for most has ever come to pass. Sorrow nns been my birthright from a boy. A curse is resting upon our household, and all are doomed who come with- in its shadow. First my own mother died just when I needed her the most, then that girlish woman whom I also called my mother; then, our darling Charlie. My father's reason followed next, while I am hopelessly blind. Oh, sometimes I wish that I could die." u Hold your breath with all your might, and see if yon can't," said the voice of Edith Hastings, who had ap- proached him cautiously, and heard his sad soliloquy. Richard started, and stretching out his long arm, caught the sleeve of the little girl, who, finding herself a captive, ceased to struggle, and seated herself beside him as he requested her to do. "Be you holding your breath?" she asked, as for a moment he did not speak, adding as he made no answer " Tell me when you're dead, won't you ? " Richard laitghed aloud, a hearty, merry laugh, which startled himself, it was so like an echo of the past, ere his hopes were crushed by cruel misfortune. "I do not care to die now that I have you," he said; " and if you'd stay with me always, I should never be unhappy." " Oh, wouldn't that be jolly," cried Edith, using her favorite expression, " I'd read to you, and sing to you, only Rachel says my songs are weird-like, and queer, and maybe you might not like them ; but I'd fix your hair, and lead you in the smooth places where you wouldn't jam your heels;" and she glanced ruefully at one of heis, bound up in a cotton rag. " I wish I could come, but Mrs. Atherton won't let me, I know. She threatens most SO DARKNESS A2TD DAYLIGHT. every day to send me back to the Asylum, 'cause I act BO Tin her little waiting-maid, Edith Hastings." " Waiting maid I " and the tone of Richard's voice was indicative of keen disappointment. The Harringtons were very proud, and Richard would once have scoffed at the idea of being particularly inter- ested in on 3 so far below him as a waiting-maid. ITe had never thought of this as a possibility, and the child bt-*iABKNE88 AND DATLIGHT. "Edith, I have come to take you home to take yon tc Collingwood. to live with me. Do you wish to go '( " "Ain't there ghosts at Collingwood ? " asked Edith, who, now that what she most desired was just within her reach, began like every human being to see goblins in the path. " Ain't there ghosts, at Collingwood ? a little boy witli golden curls, and must I sleep in the chamber with him?" "Poor child," said Richard, "You too, have heard that idle tale. Shall I tell you of the boy with golden hair ? " and holding her so close to him that he could feel the beating of her heart and hear her soft, low breathing, he told her all there was to tell of his half-brother Charlie, who died just one day after his young mother, and waa buried in the same coffin. They could not return to Collingwood that night, and the evening was spent in the private parlor which Arthur engaged for himself and his blind friend. It was strange how fast they grew to liking each other, and it was a pleasant sight to look at them as they sat there in the warm firelight which the lateness of the season made necessary to their comfort the one softened and toned down by affliction and the daily cross he was compelled to bear, the other in the first flush of youth when *the world lay all bright before him and he had naught to do but enter the Elysian fields and pluck the fairest flowers. It was late when they separated, but at a comparatively early hour the next morning they assembled again, this tune to bid good-by, for their paths hereafter lay in differ- ent directions. " You must write to me, little metaphysics," said Arthur, as with hat and shawl in hand he stood in the di pot on the east side of the Hudson. "Yes," rejoined Richard, " she is to be my private amanuensis, and shall let you know of our welfare, and now, I suppose, we must go." RICHARD AND EDITR. 61 It was a very pleasant ride to Edith, j. leasanter that when she came with Arthur, but a slight headache made her drowsy, and leaning on Richard's arm she fell asleep, nor woke until West Shannondale was reached. The carnage was in waiting for them, and V ictor sat inside. I[o had come ostensibly to meet his master, but really to see the kind of specimen he was bringing to the aristo- cratic halls of Collingwood. Long and earnest had been the discussion there con- cerning the little lady ; Mrs. Matson, the housekeeper, sneering rather contemptuously at one who heretofore had been a servant at Brier Hill. Victor, on the contra- ry, stood ready to espouse her cause, thinking within him- self how he would teach her many points of etiquette of which he knew she must necessarily be ignorant; but firstly he would, to use his own expression, " see what kind of metal she was made of." Accordingly his first act at the depot was to tread upon her toes, pretending he did not see her, but Edith knew he did it purposely, and while her black eyes blazed with anger, she exclaimed, " You wretch, how dare you be so rude?" Assisting Richard into the carriage, Victor was about to turn away, leaving Edith to take care of herself, when with all the air of a queen, she said to him, " Help me in, sir. Don't you know your business ! " "Pardonnez, moi" returned Victor, speaking in his mother tongue, and bowing low to the indignant child, whom le helped to a seat by Richard. An t.pur's drive brought them to the gate of Colling- wood, and Edith was certainly pardonable if she did cast a glance of exultation in the direction of Brier Hill, as they wound up the gravelled road and through the hand- gome grounds of what henceforth was to be her home. " I guess Mrs. Atherton will be sorry she acted so," she thought, and she was even revolving the expediency of 62 DAKKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. pulling on airs and not speaking to her former mistress, when the carriage stopped and Victor appeared at the window all attention, and asking if he should " assist Misa Hastings to alight." In the door Mrs. Matson was waiting to receive them, rubbing her gold-bowed spectacles and stroking her heavy BKk with an air which would have awed a child less self- assured than Edith. Nothing grand or elegant seemed strange or new to her. On the contrary she took to it naturally as if it were her native element, and now as she stepped upon the marble floor of the lofty hall she invol- untarily cut a pirouette, exclaiming, "Oh, but isn't this jolly ! Seems as if I'd got back to Heaven. What a splendid room to sing in," and she began to warble a wild, impassioned air which made Richard pause and listen, wondering whence came the feeling which so affected him carrying him back to the hills of Germany. Mrs. Matson looked shocked, Victor amused, while the sensible driver muttered to himself as he gathered up his reins, " That gal is just what Colling wood needs to keep it from being a dungeon." Mrs. Matson had seen Edith at Brier Hill, but this did Hot prevent her from a close scrutiny as she conducted her to the large, handsome chamber, which Richard in his hasty directions of the previous morning had said was to be hers, and which, with its light, tasteful furniture, crimson curtains, and cheerful blazing fire seemed to the delighted child a second paradise. Clapping her hands she danced about the apartment, screaming, "It's Uie jolliest place I ever was in." " What do you mean by that word jolly ? " asked Mrs. Matson, with a great deal of dignity ; but ere Edith could reply, Victor, who came up with the foreign chest, chimod in, "She means pretty, Madame Matson, and understands French, no doubt. Parky vous Franyais ? " and he turned to Edith, who, while recognizing something fiunil- RICHARD AND EDITH. 6S tar in the sound, felt sure he was making fun of her and answered back, " Parley voo fool! I'll tell Mr. Harring- ton how -you tease me." Laughing aloud at her reply, Victor put the ohest hi its place, made some remark concerning its quaint appear- ance, and bowed himself from the room, saying to her as ho shut the door, " Bon .soir. Mademoiselle? " I've heard that kind of talk before," thought Edith, as she began to brush her hair, preparatory to going down to supper, which Mrs. Matson said was waiting. At the table she met with the old man, who had seen her alight from the carnage, and had asked the mischievous Victor, " Who was the small biped Richard had brought home ? " "That," said Victor. "Why, that is Charlie turned into a girl." And preposterous as the idea seemed, the old man siezed upon it at once, smoothing Edith's hair when he saw her, tapping her rosy cheeks, calling her Charlie, and muttering to himself of the wonderful pro- cess which had transformed his fair-haired boy into a black-haired girl. Sometimes the utter impossibility of the thing seemed to penetrate even his darkened mind, and then he would whisper, "I'll make believe it's Charlie, any way," so Charlie he pei'sisted in calling her, and Richard encour- aged him in this whim, when he found how much satis- faction it afforded the old man to " make believe." The day following Edith's arrival at Collingwood theru was a long consultation between Richard and Victor con- cerning the little girl, about whose personal appearance the former would now know something definite. " How does Edith Hastings look? " he asked, and after a moment of grave deliberation, Victor replied, " She has a fat round face, with regular features, except that the nose turns up somewhat after the spitfire order, 64 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT and her mouth is a trifle too wide. Her forehead is not very high it would not become her style if it were Her hair is splendid thick, black and glossy as satin, and her eyes, there are not words enough either in the French or English language with which to describe her eyes they are so bright and deep that nobody can look into them long without wincing. I should say, sir, if put on oath, there was a good deal of the deuce in her eyes. 1 ' " When she is excited, you mean," interrupted Richard. " How are they in repose ? " " They are never there," returned Victor. " They roll and turn and flash and sparkle, and light upon one so un- comfortably, that he begins to think of all the badness he ever did, and to wonder if those coals of fire can't ferret out the whole thing." " I like her eyes," said Richard, " but go on. Tell me of her complexion." " Black, of course," continued Victor, " but smooth as glass, with just enough of red in it to make rouge unne- cessary. On the whole I shouldn't wonder if in seven or eight years' time she'd be as handsome as the young lady of Collingwood ought to be." "How should she be dressed?" asked Richard, who knew that Victor's taste upon such matters was infallible, his mother and sister both having been Paris mantua- makers. "She should have scarlet and crimson and dark bk trimmed with black," said Victor, adding that he presum- ed Mrs. Atherton would willingly attend to those matters. Richard was not so sure, but he thought it worth the while to try, and he that night dispatched Victor to Brier Hill with a request that she would, if convenient, call upon him at once. "Don't tell her what I want," he said, " I wish to sur- prise her with a sight of Edith." Victoi promised obedience and set off for Brier Hili, BlCflARD AST) EDITH. 6i> wheru he found no one but Rachel, suting before the kitchen firo, and watching the big red apples roasting upor the hearth. "Miss Grace had started that morning for New York," she said. " and the Lord only knew when she'd come hoirfe." " Anc 1 as he probably won't tell, I may as well go back," rot timed Victor, and bidding Rachel send her mistress to Collingwood as soon as she should return, he bowed him self from the room. As Rachel said, Grace had gone to New York, and the object of Ijer going was to repair the wrong done to Edith Hastings, by taking her a second time from the Asylum, and bringing her back to Brier Hill. Day and night the child's parting words, f ' You'll be sorry sometime," rang in her ears, until she could endure it no longer, and she as- tonished the delighted Rachel by announcing her inten- tion of going after the little girl. With her to will was to do, and while Victor was reporting her absence to his master, she, half-distracted, was repeating the words of the matron, " Has not been here at all, and have not heard from her either ! What can it mean ? " The matron could not tell, and for several days Grace lingered in the city, hoping Arthur would appear, but as he failed to do this, she at last wrote to him at Geneva, and then, in a sad, perplexed state of mind, returned to Shannondale, wondering at and even chiding old Rachel fer evincing so little feeling at her disappointment. But. old Rachel by this time had her secret which she meant to keep, and when at last Grace asked if any one had called during her absence, she mentioned the names of every one save Victor, and then tried very hard to think " who that 'tother one was. She knowed there was somebody else, but for the life of her she couldn't " Rachel did not quite dare to tell so gross a falsehood, 66 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. and so at this point she concluded to think % and added suddenly, " Oh, yes, I remember now. 'Twas that tall, long haired, scented-up, big-feelin' man they call Squire Hur rln'ton's vatty" " Victor Dupres been here! "and Grace's face lighted perceptibly. " Yes, he said mouse-eer, or somethin' like that mean- in' the squire, in course wanted you to come up thar as soon as you got home, and my 'pinion is that you go to oncet. 'Twont be dark this good while." Nothing could be more in accordance with Grace's feel- ings than to follow Rachel's advice, and, half an hour lat- er, Victor reported to his master that the carriage from Brier Hill had stopped before their door. It would be impossible to describe Mrs. Atherton's astonishment when, on entering the parlor, the first object that met her view was her former waiting-maid, attired in the crimson meri- no which Mrs. Matson, Lulu, the chambermaid, and Vic- tor had gotten up between them ; and which, though not the best fit in the world, was, in color, exceedingly be- coming to the dark-eyed child, who, perched upon the Inusic-stool, was imitating her own operatic songs to the infinite delight of the old man, nodding his approval of the horrid discords. " Edith Hastings ! " she exclaimed, What are you doing here ? " Springing from the stool and advancing towards Grace, Edith replied, " I live here. I'm Mr. Richard's little girl. I eat at the table with him, too, and don't have to wash the dishes cither. I'm going to be a lady just like you, ain't I, Mr Harrington?" and she turned to Richard, who had enter- ed in time to hear the last of her remarks. There was a world of love in the sightless eyes turned toward the little girl, and by that token, Grace Athcrtou knew that Edith had spoken truly. KICHARD AND EDITH. 67 " Run away, Edith," he said, " I wish to talk with the lady r.lone." Edith obeyed, and when she was gone Richard explain ed to Grace what seemed to her so mysterious, while she in return confessed the injustice clone to the child, and told how she had sought to repair the wrong. "I am glad you have taken her," she said. ' She will be happier with you than with me, for she likes you best. I think, too, she will make good use of any advantages you may give her. She has a habit of obsei-ving close- ly, while her powers of imitation are unsurpassed. She is fond of elegance and luxury, and nothing can please her more than to be an equal in a house like this. But what do you wish of me ? What can I do to assist you ? " In a few words Richard stated, his wishes that she should attend to Edith's wardrobe, saving he had but little faith in Mrs. Matson's taste. He could not have selected a better person to spend his money than Grace, who, while purchasing nothing out of place, bought always the most expensive articles in market, and when at last the process was ended, and the last dressmaker gone from Collingwood, Victor, with a quizzical expression upon his face, handed his master a bill for five hundred dollars, that being the exact amount expended upon Edith's wardrobe. But Richard uttered no word of complaint. .During the few weeks she had lived with him she had crept away down into his heart just where Charlie used to be, and there was nothing in his power to give which he would withhold from her now. She should have the best of teach- ers, he said, particularly in music, of which she was pas- sionately fond. Accordingly, in less than a week there came to Colling- wood a Boston governess, armed and equipped with all the accomplishments of the day; and beneath the supervi- sion of Richard and Victor, Grace Atherton and Mrs, Chapen, Edith's education began. 68 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. CHAPTER IX. WOMANHOOD. Eight times have the Christmas fires been kindled u the hearths of Shannondale's happy homes; eight timea the bell from St Luke's tower has proclaimed an old year dead, and a new one bom ; eight times the meek-eyed daisy struggling through the April snow, has blossomed, faded and died ; eight times has summer in all her glow- ing beauty sat upon the New England hills, and the mel- low autumnal light of the hazy October days falls on Collingwood for the eighth time since last we trod the winding paths and gravelled walks where now the yellow leaves are drifting down from the tall old maples and lofty elms, and where myriad flowers of gorgeous hue are lifting their proud heads unmindful of the November frosts hastening on apace. All around Collingwood seems the same, save that the shrubs and vines show a more luxuri- ous growth, and the pond a wider sweep, but within there is an empty chair, a vacant place, for the old man has gone to join his lost ones where there is daylight forever, and the winter snows have four times fallen upon his grave. They missed him at first and mourned for him truly, but they have become accustomed to live without him, and the household life goes on much as it did before. It is now the afternoon of a mild October day, and the doors and windows are opened wide to adoit the w irm south wind, which, dallying for a moment with the cur tains of costly lace, floats on to the chamber above, where it toys with the waving plumes a young girl is arranging upon her riding hat, pausing occasionally to speak to the fair blonde who sits watching her movements, and wLosq WOMANHOOD. 69 face betokens a greater maturity thai her own, for Grace Alherton's family Bible says she is thirty-two, while Edith is seventeen. Beautiful Edith Hastings. Eight years of delicate nur lure, tender care and perfect health have ripened her into a maiden of wondrous beauty, and far and near the peo- ple talk of the blind man's ward, the pride and glory of (Jollingwood. Neither pains nor money, nor yet severe discipline, have been spared by Richard Harrington to make her what she is, and while her imperious temper has bent to the one, her intellect and manners have ex- panded and improved beneath the influence of the other, and Richard has not only a plaything and pet in the little girl he took from obscurity, but also a companion and equal, capable of entering with him the mazy labyrinths of science, and astonishing him with the wealth of her richly stored mind. Still, in everything pertaining to her womanhood she is wholly feminine and simple-hearted as a child. Now, as of old, she bounds through the spacious grounds of Collingwood, trips over the grassy lawn, dances up the stairs, and fills the once gloomy old place with a world of melody and sunlight. Edith knows that she is beautiful ! old Rachel has told her so a thousand times, while Victor, the admiring valet, tells her so every day, taking to himself no little credit for having taught her, as he thinks, something of Parisian manners. Many are the conversations she holds with him in his mother tongue, for she has learned to speak that language with a fluency and readiness which astonished her teachers and sometimes astonished herself. It did not seem difficult to b *r, but rather like an old friend, and Marie at first was written on every page of Ollendorff. But Marie has fad- ed now almost entirely from her mind, as have those oth- er mysterious memories which used to haunt hei so Nothing but the hair hidden in the chest binds her to the past, and at this she often looks, wondering where tb 70 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. head it once adornecf is lying, whether in the noisy city or on some grassy hillside where the wild flowers she loves best are growing, and the birds whose songs she tries to imitate, pause sometimes to warble a requiem fci the dead. Those tresses are beautiful, but not so beautii al as Edith's, fler blue-black hair ia thicker, glossier, more abundant than in her childhood, and is worn in heavy braids or bands around her head, adding greatly to hor regal style of beauty. Edith has a pardonable pride in her satin hair, and as she stands before the mirror she steals an occasional glance at her crowning glory, which is this afternoon arranged with far more care than usual \ not for any particular reason, but because she had a fancy that it should be so. They were going to visit Grassy Spring, a handsome country seat, whose grounds lay contiguous to those of Collingwood, and whose walls were in winter plainly dis- cernible from the windows of the upper rooms. It had recently been purchased and fitted up somewhat after the style of Collingwood, and its owner was expected to take possession in a few days. Edith's heart always beat fast- er when she heard his name, for Arthur St. Claire was one of the links of the past which .still lingered in her remembrance. She had never seen him since they parted in Albany, and after his leaving college she lost sight of him entirely. Latterly, however, she had heard from Grace, who knew but little more of him than herself, that he was coming into their very neighborhood ; that he had purchased Grassy Spring, and was to keep a kind of bachelor's hall, inasmuch as he had no wife, nor yet a prospect of any. So much Edith knew and no mire. She did not dare to speak of Nina, for remembering her solemn promise, she had never breathed that name to any living being. But the picture in the glass, as she 3Ver termed it, was not forgotten, and the deep interest sho felt in Grassy Spring was owing, in a great measure ; o the fact that Nina was in her mind intimately associate! with WOMANHOOD. 71 the place. Sooner or latei she should meet her there, she was sure ; should see those golden curls again, and look into those soft blue eyes, whose peculiar expression she remembered as if it were but yesterday since they first met her view. " It is strange your cousin never married ; ho must, by this time, be nearly twenty-seven," she said to Grace, thinking the while of Nina, and carelessly adjusting the jaunty hat upon her head. " I think so too," returned Grace. "When quite young he was very fond of the ladies, but I am told that he now utterly ignores female society. Indeed, in his last letter to me, he states distinctly that he wishes for no company except occasional calls in a friendly way." "Been disappointed, probably," suggested Edith, still thinking of Nina, and wondering if Arthur did love her BO very much as to put faith in no one because of her treachery. " It may be," said Grace ; " and if so, isn't it a little queer that he and Mr. Harrington should live so near each other ; both so eccentric ; both so handsome and rich ; both been disappointed ; and both so desirable as husbands ? " " Disappointed, Mrs. Atherton ! Has Mr. Harrington been disappointed ? " and the rich bloom on Edith's cheek deepened to a scarlet hue, which Grace did not fail to notice. Her friendship for Edith Hastings had been a plant of sluggish growth, for she could not, at once, bring herself to treat as an equal one whom she formerly held as a ser- vant, but time and circumstances had softened her haugh- ty pride, while Edith's growing popularity, both in the \ illage and at Collingwood, awakened in her a deep inter- est for the young girl, who, meeting her advances more than half the way, compelled her at last to surrender, and the two were no was warm fiiends as individuals well can be when there is between them so great a disparity of 72 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. yeais and so vast a difference in disposition. In Grace's Keaitthc olden love for Richard had not died out, and hitherto, it had been some consolation to believe that no other ear would ever listen to the words of love, to remember which continually would assuredly drive her mad. But matters now were changed. Day by day, week by week, month by month, and year by year, a roso had been unfolding itself at Collingwood, and with every opening petal had grown more and more precious to the blind man, until more than one crone foretold the end ; and Grace Atherton, grown fonder of gossip than she was wont to be, listened to the tale, and watched, and wonder- ed, ?nd wept, and still caressed and loved the bright, beau- tiful girl, whom she dreaded as a powerful rival. This it was which prompted her to speak of Richard's disappoint- ment; and when she saw the effect produced upon Edith, it eriboldened her to go on, and tell how, years and years ago, when Richard Harrington first went to Europe, he had sued for the hand of a young girl whom he met there, and who, while loving him dearly, shrank from walking in bis shadow, and gave herself to another. w I must not tell you the name of this faithless girl," said Grace. " It is sufficient that her refusal made Rich- ard gloomy, eccentric and misanthropical; in short, it nearly ruined him." "My curse be on the woman's head who wrought this ruin, then," said Edith, her black eyes flashing with some- thing of their former fire. She had forgotten the scene in the kitchen of Brier Hill when Rachel whispered to her that Grace Atherton was [n love, and she had now no suspicion that the calm, white- laced woman sitting there before her was the being she would curse. Neither was her emotion caused, as Grace imagined, by any dread lest the early love of Richard Harrington should stand betweer herself and him. The thought that she could be his wife had never crossed her WOMANHOOD. 73 brain, and her feelings were those of indignation toward a person w-lio could thus cruelly deceive a man as noble and good as Richard, and of pity for him who had been so deceived. U I will love him all the more and be the kinder to him for this vile creature's desertion," she thought, as she beat the floor nervously with the little prunella gaiter, and thia was all the good Grace Atherton had achieved. Edith had cursed her to her face, and with a sigh audi ble only to herself she arose and said laughingly, " It's time we were off, and you've certainly admired that figure in the glass long enough. What do you think of your self, any Avay ? " " Why," returned Edith, in the same light, bantering tone, " I think I'm rather jolie, as I used to say. I won- der where I picked up that word. Victor says I must have had a French nurse, but I'm sure I was too poor for that. I wish I knew where I did come from and who I am. It's terrible, this uncertainty as to one's birth. 1 may be marrying my brother one of these days, who knows ? " " See rather that you do not marry your father," retort- ed Grace, following Edith as she tripped down the stairs and down the walk, whipping the tufts of box as she went, and answering to Grace who asked if she did not some- times find her duties irksome at Collingwood. "Never, never. The links of my chains are all made of love and so they do not chafe. Then, too, when I remem- ber what Richard has done for me and how few sources of happiness he has, I am willing to give my whole life to him, if need be. Why, Mrs. Atherton, you can't imagine how his dark features light up with joy, when on his return from riding or from transacting business he hears me in the hall, and knows that I am there to meet him," and Edith's bright face sparkled and glowed as she thought how often the blind man had blessed her 4 74 DABKNESS ASTD DAYLIGHT. with his sightless but speaking eyes, when she gave np some darling project which would take her from his side and stayed to cheer his solitude. They had mounted their horses by this time, and at the speed which characterized Edith's riding, dashed down the road and struck into the woods, the shortest route to Grassy Spring. With the exception of Collingwood, Grassy Spring was the handsomest country seat for milea around, and thinking, as she continually did, of Nina, Edith rather gave it the preference as she passed slowly through the grounds and drew near to the building. Grace had seen the housekeeper, Mrs. Johnson, a talkative old lady, who, big with the importance of her office, showed them over the house, pointing out this elegant piece of furniture and that handsome room with quite as much satisfaction as if it had all belonged to herself. In the third story, and only accessible by two flights of stairs leading from Arthur's suite of rooms, was a large square apartment, the door of which Mrs. Johnson un- locked with a mysterious shake of the head, saying to the ladies, "The Lord, only knows what this place is for. Mr. St. Claire must have fixed it himself, for I found it locked tighter than a drum, but I accidentally found on the but'ry shelf a rusty old key, that fits it to a T. I've been in here once and bein' you're his kin," nodding to Grace, " and t'other one is with you, it can't do an atom of harm for you to go. He's took more pains with thia chamber than with all the rest, and when I asked what 'twas for, he said it was his " den," where he could h'de if lie wanted to." " Don't go," whispered Edith, pulling at Grace's dress. M Mr. St. Claire might not like it." But Grace felt no such scruples, and was already across the threshold, leaving Edith by the door. u It's as bad to look in as to go in," thought Edith, and conquering her curiosity with a mighty effort, she walked WOMANHOOD. 75 resolutely down stairs, having seen nothing save hat the carpet was of the richest velvet and that the windows had across them slender iron bars, rather ornamental than otherwise, and so arranged as to exclude neither light nor air. ^ Grace, on the contrary, examined the apartment thor- oughly, thinking Mrs. Johnson right when she said that more pains had been taken with this room than with all the others. The furniture was of the most expensive and ele- gant kind. Handsome rosewood easy-chairs and sofa? covered with rich satin damask, the color and pattern cor responding with the carpet and curtains. Ottomans, di- vans and footstools were scattered about pictures and miiTors adorned the walls, while in one comer, covered with a misty veil of lace, hung the portrait of a female in the full, rich bloom of womanhood, her light chestnut curls falling about her uncovered neck, and her dreamy eyes of blue having in them an expression much like that which Edith had once observed in Nina's peculiar eyes. The dress was quite old-fashioned, indicating that the pic- ture must have been taken long ago, and while Grace gaz- ed upon it her wonder grew as to whose it was and whence it came. " Look at the bed," said Mrs. Johnson, and touching Grace's elbow, she directed her attention to a side recess, hidden from view by drapery of exquisite lace, and con- taining a single bed, which might have been intended for an angel, so pure and white it looked with its snowy cov- ering. " What does it mean ? " asked Grace, growing more and more bewildered, while Mrs. Johnson replied in her favorite mode of speech. " The Lord only knows looks as if he was going to make it a prison for some princess ; but here's the queerest thing of all," and she thumped upon a massive door, which was locked and barred, and beyond which her prying eye* bad never looked 76 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. Over the door was a ventilator, and Grace, quite as cu rious as Mrs. Johnson, suggested that a chair or table be brought, upon which she, baing taller than her compan- ion, might stand and possibly obtain a view. " What do you see ? " asked Mrs. Johnson, as Grace, on tip-toe, peered into what seemed to be a solitary cell, void of furniture of every kind, save a little cot, corresponding in size with the fairy bed in the recess, but in naught else resembling it, for its coverings were of the coarsest, strongest materials, and the pillows scanty and small. Acting from a sudden impulse, Grace determined not to tell Mrs. Johnson what she saw, and stepping down from the table, which she quickly rolled back to its place, she said, " It's nothing but a closet, where, I dare say, Mr. St. Claire will keep his clothes when he occupies his den. You must not let any one else in here, for Arthur might be offended." Mrs. Johnson promised obedience, and turning the rus- ty key, followed her visitor down the two long flights of stairs, she, returning to her duties, while Grace went to the pleasant library, where, with her hat and whip upon the floor, Edith sat reading the book she had ventured to take from the well-filled shelves, and in which she had been so absorbed as not to hear the slight rustling in the adjoining room, where a young man was standing in the enclosure of the deep bay window, and gazing intently at her. He had heard from Mrs. Johnson's daughter that Borne ladies were going over the house, and not caring to meet them, he stepped into the recess of the window just as Edith entered the library. As the eye of the stranger fell upon her, he came near uttering an exclamation of surprise that anything so graceful, so queenly, and \\ithal BO wondrously beautiful, should be found in Shannon dale, which, with his city ideas still clinging to him, seemed like an out-of-the-way place, where the girls were buxom, WOMANHOOD. 77 good-natured and hearty, just as he remembered Kitty Maynard to have been, and not at all like this creature of rare loveliness sitting there before him, her head inclined gracefully to the volume she was reading, and showing to good advantage her magnificent hair. " Who can she be ? " he thought, and a thrill of un wonted admiration ran through his veins as Edith raised for a moment her large eyes of midnight blackness, and from his hiding-place he saw how soft and mild they were in their expression. " Can Grace have spirited to her re- treat some fair nymph for company? Hark! I hear her voice, and now for the solution of the mystery." Standing back a little further, so as to escape observa- tion, the young man waited till Grace Atherton came near. " Here yoii are," she said, " poring over a book as usual. 