THE M IP/11 GHT (
 
 
 
 / 'v i .1 > Tv\ v* 
 
 **- x - W 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 

 
 , ^ ;.( > .";:': ^;v>-:-.., 
 
 yV "/' s< ^~ ' ' ^ 
 
 v^^^ 
 
 - . 
 // 
 
 /."', ,'/ 'Ai l it / t>7 \ 
 
 m 
 
 
 wm 
 
 . 
 ,\xrv,6 A I \---iK Sae^-^t 1 5SSxw?s^^;^Fi 
 
 ^ ^w 
 
 ^^ r^SI, 
 
 ^VJWE 
 
 SS^^V^^^*^ SR^ "^ ; 
 
 Vteix W
 
 THE MIDNIGHT CRY 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 JANE MARSH PARKER 
 
 AUTHOR OF " ROCHESTER A STORY HISTORICAL." 
 
 NEW YORK 
 DODD, MEAD & COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1886, 
 BY 
 
 DODD, MEAD & COMPANY.
 
 PS 
 
 pzzj 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER. PAGE. 
 
 I. PRISCILLA OTTOWAY, I 
 
 II. THE PROMISED LAND, - II 
 
 III. NAN, - 19 
 
 IV. THE BOY PREACHER, - 33 
 V. COUSIN CHRISTOPHER, - 42 
 
 VI. THE BRECKINRIDGE TREE, - 49 
 
 VII. SIR VICTOR NEVANDELESS, - 60 
 
 VIII. THE HERMITAGE, 70 
 
 IX. MARS SAM, - 86 
 
 X. ELDER STIGGINS, - 96 
 
 XI. " EPOCHS FOCALIZE, - 109 
 
 XII. AN OLD MASTER, - 123 
 
 XIII. THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY, - -136 
 
 XIV. AT THE DOOR, - 158 
 XV. ASHES OF ROSES, - ' J 77 
 
 XVI. FROM THE DEAD, 194 
 XVII. THE HANDMAID OF THE LORD, - 203
 
 'V CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER. PACE 
 
 XVIII. BEFOGGED, - 212 
 
 XIX. WINNING THE GAME, - 223 
 
 XX. WINDS OF DOCTRINE, - 236 
 
 XXI. HAPPY VALLEY, - 245 
 
 XXII. THE DAY AND THE HOUR, - 261 
 
 XXIII. AND IT CAME TO PASS, - - 271 
 
 XXIV. AFTER ALL, 282 
 
 XXV. ON SHARON'S PLAIN, 291
 
 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PRISCILLA OTTOWAY. 
 
 SOME fifty years ago the traveller through 
 the Genesee Valley and there were 
 many seeking farms on its fertile flats in 
 those days might have seen from the high 
 land stage road between Canawagas and Mount 
 Morris, in the wide lowland stretching far to 
 the westward, a big stone chimney and the broad 
 gable of a house, which, as one caught a glimpse 
 of them through the hoary old pine trees, 
 showed in striking contrast with the homes of 
 the most prosperous farmers, even those who had 
 been among the first to take up land on " the 
 Phelps and Gorham Purchase." There was little 
 to be seen of the house beside the great chim 
 ney, but the well cleared acres surrounding it 
 the stumpless meadows and cultivated fields 
 the winding avenue of elms, and the great barns,
 
 2 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 were sure to awaken the curiosity of the traveller. 
 The big chimney looked discontented and mis 
 anthropic, as if conscious that its wide throat 
 had been made for naught as far as hospitality 
 went, when its visible link with the world was 
 nothing but that slender thread of a path, 
 scarcely discernible to a tramping peddler a 
 foot-path opening upon an obscure cross road, 
 while the gate well padlocked was a half 
 mile from the highway, and fully that distance 
 from the longest stretch of its afternoon shadow. 
 Nor was the curiosity of the stranger lessened 
 by the warning posted up conspicuously, in full 
 sight of the highway " Trespassers must look 
 out for the dogs." 
 
 " You're right, stranger," Jerry Burns, the old 
 Valley stage driver was pretty sure to be say 
 ing to some one among his passengers when 
 that sullen looking chimney came in sight 
 "it is about as lunsum a house as you'll see in 
 these parts. Queer place for buildin' but 
 queer kinder folks lives over there, as nigh as 
 folks as don't know 'em, and nobody does, can 
 find out. 
 
 " Barley Flats is the name it goes by and 
 they don't raise a ter'bul sight of barley nuther
 
 PklSCILLA OTTO WAY. 3 
 
 No, I was never over thar and never 
 
 expecter be not while them big dogs are 
 runnin' on the place English mastiffs a half 
 dozen nur more. Yis, it's stun cobble stun 
 and was built by a Tory refergee not two 
 years after Sullivan went through here and 
 whipped the red-skins, whipped 'em so they 
 stayed whipped. The man who built that 
 house bought his land of the Injuns but how 
 he put up such a buildin' in those times is hard 
 tellin'. Some say the old feller meant to set 
 himself up as a kinder big baron out here and 
 have things his own way with the Injuns and 
 the British to help him. He hadn't a living 
 soul for company but a half dozen slaves, men 
 and wimin and two or three Mohawk boys. 
 He'd some trouble in the Old Country killed 
 somebody most likely, or some girl most killed 
 him it's all the same 'bout and he meant to 
 live here in the woods and have it out with his 
 niggers and Mohawks, when something took 
 him back to England and there he died. Such 
 a house full of old picturs and odds and ends 
 of queer things you never see. He must have 
 bought out no end of vandues, for I've hearn 
 tell that there's piles of old chiny and Dutch
 
 4 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 dressers, and humbly old chairs, and a lot of 
 portraits nobody knows the names of. The 
 English heirs had a heap of trouble in getting 
 the title fixed up, square. The Injuns had no 
 right to sell the land, you know, but that was 
 settled with the State somehow and after the 
 old house had stood empty for years an Eng 
 lishman came and took possession, and had 
 hardly got settled, and his two old maid sisters 
 had just arrived, when he died of Genesee fever, 
 and there was them two lorn women all alone 
 in a strange land, savin' a nurse that had been 
 sent up from Rochester by one of the doctors 
 there. The same woman, if you'll believe, who 
 is livin' there to-day. That's John Wilson's 
 grave that white fence there in the medder. 
 His sisters went back to England after most 
 crying their eyes out, and Priscilla Ottoway, 
 that's her name, stayed on the place, and 
 whether she rents it or has bought it or if 
 they gave it to her out an nout nobody knows, 
 but there she stays and if that house was an 
 island in the Pacific Ocean it wouldn't be more 
 shet off from the world. 
 
 "Yes, sunthin of a family. Sech as she has 
 picked up since the Wilsons went away two or
 
 PRISCILLA OTTO WAY. 
 
 three darkies, runaway niggers most li 
 she takes Garrison's Liberator and a flax 
 headed boy. I remember the night she come up 
 in the stage with that baby in her arms, and 
 the old darkie she was mighty careful shouldn't 
 open his head to nobody. 
 
 " What does she look like ? " At this point 
 Jerry would express his sense of the inadequacy 
 of words by a long drawn sigh " Well, stranger, 
 mebbe you're used to seein' handsomer women, 
 but I ain't. She never goes to meetin', nor 
 attends preachin', and she has no more to do 
 with folks around here than if they were Hot 
 tentots. There's no use in a preacher tryin' to 
 get over there to labor for her soul, and to get 
 her to pay suthin' for the gospel in these 
 parts, for there's those big dogs and it's no use 
 tryin' to talk with her when she's off her own 
 groun'. She turns yer over to that darkie and he's 
 mummer than death. No, she don't hire much 
 extra help. There's a couple of Scotch boys 
 and their mother livin' on the place, but they 
 don't know much more'n the rest on us. She 
 works in the hay field herself sometimes in 
 fact there's little she can't do, I guess. No, she 
 isn't a young woman, but gray hair somehow
 
 6 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 don't make her look old. Ever hear of the big 
 camp meetings we have out here ? No ? well 
 she owns the camp ground, the prettiest grove 
 in the Genesee Valley, but she lets us have it 
 only on condition that no one goes near the old 
 stun house, and we've never once seen her or 
 any of the rest of 'em on the groun'. The post 
 master says she don't get no letters, only once 
 a year or so, and then one comes from England, 
 but she takes a heap of newspapers, and I've 
 seen Garrison's Liberator myself with her name 
 on the wrapper. I'd advise you not to try it, 
 stranger. I've seen those dogs myself." 
 
 The story of the old house and its occupants, 
 as told by Jerry Burns, was in the main true, 
 but the gossips never dreamed that the sisters 
 of John Wilson, the prim old English ladies 
 who spent a melancholy summer in severe seclu 
 sion at Barley Flats, knew no more about Pris- 
 cilla Ottoway themselves than they did. Often 
 in their lonely tea drinkings before the parlor 
 window, from which they could see the grave in 
 the meadow, they had betrayed to each other 
 their uneasiness as to the antecedents of the 
 capable woman so providentially sent to them 
 in their extremity, who made no response when
 
 PRISCILLA OTTO WAY. ^ 
 
 they softly prattled their appreciation of her 
 rare merits. They had urged her to go back to 
 England with them, but she had declined so 
 positively they had not courage to ask her 
 a second time. She wished to become the 
 owner of Barley Flats, she had said. She could 
 pay for the property in time, and they had been 
 pleased to let her have it upon easy terms, so 
 loath were they to leave John's grave in the 
 care of strangers. 
 
 " Please keep it always as much like a bit of 
 old England as you can. We will send flower 
 seeds from our own garden, daffodils, orchis, 
 lady's smock, blue bells," and Miss Abby kept 
 count on her shadowy fingers. 
 
 " The springs here are late so very late 
 and to think of the winters in this desolate 
 spot." She shut her lids down close and 
 shuddered. " What will you do, Ottoway, when 
 the snow piles up in high drifts between you and 
 the road?" 
 
 " Sit by the fire and spin." 
 
 The sisters looked at each other in hopeless 
 bewilderment. Then Miss Abby said with less 
 warmth : 
 
 " You must have a care for the ivy. I shall
 
 8 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 send you a root from the church-yard at home, 
 Ottoway. We shall write to you, ourselves, at 
 least once a year, and you must tell us how the 
 place looks the grave I mean " 
 
 " Certainly," turning around and around a cap 
 which she was fluting, and seemingly absorbed 
 in it. 
 
 There was a long pause, in which the sisters 
 exchanged timid glances, each wishing the 
 other would be more courageous for once, or 
 this attempt to draw Ottoway out in conversa 
 tion would prove as futile as preceding ones. 
 
 " I am sometimes afraid you will regret taking 
 the place," ventured Miss Rachel at last. " In 
 that case " and she paused. 
 
 " Whatever comes, I shall stay here as long 
 as I live," was the low measured response. " I 
 am my own master," and Ottoway serenely 
 proceeded to array Miss Abby in the freshly 
 fluted cap carefully bowing the wide snowy 
 strings as if nothing else in the world were 
 worth consideration and leading the old lady 
 before the mirror to pronounce upon the effect. 
 "Will you have the other made like this?" 
 
 For once Miss Abby surprised her waiting 
 woman, for instead of commenting upon the
 
 PRISCILLA OTTO WAY. 9 
 
 exquisite workmanship of her head-gear she 
 turned from the mirror abruptly, and clutched 
 nervously at Ottoway's arm. 
 
 " But how are we to address your letters ? 
 Is it Miss Ottoway or Mrs. Ottoway ? " 
 
 A faint smile softened Priscilla Ottoway's 
 firm mouth. 
 
 " Address me as Priscilla Ottoway. That is 
 all sufficient. Will Miss Rachel have her cap 
 made up like this one ? " seemingly unconscious 
 that caps were as far from the mind of Miss 
 Rachel as they ever could be, and that the 
 sisters were doubting if they might with pro 
 priety leave John's grave in her charge. 
 
 Their failure to learn more from Doctor El- 
 wood, who had provided them with their most 
 capable nurse, quite disheartened them. Miss 
 Abby wrote to him the next day couching 
 her enquiries in a style of suggestive allusion 
 that made it rather hard for the doctor to de 
 cide whether Miss Abby looked upon her 
 " highly esteemed servant " as saint or adven 
 turess. 
 
 " I know nothing about her," he wrote 
 " only that she is the best nurse I ever knew, 
 and a superior woman in every way. She came
 
 io THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 to Rochester in charge of the sick wife of an 
 English gentleman. She had offered her serv 
 ices to him on the packet boat. After the 
 death of her patient, she proved invaluable to me 
 as a thoroughly competent nurse. That there 
 is a mystery about her I admit, yet I believe 
 she is a woman whose history if known would 
 increase our respect. I feel your difficulty in 
 asking her if she were married or single. A 
 question so easily asked in most cases is not 
 easily asked of her. I could have told you 
 that it would not be answered." 
 
 " There is this comfort about it, Rachel," 
 faltered Miss Abby, when Ottoway had bidden 
 them farewell in the ship's cabin " John's 
 grave is just as safe as if we knew all about her. 
 If he were alive, dear then it would be very 
 different, you know very different "
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE PROMISED LAND. 
 
 LET me help you to see her as she was when 
 she used to sit in the east porch of the 
 old stone house, those summer days when 
 Jerry Burns was telling every thing he knew 
 about her to the travellers by the Valley stage. 
 Climbing the padlocked gate on the cross 
 road, we follow the lane through the clover 
 meadow. Letting down the heavy bars, we 
 rest if we will at the seat beneath the oak, 
 where the grass is worn away, and find a book 
 or two in the niche provided for them Spenser 
 or Shakespeare, Buffon's Natural History, or 
 possibly a treatise upon the diseases of horses. 
 Still another pair of bars, a brook gurgling 
 through irregular patches of mint, trees newly 
 planted, and nearer the house where the lawn 
 is like velvet, belts and patches of flowers. 
 Great dogs are dozing or gamboling in the sun, 
 a man's voice is heard singing in the big barn,
 
 12 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 a parrot calls from the porch, a gigantic 
 negress in gorgeous head-gear is moving about 
 the open kitchen door, and there in the wide 
 porch the fairest of landscapes framed in the 
 roses over-hanging it sits the woman we seek. 
 A family of kittens frisk about her, the old cat 
 dozes at her feet, an open book is in her lap, 
 her knitting in her hands. She is looking 
 across the fields with clear, penetrating vision 
 a reposeful eye undimmed by tearful revery, 
 a satisfied face its striking characteristic per 
 haps its absence of expectancy and yet unlike 
 most faces revealing that lack ; it is hopeful 
 rather than sad. A low, wide forehead, impe 
 rious chin and mouth, full lips and large ivory, 
 not porcelain, teeth. Her hair is snowy white, 
 and soft as spun silk ; its mist of short ringlets 
 surmounted by a matronly cap of yellow lace, 
 the scarflike ends of which are pinned across 
 her breast with an antique brooch of pearl. 
 She might pass for thirty-five, but for her white 
 hair and matronly cap. There is a healthful 
 glow in her clear olive complexion, and the 
 sharp click of her needles tells how little she is 
 affected by the enervating heat of the breathless 
 day. Her hands are a trifle large and brown
 
 THE PROMISED LAND. 13 
 
 with exposure, but the tapering finger-tips show 
 a dainty and accurate touch. Her fingers are 
 ringless, but that signifies little to the curious 
 at a time when many a wife and mother had no 
 hoop of gold. She wears a gown of India mus 
 lin, the full flowing sleeves revealing her rounded 
 arms, and sturdy, supple wrists. A housewife's 
 apron of brown brocade, the big pockets some 
 what overladen, lends a picturesqueness to her 
 costume. A woman above the medium height, 
 one whose face and form would furnish the 
 model for Boadicea driving her chariot to the 
 front of the battle that is Priscilla Ottoway 
 of the old stone house in the Genesee Valley. 
 
 The gossips were right : the two blacks 
 were runaway slaves. On her way home 
 from New York she had fallen in with old 
 Merit. Having left the line boat, to walk 
 across a section of country around which 
 the Erie canal wound tortuously, she had 
 heard his pitiful prayer from the thicket where 
 he had crawled to wait for the Lord's deliver 
 ance : " Ole Mas'r up dere in glory will tell ye 
 Fse jis' as much 'count as old 'Lijah. Didn't 
 yer say you'd nebber let yo' people die in de 
 wilderness, and ain't I gwine ter die right heah
 
 14 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 in de bushes if de ravens don't bring caun and 
 bacon right smart 'long? " 
 
 " I know'd he'd drive his cha'yot wheels dis 
 way," he said, following Priscilla Ottoway to 
 the boat, where he managed to keep his prom 
 ise to tell nothing about himself and to feign 
 deafness marvellously well. 
 
 "The white-headed boy," one of the results 
 of this same journey, she had taken home with 
 far more misgivings. The November rain had 
 carried away a bridge the Valley stage reached 
 late in the night. Priscilla Ottoway and Merit 
 were the only passengers. At the cabin where 
 they found shelter a baby was born that night, 
 the mother's life going out with its feeble wail. 
 The young father, who had been alone but for 
 their arrival, had begged her to take his mother 
 less child, and she had sat waiting for the day, 
 unable to say yea or nay, when the black man 
 broke in : 
 
 " I wish my ole Meriky was heah. She'd 
 nebber gib up dat baby. De Lawd isn't gwine 
 ter send moah angels 'long dis road in a hurry. 
 S'pose now, Miss Prissy, de Lawd laid dat baby 
 cross your lap for nothun? Mistis" and he 
 spoke with sharp abruptness " it come to me
 
 THE PROMISED LAND. 15 
 
 all of a sudd'n, or I wouldn't speak up so peart. 
 I'se been heahing my Meriky. She says, ' Take 
 dat baby. I'se comin' Norf to be its black 
 mammy. I'se gwine ter hab one baby dey 
 can't sell.' " 
 
 " Hush, Merit." 
 
 He curled down before the fire, and she told 
 him to light his pipe. Stuffing the tobacco into 
 the bowl, he broke out again : 
 
 " Tears like I heah her say, ' I'se comin' Norf 
 to hab one baby dey can't sell.' " 
 
 The end of it all was Priscilla Ottoway took 
 the child for her own. 
 
 " Mary used to say," sobbed the father, " that 
 if it were a boy she should call it Philander. 
 You see it was at a husking bee she first saw me 
 and I was singing ' Come, Philander, let us be 
 a marchin'.' I wish you'd call him Philander, 
 that's all I'll ask, and be good to him for Mary's 
 sake." 
 
 True enough, before April of that next year 
 America had become one of the household at 
 Barley Flats. When Priscilla Ottoway had 
 helped old Merit off in the disguise of a deaf 
 old valet whose master had sent him back to 
 Kentucky with the necessary passports, she
 
 1 6 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 never expected to see him again, never in the 
 world. But one stormy night, as she sat 
 with the baby, the dogs became strangely ex 
 cited, and when she opened the door there 
 stood old Merit, a tall, broad-shouldered negress 
 close behind him, who paid little heed to wel 
 come or greeting, but strode directly to the 
 cradle and silently studied the baby's face. Her 
 stature not only belittled Merit, watching her 
 nervously, but the room and everything in it. 
 She looked as if hesitating about remaining, 
 then she pushed him back from the cradle with 
 grumpy impatience, and taking up the child, 
 sat down with it before the fire. 
 
 " Yis, mistis, we'se cum a long way, and dis 
 baby was all dat fotched me. I reckon dey'll 
 
 nebber find us " settling back comfortably 
 
 with the baby on her shoulder. " Merit knowed 
 bettah dan tell me 'twas so fah. I'se right smart 
 tuckered out totin' him along." 
 
 Priscilla Ottoway had barred her gates against 
 the world. Barley Flats was a world of itself, 
 and within its borders for her at least there was 
 peace, something she believed the world outside 
 could never give her more. The blacks had 
 their domestic broils, 'twas true, but they were
 
 THE PROMISED LAND. 1 7 
 
 devoted to her, and as happy as their tempera 
 ment permitted. The place changed wondrously 
 under the five years of her superintendence. 
 Every nook and corner was made to yield its 
 full measure of use and beauty. She had 
 created a new world out of an old not only in 
 the farm but in her own life a patient creation, 
 the evolution of vigilant industry and single 
 ness of purpose. Everything should yield its 
 best. John Wilson's grave was a blaze of glory 
 from spring to fall. Baby Phil had grown with 
 everything else blossom he never would the 
 silent, reserved, unattractive child, submissive 
 to a fault unless opposed. He was the con 
 stant companion of his black " daddy," whose 
 education of the lad had one severe limitation 
 he was never to teach him anything of God or 
 the Unseen. A painful restriction this to pious 
 old Merit, but Priscilla Ottoway would have 
 separated them entirely rather than that the 
 child's mind should be poisoned, as she held, by 
 superstitious fancies. He would find the truth 
 in due time, or like herself he would be con 
 tent in the denial of such discovery. 
 
 " I can teach him only what I know myself, 
 and what do I know of things unseen ? The
 
 1 8 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 desire to understand His silence shall not 
 tempt me into querulous altercation with the 
 Unknowable. If He has personality, if He is 
 my Father, he is something more than mere 
 physical processes of Nature, than law. That 
 fact, if such it is, is yet to be revealed to me. If I 
 am blind, born blind, and He will not open mine 
 eyes, shall I rebel ? And will He condemn my 
 failure to find what I have bruised myself in the 
 seeking? I shall teach Phil nothing that is mere 
 speculation, superstition. Better nothing to 
 hold by than a rope of sand." 
 
 She taught him to read, and he was an apt 
 scholar, but nature was the book he liked best, 
 and the black man was his favorite teacher. 
 Merit's disappointment was in the boy's hope 
 less dissimilarity to " Mars Sam " of the old 
 Kentucky plantation. It was pathetic to see 
 the black man trying to develop a love of mis 
 chief in the solemn little fellow, by telling him 
 the mad pranks of the lad, he was proud to 
 declare, w r as still his master and owner, and for 
 whom his heart never ceased yearning.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 NAN. 
 
 QRISCILLA OTTOWAY had gone to New 
 York believing that when the " Busy Bee " 
 had sailed she could go back to Barley Flats, and 
 be as lost to the world as it was her desire to be. 
 But an outcome of that journey had been a link 
 with the world and the past she sometimes 
 feared might open her door to an unwelcome 
 guest one she could not dismiss. 
 
 While waiting for the boat that was to take 
 her homeward, she could not resist taking a 
 stroll in the city, the streets of which were 
 plainly familiar to her. She was closely veiled, 
 and any one observing her movements would 
 have discovered that the object of her walk 
 was reached when she came to a discouraged 
 looking dwelling on a cross street near lower 
 Broadway, a house seemingly overawed by its 
 newer and finer neighbors. Nothing about
 
 20 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 the house escaped the guarded look she gave 
 it : the dingy curtains, broken shutters, the 
 pitcher with a broken nose on the upper win 
 dow ledge, and the name Ottoway on the 
 unpolished door plate. She was hurrying on 
 with quickened pace, and had unconsciously 
 lifted her veil, when a wan faced girl flitted like 
 a moth around the corner and in another 
 instant was clinging to her skirts. 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Prissy ! We thought you were 
 dead ! " 
 
 There was no eluding the child, no deceiving 
 her. 
 
 " Hush, Nan," and together they sat down 
 upon a seat in a neighboring park. " And 
 your father is still living ? Promise me you 
 will say nothing of this meeting. There, good 
 bye. Be a good girl, Nan let me go good 
 bye, dear." 
 
 But no, the girl held her fast. She was an 
 odd figure in her tawdry fine hat, a silk shawl 
 trailing behind her, her kid slippers held on by 
 dexterous shuffling. Her big blue eyes, as she 
 stood with a tight grip upon Priscilla Otto- 
 way, suggested a wax doll transfixed with 
 amazement.
 
 NAN". 2 1 
 
 " There now, let me go, Nanny." 
 
 " I am going with you," with despairing 
 uncertainty. Then imploringly, " Come home 
 and see papa." 
 
 "No, Nanny, that cannot be Mind, you 
 must not tell him, nor your mother, that you 
 have seen me." 
 
 " He had a letter only the other day." She 
 seemed to be testing the reality of things by 
 slow speech. " I read it to him. Senor Al- 
 meyda is dead. He died in a prison in Lisbon." 
 
 " Ah " the hard lines deepening around her 
 mouth. 
 
 " The letter wanted to know if you had ever 
 come back. Senor Almeyda left some money, 
 and they wrote to papa about it. I'll go and 
 get the letter if you will only wait." 
 
 " No, Nanny, no " with imperious decis 
 ion " I am dead." The girl turned pale 
 and relaxed her hold. Priscilla Ottoway 
 stepped beyond her reach and was turn 
 ing away when with a faint wail the arms 
 were outstretched imploringly 
 
 " Only tell me one thing, Aunt Prissy. 
 How may I find you some time when papa is 
 dead and there is nobody in the world ? "
 
 22 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 " Hush, Nanny," concealing her from passers- 
 by, "your step-mother will make a home for 
 you." 
 
 " But she does not love me," her hold 
 tighter than before, " and papa, oh he is so 
 very ill." 
 
 Priscilla Ottoway had never been able to 
 account for doing what she did before that 
 painful interview was ended. She wrote upon 
 a slip of paper the name and address of Dr. 
 Elwood and gave it to the child who hid it in 
 her bosom promising repeatedly never to 
 reveal the meeting, nor to make use of the 
 address in finding her aunt unless there were 
 no one else in the world to befriend her. 
 
 " If you should ever receive a letter asking 
 about me," Priscilla Ottoway had written to 
 Dr. Elwood, "you will please not answer it 
 without my consent and advice." 
 
 He had promised. Among the yesterdays 
 inexorably banished, that one would have a 
 hearing oftener than most others. Only for 
 that slip of paper how perfect her separation 
 from her old life! 
 
 " Tears like somefin's gwine fur ter 'appen," 
 Merit was growling to himself one afternoon as
 
 NAN. 23 
 
 he jogged over the road from the post-office, 
 with a letter for Priscilla Ottoway; a letter 
 which had lain in the office nearly a fort-night, 
 as the postmaster said. " I'se been ' lowin dat 
 de Lawd was doin' widout Miss Prissy's help 
 dis long time now. He hasn't been troublin' 
 her much all dese yeahs. If I'se not mistooken 
 somfin's comin." 
 
 Nanny Ottoway was coming to Barley Flats 
 on the morrow. 
 
 It was too late to prevent what would surely 
 have been prevented had Priscilla Ottoway 
 received the letter in due season. Midnight 
 found her sitting alone before the smouldering 
 hearth log. Why was she so unwilling to open 
 her door to her own brother's child ? 
 
 She brought from the antique cabinet in the 
 dusky corner, an odor of India boxes filling 
 the room with the creaking of the unused 
 hinges, a miniature on ivory, the face of her 
 mother, a fair young Quakeress in snowy cap, 
 a strong face, like and yet unlike her own a 
 serious face, bewitching for the demure coquetry 
 in the dove-like yet resolute eyes. 
 
 She replenished her dying fire and studied 
 the miniature, remembering how uncommon it
 
 24 THE MIDNIHGT CRY. 
 
 was for a Friend to have a miniature painted. 
 When had a Hallowell committed such sin 
 before ? Then she remembered that this picture 
 of her mother was painted when the worldly 
 doings of the Friends of Philadelphia were har 
 rowing the souls of the elect. Ruth Hallowell 
 had gone up from Happy Valley to visit her 
 mother's kindred in the great wicked city, and 
 her kindred were rulers in the world of fashion. 
 Had not Aunt Priscilla Hallowell given Ruth 
 a white satin petticoat quilted with flowers and 
 lined with cream colored Persian silk, which she 
 had worn to the fine dinner party at which she 
 met the young Oxonian, Reginald Ottoway, the 
 enthusiastic missionary sent to Pennsylvania by 
 Mother Church to help subdue the heresy of 
 George Fox in the stronghold of Quakerism ? 
 They had loved each other, her father and 
 her mother. And looking at the miniature she 
 recalled the old story, and the opposition that 
 pretty Quakeress had defied, even the revela 
 tions of her stern mother with the gift of 
 tongues ; visions that alas were true prophecies 
 of an unhappy marriage. Musing over the min 
 iature she was back in Happy Valley again 
 the Friends' settlement among the mountains
 
 NAN. 25 
 
 of Pennsylvania lost behind the high hills 
 shutting in the broad brimmed roofs, under 
 which lived the descendants of martyrs whose 
 rigid orthodoxy and separation from the world 
 had been rewarded by an abundance of this 
 world's goods, and whose great stone houses 
 dated from colonial times. The Hallowells and 
 the Hathaways were the mighty land owners of 
 Happy Valley, and the Reverend Reginald Otto- 
 way must have been zealous beyond discretion, 
 she thought, when having married a Quakeress 
 who had vowed to convert him to her faith and 
 never to apostatize from that of her fathers, 
 he founded a mission, or rather attempted to 
 found one, on the very border of Happy Valley. 
 She could recall, as she sat there with the min 
 iature before her, an impression nothing more 
 that the mission languished and the priest 
 was disheartened. The memory was dim at 
 the best ; her father's death and the sending of 
 her brother Joseph to his friends in New York, 
 her mother's death, her brother a handsome 
 boy in his teens, and a few years her senior, 
 standing with her beside that coffin. Never 
 would brother and sister be separated again ; 
 and that was farewell to Happy Valley.
 
 26 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 Her candle burnt out and the fire was low. 
 Why was she unwilling to open her door to her 
 brother's child ? Before she could answer, 
 another face in her memory's keeping must be 
 confronted ; the face which more than any 
 other she had banished for years. The lan 
 guishing eyes had not changed, nor had he lost 
 his haughty bearing, the high and airy pose of 
 his distinguished head : a gay conscienceless 
 creature, he stood before her again, Seftor 
 Almeyda, his gaze defying her scrutiny. 
 
 " What a devilish plot it was ! " and she start 
 led Jacko her parrot into croaking testily. " Two 
 scheming men, one of them my only brother, 
 plotting their escape from financial ruin by the 
 sacrifice of my fortune, happiness, everything. 
 And now his child comes, bringing it all back 
 to me." 
 
 She lived it all over again. A marriage 
 urged by her brother, precipitated by him ; her 
 fortune saving the firm from ruin ; her learn 
 ing not a fortnight after the wedding of the 
 Spanish woman and her boys in Brazil, of how 
 her brother had intercepted the poor woman's 
 letters to her there was no doubting the evi 
 dence of it all and then her sudden resolve,
 
 NAN. 2 7 
 
 and the letter Sefior Almeyda found when he 
 came in whistling from his club. 
 
 " I know everything. The Brazilian corres 
 pondence, her letters and yours and my 
 brother's, are in ashes on the hearth. The for 
 tune of which you two have robbed me will 
 hardly save the firm of Almeyda and Ottoway 
 from dishonor. Think of me as dead." 
 
 With Nanny Ottoway in the shadow of the 
 old chimney the house was transformed, for 
 her silvery laughter rang out from its most 
 sombre corners. Even the grim old portraits 
 seemed trying to look hilarious when she chat 
 tered to them, and gave them droll names and 
 a history. The twanging, jangling old harpsi 
 chord broke out in frolicsome waltzes, and 
 Merit and America were enticed into dancing 
 on the lawn, to the very melodies Mars Sam 
 used to play on his fiddle down in Kentucky. 
 But little Phil was disinclined to be reconciled 
 to the change and had long pouts in his solitary 
 retreats in the corn field. Pompey-Dick, 
 Merit's pet crow, was another rebel. When 
 Nanny was playing on the harpsichord he 
 might be seen flitting ominously from one old 
 portrait to another, or perching on his master's
 
 28 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 shoulder blinking his sinister eye, he had but 
 one, with an occasional sepulchral caw. 
 
 " Tears like you hain't no manners, Pompey- 
 Dick ; you Ve laid out to hab dem dangles in 
 her ears. She'll cuff ye yet right smart, ole 
 fellah. I shan't warn ye agin 'bout dat ar. 
 Yu's don't like her I see dat in your debbil 
 of an eye." Then in tender confidence: " 'Jes' 
 ye wait, Pompey-Dick, she gwine ter wilt foah 
 de mont's ober. She isn't dat kind ob an 
 angel I'se been prayin' de Lawd for to send for 
 Mars Phil. She'll nebber teach him and Miss 
 Prissy and Meriky abouten de fire and de brim 
 stone and de cha'yot wheels ; but de Lawd 
 knows de darkness dere is outen on dis farm I 
 s'pose. I'se tole him offen nuff." 
 
 Merit was a good prophet. Not many days 
 went by before the music and the dancing and 
 the rhapsodies over the seclusion of the place 
 were at an end, and the lengthening days of 
 negative contentment began. Then came the 
 season of despair, when Annie shut herself for 
 hours in her chamber. Priscilla Ottoway was 
 not blind to her unhappiness, nor was she dis 
 appointed. She would give Annie another 
 home in good time. And then the November
 
 NAN. 29 
 
 rains began, when the girl would sit alone by 
 her window gazing wistfully at the far off belt 
 of woodland, shutting her out as she fancied 
 from the happy world. She shunned the whole 
 household, particularly little Phil, and repelled 
 her aunt's attempts to lighten her solitude. 
 When the snow lay deep in the valley, hiding 
 the fences between the old house and the high 
 road, she went to her bed to lie there day 
 after day, speechless, and apparently helpless. 
 Neither was that a surprise to Priscilla Otto- 
 way, nor would she listen to America's proposed 
 remedies, whereby the girl should be startled 
 out of her dormant state. 
 
 " It is the outcome of inherited tendencies," 
 said Priscilla Ottoway, tending her as a baby and 
 without calling in a physician. There she lay 
 upon her pillow until the slow footed summer 
 came back, and with it the July days and the 
 annual camp meeting. 
 
 The scent of the hay fields came in through 
 the open windows, through which could be seen 
 the tents on the camp ground. 
 
 Soon after sunset the singing of the wor 
 shippers fell upon Annie's ear; the monotonous 
 wail of a revival hymn uplifted by hundreds of
 
 30 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 voices. As the strains swelled higher and fuller, 
 she turned on her pillow and listened. She 
 was alone. Priscilla Ottoway had been called 
 from home on business for a few days, and 
 America and Phil were lost in their early 
 slumbers. 
 
 Merit was sitting on the kitchen doorstep, 
 Pompey-Dick on his shoulder. His pipe was 
 out. He, too, was listening to the singing, and 
 listening he remembered Zion and the pine 
 wood camp meetings down in old Kentucky. 
 It was a familiar hymn, the very one "de 
 bredderin " shouted when he came up from the 
 waters of baptism, old Mars Joswer stand 
 ing on the bank, and little Mars Sam with a 
 dog by the collar. That was a favorite hymn 
 of old Merit's. His inmost soul was yearning 
 to uplift his cracked basso with the faithful, 
 but he had promised Miss Prissy he would stay 
 away, and so he would. 
 
 " Mis' Prissy," he confided to Pompey-Dick, 
 " tinks she's gwine ter keep we 'uns in de dark 
 and dat gospel light ain't no count. I'sealost 
 candle sputterin' heah all alone. I'se most all 
 in de snuffers, but de time's a comin' when Mis' 
 Prissy and Meriky can't blow dis niggah out
 
 NAN. 31 
 
 eny moah. She s an awful sinnah, my Meriky. 
 If I know'd dat dose preachers down dare soon 
 as dey sot eyes on me, would say dat's Breckin- 
 ridge's niggah, would I go down dar? Dat's 
 de question, Pompey-Dick. O Lawd ! what a 
 sinnah I'se gittin'." 
 
 The singing had ceased. The whip-poor- 
 wills and the frogs were in full concert. He sat 
 with his face buried in his hands. Would he 
 never again sing with the saints of Zion ? 
 
 He heard a light footfall behind him and 
 pressed his hands closer to his eyes. His heart 
 stood still ; one croak from Pompey-Dick, who 
 darted into the bushes. 
 
 " O Lawd ! O Lawd ! " 
 
 " Merit," in a low soft voice, and there 
 stood, could he believe his eyes ? Miss Annie 
 in her white dress, her hair flowing over her 
 shoulders. 
 
 " I am going down to the camp ground. Yes, 
 I am," imperiously. "And you must get up the 
 low chaise. We can drive along the lane, and 
 keep hidden in the shadow of the trees. You 
 must go. Bring me the big camlet cloak. I will 
 sit here until you are ready. Don't be long." 
 
 " Dat's de way He's always susprisin' me wid
 
 32 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 His angelzes," muttered Merit, harnessing the 
 horse. " Allus makin' me tink dey's somebody 
 comin'. If I know'd dat was Miss Annie now, of 
 co'se I couldn't be drivin' off like dis and she flat 
 on her back six muns or moah."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE BOY PREACHER. 
 
 CHRISTOPHER BURKE, whose fame as 
 "the boy preacher" drew an unusually 
 great multitude to the camp ground that year, 
 was holding his hearers spell-bound when 
 Annie, with Merit closely following, found a seat 
 near the pulpit. The night was oppressively 
 warm. The camlet cloak slipped from Annie's 
 shoulders, and her bonnet was laid aside. 
 Merit had made her a comfortable seat with 
 the chaise cushions, and the great oak 
 tree behind which she sat screened her from 
 observation. Every one was too deeply 
 absorbed in the boy preacher to note her 
 arrival. In a brief time she was enwrapt with 
 the rest, and Merit's fervid " Amen " was added 
 to the frequent response of the great congre 
 gation. The preacher was telling in homely 
 phraseology, but with a strikingly musical voice, 
 the story of how he had been drawn to the
 
 34 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 Valley camp ground that day a deviation 
 from the track of the pilgrimage which he was 
 making on foot. He could no longer be called 
 " a boy preacher," he told them, although it 
 was only seven years before when a youth of 
 sixteen, he had gone forth alone to preach the 
 gospel to the lonely cabins of the settlers in the 
 Ohio and Genesee Valleys. 
 
 " I heard the voice of Him that leadeth me, 
 saying : a soul, a solitary soul, sits in great 
 darkness waiting for your coming to that meet 
 ing ; a soul knowing not the cause of its restless 
 expectancy, that it is the hunger for truth 
 eternal, the thirst for the water of life." His 
 clairvoyant gaze swept over the sea of upturned 
 faces, but not until he met the transfixed gaze 
 from the white face behind the great oak was 
 the recognition mutual. His quest was ended, 
 and he bowed his head in prayer, that the soul 
 standing at the opened door of its prison-house 
 might have the wings of a dove and soon be at 
 rest. 
 
 In vain did Merit urge her withdrawal when 
 the meeting broke up. The people were 
 crowding around the young preacher. She 
 knew he would come to her, and he did. He
 
 THE BO Y PREA CHER. 35 
 
 held her limp hand a moment and said some 
 thing about her soul's unrest, then Merit fairly 
 carried her away. 
 
 " You must keep shet of dis yeah, Miss 
 Annie, less yer wants to hab de powah, and go 
 jumpin' ober de benches and de pulput like 
 de debbil. Wen I got 'ligion, Miss Annie, 
 nuffin' could hoi' me. Old Mars Joswer, he 
 'low'd to Mars Sam " 
 
 " Never mind the story to-night, Merit. 
 Good-night. Be sure and put the cloak just 
 where you found it." 
 
 She went down to her breakfast the next 
 morning to America's grumpy astonishment. 
 Had she failed to do so, but remained silent 
 and helpless on her bed, Merit had believed 
 he had been having another vision. The chaise 
 was ordered, and America saw Miss Annie drive 
 away with him little dreaming where they 
 were going. A letter from Priscilla Ottoway 
 that day announced that she might not return 
 for a week. But she did not tell Annie that 
 she had made arrangements for her removal to 
 the home of a physician on the Hudson. 
 
 " I'se no use for sech gwines on," America 
 broke out when she learned the state of things
 
 36 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 with Miss Annie ; that she was a constant 
 attendant upon the camp meetings, and could 
 pray, as Merit said, "above de best of 'em." 
 " Somebody's watchin' her. Somebody wid 
 an ebil eye. Dere's no knowin* what she'll do 
 foah Miss Prissy gits home. You'se a gone 
 coon, Mars Phil, if dey onct gits dere ebil eyes 
 on you. You'll be no count to Miss Prissy any 
 moah. Merit dar will go foolishin' round 'em 
 till he finds 'is sef back in Kentuck', see now 
 if he don't. De whole of 'em would stop dere 
 prayin" any time to catch a fust class run'way 
 niggah." 
 
 The night Priscilla Ottoway came home she 
 found a note pinned to her pillow. Annie was 
 to be married the next morning to the " boy 
 pilgrim " Christopher Burke. She was then on 
 the camp ground. 
 
