TBBfliSPP ,- THE CROOKED ELM; OB, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE, ' The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together ; our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not ; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our virtues." ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. BOSTON: PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR, BY WHITTEMOBE, NILES, AND HALL. 1858. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, bj THOMAS W. HIOGINS, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. CAMBRIDGE: STEREOTYPED UY ALLEN AND FAR Nil AM. PRINTED BY METCALF AND COMPANY. PREFACE. THERE are many things in this world of ours which are disagreeable many, very many indeed ! Among the number is the task of writing a preface to one's own book. What to say, and how to say it, are per- plexing questions, questions which make the author hesitate, think, query, and "calculate." It would not be good policy to give the reader a synopsis of the book, for that would neutralize, if not destroy, all inter- est in the story. "What then shall he say ? Yes, that is the important question, what shall he say ? Sim- ply this : He hopes that the following pages will afford entertainment and instruction to those who may read them, that while they illustrate some of the grow- ing evils of society, they will also have a healthy moral influence on the mind of the reader, by inculcating virtue, and the necessity of upright, honorable conduct in all the relations of life. If what he has written shall have this effect, he is satisfied. Fearing, trusting, hoping, he submits " The CROOKED (3) 4 PREFACE. ELM, OR LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE " to the decision of a generous public, believing that if he has attained his object, his efforts will receive the approbation of that class of the reading community whose approval alone is worth seeking. THE CROOKED ELM; LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. CHAPTER I. " PULL the blinds quick, William ; I fear that I am seen." " Why, how pale you look ! and so agitated ! What can be the matter with you ? " " I am sure she saw, and has followed me. If she has if she has seen me get into this carriage, I am ruined forever ; and all because you were so unreason- able as to insist upon my meeting you." " Cornelia, you are nervous and excited. Compose yourself there is no danger! Who saw you? Who has frightened you in this manner ? " " O, forgive me, William!" said she, bursting into tears ; " I am to blame, and not you. You are always kind and good to me, and I know you love me ; but I am afraid of that woman. I know she means me harm. She wishes you to love her daughter. I am sure she does, and that is why she watches me. I fear her. I met her just now ; I am sure she knew me, disguised as 1 (5) 6 THE CROOKED ELM } I am. She looked earnestly at me, and her black eyes seemed to pierce my very soul. I have felt them upon me ever since, although I dared not turn my head to see whether she was following me. Of late I have met her frequently and most unexpectedly. She looks at me as though she would read my most hidden thoughts. I fear her, William ! I know she will do me harm ! " This was said hurriedly, and almost in one breath. " I do not think so, Cornelia. You imagine that she wishes me to love her daughter, and that leads you to believe that she watches you. If she even did wish so foolish a thing, why should that make her watch you ? She knows nothing of our intimacy ; she does not dream that you care for me other than as a friend a mere visiting acquaintance." " You may think so ; but I feel that she knows more than you imagine she does." " Be that as it may, my dearest Cornelia, let us think and say no more about the matter ; for why should we make ourselves unhappy now, when we have met to enjoy each other's society, and revel in the delights of a pure love? 'T is not often that we can see each other, and though, as you imagine, there be danger attending these secret interviews, that should make us prize them the more. I forget all danger when there is a hope of seeing you, and a thousand black eyes, be they never so piercing, would be no barrier in the way." ' " You are right ; I have risked every thing for you, and why should I fear ? I know you will protect me I 'feel safe and happy when with you. I am only nervous and fearful when you are- absent from me. I will be so no longer. I know you love me ; and while I am conscious of that, why need I care what the world may think or do ? No, William, I will neither fear her or the world again. I am so glad to meet you so OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 7 happy when I am with you! Would that we might never part ! " Thus spoke Mrs. Cornelia Belmonte and William Hastings, as the carriage which Mrs. Belmonte had just entered, hastily and tremblingly, turned away from Thompson's saloon, and moved slowly up Broadway. There was nothing in the appearance of the driver, the horses, or the carriage, as they wended their way through this crowded thoroughfare of our metropolis, to excite the attention of any one who might see them, save per- haps the fact that the window curtains were closely drawn. This might be thought a little unusual, espe- cially as the weather was quite warm and pleasant. But whose " establishment " was it ? no one knew. It might be a private " turnout," or it might not. There seemed to be a studied non-committal appearance in the driver, the horses, and the carriage. The driver was dressed in a plain black suit, black beaver hat, and white gloves. The horses were bright " bays," and richly harnessed. The carriage was costly in its finish, yet not so much so as to be remarkable in this respect. It was sufficiently respectable to be private, and plain and un- ostentatious enough to have come from one of the many excellent livery-stables of New York. Whoever or whatever the driver was, he seemed to have had his in- structions beforehand ; for no sooner had Mrs. Belmonte entered the carriage, as before described, and thrown herself, half fainting, on to the richly cushioned seat, than he closed the door, and mounting the box, drove away without a word or a sign from Mr. Hastings. ^There was one who saw Mrs. Belmonte enter ; one who saw and marked the mysterious drawing of the curtains ; one who watched the closely muffled carriage as it passed up Broadway ; and, though she saw no oe in jit when Mrs. Belmonte entered, nor knew whose 8 THE CROOKED ELM; establishment it was, her eyes sparkled with rage and resentment at what she did see, for she had penetrated through the disguise of Mrs. Belmonte, and awakened jealousy had done the rest. " Thank you, Bessy, a thousand thanks for what you told me this morning. I will now be revenged ! I will make her feel my power ! She must not presume to set herself up as a rival of my daughter ! " Thus thought the lady with the black eyes, as she walked hastily along in the direction of the carriage. Yes, Mrs. Belmonte, those -black eyes, like a black cloud, were following and threatening you; while, secluded from her gaze and that of the world, you were lulling yourself into a fan- cied security. Did those eyes also see him, by whose side you were so happily reposing, and in whose pres- ence you were so quickly forgetting every fear, and dreaming only of sunshine and flowers ? It is now necessary to go back a little way in this story, in order that the reader may more fully under- stand the previous conversation. A few weeks prior to the incidents already mentioned, William Hastings was quietly seated in a large and elegantly furnished room, in one of the many brown stone houses that adorn the upper part of the city of New York. It was about ten o'clock at night. The whole appearance of the room was that of taste and refinement. Rich lace curtains fell in folds from the windows, and rested upon the vel- vet carpet that covered the floor. The furniture in the room was of the richest rosewood. In one corner there was a wardrobe, with a full length mirror door ; in the opposite corner, and on the same side of the room, stood a beautifully carved book-case and secretary. The book-case was filled with choice and elegantly bound books. A bureau with an oval mirror stood in one of the opposite corners, and an etegdre covered with OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. shells and minerals in the other. A large mirror rested upon the white marble mantel, and in the centre of the room stood a marble-topped table, on which lay a copy of Shakspeare, a bible, and a newspaper; the last of which Mr. Hastings had just finished reading. A sofa, lounge, ottoman, easy-chairs, arm-chairs, and other chairs, ah 1 cushioned and covered with rich material, completed the furniture of the room. It was lit up, at the time I have mentioned, by two of four burners attachecf to a large chandelier, which hung suspended from the centre of the ceiling, and which was presided over by little inwrought cupids. Here, as I have already said, sat William Hastings, with careless ease, and a seeming indifference to every thing about him. All was quiet and still ; and, as he lounged languidly back in his easy-chair, he seemed to fall into communion with his own thoughts. Let us leave him to his reflec- tions for a moment, while we learn more concerning him. William Hastings was a lawyer, about twenty-eight years old ; tall, straight, and, if not handsome, was con- sidered very good looking. He was six feet high, had dark brown hair, which was rather long, and slightly inclined to curl. His eyes were hazel, and had an expression of melancholy, except when he was excited, and then they seemed to speak the burning thoughts within. His beard was left to grow unshaved, and on his upper lip he wore a moustache of hair, so soft and fine that it never required cutting, (a proof, as Eugene Sue would say, when taken in connection with his small feet and small white hands, of aristocratic birth). His features were regular, and his well-developed forehead indicated a mind accustomed to thought and reflection. When he smiled, he showed a handsome set of teeth of the purest whiteness ; and there was in his smile a fascina- tion and a charm which drew one instinctively to him, 10 THE CROOKED ELM; and made him a favorite with the opposite sex. Add to these the fact that he always dressed with neatness and taste, and you have the outlines of William Has- tings, as he lounged carelessly but thoughtfully in his room as above described. He had remained in this meditative mood about an hour, when tie heard a gen- tle knock at his door, and without turning his head or changing his position he said, "come in." The door opened, and a lady entered the room. She was a little above the medium height, and seemingly about thirty- two or three years old. Her hair and eyes were black, her complexion a dark brunette, and her features be- spoke Spanish origin. She was elegantly but not gaudily dressed, and there was a studied neatness in her appearance, and an ease and grace in her manners, which at once indicated that she was a lady of refine- ment and cultivation. Advancing two or three steps into the room, with eyes flashing fire and with a coun- tenance of displeasure, she said to Mr. Hastings, who still remained sitting, and who had not as yet looked up to see his visitor, " I should think you might at least look at me when I come in." He, without moving, except to yawn and stretch himself out a little, and seeming not to under- stand what she was saying, answered " Were you addressing me, Mrs. Delacy ? " " William, you are most