1 should suppose you'd had enough of that to do in read- ing to Mr. Harrington German Philosophy, too ! Will wonders never cease ? Arthur was right, I declare, when he dubbed you Metaphysics!" " Edith Hastings ! " The young man said it beneath his breath, while he involuntarily made a motion forward. " Can it be possible, and yet now that I know it, I see the little black-eyed elf in every feature. Well may the blind man be proud of his protege*. She might grace the saloons of Versailles, and rival the Empress herself! " Thus far he had soliloquised, when something Grace was saying caught his ear and chained his attention at once. " Oh, Edith," she began, " you don't know what you iost by being over squeamish. Such a perfect jewel-box of a room, with the tiniest single bed of solid mahogany I Isn't it queer that Arthur should have locked it up, and wm't it fortunate for us that Mrs. Johnson found that rus ty old key which must have originally belonged to the door of the Den, as she says he calls it ? " 78 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. Anxiously the young man awaited Edith's answei, hi* face aglow with indignation and his eyes flashing with an ger. " Fortunate for you, perhaps," returned Edith, tying or her riding-hat, "but I wouldn't have gone in for any. thing." " Why not ? " asked Grace, walking into the hall. "Because," said Edith,- "Mr. St. Claire evidently did not wish any one to go in, and I think Mrs. Johnson was wrong in opening the door." " What a little Puritan it is ! " returned Grace, playfully caressing the rosy cheeks of Edith, who had now joined her in the hall. " Arthur never will know, for I certain- ly shall not tell either him or any one, and I gave Mrs. Johnson some very wholesome advice upon that subject. There she is now in the back-yard. If you like, we'll go round and give her a double charge." The young man saw them as they turned the corner of the building, and gliding from his post, he hurried up the stairs and entering the Den, locked the door, and throw- ing himself upon the sofa, groaned aloud, while the drops of perspiration oozed out upon his forehead, and stood thickly about his lips. Then his mood changed, and pac- ing the floor he uttered invectives against the meddlesome Mrs. Johnson, who, by this one act, had proved that she could not be trusted. Consequently she must not remain longer at Grassy Spring, and while in the yard below Mrs. Johnson was promising Grace " to be as still as the dead," Arthur St. Claire was planning her dismissal. This done, and his future course decided upon, the indignant young man felt better, and began again to think of Edith Has- tings, whom he admired for her honorable conduct in re- fusing to enter a place where she had reason to think she was not wanted. " Noble, high-principled girl," he said. " I'm glad I told Mr. Harrington what I did before seeing her, Otherwise EDITH AT HOME 79 he might have suspected that her beauty had something to do with my offer, and so be jealous lest I had designs upon his singing-bird, as he called her. But alas, neither beauty, nor grace, nor purity can now avail with me, mis- erable wretch that I am," and again that piteous moan, as of a soul punished before its time, was heard in the silent room. But hark, what sound is that, which, stealing through the iron-latticed windows, drowns the echo of that moan, and makes the young man listen ? It is Edith Hastings singing one of her wild songs, and as the full rich melody of her wonderful voice falls upon his ear, Arthur St. Claire bows his head upon his hands and weeps, for the music carries him back to the long ago when he had no terrible secret haunting eveiy hour, but was as light- hearted as the maiden whom, as she gallops away on her swift-footed Arabian, he looks after, with wistful eyes, watching her until the sweep of her long riding-skirt and the waving of her graceful plumes disappear beneath the shadow of the dim woods, where night is beginning to fal^ Slowly, sadly, he turns from the window merrily, swiftly, the riders dash along, and just as the clock strikes six, their panting steeds pause at the entrance to Colling wood. CHAPTER X. It was too late for Grace to call, and bidding her com- panion good-bye, she galloped down the hill, while Edith, in a meditative mood, suffered her favorite Bedouin to walk leisurely up the carriage road which led to the real of the house. 80 DABK CiTESS AND DAYLIGHT. " Victor Dupres ! " she exclaimed, as a tall figure emerg ed from the open door and came forward to meet her u Where did you come from?" "From New York," he replied, bowing very low, "Will Mademoiselle alight?" and taking the little foot fiom out the shoe he lifted her carefully from the saddle, " Is he here ? " she asked, and Victor replied, " Certainement; and has brought home a fresh recruit of the blues, too, judging from the length and color of his face." "Why did he goto New York?" interrupted Edith, who had puzzled her brain not a little with regard to the business which had taken Richard so suddenly from home. " As true as I live I don't know," was Victor's reply. 4 For once he's kept dark even to me, scouring all the alleys, and lanes, and poor houses in the city, leaving me at the hotel, and taking with him some of those men with brass buttons on their coats. One day when he came back he acted as if he were crazy and I saw the great teai-s drop on the table over which he was leaning, then when I asked 'if he'd heard bad news,' he answered, 'No, joyful news. I'm perfectly happy now. I'm ready to go home,' and he did seem happy, until we drove up to the gate and you didn't come to meet him. 'Where's Edith?' he asked, and when Mrs. Matson said you were out, his fore- head began to tie itself up in knots, just as it does when he is displeased. It's my opinion, Miss Edith, that you humor him altogether too much. You are tied to him as closely as a mother to her baby." Edith sighed, not because she felt the bands to whic.h Victor had alluded, but because she reproached herself for not having been there to welcome the blind man home when she knew how much he thought of these little attentions. M I'll make amends though, now," she said, and remem- bering the story of Jhis disappointment, her heart swelled EDITH AT HOMB. 81 with a fresh feeling of pity for the helpless Richard, who, sitting before the blazing fire in the library, did not hea* the light step coming so softly toward him. All the way from the station, and indeed all the way from New York, he had pictured to himself Edith's sylph- like form running down the steps to meet him ; had fels h ;r warm hands in his, heard her sweet voice welcoming him home again, and the world around him was filled with daylight, for Edith was the sun which shone upon his darkness. She was dearer to him now, if possible, than when he left Collingwood, for, during his absence he had learned that which, if she knew it, would bind her to him by cords of gratitude too strong to be lightly broken. She owed everything to him, and he, alas, he groaned when he thought what he owed to her, but he loved her all the same, and this it was which added to the keenness of his disappointment when among the many feet which hastened out to meet him, he listened for hers in vain- He knew it was very pleasant in his little library whither Victor led him ; very pleasant to sit in his accustomed chair, and feel the fire-light shining on his face, but there was something missing, and the blue veins were swelling on his forehead, and the lines deepening about his mouth, when a pair of soft, white arms were wound about his neck, two soft white hands patted his bearded cheeks, and a voi3e, whose every tone made his heart throb and beat with ecstasy, murmured in his ear, " Dear Mr. Richard, I am so glad you've come home, and so sorry I was not here to meet you. I did not expect you to-night. Forgive me, won't you? There, let m DAYLIGHT. "All about what?" asked Phillis, suddenly appealing and casting a warning glance at her mother, who replied, " 'Bout marster's last wife, the one you say she done favors." Then, in an aside to Edith, she added, " I kin pull de wool over her eyes. Bimeby mabby I'll done tell you how that ar is de likeness of Miss Nina's half sister what is dead, and 'bout Miss Nina, too, the sweetest, most misfortinest human de Lord ever bornd." - " She isn't a great ways from here, is she ? " whispered Edith, as Phillis bustled into the pantry, hurrying back ere Judy could more than shake her head significantly. " Dear Aunt Phillis, won't you please tell Ike to bring up Bedouin," Edith said coaxingly, hoping by this ruse to get rid of the old negress ; but Phillis was too cunning, and throwing up the window sash, she called to Ike, delivering the message. Edith, however, managed slily to whisper, "In Wor- cester, isn't she ? ". while Judy as slily nodded affirmative- ly, ere Phillis' sharp eyes were turned again upon them. Edith's curiosity concerning the mysterious Nina was thoroughly roused, and determining to ferret out the whole affair by dint of quizzing Judith whenever an op- portunity should occur, she took her leave. " Mother," said Phillis, the moment Edith was out of hearing, " havn't you no sense, or what possessed you to talk of Miss Nina to her? Havn't you no family pride, and has you done forgot that Marster Arthur forbade our talkin' of her to strangers ? " Old Judy at first received the rebuke in siler ce, then bridling up in her own defense, she replied, "Needn't tell me that any good will ever come out o' this kiverin' up an' hidin', and keepin' whist. It'll come out bimeby, an then folks'll wonder what 'twas all did for. Ole marster didn't act so by Miss Nina's mother, an' I believe thar'a somethin' behind, some carrying on that we don't know ; but it's boun' to come out fust or last. That ar Miss THE MYSTERY AT GIUBSY SPRING 117 Edith is a nice trim gal. I wish to goodness Marster Ar- thur'd done set to her. I'd like her for a mistress mighty well. I really b'lieve he has a hankerin' notion arter her, too, an' it's nater that he should have. It's better for the young to marry, and the old, too, for that matter. Pool Uncle Abe ! Do you s'pose, Phillis, that he goes over o night? to A ant Diisey's cabin sen' we've come away J^ilsey's an onery nigger, any how," and with her mind upon Uncle Abel, and her possible rival Dilsey, old Judy forgot Edith Hastings, who, without bidding Arthur good morning, had gallopped home to Collingwood, where she found poor, deluded Richard, waiting and wondering at the non-appearance of Mr. Floyd, who was to buy his western wood lot. CHAPTER XIV. THE MYSTERY AT GRASSY SPRING. For several weeks longer Edith continued taking les- sons of Arthur, going sometimes with Richard, but oftener alone, and feeling always that a change had gradually come over her teacher. He was as kind to her as ever, took quite as much pains with her, and she was sensible of a greater degree of improvement than had marked the days when she trembled every time he touched her hands. 6 till there was a change. He did not bend over her now as he used to do ; did not lay his arm across the back oi her chair, letting it sometimes fall by accident upon her EhouMers; did not look into her eyes with a glance which made her blush and turn away ; in short, he did not look at her at all, if he could help it, and in this very self-denial lay his strength. He was waging a mighty battle with bimsel and inch by inch he was gaining the victory, for 118 . DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. victory it would be when he brought himself to think of Edith Hastings without a pang to listen to her voice and look into her face without a feeling that she must be his. He could not do this yet, but he kept himself from telling her of his love by assuming a reserved, studied manner, which led her at last to think he might be angry, and one day, toward the first of March, when he had been more than usually silent, she asked him abruptly how she had offended, her soft eyes filling with tears as she expressed her sorrow if by any thoughtless act she had caused him pain. "You could not offend me, Edith," he said; "that would be impossible, and if I am sometimes cold and ab- stracted, it is because I have just cause for being so. I am very unhappy, Edith, and your visits here to me are like oases to the weary traveller. Were it not for you I should wish to die ; and yet, strange as it t may seem, I have prayed to die oftener since I knew you as you now are than I ever did before. I committed a fatal error once and it has embittered my whole existence. It was early in life, too, before I ever saw you, Edith." "Why, Mr. St. Claire," she exclaimed, "you were nothing but a boy when you came to Brier Hill." "Yes, a boy," he exclaimed, "or I had never done what- 1 did ; but it cannot be helped, and I must abide the consequences. Now let us talk of something else. I am going away to-morrow, and you need not come again until I send for you ; but whatever occurs, don't think I am offended." She could not think so when she met the olden look she had missed so long, and wondering where he (ould be going, she arose to take her leave. He went with hei to the door, and wrung her hand nervously, bidding her in heart a final farewell, for when they met again a great gulf would be between them, a gulf he had helped to dig, and which he could not pass. Edith had intendec THE MYSTERY AT GEASSY SPBDfG. 119 to .ask old Judy where Arthur was going, without, howev- er, having much hope of success : for, since the conversa- sation concerning Nina, Judy had been wholly non- committal, plainly showing that she had been trained foi the occasion, but changed her mind, and rode leisurely ft way, going round by Brier Hill to call upon Grace whom gLe had not seen for some little time. Grace, as usual, wai full of complaints against Arthur for being so misanthropi- cal, so cross-grained and so queer, shutting himself up like a hermit and refusing to see any one but herself and Edith. "What is he going to Worcester for ?" she asked, add- ing that one of the negroes had told old Rachel, who was there the previous night. But Edith did not know, unless it was to be married, and laughing at her own joke, she bade Grace good-bye, hav- ing learned by accident what she so much desired to know. The next morning she arose quite early, and looking in the direction of Grassy Spring, which, when the leaves were fallen, was plainly discernible, she saw Arthur's car- riage driving from his gate. There was no train due at that hour, and she stood wondering until the carriage, which, for a moment, had been hidden from her view, ap- peared a second time in sight, and as it passed the house she saw Aunt Phillis's dusky face peering from the win- dow. She did not see Arthur, but she was sure he was inside ; and when the horses were turned into the road, which, before the day of cars, was the great thoroughfare between Shannondale and Worcester, she knew he had started for the latter place in his carriage. " What can it be for ? " she said ; " and why has he taken Phillis?" But puzzle her brain as she might, she could not fathom the mystery, and she waited for what would next occur. In the course of the day Victor, who, without being really meddlesome, managed to keep himself posted with 120 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. regard to the affairs at Grassy Spring, told her that Mt St. Claire, preferring his carriage to the cars, had gono in - it to Worcester, and taken Phillis with him; that lie would be absent some days ; and that Sophy, Phillis'd daughter, when questioned as to his business, had answer- ed evasively, u Gone to fotch his wife home for what I know." " Ma ybe it is so," said Victor, looking Edith steadily iu the face. " Soph didn't mean me to believe it ; but there's many a truth spoken in jest." Edith knew that, but she would not hearken for a mo- ment to Victor's suggestion. It made her too unhappy, and for three days she had a fair opportunity of ascer- taining the nature of her feelings toward Arthur St. Claire, for nothing is^more conducive to the rapid development of love, than a spice of jealousy lest another has won the heart we so much covet. The next day, the fourth after Arthur's departure, she asked Victor to ride with her on horseback, saying the fresh March wind would do her good. It was nearly sun- set when they started, and, as there was a splendid moon, they continued their excursion to quite a distance, so that it was seven ere they found themselves at the foot of the long hill which wound past Collingwood and on to Grassy Spring. Half way up the hill, moving very slowly, as if the horses were jaded and tired, was a traveling carriage, which both Edith and Victor recognized at once as belonging to Arthur St. Claire. " Let's overtake them," said Edith, and chirruping tc Bedouin, she was soon so near to the carriage that hei quick ear caught the sound of a low, sweet voice singing a German air, with which she herself had always been familiar, though when she first learned it she could not tell. It was one of those old songs which Rachel had called weird and wild, and now, as she listened to the plaintive THE MYSTERY AT GRASSY SPRING. 121 tones, they thrilled on every nerve with a strange power as if it were a requiem sung by the dead over their own buried hopes. Nearer and nearer Bedouin pressed to the slowly moving vehicle, until at last she was nearly even with it. "Look, Miss Edith!" and Victor grasped her bridle fin, directing her attention to the arms folded upon the window and the girlish head resting upon the arms, in the attitude of a weary child. One little ringless, blue-veined hand was plainly dis- cernible in the bright moonlight, and Edith thought how small and white and delicate it was. "Let's go on," she whispered, and they dashed past the carriage just as Arthur leaned forward to see v>'ho they were. " That was a young lady," said Victor coming up with Edith, who was riding at a headlong speed. " Yes, I knew it)" and Edith again touched Bedouin with her whip as if the fast riding suited well her tumul- tuous emotions. "His bride?" said Victor, interrogatively, and Edith replied, " Very likely, Victor," and she stopped Bedouin short. " Victor, don't tell any one of the lady in the car- riage until it's known for certain that there is one at Grassy Spring." Victor could see no reason for this request, but it was sufficient for him that Edith had made it, and he promised readily all that she desired. They were at home by this time, and complaining of a headache Edith excused her- self earlier than usual and stole up to her chamber where ehe could be alone to wonder toko was the visitor at Grassy Spring. It might be a bride, and it might be Nina. Starting to her feet as the last mentioned indi- vidual came into her mind, she walked to the window and saw just what she more than half expected to see alight shining through the iron lattice of the Dm a 122 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. bright, cheerful light and as she gazed, there crept ove? her a faint, sick feeling, as if she knew of the ruin, the desolation, the blighted hopes and beautiful wreck em- bodied in the mystery at Grassy Spring. Covering her eyes with her hands the tears trickled through her fin- gers, falling not so much for Arthur St. Claire as for the ] plaintive singing girl shrouded in so dark a mystery. Drying her eyes she looked again across the meadow, but the blinds of the Den were closed, and only the moon- beams fell where the blaze of the lamp had been. A week went by, and though Grace came twice to Col- ling wood, while Victor feigned several errands to Grassy Spring, nothing was known of the stranger. Grace evi- dently had no suspicion of her existence, while Victor declared there was no trace of a white woman any where about the premises. Mr. St. Claire, he said, sat in the library, his feet crossed in a chair and his hands on top of his head as if in a brown study, while Aiint Phillis appeared far more impatient than usual, and had inti- mated to him plainly that " in her 'pinion white niggers had better be at home tendin' to thar own business, ef they had any, and not pryin' into thar neighbor's afiars." At last Edith was surprised at receiving a note from Arthur, saying he was ready to resume their lessons at any time. Highly delighted with the plan Edith answer- ed immediately that she would come on the morrow, which was Friday. Richard did not offer to go, owing in a great measure to the skillful management of Victor, who, though he did not suggest Mr. Floyd i nd the west- ern wood lot, found some equally good excuse why hi.8 master's presence would, that day of all others, be neces- sary at home. The wild March winds by this time had given place to the warmer, balmier air of April. The winter snow had melted from the hillside, and here and there tufts of fresh young grass were seen starting into life. It THE MYSTERY AT GRASSY SPRING. 123 just such a morning, in short, as is most grateful to the young, and Edith felt its inspiriting influence as she rode along the rather muddy road. Another there was, too, who felt it; and as Edith sauntered slowly up the path, entering this time upon the rear piazza instead of the front, she heard again the soft, low voice which had sounded so mournful and sweet when heard in the fti.l moonlight. Looking up she saw that a window of the Den was open, and through the lattice work a little hand was thrust, as if beckoning her to come. Stepping back she tried to obtain a view of the person, but failed to do so, though the hand continued beckoning, and from the height there floated down to her the single word, " Mig- gie" That was all ; but it brought her hand to her head as if she had received a sudden blow. " Miggie Miggie," she repeated. " I have heard that name before. It must have belonged to some one in the Asylum." A confused murmur as if of expostulation and remon- strance was now heard the childish hand disappeared and scarcely knowing what she was about, Edith stepped into the hall and advanced into the library, where she sat down to wait for Arthur. It was not long ere he appear- ed, locking the door as he came in and thus cutting off all communication between that room and the stairway lead- ing to the Den. Matters were, in Edith's estimation, as- suming a serious aspect, and remembering how pleadingly the name " Miggie" had been uttered, she half-resolved to demand of Arthur the immediate release of the help- less creature thus held in durance vile. But he looked so unhappy, so hopelessly wretched that her sympathy was Boon enlisted for him rather than his fair captive. Still she would try him a little and when they were fairly at work she said to him jestingly, "I heard it hinted that you would bring home a wife, but I do not see her. Where is she, pray?" 124 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. Arthur uttered no sound save a stifled moan, and when Edith dared to steal a look at him she saw that his brown hair was moist with perspiration, which stood also in drops about his lips. u Mr. St. Claire," she said, throwing down her pencil and leaning back in her chair, " I can endure this no Ion ger. What is the matter? Tell me. You have some great mental sorrow, I know, and I long to share it with you may I? Who have you up stairs and why this mystery concerning her ? " She laid her hand upon his arm, and looked imploring- ly into the face, which turned away from her, as if afraid to meet her truthful glance. Once he thought to tell her all, but when he remembered how beautiful she was, how much he loved her, and how dear her society was to him, he refrained, for he vainly fancied that a confession would drive her from him forever. He did not know Edith Hastings ; he had not yet fathomed the depths of her womanly nature, and he could not guess how tenderly, even while her own heart was breaking, she would have soothed his grief and been like an angel of mercy to the innocent cause of all his woe. " I dare not tell you," he said. " You would hate me if I did, and that I could not endure. It may not be pleasant for you to come here any more, and perhaps you had better not." For a moment Edith sat motionless. She had not ex- pected this from Arthur, and it roused within her a feel ing of resentment. " And so you only sent for me to give me my dismissal," she said, in a cold, icy tone. " Be it as you like. I draw tolerably well, you say. I have no doubt I can get along alone. Send your bill at once to Mr. Harrington. He does not like to be ir -Jebt." Sho spoke proudly, haughtily, and her eyes, usually so eoft in their expression, had in them a black look of anger THE MYSTERY AT GEASSY SPRING. 125 which pierced Arthur's very soul. Ho could not part with her thus, and grasping the hand reached out to take ita gauntlet, he held it fast, while he said, " What are we doing, Edith? Quarrelling? It must not be. I suggested your giving up the lessons because I thought the arrange- ment might be satisfactory to you, and not because 2 wished it, for I do not; I cannot give up the only source of happiness left to me. Forget what I said. Re-main my pupil and I'll try to be more cheerful in your presence You shall not help to bear my burden as you bear that of Collingwood's unfortunate inmates." Edith never liked to hear her relations to Richard re- ferred to in this manner, and she answered quickly, " You are mistaken, Mr. St. Claire, in thinking I bear any burden either here or elsewhere. No one ever had a happier home than 1, and there's nothing on earth I would not do for Richard." " Would you marry him, Edith ? " and Arthur scanned her closely. Would you be his wife if he demanded it as his right ? and I think he will do this sometime." Edith trembled from head to foot, as she answered, " Not if he demanded it as a right, though he might well do that, for I owe him everything. But if he loved me, and I loved him." She paused, and in the silence which ensued the tumul- tuous beating of her heart was plainly audible. No one before hac* suggested to her the possibility of her being Richard's wife, and the idea was terrible to her. She loved him, but not as a wife should love her husband. He loved her, too ; and now, as she remembered many things in the past, she was half convinced that she to him was dearer than a sister, child, or friend. He had forgot- ten the Swedish baby's mother. She knew he had by his always checking her when she attempted to speak of Eloise. Out of the ashes of this early love a later love had sprung, and she was possibly its object. The thought 126 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. was a crushing one, and unmindful of Arthur's presence she laid her head upon the table and sobbed, " It cannot be. Richard will never ask me to be his wife. Never, oh never." " But if lie does, Edith, you will not tell him no. Prom- ise me that. It's my only hope of salvation from total ruin ! " and Arthur drew so near to her that his arm found its way around her slender waist. Had he struck her with a glittering dagger he could not have hurt her more than by pleading with her to be another's wife. But she would not let him know it. He did not love her as she had sometimes foolishly fancied he did ; and lifting up her head she answered him proudly, " Yes, Arthur St. Claire, when Richard Harrington asks me to be his bride I will not tell him no. Are you satis- fied?" " I am," he said, though his white lips gave the lie to the words he uttered, and his heart smote him cruelly for his selfishness in wishing to save himself by sacrificing Edith ; and it would be a sacrifice, he knew a fearful sacrifice, the giving her to a blind man, old enough to be her sire, noble, generous and good, though he were. It was a little singular that Arthur's arm should still linger about the waist of one who had promised to be another's wife, provided she were asked, but so it was ; it staid there, while he persuaded her to come again to Grassy Spring, and not to give up the lessons so pleasant to them both. He was bending very near to her when a sound upon the stairs caught his ear. It was the same German air Edith had heard in the yard, and she listened breathlessly* while it came nearer to the door. Suddenly the singer Beemed to change her mind, for the music began slowly to recede and was soon lost to hearing within the four walls of the Den. Not a word was spoken by either Arthur or Edith, until the latter said, NIXA. 127 * It is time I was at home," and she arose to go. Ee offered no remonstrance, but accompanying ner to u * gate, placed her in the saddle, and then stood watch- ing her aa she galloped away. CHAPTER XV. NINA. Three or four times Edith went to Grassy Spring, seeing nothing of the mysterious occupant of the Den, hearing nothing of her, and she began to think she might have returned to Worcester, Many times she was on the point of questioning Arthur, but from what had passed, she knew how disagreeable the subject was to him, and she generously forbore. " I think he might tell me, any way," she said to her- self, half poutingly, when, one morning near the latter part of April, she rode slowly toward Grassy Spring. Their quarrel, if quarrel it could be called, had been made up, or, rather, tacitly forgotten, and Arthur more than once had cursed himself for having, in a moment of excitement, asked her to marry Richard Harrington. While praying to be delivered from temptation he was constantly keeping his eyes fixed upon the forbidden fruit, longing for it more and more, and feeling how worthless life would be to him without it. Still, by a mighty effort, he restrained himself from doing or saying aught which could be constrained into expressions of love, and their interviews were much like those which had preceded his last visit to Worcester. People were beginning to talk about him and his beautiful pupil, but leading the isolated life he ,did, it came not to his ears. Grace indeed, might have enlightened both himself and 128 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. Edith with regard to the village gossip, but looking upcn the latter as her rival, and desiring greatly that she should marry Arthur, she forebore from communicating to either of them anything which would be likely to re- tard an affair she fancied was progressing famously. Thus without a counsellor or friend was Edith left to follow the bent of her inclinations ; and on this April morning, as she rode along, mentally chiding Arthur for not en- trusting his secret to her, she wondered how she had ever managed to be happy without him, and if the time would ever come when her visits to Grassy Spring would cease. Leaving Bedouin at the rear gate she walked slowly to the house, glancing often in the direction of the Den, the windows of which were open this morning, and as she came near she saw a pair of soft blue eyes peering at he through the lattice, then a little hand was thrust outside, beckoning to her as it did once before. " Wait, Miggie, while I write, came next to her ear, in a voice as sweet and plaintive as a broken lute. Instantly Edith stopped, and at last a tiny note came fluttering to her feet. Grasping it eagerly she read, in a pretty, girlish hand : " DARLING MIGGIE : Nina has been so sick this great long while, and her head is so full of pain. Why don't you come to me, Miggie ? I sit and wait and listen till my forehead thumps and thumps, just as a bad nurse thumped it once down in the Asylum. " Let's run away you and I ; run back to the magno- lias, where it's always summer, with no asylums full of wicked people. " I'm so lonely, Miggie. Come up stairs, won't you ? They say I rave and tear my clothes, but I won't any more if you'll come. Tell Arthur so. He's good. He'll do what you ask him." "Poor little Nina," and Edith's tears fell fast upon the 12& bit of paper. " I will see you to-day. Perhaps I may do you some good. Dear, unfortunate Nina ! " There was a step upon the grass, and thrusting the note into ter pocket, Edith turned to meet Arthur, who seemed this morning unusually cheerful and greeted her with something like his olden tenderness. But Edith was too intent upon Nina to think much of him, and after the lesson commenced she appeared so abstracted that it was Arthur's turn to ask if she were offended. She had made herself believe she was, for notwithstanding Nina's assertion that " Arthur was good," she thought it a sin and a shame for him to keep any thing but a raving lu- natic hidden away up stairs ; and after a moment's hesita- tion she answered, " Yes, I am offended, and I don't mean to come here any more, unless " " Edith," and the tone of Arthur's voice was fraught with pain so exquisite that Edith paused and looked into his face, where various emotions were plainly visible. Love, fear, remorse, apprehension, all were blended to- gether in the look he fixed upon her. " You won't leave me," he said. " Any thing but that. Tell me my error, and how I can atone." Edith was about to speak, when, on the stairs without, the stairs leading from the den there was the patter of little feet, and a gentle, timid knock was heard upon the door. " It's locked go back ; " and Arthur's voice had in it a tone of command. " Mr. St. Claire," and Edith sprang from her chair, u I can unlock that loor, and I will." Like a block jf marble Arthur stood while Edith opened the oak-paneled door. Another moment and Nina stood before her, as she stands now first before our readers. Edith knew her in a moment from the resemblance to the daguerreotype seen more than 'ught years before, and as she now scanned her features it seemed to her they 130 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. had scarcely changed at all. Arthur had said of her then that she was not quite sixteen, consequently she was now nearly twenty-five, but she did not look as old as Edith, so slight was her form, so delicate her limbs, and so childlike and simple the expression of her fece. She was very, very fair, and Edith felt that never Defore had she looked upon a face so exquisitely beautiful. Her hair was of a reddish yellow