 " Christopher is a poor man. He has noth 
 ing but what is given him by the poor people 
 on his circuit. I am to go with him on his long 
 journeys." 
 
 " Silly child," mused her aunt, inclosing a 
 well filled purse in the little trunk of clothing 
 she sent after her. " Poor Nannie ! It is her 
 fate. That feverish taint in her blood : the
 
 THE BO Y PREA CHER. 3 ^ 
 
 mixture of zeal for conversion of Quakers with 
 the gift of tongues." 
 
 Five years after that summer, during which 
 time Priscilla Ottoway heard nothing from 
 the boy pilgrim and his wife, Christopher 
 Burke stood beside his carpenter's bench sadly 
 troubled in mind. 
 
 His strong-jointed hands kept their hold of 
 the plane he was pushing energetically to and 
 fro on Sister Rider's coffin when Deacon Soule 
 entered. 
 
 It was high noon of a stifling July day. 
 The sun smote the unshaded shanty with a 
 pitiless fierceness. The rear door standing 
 open gave a glimpse of green grass, and gay 
 flower beds. A child's laughter rang in occa 
 sionally above the constant droning buzz of the 
 saws in the neighboring mill. ' The front door 
 opened upon the main street of " the Holler," and 
 was flanked by two immense coffins, standing 
 upright, their open lids suggesting sepulchral 
 traps. The Mediterranean of " the Holler " 
 was a goose pond ; its forum the post-office 
 opposite Christopher Burke's coffin shop. 
 Deacon Soule was post-master, merchant, mag 
 istrate and grand magnate generally of the set-
 
 38 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 tlement fifteen or twenty houses at the most, 
 huddled together in a stumpy clearing, some 
 thirty miles from the Adirondacks. 
 
 Christopher Burke was the preacher of the 
 section. Like the apostolic tentmaker of old 
 he did not depend upon his labors in the gos 
 pel for the support of his little family. Saint 
 Paul was a tentmaker for the living, he for the 
 dead : he made coffins. His invalid wife and 
 their one little girl Marjory lived in the humble 
 tenement back of the shop. Mrs. Burke was 
 not a favorite with "the Holler" folk. In 
 fact they seldom if ever saw her. She never 
 went " to meeting," and the judgment of the 
 majority of the Christians of those parts was 
 that she was not the living epistle a preacher's 
 wife ought to be. 
 
 Every day in the summer the stage horn 
 broke the perfect calm of " the Holler " ; when 
 the fishermen from New York and Albany 
 merry parties off for a Waltonian holiday not 
 only criticised the " God-forsaken place," but 
 were given to making Christopher Burke's star 
 ing coffins targets for green apples and the like. 
 On the day in question, Deacon Soule, who 
 sought the prosperity of " the Holler " second
 
 THE BO Y PREA CHER. 39 
 
 only to that of Jerusalem, had been over to 
 remonstrate with Elder Burke against the 
 defacement the place suffered from his eccen 
 tricity in advertising. Meeting with no encour 
 agement that the offensive wares would be 
 removed, Deacon Soule had expressed the wish 
 that the Methodists would make haste and 
 finish their chapel ; he wasn't a " Methody " 
 himself, but he wanted to see the town grow 
 ing, and the place made attractive to settlers. 
 
 " The day's gone by for a place like this to 
 be dependin' on a travellin' preacher. The folks 
 are mighty pleased with that Elder Starky. 
 They say his wife can preach as well as his self 
 and has a farm over in Galway besides." Just 
 then his quick eye discerned a boy with a tin 
 pail, a prospective customer, and he shot out 
 between the coffins, lending a momentary air 
 of activity to the drowsy corners. 
 
 " That is just what it is coming to," said 
 Christopher Burke, mechanically resuming his 
 work, to stop short the next minute, as if his 
 muscles were leaden, " and then where is 
 bread coming from?" He took off his paper 
 cap and dropped it on the shavings. " I know 
 it is coming. Those Methodists are going to
 
 40 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 crowd me out. Deacon Soule will help them. 
 Taking away those coffins, those sermons to 
 the godless who hang around the Hollow, 
 wouldn't change things. I wish I could talk to 
 Annie. Well," with a deep sigh, a firm shut 
 ting together of the thin lips, " if it is the 
 Lord's will it is mine. He shall lead me, step 
 by step, to the bitter end." 
 
 Again the shavings are curling round the 
 plane, and a child's laughter is heard in the 
 little garden. He hears it, and stops a mo. 
 ment to listen, and with no lessening pain. 
 
 " I shall hear His voice in this darkness. I 
 must. The message will come." The far- 
 away sound of the stage-horn was borne to 
 him on the lifeless air. I may get a letter 
 to-night, I believe I shall, calling me to preach 
 somewhere next Sunday. I used to get calls 
 enough, more than I could answer. Something 
 has gone wrong, has changed the hearts of 
 this people. Though He slay me, I will trust 
 in Him." 
 
 Another long blast from the stage-horn, then 
 the rumbling of the old coach across the long 
 covered bridge. Down the dusty road it came, 
 the dusty vehicle his hope had transformed
 
 THE BOY PREA CHER. 4 1 
 
 into a chariot of salvation. Another long pause 
 in his work, in which a mouse crept across the 
 lid of Sister Rider's coffin, and then he walked 
 slowly on to the post-office. 
 
 Only one letter by that mail, and that was 
 for him. 
 
 Strange, he thought, that it should be ad 
 dressed to " Mr. Christopher Burke." 
 
 Deacon Soule was inclined to comment on 
 the same, and did say something about it doing 
 preachers no good to set up shop as if the 
 gospel calling were not to be trusted, but 
 Christopher Burke was deaf to all but what his 
 heart was saying, 
 
 " It is from the Lord, the message has come 
 at last."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 COUSIN CHRISTOPHER. 
 
 "DEAR COUSIN CHRISTOPHER: 
 
 " I have found you at last. That we are 
 cousins you will not question, when I have 
 given you the proof of that same. 
 
 " Your father was a younger brother of my 
 father. I am bound to say you never knew 
 before where your relations were, if you knew 
 you had any. I know your story, an orphan 
 boy given away to emigrants going West. A 
 fine time I have had tracking you, and now 
 you may thank your stars that I did not give 
 up the search." 
 
 Christopher read on slowly through the 
 closely-written sheets his cousin had sent him. 
 He was the fifth generation in descent from 
 one Captain James Burke, an Englishman, his 
 cousin had written out his pedigree in full, and 
 the heirs of that James Burke had been adver 
 tised for in the English papers. An attorney
 
 COUSIN CHRISTOPHER. 43 
 
 had written from London offering to take up 
 their case. Two million pounds lay in the 
 Bank of England awaiting them if they could 
 prove their relationship. A convention of 
 Burkes was to be called forthwith. Would 
 Christopher come to it, and would he go to 
 London to represent the heirs? 
 
 The shop seemed spinning around as he sat 
 there staring hard at vacancy, a strange ringing 
 in his ears. 
 
 No, he would not tell Annie, not until he 
 was quite sure. To see her cheated of a hope 
 like that, the very thought was unbearable. 
 What a day it would be to him, and to her, 
 when he might tell her that she was a poor 
 travelling preacher's wife no longer, that their 
 sorrowful poverty was at an end! But he 
 would first be sure, very sure, that this great 
 Burke fortune was not a myth. How confi 
 dent he was of his heirship already. 
 
 He would write to his cousin at once, telling- 
 
 o 
 
 him that he would be in New York without fail 
 at the time of the convention (D. V. of course). 
 It was hard to find paper whereon to write, and 
 in rummaging his high desk which contained 
 his library, three books at the most, the rat-
 
 44 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 tling of the coin in the box containing the con 
 tributions for the new meeting house, startled 
 and confused him. He had been amiss in 
 depositing it. Deacon Soule had asked him 
 several times if he had done so. Deacon Soulc 
 seemed very uneasy about the safety of a fund 
 that could not exceed ten dollars at the most. 
 He would have to borrow money to go to New 
 York. Surely there was no reason why he 
 should hesitate in borrowing of that box, con 
 sidering that he should be able at no distant 
 day to restore fourfold. 
 
 He was doing his best with his sputtering 
 pen, pale ink and excited brain when a little 
 girl ran through the shop, singing out that she 
 was going to ask Deacon Pendleton for a little 
 skim-milk. Mamma had sent her, and she was to 
 tell him that there was nothing for their supper 
 as if that were something to be merry over. 
 He did not see her when she came back with an 
 overflowing pail, a big butterfly held fast in 
 her fingers. But she insisted on his hearing 
 that she had seen a wiggly snake, and ever so 
 many squirrels. 
 
 " Yes, my dear little daughter. Eat it your 
 self. You and mother. I am not hungry."
 
 COUSIN CHRISTOPHER. 45 
 
 He mailed the letter at once, and then ordered 
 a pound of Deacon Soule's best coffee, and a 
 liberal supply of other necessaries, with a con 
 fidence that fairly stupefied that merchant, who 
 was already despairing of a partial payment of 
 the preacher's account. 
 
 " Coin' to preach over to Cranberry to-mor- 
 rer? " without turning to the supplies. 
 
 " No. Not to-morrow. And a dozen eggs 
 please, Brother Soule." 
 
 " Yes ; oh yes. Tears like interest is dyin' 
 out savin' with the Methodys. They seem to 
 have money enough." 
 
 "And so shall I in a few days, more than 
 enough to pay you and every one who has 
 helped me over a hard spot." The exhilaration 
 in his voice and manner had instant effect, and 
 his wants were promptly supplied. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it. The Lord will never 
 forsake His people. How much did you say 
 there is in the contribution box ? " 
 
 " Ten dollars perhaps ; possibly a trifle 
 more." 
 
 " Better let me carry it over to Funder to- 
 morrer." 
 
 The preacher walked out with a springing
 
 46 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 step. The next morning he surprised Annie 
 by telling her he was going away on the down 
 stage, might be gone several days, Deacon 
 Soule would let her have what was necessary. 
 She listlessly received his parting kiss, never 
 asking him where he was going. But the brown 
 bare-footed little Marjory clung to his hand 
 until the last moment, and then she ran in the 
 dust behind the stage until it left her crying 
 alone by the roadside. 
 
 Not many days after, " the Holler " was in 
 a whirlpool of excitement. 
 
 Christopher Burke had mysteriously disap 
 peared. His wife lay in a semi-unconscious 
 state and could tell nothing. 
 
 The contribution box was empty ; Deacon 
 Soule could explain that deficit. 
 
 For a week or more the excitement was 
 intense, then it gradually ebbed away, the more 
 important matter of how the deserted wife and 
 child were to be provided for taking its place. 
 Then an unknown woman, from no one knew 
 where, arrived, and taking possession of the 
 coffin shop and the destitute family, promptly 
 paid every demand upon the preacher, and made
 
 COUSIN CHRISTOPHER. 47 
 
 good the meeting house fund, besides giving 
 away the scanty household goods. Before the 
 little community could find out who she was 
 and where she came from, they saw her driving 
 away with the preacher's wife and child. 
 
 " That beats all that ever happened in these 
 parts," said Deacon Soule, proceeding to appro 
 priate the two great coffins at the shop door. 
 " Who ever see neater things for vegtibuls and 
 sech?" 
 
 " De lightning hab struck sum war," Merit 
 had told Pompey-Dick a week before this event 
 at Mills Hollow, when after carrying a letter to 
 his mistress she had lost no time in leaving 
 home, only bidding America to have the east 
 chamber in readiness for her return. " Didn't I 
 heah de Lawd sayin' only last night, ' Keep a 
 prayin', Brudder Merit, and you'll fetch de 
 cha'yot and all de hosses will be a wearin' of 
 deir golden bells' ? " 
 
 Christopher Burke had been persuaded by his 
 erratic cousin, who had met cold response from 
 the Burke family generally, to go to England and 
 secure the great fortune. He had barely money 
 enough to pay his passage. His faith in the 
 English Burkes made the rest seem easy, even
 
 48 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 his unexplained desertion of wife and child. 
 It would all come out right in the end. When 
 he was worth thousands of dollars, what would 
 Annie think of the pangs it had cost them ! So 
 he had sailed away, but not without sending a 
 letter to Priscilla Ottoway, begging her to haste 
 to the relief of her brother's child, who, with her 
 little daughter, was in extreme need. 
 
 " Until I come back to them which God 
 grant I may some day they will know nothing 
 of me, and I must bear as best I can the thought 
 that Annie believes I have forsaken her for 
 ever."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE BRECKINRIDGE TREE. 
 
 A MERICA'S strong arms carried Annie up 
 \ to the east chamber, and laid her tenderly 
 upon the bed, in the old place. She gave no 
 signs of interest in anybody or anything. 
 
 " I 'lows dis is a laster," she said in return to 
 Priscilla Ottoway's brief explanation of her 
 absence. " She won't be runnin' out'n dis yer 
 any moah. She's cum back to de old brack 
 mammy for good," crossing her arms serenely. 
 " She'll be my baby for good and allus, my 
 baby to keep. I 'lows she cumfatabler heah 
 than she's bin sence she got up afoah, when 
 dat preacher sot his ebil eye on her," cursing 
 him under her breath. " Some folks gits rested 
 one way and some anudder. She'll take aheap 
 moahrestin' dan mos' of us." 
 
 " I 'lows," meekly ventured Merit, when Pris 
 cilla Ottoway had left them there alone, for 
 the capering chattering little girl was insisting
 
 50 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 upon going to the woods she saw from the win 
 dow to find her papa, " dat de Lawd '11 shake 
 her up when de time cums. He's makin' ready 
 to shake us yer from the sellah doah to de eave 
 tfofs an' dat 
 
 She silenced him with a look, and he crept 
 submissively away, doubting if Miss Annie had 
 been out of that room for years and years, and 
 if he had not been under a delusion and snare 
 concerning her marriage and absence. He 
 found Phil putting up a swing in the barn for 
 the little girl, who having never seen a negro 
 before, impatiently questioned him as to the 
 effect of soap upon his face and hands. 
 
 The years went by, and Annie Burke still lay 
 in a trance-like condition most of the time, 
 betraying no interest in anybody or anything. 
 Not until Marjory had grown to be a tall slip of 
 a girl, did there come a gradual awakening of 
 the suspended energies : something akin to the 
 beatific states, long flights, as Plotinus calls 
 them, of the alone to the alone ; visions she 
 made feeble efforts to relate, if any one would 
 assist her in recalling them. Christopher 
 Burke's name was unmentioned in all those 
 years, nor was his memory interwoven by ever
 
 THE BRECKINRIDGE TREE. 5 1 
 
 so faint a thread with her fantasies. Marjory 
 had early learned that her father was not to be 
 spoken of, not even to Phil, who when she had 
 timidly or defiantly introduced the subject, 
 always succeeded in diverting her from it. 
 
 Such a royal playfellow he was for her, the 
 solemn faced boy ; bending down tall saplings 
 for her riding ; helping her to climb up to the 
 nests he guarded with loving care ; letting her 
 have a hand in breaking the colts, or thinking 
 she did ; and when would he not leave work or 
 books or almost anything to fly the wonderful 
 kites he made for her, down in the broad 
 meadow? He taught her to read, besides, but 
 she never found a story book so fascinating as 
 Merit's stories of old Kentucky ; stories she 
 encouraged his telling over and over and with an 
 elaboration of detail the old man delighted in. 
 She was perfectly acquainted with Uncle Joshua 
 and Mars Sam and Miss Titia, and knew the 
 maze of the Breckinridge pedigree so accu 
 rately, the second marriages, adopted heirs, 
 and remote branches, the exact size of the 
 slipper worn by each of the Breckinridge beau 
 ties and other important details, that he often 
 had to refer to her when his confused memory
 
 52 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 needed prompting. She had even helped him 
 in drawing the Breckinridge tree on the barn 
 door ; that tree with a branch quite as conspic 
 uous as the main trunk. The rest of the family 
 were heartily tired of the old story and sternly 
 frowned upon its repetition, particularly Phil, 
 but Marjory would even encourage him to tell 
 her how the big branch was Samuel Ashland 
 Breckinridge ; how his mother was a Breckin 
 ridge ; and that it was in her getting married 
 the second time that all the trouble came about 
 somehow, yet only that for that second mar 
 riage there had been no Mars Sam, and even 
 the Breckinridges without Mars Sam had been 
 of little account. 
 
 The mother of Samuel Breckinridge afore 
 said, was first married to the Honorable John 
 Barkenstone. Letitia Barkenstone, " Miss 
 Titia," had been educated at the North, her 
 handsome fortune happily secured from her 
 spendthrift step-father, who scattered his wife's, 
 and left her an almost penniless widow, when 
 the boy Samuel was but a lad. He was her 
 only son, and a bachelor uncle, Uncle Joshua, 
 gave them a home on his Blue-grass plantation. 
 Their relations with Letitia Barkenstone had
 
 THE BRECKINRIDGE TREE. 53 
 
 become unpleasant and almost completely sun 
 dered because of that lady's espousal of the 
 cause of the Abolitionists ; her guardian at the 
 North, with whom she had lived since her 
 mother's second marriage, being a prominent 
 leader of the unpopular movement. Uncle 
 Joshua died when Samuel Breckinridge was a 
 wild boy at Harvard. His landed estate fell to 
 Letitia Barkenstone ; his slaves to Samuel 
 Breckinridge ; the mother having died long 
 before. 
 
 Before Letitia Barkenstone had passed her 
 majority, her devotion to the slave became the 
 absorbing enthusiasm of her life. Nothing 
 could entice her into the meshes of matrimony. 
 Her time, her strength, and her dollars, were 
 devoted to the bondman. Martyrdom for the 
 slave was something to be prayed for, and her 
 cross was in the denial of a martyr's crown by 
 the pathway Garrison and Lovejoy had made 
 glorious, for her at least. Upon her Uncle 
 Joshua's death, she was possessed with the idea 
 of manumitting his old slaves ; buying them at 
 any cost ; making Samuel of course her ward 
 and heir. She reached the plantation soon 
 after Uncle Joshua's funeral, and won the im-
 
 54 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 pulsive Sam to adopt her scheme straight 
 way. Not that he was ambitious to become a 
 second Wilberforce, but empty pockets were 
 inconvenient, and life on a Blue-grass planta 
 tion had few attractions for the gay Harvard 
 boy. He would not consent to give up 
 "Daddy " Merit, however. All the rest might 
 go, but Daddy Merit why he would as soon 
 think of selling Uncle Joshua, had that saint 
 been spared to earth ! The scheme evolved 
 other difficulties, petty differences between him 
 and his autocratic sister, and the result was a 
 bitter quarrel. More than that, the enlistment 
 of every planter in the locality against the 
 woman who was spreading her offensive views, 
 even in the cabins of the slaves. Her imme 
 diate departure was requested ; not only re 
 quested, but significantly advised. In her re 
 sentment she sold her lands at a sacrifice, and 
 returned to Philadelphia, leaving her half 
 brother to get on as he might. The breach 
 between them was declared by her to be irre 
 parable. In his desperate strait, Samuel Breck- 
 inridge rented his slaves to the buyer of the 
 estate, a wretched specimen of a Yankee over 
 seer, and then, that he might never witness
 
 THE BRECKINRIDGE TREE. 55 
 
 what he knew they would suffer, left the 
 country. 
 
 No one knew where he went, least of all Leti- 
 tia Barkenstone, who declared in their last 
 interview that she had washed her hands of 
 Samuel Ashland Breckinridge forever. 
 
 But the old slaves of Uncle Joshua she did 
 not give up so easily. 
 
 She sent an agent secretly to effect their 
 deliverance from their cruel task-master. Old 
 Merit was pouring out his full heart in prayer 
 in his pine woods oratory, when the tempter 
 met him. America had driven him out in her 
 wrath, and he had had no supper, and that when 
 he had smelt the corn roasting on leaving 
 his hard work in the field. He could never 
 decide satisfactorily who was the more to blame 
 for his " cl'arin' out " that night, Miss Titia or 
 'Meriky. Miss Titia's money was in his pocket, 
 and 'Meriky's tongue in his ears ; but before 
 he had gone many miles the former gave out, 
 and he longed to hear the latter, and dimmer 
 and colder grew the North Star. 
 
 " You see, Mis' Margie, Mis' Titia was fur 
 drivin' us all up out o' Egypt wedder we was 
 ready for gwine or not. Jcs'as if Moses hadn't
 
 5 6 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 waited for de Lawd to start off all de people at 
 onct, but had been hidin' in de woods, coaxin' 
 'em to run off to de wilderness one on 'em at a 
 time. Dat's de way she run me off. Me and 
 'Meriky ought to have marched up heah with 
 t'ousands all playin' on deir harps and fiddles 
 and sech. I'se 'shamed to say, I is, dat I was 
 de fust Breckinridge niggah dat eber made free 
 trash of hisself, and I'se no free trash eder, if 
 Mars Sam's livin'. I'se a fifteen hundred dol 
 lar niggah, and b'longs to Mars Sam." 
 
 " How old would Mars Sam be if living ? " 
 asked Marjory one day. 
 
 Had she demanded an astronomical calcula 
 tion, the effect upon Merit had hardly been dif 
 ferent. He pulled desperately at his wool nib- 
 bits, then strode solemnly to the barn door and 
 faced the Breckinridge tree. Taking a piece 
 of chalk, he began making a quantity of hier 
 oglyphics. 
 
 " Wai, I reckon Mars Sam was nigh on ten 
 year old when his mudder died. And old 
 Uncle Joshwer sez, sez he, ' Merit, you jis 
 keep yo' eye on dat boy.' And I had to be 
 spry, Mis' Margie, dat he didn't get out'n sight. 
 Den Mars Sam he went schoolin' up Norf,"
 
 THE BRECKINRIDGE TREE. 57 
 
 pointing to a marvellous symbol of Harvard. 
 " De first Kissmas he come home I didn't know 
 him jis for de whiskers. He was nigh o' age 
 when Uncle Joswer died, and it wasn't six 
 weeks ater we was all down to de pine woods 
 meetin' house, and I was gwine ter preach dat 
 night and Mars Sam was bound to hab a 
 lark. And I jis read my tex' when in frew de 
 doah kem all Mars Sam's dogs a yelpin' and 
 tarin', for hadn't he bin draggin' a mackeral 
 long de floah and inter de pulpit, and dere was 
 no turnin' dose dogs out, and dat was gret fun 
 for Mars Sam' ! ' 
 
 " But how old would he be to-day, Uncle 
 Merit ? " 
 
 " Dis niggah's head wuks mighty slow sum- 
 times," taking off his hat and searching its 
 inner depths. " As I lib, Mis' Margie, Mars 
 Sam if he's libbin will neber see forty agin. 
 Only tink of dat now," sitting down for con 
 templation. " Heah's I bin talkin' as if he was 
 a handsum young fellah chirp enough for you, 
 Mis' Margie. O Lawd ! " 
 
 Priscilla Ottoway and the old house changed 
 little with the years. Neither acquired a repu 
 tation for hospitality, but the high bars gave
 
 53 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 place to gates, and the warning against the 
 dogs disappeared. The household at Barley 
 Flats were sufficient unto themselves. Jerry 
 Burns still drove the Valley stage. His inter 
 est in the old house lessened with the mystery, 
 yet he would tell snatches of the old story 
 when he had a stranger on the box. 
 
 " A queer kettle of fish they are over there, 
 making the best of it. Odds and ends from 
 all kinds of leavins I take it. Mighty smart 
 girl that Marjory : she'll mount any hoss you 
 can saddle, and some you can't for that matter. 
 Capering over the hay stacks and up to the tree 
 tops like a squirrel. Ever hear of the Boy Pil 
 grim ? He was her father ; run off, you remem 
 ber, with meetin' house money ; never heard 
 from ; never will be accordin' to my notion. 
 Best farm in the valley ; kept up smart ; ther's 
 nothin' payin' Mis' Otterway don't go inter." 
 
 Priscilla Ottoway seldom left the farm. 
 Phil attended to everything that was to be 
 done in the village, and that in a curt reticent 
 way, winning no friends. Marjory would chat 
 ter like a magpie with almost any one, but 
 Phil was a check upon her. And yet Phil 
 never meant to thwart or disappoint her. Did
 
 THE BRECKIXRIDGE TREE. 59 
 
 he not go to Kentucky just to please her in 
 pleasing Uncle Merit ; spending some time in 
 the vicinity of Uncle Joshua's old plantation ; 
 learning all that could be learned of Samuel 
 Breckinridge ; that he was last heard of in 
 Europe where he was leading a reckless life, 
 or as his neighbors said " going to the dogs ! "
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SIR VICTOR NEVANDELESS. 
 
 MERIT'S philosophical proclivities were 
 forever leading him into his besetting 
 sin ; into what in a Thales or a Socrates had 
 been called abstraction, but what in Merit's 
 case was, as America said, " jis moonin' about 
 noffin, settlin' up tings wid de Lawd." 
 
 He naturally chose a hidden nook for his 
 ponderings, his formulating the unanswerable. 
 
 His matrimonial infelicities were never a part 
 of the burden he bore to that hidden nook. 
 Life without the stimulus of the old mammy's 
 temper had been too serene for his liking. He 
 did not even bemoan her contempt of his vis 
 ions, his faith in the unseen. He needed 
 something to make him remember his cov 
 enant. 
 
 His greatest trouble was Mars Sam. His 
 heart yearned for him. If Mars Sam were in 
 trouble, he wished he might know that he had
 
 SIR VICTOR NEVANDELESS. 6 1 
 
 as good as fifteen hundred dollars in a good 
 nigger, who if he had run away all because of 
 Miss Letitia and run off America besides from 
 a neighboring plantation, was ' no free niggah', 
 but belonged to Mars Sam jis the same. Next 
 to Mars Sam was his crow, or rather crows, for 
 he never had been without one pet crow at 
 least, and a world of trouble they had cost him 
 with their thieving. 
 
 After long meditation he resolved upon an 
 experiment. 
 
 " Now jis ye see dis yeah, Mars Phil," show 
 ing the crow's egg he brought up from the 
 woods and slipped into the nest of a circum 
 spect old hen, " I'se gwine ter start right wid 
 dis un. Scripter law is jis as good for crows 
 an' chickens as fur sinnahs. I 'lows de rest 
 on 'em hab bin a bad lot. No moah dat sort a 
 pickin' an' a stealin' round heah. Dey couldn't 
 forget all dey larned wen little chillen down 
 dere in de woods. I shet down right heah dis 
 day on all sich crows. Dis crow is comin' up 
 on gospel plan. You'll see what startin* right 
 an' goin' on right '11 do." 
 
 He stoically awaited the result of his far- 
 sighted vigilance, and then for additional safe-
 
 62 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 guard named the crow chicken after Uncle 
 Joshua's laziest mare, Poll-Betsey. 
 
 Alas ! As Poll-Betsey grew in years and 
 beauty, she was an alarming illustration of 
 hereditary evil. Of all the crows that had 
 flocked to old Merit's shoulder this ten 
 derly nurtured Poll-Betsey was the biggest 
 thief. The morning Marjory's ruby ring 
 was missing, a ring Phil had given her, Poll- 
 Betsey was sentenced to death upon circum 
 stantial evidence. She had been seen in the 
 tree outside her window, that was enough. 
 Merit hobbled away muttering, the condemned 
 bird on his shoulder. Why didn't they suspect 
 one of Merika's white chickens he'd like to 
 know, or the crows in the corn-field? 
 
 " Tings must hab looked wuss dan dis to 
 Aa'on when Moses kep' hid out in de woods," 
 he offered in consolation to his pet. " Moses 
 was cl'ar'gone ; dere was no mistake 'bout dat. 
 Mis' Margie's ring is cl'ar gone ; dere's no 
 mistake 'bout dat. But don't I know de bringin' 
 up you'se had ? I ain't gwine trow up ebery 
 ting at onct, jis as Aa'on did. Why didn't 
 he go and beat de woods for Moses befoah he 
 made a calf an' set de folks a hollerin', like dey
 
 SIR VICTOR NEVANDELESS. 63 
 
 are up in de house 'bout dis? Poll-Betsey, if 
 you'se a tief, so am Meriky's ole hens an' 
 her turkeys. Wussent you all chillen toged- 
 der? Wouldn't de debble cunger dem as soon 
 as you ? I jis hope Meriky's ole gander has 
 dat ring. I'se a min' to open his crop, else 
 how's w'ebber ter find out ? " 
 
 It was time to find Poll-Betsey's nest, Phil 
 said, and so it came to pass that June morn 
 ing in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred 
 and forty-five, that Marjory was up on the 
 roof of the old house, with the intent of ex 
 ploring the thicket of overhanging boughs ; or 
 rather she had climbed up the garret ladder 
 with that intent, but having sat down upon 
 the ridge-pole outside, she forgot the ruby ring 
 and Poll-Betsey's hidden nest entirely unless 
 her dreaming eyes were seeking them in the 
 cloudless blue above her, or off on the misty 
 hills shutting in the wide valley, or down 
 among the meadows, or in the billowy wheat 
 fields, or where the river was gliding away like 
 a silver snake. 
 
 Peering about in the old garret, she had 
 brought forgotten things to light : the faded 
 pink sunbonnet she used to wear in the gar-
 
 64 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 den behind the coffin-shop, when her father 
 stood behind his work-bench with the fragrant 
 shavings around his feet, the drone of the saws 
 in the mill almost drowning his voice as he 
 sang snatches of hymns. How beautiful the 
 world was, but where was he ? What was that 
 chasm in her life into which he had disap 
 peared ? Why did she never study it, look at 
 it fairly, ask questions about it ? Would he 
 never come back? What a great, beautiful 
 world it was ! What a journey the circuit of 
 the landscape would be, how many houses, 
 homes she could see, each one a world of its 
 own, and in many of them young girls like 
 herself ! She had seen and knew some of them. 
 Were they all content to live always in the 
 beautiful valley, to know nothing of the world 
 beyond the hills? She was not. Phil was. 
 That was the difference between them. Phil 
 was precisely like Aunt Prissy in thinking they 
 needed nothing for their happiness but what 
 they had at Barley Flats. 
 
 Phil was calling, a trifle impatiently, from the 
 sky-light ladder : 
 
 " Have you found it ? " 
 
 " Found what ? Oh yes No, I mean.
 
 SIR YICTOK NEVANDELESS. 65 
 
 Come up here. It's like a sky island. I'm 
 lost on a sea of clouds." 
 
 He was not to be diverted from his search. 
 Cautiously making the circuit of the roof he 
 parted the vine tangled hemlock boughs, and 
 soon found the hidden nest behind a dormer 
 window, snugly sheltered by a hoary pine tree. 
 He had hardly found it only for a dazzling 
 ray under the deftly arranged twigs a diamond 
 in the head of what proved to be a gold pen 
 cil. 
 
 Marjory's dreaming was ended. Where in 
 the world had it come from ? Poll-Betsey had 
 stolen it, of course ; and there was America's 
 thimble, and the ruby ring, and a spoon, and 
 no end of bits of bright tin. 
 
 " Somebody in the neighborhood is putting 
 on a tin roof," Phil said, while Marjory was 
 studying the indistinct inscription on the pen 
 cil. 
 
 " I can not make it read any thing but ' Vic 
 tor Nevertheless.' ' 
 
 " Nonsense, as if any one had such a silly 
 name ! And yet it really looks like it, Mar 
 jory." 
 
 " It must be Nevandeless, Phil. Victor
 
 66 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 Nevandeless, what a lovely name ! " her eyes 
 sparkling. " He must be some fine gentleman 
 stopping in the village, a Sir Victor Nevande 
 less perhaps." 
 
 " Nonsense. I'll take the pencil to the vil 
 lage to-night and find out about it. There's a 
 party of land speculators at the tavern now." 
 
 " But don't you remember, Phil, that young 
 gentleman in the velvet hunting dress we saw 
 last summer, who asked you about the trout 
 streams ? Well you know it came out that he 
 was Sir Harry Somebody, and I was always 
 sorry you did not talk with him longer. Now 
 this Sir Victor Nevandeless " 
 
 " Oh, Marjory, how nonsensical ! " he was 
 trying to slip the ruby ring on her finger, but 
 she paid no heed. 
 
 " You must not tell any one about this pen 
 cil, not even Aunt Prissy, until we find the 
 owner and all about it. Promise me that, 
 Phil." 
 
 " But do you care nothing about your ring ? " 
 rather sharply. 
 
 " Oh wish it on, Phil," snatching it off and 
 dropping it upon his outstretched hand a 
 brown knotty hand. " Now say after me just
 
 SIA VICTOR NEVANDELESS. 67 
 
 what I say, then I'll never lose it again." 
 She held up her plump finger repeating : 
 
 " This ring on your finger will stay by you 
 As long as the giver is kind and true." 
 
 For a moment he looked inclined to toss it 
 back to the crow's nest, then he slipped it in 
 place. 
 
 " One would think we were playing at lovers, 
 Phil." He blushed, but she was looking at the 
 pencil again. 
 
 " To think of Poll-Betsey giving us so much, 
 such a chance for a little romance ! Shall I tell 
 you what I expect to find in Sir Victor ? He 
 is tall and only a little older than you, Phil, but 
 he don't look like you one bit," laughing mer 
 rily at his scowl. " His socks are not over his 
 shoes, and his eyes and hair are black as vel 
 vet" 
 
 " Those devilish crows ! " broke in Phil, start 
 ing for the sky-light ; " there's fifty to every 
 hill of corn." 
 
 " Never mind the crows or the corn," and 
 she held him back. " Sir Victor Nevandeless 
 will teach you hawking." 
 
 " I hope he has offered a reward for the pen 
 cil."
 
 63 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 " Oh Phil," with undisguised contempt. " If 
 you take anything for finding that pencil, I'll 
 never forgive you." 
 
 " Not if he is one of those brass-throated 
 stump orators, working the county for Polk ?" 
 They had dropped down in the shadow of the 
 great chimney. 
 
 " But he wont be," her hands clasped 
 around her knees, her eyes far away. From 
 seeing nothing, they suddenly brightened and 
 expanded with discovery. 
 
 " Look off through the trees there, Phil, over 
 the river, up on the hill. Don't you see it, 
 something glistening? Who is building a 
 house right there in the woods? " 
 
 Phil stood up and made a telescope of his 
 hands. Not a mile away from them, as the 
 bee flies, but three or four by the road, a daz 
 zling eye shot through the trees. 
 
 "That's where those bits of tin came from. 
 There's a kind of tower. A queer place for a 
 house. Land is mighty poor about there." 
 
 " Everybody don't care so much for land as 
 you do, for seeing how many potatoes they can 
 get out of an acre. The view from that hill is 
 magnificent."
 
 SIR VICTOR NEVANDELESS. 69 
 
 " I heard them talking at the post office the 
 other night," said he, " that somebody from 
 New York, a rich old doctor, had taken up land 
 about here somewhere for a summer residence. 
 I thought it was over by Conesus, but that 
 must be it, and that's where Poll-Betsey found 
 the pencil." 
 
 "A rich old doctor?" sarcastically. 
 
 " Well, there's no knowing who is with him ; 
 a house full of idiots perhaps. I shouldn't take 
 much stock in a man with such a name : Victor 
 Nevertheless ! " 
 
 "That's because you don't know anything 
 but this farm. Very well," for he was disap 
 pearing down the skylight, " I shall find Sir 
 Victor this very day."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE HERMITAGE. 
 
 AT the base of that turret with a new tin 
 roof, upon the wide porch of Dr. War- 
 dell's charming hermitage in the Genesee Val 
 ley, or rather upon the Genesee Heights, Sam 
 uel Breckinridge was sitting that same after 
 noon, one of a party of four, Dr. Wardell, and 
 the little company so carefully selected for a 
 sojourn " in the wilderness." Skill in whist 
 playing, a preference for "Boz," and indiffer 
 ence to the political ferment of the day, had 
 been eminent qualifications for invitation to 
 this rural retreat. The doctor was Uncle 
 Wardell to them all : Elizabeth Culbertson, 
 Victoria Barry and Samuel Breckinridge, but 
 kinship was remote save with the former, 
 the only child of his twin sister. " Kin 
 lies in something besides pedigree " was an 
 axiom with the doctor. They were a drowsy 
 group that afternoon, too dull for whist or read-
 
 THE HERMIT A GE. ^ l 
 
 ing or sustained conversation. The easy chairs 
 were luxurious, the languorous air heavy with 
 the breath of the clover meadows, and from 
 the cool depths of the woods came bird song in 
 full chorus, with the sound of the mowers in 
 the field beyond. They had each made pil 
 grimage to the Hermitage to enjoy doing noth 
 ing for a while, and that afternoon they were 
 realizing the fulfilment of their anticipation. 
 The expansive old gentleman in the wide 
 bamboo chair was Doctor Wardell, his rosy 
 beaming face suggesting a pink sunflower nod 
 ding above a calyx of snowy ruffle. He was 
 unmistakably the most striking personage of 
 the group. His brass buttoned blue coat, spot 
 less white duck trousers, blue velvet slippers 
 embroidered with ox-eyed daisies, and his silver 
 snuff box within reach on the card table beside 
 him, made a charming picture. He lazily 
 swayed a palm leaf fan, the maccaboy accumu 
 lating on his buff waistcoat and white ruffles 
 with every meditative tap upon the silver box. 
 He had been reading aloud from Pickwick, of 
 which he never tired, in the muffled unevenly 
 modulated voice common in the very deaf. 
 Merit was right. Samuel Breckinridge
 
 72 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 would never see forty again. His bald crown 
 was fringed with iron gray hair. He had a 
 sallow face, very sallow, and his figure was 
 slight. His heavy moustache was white as 
 snow, and there was a capricious gleam in his 
 black eyes, something half contradicting the 
 impression that he was an ennuied, embittered 
 man of the world. 
 
 One thought of Diana when they saw Cousin 
 Beth Miss Culbertson the queenly blonde 
 beauty that she was, with a cameo-like profile, 
 her abundance of hair knotted in a coronet 
 held by a silver comb. She must have been 
 the youngest of the group, yet she, like Sam, 
 would never see forty again. The stout 
 stumpy little figure at her side,, her face nearly 
 concealed by a drooping hat brim, her voice a 
 kind of musical growl, her laughter its echo, 
 was Cousin Vic. That low drooping hat was 
 habitually worn to hide a sadly disfigured face. 
 .*** 
 
 " I've solved the mystery," and Cousin Vic 
 broke the slumbrous stillness by an emphatic 
 heel tap. " The ghost of the dead Pan of this 
 solitude has my pencil." 
 
 " I thought the thrushes were telling you
 
 THE HERMITAGE. 73 
 
 something," yawned Sam. " Possibly when 
 Pan sees the advertisement on the village bul 
 letin board he will claim the reward." 
 
 " And that will be our first call." 
 
 Another long silence. The doctor was asleep. 
 
 " You will never see that pencil again," bit 
 ing off a cigar. " We have the novelty of a 
 mystery." 
 
 " That pencil was my talisman. Did I tell 
 you about the inscription : ' Victor Neverthe 
 less ' ? That is one of Cousin Beth's sermons 
 a reminder. She gave me that pencil years ago." 
 
 " That is where you get your pet phrase, is it, 
 your characteristic rejoinder, nevertheless ? " 
 
 Cousin Beth's hand dropped the fan with 
 which she had been gently fanning the doctor. 
 She too had glided into dreamland. 
 
 " Robinson Crusoe was a happy dog," Sam 
 was soliloquizing. " What a comfort it is to 
 be rid of bells." 
 
 " How do you spell it ? " 
 
 " Either way." 
 
 " But we are not beyond the sound of the 
 church-going bells. You will hear from that 
 steeple in the village next Sunday morning." 
 
 " I was thinking of door bells particularly.
 
 74 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 The exasperating call of most country church 
 bells always reminds me of old Merit. I can 
 see him pulling away at the big cow bell hung 
 high in a pine tree on Uncle Joshua's plan 
 tation, calling the hands to meeting on a 
 Sabbath morning. Uncle Merit usually did 
 the preaching. I would like to know what 
 became of Merit." 
 
 " Perhaps he'll turn up with my pencil." 
 
 Cousin Beth started up bewildered from her 
 doze. 
 
 " I was dreaming of Letitia Barkenstone. 
 She was in an ascension robe. Did I tell you 
 what the madame told me just before we came 
 away, that Cousin Letitia has gone into Miller- 
 ism, and is spending a great. deal of money 
 scattering their books and papers, and is sup 
 porting their preachers ?" 
 
 " Uncle Wardell told me something about 
 it," Sam said, seemingly half asleep, and quite 
 uninterested. 
 
 " Pity Dan couldn't have one of their charts," 
 spoke up Cousin Vic. " The study of one of 
 those flaming hand-bills of prophecy would do 
 Dan good ; would divert him a little from Saint 
 Peter's chair."
 