provoking ; you do not care how unhappy you make me." Hastings, with imperturb- able coolness, replied " Is there any thing that I can do for you ? " " You did not think it worth your while," continued Mrs. Delacy, " to dine with us to-day, and all because I had company, and particularly wished you to be here. You might have told me that you could not be here when I invited you." OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 11 " Your company must have been very entertaining," replied he, " to have put you into so amiable a state of mind. I am glad to know that you have enjoyed their society." "Little do you care whether I have enjoyed their society or not ! You know, William, that you torment me purposely. That is why you remained away to- day." " I think, Mrs. Delacy, that you are .exceedingly amiable to-night." " You think nothing of the kind," answered she, 'tartly. " I am sorry," said Hasting, coolly, " that you doubt my veracity ; but since such is the fact, I fear that any apologies which I might otherwise be inclined to make for depriving myself the pleasure of dining with you to- day wquld be useless." " You never made an apology in your life ! nor had you any thought of doing so to-night ! " " Please excuse me, Mrs. Delacy ; but when you came in I was following a train of thought wlu'ch I fear I shall lose, if we continue our agreeable conversation." " Yes, I dare say you were thinking of her with whom you doubtless have had the pleasure of dining to- day." " You flatter me exceedingly," said Hastings ; " and really, if I knew to whom you refer, I should have to thank you for the compliment which you have so courteously bestowed upon my generous feelings." "^You know very well to whom I refer ! if not, ask your conscience ; that will tell you ! " " I fear you are mistaken in that," said Hastings ; " for I assure you that my conscience has not been in a com- municative mood for some time past." " William, you will drive me mad with your silly 12 TEE CROOKED ELM; nonsense, and your unkind treatment! You do not think me worth your sensible conversation of late ! All your attention and time are bestowed upon Mrs. Bel- monte ! You tr^eat me cruelly, so you do ! and I cannot endure it longer ! " As Mrs. Delacy said this she burst into tears, and left the place where she had been stand- ing, and seated herself in an arm-chair behind Hastings. She hid her face in her handkerchief, and remained silent for some minutes, then rising and advancing towards him, she said " Forgive me, William, for what I have said ; I do not wish to offend you. I am sorry that I have annoyed you by talking as I hav<*" She waited a moment, as if expecting an answer ; but receiving none, she added " Will you forgive me, William ? I am very wretch- ed ! " Hastings remained silent, and without seeming to hear what she said. " William," continued Mrs. Delacy, " I came up to invite you down to an oyster supper with us ; but you treated me so coldly that I was betrayed into saying what I have, and for which I am very sorry. Will you come down? Mrs. Coleman and her two daughters are here ; they will think it very strange if you do not." When she had finished and stood waiting for an answer, Mr. Hastings, without moving his head, and with his back still towards her, said, " Pray, Mrs. Delacy, do not let me deprive you longer of their agreeable company. I enjoyed my dinner so much to-day that I have not the slightest inclination to taste your oysters, although savored, as I know they would be, by your and their, always to me, pleasant society." With her handkerchief to her eyes, Mrs. Delacy left the room ; and with his previous indiffer- ence, William Hastings settled down again into Ins OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 13 thoughtful and meditative mood. The mention of Mrs. Belmonte's name by Mrs. Delacy was evidently un- pleasant to him, although his countenance, so accus- tomed to control, remained unchanged while she con- tinued in the room. As soon as she had left, however, he began to ponder over what she had said, and, like most persons who are not easily betrayed into any sud- den emotion, reflection and thought produced upon his mind an uneasiness more uncomfortable and intense than any sudden surprise could have done. He had purposely treated Mrs. Delacy coolly, to draw from her if possible what he already half suspected that she knew. The plan was successful Mrs. Delacy's jeal- ousy and anger had betrayed her into saying what she at once regretted having said. That night Hastings found himself frequently repeating the following sug- gestive words : " All your attention and time are be- stowed upon Mrs. Belmonte." Yes, I dare say you were thinking of her with whom you have doubtless had the pleasure of dining to-day." He sat until long after midnight, swallowed up in reflections growing out of these two sentences. " Yes, I believe it," he would sometimes say energetically, as he continued sitting there ; " I am sure she has watched us, else why should she be so furiously jealous of her ? " He had dined with Mr. and Mrs. Belmonte that day at six o'clock, but he had told the fact to no one. " How," thought he, " should Mrs. Delacy know that I have dined there to- day ? " He did not care whether she knew it or not, but the thought that troubled him was, how she had ob- tained the information. That morning Mr. Hastings had addressed the following note to Mrs. Belmonte, which will show, somewhat, the intimacy which existed between himself and her : 2 14 THE CROOKED ELM. " DEAR MRS. BELMONTE : The Colemans are to dine with Mrs. D to-day, and spend the evening. 1 have been specially invited to eaten with them. I will not break my engagement with you, however, but will call as promised, to-night. You will please have the chessmen ready ; and also a spare seat at your dinner table, as it is more than probable that I may drop un- expectedly in upon you about six o'clock With this declaration of intentions, I remain sincerely, W. H." As William Hastings reflected upon what Mrs. De* lacy had said, he became convinced that she knew more of the intimacy existing between himself and Mrs. Bel- monte than was agreeable to him, and more than he had supposed any one, except himself and Mrs. Bel- monte, could have known. " This must be looked to,' 3 said he, as he rose to retire. " I will suffer no one to be a spy upon my actions. No, Cornelia, for thy sake I will be more cautious in future." Thinking thus, he went to his bed ; but his disturbed and troubled thoughts kept him a long time awake. At length, when he had fallen into a dreamy and uneasy sleep, he thought he saw Mrs. Belmonte walking carelessly and unconcerned upon the edge of a high precipice. Near by her, and concealed from her view, he saw Mrs. Delacy stealing upon her, with the intention of throwing her from its summit; while he, unable to move or speak, could not rescue her. This, and such as this, were William Has- tings's dreams that night. For, reader, strange as it may seem, incredible as it may appear, he who had sounded all the depths and shoals of society, and had for a long time proved inflexible and deaf to the prompt- ings of his tender tendencies, was now, at the age of twenty-eight, hopelessly in love, and that, too, with a married lady. CHAPTER II. HEADER, it is necessary that we should go back again in this story a little more than one year. It was a gloomy, disagreeable day in the early part of spring. A drizzly rain had been falh'ng for the last twenty-four hours, and stm continued its monotonous pattering on the muddy streets and slippery side-walks of Gotham. William Hastings was sitting in his office. It was as pleasant an office as lawyers usually have. I doubt very much, however, the propriety of using the word pleasant, as a qualifying adjective, in describing any of these legal dispensaries. His looked out on Broad- way, and was in the second story of one of the many large buildings fronting on this crowded street. Beside him, on a table, lay several large bundles of papers tied together with red tape. On the same table and on the desk before him were numerous Law Reports, lying scattered about in beautiful confusion. He had just finished consulting one of them, and, throwing it aside, had placed his feet on the table beside these volumes of bound up wisdom. Whether this irreverent act was intended as an expression of his contempt for them, or whether it enabled him the better to digest their gnarly contents, is a question which I will leave wholly un- settled. It is but proper, however, to state for the ben- efit of the general reader, that it is a custom indulged (15) 16 THE CROOKED ELM; in frequently by lawyers ; and as it is neither orna- mental, nor one of the attitudes approved of by any writer on office etiquette whom I have read, it is but simple justice to this highly respectable body of men to believe, that the elevation of one's lower extremities to a horizontal plane with the head, assists one in solving' difficult problems, especially if they be legal ones. Be this as it may, William Hastings placed his feet on the table, and turned his eyes to the noisy and clattering street below. Had he been less thoughtful, what he saw might have interested him ; but as it was, his eyes only were upon the street, his mind was contemplat- ing a different subject. It continued to rain, rain, rain. A smoky and murky atmosphere pervaded the whole city. The lower part of Broadway was filled with vehicles of all descriptions, jammed together in such confusion as to render the street almost impassable. Omnibus wheels were interlocked with cart-wheels, while the drivers of each sat soaked to the skin with rain, exchanging with each other the most approved oaths of their respective hostelries. Horses were wet and reeking; men with umbrellas hoisted, thronged the side- walks, and jostled each other from side to side as they passed. Apple-women with bare red feet, and with bedraggled and muddy skirts, stood on the corners of the streets shivering with cold. Fat men with drip- ping umbrellas were standing in the rain, watching for an omnibus. Occasionally, when one of these city con- veniencies made its appearance, labelled for that part of the city where they seemed desirous of going, two or three of these fat individuals aforesaid would make a dash for it ; but, after having lowered their umbrellas and opened the door, they were met with that ominous, perhaps I might with propriety say, omnibus word, " full." Full having been sounded and echoed by a dozen or OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 17 more voices within, the said fat gentlemen would turn away, and at the risk of being run into by several quad- rupeds and vehicles would regain their stand on the side-walk, hoist their umbrellas, which continually dripped upon their protuberant sides, and philosoph- ically look out for another omnibus. While William Hastings sat looking out upon this monotonous and moving diorama of quadrupeds, vehicles, and people, a boy stepped into his office from an adjoining room, and said " I have finished copying the answer to the complaint, in the case of ' Wilful vs. Obstinate.' " " Very well, Rolin," said he ; then taking out his watch he added, " it is three o'clock ; you may have the rest of the day to yourself." " Thank you, sir," said Rolin, as he turned away, took his hat, and left the office. As soon as he had gone, Hastings muttered : " Yes, it is better that we should be alone. It is not safe to have any one in the office when he comes. He is to be here at half past three o'clock. I wish I had never undertaken this business there is