hue, and rippled in short silken rings all over her head, curling softly in her neck, but was not nearly as long as it had been in the picture. Alas, the murderous shears had more than once strayed rough- ly among those golden locks, to keep the little white, fat hands, now clasped so harmlessly together, from tearing them out with frantic violence. Edith thought of this and sighed, while her heart yearned toward the helpless young creature, who stood regarding her with a scruti- nizing glance, as one studies a beautiful picture. The face was very white indeed, it seemed as if it were long since the blood had visited the cheeks, which, never- theless, were round and plump, as were the finely mould- ed arms, displayed to good advantage by the loose sleeves of the crimson cashmere wrapper. The eyes were deep- ly, darkly blue, and the strangely gleaming light which shone from them, betrayed at once the terrible truth that Nina was crazed. It was a novel sight, those two young girls watching each other so intently, both so beautiful and yet so unlike - the one, tall, stately, and almost queen-like in her pro- portions, with dark, brilliant complexion ; eyes of mid- night blackness, and masses of raven ha'.r, bound around her head in many a heavy braid the other, fairy-like in size, with golden curls and soft blue eyes, which filled with tears at last as some undefinable emotion swept over her In the rich, dark beauty of Edith's face there was a won- derful fascination, which riveted the crazy girl to the spot Where she had stopped when first she crossed the thresh NESTA. bi old, and when at last, sinking upon the sofa, Edith exten- ded her arms, as a mother to her child, poor little Nina went forward, and with a low, gasping sob, fell upon her bosom, weeping passionately, her whole frame trembling and her sobs so violent that Edith became alarmed, and tried by kisses and soft endearing words to soothe her grief an I>AYIJGHT. E tilth was the first to be comforted, for she did .not, like Arthur, know what coining right involved. She only thought that possibly Nina's shattered intellect might he restored, and she longed to ask the history of one, thoughts of. whom had in a measure been blended with her whole life, during the last eight years. There waa a mystery connected with her, she knew, and she was about to question Arthur, who had dried his tears and was winding Nina's short curls around his fingers, when Phillis appeared in the library, starting with surprise when ehe saw the trio assembled there. "Marster Arthur," she began, glancing furtively a* Edith, " how came Miss Nina here ? Let me take hei back. Come, honey," and she reached out her hand to Nina, who, jumping again upon Arthur's knee, clung to him closely, exclaiming, "No, no, old Phillis; Nina's good NinaTl stay with Miggie ! " and as if fancying that Edith would be a surer protector than Arthur, she slid from his lap and running to the sofa where Edith sat, half hid herself behind her, whispering, " Send her off send her off. Let me stay with you ! " Edith was fearful that Nina's presence might interfere with the story she meant to hear, but she could not find it in her heart to send away the little girl clinging so fondly to her, and to Phillis she said, " She may stay this once, I am sure. I will answer for her good behavior." "Taint that 'taint that," muttered Phillis, jerking herself from the room, " but how's the disgrace to be kep' ef everybody sees her." "Disgrace! " and Edith glanced inquiringly at Arthur. She could not believe that Nina was any disgrace, and she asked what Phillis meant. Crossing the room Arthur sat down upon the sofa with Nina between himself and Edith, who was pleased to see that he wound his arm around the young girl as if she Were dear to him, notwithstanding her disgrace. Like a XTS-A. 135 child Nina played with his watch chain, his coat buttons, and his fingers, apparently oblivions to what was passing about her. She only felt that she was where she wished to be, and knowing that he could say before her what he pleased without the least danger of her comprehending 9 word, Arthur, much to Edith's surprise, began : "You have seen Nina, Miss Hastings. You know what is the mystery at Grassy Spring the mystery about which the villagers are beginning to gossip, so Phillis says, but now that you have seen, now that you know she is here, I care not for the rest. The keenest pang is over and I am beginning already to feel better Concealment is not in accordance with my nature, and it has worn on me terribly. Years ago you knew of Xina ; it is due to you now that you know who she is, and why her destiny is linked to mine. Listen, then, while I tell you hef sad story." " But she" interrupted Edith, pointing to Nina, whose blue eves were turned to Arthur. " Will it not be better to wait? Won't she understand?" "Not a word," he replied. "She's amusing herself, you see, with my buttons, and when these fail, Fll give her my drawing pencil, or some one of the numerous play- things I always keep in my pocket for her. She seldom comprehends what we say and never remembers it. This is one of the peculiar phases of her insanity." " Poor child," said Edith, involuntarily caressing Nina, who smiled up in her face, and leaning her head upon her houlder, continued her play with the buttons. Meanwhile Arthur sat lost in thought, determining in Lis own mind how much he should tell Edith of Nina, and how much withhold. He could not tell her all, even though he knew that by keeping back a part, much of his past conduct would seem wholly inexplicable, but he could not help it, and when at last he saw that Edith was waiting for him, he pressed his hands a moment against 136 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. his heart to stop its violent beating, and drawing a long, long sigh, began the story. CHAPTER XVI. ABTHUB'S STOBY. " 1 must commence at the beginning," he said, " and tell you first of Nina's father Ernest Bernard, of Flori- da. I was a lad of fourteen when I met him in Rich- mond, Virginia, which you know was my former home. He was spending a few weeks there, and dined one day with my guardian, with whom I was then living. I did not fancy him at all. He seemed even to me, a boy, like a bad, unprincipled man, and I afterward learned that such had been his former character, though at the time I knew him he had reformed in a great measure. He was very kind indeed to me, and as I became better acquaint- ed with him my prejudices gradually wore away, until at last I liked him very much, and used to listen with delight to the stories he told of his Florida home, and of his little, golden-haired Nina, always finishing his remarks concerning her with, ' But you can't have her, boy. No- body can marry Nina. Had little Miggie lived you might, perhaps, have been my son-in-law, but you can't as 'tis, for Nina will never marry.' " "No, Nina can never marry;" and the golden curia shook decidedly, as the Nina inMtjuestion repeated the words, " Miggie can marry Arthur, but not Nina, no no!" Edith blushed painfully, and averted her eyes, while Arthur continued: ** During Mr. Bernard's stay in Richmond he was at- ARTHUB'B STORY. 131 tacked with that loathsome disease the small pox, and deserted by all his friends, was in a most deplorable condition, when I, who had had the varioloid, begged and obtained permission to nurse him, which I did as well as I was able, staying by him until the danger was over. Flow far I was instrumental to his recovery I cannot say. He professed to think I saved his life, and was profuse in his protestations of gratitude. He was very impulsive? and conceived for me a friendship which ended only with his death. At all events he proved as much by the great trust eventually reposed in me," and he nodded toward Nina, who having tired of the buttons and the chain, was busy now with the bunch of keys she had purloined from his pocket. " I was in delicate health," said Arthur, " and as the cold weather was coming on, he insisted upon taking me home with him, and I accordingly accompanied him. to Florida to Sunny-bank, his country seat. It was a grand old place, shaded by magnolias and surrounded by a profusion of vines and flowering shrubs, but the most beautiful flower of all was Nina, then eleven years of age." Nina knew that he was praising her that Edith sanc- tioned the praise, and with the same feeling the little child experiences when told that it is good, she smiled upon Arthur, who, smoothing her round white cheek, went on : u My sweet Florida rose, I called her, and many a romp ing frolic we had together during the winter months, and many a serious talk, too, we had of her second mother ; her own she did not remember, and of her sister Miggie, whose grave we often visited, sti owing it with flowers and watering it with tears, for Nina's affection for her lost sister was so touching that I often wept with her over Miggic's grave." M Miggie isn't dead," said Nina. " She's here, ain't you Miggie ?" and she nestled closer to Edith, who was grow* 138 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. mg strangely interested in that old house, shade! with magnolias, and in the grave of that little child. " I came home in the spring," said Arthur, going on with the story Nina had interrupted, " but I kept up a boyish correspondence with Nina, though my affection for Ler gradually weakened. After becoming a pupil in Ge- neva Academy, I was exceedingly ambitious, and to stand first in my class occupied more of my thoughts than Nina Bernard. Still, when immediately after I entered Geneva College as a sophomore, I learned that her father intended sending her to the seminary in that village, I was glad, and when I saw her again all my old affection for her returned with ten-fold vigor, and the ardor of my passion was greatly increased from the fact that other youths of my age worshipped her too, toasting the Florida rose, and quoting her on all occasions. Griswold was one of these. Dr. Griswold. How deep his feelings were, I cannot tell. I only know that he has never married, and he is three years older than myself. We were room-rnates in college, and when he saw that Nina's preference was for me, he acted the part of a noble, disinterested friend. Few know Griswold as he is." Arthur paused, and Edith fancied he was living over the past when Nina was not as she was now, but alas, he was thinking what to tell her next. Up to this point he had narrated the facts just as they had occurred, but he could do so no longer. He must leave out now evade, go round the truth, and it was hard for him to do so. " We were engaged," he began at last. " I was eight- een, she fifteen. But she looked quite as old as she does now. Indeed, she was almost as far in advance of her years as she is now behind them. Still we had no idea of marriage until I had been graduated, although Nina's confidential friend, who was quite romantic, suggested that we should run away. But from this I shrank as a most foolish act, which, if divulged, would result in my ABTHTTK'S STOBY. 139 being expelled, and this disgrace I could not endure. In order, however, to make the matter sure, I wrote to her father, asking for his daughter when I became of age. Very impatiently I waited for his answer, which, when it came, was a positive refusal, yet couched in language so kind that none save a fool would have been angiy. "'Nina could not marry,' he said, 'and I must brer.k the engagement at once. Sometime he would tell me why, but not then not till I was older.' " " Accompanying this was a note to Nina, in which he used rather severer terms, forbidding her to think of mar- riage, and telling her he was coming immediately to take her to Europe, whither he had long contemplated going." There was another pause, and a long blank was made in the story, which Arthur at last resumed, as follows: " He came for her sooner than we anticipated, follow- ing close upon the receipt of his letter, and in spite of Nina's tears took her with him to New York, from whence early in May they started for Europe. That was nine years ago next month, and during the vacation fol- lowing I came to Shannondale and saw you, Edith, while you saw Nina's picture." Nina was apparently listening now, and turning to him she said, w Tell her about the night when I stepped on your back and so got out of the window." Arthur's face was crimson, but he answered laughingly u I fear Miggie will not think us very dignified, if I tell her of all our stolen interviews and the means used to procure them." Taking a new toy from his pocket he gave it to Nina, who, while examining it, forgot that night, and he went on. "I come now to the saddest part of my story. Nina and T continued to write, for her father did not forbid that, stipulating, however, that he should see the letters which passed between us. He had placed her in a school 140 DABKNESS ANT> DAYLIGHT. at Paris, where she remained until after I was graduated and of age. Edith," and Arthur's voice trembled, " I was too much a boy to know the nature of my feelinga toward Nina when we were engaged, and as the time wore on my love began to wane." Edith's heart beat more naturally ncfw than it had before since the narrative commenced, but she could not forbear from saying to him, reproachfully, " Oh, Arthur." "It was wrong, I know," he replied, "and I struggled against it with all my strength, particularly when I heard that she was coming home. Griswold knew everything, and he suggested that a sight of her might awaken the olden feeling, and with a feverish anxiety I waited in Bos- oon for the steamer which I supposed was to bring her home. After many delays she came in a sailing vessel, but came alone. Her father had died upon the voyage and been buried in the sea, leaving her with no friend save a Mr. Hudson, whose acquaintance they had made in Paris." At the mention of Mr. Hudson the toy dropped from Nina's fingers and the blue eyes flashed up into Edith's face with a more rational expression than she had hereto- fore observed in them. " What is it, darling ? " she asked, as she saw there was something Nina would say. The lip quivered like that of a grieved child, while Nina answered softly, "I did love Charlie better than Arthur, and it was so wicked." " Yes," rejoined Arthur quickly, " Nina's love for me had died away, and centered itself upon another. Charlie 1 ludson had sought her for his wife, and while confessing her love for him she insisted that she could not be his, because she was bound 1 to me. This, however, did not prevent his seeking an interview with her father, who told him frankly the terrible impediment to Nina's marriage with any one. It was a crushing blow to young Hudson, but ARTHURS STORY. 141 he still clung to her with all a brother's devotion, soothing her grief upon the sea, and caring for her tenderly \intil Boston was reached, and he placed her in my hands, to- gether with a letter, which her father wrote a few days before he died." "He's married now," interrupted Nina. "Charlie's married, but he came to see me once, down at the old Asylum, and I saw him through the grates, for I was shut up in a tantrum. He cried, Miggie, just as Arthur does sometimes, and called me poor lost Nina. He held an angel in his arms with blue eyes like mine, and he said she was his child and Margaret's! Her name was Nina, too. Wasn't it nice ?" And she smiled upon Edith, who involuntarily groaned as she thought how dreadful it must have been for Mr. Hudson to gaze through iron bars upon the wreck of his early love. "Poor man," she sighed, turning to Arthur. "Is he happy with his Margaret ! " " He seems to be," said Arthur. " People can ontlive their first affection, you know. He resides in New York now, and is to all appearance a prosperous, happy man. The curse has fallen alone on me, who alone deserve it." He spoke bitterly, and for a moment sat apparently thinkiug ; then, resuming his story, said, " I did not open Mr, Bernard's letter until we reached the Revere House, and I was alone in my room. Then I broke the seal and read, while my blood curdled within my veins and every hair pricked at its roots. The old man knew he was about to die, and confessed to me in part his manifold transgressions, particularly his inhuman treatment of his last wife, the mother of little Miggie, but as this cannot, of course, be interesting to you, I will not repeat it." " Oh, do," exclaimed Edith, feeling somehow that any thing concerning the mother of Miggie Bernard would interest her. 142 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. "Well, then," returned Arthur, "he did not tell me all the circumstances of his marriage. I only know that she was a foreigner and very beautiful a governess, too, I think in some German family, and that he married her under an assumed name." "An assumed name!" Edith cried. "Why was &atj pray?" "I hardly know," returned Arthur, "but believe he became in some way implicated in a fight or . gambling brawl in Paris, and being threatened with arrest took another name than his own, and fled to Germany or Swit- zerland, where he found his wife. They were married privately, and after two or three years he brought her to his Florida home, where his proud mother and maiden sister affected to despise her* beceause of her poverty He was at that time given to drinking, and almost ev<-ry day became beastly intoxicated, abusing his young w> fe so shamefully that her life became intolerable, and at last when he was once absent from home for a few weeks, the resolved upon going back to Europe, and leaving him forever. This plan she confided to a maid servant who had accompanied her from England, a resolute, determined woman, who arranged the whole so skillfully that no one suspected their designs until they were far on their way to New York. The old mother, who was then living, vould not suffer them to be pursued, and more than a week went by ere Mr. Bernard learned what had occurred. He followed them of course. He was man enongh for that, but falling in with some of his boon companions, almost as soon as he reached the city, he drank so deeply that for several days he was unable to search for them, and in that time both his wife and Miggie died." " Oh, Mr. St. Claire," and Edith's eyes filled with tears. "Yes, both of them died," he continued. "Mrs. Ber nard's health was greatly undermined by sorrow, and when a prevailing epidemic fastened itself upon her, it found an ABTHUB'S BTORT. 148 easy prey. The waiting-maid wrote immediately to Florida, and her letter was sent back to Mr Bernard, who, having become sobered, hastened at once to find her placo of abode. She was a very intelligent woman for one of her class, and had taken the precaution to have the remains of her late mistress and child deposited in euch a manner that they could easily be removed if Mr. Bernard should so desire it. He did desire it, and the bodies were taken undisturbed to Florida, where they now rest quietly, side by side with the proud mother and sis- ter, since deceased. After this Mr. Bernard became a changed and better man, weeping often over the fate of his young girl-wife and his infant daughter, whom he greatly loved. Other troubles he had, too, secret troubles \vhich he confided to me in the letter brought by Mr. Hudson. After assuring me of his esteem and telling me how much he should prefer me for his son-in-law to Char- lie Hudson, he added that in justice to us both he must now speak of the horrible cloud hanging over his beauti ful Nina, and which was sure at last to envelop her in darkness. You can guess it, Edith. You have guessed it already hereditary insanity reaching far back into the past, and with each successive generation developing itself earlier and in a more violent form. He knew noth- ing of it when he married Nina's mother, a famous New Orleans belle, for her father purposely kept it from him, hoping thus to get her off his hands ere the malady man- ifested itself. " In her case it came on with the birth of Nina, and from that day to her death she was a raving, disgusting maniac, as her mother and grandmother had been before her. This was exceedingly mortifying to the proud Ber- nards, negroes and all, and the utmost care was taken of Nina, who, nevertheless, was too much like her mother to hope for escape. There was the same peculiar look in the eye the same restless, nervous motions, and from 144 DARKNESS AND DAYIIGHT. her babyh od up he knew his child was doomed to chains, straight jackets and narrow cells, while the man who married her was doomed to a still more horrible fate These were his very words, and my heart stopped its beating as I read, while I involuntarily thanked Heaven, who had changed her feelings towards me. She told me "with many tears that she had ceased to love me, and ask- ed to be released from the fulfillment of her vow. I knew then she would one day be just what she is, and did not think it my duty to insist. But I did not forsake her, though my affection for her then was more like a broth- er's than a lover's. In his will, which was duly made and witnessed, Mr. Bernard appointed me the guardian of his child, empowering me to do for her as if she were my sister, and bidding me when the calamity should over- take her, care for her to the last. " ' They don't usually survive long,' he wrote, and he made me his next heir after Nina's death. It was a great charge for one just twenty-two, a young, helpless girl and an immense fortune to look after; but Griswold, my tried friend, came to my aid, and pointed out means by which a large portion of the Bernard estate could be turned into money, and thus save me much trouble. I followed his advice, and the old homestead is all the land- ed property there is for me to attend to now, and as this is under the supervision of a competent overseer, it gives me no uneasiness. I suggested to Nina that she should accompany me to Florida soon after her arrival in Boston, but she preferred remaining for a time in some boarding school, and I made arrangements for her to be rccei red as a boarder in Charlestown Seminary, leaving her there while I went South to transact business incum bent upon me as her guardian. " How it happened I never knew, but by some accident iisr father's letter to me became mixed up with her pa- pare, aud while I was gone she read it, learning for the AKTHUB'S STORY. 146 first time what the mystery was which hung over her mother's fate, and also of the doom awaiting her. She fainted, it was said, and during the illness which followed raved in frantic fury, suffering no one to approach her save Griswold, who, being at that time a physician in the Lu- natic Asylum at Worcester, hastened to her side, acquir- ing over her a singular power. It is strange that in her fita o f violence she never speaks of me, nor yet of Charlie Hudson. Indeed, the past seems all a blank to her, save sa she refers to it incidentally as she has to-day." " But did she stay crazy ? " asked Edith. "Not wholly so," returned Arthur, "but from that time her reason began to fail, until now she is hopelessly insane, and has not known a rational moment for more than three years." " Nor been home in all that time ? " said Edith, whUa Arthur replied, " She would not go. She seemed to shrink from meet- ing her former friends ; and at last, acting upon Griswold's advice, I placed her in the Asylum, going myself hither and thither like a feather tossed about by the gale. Gris- wold was my ballast, my polar star, and when he said to me, buy a house and have a home, I answered that I would ; and when he told me of Grassy Spring, bidding me purchase it, I did so, although I dreaded coming to this neighborhood of all others. I had carefully kept everything from Grace, who, while hearing that I was in some way interested in a Florida estate, knew none of the particulars, and I became morbidly jealous lest she or any one else should hear of Nina's misfortune, or what she was to me. "It was a favorite idea of Griswold's that Nina might be benefitted by a change of place, and when I first came hei e 1 knew that she, too, would follow me in due time. She has hitherto been subject to violent attacks of fren- zy, during which nothing within her reach was safe ; and, 7 146 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. knowing this, Griswold advised me to prepare a room, where, at such times, she could be kept by herself, for the sight of people always made her worse. The Den, with the large closet adjoining, was the result of this sugges- tion, and as I have a great dread of neighborhood gossip, I resolved to say nothing of her until compelled to do so by her presence in the house. I fancied that Mrs. John- son was a discreet woman, and my purpose was to tell her of Nina as soon as I was fairly settled ; but she abused her trust by letting Grace into the room. You refused to enter, and my respect for you from that moment was unbounded." She looked at him in much surprise, and he added, "You wonder, I suppose, how I know this. I was here at the time, was in the next room when you came into the library to wait for Grace. I watched you through the glass door, wondering who you were, until my cousin appeared and I overheard the whole." - " And that is why you chose me instead of Grace to take charge of your keys," interrupted Edith, beginning to comprehend what had heretofore been strange to her. But, Mr. St. Claire, I don't understand it at all don't see why there was any need for so much secrecy. Sup- posing you did dread neighborhood gossip, you could not help being chosen Nina's guardian. She could not help being crazy. Why not have told at once that there was such a pei-son under your charge? Wouldn't it have been better? It was no disgrace to you that you have kept the Bather's trust, and cared for his poor child," and she glanced lovingly -at the pretty face nestled against her arm, for Nina had fallen asleep. Arthur did not answer immediately, and when he did, his voice trembled with emotion. " It would have been better," he said ; " but when she first became insane, I shrank from having it generally known, and the longer I hugged the secret the harder I ABTHUR S STORY 147 found it to divulge the whole. It would look queerly, I thought, for a young man like roe to be traraelled with a crazy girl. Nobody would believe she was my ward, and nothing more, and I became a sort of monomaniac upon the subject. Had I never loved her-" he paused, and leaned his head upon his bauds, while Edith, bending upon him a most searching look, startled him with the words, " Mr. St. Claire, you have not told me all. There is something behind, something mightier than pride or a dread of gossip. "Yes, Edith, there is something behind, but I can't tell you what it is, you of all others." He was pacing the floor hurriedly now, but stopped suddenly, and standing before Edith, said : " Edith Has- tings, you are somewhat to blame in this matter. Before I knew you I only shrank from having people talk of my matters sooner than was absolutely necessary. But after you became my pupil, the desire that you should never see Nina as she is, grew into a species of madness, and 1 have bent every energy to keeping you apart. I did not listen to reason, which told me you must know of it sooner or later, but plunged deeper and deeper i ito a labyrinth of attempted concealment. When I found it necessary to dismiss Mrs. Johnson, if I would keep my affairs to myself, I thought of the old family servants at Sunnybank. I knew they loved and pitied Nina, and were very sensitive with regard to her misfortune. It touches Phillis's pride to think her young mistress is crazy, and as hers is the ruling mind, she keeps the others in subjection, though old Judy came near disclosing the whole to you at one time, I believe. You know her sad story now, but you do not know how like an iron weight it hangs upon me, crushing me to the earth, wearing my life away, and making me old before my time. See here," and lifting his brown locks, he show 3d her many a line of (silver " If I loved Nina Bernard, my burden would be easJei to bear." 148 DAKKNESS AOT> DAYLIGHT. "Oh, Mr. St. Claire," interrupted Edith, "You surely do love^her. You cannot help loving her, and she so b< autiful, so innocent." "Yes," he answered, "as a brother loves an unfortu- nate sister. I feel towards her, I think, as a mother does towards a helpless child, a tender pity which prompts me to bear with her even when she tries me almost beyond endurance. She is not always as mild as you see her now, though her frenzied moods do not occur as frequently as they did. She loves me, I think, as an infant loves its mother, and is better when I am with her. At all events, since coming to Grassy Spring, she has been unusually quiet, until within the last two weeks, when a nervous fever has confined her to her room and made her some- what unmanagable. Griswold said she would be better here, and though I had not much faith in the experiment, I see now that he was right. Griswold is always right and had I followed his advice years ago, much of my trouble might have been averted. Edith, never conceal a single act, if you wish to be happy. A little fault, if covered up, grows into a mountain ; and the longer it is hidden, the harder it is to be confessed. This is my experience. There was a false step at first, and it lies too far back in the past to be remedied now. No one knows of it but myself, Griswold, Nina, and ,my God. Yes, there is one more whose memory might be refreshed, but I now have no fear of him." Edith did not ask who this other was, neither did she dream that Richard Harrington was in any way connect- ed with the mystery. She thought of him, however, wondering if she might tell him of Nina, and asking if ae could. Arthur's face was very white, as he replied, " Tell him if you like, or any one else. It is needless to keep it long er, but, Edith, you'll come again, won't you? come to see Nina if nothing more. I am glad you have seen her, provided you do not desert me wholly." ARTHUR'S STOBY. 145 " Of course I shall not," she said, as she laid the golden head of the sleeping girl upon the cushion of the sofa^ preparatory to leaving, "I'll come again, and forgive yo.u too, for anything you may have done, except a wrong to her ; and she carefully kissed the poor, crazy Xina. Then, offering her hand to Arthur she tried to bid him good-bye as of old, but he missed something in her man- ner, and with feelings sadly depressed he watched her from the window, as, assisted by Ike, she mounted her pony and galloped swiftly away. " She's lost to me forever, and there's notliing wort! living for now," he said, just as a little hand pressed his arm, and a sweet childish voice murmured, "Yes, there is, Aithur. Live for Nina, poor Nina," and the snowy fingers, which, for a moment, had rested lightly on his arm, began to play with the buttons of his coat, while the soft blue eyes looked pleadingly into his. " Yes, darling ; he said, caressing her flowing curls, and pushing them back from her forehead, " I will live for you, hereafter. I will love no one else." " Xo one but Miggie. You may love her. You must love her, Arthur. She's so beautiful, so grand, why has she gone from Xina, I want her here, want her all the time;" and Xina's mood began to change. Tears filled her eyes, and burying her face in Arthur's bosom she begged him to go after Miggie, to bring her back and keep her there always, threatening that if he did'nt " Nina would be bad." Tenderly, but firmly, as a parent soothes a refractory child, did Arthur soothe the excitable Nina, telling he* Miggie should come again, or if she did not, they'd go up aud see her. 15C DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. CHAPTER XVH. NINA AND MIGGIB. It would be impossible to describe Edith's feelings as she rode toward home. She knew Arthur had not told her the whole, and that the part omijbted was the most important of all. What could it be ? She thought of a thousand different things, but dismissed them one after another from her mind as too preposterous to be cherished for a moment. Tho terrible reality never once occurred to her, else her heart had not beaten as lightly as it did, in spite of the strange story she had heard. She was glad that she had met with Nina glad that every obstacle to their future intercourse was removed and while she censured Arthur much she pitied him the more> and scolded herself heartily for feeling so comfortable ard satisfied because he had ceased to love the unfortunate Nina. " I can't blame him for not wishing to be talked about," she said. " Shannondale is a horribly gossipping place, and people would have surmised everything; but the sooner they know it now the sooner it will die away. Let me think. Who will be likely to spread the news most industriously ? " Suddenly remembering Mrs. Eliakim Rogers, the busi- est gossip in town, she turned Bedouin in the direction of the low brown house, standing at a little distance from the road, and was soon seated in Mrs. Eliakim's kitchen, her ostensible errand being to inquire about some plain gewing the good lady was doing for her, while her real object was to communicate as much of Arthur's story aa she thought proper. Incidentally she spoke of Mr. St. Claire, and when the widow asked " What under the sun A2O> MJGGIK. 151 possessed him to live as he did," she replied by telling o* jY?