 THE HERMITAGE. 75 
 
 Sam dropped his cigar, and covered his face 
 with a handkerchief. Cousin Vic threw a 
 light shawl over his shoulders, against which he 
 made feeble protest. 
 
 " I doubt the wisdom of your sleeping here," 
 she said, " but you will have your own way in 
 spite of me." 
 
 " The madame," was Mrs. Wardell, the wife 
 of the doctor ; Dan, Daniel Livingston Van 
 Horn, her only child by her first husband. 
 Her marriage to the doctor was comparatively 
 recent. The gay world of fashion, in which she 
 moved, an imperious leader, had given up 
 Doctor Wardell as a hopeless bachelor, when 
 she suddenly whisked him away to Hymen's 
 altar. He had retired from practice, that nothing 
 might interfere with the saraband of gaiety. He 
 was satisfied to dance at her dictation, until he 
 suddenly lost his hearing; then all was 
 changed, and he had gladly withdrawn from 
 the pantomime where he felt like a puppet 
 with a broken wire, resolved to spend the rest 
 of his days as comfortably as a deaf man with 
 a preference for seclusion could. Not that his 
 devotion to the madame had diminished one 
 whit, far from it, or that he had a tendency to
 
 76 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 misanthropic isolation. She was fond of gay 
 society and he was not. Dan and she would 
 spend the summer as they liked best and he 
 would do the same. He had lived on a farm 
 when a boy. There was a language in nature 
 he should never fail to understand and love. 
 Sam Breckinridge had turned up at the nick of 
 time ; just back from Europe ; evidently out 
 at pocket, and glad of a quiet retreat for the 
 summer. Sam was an expert at whist ; was the 
 best of company. Sam and Cousin Vic would 
 get on well together. The madame's plans 
 would prevent her from coming to the Hermit 
 age that summer. The madame was not 
 drawn to the Hermitage. She had said to Dan, 
 in sacred confidence, that excepting Cousin 
 Beth, the doctor had invited an odd lot to stay 
 with him out there in the woods. 
 
 " Oh, Sam is all right," Dan had assured her; 
 " a Breckinridge is never to be received on suf 
 frage. The fellow has not a dollar in the world 
 he can call his own, I suppose, and unless he 
 makes up with Letitia Barkenstone, it's hard 
 telling how he is coming out. And she has 
 gone off on another tangent ; Millerism this 
 time. Well, don't read any of the stuff she
 
 THE HERMITAGE. 77 
 
 sends you. You are very susceptible, you 
 know, to spiritual contagions." 
 
 She was standing before the pier glass in her 
 dressing-room, arranging her purplish black 
 curls, freshly dyed that morning. At the word 
 contagion, she had thrown up her hands in 
 affright. 
 
 " I am afraid I have caught it, Dan," sinking 
 into the nearest chair. " I couldn't help read 
 ing those tracts, and it's terrible ! terrible ! My 
 nerves are in an awful state. Why, do you 
 know, Dan, Letitia Barkenstone reads Greek 
 and Hebrew, and she has seen signs in the 
 heavens and " 
 
 The end of it was the madame and Dan had 
 departed for the Springs not long before the 
 hermits set out on their pilgrimage to the 
 Genesee Valley. Dan would see that packages 
 from Letitia Barkenstone did not reach his 
 mother. He allayed Doctor Wardell's fears on 
 that score. The doctor, like the rest of the 
 fashionable world in which Daniel Van Horn 
 was prominent, placed the highest estimate on 
 his rare virtues, believing that " the boy " 
 would come out right in time. That he had 
 not yet struck that happy equilibrium his
 
 78 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 staunches! friends were forced to acknowledge. 
 To see Dan Van Horn at his best was not when 
 he stood in the organ loft of Saint Cecilia, his 
 pale intellectual face illumed with ecstatic fer 
 vor, his heavenly tenor soaring away with the 
 hearts of his listeners. 
 
 His ambrosial locks and spiritual physique 
 were cultivated by his mother rather than him 
 self, and some of his friends had called him the 
 Fra Angelico illumination of her life. What 
 heightened the interest in him was the whisper 
 that he would study for the sacred ministry, 
 only that he had been unsettled by the Tract- 
 arian controversy of the day, and was vacillat 
 ing toward Rome. What more could be said 
 to make a pensive young man with such lan 
 guorous blue eyes intensely interesting? 
 
 " Poor Dan ! " his mother confided to her 
 dearest friends, " nobody knows the pall he is 
 under, nobody but me. What do I know about 
 the reaction of the Reformation, post-baptismal 
 sins, visible heads of invisible churches and all 
 that ? I shall be glad when he does know what 
 to believe, and I shall believe whatever Dan 
 does." 
 
 But to return to the group on the piazza..
 
 THE HERMITAGE. 79 
 
 Sam had fallen asleep and another shawl had 
 been thrown over him. The doctor was nod 
 ding. The two ladies withdrew to the other 
 end of the porch, were they might chat over 
 their sewing. 
 
 " Did I tell you of the letter I received from 
 Dan last night ? " this from Cousin Beth. " He 
 says the madame talks in her sleep of 
 apocalyptic visions, and that she gets up at all 
 hours to seek a sign in the heavens." 
 
 " Umph," grumpily from under the hat. 
 
 " It seems that an English party has joined 
 them at the Springs, and one of them, a clergy 
 man, is making a study of the Miller fanaticism. 
 She hears the subject talked of continually, and 
 really she is getting in a very bad way." 
 
 " She'll be coming here of course." 
 
 " I hardly think so ; and yet Dan writes as if 
 he wishes they might." 
 
 " I knew they would come," dropping her 
 work and folding her arms. " Did you never 
 think that Adam and Eve had something in 
 their exile to be thankful for? Better hoe thistles 
 in a strange land than have all creation sow 
 ing your bowers to brambles." 
 
 But Cousin Beth was hardly listening.
 
 8o THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 " I have been thinking of Letitia Barkenstone 
 all day and what she could and must do for 
 Sam," lowering her voice. 
 
 " Don't you think the woman is deranged ? " 
 throwing her head back until the round convex 
 spectacles were visible. 
 
 " Possible she was never arranged. I have 
 thought that if she really believes the world is 
 to come to an end this fall, she may be disposed 
 to make her peace with her brother." 
 
 " She is likely to impoverish herself in Miller- 
 ism, it is said. Sam had better become a con 
 vert." 
 
 "She is a shrewd financier, not easily duped; 
 and unless she is greatly changed, she would 
 drive a hard bargain with him if he did." 
 
 " She thinks he is dead, don't she ? " sewing 
 briskly, her work held close to her eyes. 
 
 " She pretends to think so," said Cousin Beth, 
 telling Dr. Wardell, who had shaken off his 
 slumber and drawn his chair beside them, upon 
 her fingers what they were talking about. 
 
 " She may preach to me all she wants to," he 
 said, looking for his page in Pickwick, " if she 
 will only will do the right thing by Sam. I am 
 a Harry Clay man myself, and don't take any
 
 THE HERMITAGE. 8 1 
 
 stock in Texas Annexation, and mobbing Aboli 
 tionists, and all that, but when a woman like 
 Letitia Barkenstone takes fifteen hundred 
 dollars in good money out of her own brother's 
 pocket, as she did out of Sam's when she ran 
 off that old Merit he talks so much about, I 
 would have her answer for it in some way, that's 
 all." 
 
 " Well, what difference does it make whether 
 she did or didn't? " asked Cousin Vic musingly, 
 mindful of a slight movement in the couch. 
 " The grand farce is to end sooner or later in a 
 stupendous spectacular display, a burning up of 
 the experiment in which Omnipotence has been 
 plainly outwitted, as I see things. If the world 
 is to end this fall, as Letitia Barkenstone is 
 preaching " 
 
 " Fiddlesticks ! " said Doctor Wardell, who 
 had been nervously watching Cousin Beth's 
 interpreting fingers: " I thought her too sensible 
 to go into such a crack-brained delusion." 
 
 "Now it> won't do for old fashioned Church 
 men like you, Doctor Wardell," speaking slowly 
 that Cousin Beth might not miss a word, " to 
 call the literal Second Coming a delusion. Why 
 don't that ' quickly ' give believers better reason
 
 82 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 for expecting the end this fall than eighteen 
 hundred years ago ? " 
 
 The doctor laughed and fanned his rosy face 
 vehemently. 
 
 "Yes, I am an old fashioned Churchman, 
 thank the Lord. When the Church cries out 
 that the end of the world is at hand, that will 
 be time enough for me to arise and shout ' He 
 cometh ' ! I'll trust the learned prelates of 
 England for not letting a Yankee farmer get 
 the start of them in blowing the trumpet of 
 Zion." 
 
 " But the Church has taught more than once 
 in her history that the end of the world was 
 close at hand. From the beginning there has 
 been a faction in the Church, and not seldom the 
 dominant majority, proclaiming the field ripe 
 for the harvest, the bonfire ready for the spark." 
 
 " The literal rather than the spiritual inter 
 pretation of the word," Cousin Beth was saying, 
 when Doctor Wardell's wandering gaze was 
 transfixed upon the figure of a young girl 
 emerging from the wood. 
 
 " We have a visitor, ladies," and he arose and 
 descended the piazza, steps, his face beaming a 
 welcome ; " one of the wild dryads of these
 
 THE HERMITAGE. 83 
 
 woods, possibly. She seems inclined to retreat. 
 How in the world did she ever get over that 
 fence? " 
 
 Phil and Marjory reined in their horses be 
 side the thick wood, behind which they knew 
 " the Hermitage " was to be found. A road 
 from the highway had yet to be opened. The 
 only entrance was by a lane across a neighbor 
 ing farm. Not until Marjory had dismounted, 
 and that without his aid, did Phil discover that 
 she was in unusually fine feather for the occa 
 sion. Her usual riding costume, a boy's hat, a 
 sober brown frock, the short skirt revealing her 
 neat top boots, had given place to a green cloth 
 habit, gay with silver buttons, a velvet cap with 
 snowy plume, and what struck him as the most 
 nonsensical finery of all, a pair of long yellow 
 gauntlets and a whip unlike anything he had 
 ever seen before. How fine she was ! and he 
 had never seen her magnificence until that 
 moment ; and she had been enjoying his blind 
 ness, of course, letting him ride beside her in his 
 butternut corduroys, and without his coat, of 
 course, for was it not a very hot day ? Well, he 
 was not sure he would have dressed differently 
 even to please her. He had no idea of making
 
 84 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 a fool of himself for this Sir Victor Nevande- 
 less. From the bottom of his heart he hoped 
 the owner of the pencil was some crusty old 
 fellow, who would offer her a shilling for her 
 pains. A lesson of that sort might be whole 
 some for some folks, thought Phil, taking Nan's 
 bridle without a word, while Marjory peered 
 through the jungle to discover something like 
 a path, with sharp comment upon Sir Victor's 
 disregard of the convenience of his visitors. 
 Phil had his hands full with Nan, but he saw 
 Marjory toss her smart whip over the fence, 
 " As if she needed the silly thing," mused he, 
 and before he could help her she was on the 
 other side herself, the long train of her riding 
 habit over her arm. 
 
 " Now don't get into a fume, Phil, if I am not 
 back in half a second," and she readjusted her 
 pretty cap. " There's no knowing what I shall 
 get into, you know," laughing merrily. " But 
 that's what I like, an adventure like this. I'll 
 use my whistle if I need you, if I find myself 
 in the meshes of a fiery dragon," and she dis 
 appeared, and only that Nan was master of the 
 situation he would have followed her. 
 
 " To think of my letting her go off alone like
 
 THE HERMITAGE. 85 
 
 that ! Stand still, you vixen," laying a caressing 
 hand upon the glossy mane. Nan champed her 
 bit, pawed the turf, pointing her thin ears back 
 ward and forward, stretching her head far over 
 the fence, whinnying in answer to the voice 
 calling to her once or twice. " It's a fine pair 
 you make, you two, you are about as much as 
 I care to handle. You hate the bit and bridle, 
 don't you, Nan? " drawing the snorting nostrils 
 close to his cheek. " It wouldn't take much to 
 spoil you. Any fool with a whip could do that. 
 How much would you be worth in the plough, 
 Nan ? Not the shoes you stand in, would you?"
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MARS SAM. 
 
 f)EFORE she found herself in full sight of 
 JL) the group on the Hermitage piazza., the 
 adventure had lost its romance to Marjory, and 
 she became painfully conscious of the impro 
 priety of what she was doing. She half wished 
 she had asked Phil to go with her, " butter 
 nuts " and all, but there was Nan, and then 
 Phil would have given up the pencil just as if 
 he meant it should bring him an honest penny. 
 No, she would go through with it. What was 
 there so dreadful in giving up a pencil stolen 
 by a pet crow ? But she had not thought to 
 reach the house so soon, and to confront such 
 a company, evidently surprised at her appear 
 ance. 
 
 She stopped short, tapped her foot with her 
 whip handle, and having mastered the impulse 
 to retreat, advanced with a long swinging step, 
 her head thrown back, her brown cheeks
 
 MARS SAM. 87 
 
 glowing, the pencil upheld in her hand, the 
 sight of which and her simple presentation of it 
 to Dr. Wardell, made her reception the reverse 
 of embarrassing. And she was soon seated in 
 the midst of the circle, telling them in her 
 sparkling way of Poll-Betsey, and the discovery 
 of the turret, with an amusing account of the 
 dispute concerning the inscription " Victor 
 Nevandeless." 
 
 " What a dreadfully disappointed child you 
 must be ! " said Cousin Vic, throwing back her 
 head to scrutinize Marjory through her eye 
 glasses on a level with the tip of her nose. 
 "What havoc the actual is bound to make with 
 one's ideal ! Ah, here is our Sir Victor Nevan 
 deless." For Sam had come forward after 
 having been a silent listener to the conversa 
 tion, seemingly asleep ; a conversation in which 
 old Merit had had special mention. In the 
 confusion of the presentation Marjory missed 
 hearing his true name, for Dr. Wardell, unnoting 
 the introduction, was telling the pranks of a pet 
 crow of his boyhood, and Marjory, all unused 
 to such courtly addresses as that of Sir Victor, 
 lost the true name entirely. 
 
 " If you will believe me," said Sam in a con-
 
 88 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 fidential aside to Cousin Vic, Marjory giving 
 attention to the doctor's every word, " I was 
 dreaming of that old house I saw from the 
 turret this morning, when I woke up hearing 
 her story of the crow's nest and the pencil." 
 
 Marjory became conscious of Sir Victor's 
 absorbed attention in her animated conversa 
 tion with Miss Culbertson, and the thread of 
 her story concerning some of old Merit's enter 
 taining peculiarities had been hopelessly tangled 
 but for Sir Victor's graceful assistance. He led 
 her on in her story telling until she was quite 
 at her ease again, and had given them pleasant 
 glimpses of life at Barley Flats. 
 
 " I know your house very well," said Sir Vic 
 tor. " I had a long look at it through my glass 
 this morning. I think it was trying to tell me 
 you were coming over here. It blinked its one 
 dormer window of an eye confidentially, but I 
 am not so wise as Cousin Beth here in such mat 
 ters and I did not really understand. She will 
 talk with you of the personality of houses and 
 all that, and convince you that houses have 
 an inner consciousness independent of their 
 inmates." 
 
 " \Ve ought to have a Society for the Promo-
 
 MARS SAM. 89 
 
 tion of Sympathy with Neglected Houses," 
 spoke up Cousin Vic. " A society for the inter 
 pretation of inarticulate barns, the cultivation of 
 sympathy with unappreciated meeting houses, 
 the relieving of the woes of old mills, and the 
 like." 
 
 Marjory thought she heard a peremptory 
 whistle from beyond the wood and arose rather 
 abruptly to take leave, declining Dr. Wardell's 
 offer to send for her horse with a decision he 
 was forced to admit as final. 
 
 She had shown some hesitancy in inviting 
 them to Barley Flats, but the invitation had 
 been given, and warmly accepted, Miss Cul- 
 bertson interceding for the life of Poll-Betsey, 
 to whom the Hermitage was so much indebted. 
 Thereupon Victoria Barry begged that the 
 condemned crow should be given her, and Sam 
 importuned, when Marjory assured her she 
 should have him and welcome, that old Merit 
 be permitted to bring him to his new home, an 
 arrangement Marjory consented to, concealing 
 her misgiving of Poll-Betsey's arrival in such 
 case. 
 
 Sir Victor followed her down the steps, and 
 to her great discomfiture signified his inten-
 
 90 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 tion to attend her through the wood. He 
 walked beside her, saying airy nothings with 
 charming grace, and removing every obstacle 
 from her path. She smiled when he helped 
 her over a thread of a brook she could have 
 cleared so easily without him. 
 
 " Black servants are very uncommon in this 
 neighborhood, are they not ? " He was walking 
 before, holding back the obstructing boughs. 
 
 " Oh, yes, they are few and far between." 
 She could hear Phil chiding Nan. What a 
 time he must have had waiting so long, and 
 the mosquitoes so troublesome ! She wished 
 Sir Victor in Timbuctoo. 
 
 " And this old Merit's wife is with him ? 
 America, I think you called her: such odd 
 names some of those Southern negroes have." 
 
 Now Marjory had not mentioned America 
 nor Merit's Southern antecedents, and only that 
 her mind was elsewhere she would have remem 
 bered it. 
 
 "We always call her Meriky. I call her 
 mammy." 
 
 "That's Southern," stopping short, but she 
 did not turn around. " How long have these 
 blacks been with you?"
 
 MARS SAM. 91 
 
 "How long?" Possibly the shade of impa 
 tience in her voice prompted him to move for 
 ward. " You will have to ask Aunt Prissy. 
 Their coming here was before my time." 
 
 He had fallen behind her, holding back an . 
 elder bush for her to pass, and she did not 
 observe the change in his voice when he asked, 
 " But are they contented here at the North ? " 
 
 " Contented ? Why shouldn't they be ? " 
 
 " But this old Merit, does he never have 
 what he calls his ' down days ', when he feels 
 ' never so sot down on ' in all his life ? " 
 
 " Those are his very words when he is in a 
 croaking fit ; but then he is the happiest of 
 us all ! " 
 
 " He misses the old plantation life of course. 
 I can not believe he is really happy here. I 
 have lived at the South, was brought up among 
 negroes. A homesick nigger ! " 
 
 " But they are not homesick," persisted Mar 
 jory ; " and how do you know that they ever 
 lived in the South?" 
 
 " Oh, a little bird told me." 
 
 "Yes, I know what is said by everybody, 
 but no one can prove their surmises. I sup 
 pose if it were widely reported that runaway
 
 92 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 slaves were harbored at our house some one 
 would come and drag them away." 
 
 " Nonsense, Miss Burke ; you know bet 
 ter. You admit, of course, that the rightful 
 owner " 
 
 " They have no rightful owner but them 
 selves." 
 
 Phil's whistle rang shrilly through the wood. 
 
 " Readers of the Liberator believe, you know, 
 that slavery is the sum of all villainies." 
 
 " Yes, I understand," he said slowly. 
 
 Another imperative whistle. 
 
 " Yes, Phil, I am coming," cheerily and sweet. 
 Then, lowering her voice to Sir Victor : 
 
 " Now you will see my adopted brother. He 
 has good reason for being vexed at my stay 
 ing so long ;" cutting short a pretty compliment 
 by adding, her eyes sparkling with fun, " I must 
 introduce you as Sir Victor. Please mind your 
 part." 
 
 " Ah, Phil, is it you ? " He was glowering 
 savagely enough. " Beyond this wood I found 
 the land of romance ; behold the knight of my 
 quest, Sir Victor Nevandeless ! " 
 
 It was impossible for Phil to do more than 
 glance at Sir Victor, who stood twisting his
 
 MARS SAM. 93 
 
 long moustache and expressing his pleasure at 
 the meeting, with regrets that Mr. Ottoway 
 had not accompanied Miss Burke to the house. 
 
 He sat down on a log to look matters in the 
 face. He must first make sure that the old 
 black man was no other than " Uncle Merit ". 
 
 If so, what a godsend ! Letitia Barken- 
 stone should pay for their freedom, and so 
 make a partial reparation. What a lucky dog 
 he was after all ! That morning he could have 
 sworn that fortune had deserted him utterly. 
 He would not care to confront the scorn of that 
 young girl's eyes did she believe he would traf 
 fic in human flesh : send their old servants to 
 the block. He did not mean to do that ; would 
 not do it. Cousin Vic must help him in devis 
 ing a clever scheme for outwitting Letitia Bar- 
 kenstone. 
 
 * * # % V: 
 
 " You are bound to ruin that mare, Mar 
 jory." 
 
 She had let Nan have her head and Phil had 
 kept up as he could. They had turned into 
 the cross road leading to the old house when 
 their horses fell into a leisurely walk. Phil 
 was the first to speak.
 
 94 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 " Now don't begin to fret about Nan," eye 
 ing him covertly. " Why don't you tell me 
 what you think of Sir Victor Nevandeless? " 
 
 He maintained a successful pretence of 
 studying the condition of her horse. 
 
 " Never mind Nan," with winning persist 
 ence. " How did you like Sir Victor ? " 
 
 " Sir Victor ! " contemptuously. " When 
 you make me believe that is his name it will be 
 after to-day. Did he pay over the five dol 
 lars?" 
 
 " Oh Phil I Phil ! what a blunder ! " One 
 smart stroke of her whip and Nan shot ahead 
 like the wind. He held his horse in check, and 
 rode meditatively in a whirlwind of dust, until 
 he overtook Marjory at Peggy Cameron's cot 
 tage, the lodge at Barley Flats. The twilight 
 was falling, and Peggy's shrill voice shut out the 
 song of the chirruping insects, and the lowing 
 of the cows, to which he had been listening as 
 he dreamily whipped the dust from his trou 
 sers. If Marjory had a mind to spoil Nan, she 
 must, that was all, but he would not hear her 
 talk about that idiot, Sir Victor. 
 
 But Peggy Cameron's story drove all else 
 from his mind. She was telling it with both
 
 MARS SAM. 95 
 
 hands held tight over her heart, her wide cap 
 border flapping to her gasping. 
 
 " Oo, ay ! He's gist gane up ta t' hoos spite 
 o' a' I could sae and da. He's a wild ranter ta 
 be share. His wurrds come like water frae a fon. 
 Danal says he's been scraughing roond the 
 town for a week or mair an' cursin' abody frae 
 the Bible in his han' and tellin' God Almighty 
 is gaun to burn up the wurld afore neist hars't, 
 an' the laddies warkin' sae hard a' simmer." 
 
 " Oh, Peggy, to think a pious old saint like 
 you should be afraid of anything the Lord can 
 do ; " and Marjory's laughter pealed out like 
 silver bells. The barking of the dogs was heard 
 near the house. 
 
 " Make haste, Phil. Did you tell him about 
 the dogs, Peggy?" 
 
 " Oo, ay ; it's naithing he cares aboat dugs 
 an' auld wives like me." 
 
 " I know the man," Phil was saying. " He 
 was preaching on the post-office steps yester 
 day with his cattle show of a chart. He wants 
 the camp ground for a Millerite meeting." 
 
 "Oh, let him have it, Phil ; don't let Aunt 
 Prissy refuse ; a Millerite camp meeting would 
 be rare sport for us, such a lark ! "
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ELDER STIGGINS. 
 
 summer of 1844 is memorable in the 
 _L history of fanaticism. 
 
 The tenth day of the seventh month, 
 October 236, " with a marginal extension 
 possibly, but not probably, to the 25th," 
 was the day fixed upon by the believers in 
 the doctrines of Father Miller, as the one des 
 ignated in prophecy as the last day, when 
 the Lord should literally descend from heaven, 
 and the world and all that therein is should be 
 burned up. These believers, some fifty thou 
 sand in the United States, went forth that sum 
 mer to proclaim the Midnight Cry. The 
 Christian world was sensibly disturbed by their 
 proclaiming in season and out of season 
 that the end of all things was at hand. Thou 
 sands who scoffed at the teachings of Father 
 Miller in public, trembled in secret : doubting 
 if he were not a true prophet, and if they for
 
 ELDER STIGGINS. 97 
 
 their cowardice should not be burned up root 
 and branch. 
 
 The fanaticism was no new thing in the 
 history of Christianity. It was a fresh out 
 burst of an old error, the legitimate result of 
 centuries of authorized teaching ; the mathe 
 matical deductions from literal interpretation of 
 unfulfilled prophecy. 
 
 Millerism burned over a wide territory. 
 William Miller was a devote Bible student of 
 the school of literalism, nor did he originate 
 the inflammatory gospel whose first fagots were 
 kindled by the misinterpretation of the promise 
 " behold I come quickly." 
 
 The open opposition which Millerism 
 received from the established sects was not 
 against its fundamental theory that the proph 
 ecies should be interpreted literally, but the 
 legitimate outcome of that theory, the pre 
 tended discovery of the exact time of the 
 Second Coming by that same literalism. The 
 calculation of times and dividing of times was 
 right enough if stress were not laid upon the 
 grand total, the amount of a simple sum in 
 addition. A distinction was to be made be 
 tween the mathematical certainty, and " thus
 
 98 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 saith the Lord." Bible students, the world 
 over, were absorbed in the doctrine of the 
 millennium, the resurrection, and the return 
 of the Jews. The literalists were far in the 
 lead in the treatment of these subjects, and it 
 seems strange to us of to-day that the revival 
 of the cry of the Speedy Coming was sneered 
 at by orthodoxy generally, and its converts 
 turned adrift from the venerable crafts that 
 could not endure the perpetual trumpeting of 
 the Midnight Cry. 
 
 Looking over the considerable and most 
 respectable literature of that fanaticism to-day, 
 one is at loss to see what the denunciation of 
 the literalists was founded upon. Millerism 
 was the grand illustration of literalism. How 
 plain it was on the old Millerite chart, with 
 its astounding delineations of the beasts of 
 apocalyptic vision, the expression in pine and 
 paint of some untutored conception of what 
 Nebuchadnezzar's image was like, deftly con 
 trived for separation, kingdom by kingdom, the 
 great dragon with its tail lashing the stars, the 
 mathematical calculations verified by Scripture 
 in large type, all testifying that time must end 
 A. D. 1843. The fact that the year 1843 had
 
 ELDER STIGGINS. 99 
 
 passed by, and that the summer of 1844 was 
 well advanced, was satisfactorily explained. 
 Eighteen hundred and forty-three Jewish time, 
 did not end until 1844 Roman time, and who 
 would question that Jewish authority was par 
 amount in such matters ? 
 
 The believers had trimmed their lamps and 
 gone forth to meet the Bridegroom in 1843. 
 That going forth they found in due season was, 
 according to their interpretation at least, a ful 
 fillment of prophecy. " Though the vision 
 tarry, wait for it." It would tarry until Oct 
 ober 25, 1844. The words " of that day and 
 hour knoweth no man " had no reference to 
 what one could not help but knowing, they 
 said, if the Bible were studied as it should 
 be. The exact time when the stone should 
 smite the image on the feet, how could they 
 help but know it with their calculations of 
 the seven times and their knowledge 
 of the precise duration of the several king 
 doms? The seven times began with Baby 
 lon, 677 years before Christ, and these seven 
 times were 2520 years, and then like any simple 
 sum in subtraction was 2520 677=1843. The 
 getting of that 2520 years was easy enough :
 
 I oo THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 one had but to multiply seven (representing 
 times) by 12 (representing months) and the pro 
 duct by 30 (representing days), and there it 
 was. And so with the prophetic calculation 
 illustrated by the lion, the bear, the leopard, 
 and the " great and terrible " beasts of Daniel's 
 vision, seemingly striding in dread processional 
 through a maze of dates. Mathematical calcu 
 lation and prophecy led to the sure goal there 
 was no evading, A. D. 1843. And so with the 
 rest of the prophecies of the Second Coming 
 prophecies whose realistic representation by 
 horned beasts, angels blowing trumpets, and 
 flowing vials, the casting of the devil into a 
 bottomless pit, etc., etc., all culminating in 
 A. D. 1 843, made the old Millerite chart a power 
 ful attraction to the scoffer, who could find no 
 error in its mathematics, however he might 
 marvel at its zoological eccentricities. 
 
 They were in earnest, those " tenth day 
 Millerites of A. D. 1844." The heroism of the 
 martyrs of old repeated itself in their adherence 
 to their faith, their scorn of derision and perse 
 cution. Their unploughed and unsown fields 
 proclaimed their disbelief in another harvest. 
 The Millerite preacher was ubiquitous. There
 
 ELDER S TIG GINS. IOI 
 
 was no escaping his chart and his tracts, and 
 many, dissatisfied with the dry dust of the 
 orthodox theology, found a grim fascination in 
 the near fulfillment of Father Miller's gospel. 
 The spiritual ignorance of the masses was, as 
 ever, the ready building material of a delusion 
 supported by half truths and fallacies. Few of 
 us can realize what it was to live in constant 
 expectation of hearing the trump of doom, of 
 going to bed each night confident that the 
 graves might be giving up their dead before 
 daybreak. 
 
 When Marjory and Phil rode up to the porch, 
 the preacher was too absorbed in emptying vial 
 after vial of prophetic wrath to note their 
 arrival. Each of his "listeners had a growling, 
 infuriated dog in check, except America, who 
 was hardly to be trusted with one on that occa 
 sion. Priscilla Ottoway stood in the full star 
 light making vain efforts to be heard, to send 
 the intruder away, but she might as well have 
 spoken to the wind. 
 
 " Woe unto you, Pharisees, Hypocrites ! " 
 sawing the air with his arms, his long, limp coat 
 suggesting draggled plumage, his harsh voice 
 husky and broken with excessive overstrain.
 
 102 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 " Woe unto you, lovers of pleasure more than 
 lovers of God ! The doom of Sodom and 
 Gomorrah awaits you ! You have spit upon the 
 Lord's anointed, and so it shall be done unto 
 you in that day, that day that cometh, that 
 shall burn as an oven, that shall burn you up, 
 root and branch." 
 
 Phil uplifted his whip with an oath. " Off 
 with you," and the dogs yelped with excite 
 ment. 
 
 " Smite, if you will," serenely managing to 
 get out of the reach of the lash, while Marjory 
 begged Phil to control himself. " He will pour 
 out His fury upon the horse and his rider " 
 Phil had not left his saddle. " He hath sharp 
 ened His sword for the- slaughter. Cry out 
 and howl, son of man," stepping back with wise 
 caution ; " smite thine hands together, and He 
 that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh, when He 
 is come to overturn, overturn and overturn ; " 
 drawing closer and closer to the porch, within 
 whose shadows Priscilla Ottoway had disap 
 peared, after ordering Merit to take the dogs 
 away. The preacher was now gazing stonily 
 at Marjory, rolling out his Scriptural phrase 
 ology at her, his long finger pointed steadily to
 
 ELDER STIGGINS. 103 
 
 her face. Nan was cropping the grass where 
 she had left her when she slipped from the 
 saddle. The girl stood with her riding skirt 
 over her arm, contemplating their strange visi 
 tor, plainly amused by his speech and gesticu 
 lations, and impatient lest Phil should abbre 
 viate the comedy. 
 
 " Daughter of Babylon ! " and Marjory made 
 signs for Phil to keep silent. " Daughter of 
 Babylon, the whirlwind is gathering that will 
 shrivel your beauty, and hurl you out from your 
 pleasant places, and dash your lovers to the 
 ground ! " 
 
 Phil would bear no more, and the preacher's 
 exit had been precipitated in spite of Marjory's 
 intercessions, but for a shrill prolonged cry 
 from the window of Annie Burke's chamber, 
 which turned every eye in that direction. 
 There she stood in her white raiment, her hands 
 clasped in entreaty. 
 
 " Do not send him away, you must not ! He 
 brings me a message," and before Priscilla 
 Ottoway could reach her, she had dropped to 
 the floor in a swoon. In the excitement Elder 
 Stiggins placidly took possession of the most 
 comfortable chair upon the porch, and when
 
 104 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 America, who was the first to remember him, 
 came down from Annie's chamber, he was 
 quietly looking over the pile of tracts he had 
 brought forth from his big carpet-bag, having 
 helped himself to a candle and a glass of water. 
 
 "You'd bettah be gittin' out dis yeah," 
 and she planted herself stolidly before him, her 
 arms folded, her eyes regarding him with the 
 dull, narrow vision Merit had learned to inter 
 pret as a warning. 
 
 Elder Stiggins stretched out his hand. " I 
 praise the Lord, sister," rubbing his rejected 
 hand warmly as compensation for his rebuff, 
 "that He hath brought my feet within your 
 gates this night. My foe hath become my 
 brother, my familiar friend, and in the name of 
 our common Master, dear sister." 
 
 " We'se no use for massars round heah," 
 never changing a muscle ; "you'se bettah take 
 you self orf," her fingers moving stiffly up and 
 down, an ominous \varning. 
 
 Marjory was, however, in season to prevent 
 what seemed inevitable. Her mother's w r ords 
 had not been in vain. The sullen old mammy 
 was sent to the kitchen for food for the preacher, 
 and then there was no withstanding Marjory's
 
 ELDER ST ICG INS. 105 
 
 plea that he should have a bed. Phil sighed, 
 but Aunt Prissy consented. She rose, however, 
 betimes in the morning to hasten his departure, 
 which was easily brought about on her consent 
 ing to let the big tent camp meeting have the 
 use of her grounds. What did it matter to her 
 what doctrine was preached there ? 
 
 Merit was awake. He had not slept that 
 night. He stole out in the day-break and 
 joined the preacher on the cross road. He 
 came back at his nimblest gait, after a short 
 interview, well loaded down with tracts. He 
 awoke America, or rather before she was half 
 awake he gaspingly began. 
 
 " It's comin' now, Meriky. Didn't I tell 
 ye ? Hab'n't I bin tellin' ye seems like a tou- 
 sand yeahs? Who'd ye tink is gwine fur to 
 preach on dat camp groun' ? Bress de Lawd, 
 Meriky, 'fore I tells ye," dodging her wide 
 sweeping arm. " Jes ye listen now," for America 
 was muttering dire threats ; " ole Miss Tisha 
 is comin', she gwinter preach, dis preachah 
 said so, gwine to preach hows de wuld is 
 comin' to an end dis fall." 
 
 America rose up slowly from her pillow and 
 Merit edged nervously nearer the door.
 
 106 THE MIDNIGHT CRY, 
 
 " Jes ye open dat winder wide. Let me see 
 jes who is talkin' dis heah." He threw back 
 the shutters with a slam and planted himself at 
 the foot of the bed. " If dat isn't you, Merit, 
 ye jis tote yesef outen dat doah 'foah I'se take 
 de nonsense outen ye ; dere's been nuff of de 
 debbil's speakin' and makin' bleve roun' heah." 
 Her sphynx-like study of his anxious face con 
 vinced her that she was dealing with tangible 
 things. " Now I'se got suffin' to say to yer, 
 Merit," her voice sinking into its sepulchral 
 depths, her gaze fixed upon the palms of her 
 hands : "de debbil has an eye on us heah on 
 Miss Annie and Miss Marjory and " with 
 closer scrutiny of the lines " yes, on de hul of 
 us. Dat wussent Miss Annie lookin' outen dat 
 winder, and dat wussent no preachah for ye to 
 go bressin' de Lawd ober; and mind ye, now, 
 mind wot I say, dere won't be no Miss Tisha 
 eder." Merit falteringly tried to contradict her. 
 " Not anudder word 'bout Miss Tisha. Tinks 
 I'se gwine ter bleve it's Miss Tisha? Den wars 
 Uncle Joswer and Mars Sam, and wars me and 
 yous gwine to 'foah ebber dis world gits on 
 fiah?" Again Merit tried to explain. "You 
 jes lebe the debbil to me. Don' ye go foolin'
 
 ELDER STIGGINS. 107 
 
 roun' him callin' him de angel ob de Lawd, les' 
 yer wanter be sold down de ribber, and whose 
 gvvine terbuya broken up oleniggah like you? 
 Jes ye wait until Miss Annie wakes up dis 
 mawnin' and see wot she says 'foah yer goes on 
 foolishin' about, bressin' de Lawd. 
 
 " Look a heah now," calling him back after 
 he had crept out crestfallen, and was holding 
 fast to the door handle for a minute lest he 
 should groan outright. " Jes yer look a heah. 
 Don' ye go tellin' Miss Margie dat Miss Tisha's 
 comin' heah like a poor-white-trash-preachin'- 
 woman. Don' you let me heah yer sayin' dat 
 of de Buckinridges dat dey's goin' ter preach- 
 in' and baptizin'. Miss Tisha's pow'ful sot, 
 and when she says de Lawd is gwine ter burn 
 up de wold, He II liab to do it. She'll blow the 
 trumpet, she will, when she gits ready. Mind 
 now, don' you tell nobody it's Miss Tisha, or 
 yer don' git any moah 'baccer, and I ain't 
 foolishin' dis mawnin' ! " 
 
 He went down the lane shortly after in a 
 state of bewildered despair. If that were not 
 Miss Annie in the window, and if the preacher 
 were the devil, and Miss Titia should not be 
 Miss Titia, and he should be sold for a "poor
 
 108 THE M1DXIGHT CRY. 
 
 ole niggah " down the river how timely the 
 burning up of the world would be ! 
 
 Annie slept later than usual that morning. 
 She gave no sign of remembering what had hap 
 pened the night before. Nor did she betray 
 the slightest interest in any allusions to the 
 preacher. Her face brightened when Marjory 
 was telling Aunt Prissy of her visit not a full 
 account of the adventure by any means, and it 
 was not strange that Priscilla Ottoway was too 
 absorbed to call out the detail which would 
 have resulted in gentle reprimand. Merit 
 should carry Poll-Betsey to their new neighbors 
 that very day. She was only too thankful to be 
 rid of the troublesome bird.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " EPOCHS FOCALIZE." 
 
 IN all his wanderings Sam Breckinridge had 
 carried Uncle Joshua's hickory cane, a sure 
 staff fashioned by Merit's own hand from a 
 sapling grown on the old plantation. Its head 
 purported to be an exact similitude of Uncle 
 Joshua's favorite mare Poll-Betsey, and was the 
 work of Merit's jackknife. 
 
 The scheme for identifying the fugitive was 
 of Cousin Vic's devising. When Sam Breckin 
 ridge, who was watching the old house with the 
 turret telescope the next morning, declared 
 that he could make out a rider lazily moving 
 across the meadow to the highway, Cousin Vic 
 gathered up her crocheting and followed him, 
 he playing drum major with Uncle Joshua's 
 cane, to a shady nook near the opening in the 
 fence through which old Merit, if it were he, 
 would pass. 
 
 Victoria Barry's phenomenal gift was that of
 
 no THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 whistler. Her imitations of bird song were 
 remarkable, and as they made their way along 
 the bosky pathway she trilled the air, as a 
 mocking bird had done, of one of the tunes 
 Master Sam used to play on his fiddle for 
 Merit's supreme delight. 
 
 Sam was exceptionally jubilant, singing 
 'snatches of the old melody, between bits of 
 story telling. He found a pretty and comfort 
 able seat for Cousin Vic, and then threw him 
 self down upon the grass beside her. Her hat, 
 as ever, was drawn well over her face, but lean 
 ing on his elbow puffing his cigar, he could see 
 her mouth, and for the first time he discovered 
 how sweet its expression was ; and straightway 
 he fell to musing if it were her .absorption in 
 counting the stitches of the intricate pattern 
 she was following that made it so, for he had 
 always thought there was something hard and 
 scornful in Cousin Vic's mouth. And so there 
 was, he admitted a moment after, when having 
 found her needle's clue after cabalistic mutter 
 ing, she began, digging at her work as if her 
 hook should bring answer to all she asked : 
 
 " Sam Breckinridge," a moment's pause 
 <( just as soon as your health will permit you must
 
 " EPOCHS FOCALIZE." 1 1 1 
 
 set yourself to doing something, you must go 
 to work." 
 
 He studied the mouth steadily for a mo 
 ment ; yes, it was sweet after all. The momen 
 tary gleam faded from his eye and he was drows 
 ily watching the gyrations of his smoke clouds, 
 when she resumed a trifle more sharply than 
 before : 
 
 " In the world's grand field of action, how 
 can you be contented in " 
 
 She stopped short, she was counting on her 
 pattern again. 
 
 " Have you yet to learn, most noble, most 
 wise Victoria," not a shadow of a smile on 
 her mouth "that putting a canary into a frog 
 pond will not give you a good singer of bass ? 
 The Breckinridges, my dear lady, were sent 
 into this world this world of action as an 
 antidote for its horrible epidemic of activity." 
 