no retreat now, however. I will go on I will save the child, if possible ! " Having said this in a low, suppressed voice, he turned his eyes again upon the street, and settled down into a gloom as profound as that caused by the rain and fog without. He remained in this position for more than an hour, when in walked a tall man, seemingly about thirty-five years old. His hair was raven black, and hung in wavy curls half way down his neck. His eyes, too, were black and full, but not large. He had regular features, and, save a certain sinister expression, his face was what would be called handsome. Indeed, it had been his good or bad fortune to be called so for several years 2* 18 THE CROOKED ELM ; past by those who are by the laws of society consti- tuted judges in these matters I mean, of course, the ladies. He was dressed with scrupulous exactness and precision ; perhaps too much so for this practical and republican age. Yet, there was such taste displayed in each article he wore, and such an absence of what is commonly denominated flashiness in his appearance, that it would be difficult to say in what particular he was overdressed. Walking familiarly up to Mr. Hastings, and slapping him on the shoulder, he said " Ah ! Hastings, my good fellow, how do you do ? you look as melancholy as winter, sitting here alone among these musty law-books." To which Hastings said, smiling slightly, and extending his hand to him carelessly at the same time " You flatter me, Belmonte, and I am sure these books would acknowledge the compliment you have paid them, if they only had the power of speech." Then looking at his watch he added, " But you are late it is past four o'clock." " Yes," replied Belmonte, " this deuced rain has de- tained me." " But you look as dry as the books you condescended to compliment just now," said Hastings. " Do I ? look at that," said Belmonte, as he placed his highly polished boot in a chair to show how it had been splashed with mud and water. Is that all?" replied Hastings "That needn't trouble you, for the men will care nothing about it ; and, as for the ladies, they never look at your feet when they have your face to contemplate, covered with that black beard and that irresistible moustache. But I don't understand how the mud on your boot should make you so long behind your time. Did you walk down ? " OB, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. -19 " Not I. My carriage is at the door. I could not walk through this rain, and as for riding in an omni- bus whew ! I had rather go to Quaker meeting any day. Fancy yourself, my dear fellow, snugly seated in one of these comfortable conveniences, such a day as this, with an apple-woman in her dripping rags on one side, fat John on the other, soaked to the skin with rain, two or three market baskets on your toes, and the nursery maid on your lap. Isn't that a situation to be envied? You must imagine in addition, that the windows of the vehicle are all closed. Then the sa- vory atmosphere the Lord save us ! That vapory, aqueous, liquidous, nauseous atmosphere ! I think I smell it now ! What a place it is for regaling one's olfactory senses ! Oh no, you will please excuse me ! So, as I said, I came in my carriage ; and it was in get- ting out that I treated myself to this new coat of black- ing. And would you believe it ? I have been at least half an hour coming from Barnum's ! It is a perfect jam from here to the Park. It is worth one's life to attempt a passage through. Broadway should be re- ported to the proper authorities as a nuisance ; that is my opinion." " I declare, Belmonte, you are quite eloquent on the subject of omnibuses. But, without imagining myself, as you request, in the lap of an apple-woman, I will give it as my humble opinion, that we are not making up for lost time that should have been devoted to busi- ness." "_You are right," said Belmonte; "we are losing time. Has the matter progressed any since I was here?" " I have received another letter," answered Hastings, getting up at the same time and locking the door that opened into the hall. He then unlocked his safe, and 20 THE CROOKED ELMJ took from an inner iron box a bundle of papers, and re- turned to his seat at the desk. " It is as well," said he, as he seated himself, " that we should be undisturbed by intruders while engaged in this agreeable business." A perceptible smile of irony accompanied these words, but Belmonte heeding it not, drew his chair close up to Hastings, and the two were soon engaged in examining the papers before them. Hastings drew from the bundle a letter, and read as follows : " NEW YORK, April , 18. " DEAR SIR : I have your last letter before me. The proposition which it contains I accept. The money must be paid me as soon as the work is accomplished. When I receive it, I will do as you suggest. The plans must all be arranged, so as to prevent detection or fail- ure. The receipt of some portion of the money in advance satisfies me that you are in earnest. I re- turn your letter through the general post-office as re- quested. Yours, etc., MICHAEL MERLE." " D. D. DURLOCK, Esq." " P. S. I shall be out of town to-morrow, but a letter directed to me, with the usual address, will be received the day after." "The stupid fool," said Belmonte, "why can't he remain in town until the business is settled ? But he seems to be a very sensible fellow, his letter smacks of honesty." " It shows him to be as unscrupulous as we are," answered Hastings sarcastically. " You are in a bad humor to-day, Hastings, I fear I have offended you." OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE 21 " This business offends me. I am heartily tired of it. I wish I never had undertaken it." " It will soon be off our hands now," said Belmonte. " You have arranged it admirably. I never dreamed that you would manage the matter so well. Have you set any time for its final accomplishment ? " " No, I think we must see Merle ; there is that to be said which cannot safely be intrusted to paper." " But that will not be safe," said Belmonte. " He must never know who employs him." " He must be seen," said Hastings. " I have never given him any thing more than a general outline of the business which he is employed to do. It is not safe to write down the details in full. He can be trusted, I think, but the post-office cannot, in matters of this importance. He must be seen you must meet him." " I do not wish to place myself in the power of any man. I cannot meet him," said Belmonte. " Very well ; the matter ends at once then," replied Hastings, coolly, as he commenced replacing the papers. " Do you wish me to place myself in the power of this cutthroat thief ? " asked Belmonte passionately. " Not at all ; I had much rather you would abandon a business requiring such a sacrifice of your respecta- bility. I am glad that we cannot go on with it." " But it must be accomplished," said Belmonte ener- getically. " I suppose you would like to have me meet your ac- complice," said Hastings, with eyes flashing with indig- nation. " I have no ambition to do any thing of the kind. I leave you to choose some one else as your adviser." As he said this, he got up and replaced the papers in his safe. When Belmonte saw that Hastings would not be controlled, he said 22 THE CKOOKED ELM; " I do not wish to offend you ; I am perfectly satis- fied with what you have done ; but cannot the matter be arranged without my meeting him? If not if there is no alternative why, I must undergo the ordeal." Hastings, fearing that he had expressed too great re- pugnance for the business they were engaged in, said : " I do not think there will be any danger in your seeing Merle. I should not be afraid to meet him at any place within the city. I will not see him, however, the business is yours." "I will meet him. That matter is settled," said Belmonte, " so let us quarrel no more about it." " Pardon me," said Hastings, familiarly laying his hand on Belmonte's knee, " if I have expressed myself too warmly. I feel as much as you the necessity of carrying this enterprise through safely. If it were neces- sary for me to meet Merle, I would not hesitate a mo- ment ; but it is not it is not even safe for me to do so. You, he has not seen; and you can easily disguise yourself, so that he would never recognize you, should he meet you hereafter. He knows me my voice is familiar to him ; for it was once used in defending him on a criminal indictment." " Then you are right in what you have advised," said Belmonte. " I might have known that you had a good reason to back all your suggestions ; for when did Wil- liam Hastings, Esq., the promising and talented young lawyer, act without some good reason to sustain him ? " " None oT your nonsense, Belmonte," answered Hast- ings, " I am too old to be the subject of your flattery." " When must I see Merle ? " asked Belmonte. " Let me see," said Hastings, " to-day is Thursday. Call here one week from to-day at three o'clock, and I will have the meeting arranged with him." OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 23 " I will do so," said Belmonte ; and the two separated. Belmonte called on the next Thursday as promised, but no meeting had been appointed. Several weeks passed without any definite arrangement being made for a personal interview between Belmonte and Merle. It was about the middle of May. Belmonte had driven down to see Hastings again. The two were seated together, and in earnest conversation. " Here is a paper," said Hastings, " containing a pro- gramme of operations, which I think you will do well to follow. You must not part with Merle until all is accomplished ; but, Belmonte, if the child is injured, I will hold you accountable for it ; nor will I even spare myself in the event." " Every thing shall be done as you wish," replied Bel- monte. He then opened and r,ead the paper which Hastings had given him. " It shall be done," said he, when he had finished it. " I am the legitimate heir to the property, and I need it too much to be cheated out of it by any one. I am resolved ! " As he said this, he took a large pocket-book from an inside pocket, and placed the paper carefully in it. " I will write to Merle, and tell him when and where to meet you," said Hastings. " I will be at the place agreed upon," said Belmonte ; then, looking at his watch,~he continued : " It is growing late let us go down to Delmonico's and forget this business over a bottle of champagne." Hastings ac- cepted the invitation ; and they soon were discussing a dinner of" turtle soup, shad, ducks, champagne, etc., with countenances as cheerful as Wall street brokers. " By the way, Hastings," said Belmonte, as they sat at the table, " I never yet have had the pleasure of intro- ducing you to Mrs. Belmonte. A few friends of ours are to dine with us on Saturday and spend the evening, 24 THE CKOOKED ELM J and we shall be happy if you will consent to be one of the number. Miss Leighton is to be there, the world pronounces her beautiful ; and, unless you are confirmed and properly barricaded in your bachelor proclivities, she will storm your fortress, and compel you to capitulate. We dine at half past five." " Thank you," said Hastings ; " I accept your polite invitation with pleasure, notwithstanding the serious consequences that may ensue from an introduction to the beautiful Miss Leighton. But as for capitulating, I shall not do it while there is a shot in the locker, depend upon it." I think," said Belmonte, laughingly, " that she will answer your complaints more effectually than any law- yer could. But you must, first of all, dispossess her of her antiquated ideas, she associates those of your