/kr, his ward, who, she said, had recently come to Grassy Spring from the Asylum, adding a few items as to how Arthur chanced to be her guardian, talking as if she had known of it all the time, and saying she did not won- der that a young man like him should shrink from having it generally understood that he had a crazy girl upon his hands. He was very kind to her indeed, and no brother could treat his sister more tenderly than he treated Nina. To every thing she said, Mrs. Eliakim smilingly assent- ed, drawing her own conclusions the while and feeling vastly relieved when, at last, her visitor departed, leaving her at liberty to don her green calash and start for the neighbors with this precious morsel of gossip. Turning back, Edith saw her hurrying across the fields, and knew it would not be long ere all Shannondale were talking of Arthur's ward. Arrived at home she found the dinner waiting for her, and when asked by Richard what had kept her she replied by repeating to him in substance what she had already told Mrs. Eliakim Rogers. There was this difference however, between the two stories the one told to Rich- ard was longer and contained more cf the particulars. She did not, however, tell him of Arthur's love for Nina, or of the neglected wife, the mother of little Miggie, though why she withheld that part of the story she could not tell. She felt a strange interest in that young mother dying alone in the noisome city, and in the little child buried upon her bosom, but she had far rather talk of Nina and her marvellous beauty, feeling sure that she had at least one interested auditor, Victor, who was perfectly delighted to have the mystery of Grassy Spring unrav oiled, though he felt a little disappointed that it shorn* amount to nothing more than a crazy girl, to whom Mr St. Claire was guardian. This feeling of Victor was in a great measure shared 152 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. by the villagers, and, indeed, after a day or two of talking and wondering, the general opinion seemed to be that Arthur had magnified the evil and been altogether too much afraid of Madam Rumor, who was inclined to be rather lenient toward him, particularly as Edith Hastings took pains to tell how kind he was to Nina, who gave him oftentimes so much trouble. The tide of popular feeling was in his favor, and the sympathy which many openly expressed for him was like a dagger to the young man, who knew he did not deserve it. Still he was re- lieved of a great burden, and was far happier than he had been before, and even signified to Grace his willingness to mingle in society and see company at his own house. The consequence of this was throngs of visitors at Grassy Spring, said visitors always asking for Mr. St. Claire, but caring really to see Nina, who shrank from their advances, and hiding herself in her room refused at last to go down unless Miggie were there. Miggie had purposely absented herself from Grassy Spring more than two whole weeks, and when Richard asked the cause of it she answered that she did not know, and, indeed, she could not to herself define the reason ol her staying so long from a place where she wished so much to be, unless it were that she had not quite recover- ed from the shock it gave her to know that Arthur had once been engaged, even though he had wearied of the engagement. It seemed to her that he had built between them a barrier which she determined he should be the first to cross. So she studiously avoided him, and thus unconsciously plunged him deeper and deeper into the mire, where he was already foundering. Her apparent indifference orJy increased the ardor of his affection, and though he struggled against it as against a deadly sin, he oould not overcome it, and at last urged on by Nina, who begged so hard for Miggie, he resolved upon going to Collingwood and taking Nina with him. NINA AND MIGGTE. XtVJ It was a warm, pleasant afternoon in Maj and Nina had never looked more beautiful than when seated in th open carriage, and on her way to Collingwood, talking incessantly of Miggie, whom she espied long before they reached the house. It was a most joyful meeting between the two young girls, Nina clinging to Edith as if fearful of Dosing her again, if by chance she should release her hold. Arthur did not tell Edith how much he had missed her, but Nina did, and when she saw the color deepen on Edith's cheeks she added, " You love him, don't you, Miggie ? " "I" love every body, I hope," returned the blushing Edith, as she led her guests into the room where Richard was sitting. At sight of the blind man Nina started, and clasping her hands together, stood regarding him fixedly, while a look of perplexity deepened upon' her face. " Speak to her, Edith," whispered Arthur, but ere Edith could comply with his request, Nina's lips parted and she said, " You did do it, didrft you ? " " Whose voice was that?" and Richard started forward: It's Nina, Mr. Harrington ; pretty Nina Bernard ; and Edith came to the rescue. " She has a sweet, familiar voice," said Richard. " Come to me, little one, will you ? " He evidently thought her a child, for in her statement Edith had not mentioned her age, and Richard had some- how received the impression that she was very joung It suited Nina to be thus addressed, and she went readily to Richard, who pressed her soft, warm hands, and tten .telling her playfully that he wished to know how she looked, passed his own hand slowly over her face and hair, caressing the latter and twining one of the curls around his fingers ; then, winding his arm about her slender waist, he asked how eld she was. loi DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. "Fifteen years and a half? was her prompt reply. Richard, never thought of doubting her word. She was very slight indeed. "A little morsel," he called her,, and as neither Arthur nor Edith corrected the mistake, he was suffered to think of Nina Bernard as one, who, H ere she rational, would be a mere school-girl yet. She puzzled him greatly, and more than once he started at some peculiar intonation of her voice. " Little Snowdrop," he said, at last, " it seems to me I have known you all my life. Look at me, and say if we have met before ? " Edith was too intent upon Nina's answer to notice Arthur, and she failed to see the spasm of pain and feai which passed over his face, leaving it paler than its wont. Bending over Nina he waited like Edith while she scanned Richard curiously, and then replied, " Never, unless you are the one that did it are you ? " "Did what?" asked Richard, and while Nina hesitated, Arthur replied, " She has a fancy that somebody made her crazy." u Not I, oh, no, not I, poor little dove. I did not do it, sure," and Richard smoothed the yellow curls resting on his knee. " Who was it, then ? " persisted Nina. " He was tall, like you, and dark and handsome, wasn't he Arthur? You know you were there ? " and she turned appealing- ly to the young man, whose heart beat so loudly as to be plainly audible to himself. "It was Charlie Hudson, perhaps," suggested Edith, and Arthur mentally blessed her for a remark which turned the channel of Nina's thoughts, and set her to tell- ing Richard how Charlie cried when he saw her through the iron bars, wearing that queer-looking gown. " I danced for him with all my might," she said, " and sang so loud, for I thought it would make him laugh as it did the folks around me, but he only cried the harder. NLSTA AND JIIGGEE. 155 Wliat made him?" and she looked up wistft^y in Rich ard's face. " You are crying, too ! n she ex claimed. " Everybody cries where I am. Why do they ? 1 wish they wouldn't. I'm good to-day there, please don't, Mr. Big-man, that did do it" and raising her waxen hand she brushed away the tear trembling on Richard's long eyelashes. Edith now sought to divert her by asking if she were fond of music, and would like to hear her play. " Xina'll play," returned the little maiden, and going to the piano she dashed off a wild, impassioned, mixed-up impromptu, resembling now the soft notes of the lute or the plaintive sob of the winter wind, and then swelling into a full, rich, harmonious melody, which made the blood chill in Edith's veins, and caused both Richard and Arthur to hold their breath. The music ceased, and rising from the stool Nina ex- pressed a desire to go home, insisting that Edith should go with her and stay all night. " I want to sleep with my arms around your neck just like you used to do," she said; and when Arthur, too, joined in the request, Edith answered that she would if Richard were willing. "And sleep with a lunatic, is it quite safe?" he asked. " Perfectly so," returned Arthur, adding that the house was large enough, and Edith could act her own pleasure vith regard to sleeping apartments. " Then it's settled that I may go," chimed in Edith, ^uite as much delighted at the prospect of a long eve- uiQg with Arthur, as with the idea of seeing more of She knew she was leaving Richard very lonely, but she promised to be home early on the morrow, and bidding good-bye, followed Arthur and Nina to the carriage. Nina was delighted to have Edith with her, and afti 156 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. their arrival at Grassy Spring, danced and skipped aboni the house like a gay butterfly, pausing every few mo- ments to wind her arms around the neck of her guest, whom she kissed repeatedly, calling her always Miggie^ and telling her how much she loved her. " Don't you want to see you as you used to be ? " she asked suddenly. " If you do, come up, come to my room. She may ? " and she turned toward Arthur, who answered, "certainly, I will go myself," and the three soon stood at the door of the Den. It was Edith's first visit there, and a feeling of awe came over her as she crossed the threshold of the mysterious room. Then a cry of joyful surprise burst from her lips as she saw how pleasant it was in there, and how taste- fully the chamber was fitted up. Not another apartment in the house could compare with it, and Edith felt that she could be happy there all her life, were it not for the iron lattice, which gave it somewhat the appearance of a prison. " Here you are," cried Nina, dragging her across the floor to the portrait of the little child which had so inter- ested her during Arthur's absence. " This is she this is you, this is Miggie," and Nina jumped up and down, while Edith gazed again upon the sweet baby face she had once seen in the drawing-room. " There is a slight resemblance between you," said Ar- thur, glancing from one to the other. " Had she lived, her eyes must have been like yours ; but look, this was Nina's father." Edith did not answer him. Indeed, she scarcely knew what he was saying, for a nameless fascination chained her to the spot, a feeling as if she were beholding her other self, as if she had leaped backward many years, and was seated again upon the nursery floor like the child before her. Like gleams of lightning, confused memories of the past came rushing over her only to pass away, NOT A ANT) MIGGEE. 157 leaving her in deeper darkness. One thought, however like a blinding flash caused her brain to reel, while sha grasped Arthur's arm, exclaiming, "Are you sure the baby died sure she was buried with her mother ? " " Yes, perfectly sure," was Arthur's reply, and with the sensation of disappointment, Edith turned at last from Migoie to the contemplation of the father ; the Mr Ber- nard whom she was not greatly disposed to like. He was a portly, handsome man, but his face showed traces of early debauchery and later dissipation. Still, Edith was far more interested in him than in the portrait of Nina's mother, the light-haired, blue-eyed woman, so much like the daughter that the one could easily be recognized from its resemblance to the other. "Where is the second Mrs. Bernard's picture?" she asked, and Arthur answered, " It was never taken, but Phillis declares you are like her, and this accounts for Nina's pertinacity in calling you Miggie." The pictures were by this time duly examined, and then Nina, still playing the part of hostess, showed to Edith every thing of the least interest until she came to the door, leading into the large square closet. tt Open it, please," she whispered to Arthur. "Let Mig- gie see where Nina stays when she tears." Arthur unlocked the door, and Edith stepped with a shudder into the solitary cell which had witnessed more than one wild revel, and echoed to more than one deli- rious shriek. "Is it necessary?" she asked, and Arthur replied: " We think so ; otherwise she would demolish every thing \ ithin her reach, and throw herself from the window it Eiay be." " Thafs so? said Nina, nodding approvingly. "When Fm bad, I have to tear. It cures my head, and I'm so strong then, that it takes Phillis and Arthur both to put that gown on me. I can't tear that," and she pointed to J58 I>AIiKJvfESS A_NI> DAYLIGHT. a loose sacque-like garment, made of the heaviest possible material, and hanging upon a nail near the door of the ceil. " Have you been shut up since you came here ? " Edith inquired, and Nina rejoined. "Once; didn't you hear me scream ? " Phillis tried to make me quit, but J told her I wouldn't unless they'd let you come. I saw you on the walk, you know. I'm better with you, Miggie; a ibeap better since you made me cry. It took a world of hardness and pain away, and my head has not ached a single time since then. I'm most well ; ain't I, Arthur." " Miss Hastings certainly has a wonderful influence over you," returned Arthur, and as the evening wore away, Edith began to think so, too. Even the servants commented upon the change in Nina, who appeared so natural and lady-like, that once there darted across Arthur's mind the question, " what if her reason should be restored ! I will do right, Heaven help- ing me," he moaned mentally, for well he knew that Nina sane would require of him far different treatment from what Nina crazy did. It was late that night when they parted, he to his lonely room where for hours he paced the floor with feverish disquiet, while Edith went from choice with Nina to the Den, determined to share her single bed, and smiling at her own foolishness when once a shadow of fear crept into her heart. How could she be afraid of the gentle creature, who, in her snowy night dress, with her golden hair falling about her face and neck, looked like some beautiful angel flitting about the room, pretending to arrange this and. that, casting hall bashful glances at Edith, who was longer in disrobing and at last, as if summoning all her courage for the act, stepping behind the thin lace window curtains, which she drew around her, saying softly, " don't look at me, Miggie, will you, 'cause I'm going to pray." Instantly the brush which Edith held was stayed amid NINA AND MIGGIE. 159 her raven hair, and the hot tears rained over her face aa she listened to that prayer, that God would keep Nina from tearing any more, and not let Arthur cry, but make it all come right some time with him and Miggie, too. Then followed that simple petition, " now I lay me down to sleep," learned at the mother's knee by so many thou gand children whose graves like hillocks in the church yard lie, and when she arose and came from behind the gauzy screen where she fancied she had been hidden from view, Edith was not wrong in thinking that something like the glory of Heaven shone upon her pure white brow. All dread of her was gone, and when Sophy came in, offering to sleep upon the floor as was her usual custom, she promptly declined, for she would rather be alone with Nina. Edith had never been intimate with any girl of htr own age, and to her it was a happiness entirely new, the nestling down in the narrow bed with a loved companion whose arms wound themselves caressingly around her neck, and whose lips touched hers many times, whispering, " Bless you, Miggie, bless you, precious sister, you can't begin to guess how much I love you. Neither can I tell you. Why, it would take me till morning." It became rather tiresome after a time being kept awake, and fearing lest she would talk till morning, Edith said to her. * I shall go home if you are not more quiet." There was something in Edith's voice which prompted tin; crazy girl to obey, and with one more assurance of love she turned to her pillow, and Edith knew by her soft, regular breathing, that her troubles were forgotten. ** I hardly think you'll care to repeat the experiment again," Arthur said to Edith next morning, when he met her at the table, and saw that she looked rather weary. tt Nina, I fear, was troublesome, as Sophy tells me aha often is." 160 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. Edith denied Nina's having troubled her much. Still she felt that she preferred her own cozy bed-chamber to Nina's larger, handsomer room, and would not promise to spend another night at Grassy Spring, although she ex- pressed her willingness to resume her drawing lessons, and suggested that Nina, too, should become a pupil. Arthur would much rather have had Edith all to himself for he knew that Nina's presence would be a restraint upon him, but it was right, and he consented as the only means of having Edith back again in her old place, fan- cying that when he had her there it would be the same as before. But he was mistaken, for when the lessons were resumed, he found there was something between them, something which absorbed Edith's mind, and was to him a constant warning and rebuke. Did he bend so near Edith at her task, that his brown locks touched her blacker braids, a shower of golden curls was sure to mingle with the twain, as Nina also bent her down to see what he was looking at. Did the hand which sometimes guided Edith's pencil ever retain the fingers longer than necessary, a pair of deep blue eyes looked into his, not reproachfully, for Nina could not fathom the meaning of what she saw, but with an expression of childlike trust and confidence far more potent than frowns and jealous tears would have been. Nina was in Arthur's way, but not in Edith's, and half the pleasure she expe- rienced now in going to Grassy Spring, was derived from the fact that she thus saw more of Nina than she would otherwise have done. It was a rare and beautiful sight, the perfect love existing between these two young girls, Edith seeming the elder, inasmuch as she was the taller and more self-reliant of the two. As a mother watchei over and loves her maimed infant, so did Edith guard and cherish Nina, possessing over her so much power that a single look from her black eyes was sufficient to quiet at once the little lady, who, under the daily influence of he/ society visibly improved both in health and spirits. DB. GEISWOLD. 161 CHAPTER XVIII. DB. GBISWOLD. Still Nina's mind was enshrouded in as deep a gloom as ever, and Dr. Griswold, who, toward the latter part of June, came to see her, said it would be so always. There was no hope of her recovery, and with his olden tender- ness of manner he caressed his former patient; sighing as he thought of the weary life before her. For two days Dr. Griswold remained at Grassy Spring, learning in that time much how matters stood. He saw Edith Hastings, scanned with his clear, far-reaching eye every action of Arthur St. Claire, and when at last his visit was ended, and Arthur was walking with him to the depot, he said ab- ruptly, " I am sorry for you, St. Claire ; more sorry than I ever was before, but you know the path of duty and you must walk in it, letting your eyes stray to neither side, lest they fall upon forbidden fruit." Arthur made no reply save to kick the gnarled roots of the tree under which they had stopped for a few mo- ments. " Edith Hastings is very beautiful ! " Dr. Griswold re- marked suddenly, and as if she had just entered his mind. " Does she come often to Grassy Spring ? " " Every day," and Arthur tried to look his friend fully in the face, but could not, and his brown eyes fell as he added hastily, " she comes to see Nina ; they are greatly attached." M She has a wonderful power over her, I think," returned Dr. Griswold ; " and I am not surprised that you esteem her highly on that account, but how will it be hereafter when other duties, other relations claim her attention. Will she not cease to visit you and so Nina made worse?* 162 1>ARKHESS AND DAYLIGHT. "What new duties? What relations do you mean,* 1 Arthur asked quickly, trembling in every joint as he an- ticipated the answer. " I have a fancy that Miss Hastings will reward that blind man for all his kindness with her heart and hand" fe Her hand it may be, but her heart, never" interrupted Arthur, betraying by his agitation what Dr. Griswold had already guessed. " Poor Arthur," he said, " I know what is in your mind and pity you so much, but you can resist temptation and you must. There's no alternative. You chose your des- tiny years ago abide by it, then. Hope and pray, as I do, that Edith Hastings will be the blind man's bride." " Oh, Griswold," and Arthur groaned aloud, " you can- not wish to sacrifice her thus ! " " I can I do it will save you both from ruin." " Then you think you do think she loves me," and Arthur looked eagerly at his friend, who answered, "1 think nothing, save that she will marry Mr. Harrington. Your cousin told me there was a rumor to that effect. She is often at Collingwood, and ought to be posted." " Griswold, I wish I were dead," exclaimed Arthur. " Yes, I wish I were dead, and were it not that I dread the hereafter, I would end my existence at once in yon- der river," and he pointed to the Chicopee, winding its glow way to the westward. Dr. Griswold gazed at him a moment in silence, and then replied somewhat sternly, " Rather be a man and wait patiently for the future." M I would, but for the fear that Edith will be lost to rue forever," Arthur answered faintly, and Dr. Griswold re- plied, * Better so than lost herself. Why not be candid with her; tell her everything; go over the entire, past, and if she truly loves you, she will wait, years and years if need be. She's young yet, too young to be a wilu Will you tell her?" DR. GKISWOLD. 168 " I can't, I can't," and Arthur shook his hea~. despairing ly. " I have hidden the secret too long to tell it now. It might have been easy at first, but now it's too late. Oh, Griswold, you do not understand what I suffer, for you never knew what it was to love as I love Edith Hastings," For a moment Dr. Griswold looked at him in sileuco He knew how fierce a storm had gathered round him, and how bravely he had met it. He knew, too, how impet- uous and ardent was his disposition, how much one of his temperament must love Edith Hastings, and he longed to Bpeak to him a word of comfort. Smoothing the brown hair of the bowed head, and sighing to see how many threads of silver were woven in it, he said, " I pity you so much, and can feel for you more than you susj/^ct. You say I know not what it is to love. Oli, Arthur, Arthur. You little guessed what it cost me, years ago, to give up Nina Bernard. It almost broke my heart, and the wound is bleeding yet ! Could the past be undone ; could we stand where we did that night which both remember so well, I would hold you back ; and Nina, crazy as she is, should this moment be mine mine to love, to cherish, to care for and weep over when she is dead. Poor little unfortunate Nina rny darling my idol my clipped-wing bird ! " It was Dr. Griswold's voice which trembled now, and Arthur's which essayed to comfort him. " I never dreamed of this," he said. " I knew you, with others, had a liking lor her, but you relinquished her so willingly, I could not guess you loved her so well," and in his efforts to soothe his friend, Arthur forgot his own sorrow in part. m It was time now for the Dr. to go, as the smoke of the coming train was visible over the hills. " You need not accompany me further," he said, offering his hand to Ar- thur, who pressed it in silence, and then walked slowly back to Grassy Spring. 164 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. Those were terrible days which followed the visit of Dr. Griswold, for to see Edith Hastings often was a dan ger he dared not incur, while to avoid her altogether was utterly impossible, and at last resolving upon a change of scene as his only hope, he one morning astonished Grace with the announcement that he was going South, and it might be many weeks ere he returned. Since comi'.ig to that neighborhood, Arthui hj.d been a puz*.-, to Grace, and she watched him now in amazement, as he paced the floor, giving her sundry directions with regard to Nina, and telling her where a letter would find him in case she should be sick, and require his personal attention. It was in vain that Grace expostulated with him upon what seemed to her a foolish and uncalled-for journey. He was resolved, and saying he should not probably see Edith ere his departure, he left his farewell with her. Once he thought of bidding her encourage Edith to marry the blind man, but he could not quite bring himself to this. Edith was dearer to him now than when she promised him that if Richard sought her hand she would not tell him no, and he felt that he would rather she should die than be thus sacrificed. Anxiously Grace looked after him as he walked rapidly away, thinking within herself that long association' with Nina had impaired his reason. And Arthur was more than half insane. Not until now had he been wholly roused to the reality of his position. Dr. Griswold had rent asunder the flimsy veil, showing him how hopeless was his love for Edith, and so, because he could not have her, he must go away. It was a wise decision, and he was strengthened to keep it in spite of Nina's tears that he should stay. u Nina'll die, or somebody'll die, I know," and the little girl clung sobbing to his neck, when the hour of parting came. Very gently he unclasped her clinging arms ; very ten* derly he kissed her lips, bidding her give one to Miggie, DB. GKISWOLD. 165 and then he left her, turning back ere *.e reached the gate, as a new idea struck him. Would Nina go with him ; go to her Florida home, if so he would defer his journey a day or so. He wondered he had not thought of this be- fore. It would save him effectually, and he anxiously Waited her answer. a If Higgle goes I will, but not without." This was Nina's reply, and Arthur turne'd a second time away. In much surprise, Edith, who came that afternoon, heard of Arthur's departure. " Why did he go without bidding me good bye ? " she asked. M I don't know, but he left a kiss for you right on my lips," said Nina, putting up her rosebud mouth for Edith to take what was unquestionably her own. While they were thus talking together, the door bell rang, and Soph, who answered the ring, admitted Dr. Griswold. " Dr. Griswold here again so soon ! " exclaimed Edith, a suspicion crossing her mind that Arthur had arranged for him to take charge of Nina during his absence. " But it shall not be," she thought, " I can prevent her return- ing to the Asylum, and I will." She might have spared herself all uneasiness, for Dr. Griswold knew nothing of Arthur's absence, and seemed more surprised than she had been. "I am so glad, so glad," he said; and when Edith looked inquiringly at him, he answered, " I am glad be- cause it is right that he should go." Edith did not in the least comprehend his meaning, and as he manifested no intention to explain, the conversation soon turned upon other topics than Arthur and his sudden journey. Since Arthur's visit to Worcester, Dr. Gris- wold had heard nothing from him, and impelled by one of those strange influences which will sometimes lead a 186 DARKNESS ASTD DAYLIGHT. pewon on to his fate, he had come up to Shannon Jala partly to see how matters stood and partly to whisper a word of encouragement to one who needed it so much. He had never been very robust or strong; the secret which none save Arthur knew had gradually undermined his health, and he was subject to frequent attacks of what he called his nervous headaches. The slightest cause would sometimes induce one of these, and when on the morning after his arrival at Grassy Spring he awoke from a troub- led sleep he knew by certain unmistakable signs that a day of suffering was in store for him. This on his own account he would not have minded particularly, for he was accustomed to it, but his presence was needed at home ; and the knowledge of this added to the intensity of his pain, which became so great that to rise from his pillow was impossible, and Soph, when sent to his room to announce that breakfast was waiting, reported him to her mother as "mighty sick with blood in the face." All the day long he lay in the darkened room, some- times dreaming, sometimes moaning, and watching through his closed eyes the movements of Nina, who had constituted herself his nurse, treading on tiptoe across the floor, whis- pering to herself, and apparently carrying on an animated conversation with some imaginary personage. Softly, she bathed his aching head, asking every" moment if he were better, and going once behind the door where he heard hei praying that " God would make the good doctor well." Blessed Nina, there was far more need for this prayei than she supposed, for when the next day came, the pain and heat about the eyes and head were not in the least abated, and a physician was called, who pronounced the symptoms to be those of typhoid fever. With a stifled moan, Dr. Griswold turned upon his pillow, while his great, unselfish heart Avent out after his poor patients in the Asylum, who would miss him so imtch. Three days passed away, and it was generally known in the village DR. GRISWOLD. 187 Ik that a stranger lay sick of typhus fever at Grassy Spring, which with common consent was shunned as if the dead- ly plague had been rioting there. Years before the dis- ease had raged with fearful violence in the town, and many a fresh mound was reared in the graveyard, and n:any a hearth-stone desolated. This it was which struck a p:mic to the hearts of the inhabitants when they knew ;Iif scourge was again in their midst, and save the inmates of the house, and Edith Hastings, none came to Dr. Gris- wold's aid. At first Richard refused to let the latter put herself in the way of danger, but for once Edith asserted her right to do as she pleased, and declared that she would share Nina's labors. So for many weary days and nights those two young girls hovered like angels of mercy around the bed where the sick man tossed from side to side, while the fever burned more and more fiercely in his veins until his reason was dethroned, and a secret told which other- wise would have died with him. Gradually the long hid- den love for Nina showed itself, and Edith, who alone could comprehend the meaning of what he said and did, saw how a strong, determined man can love, even when there is no hope. "Little wounded dove," he called the golden-haired maiden, who bent so constantly over him, caressing his burning face with her cool, soft hands, passing her snowy fingers through his disordered hair, and suffering him to kiss her as he often did, but insisting always that Miggie should be kissed also, and Edith, knowing that what was like healing to the sick man would be withheld unless she, too, submitted, would sometimes bow her graceful head and receive upon her brow the token of affection. 5Tou must hug Miggie, too," Nina said to him one day, w hen he had held her slight form for a moment to his bo- Bom. " She's just as good to you as I am." "Nina," said Edith, "Dr. Griswold does not love me as he does you, and you must not worry him so. Don't 168 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. > t you see it makes him worse ? " and lifting the hair sh pointed to the drops of perspiration standing upon his forehead. This seemed to satisfy Nina, while at the same time her darkened mind must have caught a glimmer of the truth, for her manner changed perceptibly, and for a day or so b was rather shy of Dr. Griswold. Then the mood changed again, and to the poor dying man was vouch- safed a gliinspe of what it might have been to be loved by Nina Bernard. "Little sunbeam little clipped- winged bird little pearl," were the terms of endearment he lavished upon, her, as, with his feeble arm about her, he told her one night how he loved her. " Don't go Edith," he said, as he saw her stealing from the room; "sit down here be- side me and listen to what I have to say." Edith obeyed, and taking her hand and Nina's in his, as if the touch of them both would make him strong to unburden his mind, he began : " Let me call you Edith, while I'm talking, for the sake of one who loves you even as I love Nina." Edith started, and very foolishly replied, " Do you mean Mr. Harrington ? " She knew he didn't, but her heart was so sore on the subject of Arthur's absence that she longed to be re- assured in some way, and so said what she did. "No, Edith, it is not Mr. Harrington, I mean," and Dr. Griswold's bright eyes fastened themselves upon the trembling girl as if to read her inmost soul, and see how .(hr her feelings were enlisted. "It's Arthur," said Nina, nodding knowingly at both. "Arthur," Edith repeated bitterly. "Fine proof he gives of his love. Going from home for an indefinite length of time without one word for me. He hates me, I know," and bursting into tears she buried her face in the lap of Nina, who sat upon the bed. T>R. GUISWOLD. 16& a Poor Edit!) ! " and another hand than Nina's smoothed her bands of shining hair. "By this one act you have confessed that Arthur's love is not unrequited. I hoped it might be otherwise. God help you, Edith. God help you." He spoke earnestly, and a thrill of fear ran through E lith s veins. Lifting up her head, she said, "You talk as if it were a certainty that Arthur St. Claire loves me. He has never told me so never.' 1 She could not add that he had never given her reason to think so, for he had, and her whole frame quivered with joy as she heard her suspicions confirmed by Dr. Griswold. " He does love you, Edith Hastings. He has confessed as much to me, and this is why he has gon.e from home. He would forget you, and it is right. He must forget you ; he must net love. It would be a wiclced, wicked thing ; and Edith ire you listening do you hear all I say ? " " Yes," came faintly from Nina's lap, where Edith had laid her face again. "Then promise not to marry him, so long so long Oh, Nina, how can I say it ? Edith, swear you'll nevei marry Arthur. Swear, Edith, swear." His voice was raised to a shriek, and by the dim light of the lamp, which fell upon his pallid feature's, both Edith and Nina saw the wild delirium flashing from his eye. Nina was the first to detect it, and wringing Edith's hand she whispered, imploringly, "Swear, Miggie, once. Say thunder, or something like that as softly as you can. It won't be so very bad, and he wanlfl you to so much." Fiightened as Edith was at Dr. Griswold's manner she could not repress a smile at Nina's mistaken idea. Still she did not swear, and all that night he continued talking incoherently of Arthur, of Edith, of Nina, Geneva, Rich- 8 170 DARKNESS AKD DAYLIGHT. ard Harrington, and a thousand other matters, mingling them together in such a manner that nothing clear or con- nected could be made of what he said. In the morning he was more quiet, but there was little hope of his life, the physician said. From the first he had greatly desired to see Arthur once more, and when his danger became apparent a telegram had been forwarded to the wanderer, but brought back no response. Another was sent, and another, the third one, in the form of a letter, finding him far up the Red river, where in that sultry season the ait was rife with pestilence, which held with death many a wanton revel, and would surely have claimed him for its victim, but for the timely note which called him away. Night and day, day and night, as fast as the steam-god could take him, he traveled, his heart swelling with al- ternate hope and fear as he neared the north-land, seeing from afar the tall heads of the New England mountains, and knowing by that token that he was almost home. ***** It was night, dark night at Grassy Spring, and the sum- mer rain, which all the day had fallen in heavy showers, beat drearily against the windows of the room where a fair young girl was keeping watch over the white-faced man whose life was fast ebbing away. They were alone, Dr. Griswold and Nina for both would have it so, He, because he felt how infinitely precious to him would be his last few hours with her, when there was no curious ear to listen ; and she, because she would have Miggie sleep. Nina knew no languor from wakefulness. She was accustomed to it, and as if imbued with snpernativ ral strength, she had sat night after night in that close room, ministering to the sick man as no one else could have done, and by her faithfulness and tender care re paying him in part for the love which for long, weary years had known no change, and which, as life drew neai its close manifested itself in a desire to have her con DR. GKTSWOLD. 