 " Sent into this world ? How glibly you 
 adopt the phraseology of divine quackery ! But 
 let that pass. Answer me. How can you pas 
 sively submit to live a drifting meaningless 
 existence, when with your own hands you may 
 hew out " 
 
 " Something resembling this achievement of
 
 1 1 2 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y, 
 
 old Merit's," with a glance at the cane beside 
 him. " He cut that nag's head from love un 
 feigned. Hideous as a work of art, only think 
 if he had been compelled to fashion it for some 
 one he hated, and that without self-confidence 
 in his genius, without hope of success, what it 
 would be?" 
 
 " Nonsense, you make your pretended depre 
 ciation an excuse for inertia. You know you 
 do not wholly undervalue yourself." 
 
 His cheek flamed. The hand that had lain 
 so languorously upon the grass was uprooting 
 it by wisps. He tossed his cigar into the 
 thicket, then getting up, stood twisting his 
 long moustache. She was counting again, jab 
 bing her pattern with her hook. If he had turned 
 a somersault and was standing on his head 
 would she be aware of the fact ? 
 
 "Now, Sam," with persuasive authority, "go 
 find that cigar, for you have only begun to 
 smoke it ; you cannot afford such extravagance. 
 Sit down here ; I have something I particularly 
 want to say to you, something I came down 
 here with you to say." 
 
 " Hadn't I better be looking for that cigar 
 stub?"
 
 ' ' EPOCHS FOCALIZE. " 113 
 
 " No, Sam, no, I'll forgive you this one, -if 
 you'll only never do so again. Hear me out, 
 Sam." He began peeling the bark from a 
 birch tree with infinite painstaking. " Hear 
 me in the role of a prophet. Unless you play 
 a sharper game than you have ever played 
 before, Letitia Barkenstone will take your 
 last trump." 
 
 He was biting off a fresh cigar. 
 
 " Something more than an antidote for 
 activity is needed in this case." 
 
 " Well, what is needed ? " 
 
 A hard question for her to answer evi 
 dently. 
 
 " In Yankee parlance," she said slowly at last 
 without looking up, " you will have to play 
 sharp with Letitia Barkenstone." 
 
 He was listening closely. 
 
 " Or she will outwit you." Another long 
 pause. 
 
 " Don't you see what you have got to do ? " 
 throwing her head back and adjusting her 
 curved glasses for a prolonged study of his face. 
 
 " Call it finesse, or cunning, or what you will, 
 it is your only way of circumventing Letitia 
 Barkenstone if this man turns out to be your
 
 1 14 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 runaway slave. You must ' go into' Millerism. 
 She must seem to convert you." 
 
 " I feel premonitory symptoms of real con 
 version already," retorted Sam, gaily sitting 
 down beside her, then sighing wearily. " I am 
 longing to be in dead earnest about something, 
 anything, and to be associated with those who 
 are. Look at these Millerites. They burn their 
 ships behind them. I saw a farm the other 
 day grown to weeds. Its owner believes he 
 has reaped his last harvest. I couldn't help 
 admiring that man and his weeds." 
 
 The sound of horse's feet was heard on the 
 highway and Sam pushed carefully through 
 the thicket to reconnoitre. It was old Merit, 
 droning out a psalm tune and muttering at 
 intervals, a basket on his arm, his wide- 
 brimmed hat far back on his head. He 
 alighted, and leaving his horse biting the grass 
 passed on to the house. Sam asked no further 
 proof of the identity of the man, yet he planted 
 Uncle Joshua's cane directly in the path by 
 which he would return, and where he could not 
 help seeing it. Merit was climbing the fence 
 when it met his eye, Victoria Barry warbling 
 the old melody like a mocking bird in sorrow.
 
 " EPOCHS FOCALIZE:' 115 
 
 " Oh Lawd of mussy ! " dropping on the 
 other side and seizing his horse by the bridle, 
 pulling him after him down the road. " I 
 wondahs if I'se a dead niggah ? Wondahs if 
 I'se gwine to wake up outen dis yeah? I 
 wish Meriky had seen dat cane grinnin' right 
 up to de sky, and Uncle Joswer's face a blowin' 
 out on it like a sunflowah." 
 
 Drawing up by the roadside at last, to 
 mount the poor beast, he discovered that he 
 had left his basket by the fence, a treasure of 
 America's it would never do to return with 
 out. He waited in the blazing sun until he 
 could retrace his steps in the protection of 
 some one, falling close into the rear of a 
 farmer's wagon. 
 
 There was the basket, but the cane and the 
 mocking bird were gone. What wonder that 
 his cogitations were far from cheerful, and that 
 many of the mullein stalks bordering his way 
 seemed to be undergoing marvellous transfor 
 mations into walking sticks. Marjory alone 
 would listen to his story. She feared old 
 Merit was getting into a bad way. 
 
 Had he seen no one at the Hermitage but 
 a servant ?
 
 Il6 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 " Seed no one, Miss Margie," rolling his 
 eyes and uplifting both hands palm outward. 
 
 " De next time yo' wants anyting ober dere, 
 jes* send Meriky. I'd like her to see and 
 heah wot I did dis mawnin'." 
 
 Sam Breckinridge scarcely smiled, and 
 Cousin Vic, who was watching him rather than 
 old Merit, as well as her near-sighted vision 
 would permit, saw that the episode affected 
 him painfully. He had in fact been strongly 
 moved to reveal himself to the old man, and 
 his first exclamation was regret that he had 
 not done so. 
 
 " Better wait until you can give him his free 
 dom," said Cousin Vic. 
 
 They were walking slowly back to the house. 
 Cousin Beth was calling to them from the 
 porch, where she stood holding up a letter in 
 each hand, interrupting their discussion of a 
 subject Sam Breckinridge was plainly indis 
 posed to discuss. 
 
 " Make haste and hear the news ! " Cousin 
 Beth was calling out. 
 
 They sank down in the piazza chairs with 
 listless expectancy. 
 
 The doctor was scanning his newspapers, a
 
 11 EPOCHS FOCALIZE. " 117 
 
 diversion plainly incidental to the more mo 
 mentous matter of discussing the contents of 
 the many closely written sheets in Cousin 
 Beth's hand. 
 
 " We must talk it over together," she said 
 cheerily. " The madame is coming, and," 
 looking with a betrayal of uneasiness toward 
 Sam, "and Letitia Barkenstone." 
 
 " Epochs focalize," growled Cousin Vic. 
 
 " Let us pray," said Sam, his head bowed 
 upon Uncle Joshua's cane. "The swirl 
 swirleth. Read your letters." 
 
 " The madame's letters are a kind of journal," 
 said Cousin Beth, slipping the sheets over for 
 selection, " and in what she writes from New 
 port several weeks ago, I see that her English 
 friends have become dissatisfied with Saratoga, 
 because of a tiresome professor and his pedantic 
 wife who will talk of nothing but the fanaticism 
 and prophecies and types and anti-types. The 
 professor was a great annoyance to Dan in 
 many ways, insisting that the Tractarian move 
 ment is a question of aesthetics mainly the 
 English romanticism of the nineteenth century." 
 
 "How could he?" said Cousin Vic, with 
 mock concern.
 
 1 1 8 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 " And he was forever driving Dan into an 
 argument, holding that Dan, as a possible can 
 didate for the priesthood, must be ready to 
 defend not only every assailable point in his 
 creed, but to state wherein formidable heresies 
 differ from the true faith ; and so they made 
 off to the mountains. And now I will read 
 from the madame's letter." 
 
 " ' Who should ride in the same stage with 
 us for some twenty miles but Letitia Barken- 
 stone. She has changed but little, is beautiful 
 as ever, and her conversational powers more 
 remarkable. Lord L was completely car 
 ried away with her. He considers her the 
 most original type of American character he 
 has seen in the States. When she learned who 
 he was she whipped out her Bible and began 
 such a discourse as I never heard about beasts, 
 and horns, and pagan Rome, and papal Rome, 
 and the churches generally which she calls 
 Babylon. She said that " the English Church 
 was the eldest daughter of the mother of har 
 lots." Only think of it ! I was half vexed 
 with Dan for reading Martin Chuzzlewit 
 through it all, and never hearing a word. She 
 said she was proclaiming " the glad tidings "
 
 " EPOCHS FOCALIZE." 119 
 
 throughout the land, and should preach every 
 day and night, until time should be no longer. 
 What if it should be true after all, dear Cousin 
 Beth ? At times I am paralyzed with terror ? ' ' 
 
 " Then Dan writes me : ' Wherever we go 
 we are fated to hear this subject discussed. 
 Some one is sure to give her a tract or to call 
 her attention to some freak of nature. Lord 
 
 L , who has been our constant companion, 
 
 has begun writing a series of papers on the 
 history of the Millenarian doctrine for one of 
 the English reviews. He attends the meetings 
 of Miller's followers, talks with their preachers, 
 and finds a world of interest in what is the 
 cause of real trouble to me on poor mother's 
 account. If she were with you, Cousin Beth, 
 I know she would cease to think of it in the 
 way she does, for you have such sensible ideas 
 upon those subjects, and she is so powerfully 
 influenced by you.' " 
 
 " Of course she will have to come," sighed 
 Cousin Vic, " nevertheless " 
 
 "Will she bring her gay party with her?" 
 asked Sam. 
 
 " The doctor will write her this afternoon to 
 come at once, with or without her party, just as
 
 120 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 she thinks best. Nor is he at all disturbed at 
 the possibility of Letitia Barkenstone coming," 
 and she began telling the doctor upon her fin 
 gers what they were talking of, for he had 
 thrown aside his paper and was restlessly walk 
 ing up and down the porch. 
 
 " We'll make sensible women of them both," 
 broke in Dr. Wardell, rubbing his dumpy little 
 hands together in a most self-satisfied way. 
 " When the madame sees that Cousin Letitia's 
 faith won't admit of her signing everything 
 over to Sam here, and giving him full possession 
 next year, she'll see how much there is in this 
 Miller nonsense after all. Sam," laying his 
 hand on Sam's shoulder, but Sam did not raise 
 his eyes, he seemed to be making a kind of di 
 vining rod of Uncle Joshua's cane, " how about 
 the old darkie? We missed seeing him, Cousin 
 Beth and I. Is he your man, old Uncle 
 Merit?" 
 
 " He is my old Uncle Merit," bringing the 
 cane down with a thud. 
 
 "Good! What a hand full of trumps! It 
 beats all, his turning up with Letitia Barken 
 stone ! She writes that she is coming to these 
 parts to attend a camp meeting, and she hopes
 
 " EPOCHS FOCALIZE. " 121 
 
 to find us, so as to give us the Midnight Cry if 
 we have not been supplied already. Ha ! ha ! 
 Now, Sam," extending his snuffbox, "you must 
 write to her this blessed day. Tell her you are 
 here with us, and if she comes, as we hope she 
 will, as we sincerely hope she will, why she must 
 suppress that Midnight Cry, for I shall not con 
 sent to the madame hearing one word of it, not 
 one word." 
 
 " Had you not better prevent her coming 
 here at all ? " 
 
 " No, my boy, no. I want to see her, have 
 been wanting to see her for years. Tell her to 
 come, tell her so for me, and to-morrow we'll all 
 drive over to Miss Ottoway's and see the run 
 aways. The sooner you have an understand 
 ing with Miss Ottoway the better. Let her 
 know just how things are : that you mean to 
 give those blacks their freedom, and that there 
 is no danger of their being sent back into slav 
 ery. Of course you'll say nothing about our ex 
 traordinary discovery to Cousin Letitia ; but 
 before she gets here, you want to learn from 
 old Merit the full particulars of his escape, her 
 part in it especially. I don't see why she won't 
 have an exceptional opportunity for really
 
 122 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 emancipating two slaves as well as testify how 
 much there is in all this talk of believing that 
 the world is to burn up this fall. Hey, Sam ? " 
 
 Sam wrote the letter, not a dozen lines in all, 
 and gave it to Cousin Vic to read. 
 
 "That's just the letter, Sam, a kind of unful 
 filled prophecy. The interpretation depends 
 on the interpreter." And feigning an exultant 
 rapture, she sang the refrain of a hymn familiar in 
 those days. 
 
 " In the morning, resurrection morning, 
 We'll all rise together in the morning."
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 AN OLD MASTER. 
 
 IT was late in the afternoon. Phil was work 
 ing hard in the hay-field within sight and call 
 of the open window where Marjory sat almost 
 lost in refashioning an old lace shoulder cape of 
 her Aunt Prissy's, for since that visit to the 
 Hermitage she had thought not a little of her 
 personal adorning, had tried making a coil of 
 her boyish ringlets, and had studied the effect 
 of a trailing gown like Miss Culbertson's. For 
 she could not rid herself of the belief that the 
 gate of her seclusion was swinging wide, and 
 that in the new world to which she was going, 
 ribbons and laces and pretty gowns would be 
 in order. She could hear Phil sharply repri 
 manding Merit occasionally ; for the old man 
 was very " heavy handed" with his work since 
 taking Poll-Betsey to her new keeper, and had 
 he been mowing a miraculous crop of hickory 
 canes that afternoon had scarcely made slower
 
 124 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 progress. What with Marjory's interference in 
 his behalf, and her telling over and over a 
 simple version of the story of Sir Nevandeless 
 to her mother, in whose chamber she was sit 
 ting, the dreamy revery she was disposed to in 
 dulge in was disconnected and tantalizing. 
 
 " Tell me again, dear," would come feebly 
 from the pillow, dissipating the creations of her 
 fancy ; and then Marjory would tell the simple 
 story again, the heavy eyelids falling with her 
 soothing voice. Hitherto Marjory had sung 
 snatches of songs when sitting beside her, or 
 let her imagination furnish the daily entertain 
 ment the purposeless broken will had somehow 
 established as a household rule. The prolong 
 ing of that drowsy interest in song or story had 
 been very slow, but it had attained a choice in 
 the subjects presented ; and Marjory had 
 noticed that day, the indifference to every 
 thing but Sir Victor, inevitably as her mother 
 had fallen asleep at the beginning of the story. 
 
 Priscilla Ottoway and America had gone to 
 the meadow, and Marjory was wishing she 
 might join them at tossing the hay such merry 
 haymakers they were, saving poor Merit, whose 
 doleful psalmody told her at what rate he was
 
 AN OLD MASTER. 125 
 
 swinging his scythe. Then she wandered away 
 from them all through the gate so lately operved, 
 and was thinking what life in the great world 
 would be ; and if their Hermitage neighbors 
 would forget her and never make the promised 
 visit ; and if Phil would ever be anything but 
 the homely-clad farmer he was ; if he could 
 ever be something more like Sir Victor. Then 
 she was suddenly aware of strange voices 
 beneath her window, and the sound of horses' 
 feet and wheels, and there was the party from 
 the Hermitage, Sir Victor helping the ladies to 
 alight and lifting his hat as he looked up to her 
 window, while Aunt Prissy hastened from the 
 meadow in her broad hat to receive them, fol 
 lowed by coatless Phil. 
 
 Before Marjory entered the parlor, for Amer 
 ica had detained her, insisting on her deciding 
 if the black cake should be cut and passed 
 with wine, the introductions were over, and 
 Priscilla Ottoway and Phil had recovered from 
 their- surprise at hearing the name of Samuel 
 Breckinridge, and had taken the hand of " Mars 
 Sam," who assured them that the safety of the 
 fugitives was not jeopardized by his discovery 
 of them ; that he would devise some way with
 
 126 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 Miss Ottoway's co-operation for adjusting the 
 matter without discord, etc., etc. And she, 
 looking into his eyes, had believed him. He 
 had apologized most gracefully for concealing 
 his name from Miss Burke, but they could 
 understand, he believed, why he had done so ; 
 anci would Miss Ottoway permit his conveying 
 the information of his true name to Miss Burke 
 himself, and in his own way? She saw no rea 
 son for objecting, but Phil, who had growled 
 something about " no union with slaveholders" 
 and his readiness to die for the liberty of their 
 servants, withdrew without ceremony and went 
 back to the hay-field. 
 
 Priscilla Ottoway was entertaining them by 
 telling how well they all knew " Mars Sam," 
 and the pranks of his boyhood, when Marjory 
 slipped quietly into the room and had exchanged 
 her simple greetings with the ladies before Sir 
 Victor, seemingly absorbed in a study of one 
 of the old portraits, was aware of her entrance. 
 She stood with demure expectancy waiting for 
 him to see her, when, as if suddenly aware of 
 her presence, he extended his hand toward her 
 with a smile and led her to the porch where 
 one of the dogs was lying, keeping a watchful
 
 AN OLD MASTER. 127 
 
 eye, however, upon the company inside. He 
 thanked her for all of the Hermitage household 
 for the wonderful crow they had been amusing 
 themselves with that morning, and which they 
 had decided to return with a petition for his 
 full pardon for past crimes, so homesick he was, 
 when three or four of the dogs came chasing 
 each other around the house, and at a whistle 
 from Phil went yelping to him in the meadow. 
 
 " Those dogs are old friends of mine I mean 
 their breed," said Sam Breckinridge watching 
 her. He had observed her confusion when she 
 would have addressed him by name, and her 
 omitting to call him Sir Victor as on their 
 first meeting. " I believe I can give you the 
 names of those dogs, that is, the names your 
 old black man has chosen for them. There 
 must be a Dash among them ; Fan, and only 
 for the crow, there had been Poll-Betsey. Did 
 he never name anything Uncle Joshua or" 
 they were looking each other straight in the 
 eye, her own dilating, the color mounting to her 
 very forehead " or Mars Sam ? " 
 
 " Are you Mars Sam ? " under her breath, 
 with long pauses between each word, drawing 
 nearer, even laying her hand on his arm.
 
 128 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 " I am Mars Sam," grasping her hand and 
 holding it fast. " Never mind telling them, 
 they all know it already," for Marjory would 
 have gone to Aunt Prissy with the news ; " all 
 but those most interested in me, old Merit and 
 America." 
 
 " Oh ! Oh ! " she was gasping, suddenly con 
 scious of what the consequences of this meeting 
 might be to them, " and they are your 
 slaves " 
 
 There was a deafening crash in the parlor. 
 America had dropped her tray laden with wine 
 glasses and decanters, and stood motionless 
 above the wreck gazing at Sam Breckinridge 
 with a stony, clairvoyant stare, her hands 
 clinched, her nostrils dilating, the tiger gather 
 ing to spring. Merit, who was close behind 
 her when the catastrophe came, and who had 
 recognized his old master, was advancing by 
 physical contortions, and with convulsive gri 
 maces, nearer and nearer the porch, where Mars 
 Sam, still holding Marjory's hand, was as calm 
 as could be expected. 
 
 " Yes, old uncle, I'se Mars Sam," his voice 
 breaking perceptibly as he bowed his head on 
 the old man's shoulder for a moment, and then
 
 AN OLD MASTER. 129 
 
 quieted the tumultuous outburst of the fugitive 
 as best he could. " I knew I should find you 
 some day ; that my best friend in all the world 
 would be given me again. Don't be afraid of 
 me, mammy," advancing to the glowering 
 negress. " I shall do you no harm. Trust 
 Master Sam and Miss Ottoway for that." 
 
 The words had their effect, but she was still 
 an incarnation of defiance and resolve. She 
 began picking up the debris mechanically, the 
 fumes of the Burgundy filling the room. 
 
 " I know'd yer was comin'," Merit was blub 
 bering, going round and round him like an 
 overjoyed spaniel. " De Lawd 's been a tellin' 
 me so moah dan a yeah, an' wukkin mirakuls 
 dat beat ebery ting Moses eber see. Didn't 
 Uncle Joswer's cane shoot right up out'er de 
 groun' t'other day an' grow, an' grow, an' 
 keep on growin' till it blossumed lilacks an' 
 poseys? Den I know'd youse was comin'. 
 Needn't tell ole Merit de wuld gwine ter 
 bun up 'foah he'd seen Mars Sam ! No moah 
 runnin' aftah de Norf Stah for dis niggah ! 
 Miss Tisha did dat, but I ain't gwine back on 
 Miss Tisha, cos, ye see, she led me up to Miss 
 Prissy heah, and Miss Prissy she's bin keepin'
 
 130 f THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 me from wearin' out, dat she has, and I'se been 
 savin' mysef for Mars Sam. No wearin' out 
 dis niggah ! I'se wuth moah dan I was thirty 
 yeahs ago, and Meriky heah " 
 " Shet up dah 'bout Meriky." 
 " Miss Tisha's comin' too." 
 " Shet up dah 'bout Miss Tisha." 
 "Yes, Merit, you must keep clear of Miss 
 Letitia," following him in his retreat from 
 America's discipline. " You are not to let her 
 know you are here, mind that," with a marked 
 flavor of the old authority, and Merit bobbed 
 his head with becoming deference. " Unless 
 you keep this matter as secret as possible, I 
 may not succeed in emancipating you, as I 
 mean to do." 
 
 The old man started at the words. " Nev- 
 vah make a free niggah of me, Mars Sam. 
 Don' ye do dat, an' I'se waitin' and prayin' 
 for ye all dese yeahs. I'm a Buckinridge nig 
 gah, no free trash fur me, and I'se gwine to 
 keep by Mars Sam." 
 
 America's conclusions were very different. 
 Priscilla Ottoway and MissCulbertson did their 
 best at pouring the oil of consolation upon 
 the troubled waters of her suspicion, but they
 
 AN OLD MASTER. 131 
 
 did not succeed in removing the conviction 
 that she and Merit were in imminent peril of 
 going back to Kentucky in chains. 
 
 " I'se no sech fool as ole Merit dar. I neb- 
 ber forgits dem chillen, one sol' to Or'lens, 
 nudder down ribber's no tellin' whar ; ye don't 
 heah me talkin' lub to dem Buckinridges. I 
 knows 'em from cubs to bars, an' Mars Sam 
 won't bar crossin'. He's Buckinridge, tooth 
 an' nail. Don' I know 'em? High priced 
 niggahs won't slip out of his paws for 
 
 nothin' Sink I'se gwine ter let Miss Prissy 
 
 pay down de money? Don' talk 'bout delaw. 
 Wot's de law to us brack folks ? De law sol' 
 my chillen. I'se had all I wants of de law, an' 
 de Buckinridges. Merit allers was a fool 'bout 
 Mars Sam. He'd foller him off to-morrer, an' 
 Miss Prissy an' Mars Phil an' Miss Annie an' 
 Miss Margie couldn't hoi* 'im. I'll hoi' 'im," 
 with increasing ferocity. " Nobody's gwine 
 ter buy dat ole man but me. I'se gwine ter 
 own him mysef. I'se got money nuff to start 
 wid : I kin earn it in time. I'll borrer of Mars 
 Phil." 
 
 " Well, mammy," said Sam soothingly, " you 
 shall have him cheap."
 
 132 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 He had better have kept silent. 
 
 "I don 1 want him cheap. I won't hab any 
 cheap niggahs roun' heah. Merit is wuth fif 
 teen hundred dollahs." 
 
 In proof of which the old man must show 
 his teeth to prove his sound physical condition. 
 Must bend his poor stiff knees to show that 
 the rheumatism had left him with youthful 
 elasticity. Her praise of Merit was unlimited. 
 In fact she doubted if fifteen hundred dollars 
 was enough for so valuable a farm hand and 
 house servant. She could raise the money. 
 Merit and she had a nest egg in the bank. 
 They had speculated in calves and fox hound 
 puppies, and some other specialties for 
 years. 
 
 "We'll see whose massa roun' heah when 
 I'se bought Merit, and 'foah Miss Prissy shall 
 buy me, I'll " shutting her lips close, and leav 
 ing the threat unexpressed. 
 
 America had not been the property of Samuel 
 Breckinridge for several years before her escape. 
 She had been sold to a neighboring plantation 
 just before his leaving the country. His inten 
 tion, now that the fugitives were discovered, 
 was to write to her owner, an old friend, and
 
 AN OLD MASTER. 133 
 
 secure the promise of her freedom for a reason 
 able sum. As Sam Breckinridge had not a 
 dollar of his own, the success of the scheme 
 depended upon the plans he was discussing with 
 Cousin Vic. 
 
 The exciting episode of the visit had gradu 
 ally merged into pleasant conversation of com 
 monplace matters, and wine and cake had been 
 served without disaster, when the beauty of the 
 grounds naturally led to a stroll through the 
 meadow and orchard. Sam and Merit rambled 
 apart and disappeared in the direction of the 
 campground, while Victoria Barry and Marjory, 
 who had left Cousin Beth and Miss Ottoway 
 sitting upon the porch, made the circuit of the 
 flower beds, and then, at Marjory's suggestion, 
 followed the narrow pathway through the high 
 grass, to the white paling around John Wilson's 
 grave, Marjory laughing merrily at the story of 
 the mocking bird and the explanation of what 
 had been counted one of old Merit's pardonable 
 deviations from exact truth. 
 
 An advanced corps of " the brethren " had 
 been found by Sam Breckinridge at work on the 
 camp ground, making ready for the arrival of 
 the big tent. They were not so preoccupied as
 
 134 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 to omit warning their visitor of the speedy end 
 of his earthly probation. Sam listened with 
 reticent amusement, accepting their tracts and 
 papers innumerable, finally asking what attrac 
 tion they offered a godless community in the 
 way of eloquent preachers. 
 
 " Father Miller will be here himself without 
 doubt, and Elder Himes. Never heard of Elder 
 Himes ? Why all Boston knows what a power 
 ful speaker he is : the right hand of Father 
 Miller, too much for the pro-slavery hypocrites 
 he was in the London World Convention. But 
 Sister Letitia Barkenstone, the Lord willing, 
 will surely be here. And who is she ? It 
 must be you don't read the papers wherein the 
 scoffers tell a dying world all our doings. Letitia 
 Barkenstone is the chosen handmaiden of the 
 Lord, raised up to proclaim the glad tidings to 
 them who will not listen to the rough Elijahs 
 of the wilderness. She is the Paula of these 
 last days. She has cast her diamonds and her 
 silken attire at the feet of the Lord's anointed, 
 to make glad the desolate places before He 
 comes to make up His jewels. She has sold 
 her palaces and her chariots and given unto the 
 treasury of the Lord."
 
 AN OLD MASTER. 135 
 
 " Who'd ebber taut dat of Miss Tisha ? " old 
 Merit was muttering, and evidently on the 
 verge of an outburst of rapture. Sam promised 
 to attend the meetings, and leading Merit away 
 just as " the brother" was unrolling a chart for 
 his edification, joined Marjory and Victoria 
 Barry talking freely together as they leaned 
 on the white palings around John Wilson's 
 grave.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY. 
 
 NOT many days after the events of the pre 
 ceding chapter the madame and her 
 party arrived at the Hermitage, a party care 
 fully selected by Dan Van Horn as an antidote 
 for the apocalyptic visions of his dear mother, 
 her somnambulistic mutterings about times, 
 times, and dividing of times, Babylon's fall, and 
 the cleansing of the sanctuary. 
 
 There was Kate McVicar, the mad-cap queen 
 of a fashionable circle, Karl Saxsby, a rapidly 
 rising artist, and Will Primrose, the poet of the 
 hour. 
 
 " If you and Kate McVicar," Dan had said to 
 Cousin Beth, " cannot cure mother of the 
 effects of this delusion, nobody can." 
 
 The madame's appearance was by no means 
 indicative of spiritual or mental disquiet. Her 
 tall, graceful figure was faultlessly attired, or 
 had been, had the madame been twenty years
 
 THRO UGH A GLA SS DA RKL Y. 137 
 
 younger, requiring less aid from rouge, hair 
 dye and every artifice intended to reconcile a 
 fading beauty with the inexorable ravages of 
 the years. She clung to her idolizing husband 
 as if she were his petted child, or as if they 
 were acting a pretty comedy, with Cousin Beth 
 for faithful nurse. The apocalyptic visions 
 lost their terrors in less than twenty-four 
 hours, and the madame was all absorbed in 
 Karl Saxsby's proposed sketch book of the 
 Genesee Valley, and Will Primrose's madrigals. 
 
 She would be a toiler with the rest. She 
 would write a simple story for the poor chil 
 dren of her mission school. What an eventful 
 summer it would be after all. " Poor Sam 
 Breckinridge," she sighed, wishing she might 
 see him restored to the favor of Letitia Barken- 
 stone, "and he must be; but she should never 
 consent, never, to Letitia Barkenstone's coming 
 to them as a guest from that camp meeting. 
 She would arrange matters for Sam, somehow, 
 but to burden her family life with the eccentrici 
 ties of a Millerite preacher was out of the ques 
 tion." 
 
 The Genesee Valley was far from being the 
 social Sahara she had imagined. Among its
 
 138 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 extensive landowners were many old Maryland 
 families living in something akin to baronial 
 style, while not a few gentlemen of New York 
 and Philadelphia had country seats thereabout. 
 In less than a fortnight the Hermitage had 
 ceased to be a hermitage in any sense, and the 
 round of visits and excursions so absorbed the 
 time of all that Marjory had at last wearily 
 reached the belief that nothing would come of 
 her new acquaintance after all. The day she had 
 called at the Hermitage with her aunt, there had 
 been no one at home to receive them, and after 
 that disappointment Marjory wearied of expect 
 ing to see more of her whilom friends. Her 
 musings when day after day closed, after its 
 undeviating routine of commonplace, were 
 morbid, even resentful. Old Merit, for he did 
 not tell her of several secret meetings with his 
 old master, she thought forgotten with them 
 all. 
 
 The camp meeting had been an additional 
 disappointment. Such a thing as an ascension 
 robe was not to be seen, the brethren denied 
 that one had ever been owned by a sane be 
 liever, and the preaching so far had been expo 
 sition of prophecy by calm speakers, that had
 
 THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY. 139 
 
 failed to attract a crowd. The meetings were 
 a prelude only, she was told, to what might be 
 expected when Letitia Barkenstone should 
 arrive, she having been delayed by the great 
 demands upon her in Boston and New York. 
 Perhaps old America was right after all. 
 
 " If dere's anythin' in all dis' yeah it's de 
 debbil, an' de debbil is gwine to let us 'lone 
 if we stop foolishin' with folks as hasn't 
 nuffin' to do but preach an' bress de Lawd. I 
 want such folks to keep off'n dis groun'. Dar's 
 Miss Annie dar, an' her preachah, an' didn't 
 dat howlin' preachah de odder night set all dis 
 trubble gwine 'bout Mars Sam and MissTisha? 
 Dey's no count. I'se no use for sech trash, an' 
 if you don't go runnin' affer dem, an' coaxin* 
 'em like old Merit dar, ye'll nebber see 'em 
 agen. What good's Miss Tisha an' Mars Sam 
 bin to us since we kum heah ? Hab we needed 
 'em roun'? I'se tells ye, Miss Margie, it's all 
 de debbil, an' if yes won't hab nuffin' to do 
 wid de debbil he'll clar out mighty quick." 
 
 Marjory, half converted to America's teaching, 
 tried to forget what gave her pleasure no longer. 
 Another gate, out into the world far away from 
 the old house in the valley, seemed opening,
 
 140 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 and when once beyond the seclusion growing 
 more and more like a prison house, would she 
 ever be contented with such a quiet life again ? 
 Aunt Prissy had been inclined to place her in 
 one of the Friends' Boarding Schools in the 
 suburbs of Philadelphia, but she was averse to 
 anything so tranquillizing, so monotonously 
 drab. 
 
 She sat by the open window of her mother's 
 chamber, just as she had sat every afternoon 
 for a fortnight, and might be sitting, she some 
 times thought, for years to come, if circum 
 stances did not break the monotony of her life. 
 Looking off across the meadows, at the white 
 paling beyond the wheat, she re-lived her visit 
 to the Hermitage, and all that had happened. 
 Was it years ago since Mars Sam became a 
 reality in her uneventful life ? How vividly 
 she recalled every word, look, and inflection 
 of his mellow, low keyed voice. Then she 
 remembered how strange she had forgotten 
 it until that moment the little book he had 
 dropped as he took his seat in the wagon, one 
 of those that had been given him at the camp 
 ground. She had laid it carefully away, hidden 
 it in fact. Now was the time to read it " The
 
 THRO UGH A GLA SS DARKL Y. 141 
 
 Dream of Father Miller" it would serve as a 
 lullaby for her mother's heavy lidded eyes. She 
 soon forgot herself and her surroundings in the 
 old man's description of the day of doom. Her 
 mother's soft breathing alone broke the silence 
 in which she read. She beheld a globe reeling 
 to destruction, the stars hurled from the 
 heavens, the children of men crying in vain unto 
 the Judge, descending, attended by a retinue of 
 angels and archangels. The graves gave up 
 their dead, the lightning shrivelled the fair 
 bosom of the earth, within which terrified 
 ghosts so long had slept for this horrible awak 
 ing. In what an awful silence she read on, a 
 paralysis of fear creeping over her, a conviction 
 that the homely writer was a true seer, and that 
 his fearful predictions were speedily to come to 
 pass. How horrible to be linked to a world 
 that might not escape such a fate ! What a 
 merciless trap for humanity, what an inexorable 
 grasp was this hand of the Lord, what a relent 
 less monster the Maker of the Universe ! She 
 looked out over the wide landscape, so fair a 
 moment before, to behold it horribly trans 
 formed. The shadow of its impending doom 
 lay black upon it. It shrivelled with flame, it
 
 142 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 melted with fervent heat. The great elms fell 
 crackling into yawning chasms, the birds 
 dropped dead, the river bed was molten fire. 
 " Phil ! " she called out shrilly, the cry of a 
 frightened child. 
 
 A merry laugh came up from beneath the 
 window, a chorus of happy voices. Bewildered 
 and dumb she stood gazing straight into the 
 face of Sam Breckinridge. Two carriages of 
 ladies and gentlemen all looked up at her, and 
 smiled. Would they, could they, be so happy, 
 passed through her perturbed mind as she 
 hastened down, if they knew what the end of it 
 all was to be ? How strange that the world 
 should go on just the same as if it were not 
 nearing the last day. Her seriousness wore off 
 gradually, however, and the visit which Mrs. 
 Wardell had intended should be one of cere 
 mony was more like a rural frolic, in which 
 even Priscilla Ottoway took part ; for after tea 
 had been passed, as they sat on the lawn, 
 America resplendent in her hoop earrings and 
 brightest head gear, Marjory must lead them 
 over the quaint old house, even to the ridge 
 pole of the roof, and show them the turret of 
 the Hermitage peeping through the trees. Will
 
 THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY. 143 
 
 Primrose saw no end of madrigals, and Karl 
 Saxsby declared the plan for his sketch book 
 essentially changed. Then Victoria Barry 
 played a Virginia reel on the jangling old 
 piano, and Kate McVicar arranged the dancers 
 on the wide lawn, insisting that old Merit and 
 America should do their part. 
 
 " Dat Mars Sam is jes' as peart as ebber he 
 was," she heard Merit half soliloquizing as she 
 passed down the line with her partner. If the 
 dream came back to her, as it dolorously did 
 at times for all her gaiety, it was with a sense of 
 thankfulness that something was helping her to 
 forget it all. One would have thought Phil had 
 been reading it, so solemn he looked in his best 
 coat, which, by the way, Marjory discovered 
 that afternoon was quite out of fashion, and 
 dreadfully short in the sleeves. She believed 
 she liked him better in his workaday dress. 
 She would never make him unhappy again by 
 forcing him into what he never wore of his own 
 free will, but he need not look so sullen. 
 That did not improve his appearance. 
 
 Mrs. Wardell's desire that Karl Saxsby 
 should make certain sketches of the old house 
 and its surroundings, to be accompanied in
 
 144 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 time by madrigals by Will Primrose, prolonged 
 the stay of the party far beyond her expectation. 
 They were watching the sun setting, Marjory in 
 the window above them, that of her mother's 
 room, whither she had gone lest she should be 
 missed by the invalid, when Phil, who had been 
 sitting with her, found it necessary to look after 
 his farm hands in a distant field. She sat lean 
 ing upon the window ledge, her bright girlish 
 face against the background of her crimson 
 curtain, the picture framed by the gnarled 
 boughs of the old oak, on the lower branches 
 of which Jocko was stepping about with ruffled 
 plumage, haughtily disdaining to exhibit his 
 familiarity with Shakespeare, by croaking 
 querulously at Victoria Barry's efforts to call 
 him out. 
 
 Priscilla Ottoway and Elizabeth Culbertson 
 were a little apart from the rest. They had 
 been speaking of Letitia Barkenstone, and the 
 influence of the prevailing fanaticism, the stress 
 laid upon astronomical phenomena of any kind 
 by the public prints, a few of the leading 
 journals giving a special column to " Signs and 
 Wonders in the Heavens." 
 
 " Millerism is a spiritual fermentation," Miss
 
 THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY. 145 
 
 Culbertson was saying, " and spiritual fermen 
 tation, I believe," smiling at the amused 
 incredulity plainly manifested in the face of 
 her listener, " takes place in many ways, in the 
 heavens as well as upon the earth, false inter 
 pretations of the word, for the ultimate 
 purification of our faith and our understanding 
 of spiritual interpretation. Millerism will 
 result in a clearer comprehension of the proph 
 ecies relating to the Second Coming." 
 
 " But how can you have faith in a system 
 so dependent upon falsities for its develop 
 ment? " 
 
 The singing from the camp ground burst 
 out tumultuously, the volume of voices increas 
 ing with the rhythmical roaring wail of the 
 chorus. 
 
 " I want a religion that shall dispel illusions," 
 continued Priscilla Ottaway, "not absorb them ; 
 that shall break down dogmatism, not build 
 upon it ; that shall give me real knowledge, 
 not evolutions of my ignorance and mistakes." 
 
 " You demand a revelation," Priscilla Otto- 
 way alone could hear Elizabeth Culbertson's 
 low sweet voice, " a faith born of something 
 above and beyond the result of logical connec-
 
 146 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 tion something that does not depend upon 
 your ability to formulate it in a syllogism." 
 
 Kate McVicar was begging them all to go 
 down to the camp ground. She had Miss Culbert- 
 son by both hands and was playfully attempting 
 to drag her from her chair. " I must see a genu 
 ine camp meeting. Such guys as the women 
 do make of themselves. Oh we must go. 
 Mrs. Wardell don't care a fig about it. She'll 
 stay here with Cousin Vic, who doesn't want to 
 go. Come, Dan," for he had not stirred from 
 the great bear skin upon which he was reclin 
 ing. "Come, we must get up something 
 mediaeval in the way of an ascension robe." 
 
 Dan shook his head a solemn refusal. 
 
 " I wish you would go with us," came up 
 pleadingly to Marjory from under her window. 
 
 She had been listening to nothing but the 
 singing, catching the refrain, heralding in 
 words she could hear distinctly, that impending 
 day of doom she had wished to forget. His 
 voice startled her. She drew back with a low 
 cry. 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Breckinridge, but I can 
 not go. Indeed I do not want to go. I would 
 not go for anything."
 
 THROUGH A GLASS DARKL Y, 147 
 
 He waved her a smiling adieu, after a mo 
 ment's indecision, and turning abruptly upon his 
 heel, gravitated with the rest to the bear skin 
 where Karl Saxsby was exhibiting the sketches 
 he had made. 
 
 " We can have a camp meeting of our own," 
 Kate McVicar was chirping, and she began 
 singing 
 
 " I'm going, I'm going, I'm on my journey home, 
 I'm travelling to a city just in sight- " 
 
 " Well if it's really in sight," broke in Vic 
 toria Barry, " we can see it here as well as from 
 slivery seats without backs. We haven't the 
 charts, that's a drawback, but we can elucidate 
 from our memories, which no doubt will be 
 more entertaining. Sit down here, Sam," 
 cushioning the tree behind him with a sofa 
 pillow, " you are under my medical care. I must 
 remember, if you don't." 
 
 "Old Merit is right. He says I'm 'jes as 
 much of a pickaninny as ebber.' Come, Dan, 
 let's have a game of mumble peg." 
 
 " No, we are playing camp meeting. Dan is 
 expected to preach." There was a clapping of 
 hands, Dan languidly conscious of being the 
 centre of attraction.
 
 148 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 " Yes, Dan," from Sam Breckinridge, " I 
 want you to appreciate my giving up Elder 
 Stiggins to listen to the future Rector of St. 
 John's in the wilderness. Where was it we left 
 off the other night, or was it at breakfast this 
 morning, when some petty consideration, 
 ordering a cork screw from Rochester or some 
 thing of the sort, prevented the settlement of a 
 matter concerning the whole universe. Where 
 did we leave off?" appealing to Victoria Barry. 
 " If you cannot tell them we must begin over 
 again." 
 
 " Why I was asking, if it could be proved 
 that the teaching of the early church differed 
 essentially from that of these fanatics, con 
 cerning the doctrine of the Second Coming?" 
 