profession with ' Uriah Heep,' ' Quirk, Gammon & Snap,' 'Sergeant Buzfuz,' and that class of the legal fraternity. She is quite a novel reader, you must know, and lawyers are no great favorites with these dainty gentlemen of the quill." " I can easily remove her prejudices. It will be im- possible for her to resist two honest faces like ours ; for you must stand sponsor for me if necessary, eh, Bel- monte ? " "Any thing to aid a friend in difficulty," said Bel- monte ; " but I don't see the force of your argument. Our faces are unquestionably honest ones, but beauty is not always attracted by honesty." " You discourage me in the outset," said Hastings. " I had depended for my success upon the natural alliance of like attributes. Beauty and Honesty are near relatives. I am honest, she is beautiful; ergo you understand the conclusion." " That is an obsolete idea," said Belmonte, humorously. OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 25 " 1 believe in the natural attraction of opposites. I know Shakspeare has said that ' Virtue, as it never will be moved, Though lewdness court it in a shape of Heaven ; So lust, though to a radiant angel linked, Will sate itself in a celestial bed, And prey on garbage.' That is all very well in poetry, but it makes wretched prose. If the sentiment were true, I fear that Mrs. Belmonte and I would never have become one flesh. I make no pretensions, Hastings, to rigid virtue." Hastings wondered that Belmonte should introduce his wife into a conversation so light and trifling, and only accounted for it upon the ground that he had been imbibing champagne freely. Not wishing to pro- long an interview that might be unpleasant to Bel- monte on sober reflection, he said: "Be my success sure or doubtful, let us drink the health of this bewitch- ing Hebe." As Hastings said this, they touched glasses emptied them paid their reckoning got into their carriage, and drove away. 3 CHAPTER III. AT the time mentioned in the last chapter, William Hastings had known Walter Belmonte about six months. The acquaintance commenced by Belmonte applying to Hastings for his professional opinion re- specting the title, descent, etc. of certain property. The nature of the business was such as to bring them fre- quently together ; and in consequence, quite an intimacy had sprung up between them. Hastings did not like Belmonte, however ; he believed him to be unscrupu- lous and unprincipled ; yet he pretended to be his friend, in order that he might the better thwart his wicked pur- poses. Notwithstanding this seeming friendship be- tween them, Hastings had never as yet been introduced to Mrs. Belmonte, neither had he ever seen her. He had more than once heard her spoken of, and always in terms of the highest praise. Some of his friends were personally acquainted with her, and from them he had learned that she was a beautiful, accomplished, and charming lady. It will readily be supposed, therefore, that he accepted Belmonte's invitation to dine and spend the evening at his house with feelings of more than ordinary pleasure. He looked forward to Saturday evening, and promised himself no small happiness. As for the beautiful Miss Leighton, she never entered his mind again until he met her at the party. He had fre- (26) THE CROOKED ELM. 27 quently heard her spoken of as being the belle of Sara- toga and other watering places ; but he had no curiosity or ambition to make her acquaintance. Hastings was fond of ladies' society, but was not what was called a "ladies' man." He was dignified, affable, and easy in his manners, collected and pleasing in his ad- dress, and withal had a handsome and graceful figure. These characteristics, coupled with honesty and a high moral character, made him a favorite with the ladies. He could, when he liked, be reserved and cold as an icicle, or mild and genial as a summer morning. He had the faculty of reading readily the thoughts of others, and, as I might add, the art of keeping one in doubt and suspense. Like the cat, he would sometimes torture a victim. This may be inferred from his previously de- scribed conversation with Mrs. Delacy. I have said that he was -fond of ladies' society ; it was the society of the virtuous and refined, however, not that of the gay and dissolute. Saturday evening came, after a great deal of patient waiting, and about twenty persons of both sexes had assembled at Belmonte's residence on Fifth Avenue. Among the number was William Hastings. He had been presented to Mrs. Belmonte, the bewitching Miss Leighton, and several others of the party. Dinner was over, and they had all assembled in the large and bril- liantly lit drawing-room. Hastings had just excused himself to Miss Leighton, whom he had the honor to wait upon to the dinner table, and had passed to where Mrs. JBelmonte was seated, some little distance away, conversing with several lady and gentleman friends. When he joined the circle, Mrs. Belmonte said: " I appeal to you, Mr. Hastings, don't you think Miss Leighton charming ? " " I fear," replied he, pleasantly^ " that I am an inter- 28 THE CROOKED ELM; ested witness but if my evidence is good in this court I shall say, most decidedly ! " " Don't you think she has beautiful eyes ? " continued Mrs. Belmonte. " If you lead me into particularities," answered Hast- ings, " I fear that I shall contradict myself ; so I say, generally, that I think her very handsome that com- prises eyes, ears, nose, mouth every thing." " You lawyers are remarkably shrewd," said Mrs. Bel- monte, in reply. " You deal only in generalities. You are afraid of committing yourselves to any thing defi- nite, that is why so many of you remain single." " We doubtless commit an unpardonable mistake in remaining so," said Hastings, "which my friend Bel- monte will evidence." The latter part of this sentence was said as Belmonte joined the circle. A general con- versation of a lively and mirthful character ensued, in which all present joined. Dancing was introduced later in the evening, and all was life and gayety. From the first moment that Hastings saw Mrs. Belmonte, he thought he recognized in her countenance one whom he had previously seen. He taxed his recollection, and tried to remember where he had met her, but to no pur- pose. Her voice awakened in him memories of the past ; and sometimes, as he listened to its sweet and musical accents, he thought that he had heard it be- fore ; then he would say to himself, " No, it cannot be, I associate her, doubtless, with some forgotten dream." Mrs. Belmonte was generally called handsome by those well acquainted with her; but the appellation was not strictly true. Her pleasing address and fascinating manners made her appear more beautiful than she really was. Those who had only seen her without hearing her converse, would not think her any thing more than OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 29 very good looking. There was a charm in her voice and face, when engaged in animated conversation, that was more than a substitute for smooth and regular features. She was naturally modest and retiring, and could only appear to advantage when in the society of those with whom she was well acquainted. She was about the medium size had light brown hair and a fair complexion. Her eyes were of a dark grayish color, and were shaded by heavy eyelashes. Her mouth was small, and her lips were a ruby red. She had small white hands, with fingers beautifully tapered ; add to these a full bust and a fine figure, and you have an imperfect, though not an entirely untrue, sketch of Mrs. Belmonte. What I have said, however, will scarcely give the reader a faint shadow of what she was. Descriptions of faces and forms, of eyes, mouth, nose, hair, and features generally, are, in my opinion, dull, stiff, and stupid things. How many there are who are alike in these respects. They have the same colored hair, the same eyes, and are the same in every thing, save in themselves. So with Mrs. Belmonte. To look at, she was not unlike many that we every day meet; but to converse with, she was peculiarly herself, and differed from them as much as day differs from night. On the occasion I have mentioned, she wore a dress of rich green velvet, so made as to display her beautiful neck and exquisitely moulded arms ; each sleeve was grace- fully looped on the shoulder with a large single dia- mond ; her hair was braided short and rolled in thick plaits around her beautifully shaped head, and was fastened behind with a diamond arrow. During the evening she was as lively and gay and lovely as she had ever been in her life. Hastings thought, however, that he detected occasionally, when conversing with 3* 30 THE CROOKED ELM; her, an expression of melancholy, if not of unhappi- ness. We leave the reader to say whether or not he was right in his conjectures, as her history is developed in this story. The party had ceased dancing, and the bewitching Miss Leighton was seated at the piano. Beside her stood Mr. Belmonte, and two or three other gentlemen. Hastings and Mrs. Belmonte were seated some distance away, engaged in conversation. Miss Leighton sung and played selections from different operas. Her sing- ing and her execution upon the piano were faultless ; or, at least, it would be difficult for an amateur to point out any defects in either; yet there was something wanting to give the proper effect to the words of the music; it might be more of soul, or it might be that the singing and playing were a little, a very little, overdone. Reader, have you not often listened in an opera, when some of the most sublime passages were being sung with seeming perfection of execution, with- out being much affected by the singing ? You could not tell why, but such was the fact. So with Miss Leighton, she sung and played charmingly, yet with- out charming any one into the spirit of the piece. She was rapturously and repeatedly encored, however, and all were unanimous in pronouncing the music enchant- ing. When she had finished playing, Mrs. Belmonte, after some persuasion by her guests, was waited upon to the piano by Mr. Hastings. She first sung and played the beautiful Cavatina, in the opera of Beatrice DP Tenda, commencing, " Oh ! divina Agnese tu basteresti a me." When she had finished this charming piece, she was greeted with the hearty encores of all in the room ; and during her performance of it, every one had been as OK, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 31 still as the grave. There was a soul in her singing, that found sympathy in the hearts of those who listened to her. Hastings was profuse in his praises, and yet so judicious in the use of his language as not to be thought guilty of flattery. She next sung and played the ballad, " The Heart Bowed Down" in the opera of the Bohemian Girl, commencing, " The heart bowed down by weight of woe, To weakest hopes will cling." When she came to the words, " The mind will, in its worst despair, Still ponder o'er the past ; On moments of delight, that were Too beautiful to last," she threw so much of soul into them, and looked so much the sentiment they express, that Hastings was electrified and enchanted. Both she and the words seemed to carry him back to other and happier days, and awaken memories of the cherished and fondly re- membered past. As she continued, " For memory is the only friend, That grief can call its own," he stood seemingly lost in thought. When she finished the ballad, and was receiving the usual expressions of approbation and delight, Hastings forgot to join in their praises. He was revisiting, in imagination, the scenes and incidents of his childhood. After they had pro- fusely