171 atantly at his side, where he could look into her eyes, and hear the murmurings of her bird-like voice. Thus far Edith and the servants had shared her vigils, but this night she preferred to be alone, insisting that Edith, who began to show signs of weariness, should oc- cupy the little room adjoining, where she could be called, if necessary. Not apprehending death so soon the phy- sician acquiesced in this arrangement, stipulating, how- ever, that Phillis should sleep upon the lounge in Dr. Griswold's chamber, but the care, the responsibility, should all be Nina's, he said, and with childish alacrity she has- tened to her post. It was the first time she had kept the watch alone, but from past experience the physician be- lieved she could be trusted, and he left her without a mo- ment's hesitation. Slowly the hours went by, and Nina heard no sound save the low breathing of the sleepers near, the dropping of the rain, and the mournful sighing of the wind through the maple trees. Midnight came, and then the eyes of the sick man opened wide and wandered about the room as if in quest of some one. "Nina," he said, faintly, "Are you here? Why has the lamp gone out ? It's so dark that I can't see your face." Bending over him, Nina replied, " I'm here, doctor. Nina's here. Shall I get more light so you can see ? " " Yes, darling, more light more light ; " and swift as a fawn Nina ran noiselessly from room to room, gathering Uf lamp after lamp, and candle after candle, and bringing tiism to the sick chamber, which blazed as if on fire, while the musical laugh of the lunatic echoed through the room as she -whispered to herself, "Twenty sperm candles and fifteen lamps ! 'Tis a glorious watch I keep to-night." Once she thought of wakening Edith to share in her 172 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. transports, but was withheld from doing so by a feeling that "Miggie" would not approve her work. " It's light as noonday," she said, seating herself upon the bedside. " Can't you see me now ? " " No, Nina, I shall never look on your" dear face again ui til we meet in Heaven. There you will be my own. Ho one can come between us," and the feeble arms wound themseives lovingly around the maiden, who laid her cheek against his feverish one, while her little fingers strayed once more amid the mass of disordered hair, pushing it back from the damp forehead, which she touch ed with her sweet lips. " Nina," and the voice was so low that Nina bent her down to catch the sound, " I am dying, darling. You are not afraid to stay with me till the last ? " " No," she answered, " not afraid, but I do so wish you could see the splendid illumination. Twenty candles and fifteen lamps the wicks of them all an inch in height. Oh, it's grand ! " and again Nina chuckled as she saw how the lurid blaze lit up the window panes with a sheet of flame which, flashing backward, danced upon the wall in many a grotesque form, and cast a reddish glow even upon the white face of the dying. He was growing very restless now, for t^~ Tzist great struggle had commenced ; the soul was waging a mighty battle with the body, and the conflict was a terrible one, wringing groans of agony from him and great tears from Nina, who forgot her bonfire in her grief. Once when the fever had scorched her veins and she had raved in niad delirium, Dr. Griswold had rocked her in his arms as he would have rocked a little child, and remembering tins the insane desire seized on Nina to rock him, too, to sleep. But she could not lift him up, though she bent every energy to the task, and at last, passing one arm be- neath his neck she managed to sit behind him, holding him in such a position that he rested easier, and his con. DE. GRISWOLD. 173 vulsive movements ceased entirely. With his head upon her bosom she rocked to and fro, uttering a low, cooing Bonn;], as if soothing him to sleep. "Sing, Nina, sing," he whispered, and on the night ail a mournful cadence rose, swelling sometimes so high that Edith moved uneasily upon her pillow, while even Phillia stretched out a hand as if about to awaken. Then the music changed to a plaintive German song, and Edith dreamed of Bingen on the Rhine, while Dr. Griswold listened eagerly, whispering at intervals, " Precious Nina, blessed dove, sing on sing till I am at rest." This was sufficient for Nina, arid one after another she warbled the wild songs she knew he loved the best, while the lamps upon the table and the candles upon the floor flickered and flamed and cast their light far out into the ynrd, where the August rain was falling, and where more than one bird, startled from its slumbers, looked up to see whence came the fitful glare, wondering, it may be, at tho solemn dirge, floating out into the darkness far beyond the light. The grey dawn broke at last, and up the graveled walk rapid footsteps came Arthur St. Claire hastening home. From a distant hill he had caught the blaze of Nina's bonfire, and trembling with fear and dread, he hurried on to learn what it could mean. There was no stir about the house no sign of life, only the crimson blaze shin- ing across the fields, and the sound of a voice, feeble now, and sunk almost to a whisper, for Nina's strength was giving way. For hours she had sung, while the bead upon her bosom pressed more and more heavLy the hand which clasped her's unloosed its hold the eyef which had fastened themselves upon her with a lor k of unutterable love, closed wearily the lip*, which, so long as there was life in them, ceased not to bless her, were Btill, and poor tired, crazy Nina, fancying that he slept at 174 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. last, still swayed back and forth, singing to the cold sense- less clay, an infant lullaby. " Hushaby, my baby go to sleep, my child." He had sung it once to her. She sang it now to him, and the strange words fell on Arthur's ear, even before ho stepped across the threshold, where he stood appalled at the unwonted spectacle which met his view. Nina mani- fested no surprise whatever, but holding up her finger, motioned him to tread cautiously, if he would come near where she was. " He couldn't see," she whispered, " and I made him a famous light. Isn't it glorious here, smoke, and fire and all? He is sleeping quietly now, only his head is very heavy. It makes my arm ache so hard, and his hands are growing cold, I cannot kiss them warm," and she held the stiffening fingers against her burning cheek, shuddering at the chill they gave her, just as Arthur shuddered at the sight, for it needed nothing more to tell him that Dr. Griswold was dead ! CHAPTER XIX. EX-OFFICIO. The spacious rooms at Grassy Spring had been filled to their utmost capacity by those of the villagers, who, having recovered from their panic, came to join in the funeral ob- sequies of Dr. Griswold. In the yard without the grass was trampled down and the flowers broken from their stalks by the crowds, who, failing to gain admittance to *he Jiiterior of the house, hovered about the door, strug- gling for a sight of the young girl, whose strange death watch and stranger bonfire was the theme of every tongue. Solemnly the voice of God's ambassador was heard, pro- claiming, "I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet EX-OFFICIO. 175 shall lie live," and then a song was sung, the voices of the singers faltering, all but one, which, rising clear and sweet above the rest, sang of the better world, where the bright eternal noonday ever reigns, and the assembled throng without held their breath to listen, whispering to each other, "It is Nina, the crazy girl. She was the doctor's betrothed." Down the gravelled walk, along the highway, over the river, and up the hill to the village churchyard the long procession moved, and when it backward turned, one of the number was left behind, and the August sun- set fell softly upon his early grave. Sadly the mourners, Arthur, Edith and Nina, went to their respective homes, Edith seeking the rest she so much needed, Nina subdued and awed into perfect quiet, sitting with folded hands in the room where her truest friend had died, while Arthur, alone in his chamber, held as it were communion with the dead, who seemed this night to be so near to him. Swiftly, silently, one by one, the days came and went until it was weeks since Dr. Griswold died, and things at Grassy Spring assumed their former routine. At first Nina was inclined to be melancholy, talking much of the de- ceased, and appearing at times so depressed that Arthur trembled, lest she should again become unmanageable, wondering what he should do with her now the Dr. was gone. Gradually, however, she recovered her usual 1 health and spirits, appearing outwardly the same; but not so with Arthur, whose thoughts and feelings no one could fathom. It was as if he had locked himself within a wall of ice, which nothing had power to thaw. He saw but little of Edith now; the lesson's had been tacitly "given up, and, after what she had heard from Dr. Griswold, she could not come to Grassy Spring just as she used to do, so she re- mained at home, marvelling at the change in Arthur, and wondering if he really loved her, why he did not tell her BO. Much of what Dr. Griswold had said she imputed to 176 DAEKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. delirium, and with the certainty that she was beloved, she would not dwell upon anything which made her unhappy, and she waited for the end, now hastening on with rapid strides. Behind the icy wall which Arthur had built around himself, a fierce storm was blowing, and notwithstanding the many midnight watches kept over Dr. Griswold'a grave, the tempest still raged fearfully, threatening to burst its barriers and carry all before it. But it reached its height at last, and wishing to test his strength, Arthur asked Nina one pleasant night to go with him to Colling- wood. She consented readily, and in a few moments they were on their way. They found the family assembled upon the broad piazza, where the full moon shone upon them through the broad leaves of woodbine twining about the massive pillars. Edith sat as usual upon a stool at Richard's feet, and her face wore a look of disappoint- ment. Thoughts of Eloise Temple had been in her mind the entire day, and sitting there with Richard, she had ventured to ask him again of the young girl in whom she was so much interested. But Richard shook his head. He was reserving Eloise Temple for a future day, and ha said to Edith, " I cannot tell you of her yet, or where she is." "When will you then?" and Edith spoke pettishly. w You always put me off, and I don't see either why you need to be so much afraid of telling me about her, unless her mother was bad, or something." " Edith," Richard replied, " I do not wish to explain t\ you now. By and by I'll tell you, it may be, though even that will depend on circumstances ; " and he sighed as he thought what the circumstances must be which would keep from Edith any further knowledge of Eloise than she already possessed. Edith did not hear the sigh. She only knew that H was useless to question him, and beating her little foot EX-OFFICIO. 177 impatiently, she muttered^ "More mystery. If there's any thing I hate it's mystery. " She did not finish what she meant to say, for at that moment she spied Arthur and Nina coming through the garden gate as the nearest route. Edith was not in the best of humors. She was vexed at Richard, because he wouldn't tell and at Arthur for "acting so," as she termed it, this acting so implying the studied indifference with which he had treated her of lat..i But she was not vexed with Nina, and running out to meat her, she laid her arm across her neck, and led her with many words of welcome to the stool she had just vacated, saying laughingly: "I know Mr. Harrington would rather you should sit here than a cross patch like me ! I'm ill-natured to-night, Mr. St. Claire," and she bit her words off with playful spitefulness. " Your face cannot be an index to your feelings, then,'' returned Arthur, retaining her offered hand a moment, and looking into her eyes, just to see if he could do it without flinching. It was a dangerous experiment, for Edith's soul looked through her eyes, and Arthur read therein that which sent feverish heats and icy chills alternately through his veins. Releasing her hand he sat down upon the upper step of the piazza, and leaning against one of the pillars, began to pluck the leaves within his reach, and mechani- cally tear them in pieces. Meantime Richard had signified to Edith his wish tha 4 she should bring another stool, and sit beside him just aa Nina was doing. " I can then rest my hands upon the heads of you both," Itc said, smoothing the while Nina's golden curls. "Now tell us a story, please," said Nina; and when Richard askeJ what it should be, she replied, "Oh, till is about the years ago when you were jver the sea, and why you have never married. Maybe you 178 DAKKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. have, though. You are old enough, I reckon. Did you ever marry anybody ? " " Yes, I did" returned Richard ; " a little girl with hair like yours, I think, though my eyesight then was almost gone, and I saw nothing distinctly." " Wha-a-at ! " exclaimed Edith, at the same time asking Arthur if he was hurt as h^ started suddenly. "There it goes. It was a bee, I guess;" and Nina pointed to an insect flitting by, but so far from Arthur as to render a sting from the diminutive creature impossible. Still it served as an excuse, and blessing Nina in his heart for the suggestion, Arthur talked rapidly of various matters, hoping in this way to change the conversation. But Edith was not to be put off, even if Nina were. She was too much interested to know what Richard meant, and as soon as politeness would permit, she said to him, " Please go on, and tell us of the girl you married. Who was the bridegroom, and where did it occur ? " There was no longer a shadow of hope that the story would not be told, and folding his arms like one resigned to his fate, Arthur listened, while Richard related to the two girls how, soon after his removal to Geneva, he had been elected Justice of the Peace in place of one resigned. " I did not wish for the office," he said, " although I was seldojn called upon to act, and after my sight began to fail so fast, people never came U me except on trivial matters. One night, however, as many as let me see as many as ten years ago, my housekeeper told me there were in the parlor four young people desirous $f seeing me, ad- ding that she believed a wedding was in contemplation." " Splendid ! " cried Edith ; " and you married them, iidn't you? Tell us all about it; how the bride looked, and every thing." "I cannot gratify you in that respect," returned Rich- ard. " There was a veil of darkness between us, and I could aee nothing distinctly, but I knew she was very EX OFFICIO. 179 slight, so much so, indeed, that I was sorry afterward ;ha I did not question her age." " A runaway match from the Seminary, perhaps," sug gested Arthur, in tones so steady as to astonish himself. "I have sometimes thought so since," was Richard's reply, "but as nothing of the kind was ever known to have occurred, I may have been mistaken." "But the names?" cried Edith, eagerly, "you could surely tell by that, unless they were feigned." " Which is hardly probable," Richard rejoined, " though they might as A\ ell have been for any good they do me now. I was toe unhappy then, too much wrapped up in my own misfortunes to care for what was passing around me, and though I gave them a certificate, keeping myself a memorandum of the same, I soon forgot their names entirely." "But the copy," chimed in Edith, "that will tell. Let's hunt it up. I'm so interested in these people, and it seems so funny that you should have married them. I wonder where they are. Have you never heard a word from them ? " " Never, since that night," said Richard; "and what is more unfortunate still for an inquisitive mother Eve, like you, the copy which I kept was burned by a servant who destroyed it with sundry other business papers, on one of her cleaning house days." " Ah-h," and Arthur drew a long, long breath, which prompted Edith to ask if he were tired. " You're not as much interested as I am," she said. " J do wish I knew who the young bride was so small and BO fair. Was she as tall as Nina ? " and she turned to Richard, who replied, " I can hardly judge the height of either. Stand up, Snow Drop, and let me feel if you are as tall as the biide of ten years ago." " Yes, Nina is the taller of the two," said Richard, ai 180 DARKNESS AXD DAYLIGHT. she complied with his request and stood under his hand. " I have often thought of this girl- wife and her handsome boy-husband, doubting whether I did right to marry thenii but the young man who accompanied them went far toward reassuring me that all was right. They were resi- dents of the village, he said, and having seen me often in town, had taken a fancy to have me perform the ceremo- ny, just for the novelty of the thing." *' It's queer you never heard of them afterward," said Edith ; while Nina, looking up ic the blind man's face, rejoined, You did it then?" " Nina," said Arthur ere Richard could reply, " it is time we were going home ; there is Sophy with the shawl which you forgot." And he pointed toward Soph coming through the garden, with a warm shawl tucked under her arm, for the dew was heavy that night and she feared lest Nina should take cold. "Nina won't go yet ; she isn't ready," persisted the ca- pricious maiden. "Go till I call you," and having thus summarily dismissed Soph, the little lady resumed the seat from which she had arisen, and laying her head on Richard's knee, whispered to him softly, " CarSt you scratch it out ? " " Scratch what out ? " he asked ; and Nina replied, " Why, it ; what you've been talking about. Nothing ever came of it but despair and darkness." " I do not know what you mean," Richard said, and as Arthur did not volunteer any information, but sat care- lessly scraping his thumb nail with a pen-knife, Edith made some trivial remark which turned the channel of Nina's thoughts, and she forgot to urge the request that u it should be scratched out." "Nina'll go now," she said, after ten minutes bad elapsed, and calling Soph, Arthur was soon on his way THE DECISION. 181 home, hardly knowing whether he was glad or sorry that every proof of his early error was forever destroyed. CHAPTER XX. THE DECISION. The summer was over and gone ; its last breath had died away amid the New England hills, and the mellow October days had come, when in the words of America's sweetest poetess, " The woods stand bare and brown, And into the lap of the South land, The flowers are blowing down." Over all there was that dreamy, languid haze, so com- mon to the Autumn time,, when the distant hills are bathed in a smoky light and all things give token of de- cay. The sun, round and red, as the October sun is wont to be, shone brightly upon Collingwood, and looked cheer- ily into the room where Edith Hastings sat, waiting ap- parently for some one whose tardy appearance filled her with impatience. In her hand she held a tiny note re- ceived the previous night, and as .she read for the twenti- eth time the few lines contained therein, her blushes deep- ened on her cheek, and her black eyes grew softer anct more subdued in their expression. " Edith," the note began, " I must see you alone. I Lsve something to say to you which a third person cannot hear. May I come to Collingwood to-morrow at three o'clock, P. M. ? In haste, Arthur St. Claire." The words were very cold, but to Edith they contained a World of meaning. She knew she was beloved by Arthur St. Claire. Dr. Griswold had told her so. Grac fc2 DAliKJSESS AND DAYLIGHT. had told her so. Nina had told her so, while more than ail his manner had told her so repeatedly, and now h would tell her so himself, and had chosen a time when Richard and Victor were both in Boston, as the one best adapted to the interview. Edith was like all other maid- ens of eighteen, and her girlish heart fluttered with joy aa she thought what her answer would be, but not at first, not at once, lest she seem too anxious. She'd make him wait a whole week, then see how he felt. He deserved it all for his weak vacillation. If he loved her why hadn't he told her before ! She didn't believe there was such a terrible impediment in the way. Probably he had sworn never to many any one save Nina, but her insanity was certainly a sufficient reason for his not keeping the oath. Dr. Griswold was peculiar, over-nice in some points, and Arthur had been wholly under his control, becoming morbidly sensitive to the past, and magnifying every trivial circumstance into a mountain too great to be moved. This was Edith's reasoning as she sat waiting that Octo- ber afternoon for Arthur, who came ere long, looking happier, more like himself than she had seen him since the memorable day when she first met Nina. Ar- thur had determined to do right, to tell without reserve the whole of his past history to Edith Hastings, and the moment he reached this decision half his burden was lifted from his mind. Jt cost him a bitter struggle thus to decide, and lest his courage should give way, he had asked for an early interview. It was granted, and without giving himself time to repent he came at once and stood before the woman who was dearer to him than his life. Gladly would he have died could he thus have blotted out the past and made Edith his wife, but he could not, and he had come to tell her so. Never had she been more beautiful than she was that afternoon. Her dress of crimson merino contrasted well with her clear dark complexion. Her magnificent hair, THE DECISION. 183 arranged with far more care than usual, was wound in many a heavy braid around her head, while, half-hidden amid the silken bands, and drooping gracefully behind one ear, was a single white rose-bud, mingled with scarlet blossoms of verbena ; the effect adding greatly to her beauty. Excitement lent a brighter sparkle to her bril- liant eyes, and a richer bloom to her glowing cheeks., and thus she sat waiting for Arthur St. Claire, who felt hia heart grow cold and faint as he looked upon her, and knew her charms were not for him. She detected his agitation, and as a kitten plays with a captured mouse, torturing it almost to madness, so she played with him ere suffering him to reach the point. Rapidly she went from one subject to another, dragging him with her whether he would or not, until at last as if suddenly remembering herself, she turned her shining eyes upon him, and said, " I have talked myself out, and will now give you a chance. You wrote that you wished to see me." But for this direct allusion to his note, Arthur would assuredly have gone away, leaving his errand untold. But he could not do so now. She was waiting for him to Bpeak, and undoubtedly wondering at his silence. Thrice he attempted to articulate, but his tongue seemed para- lyzed, and reeking with perspiration, he sat unable to move until she said again, "Is it of Nina you would tell me?" Then the spell was broken, Nina was the sesame which unlocked his powers of speech ; and wiping the large drops from his foiohead, he answered, "Yes, Edith, of Nina, of myself, of you. Edith, you know how much I love you, don't you, darling ? " The words were apparently wrung from him greatly against his will. They were not what he intended to gay, and he would have given worlds to have recalled them, but they were beyond his reach, and the very walli of the room seemed to echo in thunder tones, 184 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. " You know how much I love you, don't you, darling ? Yes, she did know ; he knew she did by the glance she gave him back, and laying his head upon the table, he neither moved nor spoke until a footstep glided to his side, and a soft hand pressed his burning brow, while a voice, whose tones drifted him far, far back to the sea of dark* ness and doubt where he had so long been bravely buffet' ting the billows, whispered to him, "Arthur, I do know, or rather believe you love me, You would not tell me an untruth, but I do not under- stand why it should make you so unhappy." He did not answer her at once, but retained within his own the little hand which trembled for a moment like an imprisoned bird and then grew warm and full of vigor- ous life just as Edith was, standing there before him. What should he do ? What could he do ? Surely, never so dark an hour had gathered round him, or one so fraught with peril. Like lightning his mind took in once more the whole matter as it was. Griswold was dead. On bis grave the' autumn leaves were falling and the nightly vigils by that grave had been of no avail. Nina could never comprehend, the written proof was burned, R>ch- ard had forgotten, there was nothing in the way save his conscience^ and that would not be silent. Loudly it whis- pered to the anguished man that happiness could not be secured by trampling on Nina's rights; that remorse would mix itself with every joy and at the last would drive him mad. "You mistake me, I cannot," he began to say, but Edith did not heed it, for a sound without had caught her ear, telling her that Richard had unexpectedly ret ..rned, and Victor was coming for her. There was an expression of imp. ,tience on Edith's face, as to Victor's summons she replied, " Yes, yes, in a mo- ment ;" but Arthur breathed more freely as, rising 1 . his feet, he said, "I cannot now say all I wish to sa^ba* THE DECISION. 185 meet me, to-morrow at this hour in the Deering Woods, near the spot where the mill brook falls over those old stones. You know the place. We went there once with He wrung her hand, pitying her more than he did him self, for he knew how little she suspected the true nature dt what he intended to tell her. " God help us both, me to do right, and her to bear it, n was his mental prayer, as he left her at the door of the room where Richard was waiting for her. There were good and bad angels tugging at Arthur's heart as he hastened across the fields where the night Was falling, darker, gloomier, than ever it fell before. Would it be a deadly sin to marry Edith Hastings? Would Nina be wronged if he did? -were questions which the bad spirits kept whispering in his ear, and each time that he listened to these questionings, he drift- ed further and further away from the right, until by the time his home was reached he hardly knew himself what his intentions were. Very bright were the lights shining in the windows of his home, and the fire blazed cheerfully in the library, where Nina, pale and fair as a white pond lily, had order- ed the supper table to be set, because she thought it would please him, and where, with her golden curls tuck- ed behind her ears, and a huge white apron on, she knelt before the glowing coals, making the nicely-buttered toast he liked so well. Turning toward him her childish face as he came in, she said, "See Nina's a nice little housekeeper. "Wouldn't it be famous if we could live alone, you and I ? " Arthur groaned inwardly, but made her no reply. Sit- ting down in his arm-chair, he watched her intently as she made his tea, removed her apron, brushed her curls, and then took her seat at the table, bidding him do the same. Mechanically he obeyed, affecting to eat for hef 186 DABKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. sakg, while his eyes were constantly fastened upon hei face. Supper being over and the table removed, he con tinued watching her intently as she flitted about the room, now perching herself upon his knee, calling him "her good boy," now holding a whispered conversation with Miggie, who, she fancied, was there, and again sing- ing to herself a plaintive song she had sung to Dr. Gris- wold. When it drew near her bedtime she went to the window, from which the curtain was thrown back, and looking out upon the blackness of the night, said to Arthur, "The darkness is very dark. I should think poor Dr. Griswold would be afraid lying there alone in that nar- row grave. What made him die, Arthur? I didn't want him to. It had better been I, hadn't it ? " She came close to him now, and sitting on his knee held his bearded chin in her hand, while she continued, "Would my poor boy be very lonesome, knowing that Nina wasn't here, nor up stairs, nor in the Asylum, nor over at Miggie's, nor anywhere ? Would you miss me a bit?" " Yes, yes, yes ! " The words came with quick, gasping sobs, for in his hour of bitterest anguish, Arthur had never for an instant wished Tier gone the little blue-eyed creature clinging BO confidingly to him and asking if he would miss her when she was dead. "Nina's would be a little grave," she said, "not as large as Miggie's, and perhaps it won't be long before they dig it. I can wait. You can wait; can't you, boy?" What was it which prompted her thus to speak to him ? What was it which made him see Griswold's glance in khe eyes looking so earnestly to his own ? Surely there was something more than mere chance in all this. Nina would save him. She had grasped his conscience, and THE DECISION. 187 he stirred it with no gentle hand, until the awakened man writhed in agony, such as the drowning are said to feel when slowly restored to life, and bowing his head on Nina's, he cried, " What shall I do ? Tell me, Nina, what to do ! " Once before, when thus appealed to, she had answered him, " Do right," and she now said the same to the weep- ing man, who sobbed aloud, " I will. I will tell her all to-morrow. I Vv'i.sh it were to-morrow now, but the long Tight must intervene, and a weak, vacillating fool like me may waver in that time. Nina," and he held her closer to him, u stay here with me till morning. I am stronger where you are. The sight of you does me good. Phillis will fix you a bed upon the sofa and make you comforta- ble ; will you stay ? " Every novelty was pleasing to Nina and she assented readily, stipulating, however, that he should not look at her while she said her prayers." In much surprise Phillis heard of this arrangement, but offered no objection, thinking that Arthur had probably detected signs of a frenzied attack and chose to keep her with him where he could watch her. Alas ! they little dreamed that 'twas to save himself he kept her there, kneeling oftentimes beside her as she slept, and from the sight of her helpless innocence gathering strength for the morrow's duty. How slowly the hours of that never-to- be-forgotten night dragged on, and when at last the grey dawn came creeping up the east, how short they seemed, looked back upon. Through them all Nina had slept quietly, moving only once, and that when Arthur's tears dropped upon her face. Then, unconsciously, she put her arms around his neck and murmured, "It will all be right sometime." " Whether it is 01 not, I will do right to-day," Arthur Baid aloud, and whet the sun came stealing into the room, it found him firm as a granite rock. 188 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGEIT. Nina's presence saved him, and when the clock pointed to three, he said to her, " Miggie is waiting for me in the Deering woods, where the mill-brook falls over the stones. Yon called it Niagara, you know, when you went there once with us. Go to Miggie, Nina. Tell her I'm coming soon. Tell her that I sent you." "And that you will do right ?" interrupted Niii*, re- taining a confused remembrance of last night's conversa- tion. "Yes, tell her Til do right. Poor Edith, she will need your sympathy so much ; " and with trembling hands Ar- thur himself wrapped Nina's shawl around her, taking more care than usual to see that she was shielded from the possibility of taking cold ; then, leading her to the door and pointing in the direction of the miniature Ni- agara he bade her go, watching her with a beating heart as she bounded across the fields toward the Deering voods. CHAPTER XXI. THE DEERING WOODS. Edith had been in a state of feverish excitement all the day, so happy had she been made by the certainty that Arthur loved her. She had not doubted it before, but having it told her in so many words was delightful, and she could scarcely wait for the hour when she was to hear the continuation of a story abruptly terminated by the return of Richard. Poor Richard ! He was sit ting in his library now, looking so lonely, when on her way through the hall she glanced in at him, that she almost cried to think how desolate he would be when she was gone. THE DEEBING WOODS. 