 " Fanaticism was not born with William 
 Miller," Dan said quietly. 
 
 " Verily," from Victoria Barry, gladly prod 
 ding him on, " these fanatics are true Restora- 
 tionists, are they not ? Restoring the relics of 
 ancient doctrine. As such they should be 
 hailed as the benefactors of Christendom. 
 History tells us, and by history I mean trust 
 worthy authority, that the early Christians 
 lived in constant expectation of the return of
 
 THROUGH A GLASS DARKL Y. 149 
 
 Jesus the Christ ; that they went to their beds 
 each night believing He might come before the 
 morning. Every to-morrow was to them a 
 possible last day. The margin given by these 
 Millerites, when they fix upon the twenty- 
 fourth day of October, the date given by their 
 system of literal interpretation, this heritage 
 of the early church, is a pleasanter arrange 
 ment for the delaying sinner. He knows just 
 when his probation ends. ' Behold I come 
 quickly,' in short, meant something more even 
 to the early church than to these fanatics. It 
 would to me. I should find it more comfortable 
 to believe that the great conflagration would 
 not break out until next October, rather than 
 that we might never get back to the Hermitage 
 and see dear Doctor Wardell again. Your 
 Advent hymns have the same meaning as those 
 sung by these Millerites. They have sensibly 
 adopted many of yours, particularly this one, 
 which has some impressiveness when uplifted 
 by expectant believers : " and she solemnly sang, 
 in her strong contralto, Kate McVicar taking 
 up the soprano, Dan's tenor falling in with 
 the melancholy refrain, 
 
 " Lo ! He comes with clouds descending."
 
 150 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 " Cheerful, isn't it? " and Sam looked up to 
 the window nodding to Marjory who was 
 eagerly listening. 
 
 " Now tell me, Dan, if it were possible to 
 translate you and Father Miller back to the 
 dens and caves of the early church, which, 
 think you, would be in the more perfect fellow 
 ship with those looking for the appearing of 
 the Lord Jesus Christ?" 
 
 " It's hard having history and the thermome 
 ter both to contend with," sighed Sam Breck- 
 inridge, wiping his brow, and regarding Dan 
 with amused expectancy. 
 
 " Father Miller is born out of his time," 
 drawled Karl Saxsby without looking up from 
 his sketch book. " Unless he can contribute 
 something to save us from the repulsive realism 
 of to-day, inspire a renaissance, the sooner he 
 ' goes up ' the better. We are too common 
 place already." 
 
 Victoria Barry turned upon him inci 
 sively. 
 
 " Thou scoffer of the genuine and the real, is 
 not faith a fact? What change would you 
 inspire in genuine belief?" 
 
 " What is belief? " squinting his eyelids to a
 
 THRO UGH A GLA SS DARKL Y. 151 
 
 straight line, and regarding her as he would a 
 vague subject for his pencil. 
 
 " The affirmation of the soul." 
 
 Dan nodded assent. 
 
 " Your approval of the definition, Dan, 
 betrays your heresy," quickly retorted Victoria 
 Barry. " Do you admit that there is any 
 authority above the church in matters of faith. 
 No. Of course not. Oh, foolish Tractarian, 
 what hath bewitched you that you did not 
 foresee that affirmations of the soul, if at vari 
 ance with the authority of the church, are a 
 delusion and a snare ? " 
 
 " Of course we must submit to the authority 
 of the church in matters of faith." 
 
 "But if authority does not abide by its decis 
 ions, if its teachings to-day are contradictory 
 to its teachings to-morrow, what then?" 
 
 " The truth is the same, yesterday, to-day, 
 and forever." 
 
 " Let all the people say amen, but not with 
 out a perception of the distinction between the 
 truth and orthodox doctrines. But as I under 
 stand you, it is what the church permits to be 
 taught ; the doctrines it plainly upholds, that 
 you are ready to accept as truth ? "
 
 152 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 Dan nodded assent. 
 
 " How was it at the close of the tenth cen 
 tury, the end of the memorable year of our 
 Lord, nine hundred and ninety-nine? There 
 we have an illustration of faith in the literal 
 Second Coming, as taught by the church with 
 out question, and accepted throughout Chris 
 tendom." 
 
 " What came to pass in those days ? " asked 
 Sam. 
 
 " Study your history, my child. Don't you 
 remember how that century went out under the 
 fearful pall cast over it by all Christendom, the 
 belief that the prophecy concerning the bind 
 ing of the devil for one thousand years was to 
 be fulfilled within that year? The pulpits of 
 the infallible church had been teaching that 
 literal interpretation of the apocalyptic text for 
 a generation and more. There were no great 
 stone cathedrals until that day went by. Kings 
 laid down their cro\vns, and harvests were 
 unsown in anticipation of the end of the world." 
 
 " Repeat the prophecy for us," said Sam. 
 
 Cousin Beth slowly repeated the text. 
 "And I saw an angel come down from 
 Heaven, having the key of the bottomless pit
 
 THRO UGH A GLA SS DARKL Y. 153 
 
 and a great chain in his hand. And he laid 
 hold on the dragon, that old serpent, which is 
 the devil and Satan, and bound him a thousand 
 years, and cast him into the bottomless pit, and 
 shut him up, and set a seal upon him, that he 
 should deceive the nations no more till the thou 
 sand years should be fulfilled ; and after that 
 he must be loosed a little season." 
 
 A hush followed the recitation. Victoria 
 Barry was the first to speak. 
 
 " Only think what the Christian world would 
 be like to-day if Christians were looking for the 
 end of all things as they were in nine hundred 
 and ninety-nine. The scoffer then was outside 
 of the pale of holy church, as far removed as 
 we are to-night from the Millerite camp meet 
 ing." 
 
 "Those times ought to contribute great sub 
 jects to art," said Karl Saxsby. 
 
 " The story of the abbot of St. Vanne gives 
 you one," said Elizabeth Culbertson. " As 
 the day of doom drew nearer, intense efforts 
 were made to appease the wrath of Heaven ; 
 kings and emperors begged for admittance at 
 monastery doors. Henry of Germany finally 
 succeeded in being admitted as a monk by the
 
 154 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 gentle abbot of St. Vanne, who had tried to 
 convince him that his duty was in remaining 
 upon his throne. 
 
 " ' Sire,' said the abbot, ' since you are now 
 under my orders, and have sworn to obey me, 
 go forth and fulfill the duties of the state to 
 which God has called you. Go forth a monk 
 of the abbey of St. Vanne, but emperor of the 
 .West."' 
 
 " We get a fair idea of the realism of the 
 mediaeval church in the paintings of its artists," 
 said Karl Saxsby. " Would any congregation 
 of to-day tolerate above its altar, no matter how 
 perfect drawing and coloring might be, sinners 
 boiling in dinner pots like legs of mutton, the 
 devil tossing the damned from one pit to 
 another with fiery forks, the Judge looking on 
 serenely ? The faith of those days, its percep 
 tions of spiritual things, is shown in its illustra 
 tion by art." 
 
 " The Nuremberg Chronicles, for instance," 
 said Victoria Barry ; " isn't it there we find a 
 man rising from the grave with a wooden 
 leg?" 
 
 " Pity to check such development as there 
 has been since those days, by burning up every-
 
 THRO UGH A GLA SS DARKL Y. 155 
 
 thing as a failure ; " and Karl Saxsby shut up 
 his note book, Mrs. Wardell claiming it imme 
 diately for closer study. Her interest in the 
 conversation had been very slight. " There is 
 comfort in what Lessing says, ' Who knows 
 whether there will not come a new eternal gos 
 pel, which will be to Christianity what Christian 
 ity was to Judaism a third stage in the long 
 education of mankind by God, for whom the 
 shortest line is not a straight one ? ' ' 
 
 The symposium came to an abrupt end at 
 this point, for the carriages had been brought up 
 and Mrs. Wardell rose and began taking leave. 
 Marjory came down, and Phil reappeared, and 
 they were waiting for Elizabeth Culbertson who 
 had followed Priscilla Ottoway into the house, 
 when Kate McVicar suddenly remembered 
 what she had come so very near forgetting to 
 tell Marjory, that there was to be a Dickens 
 masquerade at the Hermitage within a fort 
 night, and she must come, yes, they must all 
 come with a beaming smile for Phil without 
 fail. 
 
 " Let us see much of each other while time 
 shall last," was Victoria Barry's farewell ; and 
 the carriage drove away and Marjory stood in
 
 1 5 6 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 the twilight listening to the sound of their 
 voices. Then the mournful singing came up again 
 from the camp ground, and the spectre of terror 
 that had haunted her all the afternoon crept 
 nearer and nearer in the gathering darkness. 
 
 How Phil startled her ! 
 
 " Come, Marjory, now for a lark. I have a 
 bag of mice here ; such a time as I have had for 
 a week, catching them ; and here " holding 
 another wriggling bag far behind him at arms- 
 length "is a snake or two. If you want some 
 fun, something to make you forget all this 
 nonsense you have been hearing, just come 
 down to the camp ground. I can get into the 
 big tree just over where the women sit, and 
 when I drop one of these snakes " 
 
 " No, Phil ! " petulantly and decisively ; and 
 she hurried away from him and went to her 
 own room and closed the door for the night. 
 Disgusted with life, he found a questionable 
 kind of pleasure in submerging his bags in the 
 creek, vowing he would never try to please 
 Marjory again. Then he satisfied himself that 
 she was not sitting by her window listening to 
 the grand " hullaboolo," as he called it, down on 
 the camp ground.
 
 THR UGH A GLA SS DA RKL Y. 157 
 
 " She's thinking about the masquerade, of 
 course, and Sir Victor. If there ever was an 
 imp on this ground, it's that devilish Poll- 
 Betsey." 
 
 Marjory was lying awake listening to the 
 shouting of the fanatics and re-living that 
 horrible dream, when she was not trying, most 
 ineffectually, to concentrate her thoughts upon 
 the masquerade. It was near midnight when 
 she crept to the window and looked up to the 
 starry heavens as into a hard, inexorable face 
 pronouncing her merciless doom. 
 
 " If it must be, why should we know it is 
 coming ? What happiness can there be in a 
 world, with a God like that?"
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 AT THE DOOR. 
 
 PRISCILLA OTTOWAY had not outlived 
 her love of a secluded life, of rigid self exile 
 from the social world. Contentment with her 
 seclusion, thankfulness for it, was the basis of 
 her serene satisfaction. She did not forget that 
 her peaceful exile had been the source of her 
 soul's healing. She had no yearning for the 
 world she had forsaken. She would keep 
 watchful eye lest it crept within the refuge con 
 secrated to her by her resurrection from sorrow. 
 Without regretting that she had been thwarted 
 in her intention to live alone in the old house 
 with a faithful servant or two, she never ad 
 mitted that the contentment she had found in 
 the companionship of Phil and Marjory was 
 more perfect than it would have been, had 
 destiny never guided their feet to her thresh 
 old. Her relations to each of them, particu 
 larly Marjory, had been peculiarly tender, and
 
 AT THE DOOR. 159 
 
 yet she knew, and they knew, that the sphere 
 of her isolation her inner world was separate 
 from theirs, as she meant their individual hap 
 piness should be from hers. They should go 
 from her when they would and as they would. 
 She had enough to do in bringing about a har 
 monious conformity to fate in her own life, 
 without being a law, a fate for them. Phil 
 would never leave her. The quiet of the old 
 house was in tune with his temperament. But 
 Marjory the pang was hard to suppress would 
 fly away speedily ; she was already trying her 
 restless wings. 
 
 Nor did she regret the invasion of her se 
 clusion by her gay neighbors. It would give 
 her needed assistance in devising and carrying 
 out plans for Marjory, from whom her thoughts 
 were never absent. She was studying her fan 
 cies, her inherited tastes, the unfulfilled proph 
 ecy of her life. Confidence was ripening be 
 tween them, a new thing, for dearly as the girl 
 loved her Aunt Prissy she was slow in forget 
 ting the hidden law of separation, the unde 
 fined wall of reserve between them, which had 
 overcast her childhood, chilling her when as a 
 child she had been silenced, and that not by
 
 160 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 words, in her questionings about her father. 
 The appearance of " Mars Sam," and its effect 
 on the fortunes of the fugitives, had given Pris- 
 cilla Ottoway little or no uneasiness. She had 
 confidence in Samuel Breckinridge. She could 
 pay for the freedom of the slaves if she would, 
 a thing she did not mean to do unless under 
 pressure. Her soul revolted against such con 
 cession to slavery ; and then it would cripple 
 her considerably, interfering with plans for the 
 future of Marjory. Phil was gloomy with fore 
 bodings of what was coming to pass, and Amer 
 ica did much muttering to herself. The two 
 kept sharp watch upon Sam Breckinridge, and 
 old Merit too, for that matter ; but the former 
 seemed likely to forget his promises of a happy 
 settlement in the absorbing gaieties of the Her 
 mitage. He had about made up his mind that 
 he should not meet Letitia Barkenstone unless 
 he went in search of her followed her from 
 city to city, as the multitude of believers were 
 doing, leaving a little flock to stand guard at 
 the big tent on the camp ground and wait for 
 her arrival. His letter to her had ensured him a 
 daily mail of "Advent" publications, and in those 
 he could read of her eloquence and wonderful
 
 AT THE DOOR. 161 
 
 power in plucking brands from the burning ; 
 but her appointments were not announced. 
 She left her to-morrows to the promptings of 
 the spirit, a most vexatious trial to those re 
 sponsible for the big tent, and the expectation 
 of the curious folk up the valley. Nor did he 
 get satisfactory letters from Kentucky concern 
 ing America. Her owner asked an exorbitant 
 price for her, and seemed disposed to teach 
 thieving Garrisonians a thing or two. Sam's 
 gift of diplomacy would be exercised to the 
 utmost before the matter was ended, and Cousin 
 Vic declared he knew nothing about diplomacy, 
 while Letitia Barkenstone was a consummate 
 diplomatist. Happily for Marjory, whose mor 
 bidly inclined musings when by herself would 
 lead her to read and re-read the terrible dream, 
 musings she never made known to Aunt Prissy 
 or Phil, she was included in the party which 
 drove away from the Hermitage not many days 
 after Mrs. Wardell's visit to Barley Flats for a 
 trip around some of the charming little lakes of 
 the neighborhood. The nearest duplicate of 
 an English coach the country afforded was 
 found, after not a little search ; and Marjory, 
 perched on an outside seat beside Victoria
 
 1 6 2 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 Barry, her brown cheeks flushed with excite 
 ment, had never seen Phil watching them from 
 the shadow of the covered bridge when they 
 drove away. It was quite as well she did not, 
 for he had seen little but Sam Breckinridge, 
 and Sam that very moment was telling her 
 what Phil, of course, could not hear how they 
 would dismiss the driver at the village, and he 
 and she would drive the four-in-hand them 
 selves. Then Sam blew the horn cheerily, and 
 the wondering farm-folk stared, the children ran 
 out to the middle of the road to gaze after 
 them, Doctor Wardell bowing to everybody, 
 and Kate McVicar describing everything in 
 detail to the madame, who could see nothing 
 for her two thick veils. It was needless for 
 any of the party to have a care for anything, 
 for Dan Van Horn had assumed the care of 
 them all and their belongings, and made the 
 whims of each his study. 
 
 A week of perfect weather, of leisurely driv 
 ing through picturesque farm land, bending 
 orchards, and vistas of forest-primeval ; good 
 horses, good company, good cheer, camping 
 on lonely beaches, dipping oars in silent waters, 
 dancing in the wide parlors of the hospitable
 
 AT THE DOOR. 163 
 
 houses along the way, song and laughter, " Oh, 
 what a joyous world it is ! " thought Marjory, 
 " and how sweet the enjoying of it all with 
 those whose lives are full of joy ! " The least 
 she could do, she thought, for those at home, 
 was to send them a letter, and so the Sunday 
 they spent at Crooked Lake, near Jemima Wil 
 kinson's house, she wrote to her Aunt Prissy : 
 " Here we are for the Sabbath ; for Dr. War- 
 dell will not hear of our going on to-day, anx 
 ious as we all are to reach the shores of Seneca. 
 They seem much interested in Jemima Wil 
 kinson. She lived here some fifty years ago was 
 the head of one of the first and largest settle 
 ments in the Genesee country. Think of forty 
 families going into the woods to live with such a 
 queer woman, to make her their leader in every 
 thing! They believed she had been raised up 
 from the dead, that she died once, and that then 
 Jesus Christ ' made habitation of her body ' 
 whatever that means. Only think of believing 
 such nonsense ! And that she could raise the 
 dead, and heal the sick, and walk on the water, 
 if she were a mind to try only she never did. 
 I hear so much about Jesus the Christ, and I 
 know so little about Him, I asked Cousin Beth,
 
 1 64 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 for she will have me call her so, to tell me the 
 true story. And how can they say one like 
 Him will come back to the world to burn it up, 
 and will save only those who happen to believe 
 something the rest know nothing about ? I am 
 glad we don't trouble ourselves with such 
 things at Barley Flats, only old Merit. I must 
 thank him for the most I know about them. 
 For all my little talk with Cousin Beth this 
 morning, and the long sermon Mr. Van Horn 
 read to us afterwards, and the hymns and the 
 prayers should I have knelt ? I did not I 
 couldn't understand any better than before 
 some things I would rather talk with you about 
 than with any one else. So many stories I have 
 to tell you about this Jemima Wilkinson, 'the 
 Universal Friend,' and how my tongue slipped 
 in speaking of her ; and I called her Letitia 
 Barkenstone they all laughed ; and the doctor 
 said they were not so very different, and that 
 did not please Mr. Breckinridge. I like to hear 
 him talk as he does, when I am driving and he 
 is smoking his cigar. Then Mr. Breckinridge 
 tells me so much about the old plantation, and 
 gives his side of Merit's old stories. He seems 
 a great deal older to me than he did at first,
 
 AT THE DOOR. i6g 
 
 and different in many ways. He is not well, 
 and Cousin Vic takes care of him, carries his 
 cough medicine in her bag, and doses him when 
 she thinks best. My Sir Victor has turned 
 into somebody as unlike what Phil thinks I was 
 looking for in a knight, as possible. I believe 
 Mr. Breckinridge thinks I am nothing but a 
 big little girl. Mrs. Wardell nearly fainted 
 the other day when she heard I was holding 
 the reins during a little trouble we had with 
 the horses in going down a steep hill ; coming 
 out all right of course. ' That child Marjory ' 
 she calls me, which, with Mr. Breckinridge's 
 ' Marjory, child,' has set me thinking about let 
 ting my hair grow long. Perhaps a braid instead 
 of these boyish locks would make them realize 
 that I am nearly sixteen. Only for the mas 
 querade we should not turn about at Seneca 
 Lake, but should go on, and on ; for every day 
 of this life seems happier than the one before. 
 I wish you could see the doctor when we strike 
 a trout stream, and Will Primrose, who insists 
 on being cook when we camp out, and lets us 
 starve while he is studying the cook book or 
 watching the frying-pan, open cook book in 
 hand. Don't tell Merit that Mr. Breckinridge
 
 1 66 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 talks of going to Europe this fall ; Cousin Vic 
 says all that depends upon the result of his in 
 fluence upon Letitia Barkenstone. Don't you 
 half wish Merit and America were safe in Can 
 ada ? This letter rambles like the route we are 
 following. Tell Phil to take Nan to the head 
 of Conesus Lake by Saturday morning, and we 
 will have a gallop home together. Why 
 wouldn't Phil make a good bandit for the mas 
 querade? We must think of something for 
 him. That will be his first glimpse of this new 
 world I like so much." 
 
 The Abbess of St. Vanne and Daniel Boone 
 did not go to the masquerade in company. In 
 fact, the abbess was in ignorance of the depart 
 ure of the pioneer from the house when her 
 toilet was receiving a few last touches from 
 Aunt Prissy's painstaking hands, and America, 
 swelling with pride, stood waiting to go with 
 her, Merit having sat upon the box at the door, 
 bolt upright, for a half hour. 
 
 "And now where is Phil? Don't he even 
 care to see me before I go?" and Marjory 
 walked slowly up and down before the glass, 
 wondering if the tall woman in the serge habit, 
 her great dark eyes transfixing her with their
 
 AT THE DOOR. 167 
 
 surprised gaze from beneath the snowy coronet, 
 could be really herself. How old she looked ! 
 that made her gasp ; how brown and plump for 
 a nun ! at which she laughed, the merry 
 abbess, as she slipped her beads through un 
 trained ringers. But where was Phil ? 
 
 America called his name shrilly from every 
 door, and it was well she did not see old Merit 
 grin and chuckle. 
 
 "Never mind Phil," said Priscilla Ottoway ; 
 and her quiet smile would have betrayed her 
 secret, but Marjory's eyes were studying the 
 abbess. " Phil is Phil." 
 
 "Yes, Phil is Phil," a sweet tremulousness in 
 her petulant voice, as she kissed her aunt and 
 took her seat in the carriage. " I thought at 
 the last minute he would come down ready to go. 
 He seems bent on seeing nothing but the work 
 aday side of life." 
 
 " Some folks," America was soliloquizing as 
 she jerked the reins out of Merit's hands, " was 
 born to allus split wood with a hammah." 
 
 Mrs. Leo Hunter as Minerva, assisted by the 
 philosophical Pickwick and the club, received 
 her guests with languorous grace, and Marjory, 
 leaning upon Cousin Beth's arm, passed on
 
 1 68 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 through the fantastically dressed crowd, trou 
 badours, harlequins, mendicants ; Dickens's 
 characters predominating, until they found 
 Mrs. Jarley, a little woman in a very big bonnet 
 and a very red shawl, in whose special charge 
 the Abbess of St. Vanne was placed. 
 
 " I hope the abbess is not low in her feelings 
 to-night, as many of these rollickers seem to 
 be in truth. It must be the open air 
 ' wagrancy ' of the show. Ah ! here is the Cardi 
 nal Richelieu. He is looking among the gypsy 
 girls for some one I could not find for him if I 
 would." The pompous ecclesiastic, with his 
 white moustache, made reverential obeisance to 
 the abbess, who silently inclined her head. 
 
 " Now my dears "chirpingly from Mrs. Jar- 
 ley " I must leave you alone, while I look 
 after the diffuseness of the show ; my spirits 
 make a little ease absolutely necessary. Here 
 we go " and before the abbess could detain 
 her, the cardinal was congratulating her on her 
 disguise, her beautiful costume ; and did she 
 know that Phil was in the crowd ? she should dis 
 cover him for herself. That was easy enough, 
 with Daniel Boone striding across the lawn 
 before her, a rough-looking fellow with gun and
 
 AT THE DOOR. 169 
 
 game, General Baker's moth-eaten yellow 
 waistcoat under John Wilson's fur skin coat. 
 But there was no attracting his attention ; he 
 had no interest in sombre impersonations like 
 hers, evidently, and before she could reach him 
 he had disappeared. The band struck up a 
 waltz, and the cardinal and the abbess rambled 
 away through the fairy-like scene, he taking 
 pains to show her the most striking costumes 
 and charming effects of moonlight shadows and 
 gay festoons. 
 
 It was an oppressively hot night. The foliage 
 and the grass were sere and crisp with the long 
 drought. The leaves hung motionless, suggest 
 ing nature's breathless expectancy ; the full 
 moon seemed pallid with waiting for a break 
 in the tropical calm. The wheat-fields were 
 fully ripe. If the prayers of the valley farmers 
 had hearing, the rain would not come, now it 
 had delayed so long, until the harvest was 
 garnered. The masks of the revellers were 
 intolerable and some discarded their superflui 
 ties of costume. Near midnight black threat 
 ening clouds came up in the west, and the 
 weather prophets advised those who objected 
 to a wetting to make timely departure. But
 
 170 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 dance and song went on, the dancers under 
 the wide pavilion caring less and less for the far 
 off lightning and low rumbling thunder. Merit 
 was uneasy. Unless Marjory wanted to be 
 drowmfo/ and the carriage upsot and Miss 
 Prissy skeerra/ to death, they must be gwine 
 home. But Merit, alas, was an unhonored 
 prophet with Marjory. 
 
 "It's a pow'ful ways we'se got to go, Miss 
 Margie, an' dat off hoss " 
 
 A sudden outburst of singing, a strong 
 tumultuous rhapsody of uncultivated voices, 
 broke in at that moment, swelling louder and 
 louder, something so foreign, mysterious and 
 exciting, that in a brief space of time Marjory 
 on Sam Breckinridge's arm was pressing for 
 ward with all the rest to the musicians' stand 
 whence the singing proceeded. 
 
 " It is some of Kate McVicar's doings, most 
 likely," was Sam's explanation ; " the grand 
 finale." 
 
 The singers had not been seen on the grounds 
 before, that was a certainty. Slowly, very slowly, 
 and with widely different effect it dawned 
 upon the conviction of the revellers at last 
 who the singers were, those plainly dressed
 
 A T THE DOOR. 1 7 1 
 
 men and women, hymn books in hand, their 
 rapt faces upturned to the moon as they 
 wailed verse after verse of prosaic doggerel, 
 the characteristic hosannah of the fanaticism ; 
 beginning with. 
 
 " You will see your Lord a coming 
 You will see your Lord a coming 
 You will see your Lord a corning 
 To the old church-yard. 
 
 While the band of music 
 While the band of music 
 While the band of music 
 
 Shall be sounding through the air." 
 
 It has been said that in the singing of the 
 Millerites was their mighty power. They 
 illustrated the power of their singing on 
 this occasion, thrilling their hearers with 
 a strange awe, which the grotesqueness of 
 the singers, and the absurdity of what was 
 sung did not greatly lessen. One was a tre 
 mendous basso, supplemented by a shrieking 
 soprano, a dwarfish woman under his elbow, 
 whose mouth seemed hopelessly extended with 
 proclaiming the Midnight Cry. The alto was a 
 comely matron but for her barbarously cut hair, 
 chopped squarely off from ear to ear. Her
 
 1 72 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 long thin neck was unrelieved by collar or rib 
 bon, her ugly calico skirt was scant and short 
 as possible. She bit off the words she sang with 
 a vicious snap, her hungry eyes trailing over 
 the upturned faces as if separating sheep from 
 goats. Shrinking behind her was a lank boyish 
 figure, the typical Franciscan of every fanaticism, 
 minus the cowl andserge. His shrill untrained 
 tenor soared high and free. By the time the 
 singers had reached the verse, particularly 
 addressed, as was the whole hymn for that 
 matter, to the poor sinner 
 
 " You will flee to rocks and mountains " 
 Marjory was trembling like a leaf. 
 
 "You must go, child," Sam Breckinridge 
 reiterated, gently striving to lead her to the 
 house, when their feet were stayed by the ap 
 pearance upon the platform of a woman who 
 emerged suddenly from behind the singers, a 
 tall queenly form, advancing into the full moon 
 light. She stood composedly in the expectant 
 silence, her calm eyes surveying the scene with 
 the far away look of an inspired seer. She was 
 looking down from a height scorn and derision 
 might not reach. The gulf between her and 
 the grovellers of a fleshly world might only be
 
 AT THE DOOR. 1 73 
 
 spanned by divine compassion. She was not 
 of those senseless revellers, bedecked- with 
 gauds and jewels, and woe be unto her, an 
 everlasting woe, if she blew not the trumpet 
 in their desolate places, and made them to hear 
 the gospel of deliverance. The gulf between 
 her and the revellers was not wider than that 
 between her and the singers, her body guard 
 seemingly, whose defiant uncertainty as to 
 whether they should be permitted a full hear-, 
 ing or not disappeared as soon as she was fairly 
 before the eyes of the " scoffers." Who had 
 looked for such a woman in a Millerite preach 
 er? A firmly posed head, its coil of iron gray 
 hair encircling it like a coronet, her quakerish 
 dress of gray satin made by no unskilled mo 
 diste. A whisper passed through the crowd, 
 which Marjory did not need to catch first from 
 Sam Breckinridge, to know who the beautiful 
 woman was Letitia Barkenstone. 
 
 "Behold He cometh ! " 
 
 Only one believing all that Letitia Barken 
 stone did, when she gave utterance to those 
 words in her wondrously clear, strong and sus 
 tained voice, her finger pointing to the blacken 
 ing heavens, could have made the message seem
 
 174 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 so like a voice from heaven, the voice preced 
 ing the archangel and the trump of God 
 " Behold the Bridegroom cometh ! " her voice 
 ascending in its marvellous compass and 
 descending to the depths of its melancholy 
 sweetness. " He cometh with clouds, and 
 every eye shall see Him. The kindreds of the 
 earth shall wail because of Him. The grand 
 drama is begun. The God of Heaven hath 
 numbered the kingdoms and now He breaks 
 them in pieces as a potter's vessel. Babylon is 
 fallen ! The saints of the Most High shall 
 take the kingdom and possess it even for ever 
 and ever ! The Judge of the earth is at the 
 door ! " 
 
 " Prove it," from a voice in the background. 
 
 " I speak that which I do know," without 
 turning her eyes towards the speaker. " He 
 has given us to know His times and seasons in 
 His blessed word. How do I know He cometh, 
 and that He cometh quickly ? When ye see 
 these things know that He is nigh even at the 
 door. We have seen the signs of His coming. 
 The world has seen them. Those signs are each 
 and all fulfilled. We may calculate the prophe, 
 tic periods on the scale of time, the calculation
 
 AT THE DOOR. 175 
 
 of two thousand and three hundred days ends 
 with 1843. The seventy weeks ends with 1843. 
 I am assuming that you are Bible students. If 
 you are not, begin that study before it is too 
 late, if this night or to-morrow does not end 
 your probation. Come to the camp ground 
 and see those calculations upon the chart : the 
 sixth trumpet ending with 1843, the times, 
 times and a half, the seven times, the 1290 days, 
 and Israel's captivity. 1843 Jewish time is 
 1844 Roman time. Our ignorance of that fact 
 in our first study of the subject has given us 
 the tarrying time foretold. That tarrying time 
 was permitted for your souls' salvation. Rise, 
 rise, from the sleep of death ! Woe to them 
 that sleep ! Woe to them that dance ! Woe, 
 Woe! Woe!" 
 
 Marjory was faint with excitement, nor was 
 she the only one affected by the preacher. 
 Women were sobbing, and their escorts hurry 
 ing them from the spot ! The minority only 
 of those who lingered scoffed openly and ex 
 pressed their views of the unwarranted intru 
 sion. Cousin Beth had managed to prevent 
 Mrs. Wardell from knowing what was taking 
 place, but the doctor, upon hearing of it, made 
 speedy descent upon Cousin Letitia, and the
 
 1 7 6 THE MIDNIGH T CR Y. 
 
 droll appearance of that plump rubicund old 
 gentleman as Pickwick upon the scene, his cir 
 cular spectacles on his bald crown, his note 
 books dropping behind him, brought a sudden 
 reaction of feeling. 
 
 " Be silent, Cousin Letitia," and she tran 
 quilly obeyed, outreaching her hand for an 
 embarrassed greeting. " I haven't heard a 
 word, you know, and am glad I can't, but those 
 damnable doctrines shall not be preached on 
 my grounds. Send off these " stopping short, 
 however, in his confused survey of her attend 
 ants, who were getting ready to sing. " Come 
 to the house and behave like a Christian. Sam 
 is here, you know. There's no use in your talk 
 ing to a deaf man," and Doctor Wardell 
 flourished his ear trumpet. " I'm an old fash 
 ioned Episcopalian, and will risk my chance 
 with the old ship. No new lights for me, Cousin 
 Letitia. Here's Sam, good fellow as ever 
 lived, don't know what we would have done 
 without him this summer. That's right " 
 when brother and sister kissed each other, his 
 voice trembling a little as he added for their 
 ears alone, "You can't go up, Letitia, until you 
 straighten out some things with your own 
 mother's son."
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ASHES OF ROSES. 
 
 " TS your soul at peace with your God, my 
 
 1 child ? " Letitia Barkenstone had asked 
 of Marjory, pressing the girl's trembling hand 
 between both her own, and searching her soul 
 with her penetrating eyes. " Have you found 
 your God ?" 
 
 Marjory could not answer and Cousin Beth 
 drew her away. 
 
 It was doubtful if she could reach home 
 before the breaking of the storm, unless she 
 started at once. 
 
 " How cold your hands are, my child," Cousin 
 Beth had followed her to the dressing- 
 room ; " I wish you might stay with us to-night, 
 and so you should if the house were not over 
 flowing. Merit says your carriage is as snug as 
 can be, and that the horses are safe. Good-night 
 to the Abbess of St. Vanne," kissing her, " she is 
 tired of the gay world, I see."
 
 1 78 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 Marjory turned back, she had forgotten her 
 bouquet, one Mr. Breckinridge had given her, 
 and finding it she hid it under her light wrap. 
 She thanked Cousin Beth for a charming even 
 ing, and promised in a mechanical, absent way 
 to come to the Hermitage very soon. In the 
 crush of carriages detaining them for a moment, 
 she saw Samuel Breckinridge drive away with 
 Letitia Barkenstone. Then Merit made fast the 
 curtains, and they were soon on the highway, 
 the horses leaping at the deafening thunder, 
 the rain pouring down in torrents. 
 
 America was on the box, reins in hand, Merit 
 curled down behind her broad shoulders pray 
 ing with all his might. 
 
 " We'se nebber gwine ter see de mawnin', 
 Meriky. He's sendin' down de fiah an' de brim- 
 stun, fer shuah. Miss Tisha she know'd, she tol' 
 us, she said it was cumin', an' now Mars Sam is 
 gwine ter de camp groun', to go up 'long wid her. 
 Le' me out, Meriky," clutching her arm, " le' 
 me go down to de camp groun' an' go up along 
 Mars Sam." 
 
 America was calm as a figure head of Minerva 
 on a sinking ship. She could settle with Merit 
 when she had less on her hands. If the world
 
 ASHES OF ROSES. 17 9 
 
 were on fire, and she didn't know but it might 
 be for all the water, dropping the reins would 
 not help matters, she silently reasoned. The 
 trees bent in the whirlwind like grain, but hap 
 pily the road was sheltered by the hill for some 
 distance. When they reached the open plain, 
 there was an ominous hush in the storm, and 
 America lashed the horses forward at their 
 utmost speed. 
 
 " How sorry Phil is that he did not stay and 
 ride home with me," thought Marjory. In the 
 stifling air of the closely shut carriage, there 
 was a subtle spell in the scent of the flowers she 
 was holding. She heard voices above the 
 tempest, and over and over she listened to every 
 word. Was it true ? could it be true ? all this 
 that was shrivelling every joy of her life, this 
 prophecy of inevitable doom ? Was it coming, 
 so near, so inexorable? The scent of the roses 
 was suffocating. She would have thrown them 
 from her if she could ; dust to dust, ashes to 
 ashes ; why had roses ever bloomed or hearts 
 ever been glad ? It was horrible ! What a great 
 trap the world was, and how helpless she, and 
 all the rest, in the device from which there was 
 no escape. She hated this God ; and with her
 
 l8o THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 intense rebellion there came again the memory 
 of the God of her earliest childhood, the prayers 
 she used to say at her father's knee, the God 
 somehow painfully associated with the great 
 coffins at the shop door. Her father believed in 
 this very God Letitia Barkenstone would have 
 her make peace with before it was forever too 
 late. Make peace with ! He had broken her 
 peace. Would He had never found her again ! 
 Yes, she wished she could hide from Him ! She 
 would fly to any rock or mountain that would 
 hide her from Him forevermore. What if that 
 night were the end ? that hour? Her heart stood 
 still ! She- called out to America through a gap 
 in the curtain between them. 
 
 " Can you see the camp ground ? Are the 
 tents gone?" 
 
 America laughed derisively, and answered in 
 the shrillest key. 
 
 " Nebber min' dem ranters, honey. Dey've 
 got Miss Tisha fur a driber ; dem Buckin- 
 ridges don't git upsot while dere's any ting 
 to stan' on. Mars Sam didn't take her to de 
 camp groun'. Tink Miss Tisha's gwine up wid 
 a lot of white trash? I knows Miss Tisha, don' 
 ye worry 'bout her. Look a dar at de ole
 
 ASHES OF ROSES. 181 
 
 house ebery windah is gwine. Miss Prissy is 
 lookin' out fur us, shuah nuff." 
 
 " Lively times up there ! " they heard Duncan 
 Cameron shout above the whistling tornado as 
 they drove through the gate. They paid little 
 heed. Under the great wood-shed where the 
 carriage brought up, Priscilla Ottoway met 
 them. Marjory threw her arms about her neck 
 and burst into tears. 
 
 " Well, never mind, now it is over," holding 
 her close to her heart. " Great things have hap 
 pened here to-night." And then she told them 
 how the storm had driven the people on the 
 camp ground to her door, how they had filled 
 the house to overflowing, even the barns, for 
 the tents had been blown down and there was 
 no end of frightened women and children. 
 Happily for her, Phil had been there when the 
 stampede began. 
 
 "And mother?" asked Marjory, her quick 
 ear catching her mother's voice in the babel 
 within. 
 
 " It is the old story," was the tranquil reply. 
 " She heard the women praying and walked in 
 among them. They have anointed her with 
 oil and pronounced her healed."
 
 1 82 THE MIDX1GHT CRY. 
 
 The door opened at that moment and a 
 masculine woman came forth shouting in a 
 trance-like ecstasy. 
 
 " She hath put her trust in the arm of the 
 Lord. The hoofs of the daughters of Zion are 
 as brass, and they shall tread down their 
 enemies, praise the Lord." 
 
 Behind her stood Annie Burke, an unnatural 
 brilliancy in her dilated eyes, a painful smile 
 on her quivering mouth, every nerve strained 
 to its utmost as she uplifted her thin arms and 
 held them open a moment, then sank upon her 
 chair. Marjory stood gazing at her transfixed 
 with horror, then, without having uttered a 
 word, retreated and darted up the stairs. She 
 found Phil on guard by her door. 
 
 " It's the only room in the house they haven't 
 taken possession of, but I've had my way about 
 this one." The sound of an infant's pitiful 
 wailing was heard in her mother's chamber, 
 and men and women were bustling through the 
 hall. " I'll clear them all out at daylight, 
 Marjory, if it takes a shotgun. Make fast the 
 door somehow" bolts and locks were unknown 
 in the interior of the house. " I must go and 
 help Merit. It will take no end of oats for all
 
 ASHES OF ROSES. 183 
 
 the horses in the stable. There'll never be 
 another meeting on that camp ground." 
 
 Then he came back to make sure she wanted 
 nothing. She thanked him absently, weariedly. 
 The rain was beating against the windows. 
 The wind shook the house. The valley was 
 ablaze with the lightning, and the thunder ter 
 ribly near. She had dropped the bouquet, and 
 she gave a little start when she saw it under 
 his masquerading boots. 
 
 " Yes, do come back, Phil, as soon as you can. 
 Tell America to bring mother here at once. 
 We must get her away from those dreadful 
 
 women." 
 
 * * * # # # 
 
 The storm was over by daybreak, and great 
 was the havoc left in its track. Giant trees 
 had been twisted like osiers and torn up by the 
 roots, houses unroofed, and wheat-fields trodden 
 down as by hosts of armed men. The big tent 
 was a wreck. That no one of the multitude on 
 the ground was harmed in the least was con 
 sidered a miracle. Every house in the vicinity 
 was over-filled with believers, and great was the 
 army of new converts, scoffers before the out 
 break of the storm.
 
 1 84 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 The story of the instantaneous healing of 
 Annie Burke was proclaimed throughout the 
 valley, and soon throughout the land. There 
 was a new interest in the old house and its 
 inmates, and the story of the boy preacher and 
 his marriage was revived. Annie Burke found 
 herself very famous, or rather the company of 
 women who had assumed the charge of her still 
 nebulous and uncertain conceptions of what 
 was taking place, impressed her with the fact 
 that the eyes of an unbelieving world were upon 
 her, and that she had been uplifted by the 
 prayers of saints whose wings would not fail 
 in supporting her until her own pinions were 
 strong. She would not be separated from 
 them, and Marjory had found that interference 
 was in vain. 
 
 The morning so many had never expected 
 to behold, found Priscilla Ottoway sitting 
 before the kitchen fire with a sleeping baby 
 on her lap. America had drawn back the 
 curtains, and mixed her bountiful provision of 
 cakes and breads, with unflattering comments 
 upon the guests of the house, and particularly 
 the baby that had kept her mistress nursing it 
 for hours. They never had such doings down
 
 ASHES OF ROSES. 185 
 
 South. It was only" up Norf" where, from her 
 outlook that morning, Mars Sam and Miss 
 Tisha had unlimited freedom in making every 
 body miserable. They had kept her sitting up 
 on the kitchen settle all night, to say nothing 
 of spoiling a big field of corn, she had planted 
 and hoed in shares with the Camerons. She 
 had put out the candles perhaps a trifle too 
 early, and made unnecessary haste in calling 
 Merit from his dreams, to prepare a bountiful 
 supply of potatoes, but it would be an early 
 breakfast she would serve that morning, and 
 after breakfast the house should be cleared if 
 Miss Prissy would let Mars Phil have his way 
 about it. 
 