complimented her performance of the piece, he gave her his arm and handed her to a seat, saying as they passed, so as not to be heard by any one except herself 32 THE CROOKED ELM; " Mrs. Belmonte, 1 think ' The Heart Bowed Down ' is a lovely ballad, and I have to thank you for awaken- ing in me an appreciation of it that I never before felt. " Your praise, though undeserved, flatters me," said Mrs. Belmonte ; " for, if I am not mistaken, you are fond of music." " I never had thought myself passionately fond of it until to-night," said Hastings, smilingly. " I am com- pelled, however, to change my mind now." " None of your flattery, Mr. Hastings," said she, evi- dently not displeased at the compliment paid her. She then asked, " Do you like the English, or Italian opera better?" " If you limit me to this evening, I must say Eng- lish; but if I am permitted to except this evening, I will say Italian." " Again, Mr. Hastings," replied Mrs. Belmonte, " flat- tery is inexcusable in a gentleman." " If I have spoken too warmly in praise of your singing," said Hastings, earnestly, "you must blame yourself for it. In future you must sing with less effect, if you would be praised less." " Well," said Mrs. Belmonte, "a truce to the subject now. I see that supper is announced." They were then joined by Mr. Belmonte, with Miss Leighton leaning on . his arm. " Hastings," said he, familiarly, as he came up, "will you and Mrs. Belmonte accompany us to the table ? " Mrs. Belmonte took Hastings's arm, and they, together with the other guests, repaired to the supper room. It was about one o'clock at night before all of the party had dispersed. Hastings lingered longer than the rest. During the evening he had conversed more with Mrs. Belmonte than with any other. He was pleased OK, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 33 ,nd charmed with her; he knew not why, but she seemed to him like a friend whom he had known for years. He finally took his leave, after promising Mrs. Belmonte to call soon and renew his acquaintance. That night he rode home in deep thought. Memories of other days had been awakened, memories hallowed by their sweet associations, memories of days and events never to be forgotten. CHAPTER IV. IT was the latter part of May. The weather was warm and pleasant. The snowy and frosty robes of winter had been laid aside, and nature, beautiful and lovely nature, was veiled in sunshine and living spring. The smooth waters of the Hudson seemed to smile as they moved lazily along, reflecting the bright sunbeams which rested upon . their surface. Its banks, together with the trees and fields which lined its borders, were green clad, and alive with the " songs of birds and the hum of bees." The robin had returned to its northern home, and had commenced refitting and rebuilding its nest over the window ; the ground-squirrel was frisking playfully about on the dry leaves under the hedges and fences, or was eating a nut while seated in the sun on the stump of a tree ; the atmosphere was freighted with the sweet odor of flowers, and seemed to impart to every living thing the spirit of reverie and of dreams. Not far from New York, under a thick cluster of trees on the east bank of the Hudson, sat a little girl busily engaged making a wreath of natural flowers. She was seemingly about six or seven years old ; her rich auburn hair hung carelessly over her face, and fell in curls upon her shoulders; her large blue eyes, con- cealed under her long eyelashes, were intently inspecting the nearly finished wreath. As she sat on her little OB, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 35 Btool, with one leg thrown over the other, and with her little fingers busily arranging the flowers in her lap, she said : " Now, Rover ! I shall soon have it ready for you." As she said this, a large Newfoundland dog which lay on the grass by her side, hearing his name mentioned, raised his head and looked at her for a moment, but seeing that all was right, and that he was not wanted, he laid his head down again and closed his eyes. When she had completed the wreath she jumped up, and, put- ting her arms round the dog's neck, said : " Here, Rover ! get up quick, I 've made a collar for you." The dog got up as requested ; and after some coaxing and petting to keep him still, she succeeded in putting the flowers round his neck. Then bursting into a hearty and joyous laugh, and clapping her little sun-burned* hands, she exclaimed: " O Rover ! you look so funny ! " She then laughed again, while Rover, wagging his large bushy tail and dropping his ears, looked as much ashamed as he con- veniently could. But he thought too much of his little mistress to find fault with her, so he only continued to stand still and wag his tail, and look ashamed. She amused herself at Rover's expense for some time, now seating herself on her stool to look at him, then jumping up and arranging the wreath differently, as some new fancy struck her, until Rover, as if feeling that he had afforded her amusement enough for that time, walked diffidently up to her, and stooping his head, licked her hand gently, as much as to say: "please take this off now." The little girl, as if understanding this humble petition of her pet dog, threw her arms round his neck, and hugging him close up to her, said : "Dear, good old Rover! you are so funny!" She then removed the flowers, and began to shape them into 36 THE CROOKED ELM; a little work basket, while Rover, seeing that he was no longer wanted to play the harlequin, stretched himself again on the grass. The basket was soon finished, and the little girl seated herself beside the dog as he lay there, and throwing her arm across his shoulder, she laid her head down upon him, and with her hair shrouding her sweet face, fell fast asleep. About a hundred yards from where the little girl and Rover lay, a man sat concealed in an underwood and thicket of trees. He had been watching her and the dog attentively for some time, and evidently began to feel impatient ; for no sooner had the little girl fallen asleep, than he, leaving his hiding-place, crept stealthily up to the edge of a little hillock, which lay partly between him and them, and seated himself in a clump of bushes, where he could see them unobserved. He carried a fowling-piece, and in appearance resembled a man who had taken his gun for a few hours' shooting. He kept a diligent look-out on all sides, especially in the direction of a large country residence, not far distant from him. The path that led to the house, and the one which the little girl would probably follow in returning home, wound round the hillock, and passed but a few steps from where the man lay. Once he raised his gun to his shoulder, and aimed it at the dog ; but seeming to change his mind, he took it down again without firing, and remained intently looking at them, as they slept, un- conscious of danger. Not far from him in a skiff, closely drawn up under the bank of the river, sat another man, somewhat muf- fled up for the season of the year, apparently engaged in fishing. Occasionally he would turn his eyes anx- iously in the direction of the man with the gun, but seeing no one, he would only mutter a curse and con- tinue to fish. He did not seem to be lucky as a fisher- OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 37 man ; for notwithstanding he had remained in the same place for nearly two hours, with tfook and line thrown out, he had not as yet caught a single minnow. The sun had passed the meridian, and was shedding its hot rays down upon his head without mercy ; but, like his philosophic predecessor Izaak Walton, he continued his piscatory employment without seeming to think of his own personal comfort, and still invited at least a nibble from some straggling swimmer. If it really was his wish to catch fish, he must have been sorely disappointed. But he seemed to have some other object in view; for once, as he turned his eyes to the wood, he exclaimed, in a smothered undertone : " Hang the knave ! why don't he return ? " The little girl at length awoke, and rubbing her large blue eyes with her tiny hands, she said : " Come, Rover, let us go home." She then took the little basket of flowers which she had made in one hand, and, throwing one arm round the dog's neck, started for home, following the path that wound round the hil- lock. When they came near to the clump of bushes where the man lay concealed, Rover turned his head and uttered a deep growl. This frightened the little girl, and clinging closer than ever to his neck, she looked wildly in the direction which Rover pointed out; but seeing nothing to be alarmed at, she said, " Come on, Rover. You naughty man, how dare you frighten me so ? " She pulled at the dog's neck, but he would not move ; he remained standing with his eyes fixed upon the bushes, and continued to growl angrily. " &over, why won't " before she had finished the sentence, the man with the gun rose to his feet and said, in a mild and gentle voice : " My little Miss, can you tell me who lives in. that house yonder ? " 38 THE CROOKED ELM J She was too much frightened to answer, she stood clinging to her dog for protection without saying a word. The man was nearly between her and the house ; had it not been for this, she probably" would have run at once for home. " Don't be frightened, my little girl, I will not harm you," said the man, blandly, as he advanced a few steps towards her. " Can you tell me who lives in that beautiful house ? " " Grandpapa, please sir," answered she, falteringly. Rover ^now showed such evident signs of displeasure that the man stopped, afraid to go nearer, and com- menced trying to coax him into a better humor, but all to no purpose. The little girl, as if aided by instinct, said: " Don't come near Rover, please, sir ; he will bite you." The man with the gun seemed to be of the same opinion ; for he remained standing where he was, trying to allay her fears, and to appease the wrath of the dog. " Please, sir, I want to go home," said she, as the tears came into her eyes. " Won't you stop and talk with me a moment ? I have something very pretty to show you," said he. " No, sir. I must go home to grandpapa." The tears were now running down her cheeks, and she stood trembling, with her large blue eyes turned imploringly upon the man before her. She hesitated a moment, then stepping timidly forward, with her arm still round the dog's neck, she said : " I am sure Rover will bite you, sir." Indeed Rover began to show such symptoms of anger, as he stepped forward with his mistress, that the man walked a little further away from the path. As he did so the little girl passed by where he stood, and ran hastily along the path towards the house. Rover, slower in his pace, and with OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 39 his head turned towards the man continually, followed her, and saw her safely enter her grandpapa's door. The man with the gun, seeming perplexed at this turn of affairs, stood looking in the direction of the house for a moment, then turning, he quickly passed out of sight and descended the bank to the river where the man sat in the skiff fishing. " You stupid fool ! " said the fisherman, when he came up, " why have you come back here alone ? " Michael Merle, for it was no other than he, sprang into the skiff and answered the question, so politely put to him, by re- lating all that had occurred. This he did hurriedly. When he had finished, he added : " But we must not remain longer here we may be discovered." " W 7 hat if we are discovered ? " replied the other. " Have I not a right to fish in this river ? and have you not