189 "Fll co:xx Arthur to come here and live," she said to herself, thinking how nice it would be to have Arthur and Nina and Richard all in one house. The hands of her watch were pointing to three, as, step- ping out upon the piazza she passed hurriedly through tho grounds and turned in the direction of the Deeiing Woods. Onward, onward, over the hill and across the fields she flew, until the woods were reached the silent, leafless woods, where not a sound was heard save the occasional dropping of a nut, the rustle of a leaf, or the ripple of the mill-brook falling over the stones. The warm sun had dried the withered grass, and she sat down beneath a for- est tree, watching, waiting, wondering, and trembling violently at last as in the distance she heard the cracking of the brittle twigs and fancied he was coming. " I'll pretend I don't hear him," she said, and humming a simple air she was industriously pulling the bark from the tree when Nina stood before her, exclaiming, "You are here just as Arthur said you'd be. The woods were so still and smoky that I was moslf afraid." Ordinarily Edith would have been delighted at this meeting, but now she could not forbear wishing Nina away, and she said to her somewhat sternly, " What made you come ? " "lie sent me," and Nina crouched down at Edith's feet, like a frightened spaniel. "Arthur is coming, too, and going to do right. He said he was, bending right over me last night, and when I woke this morning there was a great tear on my face. 'Twasn't mine, Miggie. It was too big for that. It was Arthur's." "How came he in your room?" Edith asked, a little iharply, and Nina replied, " I was in the library. We both staid there all night. It wasn't in my room, though Arthur has a right, Miggie. It tiever was scratched out ! " Edith was puzzled, and was about to question Nina as 190 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. to her meaning, when another step was heard, a manly, heavy tread, precluding all possibility of a mistake this time. Arthur St. Claire had come ! " It's quite pleasant since yesterday," he said, trying to force a smile, but it was a sickly effort, and only made more ghastly and wan his pallid features, over which age? seemed to have passed since the previous day, leaving them scarred, and battered, and worn. Edith had never noticed so great a change in so short a time, for there was scarcely a vestige left of the once handsome, merry-hearted Arthur in the stooping, haggard man, who stood before her, with blood-shot eyes, and an humble, deprecating manner, as if imploring her forgive- ness for the pain he had come to inflict. Nothing could prevent it now. Her matchless beauty was nought to him. He did not even see it. He thought of her only ?.s a being for whose sake he would gladly die the most torturing deaiu that human ingenuity could devise, if by this means, he could rescue her unscathed from the fire he had, kindled around her. But this could not be ; he had fallen, dragging her down with him, and now he must restore her even though it broke her heart just as his was broken. He had felt the fibres snapping, one by one ; knew his life blood was oozing out, drop by drop, and this it was which made him hesitate so long. It was painful for him to speak, his throat was so parched and dry, his tongue so heavy and thick. " What is it, Arthur ? " Edith said at last, as Nina, ut- tering a cry of fear, hid her face in the grass to shut out Arthur from her sight. " Tell me, what is it ? " Seating himself upon a log near by, and clasping his hands together with a gesture of abject misery, Arthur replied, "Edith, I am not worthy to look into your face; unless you take your eyes from mine oh, take them away, of I cannot tell you what I must." THE DEEE1XG WOODS. 191 Had her very life depended tipon it, Edith could not have removed her eyes from his. An un'definable fear was curdling her blood a fear augmented by the posi lion of her two companions Nina, with her head upon the grass, and that strange, white-faced being on the log. Could that be Arthur St. Claire, or was she laboring un- der some horrible delusion? No, the lips moved ; it was Arthur, and leaning forward she listened to what he was saying. " Edith, when yesterday I was with you, some words which I uttered and which were wrung from me, I know not how, gave you reason to believe that I was then ask- ing you to become my wife, while something in your man- ner told me that to such asking you would not answer no. The temptation then to take you to my arms, defying earth and heaven, was a terrible one, and for a time I wa- vered, I forgot everything but my love for you ; but that is past and I come now to the hardest part of all, the de- liberate surrender of one dearer than life itself. Edith, do you remember the obstacle, the hindrance which I always said existed to my marrying any one ? " She did not answer ; only the eyes grew larger as they watched him ; and he continued, " I made myself forget it for a time, but Heaven was kinder far than I deserved, and will not suffer me longer. Edith, you cannot be my wife." She made a movement as if she would go to him, but his swaying arms kept her off, and he went on : M There is an obstacle, Edith a mighty obstacle. I could trample it down if I would, and there is none to question the act; but, Edith, I dare not do you this wrong." His voice was more natural now, and Nina, lifting up her head, crept closely to him, whispering softly, " Good boy, you will do right." His long, white fingers threaded her sunny hair, and 192 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. this was all the token he gave that he was conscious of her presence. "Don't you know now, Edith, what it is which stands between us?" he asked; and. Edith answered, "It ia Nina, but how I do not understand." Arthur groaned a sharp, bitter groan, and rocking to Kid fro replied, "Must I tell you? Won't you ever guess until I do? Oh, Edith, Edith put the past and present together remember the picture found in my room when you were a little girl, the picture of Nina Ber nard ; think of all that has happened ; my dread to meet with Richard, though that you possibly did not know ; my foolish fear, lest you should know of Nina ; her clinging devotion to me; my brotherly care for her; Richard's story of the one single marriage ceremony he ever per- formed, where the bride's curls were like these," and he lifted Nina's golden ringlets. " You hear me, don't you ? " He knew she did, for her bosom was heaving with choking sobs as if her soul were parting from the body ; her breath came heavily from between her quivering lips, and her eyes were riveted upon him like coals of living fire. Yes, he knew she heard, and he only questioned her to give himself another moment ere he cut asunder the last chord and sent her drifting out upon the dark sea of despair. "Edith Edith Edith," and with each word he hugged Nina closer to him, so close that she gave a cry of pain, but he did not heed it; he hardly knew he hold Ler his thoughts were all for the poor, wretched girl, rising slowly to her feet. "Edith, you surely understand me now. The obstacle between us is ; oh, Nina, say it for me, tell her what you are to me. w tt I know," and Edith Hastings stood tall and erect be- fore him. " NINA is YOUR WIFE." Nina looked up and smiled, while Edith crossed hei arms upon her breast, and waited for him to answer. THE DEERING WOODS. 198 " Yes, Edith, though never before acknowledged aa such, Nina is my wife ; but, Edith, I swear it before high Heaven, she is only a wife in name. Never for a day, or hour, or moment have I live'd with her as such. Were it otherwise, I could not have fallen so low. Her father came the very night we were married, and took her away next morning. Griswold and I must have met him just as we left the yard, after having assisted Nina and her room-ma, e, Sarah Warren, to reach the window, from which they had adroitly escaped little more than an hour before. No one had missed them, no one ever suspect- ed the truth, and as Miss Warren died a few months after- ward, only Nina, Griswold and myself knew the secret, which I guarded most carefully for fear of expulsion from college. You know the rest. You know it all, Nina is my wife. Nina is my wife, my wife, my wife." He kept whispering it to himself, as if thus he would impress it the more forcibly upon the unconscious Edith, who lay upon the withered grass just where Nina had lain, rigid and white and free for the present from all suf- fering. Arthur could not move ; the blow had fallen on them both with a mightier force than even he had antici- pated, killing her he feared, and so benumbing himself that to act was impossible, and he continued sitting upon the log with his elbows resting on his knees and his face upon his hands. Only Nina had any reason then or judgment. Hastening to Edith she knelt beside her, and lifting up her head pillowed it upon her lap, wiping from her temple the drops of blood slowly trickling from a cut, made by a sharp stone. u Miggie, Miggie," she cried, " wake up. You scare me, you LOOK st white and stiff. Please open your eyes, dar- ling, just a little ways, so Nina'll know that you ain't dead. Oh, Arthur, she is dead! " and Nina shrieked aloud, when, opening herself the lids, she saw the dull, fixed expression of the glassy eye. 9 194 DARKNESS A?TD DAYLIGHT. Laying her back upon the grass, she crept to Arthur's eide, and tried to rouse him, saying imploringly, " Mig gie's dead, Arthur; Miggie's dead. There is blood all over her face. Its' on me, too, look," and she held before him her fingers, covered with a crimson stain. Even this did not move him ; he only kissed the tiny hand wet with Edith's blood, and whispered to her, " Richard." It was enough. Nina comprehended his meaning at once ; and when next he looked about him she was flying like a deer across the fields to Collingwood, leaving him alone with Edith. From where he sat he could see her face, and its corpse-like pallor chilled him with horror. He must go to her. It would be long ere Nina guided the blind man to the spot, and, exerting all his strength, he tottered to the brook, filled his hat with water, and crawling, rather than walking, to Edith's side, dashed it upon her head, washing the stains of blood away, and forcing back the life so nearly gone. Gradually the eyes unclosed, and looked into his with a glance so full of love, tenderness, reproach, and cruel disappointment, that he turned away, for he could not meet that look. The blood from the wound upon the forehead was flowing freely now, and faint from its loss, Edith sank again into a state of unconsciousness, while Arthur, scarcely knowing what he did, crept away to a little dis- tance, where, leaning against a tree, he sat insensible as it were, until the sound of footsteps roused him, and he saw Nina coming, holding fast to the blind man's wrist, and saying to him encouragingly, "We are almost there. I see her dress now by the bank. Wake up, Miggie; we're coming Richard anrl L Don't you hear me, Miggie "i " Victor had been sent to the village upon an errand fol Kichard, who was sitting in his arm-chair, just where THE PEERING WOODS. 195 Edith had left him an hour before, dozing occasionally, as was his custom, after dinner, and dreaming of his singing bird. "Little rose-bud," he whispered to himself. "It's strange no envious, longing eyes have sought her out as yet, and tried to win her from me. There's St. Claire cannot help admiring her, but thus far he's been very dis creet, I'm sure. Victor would tell me if he saw any indi cations of his making love to Edith." Deluded Richard ! Victor Dupres kept his own coun sel with regard to Edith and the proprietor of Grassy Spring ; and when questioned by his master, as he some- times was, he always answered, "Monsieur St. Claire does nothing out of the way." So Richard, completely blinded, trusted them both, and nad no suspicion of the scene enacted that afternoon in the Deering Woods. Hearing a swift footstep coming up the walk, he held his breath to listen, thinking it was Edith, but a moment only sufficed to tell it was Nina. With a rapid, bounding tread she entered the library, and gliding to his side, startled him with, " Come, quick, Mig- gie's dead dead in the Deerjng Woods ! " For an instant Richard's brain reeled, and rings of fire danced before his sightless eyes ; then, remembering the nature of the one who had brought to him this news f hope whispered that it might not be so bad, and this it was which buoyed him up and made him strong to follow his strange guide. ***** Down the lane", across the road, and over the fields Nina led him, bareheaded as he was, and in his thin-soled slippers, which were torn against the briers and stones, for in her haste Nina did not stop to choose the-smooth- est path, and Richard was too intent on Edith to heed the roughness of the way. Many qxiestions he asked her as to the cause of the accident, but she told him nothing \ttfl DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. save that " Miggie was talking and fell down dead." Sha did not mention Arthur, for, fancying that he had in some way been the cause of the disaster, she wished to shield him from all censure, consequently Richard had no idea of the crushed, miserable wretch leaning against the syca- more and watching him as he came up. He only heard Nina's cry, "Wake up, Miggie, Richard's here ! " It needed more than that appeal, however, to rouse the unconscious girl, and Richard, as he felt her cold, clammy flesh, wept aloud, fearing lest she were really dead. Eager ly he felt for her heart, knowing then that she still lived. " Edith, darling, speak to me," and he chafed her nerve- less hands, bidding Nina bring him water from the brook. Spying Arthur's hat Nina caught it up, when the thought entered her mind, " He'll wonder whose this is." Then with a look of subtle cunning, she stole up behind the blind man, and placing the hat suddenly upon his head, withdrew it as quickly, saying, " I'll get it in this, shan't I?" Richard was too much excited to know whether he had worn one hat or a dozen, and he answered her at once, "Use it of course." The cold water brought by Nina roused Edith once more, and with a sigh she lay back on Richard's bosom, so trustfully, so confidingly, that Arthur, looking on, fore- saw what the future would bring, literally giving her up then and there to the blind man, who, as if accepting the gift, hugged her fondly to him and said aloud, " I thank the good Father for restoring to me my Edith." She suffered him to caress her as much as he liked, and offered no remonstrance when lifting her in his strong arms, lie bade Nina lead him back to Collingwood. Like a weary child Edith rested her head upon his shoulder, looking behind once, and regarding Arthur with a look he never forgot, even when the darkness in which he now Was groping had passed away, and the full daylight wai THE DABKNESS DEEPENS. 19? shining o'er him. Leading Richard to a safe distance, Nina bade him wait a moment while she went back for something she had forgotten then hastening to Arthur's side she wound her arms around his neck, smoothed his hair, kissed his lips, and said to him so low that Richard could not hear, u Nina won't desert you. Shell come to you again when she gets Miggie home You did do it, didn't you f but Nina'll never tell" Kissing him once more, she bounded away, and with feelings of anguish which more than compensated for hia error, Arthur looked after them as they moved slowly across the field, Richard sometimes tottering beneath his load, which, nevertheless, he would not release, and Nina, holding to his arm, telling him where to go, and occasion- ally glancing backward toward the spot where Arthur sat, until the night shadows were falling, and he shivered with the heavy dew. Nina did not return, and thinking that she would not, he started for home, never knowing how he reached there, or when ; only this he knew, no one suspected him of being in the Deering Woods when Edith Hastings was attacked with that strange fainting fit. Thanks for this to little Nina, who, returning as she had promised, found the forgotten hat still dripping with water, and hiding it beneath her shawl, carried it safely to Grassy Spring, where it would betray no one. CHAPTER XXIL THE DARKNESS DEEPENS. Death brooded over Collingwood, and his black wing beat clamorously against the windows of the room to which, on that fearful night, Richard had borne his faint- 198 DAJRKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. ing burden, an 1 where for days and weeks she lay so loif that with every coming morning the anxious villagers lis tened for the first stroke of the bell which should tell that Edith was dead. Various were the rumors concern- ing the cause of her illness, all agreeing upon one point, to wit, that she had fainted suddenly in the woods with Nina, and in falling, had received a deep gash upon her forehead. This it was which made her crazy, the people said, and the physician humored the belief, although with his experience he knew there was some secret SOITOW preying upon that young mind, the nature of which he could not easily guess. It never occurred to him that it was in any way associated with Arthur St. Claire, whose heart-broken expression told how much he suffered, and how dear to him was the. delirious girl, who never breathed his name, or gave token that she knew of his existence. Every morning, regularly he rung the Collingwood bell, which was always answered by Victor, between whom and himself there \vas a tacit understanding, perceptible in the fervent manner with which the faithful valet's hand was pressed whenever the news was favorable. He did not venture into her presence, though repeatedly urged to do BO by Grace, who mentally accused him of indifference toward Edith. Alas, she knew not of the nightly vigils kept by the wretched man, when with dim eye and throb- bing head he humbled himself before his Maker, praying to be forgiven for the sorrow he had wrought, and again wrestling in agony for the young girl, whose sick room windows he could see, watching the livelong night the flickering of the lamp, and fancying he could tell from its position, if any great change occurred in her. Richard was completely crushed, and without noticing any one he sat hour after hour, day after day, night after night, always in one place, near the head of the bed, his hands folded submissively together, and his sightless eyes fixed upon the pillow, where he knew Edith was, with a THE DAKKXESS DEEPENS. 199 hopeless, subdued expression touching to witness. He did not weep, but his dry, red eyes, fastened always upon the Bame point, told of sealed fountains where the hot tears were constantly welling up, and failing to find egress without, fell upon the bruised heart, which blistered and burned beneath their touch, but felt no relief It was in vain they tried to persuade him to leave the room ; he turned a deaf ear to their entreaties, and the physician was beginning to fear for his reason, when crazy Nina came to his aid, and laying her moist hand upon his said to him, not imploringly, but commandingly, w Come with me." There was a moment's hesitation, and then Richard fol- lowed her out into the open air, sitting where she bade him sit, and offering no resistance when she perched her- self upon his knee and passed her arm around his neck. u Make him cry, can't you ? That will do him good," whispered Victor, who had come out with them. Nina knew that better than himself. She remembered the time when the sight of Edith had wrung from her torrents of tears, cooling her burning brow, and proving a blessed relief, the good effects of which were visible yet. And now it was her task to make the blind man cry. She recognized something familiar in the hard, stony ex- pression of his face, something which brought back the Asylum, with all its dreaded horrors. She had seen strong men there look just as he was looking. Dr. Gris- wold had called them crazy, and knowing well what that word implied she would save Richard from so sad a fate. w It will be lonesome for you when Miggie's gone," she aid, as a prelude to the attempt ; " lonesomer than it has ever been before ; and the nights will be so dark, for when the morning comes there'll be no Miggie here. She will look sweetly in her coifin, but you can't see her, can you? You can -feel how beautiful she is, perhaps ; and I shall braid her hair just as she used to wear it." 200 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. There was a perceptible tremor in Richard's frame and perceiving it, Nina continued quickly, " We shall never forget her, shall we ? and we'll often fancy we hear her singing through the halls, even though we know she's far away leading the choir in Heaven. That will be a pleasanter sound, won't it, than the echo of the bell when the villagers count the eighteen strokes and a half, and know it tolls for Miggie ? The hearse wheels, too how often we shall hear them grinding through the gravel, as they will grind, making a little track when they come up, and a deeper one when they go away, for they'll cany Miggie then." " Oh, Nina ! hush, hush ! No, no ! " and Richard's voice was choked with tears, which ran over his face like rain. Nina had achieved her object, and, with a most satis- fied expression she watched him as he wept. Her's was a triple task, caring for Richard, caring for Arthur, and caring for Edith, but most faithfully did she perform it. Every day, when the sun was low in the western sky, she stole away to Grassy Spring, speaking blessed words of comfort to the despairing Arthur, who waited for hot coming as for the visit of an angel. She was dearer to him now since he had confessed his sin to Edith, and could she have been restored to reason he would have compelled himself to make her his wife in reality as well as in name. She was a sweet creature, he knew ; and he always caressed her with unwonted tenderness ere he sent her back to the sick room, where Edith ever bemoaned her absence, missing her at once, asking for pretty Nina, with the golden hair. She apparently did not remember that Nina stood between herself and Arthur St. Claire, or, if she did, she bore no malice for the patient, all enduring girl who nursed her with so much care, singing to her the plaintive German air once sung to Dr. Gris- Wold, and in which Edith would often join, taking one THE DABKNESS DEEPENS. 0| part, while Nina sang the other ; and the members of the household, when they heard the strange melody, no* swelling loud and full, as some fitful fancy took possession of the crazy vocalists, and now sinking to a plaintive wail, would shudder, and turn aside to weep, for there was that in the music which reminded them of the hearse wheels grinding down the gravel, and of the village bell giving the eighteen strokes. Sometimes, for nearly a whole night those songs of the olden time would echo through the house, and with each note she sang the fever burned more fiercely in Edith's veins, and her glittering black eyes flashed with increased fire, while her fingers clutched at her tangled hair, as if they thus would keep time to the thrilling strain. Her hair troubled her, it was so heavy, so thick, so much in her way, and when she manifested a propensity to relieve herself of the burden by tearing it from the roots, the physician commanded them to "ut away those beautiful shining braids, Edith's crowning glory. It was necessary, he said, and the sharp, polished scis- sors were ready for the task, when Nina, stepping in be- tween them and the blue-black locks, saved the latter from the nurse's barbaric hand. She remembered well when her own curls had fallen one by one beneath the shears of an unrelenting nurse, and she determined at all hazards to spare Edith from a like fancied indignity. "Miggie's hair shall not be harmed," she said, covering with her apron the wealth of raven tresses. " I can keep her from pulling it. I can manage her ; " and the sequel proved that she was right. It was a singular power that blue-eyed blonde possessed over the dark-eyed brunette, who became at last as obe- dient to Nina's will as Nina once had been to her's, and it was amusing to watch Nina flitting about Edith, now f easoning with, now coaxing, and again threatening hei 202 DABKJTESS AMD DAYLIGHT. capricious patient, who was sure eventually to do as she was bidden. Only once while the delirium lasted did Edith refer to Arthur, and then she said' reproachfully, " Oh, Nina, what made him do so ? " They were alone, and bending over her, Nina replied, w 1 am so sorry, Miggie, and I'll try to have the ugly thing scratched out" This idea once fixed in Nina's mind could not easily ba dislodged, and several times she went to Richard, asking him to scratch it out I Wishing to humor her as far as possible he always answered that he would if he knew what she meant. Nina felt that she must not explain, and with vigilant cunning she studied how to achieve her end without betraying Arthur. It came to her one night, and whispering to Edith, " I am going to get it fixed," she glided from the room and sought the library where she was sure of finding Richard. It was nearly eleven o'clock, but he had not yet retired, and with his head bent for- ward he sat in his accustomed place, the fire-light shining on his face, which had grown fearfully haggard and white within the last two weeks. He heard Nina's step, and knowing who it was, asked if Edith were worse. " No," returned Nina, " she'll live, too, if you'll only scratch it out." He was tired of asking what she meant, and he made no answer. But Nina was too intent upon other matters to heed his silence. Going to his secretary she arranged materials for writing, and then taking his hand, said, in the commanding tone she used toward Edith when at all refractory, " Come and write. Tis the only chance of saving her life." " Write what ? " he asked, as he rose from his chair and iuffered her to lead him to the desk. He had written occasionally since his blindness, but it was not a frequent thing, and his fingers closed awkward- THE DARKNESS DEEPENS. 203 ly about the pen she placed in his hand. Feeling curioua to know the meaning of all this, he felt for the paper and then said to her, " I am ready for you to dictate." But dictation was no part of Nina's intentions. The lines traced upon that sheet would contain a secret which Richard must not know ; and with a merry laugh, as she thought how she would cheat him, she replied, " No, sir. Only Miggie and I can read what you write. Nina will guide your hand and trace the words." Dipping the pen afresh into the ink, she bade him take it, and grasping his fingers, guided them while they wrote as follows : " I, THE BLIND MAN, RlCHAKD HARRINGTON, " That last was my name," interrupted Richard, who was rewarded by a slight pull of the hair, as Nina said. " Hush, be quiet." A great blot now came after the "Harrington," and wiping it up with the unresisting Richard's coat sleeve, Nina continued : " DO HEREBY SOLEMNLY She was not sure whether " swear " or " declare " would be the more proper word, and she questioned Richard, who decided upon " swear " as the stronger of the two, and she went on : " SWEAR THAT THE MARRIAGE OP " As true as you live you can't see ? " she asked, looking curiously into the sightless eyes. " No ; I can't see," was the response, and satisfied that she was safe, Nina made him write, " ARTHUR ST. CLAIRE AND NINA BERNARD, PERFORMED AT MY HOUSE, IN MY PRESENCE, AND BY ME Nina didn't know what, but remembering a phrase she had often heard used, and thinking it might be just what was needed, she said, u Does * nidi and void" 1 mean ' scratched out ? ' " 204 DABKNEfciS AND DAYLIGHT. " Yes," he answered, smiling in spite of himself, and Nina added with immense capitals, NULL AND VOID," to what he had already written. " I reckon it will be better to have your name," she paid, and the cramped fingers were compelled to add : RICHARD HARRINGTON, COLLINGWOOD, November 25th, 18" "There!" and Nina glanced with an unusual amount of satisfaction at the wonderful hieroglyphics which cov- ered nearly an entire page of foolscap, so large were the letters and so far apart the words. " That'll cure her, sure," and folding it up, she hastened back to Edith's chamber. Old Rachel watched that night, but Nina had no diffi- culty in coaxing her from the room, telling her she need- ed sleep, and Miggie was so much more quiet when alone with her. Rachel knew this was true, and after an hour or so withdrew to another apartment, leaving Edith alone with Nina. For a time Edith slept quietly, notwithstand- ing that Nina rattled the spoons and upset a chair, hoping thus to wake her. Meanwhile Richard's curiosity had been thoroughly roused with regard to the scratching out, and knowing Victor was still up, he summoned him to his presence, re- peating to him what" had just occurred, and saying, "If you find that paper read it. It is surely right for me to know what I have written." " Certainly," returned Victor, bowing himself from ! a room. Rightly guessing that Nina would read it aloud to Edith, he resolved to be within hearing distance, and when he heard Rachel leave the chamber he drew near the door, left ajar for the purpose of admitting fresher air. From his position he saw that Edith was asleep, while THE DARKNESS DEEPENS. 205 Nina, with the paper clasped tightly in her hand, sat watching her. Once the latter thought she heard a sus- picious sound, and stealing to the door she looked up and down the hall where a lamp Was burning, showing that it was empty. u It must have been the wind," she said, resuming her seat by the bedside, while Victor Dupres, gliding from the sloset where he had taken refuge, stood again at his for- mer post, waiting for that deep slumber to end. " Xina, are you here ? " came at last from the pale lips, and the bright, black eyes unclosed looking wistfully about the room. Silent and motionless Victor stood, while Nina, bend- ing over Edith, answered, " Yes, Miggie, I am here, and I've brought you something to make you well. He wrote it Richard did just now, in the library. Can you see if I bring the lamp ? " and thrusting the paper into Edith's hands she held the lamp close to her eyes. " You havn't strength, have you ? " she continued, as Edith paid no heed. "Let me do it for you," and taking the crumpled sheet, she read in tones distinct and clear : " I, the blind man, ^Richard Harrington, do hereby sol- emnly swear that the marriage of ARTHUR ST. CLAIRE and NINA BERNARD, performed at my house, in my presence, and by me, is NULL AND VOID. RICHARD HAR- RINGTON, CoUingwood, November bth, 18 " Slowly a faint color deepened on Edith's cheek, a soft lustre was kindled in her eye, and the great tears dropped from her long lashes. Her intellect was too much cloud ed for her to reason clearly upon anything, and she did not, for a moment, doubt the validity of what she heard. Richard could annul the marriage if he would, she was sure, and row that he had done so, the bitterness of death was past, the dark river forded, and she was saved. Nina had steered the foundering bark into a calm, quiet and exulting in her good work, she held Edith's head 208 DABKNKSS AND DAYLIGHT. upon her bosom, and whispered to her of the joyoui future when she would live with Arthur. As a child listens to an exciting tale it only compre hends in part, so Edith listened to Nina, a smile playing about her mouth and dancing in her eyes, which at last, us the low voice ceased, closed languidly as did the soft blue orbs above them, and when the grey dawn stole into the room it found them sleeping in each other's arms, the noble-hearted Nina who had virtually given up her husband and the broken-hearted Edith who had accepted him. They made a beautiful tableau, and Victor for a time stood watching them, wiping the moisture from his own eyes, and muttering to himself, "Poor Edith, I under- stand it now, and pity you so much. But your secret is safe. Not for worlds would I betray that blessed angel, Nina." Then, crossing the hall with a cautious tread, he entered his own apartment and sat down to think. Victor Dupres knew what had been scratched out! CHAPTER XXIII. PARTING. It was late the next morning, ere Nina and Edith awoke from that long sleep, which proved so refreshing to the latter, stilling her throbbing pulse, cooling her fever- ish brow, and subduing the wild look of her eyes, which haa in them the clear light of reason. Edith was better. She would live, the physician said, feeling a glow of grati- fied vanity as he thought how that last dose of medicine, giv^en as an experiment, and about which he had been so doubtful, had really saved her life. She would have died without it, he knew, just as Mrs. Matson, who inclined to homoeopathic principles, knew her patient wculd hava PABTLXG. 207 died if she Lad not slily thrown it in the fire, substituting in its stead sweetened water and pills of bread. Victor and Nina, too, had their theory with regard to the real cause of Edith's convalescence, but each kept his own counsel, Victor saying to Richard when questioned as to whether he had read the paper or not, " No, Miss Nina keeps it clutched tightly in her 1 anil, as if suspecting my design. ; In the course of the*day, however, Nina relaxed her vigilance, and Victor, who was sent up stairs with wood, saw the important document lying upon the hearth rug, where Nina had unconsciously dropped it. " It's safer with me," he thought, and picking it up, he carried it to his own apartment, locking it in his trunk where he knew no curious eyes would ever find it. In her delight at Edith's visible improvement, Nina forgot the paper for a day or two, and when at last sha did remember it, making anxious inquiries for it, Mrs. Matson, who was not the greatest stickler for the truth, pacified her by saying she had burned up a quantity of waste papers scattered on the floor, and presumed this was among them. As Nina cared for nothing save to keep the scratching out from every one except those whom it directly concerned, she dismissed the subject from her mind, and devoted herself with fresh energy to Edith, who daily grew better. She had not seen Arthur since that night in the Deering Woods, neither did she wish to see him. She did not love him now, she said ; the shock had been so great as to destroy the root of her affections, and no excuse he could offer her would in the least palliate his sin. Edith was very harsh, very severe toward Arthur. She she uld never go to Grassy Spring again, she thought; never look upon his face unless he came to Collingwood, which she hoped he would not do, for an interview could only be painful to them both. She should tell him how do 208 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. ceived she was in him, and Edith s cheeks grew red, and her eyes unusually bright, as she mentally framed the speech she should make to Arthur St. Claire, if ever they did meet. Her excitement was increasing, when Nina came in, and tossing bonnet and shawl on the floor, threw herself upon the foot of the bed, and began to cry t exclaiming between each sob, "Nina can't go! Nina won't go, and leave you here alone ! I told him so the vile boy, but he wouldn't listen, and Soph is packing my trunks. Oh, Miggie, Miggie! how can I go without you? I shall tear again, and be as bad as ever." " What do you mean ? " asked Edith. " Where are you going, and why ? " Drying her tears, Nina, in her peculiar way, related how 4' Arthur wouldn't believe it was scratched out; Rich- ard couldn't do such a thing, he said ; nobody could do it, but a divorce, and Arthur wouldn't submit to that. He loves me better, than he used to do," she said ; " and he talked a heap about how he'd fix up Sunny Bank. Then he asked me how I liked the name of Nina St. Claire. I hate it ! " and the blue eyes flashed as Edith had never seen them flash before. " I wont be his wife ! I'd forgotten all what it was that happened that night until he told it to you in the woods. Then it came back to me, and I remembered how we went to Richard, because he was most blind, and did not often come to Geneva. That was Sarah Warren's plan I believe, but my head has ached and whirled so since that I most for- get. Only this I know, nothing ever came of it; and Over the sea I loved Charlie Hudson, and didn't love Arthur But, Miggie he's been so good to me so like my mother. He's held me in his arms a heap of nights when the fire was in my brain; and once, Miggie, he held me BO long, and I tore so awfully, that he fainted, and Dr Griswold cried, and said, 'Poor Arthur; poor boy/ PABTEfG. 