 Priscilla Ottoway was paying no heed to the 
 black mammy's monologue, as she sat watching 
 the sleeping baby, its little fingers curled around 
 her own. How sweetly the day was breaking 
 after such a night ! How green the valley lay in 
 the gray dawn ! She could get a glimpse of it 
 all from where she sat, half fancying there was 
 an increase of joy in the song of the birds, the 
 crowing of the cocks, and the tranquil lowing of 
 the herds; the joy that would come to Marjory 
 with her waking she hoped, the true song of
 
 1 86 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 her life so harshly interrupted, and that at its 
 height, as Priscilla Ottoway thought, recalling 
 the flushed smiling face looking back at her 
 from the carriage the evening before. It had 
 been a trying night for the child, but she was 
 elastic and brave, " and this too," she was re 
 peating to herself, " shall pass away," when an 
 outcry from Merit, and the croaking of Poll- 
 Betsey in her startled flight from his shoulder to 
 the mantel-piece broke her abstraction. Mar 
 jory was standing beside her haggard and pale. 
 
 " O Lor, Miss Margie," and Merit tried rub 
 bing the cobwebs from his eyes, " I mus' be 
 dreamin' shuah. I's bin dreamin' 'bout yer all 
 night, an' Lijah's cha'yot, an' de hosses wid 
 de golden shoes." 
 
 Aunt Prissy had drawn her to her side. 
 
 " What a dreary morning it is," Marjory 
 said with a slight shiver, " and you have been 
 sitting here with that poor baby half the night." 
 
 " Lettin' folks sleep as'll only keep folks awake 
 wid dere howlin' when dey git rested," put in 
 America, as if to the rolling-pin flattening out 
 her hillocks of dough. 
 
 " But I could not sleep, Aunt Prissy, how 
 could I ? Let me take the baby and you go to
 
 ASHES OF ROSES. 187 
 
 my room," essaying to relieve her of her burden, 
 but without success. " Everything is horribly 
 dreary," looking around the kitchen. "I thought 
 the night would never go by. Yes, mother is 
 asleep. Will those dreadful women stay here 
 forever? No, America, I couldn't," pushing 
 aside the cup of coffee. " Let me sit down 
 here by you, Merit," and she crept into the 
 corner beside him, as she used to do when a 
 little child and the world went wrong. 
 
 " We'se gwine ter git out o' de wid-e-ness 
 by'm by, Miss Margie. Dere ain't no wid-e-ness 
 big nuff fer de Lawd's people to git los' in. I 
 dreamed las' night dat you an' Mars Sam " 
 
 America ended that narrative promptly. 
 
 " But what are we going to do with them 
 all ? " insisted Marjory. " I half wish mother 
 may disappoint those dreadful women this 
 morning, don't you ?" 
 
 " But she won't," said Aunt Prissy slowly and 
 firmly. 
 
 "And can't we send them away?" 
 
 "Not until they have had their breakfast, 
 child. What if your mother insists on going 
 with them?" 
 
 " Oh Aunt Prissy ! " incredulously.
 
 1 88 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 " We must accept the inevitable. I can 
 not tell you now why I believe she will go 
 with these people and why I cannot prevent 
 it even for your sake, Marjory. All will be for 
 the best, my child. Fate wounds us most when 
 we fight against it." 
 
 " And is there nothing stronger than fate ? 
 I hate it all. I feel like a fly in a web. Oh, 
 Aunt Prissy," suddenly softening, her tears 
 coming fast, " we were so happy before all this, 
 and now nothing can be the same again." 
 
 " Nonsense, Marjory. Why, child, I am dis 
 appointed in you," the soft pity in her eyes 
 contradicting her words ; Marjory's were 
 hidden in her hands. " Learn to be the master 
 of your moods, if you would master all else. 
 Cheer up, child, see what a sunrise after last 
 night ! " 
 
 " But why did the sun ever rise, if all that 
 they say is going to happen must come, and 
 very soon? " 
 
 Merit was making no headway with his pota 
 toes during this conversation, and was evidently 
 under painful repression, his eyes rolling from 
 Marjory to America, with marvellous change 
 of expression.
 
 ASHES OF ROSES. 189 
 
 " Whose gwine ter keep de sun from risin', 
 chile ? " and America briskly dusted the flour 
 from her hands. " De best ting for yer 
 dis mawnin' is a bowl o' catnip. Leab it to 
 'er old mammy, Miss Prissy, to cure 'erof dem 
 hugger-muggers. I wondahs we'se not all done 
 for wid de dancin', an' de prayin', an* de 
 hollerin'. For my part " 
 
 A step was heard outside, then a low rap, 
 and Samuel Breckinridge walked in, surprised 
 and for a moment disconcerted at finding any 
 one but the blacks in the kitchen. He had 
 spent a sleepless night, he said, at the over 
 crowded inn where he and Letitia Barkenstone 
 had found refuge from the storm. He had 
 been anxious about Marjory, fearful lest some 
 accident had befallen her. He had heard of 
 the demand upon their hospitality, had met the 
 " brother " hastening with the news of the 
 " miracle " to Letitia Barkenstone. He used 
 the word miracle tentatively, it was plain, 
 furtively observing its effects upon Marjory and 
 her aunt. Their silent acquiescence convinced 
 him that there was a foundation at least for the 
 report the brother had risen so early to spread 
 abroad.
 
 190 THE MIDXIGHT CRY. 
 
 " I am so glad you have come," he had 
 heard Marjory say before he discerned her 
 in the deep chimney corner, her hands out 
 stretched entreatingly, and eager expectancy 
 in her troubled unsmiling face. 
 
 "Then I am glad I am come, my child," he 
 responded with a cheerfulness equal to the con 
 straint in Priscilla Ottoway's welcome, and the 
 frown with which America had surveyed his 
 muddy boots. Drawing up to the fire, for the 
 morning was chilly and damp, he had merrily 
 recounted his experience of the night before, 
 calling out from each of them, excepting Mar 
 jory who was silent and grave, a story which he 
 made amusing if they did not. 
 
 " Did I dream there was a masquerade only 
 last night ? " handing the cup of coffee Priscilla 
 Ottoway ordered for him to Marjory and 
 insisting on her breakfasting with him, "and 
 that the Cardinal Richelieu was charmed with 
 a lovely abbess ? " 
 
 " It seems years ago," said Marjory, bright 
 ening. 
 
 " Then it was not a dream ? But such a long 
 night as it has been, and such a long dis 
 course as my sister Letitia has delivered.
 
 A SUES OF ROSES. 1 9 r 
 
 She is discoursing yet," shrugging his 
 shoulders. " She has the keys to all the 
 prophecies, and she has unlocked those 
 prophecies one by one, and made known their 
 mysteries. She is wonderfully eloquent. No 
 body thought of going to sleep. She is coming 
 over here to-day." The baby was crying and 
 Priscilla Ottoway carried it to its mother. 
 " She is desirous to see you again. Don't let 
 that trouble you, child," with low entreaty, for 
 the shadow deepened on Marjory's face. " It is 
 necessary that she should see your aunt. In 
 fact her business brings me here this morning, 
 that and my anxiety about you." 
 
 The house was astir, and a peculiar waking 
 it naturally was, the believers exchanging greet 
 ings with each other, expressive of their thanks 
 giving that another morning had dawned, that 
 the tarrying time was a little longer prolonged, 
 one of the brethren singing, in a rasping nasal 
 voice, as he made his ablutions at the spring 
 near the kitchen door: 
 
 " The last lovely morning 
 All blooming and fair, 
 Is fast onward fleeting 
 And soon will appear."
 
 1 92 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 " What straws in the whirlpool of fate we 
 are ! " Marjory heard Sam Breckinridge saying 
 while watching the scene outside. "The 
 wonder is they don't work more miracles than 
 they do. I am prepared for anything in the 
 way of signs and wonders in such a gathering. 
 There ought to be no end of miracles here 
 to-day." 
 
 " Do you think it is nothing that my mother 
 has been healed?" asked Marjory, a judgment 
 in her eye he shrank from encountering. 
 
 He stood musing a moment, his smile deep 
 ening with his perplexity in answering her. 
 
 " Miracles always come, child, when miracles 
 are in demand. Yes, we must call this a mira 
 cle, I suppose, if a miracle is what some have 
 defined it a surprise." 
 
 "Aunt Prissy is not surprised, and Phil says 
 it is just what might have been expected," his 
 smile reflected on her brightening face. 
 
 " Then call it a fact, if it be one, and don't 
 get morbid brooding over it. Leave it to wise 
 acres to discuss if it's a sign from heaven, or the 
 sequence of heredity, constitutional bias, cere 
 bral conformation, cranial vision Mar 
 jory was laughing outright. " We don't read
 
 ASHES OF ROSES. 193 
 
 that the apostles studied the miracles psycholog 
 ically. The best thing you can do, my child, 
 is to get out of all this as soon as possible. 
 Nan will help you this morning, as no one else 
 can. A gallop with her on the upland road is 
 what you need." And nothing she could say 
 prevented his going to the stables, where he 
 found Phil, and between them they saddled the 
 mettlesome mare, who in less than an hour was 
 a good ten miles from the old house in the 
 valley, the ruddy-cheeked girl on her back half 
 wishing she might never turn back, if so she 
 might escape she hardly could have told from 
 what.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 FROM THE DEAD. 
 
 THE carriage had hardly left the house the 
 night before bearing Marjory to the mas 
 querade, when Priscilla Ottoway, sitting in the 
 dusky shadow of the porch with her dogs 
 around her, saw Dennis Cameron approaching 
 the house. He brought her what she seldom 
 received in those days, since the death of John 
 Wilson's sisters a letter. Bidding Dennis 
 wait, she went inside and broke the seal. 
 
 It was from Christopher Burke. 
 
 He was in Philadelphia, had just returned 
 from England, where he had been for many 
 years. " What has become of my wife and 
 child ? Let nothing delay our meeting if they 
 are still in the flesh." He stated that he was a 
 believer in the Speedy Coming, a proclaimer of 
 the glad tidings, and had spent everything that 
 he might make the journey home and see wife
 
 FROM THE DEAD, . 195 
 
 and child again, pluck them, perhaps, as brands 
 from the burning. Everything relating to his 
 disappearance could be explained. Would she 
 send him the means to reach his family if they 
 were still alive? He should have hastened to 
 the meeting on the Barley Flats camp ground 
 but for lack of funds. He closed with an 
 exhortation for her to repent, if she had not 
 already found peace with her God. 
 
 " Wait, Dennis," she called sharply before she 
 had read many sentences, "you must carry a 
 letter to the office for me to-night." With 
 out giving the letter a second reading she 
 wrote : 
 
 " Meet me at Happy Valley. I will leave 
 here for there to-morrow morning," adding a 
 few concise directions as to the place where he 
 might expect to find her. 
 
 She watched Dennis ride away in the moon 
 light, and heard the sound of his horse's feet 
 as they dashed over the wooden bridges between 
 her and the high road. No, she had not made 
 a rash decision. She would go. She would 
 protect Marjory at any cost. She must see this 
 Christopher Burke, this unknown equation in 
 Marjory's life, this man who had so inoppor-
 
 196 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 tunely risen from the dead. Possibly, yes pro 
 bably, their meeting would result in his depar 
 ture for parts unknown, and Marjory should 
 never know of his return and -existence. 
 
 " There must be an interference of Provi 
 dence in this matter, and I must constitute 
 myself a providence," she said to herself, smil 
 ing as she turned into the house, and went di 
 rectly to the store-room for her little travelling 
 trunk, which she carried to her own apartment. 
 Having laid out the necessaries for a short 
 journey, and made certain entries in her account 
 books, she bethought her of several letters of a 
 business nature, which it were wisest for her to 
 despatch on the morrow. One of them was in 
 regard to placing Marjory in a girls' school not 
 far from Happy Valley. She had only hastened 
 an intended journey ; her family were accus 
 tomed to her sudden and unexplained flights. 
 In an hour's time the idea of the journey had 
 become familiar to her, as even the meeting 
 with Christopher Burke and despatching him 
 from Marjory's future entirely. In her absorp 
 tion of writing out directions for Phil in certain 
 legal and domestic matters she had not noted 
 the increasing fury of the sudden storm. The
 
 FROM THE DEAD. 197 
 
 panic-stricken crowd from the camp ground 
 were pouring in at her door before she began 
 to realize what a wild night it was, and that 
 Annie Burke was flitting about the wide 
 landing at the head of the stairs. Those 
 who looked up at the sound of her shrill ecstatic 
 cry, saw a woman in white, her long hair 
 unbound, leaning over the baluster rail with 
 distended eyes trying to gain an answer from 
 the babel below. 
 
 " Is he coming? Is he coming? Tell him I 
 am here, and waiting for him. I knew he 
 would come ! I knew he would." 
 
 Had Priscilla Ottoway foreseen the events of 
 the night, Dennis Cameron had carried another 
 letter to the post-office. Priscilla Ottoway 
 hardly remembered what she had written, and 
 bound herself to do on the morrow, until having 
 given up her baby charge, she found herself 
 alone in her room again, her guests having gone 
 to breakfast. There was the little trunk ; yes, 
 she would go. She must escape this fearful 
 confusion, intrusion, and prevent if possible 
 what would follow the arrival of Christopher 
 Burke upon the scene. Phil and America were 
 equal to the task of restoring quiet to the old
 
 198 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 house. The lease of the camp ground termi 
 nated that very day. Phil would see that the 
 premises were clear. All would be over when 
 she came home. She was finishing packing her 
 trunk when America came in, dumb with indig 
 nation. She had been called " Sister America ", 
 and some of the company had insisted on her 
 sitting down at the table with them. 
 
 " I jes' shet de doah on waitin' on no sech 
 trash. Kawn bread and bacon is good nuff for 
 dem." 
 
 " Cheer up, mammy. Send Miss Marjory to 
 me, please." 
 
 But Miss Marjory had " gone away on Nan 
 to be shuah, and Miss Marjory was clean 
 tuckered out," and if somebody didn't take 
 "some 'sponsibility 'foah long " they'd all be 
 set out in de road and the camp meetin' would 
 be in Miss Prissy 's pariah. She never heard 
 of such doin's down in Kentucky. The 
 Buckinridges never let such a raft into their 
 house. She believed it had all come long of 
 that Sam Buckinridge. She knew Mars Sam. 
 She knew every one of those Buckinridges. 
 
 She stood motionless, her wide back firmly 
 planted against the closed door, the beads of
 
 FROM THE DEAD. 199 
 
 her gorgeous necklace rising and falling upon 
 her heaving bosom. 
 
 " I am glad Marjory has gone for a ride, I 
 hope she will go to the Hermitage and stay 
 there until night." 
 
 Priscilla Ottoway was looking up half smil 
 ing into the sullen eyes, so strangely blind to 
 what her mistress was doing, the little trunk, 
 the signs of her going away. " Somebody has 
 got to have some 'sponsibility around here for the 
 next week, America. Don't you see I am get 
 ting ready to go away ? " 
 
 Very slowly and without changing a muscle 
 America became conscious of what was taking 
 place. She looked at the trunk with stolid 
 composure. 
 
 " Does Mars Sam know yer gwine ? " 
 
 " No, no one knows of it yet, only you, 
 America," shutting down the trunk lid, and 
 snapping the clasps. " I shall be back by the 
 time you have everything in order again. 
 This is the last camp meeting." 
 
 " I 'spects Miss Annie '11 be pow'ful hard to 
 manage." 
 
 " Not when everybody is gone, and you must 
 see that the house is clear to-night."
 
 200 7 'HE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 America threw back her head, her broad nos 
 trils dilating. 
 
 " I'll do jes as ye sez, Miss Prissy, but when 
 Miss Annie takes de bit, ye know ! " 
 
 " She will be quiet in a few days, I hope," 
 her voice belieing her words. " You must be firm 
 with her, or you will lose your baby, America." 
 
 But the old mammy was thinking of some 
 thing else. Her heavy lidded eyes were seem 
 ingly absorbed in something mysterious on the 
 outermost hill encircling the wide valley. 
 
 "Is yo' eyes shet, Miss Prissy? Don' ye 
 see clar nuff dat Miss Annie is gwine ? an' dat 
 Miss Margie is gwine, an' dat de debbil is at 
 de bottom of ebery ting since Sam Buckin- 
 ridge com' roun* ? " 
 
 " Hush, America, you don't know anything 
 about it." 
 
 "Don' I?" her dull eyes gleaming, "don' I 
 know some tings de rest of you uns nebber 
 heahs 'bout? I don' count much on de Lawd. 
 He let 'em take my chillcn, let de debbil hab 
 his way ebery time, jes as 'e allus does. Dis 
 niggah don't shet up 'er eyes like ole Merit 
 dar, an' go stumblin' roun' sayin' de angels is a 
 leadin' me." A long portentous 'silence. " I
 
 FROM THE DEAD. 20 1 
 
 wants my free papers, Miss Prissy. Don' you 
 go away wid out gibbin me dem. ' 
 
 Priscilla Ottoway's face was shadowed with 
 .deep concern. She had learned to value Amer 
 ica's quick intuition, to regard her as a seer, 
 and her trust in her prophecies had seldom been 
 at fault. 
 
 " You are as safe, America, as if you had your 
 free papers. You can trust Mr. Breckinridge, 
 and surely you can trust me." 
 
 America clutched fiercely at her sleeve with 
 the strong fingers of her tight folded arms. 
 Her hoarse mumbling was incoherent at first, 
 but her voice rose steadily and strong. 
 
 " Somefin's comin', comin' right along. Didn't 
 I heah de bloodhouns las' night, an' my chil- 
 len cryin' ? I know wat dat means, no use splan- 
 in' dat," with a significant movement of her 
 right hand amid the ample folds of her gay ker 
 chief. " Mars Sam ain't hangin' roun' heah for 
 nufftn. Merit's gwine ter follah him off like a 
 puppy, dat's jes wot Merit's good fo'. Dat isn't 
 de ole mammy," her teeth gleaming in her 
 frightful smile. " When I follahs Mars Sam, 
 see, dis yeah " and she drew out a knife, hold 
 ing it up triumphantly.
 
 202 THE MIDNIGH T CR Y. 
 
 Priscilla Ottoway was confounded. 
 
 " Give it to me, America." 
 
 America measured her with her eyes, nearly 
 closed, but made no sign of obedience, then hid 
 the knife under her kerchief again with a dogged 
 determination Priscilla Ottoway would not deal 
 with. She was considering the matter of the 
 free papers, however, in a new light, and Amer 
 ica closely watching her, silently awaited her 
 decision. 
 
 " I will settle the matter before I go away," 
 she said at last. " You may send Mr. Breckin- 
 ridge to me at once." 
 
 " I've 'lowed to pay for Merit mysef," and 
 the ole mammy's composure was as perfect as 
 if she were selling one of her fox hound pup 
 pies. " Heah's five hundred dollahs," bringing 
 a leathern bag from under her petticoat. " De 
 res' will be comin' in soon. Mars Phil says he'll 
 help me to somefin, an' he'se gwine ter raise 
 our wages, an' don't yer be 'fraid of our dyin' 
 'foah it's paid up. I'se gwine ter be Merit's 
 massar myself. Den we'll see about dis yeah 
 Mars Sam."
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE HANDMAID OF THE LORD. 
 
 ANNIE BURKE'S appearance in the break 
 fast room that morning, was the signal 
 for an outburst of rapturous ejaculation, Elder 
 Stiggins dropping his buttered muffin to fall 
 upon his knees, the rest of the company follow 
 ing his example. Then a detailed account of the 
 miraculous event was given, Elder Stiggins 
 laboring under the impression, seemingly, that 
 he was proclaiming the same not only to an 
 astounded world but the universe generally. 
 
 Annie Burke knelt with the rest unnoting the 
 absence of Priscilla Ottoway, and Marjory, and 
 even America's withdrawal from the table. Her 
 voice was shrill and tremulous, her cheek glow 
 ing and paling with the fitful flame in her dila 
 ted eyes, but something, call it what you will, 
 had vitalized her paralyzed will, and she was 
 something more than the weak, passive subject
 
 204 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 of the stony wills controlling her. Quickened 
 by a sense of her conspicuous uplifting before 
 an unbelieving world, she was rapidly becom 
 ing more conscious of her power on those whose 
 reverence affected her as a stimulant, a tonic, 
 permanent in its effects at least, as the excite 
 ment of the fanaticism generating it. 
 
 " It is a fever that must run its course," Pris- 
 cilla Ottoway was saying to herself as she 
 watched her from her window that morning, 
 when the company had passed out from the 
 breakfast-room into the glorious sunlight, and 
 might be seen ranged along each side of the 
 drive-way watching Annie Burke as she walked 
 leaning on the arm of Sister Phoebe, and heard 
 them saying that the Lord in the whirl vind 
 of his power a wind like that of the Pente 
 cost of old had given unto them a sign of his 
 presence and power. 
 
 She was anticipating the interview with Sam 
 uel Breckinridge. He must give her the free 
 papers. Then there was the meeting with 
 Christopher Burke, and the release for Marjory. 
 What a bargainer in flesh and blood she had 
 become. 
 
 She was turning from the window, comfort-
 
 THE HANDMAID OF THE LORD. 205 
 
 ing herself that by noon, at the latest, her 
 grounds would be clear of the intruders, when 
 she saw some one approaching the house by the 
 narrow foot-path through the orchard : a tall 
 stately woman, seemingly lost in meditation as 
 she walked slowly through the dewy grass, un 
 mindful of wet feet or bedraggled skirts. 
 Screened from the company in front of the 
 house by the intervening shrubbery, Priscilla 
 Ottoway had seen her stop short when the 
 sound of voices struck her ear, and turn as if to 
 flee from the spot. Then she had crossed her 
 arms serenely, as if in submission, had stood 
 for a moment with her eyes fixed upon the sky 
 above her, a smile slowly dawning upon her 
 weary face, her soul evidently passing into 
 communion with the unseen. 
 
 Priscilla Ottoway recognized her at once, and 
 prepared to receive Letitia Barkenstone, by 
 first subjecting her impulses to an undefined 
 chilling process, a cold dissection of the germs 
 of admiration called forth by that first sight of 
 the enthusiast. 
 
 It was not a pleasant meeting for either of 
 them, notwithstanding Samuel Breckinridge did 
 all that sprightly affability on his part could do
 
 206 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 to dispel the constraint of the interview. Pris- 
 cilla Ottoway was cold and reticent ; Letitia 
 Barkenstone abstracted, lost in an ecstatic iso 
 lation that the glacial atmosphere of her host 
 could not penetrate. Priscilla Ottoway had 
 not advanced a step to meet Letitia Barken 
 stone, had not even extended her hand, but 
 had scrutinized her with her challenging cold 
 gaze. Letitia Barkenstone had been utterly 
 oblivious of the social temperature : it may be 
 doubted if she could have told what manner of 
 woman Priscilla Ottoway was like, when she 
 hurried towards her with outstretched hands 
 and actually kissed her upon the cheek ; Sam 
 uel Breckinridge witnessing the salute and the 
 dumb amazement with which it was received, 
 as well as the blindness of the giver, with a hu 
 morous twinkle of his restless eyes. 
 
 " Behold in me, Sister Ottoway, the humble 
 handmaid of the Lord." Alas for the bedrag 
 gled skirts and bonnet awry. " I came to 
 thank you in behalf of His saints for the city 
 of refuge your house has been unto them. The 
 Lord will remember the corn and the wine you 
 have outpoured for His children. All the ends 
 of the earth shall hear and rejoice in the won-
 
 THE HANDMAID OF THE LORD. 207 
 
 derful outpouring of His favor upon your house 
 hold last night, in the sign of His presence, 
 making your lame to leap as a hart, your impo 
 tent folk" 
 
 " Nonsense," thrust in Priscilla Ottoway. 
 
 "Scoff not at the Lord's doings, so marvel 
 lous in our eyes." Had she seen Priscilla Otto- 
 way at all, or was she speaking to an unseen, 
 multitude on a plane below her, those hungry 
 souls forever hemming her in ? " In the wilder 
 ness have the waters gushed forth. To them 
 that called not upon the Lord hath He appeared 
 on the wings of healing." 
 
 " If you will be seated a moment," Priscilla 
 Ottoway had broken in, as she was accustomed 
 to curtail garrulous Peggy Cameron's flow of 
 speech, " I can soon attend to the trifling busi 
 ness you would have settled this morning." She 
 moved promptly, and without a look at her 
 visitor, who was becoming conscious of the 
 chill of her reception, to her writing desk, 
 where she began carefully looking over a pack 
 age of papers. " The lease for the camp ground 
 expired this morning," she said curtly, " and 
 nothing must prevent the removal of the big 
 tent before to-morrow," indicating by her man-
 
 208 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 ner that having so said, her business with Miss 
 Barkenstone was at an end. 
 
 " Miss Barkenstone came to ask a favor of 
 you this morning," Sam interposed with charm 
 ing grace, pulling hard upon his mustache, as 
 he drew close to Priscilla Ottoway's side, and 
 managed to confide to her quick ear, " Leave 
 me alone with her a moment, I will secure the 
 free papers," adding in a louder voice, recalling 
 Letitia Barkenstone from a trance-like revery, 
 " I wish, ladies, that you might have met under 
 different circumstances," whereupon they ex 
 changed quick guarded glances, and poor Sam 
 was more uncomfortable than before. 
 
 Priscilla Ottoway withdrew at Sam's request, 
 leaving him alone with his sister. She was 
 soon recalled, something in Samuel Breckin- 
 ridge's voice heralding a victory for him at 
 least. Letitia Barkenstone was walking up and 
 down the room excitedly, Sam mending a 
 quill pen with infinitesimal pains. 
 
 " Will Miss Ottoway please read this paper ? " 
 he asked, indicating the sheet upon the table, the 
 ink not yet dry. " It has been hastily drawn 
 up, but it will hold, until it can be submitted to 
 legal authority."
 
 THE HANDMAID OF THE LORD. 209 
 
 " If my brother will but believe," Letitia 
 Barkenstone was saying as if to herself and in 
 self-justification, "my worldly goods I would 
 count as dross. Lest through my lack of 
 faith he should not lay hold on the promises, 
 let my faith be tested, yea made to pass through 
 the fire. He will come. My confidence in 
 His words shall not have been in vain. Is it 
 for naught that He manifests himself so mar 
 vellously beneath this roof, that He adds sign 
 to sign ? " 
 
 Priscilla Ottoway was slowly reading the 
 document aloud. 
 
 " This is to certify, that I, Letitia Barken 
 stone, of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, do sol 
 emnly promise to give to my half-brother, Sam 
 uel Ashland Breckinridge, or to Priscilla Otto- 
 way or heirs, on the first day of December, the 
 year of our Lord eigJitecn hundred and forty-four, 
 the sum of twenty-five hundred dollars, upon 
 the condition that the camp ground belonging 
 to Priscilla Ottoway remain in the possession 
 of Letitia Barkenstone until October 31, 1844. 
 "(Signed) LETITIA BARKENSTONE." 
 
 "But no," said Priscilla Ottoway emphatic 
 ally, frowning upon Sam as she threw the paper
 
 2 1 o THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 aside, " I will not have them here a day 
 longer." 
 
 He drew her into the passage, before she 
 could say more. 
 
 " They will remain in your near neighbor 
 hood if driven from your grounds," he said ; 
 " here are the free papers, signed. Yes, I told her 
 about the slaves, she said their year of jubilee 
 had come, that even if I sent them back to 
 Kentucky their bondage would soon be over. 
 It was the test of her faith that time would 
 last beyond October, that secured that paper. 
 She will squander every penny of her fortune 
 if restraint is not put upon her by some one. 
 This is a part of my plan for saving some 
 thing from the wreck." 
 
 Letitia Barkenstone was kneeling in prayer 
 when they re-entered the room. They waited 
 in silence until she rose, the sweet serenity of 
 her face impressing Priscilla Ottoway deeply. 
 Upon Sam asking her if he might read the doc 
 ument to a selected few of the company assem 
 bled in the parlor, making them witnesses 
 of her signing the same, she named two persons 
 as witnesses, agreeing with him that it was best 
 to keep the matter from the public generally.
 
 THE HANDMAID OF 7" HE LORD. 211 
 
 #.#$.#* 
 
 Noon came and passed, but Marjory did not 
 return. Before leaving for the village where 
 she was to take the afternoon stage Priscilla 
 Ottoway wrote to her as follows : 
 
 " I shall write you from Happy Valley, 
 perhaps send for you to come to me. If you do 
 not get a letter at once do not be disturbed. 
 Why not accept Mrs. Wardell's invitation and 
 spend a few days at the Hermitage? Your 
 mother will insist upon leaving with those people. 
 Don't let that trouble you. ' This too shall pass 
 away.' '
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 BEFOGGED. 
 
 were stirring times for mine host of 
 J_ the village inn. What with Livingston 
 County mass meetings it was the fall of the 
 memorable Jimmy Polk and Henry Clay cam 
 paign the Millerite camp meeting, and Mrs. 
 Wardell's guests, he had little leisure for study 
 ing the fundamental theories of Texas Annex 
 ation, or the correct interpretation of unfulfilled 
 prophecy. If the world were to end on the 
 tenth day of that seventh month, he must make 
 the most of the interim. One thing he knew for 
 a certainty : Father Miller and the political tur 
 moil were sweeping the dollars into his till, and 
 so he might be forgiven for refusing to scoff at 
 the one, or make himself an antagonist of either 
 party. His broad piazza, commanded the vil 
 lage common, and as far as he had anything to 
 say, was a free platform for anything that drew
 
 BEFOGGED. 213 
 
 a crowd. Garrison or Calhoun Millerism or 
 Mesmerism it was all the same to him. He 
 only dreaded the reaction sure to follow the 
 excitement. 
 
 " Turned ye out of house and home, did 
 they ! " was his effervescent greeting of Pris- 
 cillo Ottoway that afternoon, when she called 
 for a quiet room where she might wait for the 
 packet stage. " I've bin tellin' the folks how 
 they must have come down on ye like grass 
 hoppers. How they did streak it, though ! 
 Lucky for 'em, ye let 'em in at all. Your big 
 dogs couldn't have bin roun' I reckon." 
 
 Considering they were old neighbors and that 
 he had never had such an opportunity for a bit 
 of conversation with Miss Ottoway, he thought 
 her brief explanation of the whereabouts of the 
 dogs a discouraging response to his cordial 
 effort at acquaintance. She must be weighed 
 down with some great trouble, he thought, 
 something he could lighten without doubt if 
 she would seek his advice, or, after the passive 
 habit of most of the villagers, consent to receive 
 it unasked. 
 
 It took a moment for him to recover his 
 equilibrium, upon her curt interruption of his
 
 2f4 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 effusive praise of her dogs, their breed and 
 beauty. She renewed her request for a quiet 
 room where she might wait for the stage. 
 
 " We're purty full, Miss Otterway, fuller nor 
 we kin hoi'," picking up her bag notwithstand 
 ing, and preceding her along the passage, rais 
 ing his voice in proportion to his ascent of the 
 steep stairs. " But I'm going to give you a 
 room, the best room in the house. I never 
 turn out an old neighbor, mind ye. Praps 
 now," throwing open a door as if bowing to an 
 admiring constituency within, stopping on the 
 threshold to continue his harangue, his broad 
 back preventing a glimpse of the interior, 
 " praps now this will suit ye ? You can look 
 right over to the meetin' house by and by and 
 hear the Whig speakin' if the loco focos don't 
 set their brass band a goin', as I hear tell they 
 mean ter." 
 
 " The room will do very well." 
 
 Thereupon he marched forward triumph- 
 antly, threw back the blinds, and opened a door 
 upon the board upper piazza., a very bower 
 under the great elms. 
 
 " Now isn't that a purty picture ? " his finger 
 indicating the aperture in the leafage through
 
 BEFOGGED. 215 
 
 which she saw, " the old house in the valley " 
 thrilling her like the gaze of a living face. 
 " Some folks cum up here just to look off 
 from this piazzer. Yed oughter hear some 
 English folks I hed 'ere this summer go on 
 about that voo, and all the questions they asked 
 about you over there in the meader. Now I 
 shall have something to tell 'em. There never 
 was anybody sot up with a mirakul in these 
 parts before, unless 
 
 Priscilla Ottoway evaded the reminiscence 
 by a rather imperious request for a cup of tea. 
 Once alone, she sat down in the embowered 
 corner of the piazza, and wearily closed her 
 eyes, and the old house seemed watching her, 
 to have her under its mysterious care. 
 
 On the grass plot below a company of gentle 
 men, Mrs. Wardell's guests of the evening 
 before, were smoking their after dinner cigars. 
 Had Priscilla Ottoway cared to listen to their 
 conversation, she could have learned that Doc 
 tor and Mrs. Wardell had been summoned to 
 New York not many hours before to attend the 
 bedside of a dying relative, and that this party, 
 who had expected to spend several days at the 
 Hermitage had been forced by their sudden
 
 2 1 6 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 departure, and that of Dan and Kate McVicar 
 as well, to recast their plans for a holiday. She 
 would have recognized Dan's voice when he 
 stopped a moment to chat with them, to 
 deliver Mrs. Wardell's last message that they 
 should not leave the Genesee Valley without 
 seeing the wild ravine at Portage, and the 
 charming inland lakes, and before he was fairly 
 out of hearing she would have heard the stout 
 elderly man whose mental energies seemed con 
 centrated on devious devices for balancing his 
 ebony cane, since he had tossed away a half 
 smoked cigar, saying in a summarizing way ; 
 "Well, we can say this for him, he isn't a 
 
 Prig." 
 
 " Consider, how narrow his escape," said a 
 drawling lisping smoker, who seemed only half 
 conscious of the meaning of the laughter his 
 response evoked. 
 
 " It won't do to pronounce upon Dan until 
 he's finished," continued the first speaker. "A 
 trifle more ecclesiasticism would spoil him com 
 pletely." 
 
 They seemed to have fallen asleep upon that. 
 Then some one was drowsily asking : " Did 
 you hear that Millerite preacher this morning ?
 
 BEFOGGED. 217 
 
 that man with the chart ? ' How can you 
 shut your eyes to the signs of the times ? ' said 
 he, ' and dance on the brink of destruction ? 
 Do you know that fighting is going on between 
 the French and the Moors? that war embers 
 are fanning in Tahiti, and that a mob is organ 
 izing among the sailors of Canton?' ' 
 
 At this they laughed hilariously. 
 
 Priscilla Ottoway was by this time uncon 
 sciously listening to the conversation, or to 
 such snatches of it as she could hear without 
 effort. 
 
 " What if Sam Breckinridge comes back 
 with a chart and an ascension robe? He ought 
 to preach a good sermon on the last trump" 
 At this they laughed louder than before. 
 
 " Have you seen him this morning ? " 
 
 " No. The landlord says he was off at day 
 break on some business for that queer sister of 
 his. Magnificent woman! Never saw anything 
 better on the stage." 
 
 The landlord came in with her supper just 
 then, and having spread it upon a little table 
 beside her on the piazza, essayed somewhat 
 timorously to renew his effort at conversation. 
 
 " That girl of your'n jes rode by here on that
 
 2 1 8 THE MIDNJGH T CR Y. 
 
 big black mare of hers. She was goin' like the 
 wind, and headed straight fur hum. She cleared 
 that meder fence as she allers does, and I 
 allers holds my breath when I sees her do 
 it. 
 
 " Hope you ain't gettin' lonesome up here all 
 alone. The band will make things cheerfuller 
 by-and-by, and Ted Hosmer's comin' up from 
 Jerry's with a brace of coons in a cage. He's 
 goin' to put 'em up on the loco-focos pole. 
 Bill Sanders has heard about it and he has 
 brought a monkey. Bill Sanders is a Whig, you 
 know. You can't see much up here, the trees 
 are so thick, but by'm-by you must come down 
 into the settin'-room." 
 
 She was glad to be alone again, and to know 
 that Marjory was most likely at home by that 
 
 time. 
 
 ***** 
 
 A slow, heavy footstep in the passage one 
 she was eagerly waiting to hear, and she 
 hastened to meet Phil. He came in without 
 speaking. She led him out upon the piazza. 
 His eye sought the old house at once, and 
 rested upon it with softening lustre. What a 
 picture of peace it was, the great chimney, the
 
 BEFOGGED. 219 
 
 wide sloping roof, the outlying meadows, and 
 the broad fields of wheat and corn ! 
 
 " Cheer up, Phil. The free papers are signed 
 and delivered. There has been no trouble in 
 negotiating Miss Barkenstone's note ; Doctor 
 Wardell has arranged all that. But what has 
 happened at home since I left ? Was the 
 house clear ? Had Annie consented to remain 
 behind?" 
 
 Little by little he told his story. No, the 
 house was not cleared, and he could not say 
 when it would be if she did not give up going 
 away for the present. Letitia Barkenstone 
 was there, " like a queen on her throne," and 
 no one was so devoted to her as Marjory. 
 Samuel Breckinridge was there also. Phil 
 could not understand why they should keep 
 open house for all creation. That farm, 
 any other, would never be big enough for him 
 and Sam Breckenridge. Marjory had begged 
 of him to say nothing more about " clearing 
 the house," now that her Aunt Prissy was gone, 
 at least not until the camp ground was in order 
 again. She must keep her mother with her as 
 long as she could. There had been much prayer 
 and exhortation in the great parlor, and nothing
 
 220 THE M 'ID NIGHT CRY. 
 
 he could say had any influence upon Marjory 
 in keeping her where she could not hear Letitia 
 Barkenstone. America of course was in no 
 pleasant mood. She had even threatened to 
 horsewhip old Merit if he did not " keepshet of 
 de goin's-on." What Phil considered most 
 unpardonable in Marjory was her thankfulness 
 that her Aunt Prissy had gone away for a while. 
 She had sent a message bidding her have no 
 anxiety about her in her absence ; that her 
 departure was opportune. 
 
 " She is going to believe all this stuff they 
 are teaching her," muttered Phil. " She more 
 than half believes it now. If you must go, why 
 not take her with you take her out of all 
 this?" 
 
 A gray pallor overspread Priscilla Ottoway's 
 cheek, a momentary revelation of physical pain ; 
 a quick pressure of her hand upon her heart. 
 Then she took his hand in hers, and looked into 
 his condemning eyes. 
 
 " I must not let you misjudge me, my boy. 
 I am doing my best for Marjory. I have not 
 told you the secret cause of my going away: I 
 have heard from Christopher Burke. I am 
 going to meet him, to prevent his coming here.
 
 BEFOGGED. 221 
 
 He has turned up at last, and a Millerite 
 preacher at that." 
 
 " The devil he has ! " ejaculated Phil, under 
 his breath, snatching his hands from hers and 
 thrusting them deep into his pockets. 
 
 " I must see him first, then I can tell what to 
 do next." 
 
 Phil's response was best unnoted ; in fact, it 
 was unheard by Priscilla Ottoway, for the band 
 on the CommQn was playing uproariously, and 
 the Whigs were having high carnival. They 
 went inside, and she drew him to a seat upon 
 the sofa beside her. 
 
 " I have another secret for you, Phil." Her 
 low voice thrilled him strangely, subdued his 
 rebellion. " I am under the care of a physi 
 cian." 
 
 He started and looked incredulous. 
 
 " No, Marjory does not know. She must not 
 yet. I must avoid all excitement. My safety 
 is in quiet, in peace. That is another reason 
 for my going now. No, there is not the 
 slightest danger in my travelling alone. And I 
 have a strange longing to go back once more to 
 Happy Valley." 
 
 The tears were streaming down his cheeks as
 
 222 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 she told him calmly of all she had planned for 
 his future and Marjory's. 
 
 The farm would be theirs, of course, and all 
 that she had, saving the provision she had made 
 for Annie and Merit and America. Christopher 
 Burke's return might necessitate some change 
 in her will. But if she were taken away before 
 such changes as she specified had been made, 
 she could trust him to carry out her wishes. 
 
 They caught the sound of the stage horn. 
 
 " Stand by Marjory, Phil, whatever happens. 
 If it comes to sacrificing my interest for her 
 happiness, don't hesitate. You will hear from 
 me soon ; but if you do not, don't be distressed ; 
 all will come out right." 
 