a right to shoot upon its banks if you like the sport ? " Then, as if suddenly recollecting the charac- ter of the man he was with, he asked : " Where could we conceal ourselves, if we wished it?" " There is a little cove about a mile above here, on the other side of the river," answered Merle ; " we could remain there undiscovered until nightfall." " Pull for it at once, then," replied the other. Walter Belmonte, the fisherman, was undecided as to what should be done next. He did not like to lose sight of Merle until his object was accomplished ; yet he kiiew not what to do. It was growing late; the little girl had been so frightened, he thought, that she would not venture out alone again that day. He was not disheartened, however, at this failure of his plans ; for," said he to himself, " it is all for the best, perhaps, for there are so many vessels passing and repassing, that 40 THE CROOKED ELM J it would have been difficult to conceal her and escape undetected." They at length reached the cove, and, pulling the skiff close up under the projecting rocks, they remained sitting in it in silence for some time. Bel- monte, disguised as much as it was possible for him to be in such a situation, and looking as much unlike himself as he well could, sat in the stem of the skiff engaged, seemingly, in deep thought. The sun had already disappeared behind the western horizon, and darkness thick darkness shrouded these two men in its folds, as they sat in silence in their hiding-place. Not a ripple disturbed the smooth surface of the river ; all was still and dark and gloomy. At length Bel- monte raised his head and asked : " Can you kill that dog with poison between this and Saturday night ? " Merle answered, laconically : " I think I can." " Do so, then," said Belmonte, " and so secretly as not to be discovered by any one." " I understand," replied Merle. " You had better give him the poison early in the evening ; he will then be dead before morning, and no one will suspect the cause." " It shall be done as you suggest," replied Merle. " I will meet you at this place," said Belmonte, after thinking a moment, " on Saturday night. I shall ex- pect to find you here a little after dark." " You shall not be disappointed, sir," said Merle. They then rowed out of the little cove, and passed to the opposite side of the river, where Belmonte took leave of his accomplice and returned to the city. Bel- monte began already to reap the fruits of evil-doing. He had placed himself, as he feared, in the power of Merle his first plan had failed his mind was troubled he was unhappy. OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 41 Merle, left to himself and his own dark thoughts, rowed out into the current of the tide, and dropped down the river. As he did so, he muttered : " This is a bad busi- ness I have no heart for it. Were I asked to take the life of a grown up man, it would be quite another thing ; but this little blue-eyed angel ! she looked at me so pleadingly that my heart almost failed me. There is some deep villany planned against her, I will war- rant. There is more wickedness concealed under rich broadcloth than is dreamed of by the common herd. I will wager my life that he whom I have just left is a most precious villain. If I thought that he intended to murder the child, I would go no further in the business. Blow me, if I wouldn't desert at once ! " He remained thinking a moment, and then said : " I am too deep in the matter to recede. Why should I be so chicken- hearted ? No ! I will go forward I will be true to my trust." When he had descended the river about a mile, he turned the skiff towards the Jersey shore, and soon drew up near a small cottage under the high wall of rocks known as the Palisades. A flickering light shone from the gable window, which indicated that the house was tenanted. It was but one story high, and did not differ in appearance from the many houses which line the Hudson. Merle fastened his skiff and walked cautiously up to the door of the hut, and knocked once, twice, thrice. He then, after standing a moment, repeated the knock, but in a different way. At this signal an old woman came to a little side window, and opening it, said : " Who the divil are you, that have come to disturb a lone crater like mysel, at this hour o' the night ? " When she had fin- ished this long sentence, and had stopped to refill her speaking apparatus for a second fire, Merle said, in a 4* 42 THE CROOKED ELM; low voice, " Aunt Judy, is all safe ? " These words were electrical in their effect ; for she dropped the win- dow, and unbolting the door hastily, said, as she seized Merle by the hand with both of hers : " Faith, Robin, and is it you, lad ? By the Holy Powers ! I thought you were niver corning back any more. Be sated, acushla be sated, and tell Aunt Judy where you 've been this long, long while past." " I have no time to talk now, Aunt Judy," said Merle, almost tenderly. " By St. Patrick ! but I 've waited for you long, and niver for a moment have I stopped feeling unasy for you; and you are safe, Robin," said the old woman, as she stood by his side, all smiles. " The Holy Vargin be praised! " As she said this, she crossed herself; then, taking a chair, she seated herself close by Merle, and looked at him as though her eyes feasted upon what she saw. " I have no time now, Aunt Judy, to spend here," said Merle ; " but to-morrow night I will talk with you." " God bless you, Robin, for saying so. To-morrow night to-morrow night," muttered the old woman. " I wish it was to-morrow night now. You know best, but I think you might talk to a lone, lorn crater like me a wee while the night," " No, Aunt Judy ; I want you to get me the keys," replied Merle, rising from his chair. " But, honey, to-morrow night you must be here sure," said the old woman. She then got up, and, opening a trap-door, descended into the cellar. She soon returned, bringing with her a large bundle of keys, which she gave to Merle, saying : " There they are, ahag-ar, as safe as the day you left them with me." Merle took the keys, blinded the windows, .double- OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 43 locked the door, and then, lighting a dark lantern, passed through the trap-door and descended the stairs. As soon as he was at the bottom he lighted a candle, and commenced removing some stones which seemed to be a part of the cellar wall. He soon came to a large stone slab hung on hinges ; this he unlocked, and with some difficulty crept through the opening which it made, on his hands and knees. He then pushed the door to, and locking it descended three stairs, and fol- lowed a narrow passage which led to another door, sim- ilar to, but larger than the one just mentioned. This opened into a large room, walled apparently by natural rocks. A current of air passed through it continually, caused by a passage-way leading from either side of the cave to the edge of the rocks, and so ingeniously concealed as to prevent being seen by any one. Forges were built in the walls of the cave, and various tools and instruments for counterfeiting money lay scattered about on the floor. A small chest stood at one side, and on the other there was a table on which lay piles of counterfeit bank-notes. Merle, when he entered, glanced hastily around the room, and then went to the chest, and unlocking, took from it after some rummaging among different articles a small paper parcel. He then opened two or three small bags, containing either real or counterfeit gold coin, and examined them. " All is right," said he, as he replaced them in the chest, and locked it. He then left the cave by the passage which he had entered, and returned to the house. " Aunt Judy," said he, as soon as he had closed the trap-door, " can you give me a piece of fresh meat ? " " Yes, darlint, and cook it well for you besides, sure." " I do not wish it cooked," replied Merle. The old woman stared at him as he said this, but asking no questions, went and got the slice of meat. Merle took 44 THE CROOKED ELM; it left the house returned to his skiff, and rowed to the opposite side of the river, and accomplished, after some difficulty, the mission which Belmonte had in- trusted to him. Michael Merle, as I will for the present call him, was a man about the middle size and height, and seemingly about thirty years old. He was dark complexioned, had black hair and eyes, and was firmly built. He had received a collegiate education, was polished in his manners, when he wished to be, and withal was quite handsome. He never had been indicted for crime but once, and then the charge was so lame and so poorly sustained, that every one thought him a perse- cuted man. At the time I have introduced him into this story, he lived in New York, and had been residing there for several years. He was naturally a brave, gen- erous, kind-hearted man; but all honorable motives seemed to have been forever blotted out of his naturally noble nature. The causes which induced his present mode of life, together with his earlier history, will be more fully developed in due time. Merle did not mingle much in society, although he lived, if not in affluence, yet with many of the appendages of wealth. His position, among those who knew him, was that of a man whose income enabled him to live in independ- ence. His lady acquaintances used frequently to won- der why he alwaya wore such a melancholy expression of countenance, and why he went so seldom into society. Michael Merle was the name he had assumed for trans- acting business with his unknown correspondent, Hast- ings, and was known to be so by Hastings, but not by Belmonte. He was known in New York by his real name, Robin Moulton. He had three accomplices in crime, one the old beldam already mentioned, the other two were men whom he had never seen, and who OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 45 knew nothing of him, except through his correspondence. One lived in New Orleans, the other in Baltimore. His only business with them was to furnish them with counterfeit money, and receive a stipulated share of the proceeds of the money put into circulation. All other transactions he conducted himself, unassisted by any one, except the old woman aforesaid. With this out- line of Michael Merle, (for I will still call him by his assumed name,) let me proceed with this history. The next morning after the incidents described in this chapter, when the little girl's grandpapa, as she called him, opened the front door, he saw lying there his favorite dog, Rover, dead. His head was lying against the door, as if in his last moments of life he had tried to acquaint his little mistress with his sufferings. The old grayheaded man, as he looked at Rover, could not refrain from tears. " How," thought he, " can I impart the news to little Flora ?" (that was the child's name). "Her tender heart will break when she sees her pet dog, her companion and playfellow, ' her dear, poor, good old Rover,' as she always calls him." As he stood leaning over the dog, not knowing what to do, and with the tears coursing down his wrinkled cheeks, Flora in her morning dishabille, and with her hair carelessly covering her beautiful face, came to the door where her grand- papa was standing. The moment she saw the dog lying dead, she exclaimed wildly : " O grandpapa ! Who has killed my poor Rover ? " Then, throwing herself upon the dead body, she burst into an uncontrollable fit of crying. Her sobs touched the old man's heart, and he too joined her in her expres- sions of grief. That day was one of deep mourning in that house. A grave was dug for Rover on the little hillock, where the day