209 That's when I bit him! bit Arthur, Miggie, right on nis arm, because he wouldn't let me pull his hair. Dr Griswold shook uie mighty hard, but Arthur never said a word. He only looked at me so sorry, so grieved like, that I came out of my tantrum, and kissed the place. I've kissed it ever so many times since then, and Arthur knows I'm sorry. I ain't a fit wife for him. I don't blame him for wanting you. I can't see the wrong, but it's because I'm so thick-headed, I suppose ! I wish I wasn't ! " And fixing her gaze upon the window opposite, Nina seemed to be living over the past, and trying to ar range the events of her life in some clear, tangible form. Gradually as she talked Edith had softened toward Arthur poor Arthur, who had borne so much. She might, perhaps, forgive him, but to forget was impossible. She had suffered too much at his hands for that, and ut- tering a faint moan as she thought how all her hopes of happiness were blasted, she turned on her pillow just as Nina, coming out of her abstracted fit, said to her, "Did I tell you we are going to Florida Arthur and I going back to our old home, in two or three days, Arthur says it is better so. Old scenes may cure me." Alas, for poor human nature. Why did Edith's heart throb so painfully, as she thought of Nina cured, and taken to Arthur's bosom as his wife. She knew she could not be that wife, and only half an hour before she had said within herself, " I hate him" Now, however, she was conscious of a strong unwillingness to yield to anoth- er the love lost to her forever, and covering her head with the sheet, she wept to think how desolate her life would be when she knew that far away, in the land of flowers, Arthur was learning to forget her and bestowing his af- fection upon restored, rational Nina. "Why do you cry?" asked Nina, whose quick ear do tected the stifled sobs. " Is it because we are going ? I told him you would, when he bade me come and ask if you would see him before he goes." 210 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. "Did he did he send me that message ? " and the Edith,, who wouldn't for the world meet Arthur St. Claire again, uncovered her face eagerly. " Tell him to come to-morrow at ten o'clock. I am the strongest then ; and Nina, will you care if I ask you to stay away ? I'd rather see him alone." Edith's voice faltered as she made this request, but Nina received it in perfect good faith, answering that she would remain at home. . u I must go now," she added. " He's waiting for me, and I do so hope you'll coax him to stay here. I hate old Florida." Edith ho.wever felt that it was better for them both to part. She had caught a glimpse of her own heart, and knew that its bleeding fibres still clung to him, and still would cling till time and absence had healed the wound. *I will be very cold and indifferent to-morrow," she said to herself, when after Nina's departure, she lay, an- ticipating the dreaded meeting and working herself up to such a pitch of excitement that the physician declared her symptoms worse, asking who had been there, and saying no one must see her, save the family, for several days. The doctor's word was law at Collingwood, and with sinking spirits Edith heard Richard in the hall without, bidding Mrs. Matson keep every body from the sick room for a week. Even Nina was not to be admitted, for it was clearly proved that her last visit had made Edith worse. What should she do ? Arthur would be gone ere the week went by, and she must see him. Suddenly Victor came into her mind. She could trust him to man- age it, and when that night, while Mrs. Matson was at her tea he came up as usual with wood, she said to him, ** Victor, shut the door so no one can hear, and then come close to me." He obeyed, and standing by her bedside waited for hez to speak. PARTING. 211 " Victor, Mr. St. Claire is going to Florida in a day o two. I've promised to see him to-morrow at ten o'clock, and Richard says no one can come in here, but I must bid Arthur good-bye and Nina, too ; Can't you manage it Victor?" "Certainly," returned Victor, who, better than any one else knew his own power over his master. " You shall see Mr. St. Claire, and see him alone." Victor had not promised more than he felt able to per- form, and when at precisely ten o'clock next day the door bell rang, he hastened to answer the summons, admitting Arthur, as he had expected. " I called to see Miss Hastings," said Arthur. " I start for Florida to-morrow, and would bid her good-bye." Showing him into the parlor, Victor sought Richard's presence, and by a few masterly strokes of policy and well- worded arguments, obtained his consent for Arthur to see Edith just a few moments. " It was too bad to send him away without even a good- bye, when she had esteemed him so highly as a teacher," Richard said, unwittingly repeating Victor's very words that a refusal would do her more injury than his seeing her could possibly do. " I'll go with him. Where is he ? " he asked, rising to his feet. " Now, I wouldn't, if I was you. Let him talk with her alone. Two excite her a great deal more than one, and he may wish to say some things concerning Nina which he does not care for any one else to hear. Theie is a mystery about her, you know." Richard did not know, but he suffered himself to be persuaded, and Victor returned to Arthur, whom he con- ducted in triumph to the door of Edith's chamber. She heard his well known step. She knew that he was coming, and the crimson spots upon her cheeks told how much ihe was excited. Arthur did not offer to caress her he 212 DARKNESS AJSD DAYLIGHT. dared 'not do that now but he knelt by her side, and burying his face in her pillow, said to her, " I have come for your forgiveness, Edith. I could not go without it. Say that I am forgiven, and it will not be so hard to bid you farewell forever." Edith meant to be Very cold, but her voice was choked as she replied, "I can forgive you, Arthur, but to forget is harder far. And still even that might be possible were I the only one whom you have wronged; but Nina how could you prove so faithless to your marriage vow ? " 44 Edith," and Arthur spoke almost sternly. "You would not have me live with Nina as she is now." " No, no," she moaned, " not as she is now, but years ago. Why didn't you acknowledge her as your wife, making the best of your misfortune. People would have pitied you so much, and I oh, Arthur, the world would not then have been so dark, so dreary for me. Why did you deceive me, Aithur ? It makes my heart ache so hard." " Oh, Edith, Edith, you drive me mad," and Arthur took in his the hand which all the time had unconsciously been creeping toward him. " I was- a boy, a mere boy, and Nina was a little girl. We thought it would be romantic, and were greatly influenced by Nina's room- mate, who planned the whole affair. I told you once how Nina wept, pleading with her father to let her stay in Geneva, but I have not told you that she begged of me to tell him all, while I unhesitatingly refused. I knew expulsion from College would surely be the result, and I was far too ambitious to submit to this degradation when it could be avoided. You know of the gradual change in our feelings for each other, know what followed her coming home, and you can perhaps understand how I grew so morbidly sensitive to anything concerning her, and so desirous to conceal my marriage from every one. This, of course, prompted me to keep her existence a PABTCfGS. 213 secret as long as possible, and, in my efforts to do so, I can -see now that I oftentimes acted the part of a fooL If I could live over the past again I would proclaim from the housetops that Nina was my wife. I love her with a different love since I told you all. She is growing fust into my heart, and I have hopes that a sight of her old home, together with the effects of her native air, will do her good. Griswold always said it would, and preposter ous as it seems, I have even dared to dream of a future, vhen Nina will be in a great measure restored to reason." " If she does, Arthur, what then ? " and, in her excite- ment, Edith raised herself in bed, and sat looking at him with eyes which grew each moment rounder, blacker, brightei, but had in them, alas, no expression of joy ; and when in answer to her appeal, Arthur said, " I shall make her my wife," she fell back upon her pil- low, uttering a moaning cry, which to the startled Arthur sounded like, " No, no ! no, no ! not your wife." " Edith," and rising to his feet Arthur stood with fold- ed arms, gazing pityingly upon her, himself now the stronger of the two. " Edith, you, of all others, must not tempt me to fall. You surely will counsel me to do right ! Help me ! oh, help me ! I am so weak, and I feel my good resolutions all giving way at sight of your dis- tress ! If it will take one iota from your pain to know that Nina shall never be my acknowledged wife, save as she is now, I will swear to you that, were her reason ten times restored, she shall not; But, Edith, dc n't, don't make me swear it. I am lost, lost if you do. Help me to do right, won't you, Edith ? " He knelt beside her again, pleading with her not to tempt him from the path in which he was beginning to Walk ; and Edith, as she listened, felt the last link, which bour.d her to him, snapping asunder. For a moment she had wavered ; had shrank from the thought that any 214 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. other could ever stand to him in the relation she onc had hoped to stand ; but that weakness was over, and while chiding herself for it, she hastened to make amends, Turning her face toward him, and laying both her hands on his bowed head, she said, " May the Good Father bless you, Arthur, even as you prove true to Nina. I have loved you, more than you will ever know, or I can ever tell, and my poor, braised heart clings to you still with a mighty grasp. It is so hard to give you up, but it is right. I shall think of you often in your beautiful Southern home, praying always that God will bless you and forgive you at the last, even as I forgive you. And now farewell, my Arthur, I once fondly hoped to call you, but mine no longer Nincta Arthur go." She made a gesture for him to leave her, but did not unclose her eyes. She could not look upon him, and know it was the last, last time, but she offered no remon- strance when he left upon her lips a kiss so full of hr.pe- less and yearning tenderness that it burned there many a day after he was gone. She heard him turn away, heard him cross the floor, knew he paused upon the threshold, and still her eye-lids never opened, though the hot tears rained over her face in torrents. " The sweetest joy I have ever known was my love for you, Edith Hastings," he whispered, and then the dooi was closed between them. Down the winding stairs he went, Edith counting every step, for until all sound of him had ceased she could not feel that they were parted forever. The sounds did ceaso at last, he had bidden Richard a calm good-bye, had said good-bye to Victor, and now he was going from the hou*e, He would soon be out of sight, and with an intense de- sire to stamp his image ripon her mind just as he was now, the changed, repentant Arthur, Eldith arose, and tottering to the window, looked after him, through blinding tears, as PASTING. 215 he passed slowly from her sight, and then crawling, rathel than walking back to her bed, she wept herself to sleep. It was a heavy, unnatural slumber, and when she awoke from it, the fever returned with redoubled violence, I .linging her a second time so near the gates of death ihat Arthur St. Claire deferred his departure for several Jays, and Nina became again the nurse of the sick room. But all in vain were her soft caresses and words of love. Edith was unconscious of everything, arid did not even know when Nina's farewell kiss was pressed upon her lips and Nina's gentle hands smoothed her hair for the last time. A vague remembrance she had of an angel flitting around the room, a bright-haired seraph, who held her up from sinking in the deep, dark river, pointing to the friendly shore where life and safety lay, and this was all she knew of a parting which had wrung tears from every one who witnessed it, for there was something wonderfully touching in the way the crazy Nina bade adieu to "Miggie," lamenting that she must leave her amid the cold northern hills, and bidding her come to the southland, where the magnolias were growing and flowers were blossoming all the day long. Seizing the scissors, which lay upon the stand, she severed one of her golden curls, and placing it on Edith's pillow, glided from the room, followed by the blessing of those who had learned to love the beautiful little girl as such as she deserved to be loved. , * * * * One by one the grey December days went by, and Christmas fires were kindled on many a festal hearth, Then the New Year dawned upon the world, and still the thick, dark curtains shaded the windows of Edith's room But there came a day at last, a pleasant January day, when the curtains were removed, the blinds thrown open, and the warm sunlight came in shining upon Edith, a conval eacent. Very frail and beautiful she looked in her crim 216 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. eon dressing gown, and her little foot sat loosely in th satin slipper, Grace Atherton's Chistmas gift. The rich lace frill encircling her throat was fastened with a locket pin of exquisitely wrought gold, in wliich was encased a curl of soft, yellow hair, Nina's hair, a part of the tress left on Edith's pillow. This was Richard's idea, Rich- trd's New Year's gift to his darling ; but Richard was not tfcsre 1o share in the general joy. Just across the* hall, in a chamber darkened as hers had been, he was lying now, worn out with constant anxiety and watching. When Nina left, his prop was gone, and the fever which had lain in wait for him so long, kindled within his veins a fire like to that which had burned in Edith's, but his strong, muscular frame met it fiercely, and the danger had been comparatively slight. All this Grace told to Edith on that morning when she was first suffered to sit up, and asked why Richard did not come to share her happiness, for in spite of one's mental state, the first feeling of returning health is one of joy. Edith felt it as such even though her heart was so sore that every beat was painful. She longed to speak of Grassy Spring, but would not trust herself until Victor, reading her feelings aright, said to her with an assumed indifference, " Mr. St. Claire's house is shut up, all but the kitchen and the negro apartments. They are there yet, doing nothing and having a good time generally." " And I have had a letter from Arthur," chimed in Mrs. Atherton, while the eyes resting on Victor's face turned quickly to hers. " They reached Sunny Bank in safety, he and Nina, and Soph." " And Nina," Edith asked faintly, " how is she ? " "Improving, Arthur thinks, though she misses you very much." Edith drew a long, deep sigh, and when next she spoke, she said, " Take me to the window, please, I want to see the country." PAKTIXG. 217 In an instant, Victor, who knew well what she wanted, took her in his arms, and carrying her to the window, set her down iu the chair which Grace brought for her ; then, as if actuated by the same impulse, both left her and returned to the fire, while she looked across the snow-clad fields to where Grassy Spring reared its massive walls, now basking in the winter sun. It was a mournful pleasure to gaze at that lonely building, with its barred doors, its closed shutters, and the numerous other tokens it gave of being nearly deserted. There was no smoke curling from the chimneys, no friendly door opened wide, no sweet young face peering from the iron lattice of the Den, no Arthur, no Nina there. Nothing but piles of snow upon the roof, snow upon the window-sills, snow upon the door- steps, snow upon the untrodden walk, snoW on the leaf- less elms, standing there so bleak and brown. Snow everywhere, as cold, as desolate as Edith's heart, and she bade Victor take her back again to the warm grate where she might perhaps forget how gloomy and ead, and silent, was Grassy Spring. " Did I say anything when I was delirious anything [ ought not to have said ? " she suddenly asked of Grace ; and Victor, as if she had questioned him, answered quickly, " Nothing, nothing all is safe." Like a flash of lightning, Grace Atherton's eyes turned upon him, while he, guessing her suspicions, returned her glance with one as strangely inquisitive as her own. " Mon Dieu ! I verily believe she knows," he muttered, as he left the room, and repairing to his own, dived to the bottom of his trunk, to make sure that he still held in his possession the paper on which it had been "scratched out." That night as Grace Atherton took her leave of Edith, she bent over the young girl, and whispered in her ear, " I know it all. Arthur told me the night before he left. God pity you, Edith ! God pity you ! " 10 818 DABKITESS AND DAYLIGHT. CHAPTER XXIV. THE NINETEENTH BIETH-DAT. Edith was nineteen. She was no longer the childish, merry-hearted maiden formerly known as Edith Hastings, Her cruel disappointment had ripened her into a sober, quiet woman, whose songs were seldom heard in the halls of Collingwood, and whose bounding steps had changed into a slower, more measured tread. Still, there was in her nature too much of life and vig- or to be crushed out at once, and oftentimes it flashed up with something of its olden warmth, and the musical laugh fell again on Richard's listening ear. He knew she was changed, but he imputed it all to her long, fearful sickness ; when the warm summer days came back, she would be as gay as ever, he thought, or if she did not he would in the autumn take her to Florida to visit Nina, for whom he fancied she might be pining. Once he said as much to her, but his blindness was a shield between them, and he did not see the sudden paling of her cheek and quivering of her lip. Alas, for Richard, that he walked in so great a dark- ness. Hour by hour, day by day, had his love increased for the child of his adoption, until now she was a part of his very life, pervading every corner and crevice of bis being. He only lived for her, and in his mighty love, he became selfishly indifferent- to all else around him. Edith was all he cared for; to have her with him ; to hea? her voice, to know that she was sitting near, that by Btretching forth his hand he could lay it on her head, or fijel her beautiful cheeks, this was his happiness by day, and when at night he parted unwillingly from her, there Was atill a satisfaction in knowing that he should meet THE NINETEENTH BIXTH-DAY. 219 her again on the morrow, in thinking that she was not far away, that by stepping across the hall and knocking at her door he could hear her sweet voice saying to him, "What is it, Richard?" He liked to have her call him Richard, as she frequent- ly did. It narrowed the wide gulf of twenty-one years between them, bringing him nearer to her, so near, in feet, that bridal veils and orange wreaths now formed a rare loveliness walked ever at his side, clothed in garments Buch as the mistress of Collingwood's half million ought to wear, and this maiden was Edith the Edith who, on her nineteenth birth-day, sat in her own chamber devis- ing a thousand different ways of commencing a conversa- tion which she meant to have with her guardian, the sub- ject of said conversation being no less a personage than Grace Atherton. Accidentally Edith had learned that not the Swedish baby's mother, but Grace Elmendorff had been the lady who jilted Richard Harrington, and that, repenting bitterly of her girlish coquetry, Mrs. Atherton would now gladly share the blind man's lot, and be to him what she had not been to her aged, gouty lord. Grace did not say all this to Edith, it is true, but the latter read as much in the trembling voice and tearful eyes with which Grace told the story of her early love, and to her- self she said, " I will bring this matter about. Richard often talks of her to me, asking if she has faded, and why she does not come more frequently to Collingwood. I will speak to him at the very first opportunity, and will tell him of myTnistake, and ask him who Eloise Temple's mother was, and why he was so much interested in her." With this to engross her mind and keep it from dwell- i*g too much upon the past, Edith became more like her- self than she had been since that dreadful scene in the Deering woods. Even her long neglected piano was vis- ited with something }f her former interest, she practising 220 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. the songs which she knew Grace could sing with her, and even venturing upon two or three duets, of which Grace played one parC It would be so nice, she thought, to have some female in the house besides old Mrs. Matson, and she pictured just how Grace would look in her white morning gowns, with her blue eyes and chestnut curls, presiding at the breakfast table and handling the silver coffee urn much more gracefully than she could do. It was a pleasant picture of domestic bliss which Edith drew that April morning, and it brought a glow to her cheeks, whence the roses all had fled. Once, indeed, as she remembered what Arthur had said concerning Rich- ard's probable intentions, and what she had herself more than half suspected, she shuddered with fear lest by pleading for Grace, she should bring a fresh trial to her- self. But no, whatever Richard miarht once have thought 7 O O of her, his treatment now was so fatherly that she had nothing to fear, and with her mind thus at ease Edith waited rather impatiently until the pleasant April day drew to its close. Supper was over, the cloth removed, Victor gone to an Ethiopian concert, Mrs. Matson knit- ting in her room, Sarah, the waiting-maid, reading a yel- low covered novel, and Richard sitting alone in his libra- ry. Now was Edi tli's time if ever, and thrusting the wors- ted work she was crocheting into her pocket, she stepped to the library door and said pleasantly " You seem to be in a deep study. Possibly you don't want me now ? " "Yes, I do," he answered quickly. "I always want you." " And can always do without me, too, I dare say," Edith rejoined playfully, as she took her seat upon a low otto- man, near him. "No, I couldn't," and Richard sighed heavily. "If I had not you I should not care to live. I dreamed last night that you were dead, that you died while I was gone, T1IE NINETEENTH JIBTH-DAY. 221 and I dug you up with ray own hands just to look upon your face again. I always see you in my sleep. I am not blind then, and when a face fairer, more beautiful than any of which the poets ever sang, flits before me, I whis- per to myself, ' that's Edith, that's my daylight.' ' " Oh, mistaken man," Edith returned, laughingly, " how terribly you would be disappointed could you be suddenly restored to sight and behold the long, lank, bony creature Zknow as Edith Hastings low forehead, turned-up nose, coarse, black hair, all falling out, black eyes, yellowish black skin, not a particle of red in it the fever took that away and has not brought it back. Positively, Richard, I'm growing horridly ugly. Even my hair, which I'll con- fess I did use to think was splendid, is as rough as a chest- nut burr. Feel for yourself, if you don't believe me," and she laid his hand upon her hair, which, though beauti- ful and abundant, still was quite uneven and had lost some of its former satin gloss. Richard shook his head. Edith's description of her per- sonal appearance made not a particle of difference with him. She might not, perhaps, have recovered her good looks, but she would in time. She was improving every day, and many pronounced her handsomer than before her sickness, for where there had been, perhaps, a superabun- dance of color and health there was now a pensive, sub- dued beauty, preferred by some to the more glowing, dashing style which had formerly distinguished Edith Hastings from every one else in Shannondale. Something like this he said to her, but Edith only laughed and con- tinued her crocheting, wondering how she should manage to introduce Grace Atherton. It was already half-past eight, Victor might soon be home, and if she spoke to him that night she must begin at once. Clearing her throat and making a feint to cough, she plunged abruptly into the subject by saying, "Richard, why have you never married? Didn't you ever see anybody you loved well enough?" 222 DABKJTKSS AND DAYLIGHT. Richard's heart gave one great throb and then grew B till, for Edith had stumbled upon the very thing upper- most in his mind. "What made her ? Surely, there was a Providence in it. 'Twas an omen of good, boding sue* cess to his suit, and after a moment he replied, u Strange that you and I should both be thinking of matrimony. Do you know that my dreaming you were dead is a sign that you will soon be married ? " " I, Mr. Harrington ! " and Edith started quickly. " The sign is not true. I shall never marry, never. I shall live here always, if you'll let me, but I do want you to have a wife. You will be so much happier, I think. Shall I propose one for you ? " " Edith," Richard answered, " sit close to me while I fcell you of one I once wished to make my wife." Edith drew nearer to him, and he placed upon her head the hands which were cold and clammy as if their owner were nerving himself for some mighty effort. " Edith, in my early manhood I loved a young girl, and I thought my affection returned, but a wealthier, older man came between us, and she chose his riches in prefer- ence to walking in my shadow, for such she termed my father." " But she's repented, Mr. Harrington she surely has," and Edith dropped her work in her earnestness to defend Grace Atherton. " She is sorry for what she made you suffer ; she has loved you through all, and would be yours now if you wish it, I am sure. You do wish it, Richard. You will forgive Grace Atherton," and in her excitement Edith knelt before him, pleading for her friend. Even before he answered her she knew she pleaded in vain, but she was not prepared for what followed the si lence Richard was first to break. " Grace Atherton can never be to me more than what she is, a tried, respected friend. My boyish passion per ished long ago, and into my later life another love hag THE NINETEENTH BIRTH-DAT. 223 crept, compared with which my first was as the darkness to thf\ full noonday. I did not think to talk of this to- night, but something compels me to do so tells me the time Las come, and Edith, you must hear me before you speak, but sit here where I can touch you, and when I'm through if what I've said meets with a responsive chord, lay your hand in mine, and I shall know the nature of your answer." It was coming now the scene which Arthur foresaw when, sitting in the Deering woods, with life and sense crushed out, he gave his Edith up to one more worthy than himself. It was the foreshadowing of the " Sacrifice? the firfet step taken toward it, and as oae who, seeing his destiny wrapping itself about him fold on fold, sits down stunned and powerless, so Edith sat just where he bade her sit, and listened to his story. u Years ago, Edith, a solitary, wretched man I lived in my ^ark world alone, weary of life, weary of every thing, and in my weariness I was even beginning to question the justice of my Creator for having dealt so harshly witl me, when one day a wee little singing bird, whose mot her nest had been made desolate, fluttered down at my feet, tired like myself, and footsore even with the short distance it had come on life's rough journey. There was a note in the voice of this singing bird which spoke to me of the past, and so my interest grew in the helpless thing until at last it came to nestle at my side, not timid- ly, for such was not it's nature, but as if it had a right to oe there a right to be caressed and loved as I caressed and loved it, for I did learn to love it, Edith, so much, oh, BO much, and the sound of it's voice was sweeter to me than the music of the Swedish nightingale, who haa tilled the world with wonder. "Years flew by, and what at first had been a tiny fledgling, became a very queen of birds, and the blind man's heart throbbed with pride when he heard people 224 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. say of his darling that she was marvellously fair. H knew it was not for him to look upon her dark, rich, glow- ing beauty, but he stamped her features upon his mind in characters which could not be effaced, and always in hia dreams her face sat on his pillow, watching while ho elept, and when he woke bent over him, whispering, 'Poor blind man,' just as the young bird had whispered ere it's home \v as in his bosom. " Edith, that face is always with me, and should it pre- cede me to the better land, I shall surely know it from all the shining throng. I shall know my singing bird, which brought to our darkened household the glorious daylight, just as Arthur St. Claire said she would when he asked me to take her." From the ottoman where Edith sat there came a low, choking sound, but it died away in her throat, and with her hands locked so firmly together that the taper nails made indentation in the tender flesh, she listened, while Richard continued : " It is strange no one has robbed me of my gem. Per- haps they spared me in their pity for my misfortune. At all events, no one has come between us, not even Arthur St. Claire, who is every way a desirable match for her." Again that choked, stifled moan, and a ring of blood told where the sharp nail had been, but Edith heeded nothing save Richard's voice, saying to her, " You have heard of little streams trickling from the heart of some grim old mountain, growing in size and strength as they advanced, until at last they became a mighty river, whose course nothing could impede. Such, Edith, is my love for that singing bird. Little by litlJe, inch by inch, it has grown in its intensity until there ia not a pulsation of my being which does not bear with it thoughts of her. But my bird is young while I am old. Her mate should be one on whose head the summer dews are resting, one more like Arthur St. Claire, and not an THB XIKETEE1TTH BIRTH-DAY^ 225 dwl of forty years growth like me ; but she has not chosen such an one, and hope has whispered to the tcugh old owl that his bright-eyed dove might be coaxed into his nest ; might fold her wings there forever, nor seek to fly away. If this could be, Edith. Oh, if this could be, Fd guard that dove so tenderly that not a feather should be ruffled, and the winds of heaven should not blow too roughly on my darling. Fd line her cage all over with gold and precioiis stones, but the most costly gem of all should be the mighty unspeakable love I'd bear to her. Aye, that I do bear her now, Edith, my daylight, my life. You surely comprehend me ; tell me, then, can all this be? Give me the token I desire." He stretched out his groping hand, which swayed back and forth in the empty air, but felt the clasp of no soft fingers clinging to it, and a wistful, troubled look settled upon the face of the blind man, just as a chill of fear was settling upon his heart. " Edith, darling, where are you ? " and his hand sought the ottoman where she had been, but where she was not now. Noiselessly, as he talked, she had crept away to the lounge in the corner, where she crouched like a frightened deer, her flesh creeping with nervous terror, and her eyes fastened upon the man who had repeated her name, asking where she was. "Here, Richard," she answered at last, her eyelids involuntarily closing when she saw him rising, and knew he was coming toward her. She had forgotten her promise to Arthur that she would not answer Richard "No," should he ask her to be his wife ; that, like Nina's "scratching out," was null and void, and when he knelt beside her, she said half bitterly, u lt must not \>e;the singing bird cannot mate with tin 226 DARKNESS AWD DAYLIGHT Instantly there broke from the blind man's lips a ciy of agony so pitiful, so reproachful in its tone, that Edith repented her insulting words, and winding her arms around his neck, entreated his forgiveness for having so cruelly mocked him. " You called yourself so first," she sobbed, " or I should riot have thought of it. Forgive me. Richard, I didn't jaean t. I could not thus pain the noblest, truest friend I ever had. Forgive your singing bird. She surely did not mean it," and Edith pressed her burning cheeks against his own. What was it she did not mean? That it could not be, or that he was an owl ? He asked himself this question many times during the moment of silence which inter- vened ; then as he felt her still clinging to him, his