 Her last glimpse of him was from the stage 
 coach as it turned out of the main street. 
 There he stood, just where she had left him, 
 still looking at the ground, his hands deep in 
 his pockets.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 WINNING THE GAME. 
 
 THE destruction of a world, the annihilation 
 of matter, the discontinuance of material 
 substance, were not so scientifically unthinkable 
 and theologically monstrous to the mind of 
 man in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred 
 and forty-four as they are to-day. 
 
 For a time the Barley Flats camp ground 
 was the head-centre of the spreading fanaticism 
 in western New York. The big tent was the 
 attraction of believers and scoffers alike. The 
 singing and shouting of the multitude could be 
 heard at a great distance at all times of the day 
 and night. Many of the most popular and 
 thrilling of the old Millerite hymns were taken 
 from the orthodox hymn-books. Sung by the 
 believers in the Speedy Coming, under the 
 solemn forest trees at night, they had a meaning 
 and a power which they can never have in their 
 present use. The words express the same
 
 224 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 ancient expectation, but how meaningless they 
 are to those who have heard them uplifted by 
 the followers of Father Miller! 
 
 Like thistledown on a whirlwind, a leaf on 
 a strong tide, Marjory had been swept into the 
 vortex of excitement, and painfully transformed. 
 Her strong individuality had been intensified, 
 her self-reliance forced into an aggressive 
 heroism through her zeal for the conversion of 
 souls. Her healthy independence of mind had 
 developed into a defiant fearlessness of op 
 position, a braving of ridicule. Had she not 
 read of Jeanne D'Arc and the heroines of the 
 Crusades? She thought of them when she 
 rode through the village and across the wide 
 country, scattering " the gospel of the king 
 dom," proclaiming in her earnest, simple way 
 that the year of jubilee had come. Men were 
 called from their work in the fields by her 
 clarion-like voice and urged to read the tracts 
 she gave them. Children were stopped on their 
 way to school to hear the strange tidings, and 
 tired housekeepers sat down on their doorsteps 
 to listen to the message she brought, the words 
 impressed upon their memories with her brave, 
 beautiful face, her firm, quiet mastery of her
 
 WINNING THE GAME. 225 
 
 mettlesome horse, and the sullen-looking fellow 
 who kept close beside her, quick to use his 
 whip if the scoffer presumed upon unseemly 
 attack. For Phil, who had ceased to oppose 
 her, made no pretension of believing what she 
 taught, and, happily for her defence, was un 
 fettered by rules of Christian forbearance. She 
 had given up trying to make a convert of Phil. 
 In fact, her efforts in that direction had not 
 been characterized by persistence. Poor child ! 
 Had she known her own heart she would have 
 seen that she was glad to have him remain as 
 he was; but she did plead with Victoria Barry, 
 ah, so fruitlessly ! coming off from the contest 
 hurt and humiliated. 
 
 Victoria Barry, with a servant or two, was 
 staying alone at the Hermitage. She had tried 
 to prevail upon Marjory to join her, and 
 Samuel Breckinridge, who had become the 
 inseparable attendant upon Letitia Barken- 
 stone, favored that plan in opposition to his 
 sister's wishes, which of course prevailed. 
 Samuel Breckinridge avoided Marjory, that was 
 plain. The change in her affected him pain 
 fully. When they did meet she felt that he 
 was pitying her, studying all she said and did
 
 226 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 compassionately. She avoided him as he did 
 her, and that partly on Phil's account. Phil 
 was so unreasonable ! Nothing Samuel Breck- 
 inridge did escaped Phil's eye. 
 
 " He is playing a game, and a deep one," he 
 said more than once to Marjory. 
 
 Two weeks had passed, and the fact that 
 nothing had been heard from Priscilla Ottoway 
 was almost unnoted at Barley Flats, in the 
 whirl of exciting events. 
 
 " She will surely come to-morrow," Marjory 
 would say each night. Her mother remained 
 upon the camp ground. She, to please Phil, 
 spent a part of each day at the old house. 
 
 It was a dry and tropical August. The sun 
 burnt fields, the crisp, dusty leaves, the rattling 
 reeds along the dry beds of the valley brooks, 
 all strengthened the faith of the believers in 
 the coming conflagration, in the reasonableness 
 of the transforming of that section, at least, into 
 ashes to be trodden under the soles of the feet 
 of the Lord's anointed. 
 
 At the close of one of those burning days, 
 when the glorious sunset brought scarcely the 
 ripple of a reviving breeze, there was an unusual 
 increase of the multitude crowded within the
 
 WINNING THE GAME. 227 
 
 big tent. Father Miller had arrived, the ven 
 erable, palsy-shaken old man, whose Johannean 
 humility and devout sincerity were perhaps the 
 secret of his wonderful power. 
 
 He had stood upon the rude platform, the 
 prophetical charts an effective background to 
 his snowy head and benign countenance, the 
 vast assembly hushed to supernatural stillness, 
 as, in a sweet tremulous voice, he gave them his 
 farewell assurance of his confidence in the 
 glorious appearing, his unshaken faith that the 
 prophecies of the Second Coming had been each 
 and all fulfilled, and that the last year of the 
 world's history had come. Those who heard 
 him might lack faith in his gospel, but never 
 in the man. He believed what he spake unto 
 the world, and his was the peace and joy of 
 believing, strange as it may seem to some of us 
 that in such a faith as his a soul could have 
 found perfect peace. Bidding them a loving 
 farewell, only for the little time before they 
 should all be caught up together in the air, 
 he had withdrawn, leaning on the arm of an 
 evangelist, the overwrought feeling of the mul 
 titude finding expression in singing, as one 
 voice, like unto the sound of many waters:
 
 228 THE MIDNIGH 7 ' CR Y. 
 
 " We shall all with Christ appear, 
 By-and-by, when He comes . . ' 
 
 As if swept into their presence by the mighty 
 tide of exalted feeling, Letitia Barkenstone 
 came forward upon the platform, and the fren 
 zied outpouring of their jubilant anticipation 
 was hushed at once. Never had they seen her 
 when her face shone with such intense illumin 
 ation, when her whole being seemed so trans 
 figured, her voice so resonant and penetrating, 
 as from the seventh heaven of seership she 
 portrayed the terrors of the last day. 
 
 At the feet of the tall wooden model of 
 Nebuchadnezzar's image, a cunningly devised 
 illustration of the passing away of ancient 
 kingdoms, Samuel Breckinridge had sat, while 
 she was speaking, like an image of stone. 
 Marjory, who had been watching him, saw in 
 his face the foreshadowing of something to 
 come, the outcome of the inner struggle, and 
 wondered if his conversion, his confession of 
 faith, would not follow his sister's words. How 
 could he hold out longer? 
 
 "And to you that scoffing say we do not 
 truly believe what we preach unto you," were 
 her closing words, " what more can we do than
 
 WINNING THE GAME. 229 
 
 we have done to prove unto you how firmly 
 our feet are planted upon the rock, the ' thus 
 saith the Lord] the evidences by which we 
 were to know when the end should be ? You 
 say we do not truly believe? Oh, would it 
 might be given unto me to convince those 
 doubting our sincerity, that we do believe ! that 
 we have no ground for doubting ! that beyond 
 the tenth day of the seventh month we can- 
 not'Count upon a day of our Lord's tarrying ! " 
 
 Samuel Breckinridge advanced to where she 
 was standing and stood quietly beside her, as 
 if waiting to speak with her or to the audience 
 when she had done. He held in his hand a 
 paper that had the appearance of a legal docu 
 ment. Becoming conscious of his presence, she 
 paused and looked questioningly at him, decid 
 ing at once that the moment of his confession 
 of faith had come ; that he was about to declare 
 that faith to a scoffing world. He saw the 
 impression from which she was about to resume 
 speaking, and checked her, silenced her by a 
 gesture. How cold he seemed after her impas 
 sioned fervor ! how concentrated, self cen 
 tred ! 
 
 " My sister Miss Barkenstone " bowing first
 
 230 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 to her, then to his audience " did not know, 
 when she expressed the wish, that she might 
 prove to you her faith in what she professes to 
 believe, that the opportunity would be given 
 her to-night, and that now, and before your 
 eyes, she should make such testimony. 
 I have in my hand," and he held the paper 
 high over his head, " an unsigned deed, con 
 veying to me, the brother of Letitia Barken- 
 stone, every dollar she possesses in this world, 
 some one hundred thousand or more in bonds 
 and real estate, all she has not spent for the 
 spread of Father Miller's gospel, to be made 
 mine by her signature ; but it may not pass 
 into my possession until after the tenth day of 
 the seventh month shall have passed by. The 
 deed makes ample allowance for a ' tarrying 
 time','' a faint twinkle in his eye. " It specifies 
 that upon the first day of December all her 
 worldly possessions shall be mine. Her sign 
 ing of this paper, in the presence of you her 
 witnesses, will surely convince the most scepti 
 cal among you of her faith that the end of 
 the world will come October twenty-fifth, and 
 she may now give to the world a testi 
 mony of faith none may question."
 
 WINNING THE GAME. 231 
 
 " Sign it ! sign it ! " rang out from all sides. 
 She was not hesitating, as she stood there, her 
 eyes fixed upon her brother's calm face. She 
 was striving to read what she could not, and 
 with a quick movement towards the table, 
 whereon he had spread out the paper, she care 
 fully read it, smiled, and then slowly wrote her 
 signature, holding up the signed document 
 before the multitude. 
 
 " ' Heaven and earth shall pass away, but His 
 Word shall endure forever,' " her voice rang out 
 clearly. Then turning to her brother, whose 
 eyes were fixed upon the document, a tremu 
 lous pathos in her voice, she added : 
 
 " Set not your heart upon it, Samuel. Not 
 one farthing of this filthy lucre will ever be 
 yours. The day that cometh will have burned 
 it up long before the first day of next December. 
 Only that it is invested as it is, and is not 
 easily convertible into money, every dollar 
 should have been laid on the Master's altar 
 before this, lest the burden should sink my soul 
 to perdition." 
 
 In the wild excitement which prevailed, a 
 babel of singing and prayer, Annie Burke pass 
 ing into a trance state, revealing to the im-
 
 232 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 mediate circle around her the scenes of her 
 beatific vision, Samuel Breckinridge laid his 
 hand firmly upon his sister's arm and led her 
 from the platform to the shadow of the thick 
 beeches, some distance from the tent. 
 
 " That singing reminds me," said he, as they 
 walked away, the deed safe in his pocket, her 
 ejaculatory thanksgivings growing fewer and 
 fainter, " of the clangorous outcry of a bar 
 barous host at the gate of victory. What have 
 you in common with this horde, Letitia? " 
 
 She stopped short, breathing with difficulty, 
 her lips giving no sound when she struggled 
 to speak. 
 
 " Letitia," and there was a woman's tender 
 ness in his voice, and she felt his hand tremble 
 as he laid it upon her shoulder, a glistening 
 drop fell upon his cheek, " let us remember 
 that the same mother was yours and mine ; 
 I shall not forget it. Her memory is my law. 
 Trust me. I am your brother. When you 
 signed that bond you made yourself penniless. 
 I shall not forget that I am your brother, your 
 guardian. I am going at once to Philadelphia 
 to look after your affairs. Good-bye." She did 
 not speak. She had set her lips firmly ; her
 
 WINNING THE GAME. 233 
 
 moment of weakness was gone ; nor did she 
 extend her hand when he would have taken it, 
 and for once she was at loss for an adequate 
 Scriptural curse. 
 
 " You will bless me for what I did to-night 
 some day, Letitia, when ' the day ' shall have 
 gone by. Good-bye." She had sealed her lips 
 evidently, under a vow to keep silence let him 
 say what he would. 
 
 " Say good-bye to that poor child for me, 
 Letitia. When Miss Ottoway comes home 
 Marjory will be cared for. Be sure and tell 
 her I left her with many wishes for her happi 
 ness. Good-bye." 
 
 She dropped upon her knees when he was 
 gone, and was kneeling, her face buried in her 
 hands, when a soft, caressing voice startled her 
 as from a sleep. 
 
 " Oh, Marjory, Marjory ! What has happened ? 
 Have I been dreaming ? " 
 
 " They are asking for you to speak again. 
 When you signed that paper so many believed 
 who have been holding back ! A woman has 
 confessed a murder she committed in England 
 seven years ago,* and a rich man has thrown a 
 * Such a thing happened in the excitement.
 
 234 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 full wallet upon the platform, and another has 
 given his gold watch, and many of the women 
 their jewelry. The excitement is beyond every 
 thing, and they are asking for you." 
 
 " I cannot go quite yet, my child," holding 
 Marjory in close embrace. " What if we have 
 miscalculated, and I am penniless ! oh, Marjory! 
 my faith wavers. I feel like one stunned by a 
 blow." 
 
 Marjory was unprepared for such weakness 
 in the bulwark of her confidence, and was un 
 dergoing what the subalterns of the greatest 
 heroes must occasionally experience if per 
 mitted intimacy with their leaders, revelations of 
 supineness in the tent, when the world is hoarse 
 with shouting " bravo ! " outside. How could 
 she inspire Letitia Barkenstone ? Surely not 
 by telling her that she was continually haunted 
 by a sickening mistrust that possibly their mid 
 night cry was a " much ado about nothing," after 
 all. If Letitia Barkenstone were beginning to 
 doubt well, she wished she were safe at home. 
 Had they not better go to the old house for 
 the night? 
 
 " But the day will not go by, Marjory." The 
 rock was under her feet again. " He will not
 
 WINNING THE GAME. 235 
 
 lie. He hath permitted Satan to put it into 
 the heart of my brother to entrap me in this 
 manner, that I may'be tried as by fire." 
 
 " I don't see how you could sign it," said 
 Marjory. " I never could have done it. But 
 then he is your brother, and he will be honor 
 able. He thinks we are crazy fanatics, and" 
 lowering her voice, a faint ring of her merry 
 old laughter following her words " perhaps we 
 are." 
 
 " Marjory ! " 
 
 " One can't help their thoughts sometimes," 
 with a deep sigh. 
 
 " Get thee behind her, Satan ! " and 
 scarcely had she uttered the words when from 
 the thicket behind them a form emerged, start 
 ling Marjory into a low, frightened cry. 
 
 " Is her name Marjory? " and in the light of 
 the tent lamps they could see the eager expect 
 ancy in the strange face, the unkempt hair, 
 and long ragged beard, the bulging carpet-bag, 
 and the chart a Millerite pilgrim, and as such 
 deserving their welcome. " I am looking for 
 Marjory Burke. Can this be my daughter? 
 Does she remember her father?"
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 WINDS OF DOCTRINE. 
 
 'T^HERE was nothing extraordinary in Chris- 
 X topher Burke's experience, the story ex 
 plaining his long absence as he first told it to his 
 little family. But by the time that story had 
 been made to harmonize with Annie Burke's 
 visions and to fulfil ancient prophecy, it became 
 marvellous indeed. 
 
 He had simply borrowed the meeting house 
 fund, confident that he might replace it upon 
 his return from New York, where he counted 
 upon the temporary assistance of his kinsfolk. 
 The Burke convention had been a failure. A 
 few members of the family who did not believe 
 the advertisement in the London Times to be a 
 trickster's scheme had prevailed upon Christo 
 pher Burke to go to London at once and attend 
 to the matter himself. They would forward 
 money when needed. He had but three hours 
 in which to make his decision. He sailed from
 
 WINDS OF DOCTRINE. 237 
 
 New York, bewildered and full of remorse. 
 Annie would forgive him, however, when he 
 returned a rich man, abundantly able to wipe 
 out his disgrace. The London barristers smiled 
 at his presumption in addressing them without 
 a heavy retainer. They drove him from their 
 offices. He begged for money from his New York 
 cousins. No reply. With a desperate fatality 
 for securing rebuffs, even insults, he hung 
 around the Bank of England, and annoyed the 
 officials until the police placed him under 
 surveillance. He plodded wearily on foot to 
 find the Kentish Burkes, demanding admit 
 tance at the doors of their fine country houses 
 in the name of an American cousin, a rightful 
 inheritor of their lands. It was pitiful to see 
 him pleading with inexorable servants for 
 admission, wandering among the old graves in 
 old church-yards family graves shivering in 
 the parish churches, where he copied long inscrip 
 tions from memorial tablets and entries of 
 musty parish registers, every link he could find 
 in the Burke ancestral chain. Penniless and in 
 despair he found employment at last as under- 
 gardener on the estate of an eccentric old 
 gentleman, a hypochondriac hermit, who, having
 
 238 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 become interested in the teachings of William 
 Miller, chiefly because of what he thought the 
 world deserved for its worthlessness, found a 
 querulous satisfaction in expounding the same 
 to the wellspoken man hoeing his turnips : a 
 man, by the way, who surprised him by his 
 knowledge of Scripture, and who was at once 
 converted to Father Miller's teaching, when 
 permitted to study those teachings in his 
 master's library. There is no telling what the 
 associate students might have done for the con 
 version of the good people of Kent, had not the 
 sudden death of the old gentleman sent Chris 
 topher Burke adrift upon the world again, his 
 carefully hoarded savings barely sufficient to 
 take him back to his wife and child to whom 
 he would have returned before, but that he had 
 cause for believing that his master would leave 
 him a legacy. And why had he not written? He 
 had never had the heart, the courage, to write. 
 He had expected to meet Priscilla Ottoway at 
 Happy Valley. What wonder that he had 
 been unwilling to wait an hour longer than he 
 thought necessary ! Time was short. He had 
 feared the trumpet would sound before he was 
 permitted to meet his wife and child, and warn
 
 WINDS OF DOCTRINE. 239 
 
 them, if they were in darkness, of what was 
 coming upon the earth. The Lord had been 
 very good to him, he declared. Blessed were 
 the bitter waters of Marah, that led to the 
 wells of Elim. Marjory's heart went out to 
 him at once. He was her father, the father she 
 remembered in the old coffin shop in The 
 Hollow, and that was enough for Marjory. 
 
 But where was Priscilla Ottoway ? 
 
 Christopher Burke's journey from Happy 
 Valley, where he had failed to meet her, had 
 been one of detentions. He could not refrain 
 from stopping to proclaim the Midnight Cry 
 in many a lonely place where the warning had 
 not been given. There was nothing alarming 
 in his failing to see her, as much of her journey 
 was by stage, and the connections were depend 
 ent upon uncertain things. Phil was more 
 anxious than he betrayed to any one, and he 
 comforted himself with believing that she was 
 visiting old friends and would be home on each 
 to-morrow. 
 
 One day there came a cry for the big tent 
 from a Macedonia some eighty miles to the 
 westward a cry so clearly a command from 
 on high to the leaders of the host, that the
 
 240 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 removal was made at once, the multitude follow 
 ing, excepting Letitia Barkenstone and Chris 
 topher and Annie Burke. They had been 
 "called " to hasten to the Hollow and snatch, if 
 possible, a few of the preacher's old flock from 
 the impending burning. The call had come to 
 Christopher Burke in a dream, and he could 
 hardly wait for the day-dawn before setting 
 forth on his return to a people he had desert 
 ed in the wilderness. Did they revile him, 
 cast the past in his teeth, it should not be 
 written against him that he had not striven to 
 make atonement for that past. 
 
 It was Phil that prevented Marjory from 
 going with them. He stoutly opposed it and 
 had his own way in the end. She simply 
 should not go. Aunt Prissy would be home 
 on the morrow, he said, as he aided the depart 
 ure of the others. Marjory must stay, and 
 she did. 
 
 The old-time peace enfolded the house again. 
 How sweet the silence down on the camp 
 ground, the roads free from the wagons of the 
 pilgrims, the orchards from their uncared- 
 for children ! The nights were still once more, 
 awfully still, thought Marjory, gazing up at
 
 WINDS OF DOCTRINE. 241 
 
 the heavens, trembling lest there should be " a 
 sign " vouchsafed her. In the lull, the reaction 
 following the excitement, she was like one 
 recovering from fever. She moved about 
 languidly, said little, and read incessantly 
 from her Bible. She would have hard work in 
 proving steadfast, she feared. How frightfully 
 fast the days went by. She counted the hours 
 with sinking heart. 
 
 Victoria Barry came often to see her, insist 
 ing on her going for long drives, when she 
 would chatter about the novels she was reading, 
 the spicy doings of the villagers, and even read 
 to her the pretty things the papers were over 
 laden with, stories about Millerites and their 
 queer delusions, and the retorts of the ungodly 
 when exhorted to repent. Cousin Vic was a 
 pitiless scoffer, to whom the destruction of 
 Jerusalem and even the Battle of Armageddon 
 were of small moment. She habitually spoke of 
 Letitia Barkenstone as Deborah of Armaged 
 don. Her impersonation of her as an expositor 
 of prophecy for Marjory's benefit solely, gave 
 the child, who could not help laughing at the 
 caricature, many pangs of stinging remorse. 
 
 Phil, in the phraseology Marjory had learned
 
 242 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 to repeat when speaking of him," had hardened 
 his heart lest he should believe," but he did 
 not ridicule her nor argue with her. In fact, 
 he was so kind and mindful of her comfort, that 
 when he declared his open interference with her 
 father's wish that she should go with him to the 
 Hollow, she took sides with Phil, and Christo 
 pher Burke, who deferred to " the "boy," as he 
 called him, left her behind with many mis 
 givings lest she should not cling to her faith 
 without wavering, but be blown about by every 
 wind of doctrine. 
 
 " Winds of doctrine ! " mused Marjory, watch 
 ing the course of the rising wind across the corn 
 field below her window, the trees bending before 
 it, a rain of half-ripened apples in the orchard 
 " it has been nothing but a high wind of 
 doctrine, a perfect tornado, all summer. How 
 can one help being blown about, blown away? 
 If one only could be blown away, far up and 
 away from the earth, before the fire breaks out," 
 her eyes following a leaf scurrying upward on 
 the gale, " and so escape the wrath of that ter 
 rible God, what a blessed wind that would 
 be!" 
 
 Every day brought her a long letter from
 
 WINDS OF DOCTRINE. 243 
 
 Letitia Barkenstone. A new scheme was grow 
 ing in that visionary brain, or, as Letitia Bark 
 enstone would have said, a new light was reveal 
 ing itself in prophecy. It was gradually dawning 
 upon her that she had been .raised up in the 
 fulness of time to make ready the literal Zion, 
 modern Palestine, for the return of the Mes 
 siah. 
 
 " If time shall be prolonged" the "if " lightly 
 underscored " I shall go at once to Palestine 
 and devote myself to a mission having for its 
 object the cultivation of the soil, the establish 
 ment of an agricultural school upon the ashes 
 of Zion, among the ruins of Jerusalem. A few 
 laboring and devoted Christians are ready to 
 co-operate with me in cultivating and building 
 up the waste places, in comforting the captive 
 daughter of Israel. The day of preparation of 
 making Palestine as the garden of the Lord 
 must precede, it seems revealed to me, His 
 coming. But this may be a delusion to shake 
 our faith in ' the tenth day.' I am studying the 
 subject with prayer, and while dwelling upon it 
 last night the following verses were whispered 
 in my ear :
 
 244 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 "'Oh ! who shall between the bright cherubims pass, 
 And restore the lost garden of beauty at last ? 
 Who shall give to its long desert bowers their bloom, 
 And say to the saved and the ransomed, return ? ' 
 
 It will all be clear to us in a few days, Mar 
 jory. If I go to Palestine I shall take you with 
 me." 
 
 That was something to dream of, something 
 beyond that fatal tenth day ! But where was 
 Aunt Prissy?
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 HAPPY VALLEY. 
 
 PRISCILLA OTTOWAY'S journey had 
 been greatly prolonged by delays and mis 
 haps, and the last thirty miles found her a soli 
 tary passenger by night in the mountain wagon, 
 slowly climbing the steep hill which shut 
 away Happy Valley on the northward from the 
 naughty world beyond its protecting moun 
 tains. The rain was falling in no fitful mood, 
 but with a steady persistence that shut out 
 every other sound of the dismal night saving the 
 lugubrious crooning of the driver outside, who 
 sang over and over in every possible key attain 
 able by his cracked, wailing voice 
 
 "Oh, mother, mother, make my bed, 
 For I shall die to-morrow! " 
 
 At last, when she too had been singing of 
 Barbara Allen's woe in her broken dream, the 
 sound of the wheels upon the stony descent of 
 the hill aroused her. She knew without lifting
 
 246 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 the curtain just where they were not a mile 
 from the village. She could see without open 
 ing her eyes the white fence around the grave 
 yard out there in the pitchy darkness, the old 
 tombstones peering at her through the bram 
 bles, their faces far less changed by the years 
 than her own; yes, that was the moaning of the 
 great black pine, whispering down to the two 
 sunken graves at its roots, "She has come 
 back at last." Then all the rain that was fall 
 ing seemed beating upon those two graves. She 
 knew just when the horses' hoofs would strike 
 the bridge, and the old echo would rise from 
 the ravine, and when they would have reached 
 the open space across which Grandfather Hath- 
 away's cobble-stone house could be plainly 
 seen the white shutters, and the great barns. 
 The stage rolled over the bridge, and she saw a 
 brown-faced child hanging over the railing in 
 the full sunshine, that little outlaw among the 
 good Quaker boys and girls, that defiant rebel 
 against Quaker law and Quaker custom. " Come 
 here, Priscilla," the old, sweet voice was calling; 
 and she was hastening to obey, so glad to go 
 home, so tired, when ah ! it was the driver 
 swinging a lantern before her dazed eyes, help-
 
 HAPPY VALLEY. 247 
 
 ing a stiff and confused old woman to alight 
 with her hand-bags and wraps, the cold rain 
 beating against her face. 
 
 The little inn did its best to make her com 
 fortable, the landlady herself leaving her bed 
 when told what a " fine-seeming lady " had ar 
 rived, evidently some relation of old Deborah 
 Hathaway's, for she had asked after her and the 
 Hathaways generally. As the house belonged 
 to Deborah Hathaway, it was wise to make 
 much of her visitors. So a fire was soon blaz 
 ing on the hearth of the pretty bed-room, and 
 Priscilla Otto way was enjoying a savory chop 
 beside it, the landlady eyeing her with not a 
 little deferential curiosity as she made pretence 
 of being busy about the room. 
 
 "And you say Deborah Hathaway is still liv 
 ing. Is she very feeble ? Is her memory 
 good?" 
 
 "Trust her for 'membering every thing as well 
 as ever she did. She was ninety-two this sum 
 mer, and she keeps straight as an arrow. If 
 she's ever seen you before, she'll know you." 
 The tone was interrogatory, but Priscilla Otto- 
 way made no response. " I saw her picking 
 grapes in her garden only yesterday. She
 
 248 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 looks after the grapes and everything, and she 
 owns acres and acres of the best land around 
 here, perhaps you know" another unsatisfac 
 tory pause. "You can't find a deed in this sec 
 tion that don't have Hathaway on it. This is an 
 old Quaker settlement, you know. There's no 
 going astray from broad-brims around here." 
 
 " Have you many guests in the house ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am. No one jis now. It's dull after 
 harvest. Then there's another stage comes up 
 the Grass hill road." 
 
 " But you have direct communication from 
 Philadelphia?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! you can go and back in twenty-four 
 hours. There's a mail every day, the office right 
 here in the house." 
 
 " Will you see at once if there is a letter " 
 
 But the landlady briskly interrupted her to 
 declare that there was nothing whatever in the 
 office, she knew, for she had charge of the mail 
 regretting afterwards that she had prevented 
 the lady from giving her name. 
 
 " And has there been no one stopping here 
 lately by the name of Christopher Burke?" 
 
 No, there had been no one there by that 
 name ; of that she was positive. She had
 
 HAPPY VALLEY. 249 
 
 brought a footstool for the poor lady's feet, as 
 she told the story, and was attending to her 
 requests for the night, when she was startled 
 by hearing her give a quick cry of pain, fol 
 lowed by a moaning effort to call somebody by 
 name. " And then she fell forward," said the 
 good woman who caught her in her arms, " and 
 lay like the dead." 
 
 " We can find out who she is, I am thinking, 
 at Deborah Hathaway's," said she, after the 
 excitement had somewhat subsided, and the 
 village doctor and several neighbors were con 
 sulting what should be done for the strange 
 lady lay in an alarming stupor. " She asked 
 about her when she first came in, and don't you 
 see something like the Hathaways in her 
 face?" 
 
 " Oh, pow'ful sakes alive ! " gasped Dolly 
 Cobb, the village nurse, when she had finally 
 made out the name on the daintily embroidered 
 handkerchief, " it's Priscilla Ottoway ! and to 
 think I didn't know her ! Prissy Ottoway, 
 sure's I'se a livin' soul " bending close to the 
 strong, placid face. " Of course it's Prissy," 
 rubbing the limp hands vigorously. " Didn't 
 we go to school together? Didn't they used to
 
 250 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 call us the gypsys? She'll know me, if she 
 ever wakes out of this ; but Lord sakes alive ! 
 where has she been to? They said she killed 
 herself years ago," lowering her voice to a whis 
 per, " and all for some poor stick of a man, a 
 Spanish count or something. I said then Pris- 
 cilla Ottoway wasn't fool enough to drown her 
 self for any man livin' ; there's those livin' who 
 can remember my sayin' it ; and here she is, cum 
 back from the dead, if she isn't dead already ; 
 oh, Lud sakes alive ! " 
 
 Day after day she lay there unconscious of 
 everything about her. Her friends could not 
 be informed of her condition, for no one knew 
 who or where they were. Deborah Hathaway 
 would not hear of inserting a notice in a Phila 
 delphia paper. She believed it would be con 
 trary to the wishes of her kinswoman. No 
 letters came. How strange it was ! She had a 
 good physician, and Dolly Cobb was her faith 
 ful nurse, but it was very doubtful if she would 
 ever recover. Deborah Hathaway at last 
 decided that she must be removed to her house, 
 planning and superintending the removal her 
 self, upon a low-canopied stone-boat, drawn by 
 two steady old oxen.
 
 HAPPY VALLEY. 251 
 
 What a great white room it was, where they 
 laid her down so tenderly ! Dolly, fairly terri 
 fied by the converging lines in her old play 
 mate's history, that she saw terminating under 
 the canopy of that high-posted bed, the room 
 in which Prissy Ottoway was born, where she 
 kissed her mother for the last time, and where 
 she met her brother. When Dolly Cobb fol 
 lowed her through that door, she gave her up ; 
 in fact, she had her doubts if her flitting would 
 not be something more uncanny than anything 
 she had ever seen in her life ; and Dolly never 
 would have admitted that her life had been 
 uneventful and prosaic. 
 
 " It sims-ter-me this room has jus' been 
 waitin' for all this to happen ever since it was 
 first put to rights ; for some rooms are like story 
 books if it wusn't for the last chapter they'd 
 never cum to anything. This room's bin 
 comin' to this for mor'n sixty years. It's what 
 it's made for." 
 
 Verily it was a chamber of peace so white, so 
 orderly, so prim a faint odor of lavender in the 
 bed linen, a trimming of hand-knitted lace on 
 the snowy dimity curtains, the bed valance, and 
 the by-no-means lavish supply of pin-cushion,
 
 252 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 a compact, complete pin-cushion, which, like 
 everything else in the room, as well as 
 the house, was not only an expression of 
 Deborah Hathaway's Quakerish taste, but 
 seemed so much a part of her, even Deborah 
 Hathaway herself, that Dolly Cobb, not 
 unlike other world's people under that im 
 pression, would have as soon presumed upon 
 correcting the old lady's Quaker vernacular as 
 to have changed the location of a single article 
 of furniture, a rug or a footstool, from the place 
 it had been predestined to occupy, and which 
 it seemed to occupy with a sentient satisfaction 
 that it had never known a speck of dust and 
 never would. The black chairs, unrelenting in 
 aspect, somehow suggested that they were in 
 digenous to the spotless white-ash floor, as the 
 tall poplars outside were to the straight lane 
 leading to the high, narrow stoop, and as truly 
 the flowering of severe order, as the vagabond 
 sumach over in the swamp were of a lawless 
 tendency in nature. Four windows, thirty-six 
 panes of glass in each, and never a blemish in a 
 single pane, looked off to the gray hills, four 
 pictures for the otherwise bare white walls that 
 Quaker asceticism might not prohibit. Beyond
 
 HAPPY VALLEY. 253 
 
 the frowning headland to the westward, how 
 plainly Dolly could see it when watching by 
 that silent pillow ! was the headland she fancied 
 the leader of all the hills, stepping to the front 
 in an invasion of the shrinking valley, stamping 
 its foot upon a frightened little stream that 
 tried to hide, and nearly succeeded, among the 
 rocks ; and over there were the ruins of the lit 
 tle mission chapel built by the Church of En 
 gland years before. 
 
 " We ought to have been expectin* her, and 
 knowin' she would come," Dolly said, breaking 
 into a prolonged meditation of the venerable 
 Quakeress whose faded blue eyes were longer 
 than usual in regaining earthly vision. " If she 
 does die before we find out anything about her 
 I do hope there won't be anybody here that 
 will go remorsing 'round, trying to find out where 
 she came from. I can read all I want to on her 
 face." 
 
 She came back to feeble consciousness at last, 
 so slowly that there was no surprise at her sur 
 roundings, at Aunt Deborah knitting beside 
 her, at Dolly Cobb, who was plainly not a 
 stranger. There was no mistaking her unex 
 pressed wish not to be questioned about her-
 
 254 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 self, and her physician had rare skill in learning 
 the nature of her malady without irritating her 
 mental peace. It was when they would cau 
 tiously try to learn to whom they should write, 
 if to any one, that she became painfully bewil 
 dered and seemed likely to slip away again. 
 
 " It will come in due season," said Deborah 
 Hathaway. " The Lord is holding her up. He 
 has led her here. What He hath hidden we 
 shall never know." 
 
 Little by little, in her gleams of conscious 
 ness, much of her story was revealed or guessed 
 by Aunt Deborah. The waters of the world 
 had been bitter. There was no pressing insist 
 ence for names. She was trying to call some 
 one occasionally, the physician dreading undue 
 stimulus of her suspended memory. Not a 
 word of her faint rambling monologues were 
 unnoted, when she seemed cautiously testing 
 the reality of things around her, trying the 
 strength of the brittle threads by which she 
 would bridge the past with the present. Her 
 radiant smile upon waking one morning, a lit 
 tle more than a fortnight after her arrival at 
 Happy Valley, was in marked contrast with 
 what her watchers had seen before, and Deborah
 
 HAPPY VALLEY. 255 
 
 Hathaway, who entered the room that minute 
 to offer her petition with the sun rising, as was 
 her custom, paused at the foot of the bed, and 
 uplifting her withered hand shut fast the dim 
 eyes that had plainly seen what they were un 
 prepared to meet, and began in a hushed whis 
 per her communion with the Invisible. 
 
 " Come Thou into our prison house, and break 
 the chains that hold us back from Thee ! Let 
 the immortal be born of death, the palsied 
 tongue free to sing thy love. Let not thine 
 hand spare, nor thine eyes soften until Thou 
 hast made of us all Thou wouldst have us to 
 be!" 
 
 " Amen," faintly said Priscilla Ottoway. 
 
 " Yea, amen !" betraying no surprise, quietly 
 taking the seat beside the bed, with a signifi 
 cant sign. Dolly, who stood like one trans 
 fixed, was quick in interpreting " Thee's mend 
 ing, Priscilla." 
 
 "Did I write the letter, Deborah? Did I 
 write to Marjory ? " 
 
 "Thee didst not." Dolly had written the 
 name. 
 
 " I must write " contracting her brow. 
 
 " Thee canst not, Priscilla. Dolly will write
 
 256 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 for thee, when it comes to thee, without wrest 
 ling with thy memory which were a sin to tell 
 us where Marjory lives. Wait upon the Lord, 
 Priscilla. He will whisper the word in good 
 time. We can wait." 
 
 There was a bewildered gaze around the 
 room, a restless, aimless flight from one object 
 to another ; then the eyelids fell wearily, to lie 
 unlifted several moments. 
 
 " Wait upon the Lord, Priscilla." 
 
 " Barley Flats," she seemed murmuring in 
 her sleep, a sweet smile lighting up her face. 
 " I can see the valley the tents are gone " 
 
 " Can you see the mountain ? " asked Deb 
 orah. 
 
 "Mountain?" with a ripple of laughter; 
 " mountains in the Genesee Valley! I told Phil 
 I would write There ! " opening her eyes sud 
 denly and uplifting both her hands. " Is it over 
 with? Has the day gone by?" turning to 
 Dolly, as if she could answer. 
 
 "This is the third week in the ninth month, 
 Priscilla." 
 
 She paid no heed. " ' Tenth day, seventh 
 month,' " groping in the darkness of her mem 
 ory, saying the words over several times question-
 
 HAPPY VALLEY. 2$J 
 
 ingly, her feverish hold upon her memory quick 
 ening, then failing, until she apparently lost her 
 clue entirely and lay gazing intently at the tran 
 quil face beside her, startingsuddenly as if aroused 
 by an unexpected voice out of the darkness and 
 she were repeating what she heard. 
 
 " Phil and Marjory ! Marjory Burke ! I must 
 go home to-night back to Barley Flats." 
 
 " Now thee canst write a letter, Dolly ; tell 
 them Priscilla Ottoway is in good hands, and 
 why thee did not write before." 
 
 " Happy Valley Happy Valley," the sick 
 woman was half whispering to herself, gliding 
 into rapid, almost incoherent conversation with 
 some fancied personage, her father, her mother, 
 or old grandmother Hathaway, whose caraway 
 cakes she might not taste until she had repeated, 
 with a childish satisfaction 
 
 ' ' ' George Fox, George Fox, 
 
 The mountain of rocks 
 Was thy shield in the hot day of battle. 
 
 At the flash of thy sword, 
 
 In the name of the Lord, 
 Thy foes were as dumb, driven cattle ! 
 
 William Penn, William Penn, 
 
 In the annals of men ' " 
 
 The thread of her recollection broke again, and
 
 258 THE MIDNIGH T CR Y. 
 
 the solemn ticking of the old clock in the hall, 
 and the plaint of the cat-birds in the apple trees 
 down in the orchard alone broke the stillness in 
 which she sank to sleep, so like a tired child. 
 
 Then while Deborah went for her daily walk 
 down the long, straight lane leading to the high 
 way, Dolly labored with her composition of a 
 letter. The construction of sentences was a 
 serious matter, considering she did not know 
 just whom she was addressing ; but rhetoric was 
 nothing to orthography, and poor Dolly's sor 
 rows with the little dictionary delayed the mail 
 ing of her letter until after the stage had gone. 
 It \vere better, she thought, that the letter 
 should be delayed than that "affectionately" 
 should have been spelled as it necessarily had 
 been but for her persistent search through the 
 fa, the ^s, and at last the as ; though what had 
 led her to look in the as she could not say ; it 
 was just where she had never thought of look 
 ing. 
 
 "Not until everything is over, Deborah," 
 she heard in the sick room, as she paused out 
 side the open door, Priscilla Ottoway's voice, 
 firm and wondrously sweet, "you are not to 
 write to them until everything is over."
 
 HAPPY VALLEY. 259 
 
 Deborah was holding her hand ; her open 
 Bible was on the little stand beside the bed. 
 The afternoon sun filled the room with a golden 
 light, for the blinds had been swung wide, some 
 thing that had not happened before at that 
 hour of the day. The faces of the two kins 
 women were strangely illuminated, Dolly 
 thought. Their joyfulness impressed her first ; 
 then she knew the whole. 
 
 " It is just as I would have it, Deborah. 
 They shall hear I am gone when all is over. 
 I have slipped out of their lives never to come 
 back, that is all. No funeral for them, no 
 weeping over my dead face, only the knowing 
 I am gone. No, you must not send for the 
 doctor." 
 
 The spasm of agony had passed, leaving her 
 mind clearer than before. " The end is come," 
 smiling serenely, " and I am so glad it 
 finds me here. You have been so kind to me ! 
 I knew more at times than you thought, but I 
 could not speak. It was just as well. Phil 
 and Marjory are like my own children. They 
 know what I would have them do for each 
 other. Lay me down at the foot of the old pine 
 tree. Then let them come, Phil and Marjory."
 
 26o THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 Not long after, when all was over and a 
 sacred quiet enfolded the house, so like the 
 peace of the covered face in the western 
 chamber, the doctor came in bringing a 
 letter he had found at the post-office for Pris- 
 cilla Ottoway. He had also a few pine cones 
 that he had picked up when he passed the old 
 graveyard, thinking they might gently stimu 
 late reviving memory. 
 
 " She's gone, Doctor Talcott," sobbed 
 Dolly Cobb, " unless she's only sleeping as it 
 looks she is."
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE DAY AND THE HOUR. 
 