before little Flora had made him a wreath of flowers. At the close of the day, just as 46 THE CROOKED ELM; the sun was sinking behind the western hills, Flora and her grandpapa followed their pet dog, as he was earned in a beautiful coffin to his burial-place. They walked in silence, hand in hand, filled with thoughts of sorrow and of mourning for the lost one. When they came to the grave, Flora placed a wreath of flowers, which she had made, round Rover's neck, bathed as they were with her tears. The coffin was then gently lowered, and she scattered flowers upon it, until it was nearly covered. " Good-by, Rover ! " she then said, while the bitter tears filled her large blue eyes ; " good-by ! I will meet you up in the stars sometime, for grandpapa says so." The old man, with his handkerchief to his eyes, then took Flora's hand in his, and they returned to the house. That night, when the old man read a chapter in the Bible and kneeled in prayer, his usual custom be- fore retiring to bed, little Flora, with her arms locked round his arm, and with her head resting against it, listened more attentively to what he said than she had ever done before. When he prayed that the Lord would temper the wind to the shorn lamb, she wondered what he meant; and when he had finished praying and .had seated himself in his arm-chair, she climbed upon his knee, and, turning her blue eyes reverently up into his face, asked : " Grandpapa, what did you mean by praying that the Lord would temper the wind to the shorn lamb ? " The tears stole into the old man's eyes, as he an- swered : " God, my dear child, has promised to take care of little lambs, and protect and keep them in the cold and wintry weather. You know that little lambs have not thick coats of wool like the grown up sheep ; that is why God has promised to take care of them. So God, my child, has promised to take care of little children, OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 47 and comfort them when in trouble. He sees us and knows all about us. He knows when we are happy, and when we are in trouble. You, darling, are to-day like a shorn lamb. You are in trouble ; but the Lord sees you, and will take care of you." The old man stopped speaking, but little Flora still looked him earnestly in the face. When they had sat thus in silence a few moments, she said : " God is very good, is n't he, grandpapa ? " " Yes, Flora, he is good, and we should love him." " I do love God very much, grandpapa." Then, after intently thinking for a moment, she asked : " Grandpapa, if God thinks of little lambs, won't he think of poor Rover too ? " " Yes, darling, he thinks of all things." " You told me, grandpapa, that poor Rover had gone up among the stars. Do little lambs go up there too, when they die ? " " I don't know, my child," answered the old man, with the tears still filling his eyes. After conversing in this way for some time, Flora went to her bed, and weeping herself to sleep, dreamed of her lost and loved pet, Rover. The next morning early, the old man and Flora visited the grave. Flora planted several flowers about and upon it, and spent a long time in decorating and fitting it up. In the afternoon of the same day she stole away without the knowledge of her grandpapa, and visited Rover's grave again, and continued to work about,, and adorn it. Before she left, she kneeled on the grave, and closing her little hands, raised them be- fore her, saying : " O God ! please temper the wind to the little lambs, and keep poor Rover until I come." Behind the little hillock, and in the same thicket of trees before mentioned, lay Michael Merle. He saw 48 THE CROOKED ELM. little Flora as she kneeled on the grave, and as she walked along the path close by him. " I could take her now," thought he ; but his heart failed him. She walked by him unconscious of danger. The Lord had charge of her. The day previous, Merle, seated in the same place, had witnessed the burial of the dog. He had gone there to learn the result of the poison which he had, the night before, administered to Rover. On Saturday night, at the appointed time, Belmonte met Merle at the cove. He there learned what had been done, and, putting a purse of money into Merle's hand, said : " It will not do to carry out our plans now. You will be informed by letter, in the usual address, of all future arrangements. Keep yourself in readiness to act upon short notice. Until you hear from me again, good-by." They parted, Belmonte to return to the city, and Merle to go back to the cottage where he had left Aunt Judy. CHAPTER V. WE must once more, kind reader, go back about seven or eight years. It was a beautiful morning in the latter part of August. The sun had just risen a little way above the eastern hills, and was shedding its genial rays over the city of Cork and the surrounding country. The banks of the river Lee, so picturesque, variegated, and beautiful, seemed to embrace each sunbeam, and add to it a softer hue from their own effulgent loveliness. Intermingled with green-clad hills and shady vales, here in sunshine and there in perpetual shade, the waters of this unique and classic river lent a charm to their enchanting and lovely inclosures. The antiquated castles which lay in ruins on its banks, together with the many churches and mansions, surrounded by forests of trees and pleas- ure-grounds, and imbosomed in their deep green fo- liage, all were looking as beautiful and charming on the morning I have mentioned as it were possible for them to look. The stillness which reigned around was now and then broken by a passing boat to or from Queenstown, filled with passengers, listening, as they looked out on the witching scenery, to the dulcet music of a violin or flageolet. There was a fairy-like influence pervading the whole atmosphere, which took 5 () 50 THE CROOKED ELM ; possession of the senses, and made one feel as if in the land of romance and dreams. It was about ten o'clock on the said morning, when an elegant chariot drawn by four white horses, with postilions in light blue jackets and black caps, drew up before the door of a little church in one of the delightful villages on the banks of the Lee. The door was opened and the steps let down by a liveried lackey, when a young man, tall, slight, and of a distingv.6 appearance, alighted, and, in company with a man not quite his own height, passed into the open door of the church. He wore a black cloth morning coat, white vest beautifully embroidered, white neck tie, and light pantaloons. To the peasantry who had assembled about the door, and who touched their ragged caps to him as he passed, he threw a hand- ful of silver coin, and received the usual " God bless you ! " He had not been in the church long, when three carriages drove up to the door. From one of them a young lady alighted, wearing a white satin dress cov- ered with rich lace. A veil of the same lace hung in graceful folds almost to her feet. Her head was en- circled by a wreath of orange blossoms, intertwined with water lilies. She was a blonde tall, graceful, and had a beautiful though melancholy countenance. Her eyes were large, and as soft and mellow in their expression as a zephyr morning in May. Accompa- nying her were three young ladies about her own age, dressed in white. They were followed by two elderly gentlemen and their wives, and by four or five young persons of both sexes. When the young lady entered the church, she with her three attendants passed up the aisle to the communion table, where the young man and his companion stood awaiting them. Immediately a venerable man with gray hair, wearing a surplice of snowy white, opened a book and commenced reading, in OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 51 a deep, clear voice, the marriage ceremony. When he came to that part where the minister asks the bride- groom, " If he will have this woman, " etc., he looked the young man in the face and said : " William Hast- ings, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony ? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health ; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live ? " The young man, without raising his eyes and with a troubled expression of countenance, fal- tered out, " I will." The bride seemed equally unhappy. She looked as though her heart did not enter into the response which she feebly and tremblingly uttered. As they stood with joined hands before the altar, each seemed lost in thought, and indifferent to the solemni- ties of the occasion. At length the ceremony was concluded, by the minister saying : . " William Hastings and Ida Linwood, I pronounce you man and wife." The congratulations of friends over, William Hastings handed his bride into the chariot and drove away, amid the thankful cheers of the villagers. As they passed along on their way to Cork, under the thick shade of the tall trees that line the road, and beside the high, gray old walls that inclose the different demesnes, they spoke not a word, neither did they cease to look the embodiment of unhappiness. They soon entered the city, followed by the three carriages before mentioned, and drew up at the " Impe- rial Hotel." A few days subsequent to the wedding just described, William Hastings was walking with his young bride in the " Groves of Blarney? They had visited this celebrated spot to dissipate the ennui which they both felt while shut up in the city. It was a lovely morning. The groves, together with the little flower- 52 THE CROOKED ELM; garden at the entrance to them, were lovely, smiling, bright, beautiful. What a contrast were they to the gloomy thoughts of Hastings and his wife! Hastings had known Ida Linwood from his childhood. She was an only daughter, and heiress to a large estate. He was an only son. He had long known that his father in- tended to have him marry her. Indeed, their union had been agreed upon by their respective parents while they were children. This fact, of itself, had made Hastings cold and reserved to her. He never had made her his confidante, never had been his frank and generous self when in her society. He respected and esteemed her ; he appreciated her many excellent qualities of mind and heart ; but he did not love he did not wish to marry her. When they had walked for some time in the groves, they seated themselves on a little mossy knoll. " This," commenced Hastings, " is the fairiest spot that I have ever visited ; but how little do we enjoy its sylvan beauties." " It is certainly a lovely place," said Mrs. Hastings, replying only to the first part of his observation. " Ida," continued Hastings, in a mild and kind voice, "we have done very wrong in marrying. We are neither of us happy." He waited a moment as^jf ex- pecting her to reply ; but she remained silwit and thought- ful. " You," continued Hastings, " love another I have long known it he is worthy of your best affections." Again he paused, as if wishing her to speak, but she continued silent, with her eyes resting upon the ground. " We have obeyed the commands of our unfeeling and unnatural parents," resumed he, " and have made our- selves unhappy for the remainder of our li ves. If it were to do over again, I would put an end to my life, rather than consent to be the cause of your misery. I never shall love my father again." OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 53 " William," said Mrs. Hastings, in a voice full of sweetness, "you are very noble-hearted. I am sorry, for your sake, that we have been the unwilling instru- ments in the hands of others to accomplish our own unhappiness. I do not blame you. I will as far as possible be a true and faithful wife to you." There