love for her rolled back upon him with overwhelming force, and kneeling before her as the slave to his master, he pleaded with her again to say it could be, the greafhap- piness he had dared to hope for. " Is there any other man whom my darling expects to marry ? " he asked, and Edith was glad he put the ques- tion in this form, as without prevarication she could promptly answer, " No, Richard, there is none." "Then you may learn to love me," Richard said. '"I can wait, I can wait; but must it be very long? The days will be so dreary, and I love you so much that I am lost if you refuse. Don't make my darkness darker, Edith." He laid his head upon her lap, still kneeling before her, the iron-willed man kneeling to the weak young girl, whose hands were folded together like blocks of lead, and gave him back no answering caress, only the words, " Richard, I can't. It's too sudden; I have thought of you always as my elder brother. Be my brother, Richard, Take me as your sister, won't you ? " " Oh, I want you for my wife," and his voice wag foil THE Nl^ETEEKTH BIRTH-DAY. 227 af pleading pathos. "I want you in my bosom. I r_eed you there, darling. Need some one to comfort me. I've suffered so much, for your sake, too. Oh, Edith, my early manhood was wasted ; I've reached the autumn time, and the gloom which wrapped me then in its black folds lies around me still, and will you refuse to throw over my pathway a single ray of sunlight? No, no, Edith, you won't, you can't. I've loved you too much. I've lost too much. I'm growing old and oh. Birdie, Birdie, Tm Kind! Tm blind! " She did not rightly interpret his suffering for her sake. She thought he meant his present pain, and she sought to soothe him as best she could without raising hopes which never could be realized. He understood her at last ; knew the heart he offered her was cast back upon him, and rising from his kneeling posture, he felt , his way back to his chair, and burying his head upon a table standing near, Bobbed as Edith had never heard man sob before, not even Arthur St. Claire, when in the Deering Woods he had rocked to and fro in his great agony. Sobs they were which seemed to rend his broad chest asunder, and Edith et opped her ears to shut out the dreadful sound. But hark, what is it he is saying ? Edith fain would know, and listening intently, she hears him unconsciously whispering to himself, " Oh, Edith, was it for this that I saved you from the Rhine, periling my life and losing my eyesight ? Better that you had died in the deep waters than that I should meet this hour of anguish" " Richai-d, Richard ! " and Edith fairly screamed as she flew across the floor. Lifting up his head she pillowed it upon her bosom, and showering kisses upon his quivering lips, said tc him, " Tell me tell me, am I that Swedish baby, Jthat Eloise Temple ? " He nodded in reply, and Edith continued : " I the child for whose sake you were made blind ! Why have you not told me before ? I could not then have wounded you 228 DAEKHESS .AND DAYLIGHT. so cruelly. How can I show my gratitude ? I am not worthy of you, Richard; not worthy to bear jour name, much less to be your bride, but such as I am take me. I cannot longer refuse. Will you, Richard? May I be your wife ? " She knelt before him now \ hers was thi supplicating posture, and when he shook his head, she continued, " You think it a sudden change, and so it is, but I mean it. I'm in earnest. I do love you, dearly, oh. so dearly, and by and by I shall love you a great deal more. Answer me may I be your wife ? " It was a terrrible temptation, and Richard Harrington reeled from side to side like a broken reed, while his lips vainly essayed to speak the words his generous nature bade them speak. He could not see the eagerness of the fair young face upturned to his the clear, truthful light shining in Edith's beautiful dark eyes, telling better than words could tell that she was sincere in her desire to join her sweet spring life with his autumn days. He could not see this, else human flesh had proved too weak to say what he did say at last. " No, my darling, I cannot accept a love born of grati- tude and nothing more. You remember a former conver- sation concerning this Eloise when you told me you were glad you were not she, as in case you were you should feel compelled to be grateful, or something like that, where as you would rather render your services to me from love. Edith, that remark prevented me from telling you then that you were Eloise, the Swedish mother's baby." Never before had the words "that Swedish mother* touched so tender a chord in Edith's heart as now, and forgetting every thing in her intense desire to know some- thing of her own early history, she exclaimed, " X ou knew my mother, Richard. You have heard her voice, seen her face; now tell me of her, please. Where is she? And Marie, too, for there was a Marie. Let's forget all THE NINETEENTH BIRTH-DAT. 229 that's been said within the last half hour. Let's begin anew, making believe it's yesterday instead of now, and, when the story is ended, ask me again if the singing bird can mate with the eagle. The grand, royal eagle, Richard, is the best similitude for you," and forcing herself to sit upon his knee, she put her arms around his neck bidding fora again tell her of her mother. With the elastic buoyancy of youth Edith could easily fhake off the gloom which for a few brief moments hat? shrouded hei lik.e a pall, but not so with Richard. " The singing-bird must not mate with the owl," rang contin- ually in his ears. It was her real sentiment ho knew, and his heart ached so hard as he thought how he ha<* staked his all on her and lost it. " Begin," she said, " Tell me where you first met my mother." Richard heaved a sigh which smote heavily on Edith's ear, for she guessed of what he was thinking, and she longed to reassure him of her intention to be his sight here- after, but he was about to speak and she remained silent. " Your mother," he said, " was a Swede by birth, and her marvellous beauty first attracted your father, whose years were double her own." " I'm so glad," interrupted Edith, u As much as twen- ty-one years older, wasn't he ? " " More than that," answered Richard, a half pleased, half bitter smile playing over his dark face. " Forgive me, darling, but I'm afraid he was not as good a man as lie should have been, or as kind to his young wife. Wlen I first saw her she lived in a cottage alone, and he was gone. She missed him sadly, and her sweet voice seemed full of tears as she sang her girl baby to sleep. You have her voice, Edith, and its tones came back to me the first time I ever heard you speak. But I was tell- ing of your father. He was dissipated, selfish and unprin- cipled, affectionate and kind to Petrea one day, cold, 230 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. card and brutal the next. Still she loved him and clung to him, for he was the father of her child. You were & beautiful little creature, Edith, and I loved you so much that when I knew you had fallen from a bluff into the river, I unhesitating 1 y plunged after you." " I remember it," cried Edith, " I certainly do, or elee \j was afterwards told to me so often that it seems a *.,ality." " The latter is probably the fact," returned Richard. " You were too young to retain any vivid recollections of that fall." Still Edith persisted that she did remember the face of a little girl in the water as she looked over the rock, and of bending to touch the arm extended toward her. She remembered Bingen, too, with its purple grapes ; else why had she been haunted all her life with vine-clad hills and plaintive airs. " Your mother sang to you the airs, while your nurse, whose name I think was Marie, told you of the grapes growing on the hills," said Richard. " She was a faithful creature, greatly attached to your mother, but a bitter foe of your father. I was too much absorbed in the shad- ow stealing over me to pay much heed to my friends, and after they left Germany I lost sight of them entirely, nor dreamed that the little girl who came to me that October morning was my baby Eloise. Your voice always puz- zled me, and something I overheard you saying to Grace one day about your mysterious hauntings of the past, to- gether with an old song of Petrea's which you sang, gaye me my first suspicion as to who you were, and decided me upon that trip to New York. Going first to the Asy-um of which you were once an inmate, I managed after much diligent inquiry to procure the address of the woman who brought you there when 3*0 u were about three years old. I had but little hope of finding her, but determining to persevere I sought out the humble cottage THE NTtTETEEiSTH BIRTH-DAY. 231 in the suburbs of the city. It was inhabited by an elder- ly woman, who denied all knowledge of Edith Hastings until told that I was Richard Harrington. Then her manner changed at once, and to my delight I heard that she was Marie's sister. She owned the cottage, had lived there more than twenty years, and saw your moth- er die. Petrea, it seems, had left her husband, intending to return to Sweden, but sickness overtook her, and she died in New York, committing you to the faithful Marie's care in preference to your father's. Such was her dread of him that she made Marie swear to keep your existence a secret from him, lest he should take you back to a place where she had been so wretched, and where all the influ- ences, she thought, were bad. She would rather you should be poor, she said, than to be brought up by him, and as a means of eluding discovery, she said you should not bear his name, and with her dying tears she baptised you Edith Hastings. After her decease Marie wrote to him, that both of you were dead, and he came on at once, seemed very penitent and sorry when it was too late." ** Where was his home ? " Edith asked eagerly ; and Richard replied, " That is one thing I neglected to enquire, but when I met him in Europe I had the impression that it was in one of the Western or South-western states." " Is he still alive ? " Edith asked again, a daughter's love slowly gathering in her heart in spite of the father's cruelty to the mother. "No," returned Richard. "Marie, who kept sight of his movements, wrote to her sister some years since that he was dead, though when he died, or how, Mrs. Jamieson did not know. She, too, was ill when he came to her house, and consequently never saw him herself." " And the Asylum how came I there ? " said Edith 5 end Richard replied, a It seams your mother was an orphan, and had no neal 232 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. relatives to whom you could be sent, and as Marie wan then too poor and dependent to support you she placed you in the Asylum as Edith Hastings, visiting you occa- sionally until she went back to France, her native coun- try. Her intention was to return in a few months, but a violent attack of inflammatory rheumatism came upon her, depriving her of the use of her limbs, and confining her to her bed for years, and so prevented her from com- ing Lack. Mrs. Jamieson, however, kept her informed with regard to you, and told me that Marie was greatly pleased when she* heard you were with me, whom she supposed- to be the same Richard Harrington who had saved your life, and of whom her mistress had often talked. Marie is better now, and when I saw her sister more than a year ago, she was hoping she might soon re- visit America. I left directions for her to visit Colling- wood, and for several months I looked for her a little, re- solving if she came, to question her minutely concerning your father. He must have left a fortune, Edith, which by right is yours, if we can prove that you are his child, and with Marie's aid I hope to do this sometime. I have, however, almost given her up ; but now that you know all I will go again to New York, and seek another inter- view with Mrs. Jamieson. "Would it please you to have the little orphan, Edith Hastings, turn out to be an heir ess?" "Not for my own sake," returned Edith; "but if it w ould make you love me more, I should like it ; " and she clung closer to him as he replied, " Darling, that could not be. I loved you with all the powers I had, even before I knew you were Petrea's child. Beautiful Petrea ! I think you must be like her, Edith, except that you are taller. She was your father's second wife. THIS I knew in .Germany, and also that there was a child of Mr. Temple's first marriage, a little girl, he said." THE NTNETEEKTH BIBTH-DAY. 233 "A child a little girl," and Edith started quickly, but the lightning flash which had once gleamed across her bewildered mind, when in the Den she stood gazing at the picture of Miggie Bernard, did not come back to her now, neither did she remember Arthur's story, so much like Richard's. She only thought that possibly there was somewhere in the world a dear, half-sister, whom she should love so much, could she only find her. Edith was a famous castle-builder, and forgetting that this half-sister, were she living, would be much older than herself, she thought of her only as a school-girl, whose home should be at Collingwood, and on whom Mrs. Richard Harring- ton would lavish so much affection, wasting on her the surplus love which, perhaps, could not be given to the father husband. How then was her castle destroyed, when Richard said, " She, too, is dead, so Mrs. Jamieson told me, and there is none of the family left save you." " I wish I knew where mother was buried," Edith sigh- ed, her teai-s falling to the memory of her girl mother, whose features it seemed to her she could recall, as well as a death-bed scene, when somebody with white lips and mournful black eyes clasped her in her arms and prayed that God would bless her, and enable her always to do right. It might have been a mere fancy, but to Edith it was a reality, and she said within herself, " Yes, darling mother, I will do right, and as I am sure you would approve my giving myself to Richard, so I will be his wife." One wild, longing, painful throb her heart gave to the past when she had hoped for other bridegroom than the middle-aged man on whose knee she sat, and then laying her hot face against his bearded cheek, she whispered, "You've told the story, Richard. It does not need Marie to confirm it, though she, too, will come sometime 234 DABKKE8S AND DAYLIGHT. to tell me who I am, but when she comes, I shan't b Edith Hastings, shall I. The initials won't be changed, though. They will be 'E. H.' still Edith Harrington It has not a bad sound, has it ? " " Don't, darling, please don't," and Richard's voice had in it a tone much like that which first rang through the room, when Edith said, It cannot be." " Richard," and Edith took his cold face between her soft, warm hands, " Richard, won't you let the singing bird call you husband ? If you don't, she will fly away and sing to some one else, who will prize her songs. I thought you loved me, Richard." " Oh, Edith, my precious Edith ! If I knew I could make the love grow where it is not growing the right kind of love, I mean I would not hesitate ; but, darling, Richard Harrington would die a thousand deaths rather than take you to his bosom an unloving wife. Remeni ber that, and do not mock me ; do not deceive me. You think now in the first flush of your gratitude to me foi having saved your life and in your pity for my blindness that you can do anything ; but wait awhile consider well think how I shall be old while you still are young, a tottering, gray-haired man, while your blood still retains the heat of youth. The Harringtons live long. I may see a hundred." " And I shall then be seventy-nine not so vast a differ- ence," interrupted Edith. "No, not a vast difference then," Richard rejoined, * but 'tis not then I dread. 'Tis now, the next twenty-five years, during which I shall be slowly decaying, while you mil be ripening into a matured, motherly beauty, dearer to y our husband than all your girlish loveliness. 'Tis then that I dread the contrast in you ; not when both are old; and, Edith, remember this, you can never be old to me, Inasmuch as I can never see you. I may feel that your THE NINETEENTH BIRTH-DAT. 235 smooth, velvety flesh is wrinkled, that your shining Laii is thin, your soft round arms more sinewy and hard, but 1 cannot see it, and in my heart I shall cherish ever the image I first loved as Edith Hastings. You, on the con- trary, will watch the work of death go on in me, will see my hair turn gray, my form begin to stoop, my hand to tremble, my eyes grow blear and watery, and when all this has come to pass, won't you sicken of the shaky old man and sigh for a younger, more vigorous companion ?" " Not unless you show me such horrid pictures," Edith sobbed, impetuously, for in her heart of hearts she felt the truth of every word he uttered, and her whole soul revolt- ed against the view presented to her of the coming time. But she would conquer such feelings she would be his wife, and drying her eyes she said, " I can give you my decision now as well as at any other time, but if you prefer it, I will wait four weeks and then bring you the same answer I make you now I will be your wife." "I dare not hope it," returned Richard, "You will change your mind, I fear, but, Edith, if you do not, if you promise to be mine, don't forsake me afterwardsj for I should surely die," and as if he already felt the ago- ny it would cost him to give his darling up after he had once possessed her, he clasped his hands upon his heart, which throbbed so rapidly that Edith heard its muffled beat and saw its rise and fall. " I could not lose you and still live on without you, Edith," and he spoke impetuously, " You won't desert me, if you promise once." " Never, never," she answered, and with a good night kiss upon his lips she went out from the presence of tl'e man she already looked upon as her future husband, breathing freer when she stood within the hall where he was not, and freer still when in her own chamber there was a greater distance between them. Alas, for Edith, and a thousand times alas, for poor, poor Richard ! 286 DABKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. CHAPTER XXV. DESTINY. Not lor one moment did Edith waver in her purpose} and lest Richard should suspect what he could not see, ghe affected a gayety in his presence sadly at variance with her real feelings. Never had her merry laugh rang out so frequently before him never had her wit been one half so sparkling, and when he passed his hands over her flushed cheek, feeling how hot it Avas, he said to him- self, " The roses are coming back, she cannot be unhappy," and every line and lineament of the blind man's face glowed with the new-born joy springing up within hia heart, and making the world around him one grand ju- bilee. Victor was quick to note the change in his master, and without the least suspicion of the truth, he once asked Edith, " What made Mr. Harrington so young and almost boyish, acting as men were supposed to act when they were just engaged ? " " Victor," said Edith, after a moment's reflection, " can you keep a secret ? " " Certainly," he replied. " What is it, pray ? Is Mr. Harrington matrimonially inclined ? " Edith's heart yearned for sympathy for some one to sustain her to keep her from fainting by the wayside, and as she could not confide in Grace, Victor was her only remaining refuge. He had been the repositary of all her childish secrets, entering into her feelings as readily and even more demonstratively than any female friend could have done. Richard would tell him, of course, aa oon as it was settled, and as she knew now that it wan 237 settled, why not speak first and so save him the trouble Thus deciding, she replied to his question, " Yes, Richard is going to be married ; but you must not let him know I told you, till the engagement is made public." Victor started, but had no shadow of suspicion that* the young girl before him was the bride elect. His mas- ter had once been foolish enough to think of her as such he believed, but that time was passed. Richard had grown mjre sensible, and Edith was the future wife of Arthur St. Claire. Nina would not live long, and after she was dead there would be no further hindrance to a match every way so suitable. This was Victor's theory, and never doubting that the same idea had a lodgment in the minds of both Arthur and Edith, he could not con- ceive it possible that the latter would deliberately give herself to Richard. Grace Atherton, on the contrary, would be glad to do it ; she had. been coaxing his master these forty years, and had succeeded in winning him at last. Victor did not fancy Grace ; and when at last he spoke, it was to call both his master and Mrs. Atherton a pair of precious fools. Edith looked wonderingly at him as he raved on. " I can't bear her, I never could, since I heard how she abused you. Why, I'd almost rather you'd be his wife than that gay widow." " Suppose I marry him then in her stead," Edith said, laughingly. " I verily believe he'd exchange." " Of course he would," Victor answered, bitterly. * The older a man grows, the younger the girl he selects, and it's a wonder he didn't ask you first." " Supposing he had ? " returned Edith, bending over a geranium to hide her agitation. " Supposing he had, and it was I instead of Grace to whom he is engaged." "Preposterous ! " Victor exclaimed. " You could not dc such a thing ip your right senses. Why, I'd rather see 238 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. you dead than married to your father. I believe I'd for bid the banns myself" and Victor strode from the room, banging the door behind him, by way of impressing Edith still more forcibly with the nature of his opinion. Edith was disappointed. She had expected sympathy at least from Victor, had surely thought he would be pleased to have her for his mistress, and his words, " I would rather see you dead," hurt her cruelly. Perhaps every body would say so. It was an unnatural match, this union of autumn and spring, but she must do some- thing. Any thing was preferable to the aimless, listless life she was leading now. She could not be any more wretched than she was,.and she might perhaps be happier when the worst was over and she knew for certain that she was Richard's wife. Sis wife I It made her faint and sick just to say those two words. What then would the reality be ? She loved him dearly as a guardian, a brother, and she might in time love him as her husband. Such things had been. They could be again. Aye, more, they should be, and determining henceforth to keep her own counsel, and suffer Victor to believe it was Grace in- stead of herself, she ran into the garden, where she knew Richard was walking, and stealing to his side, caught hia arm ere he was aware of her presence. " Darling, is it you ? " he asked, and his dark face be- came positively beautiful with the radiant love-light shining out all over'it. Every day the hope grew stronger that the cherished object of his life might be realized. Edith did not avoid him as he feared she would. On the contrary she rather sought his society than otherwise, never, however, speak- ing of the decision. It was a part of the agreement that they should not talk of it until the four Wueks were gone, the weeks which to Richard dragged so slowly ; while to Edith they flew on rapid wing; and with every rising sun, she felt an added pang as she thought ho\f DEgTTNT. 239 soon the twelfth of May would be there. It wanted but four days of it when she joined him in the garden, and for the first time since their conversation Richard allud- ed to it by asking playfully, " what day of the month it was ? " " The eighth ; " and Edith's eyes closed tightly over iho tears straggling to gain egress, then with a mighty eflbrt she added, laughingly, " When the day after to-morrow comes, it will be the tenth, then the eleventh, then the twelfth, and then, you know, I'm coming to you in the library. Send Victor off for that evening, can't you ? He's sure to come in when I don't want him, if he's here," and this she said because she feared it would be harder to say yes if Vic- tor's reproachful eyes should once look upon her, as they were sure to do, if he suspected her designs. Richard could not understand why Victor must be sent away, but anything Edith asked was right, and he replied that Victor should not trouble them. " There, he's coming now ! " and Edith dropped the hand she held, as if fearful lest the Frenchman should suspect. This was not the proper feeling, she knew, and return- ing to the house, she shut herself up in her room, crying bitterly because she could not make herself feel differ- ently ! The twelfth came at last, not a balmy, pleasant day as May is wont to bring, but a rainy, dreary April day, when the gray clouds chased each other across the leaden sky, now showing a disposition to hang out patches of blue, and again growing black and heavy as the fitful showers came pattering down. Edith was sick. The strong ten- sion of nerves she had endured for four long weeks was giving way. She could not keep up longer; and Richard breakfasted and dined without her, while with an aching head she listened to the rain beating against ner wiu- 240 DAEKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. dows, and watched the capricious clouds as they floated by. Many times she wished it all a dream from which she should awaken; and then, when she reflected that 'twas a fearful reality, she covered her head with the bed- clothes and prayed that she might die. But why pray for this? She need not be Richard's wife unless she abose he had told her so repeatedly, and now she too fcald " I will not ! " Strange she had not thus decided be- fore, and stranger still that she should be so happy now she had decided ! There was a knock at the door, and Grace Atherton asked to be admitted. ".Richard told me you were sick," she said, as she sat down by Edith's side ; " and you do look ghostly white. What is the matter, pray ? " " One of my nervous headaches ; " and Edith turned from the light so that her face should tell no tales of the conflict within. " I received a letter from Arthur last night," Grace con tinued, " and thinking you might like to hear from Nina, I came round in the rain to tell you of her. Her health is somewhat improved, and she is now under the care of a West India physician, who holds out strong hopes that her mental derangement may in time be cured. Edith was doubly glad now that she had turned her face away, for by so doing she hid the tears which drop- ped so fast upon her pillow. "Did Arthur mention me?" she asked, and Grace knew then that she was crying. Still it was better not to withhold the truth, and bend ing over her she answered, " No, Edith, he did not. I believe he is really striving to do right." " And he will live with Nina if she gets well ? " came next from the depths of the pillows where Edith lay half smothered. DESTINY. 241 "Perhaps so. Would you not like to have him?" Grace asked. " Y e-e-e- s. I sup-pose so. Oh, I don't know what I like. I don't know anything except that I wish I was dead," and the silent weeping became a passionate sob- bing as Edith shrank further from Grace, plunging deeper and deeper among her pillows until she was nearly hid- den from view. Grace could not comfort her ; there was no comfort as sh 3 saw, and as Edith refused to answer any of her ques- tions upon indifferent topics, she ere long took her leave, and Edith was left alone. She had reversed her decision while Grace was sitting there, and the news from Florida was the immediate cause. She should marry Richard now, and her whole body shook with the violence of her emotions; but as the fiercest storm will in time expend its fury, so she grew still at last, though it was rather the stillness of despair than any healthful, quieting influence stealing over her. She hated herself because she could not feel an overwhelming joy at the prospect of Nina's recovery; hated Arthur because he had forgotten her; hated Grace for telling her so ; hated Victor for saying he would rather see her dead than Richard's wife; hated Mrs. Matson for coming in to ask her how she was ; hated her for staying there when she would rather be alone, and made faces at her from beneath the sheet; hated everybody but Richard, and in tune she should hate lam at least, she hoped she should, for on the whole she was more comfortable when hating people than sho had ever been when loving them. It had such a harden- ed effect upon her, this hatred of all mankind, such a don't care influence, that she rather enjoyed it than other- wise. And this was the girl who, as that rainy, dismal day drew to its close and the sun went down in tears, dressed herself with a firm, unflinching hand, arranging her hair 11 242 DAEK1TE88 AND DAYLIGHT with more than usual care, giving it occasionally a sharp pull, as a kind of escape valve to her feelings, and utter- ing an impatient exclamation whenever a pin proved obstinate and did not at once slip into its place. She wag glad Richard was blind and could not see her swollen eyes, which, in spite of repeated bathings in ice-water and cologne would look red and heavy. Her voice, however, would betray her, and so she toned it down by warbling snatches of a love song learned ere she knew the meaning of love, save as it was connected with Richard. It was not Edith Hastings who left that pleasant chamber, moving with an unfaltering step down the winding stairs and across the marble hall, but a half-crazed, defiant woman going on to meet her destiny, and biting her lip with vexation when she heard that Richard had company college friends, who being in Shannondale on business had come up to see him. This she learned from Victor, whom she met in the ball, and who added, that he never saw his master appear quite so dissatisfied as when told they were in the library, and would probably pass the night. Edith readily guessed the cause of his disquiet, and impatiently stamped her little foot upon the marble floor, for she knew their pres- ence would necessarily defer the evil hour, and she could not live much longer in her present state of excitement. u I was just coming to your room," said Victor, " to see if you were able to appear in the parlor. Three men who have not met in years are stupid company for each other ; and then Mr. Harrington wants to show you ofij I dare say. Pity the widow wasn't here." Victor spoke sarcastically, but Edith merely replied, u Tell your master I will come in a few minutes." Then, with a half feeling of relief, she ran back to hei room, bathing her eyes afresh, and succeeding in remov- ing the redness to such an extent, that by lamplight no era* would snspect she had been crying. Her headacho DE8T1JSY. 243 was gone, and with spirits somewhat elated, she started again for the parlor where she succeeded in entertaining Richard's guests entirely to his satisfaction. It was growing late, and the clock was striking eleven when at last Richard summoned Victor, bidding him show the gentlemen to their rooms. As they were leaving the parlor Edith came to Richard's side, and in a whisper so low that no one heard her, save himself, said to him, " Tell Victor he needn't come back." He understood her meaning, and said to his valet, " I shall not need your services to-uight. You may re- tire as soon as you choose." Something in his manner awakened Victor's suspicions, and his keen eyes flashed upon Edith, who, with a haughty toss of the head, turned away to avoid meeting it again. The door was closed at last ; Victor was gone ; their guests were gone, and she was alone with Richard, who seemed waiting for her to speak ; but Edith could not. The breath she fancied would come so freely with Victor's presence removed, would scarcely come at all, and she felt the tears gathering like a flood every time she looked at the sightless man before her, and thought of what was to come. By a thousand little devices she strove to put it off, and remembering that the piano was open, she walked with a faltering step across the parlor, closed the instrument, smoothed the heavy cover, arranged the sheets of music, whirled the music stool as high as she could turned it back as low as she could, sat down upon it, crushed with her fingers two great tears, which, with all her winking she could not keep in subjection, counted the flowers on the paper border and wondered how long she should probably live. Then, with a mighty effort she arose, and with a step which this time did not falter, went and stood before Richard, who was beginning to look troubled at her protracted silence. He knew she was near him now, he could hear her low breathing, and he waited anxiously for her to speak. 244 DARKNESS ASTD DAYLIGHT. Edith's face was a study then. Almost every possiblfl emotion was written upon it. Fear, anguish, disappoint- ed hopes, cruel longings for the past, terrible shrinkinga from the present, and still more terrible dread of the fu- ture. Then these passed away, and were succeeded by pity, sympathy, gratitude, and a strong desire to do riwht. The latter feelings conquered, and sitting down by Rich ard, she took his warm hand between her two cold ones and said to him, "'Tis the twelfth of May to-night, did you know it? " Did he know it ? He had thought of nothing else the livelong day, and when, early in the morning, he heard that she was sick, a sad foreboding had swept over him, lest what he coveted so much should yet be withheld. But she was there beside him. She had sought the op- portunity and asked if he knew it was the twelfth, and, drawing her closer to him, he answered back : "Yes, dar- ling ; 'tis the day on which you were to bring me your de- cision. You have kept your word, birdie. You have brought it to me whether good or bad. Now tell me, is it the old blind man's wife, the future mistress of Colling- wood, that I encircle with my arm ? " He bent down to listen for the reply, feeling her breath stir his hair, and hearing each heart-beat as it counted off the seconds. Then like a strain of music, sweet and rich, but oh, so touchingly sad, the words came floating in a whisper to his ear, " Yes, Richard, your future wife ; but please, don't call yourself the old blind man. It makes you seem a hundred times my father. You are not old, Richard no older than I feel ! " and the newly betrothed laid her head on Richard's shoulder, sobbing passionately. Did all girls behave like this? Richard wished he knew. Did sweet Lucy Colling\voo