 THE letter was from Phil. If they did not 
 hear from her soon he should go in search 
 of her. The old house was quiet again, very 
 quiet. Then he told her of the arrival of 
 Christopher Burke, and his departure with his 
 wife and Letitia Barkenstone, a summary of all 
 that had happened in her absence, without 
 comment or waste of words. Marjory would 
 not be herself, of course, until " the tenth day " 
 was well over. He meant to deceive her some 
 how as to the date, bewilder her calculations 
 as to the calendar, surprise her some morning 
 by telling her that " the day " was gone by ; 
 she need live in dread of it no longer. He 
 counted on Aunt Priscilla's help in mislead 
 ing her when she came home, which he hoped 
 would be very soon. They would have to 
 tamper with Marjory's correspondence, hold 
 back Miss Barkenstone's long letters. Happily
 
 262 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 her father and mother were too preoccupied 
 to write often. 
 
 "They will be coming back here soon, of 
 course. I like Christopher Burke, he means 
 to be honest ; he seems to think Marjory is 
 about five years old. He shall have a piece of 
 my share of the farm, and we will build him a 
 snug house. If you are not coming home soon, 
 send for Marjory. That will help drive this 
 nonsense from her mind." 
 
 " Yea, Dolly, she shall have Friends' burial," 
 said Deborah, when she had read the letter 
 softly aloud in the western chamber. " She came 
 back in world's garb, but she is a Hathaway. 
 She shall go to her grave as her kin have before 
 her. Give her my best cap and kerchief, Dolly. 
 Rebecca Springer shall speak at her funeral, and 
 may the spirit touch her lips as it did when 
 Priscilla's mother died. Nay ! nay! " sternly 
 " Marjory and Philip may not be here. That 
 was Priscilla's requirement. Priscilla was a 
 
 Hathaway and had her own mind." 
 
 ..._.* 
 
 " This is a world's end for us, Marjory." 
 They stood side by side, looking down upon 
 the new-made grave under the old pine tree.
 
 THE DA Y AND THE HOUR. 263 
 
 " Oh, Phil ! " sobbing and clinging closer to 
 his arm, " are we never to find her again? " 
 
 There came no answer. Phil, dumb and 
 tearless as he had been since the stroke, made 
 no attempt at consolation. It was not in him 
 to offer visionary wishes for certainties, and 
 dreams for divine revelation ; nor was he so 
 heartless as to bid her turn for comfort to the 
 faith that had shrivelled her happiness. 
 
 Their stay in Happy Valley was of but a few 
 days. Deborah Hathaway understood perfectly 
 why they could not consent to remain longer, 
 and gave them her blessing at parting. They 
 would come to her again, she trusted, before 
 she went to join Priscilla. She had not long to 
 stay. Perhaps, if she lingered, they would 
 come to Happy Valley in the midwinter ; the 
 days would be somewhat long for her, waiting 
 there alone. 
 
 Marjory had been holding controversy with 
 her uneasy conscience, as to her duty in pro 
 fessing her faith to Aunt Deborah. She must 
 not play the coward, the hypocrite. 
 
 " Have you not yet heard," she found cour 
 age to ask, " that the world is coming to an 
 end before next winter?"
 
 264 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 " Nay, friend Marjory," a twinkle in the 
 dim eyes, a prolonged, half-amused study of the 
 flushed face " the spirit hath not yet revealed 
 such a message to me. How hath He spoken 
 with thee, friend Marjory? I have heard that 
 such doctrine is taught in the babel of the 
 world, but the still small voice that speaks with 
 me here tells me nothing of the kind ; and I 
 have been given a ready perception of truth. 
 Did this message come to thee from within, 
 friend Marjory ? Does thee know that what 
 thee has heard is verily the voice of the spirit ? 
 Let me speak to thee for Priscilla, and bid thee 
 stay here with me, until it is plain unto thee if 
 thee is vexed with delusions or nay?" 
 
 But she would go back with Phil. It was 
 upon the last day of their uneventful journey, 
 when they were not many miles from home, and 
 when Phil, because of her long silence, was 
 believing that she had forgotten his existence, 
 that she quietly slipped a letter into his hand, 
 a worn, rumpled letter, one she received not 
 long before they went away, he remembered 
 taking it from the office, the superscription in 
 Samuel Breckinridge's writing, plainly enough. 
 
 " Please read it, Phil."
 
 THE DA Y AND THE HOUR. 265 
 
 " You can tell me all there is in it that I care 
 to know," passively submitting to let it remain 
 in his hand. 
 
 " But I want you to read it," with her old 
 imperiousness, settling back composedly, as if 
 the matter were decided. " Read it aloud, please. 
 You are so determined not to think well of 
 Mr. Breckinridge." 
 
 Phil opened the letter mechanically, skim 
 ming its contents hastily. 
 
 " There, now, read more slowly and distinctly. 
 I want to hear how it sounds from some one 
 else, as if somebody besides Mr. Breckinridge 
 were saying what he does." Phil read " The 
 sirocco of this fanaticism will soon be spent. 
 Until ' the day ' is gone by and all things con 
 tinue as they were, I am a hopeless scoffer in 
 your eyes, one of those ' brands ' nothing may 
 pluck from the burning. But when the day is 
 gone by, and I thank a merciful heaven it soon 
 will be, strike out from the wreck, my child, 
 and get clear from the sinking ship. Don't 
 trust yourself to any of the crazy rafts bound to 
 finish the voyage. My sister has the material 
 of one of those rafts, a mission to Palestine for 
 the agricultural education of the Jews, as she
 
 266 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 has misgivings even at this, the eleventh hour, 
 if the 'coming' can come until the literal Zion 
 has been made ready for the arrival. She is 
 doubting if she should not have gone to Pales 
 tine a few years ago, to convert the land, if not 
 the remnant of the chosen people, into some 
 thing very different from what it is to-day. 
 The fact that Palestine is barren, rather than 
 fertile, is a fact she did not consider in due 
 season, although for the life of me I cannot 
 understand why a vast amount of money and 
 labor should be expended as a preparation for 
 an inevitable conflagration. But then there are 
 many other things of this nature that I do not 
 understand. One is, why you should have 
 been drawn into this vortex of delusion. I 
 think of you with sincere pity, and when the 
 day is gone by and this hideous nightmare of 
 fanaticism is ended, I shall do all in my power 
 to erase it from your memory. I am sure Miss 
 Ottoway will consent to your going to Cousin 
 Beth in Philadelphia this winter, for CousinBeth 
 is to preside in my household, which will 
 include Cousin Vic and several charming young 
 ladies you will be pleased to know ; and I am 
 sure you will be very thankful, before your gay
 
 THE DA Y AND THE HOUR. 267 
 
 winter is over, that the end is not yet. My sister, 
 of course, will be in the Holy Land, and I shall 
 undoubtedly be with her. 
 
 " I can understand the < coming ' Cousin Beth 
 speaks of, in her still, small voice. ' Wherever 
 the Lord is, there is heaven' That is a coming I 
 understand, not this horrible demoniac scourge, 
 this conception of a Creator creating for wrath 
 and destruction, the outcome, perhaps, of the 
 old Jewish conception of God, the Jewish 
 inability to accept the Mystic Bread in place 
 of an Avenger of national wrongs. But 
 pardon me, child, you have no lack of preach 
 ing already. The end is at hand. Be of good 
 cheer. Old things shall pass away ; all things 
 shall become new." 
 
 " What day of the month is it, Phil ? It seems 
 so long ago since that letter came, and we 
 started for Happy Valley ! " 
 
 " Don't you see the purple asters, Marjory, 
 and the thistledown ? " 
 
 " Yes, it must be September. -How time is 
 creeping on," her mouth growing rigid, a 
 tremor stealing over her. 
 
 " Promise me one thing, Marjory" his 
 voice was husky and low, and he turned res-
 
 268 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 olutely from her and looked out of the win 
 dow. The horses were slowly climbing the 
 long hill not far from the village, their journey's 
 end. " Promise me you will try to forget all 
 about that day, to let me help you to forget it." 
 
 " But I must not, Phil," laying her hand on 
 his shoulder, and he could not escape con- 
 fronting her distressed, pleading eyes " I must 
 not let that day come upon us unawares, I 
 must be watching, waiting, longing for it to 
 come." 
 
 "Stuff and nonsense ! " growled Phil, quick 
 to regret the hurt he gave her. " How can you 
 talk about longing to see such a day ? You 
 know you don't, unless you are in haste to see 
 the last of some of us. Yes, you must be long 
 ing to be well rid of " He had not the 
 courage, the cruelty to finish his sentence ; 
 but he might as well have done so. And the 
 look she gave him wrung his heart. 
 
 The driver's horn broke in, the loud, clear 
 blast telling them they would soon be at home. 
 Phil took her hand and she let it lie in his, 
 until the stage came to a stand-still at the post- 
 office door. 
 
 "Them Ottoways is hum from theburyin',"
 
 THE DA Y AND THE HOUR. 269 
 
 was soon circulated throughout the village, 
 " and never a thread of black on either of 'em." 
 " Well," sighed the village milliner, " according 
 to that girl's notion, and who'd a thought that 
 wild thing had ever gone into Millerism, it's 
 precious little while she'll be wanting a black 
 bonnet or any other, tho' I should think they'd 
 all want black bonnets ; would want to go into 
 mourning beforehand for what they can't 
 mourn for when it's over with." 
 
 Old Merit, however, had a superlatively wide 
 weed on his white Sunday hat, and his knotted 
 hands were encased in black gloves ; for he was 
 waiting for " the chillen," as he had waited 
 nearly every day since they went away. The 
 first thing Marjory saw was his sorrowful face, 
 as he hobbled hurriedly to open the stage door, 
 his mouth twitching convulsively, but uttering 
 no intelligible sound. He hastened them to 
 the carriage and drove them away, mournfully 
 shaking his head, suddenly checking the speed 
 of his horses when they were well outside the 
 village, to hold them to a funeral walk; for in 
 old Merit's imagination a hearse was preceding 
 that return to the old house. The dogs came 
 bounding across the meadow, barking a joyous
 
 270 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 welcome, in which the low-flying swallows 
 seemed to participate, the shadow of the old 
 house in the setting sun meeting them as far 
 from the deserted porch as it could ; America 
 striding slowly down the foot-path, her arms 
 hanging like weights by her side. 
 
 " Oh, Phil ! will it never be the same home 
 again?" 
 
 " Never, Marjory ; that world has had its 
 ending forever."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 AND IT CAME TO PASS. 
 
 ELIZABETH CULBERTSON and Letitia 
 Barkenstone consented to act as guardians 
 of Marjory Burke. Marjory's choice of the latter 
 had met with no little opposition, but the ap 
 pointment had finally been made, and that 
 chiefly through the influence of Elizabeth Cul- 
 bertson, who had hastened to Barley Flats and 
 spent several weeks with Marjory, comforting 
 her as no one else could. 
 
 Happily for Marjory, that part of the doomed 
 world which lay in the vicinity of Mills Hollow 
 had a claim upon Christopher Burke which 
 made his ignoring its salvation at that critical 
 crisis something not to be considered. Mar 
 jory had dropped the first letter she received 
 from the evangelists after her return from 
 Happy Valley before she had read the first 
 page, shocked and repelled by the consolations 
 of the faith in which she had professed confi-
 
 272 THE MIDNIGHT CR Y. 
 
 dence. What an ogre her sacred sorrow showed 
 it to be ! 
 
 She could only sit dumb and wounded before 
 it, confronting it, for she would not confess the 
 half-unconscious discovery of its hideousness. 
 Phil picked up the letter. He saw it all, and 
 he not only read, but answered it. Marjory was 
 going away for a few weeks, he wrote, without 
 saying where, and when all was over, a home 
 awaited Christopher Burke and his wife on the 
 old farm. 
 
 The Hermitage was to be closed for the win 
 ter; but Victoria Barry was there superintend 
 ing some changes, and the two households had 
 naturally become as one. Marjory, without 
 further allusion to the subject, understood the 
 design of those around her, to keep her in ignor 
 ance of the day of the month, even the month 
 itself, and she had not the faintest desire to 
 defeat their plans, never seeming to note the 
 absence of newspapers, even the removal of the 
 almanac from its time-honored place below the 
 kitchen clock. No one spoke of the fanaticism, 
 nor did Cousin Beth, in their many helpful talks 
 together, essay indirectly to show her how mis 
 taken she had been. And Marjory, thankful
 
 AND IT CAME TO PASS. 273 
 
 for their tender silence, brooded far more than 
 they were aware upon the marked change in 
 her life, the terrible fear of that approaching 
 day, the sickening dread, at each sunsetting, of 
 the outburst of the last trumpet before the 
 morning should dawn, making the close of each 
 day to her like the sunsetting to one who hears 
 the building of his scaffold in the prison-yard 
 below his cell. 
 
 " I tell you she don't really believe it," said 
 Victoria Barry, in one of the frequent talks she 
 had with Phil upon the subject. 
 
 " Yes, she does. Don't you see how thin and 
 pale she is? We must get her away from here. 
 She knows it is October. Don't the leaves tell 
 that?" 
 
 " I wish I might tell her about old Miss Par 
 sons. She believes, you know, or says she does, 
 that she is going up on the tenth day, just four 
 days from this. I went to see her yesterday 
 and begged her to go and take care of that 
 poor fellow put off from a canal boat yesterday 
 with the smallpox. He lies up there in a shanty 
 and only for old Jake would die of neglect. 
 Think she would go? No, indeed ! She seemed 
 to think it would be highly improper for her to
 
 274 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 expose herself to a contagious disease, to go up 
 with such taint in her garment." 
 
 But Marjory was convalescing, notwithstand 
 ing her constant self-accusation of backsliding. 
 Her elastic mind was surely gaining equilibrium. 
 Her better judgment was asserting itself or, let 
 us say, her native common sense. Naturally 
 she shrank from meeting those she had exhort 
 ed so eloquently, the unconverted, still eager to 
 hear her again. One gray-headed old farmer who 
 lived on the State Road, where she once liked 
 best to ride, haunted her thoughts, and she often 
 asked herself if he were not a true prophet. 
 She could not forget how he had smiled, when 
 she saw him in the wheat-field that day, and 
 rebuked him with a marvellous flow of Script 
 ural denunciation, for garnering against the 
 burning ; how he had listened with an admiring 
 twinkle in his eye, and then took Nan by the 
 bit and drawled out : 
 
 " Now let me tell you, sissy, Millerism is a 
 pooty high hoss for a gal like you to be ridin'. 
 It's a kind of a circus, sissy, bareback ridin' of 
 Scriptur', without any bridle to steer by ; kind 
 of gallopin" round the prophecies, comin' up 
 nobody knows whar. It's a pooty good show,
 
 AND IT CAME TO PASS. 275 
 
 providin' it don't cost too much. Now I'm an 
 old Presbyterian deacon, and I try to be a 
 gospel Christian. Le' me give you an old man's 
 advisin'. If you're mind to make the gospel 
 journey, git up into the reg'lar chariot," point 
 ing to the meeting house steeple. " That's 
 better than gallopin' over Miller's sawdust." 
 
 She had not cared to see that old fanner 
 since she came back from Happy Valley. And 
 how fast the days were going, the autumn creep 
 ing on. Would it come ? 
 
 The ninth day of the seventh month ! The 
 sunsetting thereof found Marjory at the Her 
 mitage, a dismal night outside, the rain pouring 
 down, but within all cheer and unusual activity. 
 The house would be closed on the morrow, and 
 the last box was packed, the carpets up, the cur 
 tains down ; but the fire blazed in the great fire 
 place, and three tired women sat toasting their 
 toes before it, complacently reviewing all they 
 had accomplished since the morning, assuring 
 each other that all was done as it should be. 
 
 " It won't be long till next summer," said 
 Cousin Beth. " To-morrow is Christmas, and 
 day after to-morrow the trailing arbutus will be 
 blossoming out there in the wood."
 
 276 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 "And next week we shall be out on the 
 piazza again," added Cousin Vic. " By-the-bye, 
 we must tell Phil to send Poll-Betsey on to us 
 withjacko. Don't let me forget that." 
 
 " Yes, we owe something to Poll-Betsey," 
 
 breaking her abstraction to look smilingly at 
 
 
 
 Marjory, who was far away and did not hear, 
 her face revealing what it pained Cousin Beth 
 to see. The wind was rising, the rain pour 
 ing down, the sound of its beating on the 
 piazza, roof drowning their voices. 
 
 "We shall have pleasant weather when this 
 is over," raising her voice ; but Marjory did 
 not hear. " We must drive over to the Shaker 
 Community before we go to Philadelphia; I 
 want to hear Sister Ann's story again." 
 
 "Pity we couldn't .all turn Shakers," and 
 Victoria Barry sighed deeply. " The poke- 
 bonnet is my temptation to join them, and 
 the dancing. I should like that, unless 
 the old elders lagged and droned as they 
 sometimes do. A lukewarm Shaker is to be 
 pitied. Think of having to go around and 
 around that room, twanging those hymns, when 
 your heels as well as your heart are like 
 lead. Dreadful ! One must be sure of con-;
 
 AND IT CAME TO PASS. 277 
 
 version before one enlists under Mother 
 Ann." 
 
 There was a heavy footstep in the porch. 
 Marjory recognized it at once, and sprang to 
 open the door. 
 
 " I was thinking how lonesome you would 
 be all alone here to-night." Pepper and Fan 
 were close at Phil's heels. They would never 
 have followed him had Aunt Prissy been sitting 
 by their rug. Yes, they must come in, Mar 
 jory's tears falling on their silky heads. Was 
 it not going to be a dreadful night ? 
 
 " Possibly," said Phil stolidly, taking off his 
 great coat, a troubled glance at Marjory's 
 face. Could it be that she knew what night 
 it was? "I thought I'd come and see that 
 you were all right over here. These new 
 fangled houses are not always to be trusted 
 in a high wind, unless they are looked after. 
 Did you fasten the turret windows? " following 
 the maid into the kitchen, for he had seen her 
 frightened face and divined the cause. 
 
 " And is the world coming to an end 
 to-night?" piteously whined Katie, wringing 
 her hands. " Everybody is talking about it, 
 and really it seems like it is coming."
 
 2 7 8 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 If he did not quiet her fears he made it plain 
 that she was not to betray them in the parlor. 
 He made fast the shutters and doors, and hav 
 ing put out the kitchen fire, took precautionary 
 measures with the one before which the ladies 
 were gathered. Stealthily and as if suppress 
 ing a gathering rage at restraint, the wind was 
 creeping across the wide valley, the great trees 
 around the house shivering at its approach. 
 Long, ominous whistles, ending in shrieks, made 
 the empty rooms around them seem peopled 
 with demons. The dogs sat with up-pricked 
 ears, growling when the windows were shaken, 
 and the smoke came down the chimney in 
 angry gusts. The frightened servants ran in 
 from the kitchen, and before they could be 
 silenced, had ejaculated, in their terror, the 
 prayers which Marjory at least was quick to 
 hear. It had come ; and with her conviction 
 the wind struck the house. Pepper gave an 
 unearthly howl, poor dog, and a dead branch of 
 the oak overhanging the roof was hurled against 
 the window, shivering the glass. The incoming 
 tornado dashed a map from the wall and 
 extinguished the candles. Phil was quick to 
 throw the ashes over the fire, deadening it com-
 
 AND IT CAME TO PASS. 279 
 
 pletely, before he could attend to Marjory, 
 whose low, frightened cry had not escaped his 
 ear. She was lying senseless at his very 
 feet. 
 
 For hours she lay unconscious, moaning in 
 her feverish delirium, her piteous prayers 
 revealing her conception of the Avenger who, 
 she believed, had arisen in His wrath to judge 
 the earth. The storm had spent its fury, but 
 was slow to retreat. Marjory would not let 
 go her hold of Phil's hand, and Dennis could 
 not be prevailed upon to go for a physician. 
 The watchers by the poor girl hardly knew 
 when the tempest was past, so lost were they 
 in the whirlwind depicted by that distempered 
 brain, the falling mountains, the flame-scorched 
 river bed, the opening graves, and the cursing 
 heavens. 
 
 The soothing monotone of the rain and 
 Cousin Beth's magnetic voice won the victory 
 at last, and Marjory dropped into troubled 
 slumber, lasting only while Cousin Beth was 
 speaking. When the voice stopped, the bewil 
 dered eyes would suddenly open and the lurid 
 visions return, so Cousin Beth kept up her even 
 flow of speech, and Phil and Victoria Barry
 
 2 So THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 sustained her as best they could. It mattered 
 little what was said, so that the sound of a 
 voice was unbroken, the assurance that she was 
 not alone with her fears. Naturally they fell 
 to discussing the topic suggested by her illusion, 
 in a guarded manner. 
 
 " The worst is over," said Cousin Beth. 
 " Physical and spiritual prostration will follow, 
 but her healthy temperament will assert itself. 
 She will be the stronger for this experi 
 ence. 
 
 " Everything is divine wisdom with Cousin 
 Beth," said Victoria Barry, sniffing hard at 
 the camphor bottle. " The paths of Providence 
 are never too crooked for her faith to make all 
 straight. Nevertheless " Marjory seemed 
 listening, and faintly smiled when Cousin 
 Beth repeated, 
 
 " ' There is some soul of goodness in things evil, 
 Would men observingly distil it out." 
 
 Near daybreak Phil was climbing the turret 
 stairs to Sam Breckinridge's eyry, not of his 
 own will, but that of Elizabeth Culbertson, 
 who would have him go to bed, now that all 
 was quiet, and the birds were beginning to peep 
 a cheery welcome for "the tenth day," rough- 
 tossed as their nests had been, poor bedraggled
 
 AND IT CAME TO PASS. 281 
 
 survivors of the storm ! From the curtainless 
 windows looking far off over the valley, Phil 
 watched to see the first glimpse of the sun- 
 rising so many terror-stricken souls were yet 
 slow to believe they could ever see again. The 
 sky was wondrously clear, and to him the cold, 
 glittering stars at first seemed colder, 
 more silent, than ever. What strange, 
 weird whispers came out of the black woods, 
 and then how eloquent were the far-off voice 
 less stars, triumphantly challenging his doubt 
 of their handiwork divine ! He could make 
 out dimly the landmarks in the wide landscape 
 stretching far away like a black ocean to the 
 westward. He knew just where the sunrise 
 would find the old chimney, and there his eye 
 rested. How like his life, her life, it lay, 
 wrapped in the darkness ! But the night was 
 far spent, the day was at hand. 
 
 " When this day is over with," and Phil 
 strode aimlessly around the room, "she'll be 
 her old self again." He could hear Cousin Beth 
 singing in the chamber below, and one of old 
 Merit's worn-out sayings came back to him : 
 
 "Angelzes don' allus kum a flyin' outer hebbin. 
 Dey hops up mighty sudden, jis like mush 
 rooms."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 AFTER ALL. 
 
 AND "the day" went by. All things con 
 tinued as they were. 
 
 " We are still on the shores of mortality," 
 wrote Christopher Burke to Phil, " but He is 
 even at the door. He has given a few days 
 more for the trial of our faith. It is all in 
 accordance with the parable of the ten virgins. 
 When they had arisen and trimmed their lamps, 
 there was still to be a time when the lamps of 
 the unwise virgins would be going out. This 
 could not be without a passing-by of the " tenth 
 day " ; until that day their lamps would burn. 
 It must pass by, or when would the foolish have 
 time to give up their faith? " 
 
 His hope was unshaken. Not so with Annie 
 Burke ; she had no more visions ; her gift of 
 prophecy was gone. Neither prayer nor denun 
 ciation could rouse her. Marjory had written
 
 AFTER ALL. 283 
 
 begging her to come home. Phil and she were 
 going at once to Happy Valley. Deborah 
 Hathaway had sent for them. She was very 
 ill. 
 
 The " old black mammy " carried Annie Burke 
 once more up to the east chamber, and laid her 
 in her old place, under John Wilson's eye. 
 The first snow was falling. She was very tired, 
 she said, and America, who would not leave her 
 that night, crept softly up to her bed at the 
 day-dawn, for she had wakened from her trou 
 bled sleep with an ominous misgiving. 
 
 She was gone a gleam of victory lighting up 
 the wan, disappointed face. " Behold He 
 cometh " had been whispered softly for her, at 
 the last, and joyfully had she risen up from her 
 sorrow. 
 
 The good country people from far and near 
 filled the old house at that funeral. By many, 
 Annie Burke was regarded with superstitious 
 awe bordering on reverence ; for had she not 
 been the subject of a genuine miracle, and had 
 she not exercised the power of healing? Some 
 thought it not unlikely that she was in a trance, 
 and would rise up in her shroud to tell them of 
 things behind the veil. There was an expect-
 
 284 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 ation of something marvellous. Phil and Mar 
 jory were not there. From Deborah Hatha- 
 way's funeral they had gone with Elizabeth 
 Culbertson to Philadelphia, and in their jour- 
 neyings had happily missed the letter summon 
 ing them home ; happily, for Christopher Burke 
 said the burial should be a joyful testimony of 
 his faith, and he carried out his will to the 
 letter. 
 
 " Why should you mourn ? " sternly, to the 
 only ones who wept over the dead, Merit and 
 America. "This is but a separation for a few 
 days at the most, if we, like her, have on our 
 wedding garments." 
 
 "Weddin' garments!" blurted out America, 
 " dere bettah be no talk 'bout weddin' garments 
 roun' heah for dis wile ! Weddin' garments ! " 
 her broad bosom swelling with rage as she 
 edged nearer where he sat reading his Bible, 
 beside the dead. " I'se no use for widdowahs 
 wot talks o* weddin' garments dat way. Can't 
 yer wait till dis chile is under groun' ? " 
 
 His calmness silenced her. She stood cowed 
 before him. Was he bewitched ? Not a tear 
 did he shed, not a sigh escaped his rigidly set 
 lips. Nor was he like one in a dream. He
 
 AFTER ALL. 285 
 
 was awfully awake, at bay with a mighty sor 
 row that would master him, annihilate his 
 faith the first moment of his yielding to its 
 influence. In the stupendous verity of that 
 speedy release from earthly anguish, perhaps 
 that very day, certainly before many weeks, he 
 found strength in his hour of need. 
 
 Letitia Barkenstone had sailed for Palestine, 
 therefore he decided to conduct the services 
 himself, although the clergyman of the village 
 offered to perform the last sad rites for the 
 departed, and for his kindness had been called 
 a false prophet, one who was cunningly seek 
 ing opportunity for deceiving the people. No, 
 the occasion should be improved for an impres 
 sive declaration of the truth. What a gloomy 
 funeral it was, and that chiefly because death 
 and the dead were so inexorably shut out ! The 
 one who was looked upon as the solitary 
 " mourner," was like a phantasmal spectre of 
 ecstasy, his harsh inflexible voice betraying no 
 feeling, as he began the service by reading 
 slowly 
 
 " Thou makest us a byword among the 
 heathen, a shaking of the head among the peo 
 ple. Our heart is not turned back, though
 
 236 THE MWNJGHT CRY. 
 
 Thou hast sore broken us in the place of drag 
 ons, and covered as with the shadow of death. 
 Arise for our help and redeem us, for thy mer 
 cy's sake." 
 
 The wan face in the plain pine coffin seemed 
 listening for a last message, a recognition, a 
 tender word of farewell, and listening all in 
 vain. What had apocalyptic vision and sure 
 word of prophecy to say to that disappointed 
 mouth, those hollow, yearning eyes ? The ter 
 rible things written against the earth and the 
 inhabiters thereof were as nothing to what was 
 written on that silent face, and all unnoted by 
 him for whom it had been written. 
 
 The fields were white with snow. Merit had 
 dug the grave with his own hands, out in the 
 meadow, beside John Wilson's. America had 
 carefully removed every pebble from the heap 
 of earth, and covered it with boughs from the 
 old pine overhanging the roof. 
 
 " I 'lows Miss Annie don't wanter hear dem 
 ston's rattlin' down de las' ting, like as if dat 
 trumphet dey'se bin foolishun' 'bout was blowin', 
 an* she'd got ter git up right 'way. She's 
 nuthin' to git up foh nebber moah, now Miss 
 Prissy's gone, an' Miss Marjory's gwinc ter
 
 AFTER ALL. 287 
 
 clar out, an' dat Crisofer Burke can't set fiah 
 ter all creation." 
 
 When the Cameron boys carried the coffin 
 from the old house, Christopher Burke walked 
 close behind, and alone, his tearless eyes look 
 ing heavenward, his form erect, his head cov 
 ered. There was an instinctive shrinking from 
 him. Merit and America followed a little dis 
 tance behind, the dogs beside them, America 
 muttering to herself, her big sunbonnet 
 drawn far over her face, her black shawl 
 wrapped tightly about her. Merit had broken 
 down and was crying like a child, the snow fall 
 ing on his bared head, his ejaculations revealing 
 the blackness his soul was stumbling through, 
 as they moved slowly across the frozen stubble. 
 Just as the bearers reached the grave the sun 
 broke through the clouds, and the flurrying 
 snow-flakes gambolled wildly in its radiance 
 before disappearing in the depths of the wait 
 ing pit. 
 
 Then Christopher Burke's voice, still 
 harsh and inflexible, broke the silence, his 
 words smiting the hush enfolding the valley, 
 and bringing forth, as from an untuned harp, 
 text after text of angry denunciation of the an-
 
 288 THE MIDXIGHT CRY. 
 
 cient Jews, snatches of prophetic vision and 
 anathema for the hardened in heart. 
 
 Stepping to the verge of the grave when the 
 coffin was lowered, he raised his voice to a 
 higher key : 
 
 "And they shall be mine in that day when I 
 make up my jewels, and I will spare them as a 
 man spareth his own son that serveth him. 
 Then shall ye return and discern between the 
 righteous and the wicked, between him that 
 serveth God and hjm that serveth Him not." 
 
 America with a firm grip on Merit's arm had 
 turned from the grave and was dragging him 
 along in her impetuous retreat, the dogs skulk 
 ing behind them, lagging slower and slower, 
 with wistful looks backward. To the sound of 
 the filling up of the grave he had repeated such 
 Scriptural texts as his memory afforded, without 
 discriminating selection, and once, when his eye 
 wandered to the old camp ground, there 
 had been a perceptible break in his voice, a 
 momentary spasm of pain, but the temptation 
 to forget the salvation of souls in the fleeting 
 illusions of the moment had been triumphantly 
 overcome.
 
 AFTER ALL. 289 
 
 In Christopher Burke we meet the typical 
 fanatic, a fair representative of a class by no 
 means confined to unpopular movements like 
 Millerism, small-mindedness and intensity com 
 bined with the tendency to seize upon the part 
 rather than the whole of a question ; mistaking 
 an attribute, even a petty one, for the subject 
 itself ; adopting the fragment with zealous 
 devotion, blind to Its relations ; considering the 
 fragment as an independent whole. So falsities 
 are established on a narrow basis of truth, 
 and schools of philosophy and theology are 
 founded .whose followers are the devotees of a 
 fragment. 
 
 Christopher Burke lived to an old age ; he 
 died only yesterday, and never did his faith in 
 the Speedy Coming grow cold. In every event 
 of his life, to the closing day thereof, he saw a 
 fulfilment of Scriptural prophecy. He caught 
 eagerly at every item of political intelligence, as 
 a confirmation of the inspired seership of Daniel 
 and the Apocalypse, interpreting his newspaper 
 by the same. He knew the exact topography 
 of the battle-field of Armageddon, and just who 
 was the king of the south and the king of the 
 north ; and who would have had a greater inter-
 
 290 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 cst in these latter-day explorations of the Great 
 Pyramid than he ? He fell asleep at the last, 
 whispering, " Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly," 
 and on the headstone of his grave in the 
 meadow at Barley Flats you may read 
 
 " Waiting for the Coming of Our Lord Jesus 
 Christ."
 
 CHAPTER XXVo 
 ON SHARON'S PLAIN. 
 
 TWO years after the events of the last chapter 
 we find Marjory Burke spending her 
 Christmas holidays at Dr. Wardell's, in New 
 York, a tall, beautiful girl, whose studies were 
 soon to be varied by a visit to England with her 
 guardian, Elizabeth Culbertson. In the heiress 
 of Deborah Hathaway, and a member of Mrs. 
 Wardell's household, the madcap Marjory 
 of Barley Flats, the fearless enthusiast of the 
 Millerite camp ground, had undergone trans 
 formation. Nevertheless, Phil declared that she 
 was the Marjory, and Phil and she had never 
 grown apart ; she a true child of the wide, breezy 
 valley of her childhood, of its repose and beauty, 
 its wide sweep of sky and meadow, full chorus 
 of bird song, and miles of capricious cloud 
 shadows. 
 
 They were hardly anticipating a merry Christ-
 
 292 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 mas at Dr. WardeH's. They had hung up 
 the evergreen wreaths, but the shadow of their 
 disappointment in not hearing from Samuel 
 Breckinridge was upon the hearth. He had 
 been in Palestine with Letitia Barkenstone for 
 more than a year, and the tenor of his last brief 
 unsatisfactory letter, received late in the sum 
 mer, had led them to believe he would keep 
 Christmas with them, but not unless he could 
 persuade his sister to relinquish her visionary 
 scheme and return home. 
 
 " You are to bring Merit and America with 
 you," Marjory wrote to Phil a few days before 
 Christmas week. " We hope Mr. Breckinridge 
 will be here, and it will give him such pleasure 
 to see old Merit hobbling round, and ' mammy ' 
 must have the joy of making Kentucky egg-nog 
 for so many fine folk. Then you will see Sir 
 Edward. I know Cousin Vic is trying hard to 
 interest you in Sir Edward. You should hear 
 him tell me, with a babyish lisp, of the 
 charming view from his old villa among orange 
 groves of Sorrento, and why he suffers the gar 
 dens of his Italian retreat to remain desolate 
 and neglected ; those charming gardens he is 
 sure I could enjoy, gardens full of darting liz-
 
 ON SHARON'S PLAINS. 293 
 
 zards, broken statues, and plashing fountains. 
 He says Tasso's Leonora might have stood 
 entranced in a certain balcony. Possibly she 
 might ; I should distrust the under-pinning. 
 But I never laugh at him. I am in my ruby 
 silk and pearl necklace, for Milord is coming to 
 dine. When you meet him, Phil, don't fail to 
 invite him to visit us at Barley Flats. He will 
 accept, and we all will keep him company ; and 
 what a gay time that will be for the dear old 
 house, what dissipation for John Wilson and 
 the rest of the grim portraits, and how proud 
 America will be in setting out the old china and 
 silver! 
 
 " Mrs. Wardell is impatient to build her chapel 
 on the old camp ground. That is her latest 
 missionary ambition, not a bad one, seeing the 
 new warehouses have changed the rural lane 
 into a much travelled road, and so many work 
 ing people live in the vicinity. Let her build 
 it there, Phil. I like to think of a pretty stone 
 church under those great trees, its bell sweetly 
 pealing through the valley. Mrs. Wardell will 
 have it dedicated on the anniversary of Aunt 
 Prissy's death. It is to be Dan's first parish, 
 of course, and Karl Saxsby is to design the
 
 294 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 memorial window. I am to furnish the text for 
 antique lettering over the chancel arch, and I 
 believe you will agree with me, Phil, in choos 
 ing 
 
 " ' I will not leave you comfortless ; 
 I will come to you.' " 
 
 ****** 
 
 When Samuel Breckinridge arrived, as he 
 did barely in time to take Marjory out to 
 dinner that Christmas-day, he brought the first 
 intelligence of Letitia Barkenstone's death. 
 
 " Poor Letitia ! " sighed Dr. Wardell, la 
 mentably failing, however, in losing the merry 
 tone with which he had given the wanderer 
 welcome, " poor Letitia ! " and the twinkle in 
 his infantile blue eyes would not be suppressed. 
 " Well, Sammy, boy " after an effort to say 
 something most fitting, ending in a meditative 
 tapping of his snuff-box before presenting it 
 solemnly to each of the circle, " well, and how 
 do you like farming according to the prophets ? " 
 
 Sam told the story as they sat before their 
 Christmas fire that night, a family party, includ 
 ing Phil, who, before it was done, found that 
 the narrator had been transformed in his esti 
 mation into all that Marjory plainly believed
 
 ON SHARON'S PLAINS. 295 
 
 him to be. " Yes, it was hard to bury her there ; 
 but that was her request. She spoke of you 
 several times, Marjory, child, at the last ; she 
 seemed to be trying to believe that you would 
 yet take up her unfinished work. She gave me 
 a rosary for you, beads of the wood of the old 
 olives on Olivet, twelve of them exquisitely 
 engraved, a story of the Passion. I never knew 
 Letitia until I went to Palestine. There the 
 sacred meaning of her life was partially revealed 
 to me, and never again will I dare sit in judg 
 ment upon her eccentricity or seeming mistakes. 
 Her death was a victory, a resurrection and 
 ascension. But for me, she had impoverished 
 herself utterly in her mission, which I knew to 
 be an impracticable scheme from the first. As 
 it was, she sacrificed everything she could. 
 I cannot tell you the personal discomforts 
 she endured ; for the prophets, not human 
 judgment, were her guide, and as there was 
 no mention of ' the sickly season ' of Judea in 
 the prophecies, she ignored the sickly season in 
 her calculations for entering upon her hard 
 work. She sailed from Alexandria to Beyrut in 
 a rice brig, without a cabin, lying on its vermin 
 infested deck day after day in the burning sun,
 
 2g6 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 surrounded by a crowd of filthy Orientals who 
 plainly thought her insane. She nearly died 
 on that voyage. I did not join her, you know, 
 until she had been several months in Jerusalem ; 
 but she never lost her faith in the prophets, 
 and that they were leading her step by step. 
 She saw a succession of miracles in her progress 
 to the Promised Land, and I had not the heart 
 when I reached there, to show her that they 
 were a succession of failures. That would have 
 defeated me in protecting her. She would have 
 cut loose from me at once. I controlled her 
 by politic concessions to her arbitrary will, 
 defending her as best I could against the horde 
 of Arabs and designing Jews who made capital 
 of her fanatical faith in their conversion, by 
 running from sheik to consul and from consul 
 to sheik in her behalf. On every side and 
 from unlooked-for quarters troubles and perse 
 cutions came, and the chimerical undertaking 
 was nearly at the point where she would have to 
 choose between me and the prophets for a guide, 
 when she was taken so suddenly and fatally 
 ill. I am glad she died ignorant of the treachery 
 of the Jew, her favorite convert, in whom she 
 confided and of whom she had written glowing
 
 ON SHARON'S PLAINS. 297 
 
 accounts for the religious press in England and 
 America. He was a sharp fellow, and but for 
 my timely arrival and consular arbitration would 
 have driven her from the premises in which 
 she had invested so disastrously. But she 
 believed in him to the end, saw in him a fulfil 
 ment of divine promise, and nothing I could 
 say shook her faith in the least. I am glad she 
 died in ignorance of the failure of her mission 
 to Palestine ; that I was enabled to spare her," 
 and he paused, nervously twisting his mous 
 tache in his old fashion, " not from the sorrow 
 of disappointment, she had never been disap 
 pointed. You could not disappoint her; she was 
 not disappointed when the day went by, but 
 turned to the prophets again for another unful 
 filled promise, one in whose literal interpreta 
 tion she would have trusted as firmly as ever 
 before." 
 
 On the plains of Sharon, some three miles 
 from Joppa, may be found a lonely grave. The 
 marble headstone bears this inscription in 
 English :
 
 298 THE MIDNIGHT CRY. 
 
 Here lieth, 
 
 awaiting the resurrection of the just, 
 LETITIA BARKENSTONE, 
 of Philadelphia, United States of America, 
 Founder of an Agricultural Manual Labor School for the 
 
 Children of Israel. 
 
 She died suddenly at Joppa, Dec. 6th, 184-, in the midst of 
 her labors, a stranger in a strange land. 
 
 The time to favor Zion is come ; 
 He will set His hand a second time 
 To receive Israel, as it is written 
 
 I -will return, and will build again the tabernacle of David 
 which is fallen down. 
 
 The receding floods of fanaticism must inevit 
 ably leave wreck and devastation behind ; but 
 who shall say of Letitia Barkenstone that her 
 faith was for naught, nor hear from her desolate 
 grave on the plains of Sharon a helping, saving 
 voice? 
 
 THE END.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9-Series 4939 
 
 -\v - [j^^^^AYi^Tp^^T^;
 
 
 
 UCLA-Young Research Library 
 
 PS2520 .P227m 
 V 
 
 L 009 577 966 6 
 
 
 tm 
 
 ,f? WP REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 001217541 o 
 
 \Z&