was so much gentleness in her words, and such a spirit of resignation to what seemed to be her fate, that Hastings more than ever regretted that he had been made the cause of her sorrow. " Ida," he said, when she had finished, " I appreciate your feelings, and though I cannot promise you the love that you should have from a husband, I will try to be kind and good to you." " I cannot expect more than that," answered she, ten- derly. " Why," exclaimed Hastings, passionately, " did we consent to the domineering tyrants ! They knew that they were sealing our unhappiness, and yet they per- sisted in their tyranny, and all, that the family of Charles Linwood might be allied to that of Richard Hastings ! I shall never respect, I fear I shall hate them both, as long as I live ! " " Do not say so, William, they are our fathers, they are wiser than we." They conversed in this confidential way for more than an hour. Never before had they been so frank and open-hearted to each other. A sympathy had been awakened between them, a sympathy which, had they been -strangers, would probably have ended in love. They at length left the groves, and inspected the old castle which stands near them, then, after crossing the field to the little lake, they returned to the city. The two families, Linwood and Hastings, had been travel- 5* 54 THE CROOKED ELM; ling in Europe for more than a year. They had gone into the south of Ireland to visit the lakes of Killarney, and the many other celebrated places which characterize that part of the island. While they were at Cork, the father of young Hastings received intelligence of such a nature from his home in Mississippi, as to require his immediate return to America. He could not leave, however, until he had seen his darling object consum- mated. He at once, therefore, used all his influence, together with his commands, to gain the consent of his son to the marriage, before he should depart for home. He had gained his unwilling consent, he had wit- nessed their union, he was satisfied. As he was about starting for home, he advised his son to repair to Paris, as soon as convenient, and remain there with his wife for a year or more. He hoped that the gayety of that me- tropolis of fashion would at length dissipate their unhappiness, and reconcile them to their marriage. Days passed on. Hastings' father had left for Amer- ica, in company with Mr. and Mrs. Linwood. He and his wife had gone to the lakes of Killarney. They visited every point of interest in the vicinity of the lakes, and as much as possible gave their minds up to the charms and delights of the picturesque beauties of these world-wide celebrities. One day, when they had returned to their hotel from a visit to " Tore Water- fall " and " Muckross Abbey," a waiter handed a letter to Mr. Hastings, directed to Ida Linwood. On his arrival at the hotel, he had given orders to have any let- ters with that address that might come there sent to his rooms. As soon as he saw the direction, he handed it to Mrs. Hastings. She glanced at the writing, and at once recognizing it, turned deadly pale. Hastings saw her agitation and said, in a mild voice : " Ida, compose yourself why do you tremble so ? " OK, LIFE BY THE WAT-SIDE. 55 She soon became more calm, and said : " William, do you know whom this is from ? " " I think I do," replied he ; " but why don't you open and read it ? " " Ought I to read it now ? " asked she. " Why not ? " said Hastings. " What harm can there be in your reading Mr. Moulton's letters ? He is in- capable of a dishonorable action. I hope you do not think that I could be guilty of any thing so unworthy a gentleman as it would be to deny you the privilege of reading it. He has written it in all honor, he does not know of your marriage, he does not dream of it. He is your rightful lover, I do not object to your reading his letters." Mrs. Hastings then with a trembling hand broke the seal, and read a letter, from which I extract the following : " DEAREST IDA : I am sitting here under the grape- vine bower of your old home, where we have passed so many happy hours. Your last dear and precious letter from Paris I have just finished reading for the hun- dredth time. All its sweet words recall you to me in imagination, and I am again sitting by your side as in times past. But when I look around me, I am reminded of your absence. This lovely arbor, which now shades me, and which will forever be associated with the happy past, has gone much to decay, Ida. The flowers which once grew so lovely under your care have faded and died. Your spirit is wanting, to give life and beauty to what., I see. I have come here for the first time since we parted. I have just returned from College with my diploma, and, before visiting home, I have stopped here to re-read your letter, and commune with the many happy by-gones of this dear old place. "You speak, dearest Ida, of the many fine things 56 THE CROOKED ELM ; which you have seen in that most beautiful of all cities. You write, ' I have just returned from a visit to the Louvre, where, in company with my father and William Hastings, I have passed nearly the whole morning in admiring some beautiful paintings of the oldest mas- ters.' " I am glad, Ida, to know that such opportunities for improvement and pleasure are afforded you. Yet you have mentioned a name for which I have formed a dis- like, not from any fault of him who bears it, but . . . " Since I commenced this letter, I laid down on this bench, where we have so often sat, and fell asleep. I dreamed, dearest Ida, that you were again with me, again I saw those happy smiles, again I listened to those sweet, kind words, as in the olden time. Happy memories ! Thrice, and forever welcome ! It is in them that I li ve and have hope ! I often dream of you, Ida, and I can say with another, 1 In my slumbers I'm blest, for thy spirit is o'er, To keep watch while I rest, and thy presence restore : I awake, and alas ! the glad vision has flown, 'T was only a dream, I 'm alone all alone ! ' Forever thine, ROBIN MOULTON." "When Mrs. Hastings finished - reading it, she handed it to her husband, without trying to conceal the tears that were stealing down her cheeks. " My dear," said he, declining to take it, " I cannot read it. I see the superscription, and can judge what are its contents." " To-morrow," continued he, " we are to visit the Gap of Dunloe,' and as we shall be unac- companied by any one, except our guide, we will talk OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 57 more on this subject; until then, let us say no more about it." Thus ended the subject of the letter for that day. The ifext day Mr. and Mrs. Hastings drove to the Gap of Dunloe. When they had gone through this mountain pass, and were walking down to the " Upper Lake," a distance of nearly two miles, Hastings said : " Ida, I have been thinking of what we were speaking yesterday. You must not cease to correspond with Mr. Moulton. I have concluded to leave for the continent in a few days. When I have been there a short time I will report myself as dead ; and so ingeniously will I do it, that no one will think of discrediting it. You then can return to America and explain all to your lover, and I am sure he will continue to think of you -as he ever has done. In due time you can marry him and be happy, as you deserve to be. You may rely upon my honor, and know that no one of my acquaintances and friends will ever have reason to disbelieve the reports which I will put in circulation concerning my death." Mrs. Hastings could not think of having her husband leave her. She, from admiring his noble nature, already began to love him. Yes, reader, strange as it may ap- pear, she had begun to love Hastings. She did not know the fact, she still believed herself devoted to another. To his proposition she answered : " No, William ! I cannot consent to part with you. You are noble-hearted, and I fear that I never have appreciated your worth. I cannot tell why, William," she said, looking up at him with a countenance of inex- pressible tenderness, and pressing his arm gently to her, " but I feel that I should be very unhappy should you leave me. You will not go, will you ? " she inquired, earnestly. " But," replied he, " your heart is unalterably another's. 58 THE CROOKED ELM; You never have you never can you never ought to love me as well, as truly, as you love Robin Moulton." " I know that," innocently replied she -- " Yet you must not leave me ; I shall be very miserable and unhappy if you do." They had now reached the beautiful little grove at the end of the upper lake, and, seating themselves in the shade near the little cottage that stands on the bank, they talked long and frankly of all their plans and troubles. When they had finished, and had seated themselves in the little boat, Hastings, looking troubled and un- happy, said to himself, " I believe I have unwittingly won her affections. She loves me." Then, with a countenance which seemed to look far into the future, he continued : " Moulton, in thy horoscope I read a life of trouble and disappointed hopes. And am I not the cause ? surely, ' There 's a divinity shapes our ends, Rough hew them as we will.' " They were gliding along on the smooth surface of the upper lake, looking out on the high and abutting mountains, when Mrs. Hastings, in a low, confidential tone, said : " William, it would not be right for me to correspond with him longer. I shall never write him again." " Consider, my dear," replied he ; " when he wrote you last, he knew nothing of our marriage. You should answer that letter at least ; and I know no reason why you should not continue to write him." " But," replied Mrs. Hastings, " pleasant as it would be to write him, I am now your wife, and must comport myself as such. Your honw demands that I should OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 59 not write him again, or in any other way compromise you as a gentleman." " Well, Ida," answered Hastings, " do in this as you like ; but I think my honor is already so much compro- mised, if indeed I ever possessed any, that a letter to one so worthy as he, and to one whom I have so much wronged, will do me no injury, neither will it compro- mise my character." Mrs. Hastings thought differently; and, without dreaming that she loved Moulton less, she resolved never to write to him again. She knew that he would hear of her marriage on her father's arrival home, and that would explain to him her silence. In a few short weeks she resolved, voluntarily, to do what she would have thought impossible a little while before. Thus do we change without knowing it. Our minds are moulded by situation and circumstance ; every day they are receiving new impressions new ideas are forming new hopes are awakened new loves new hates new every thing and thus will it be to the end of time. They had been at Killarney some weeks, and were only remaining there longer to witness the great " stag hunt," that was advertised to come off on the twenty- ninth of September. It was to inaugurate the hunting season. The lord-lieutenant of Ireland was expected to be present, to give eclat to the occasion. For days and weeks before the time appointed, nothing else was talked of. The hunt the hunt was in everybody's mouth. Parties of ladies and gentlemen, who did not intend^ joining in the chase, were organizing and prepar- ing to witness the sport from the lakes. Boats were being fitted up and gayly decorated, all was bustle, hurry, and excitement. To Mr. and Mrs. Hastings the specta- cle promised to be a novel one. They had witnessed several fox-hunts, steeple-chases, etc., but never a stag- 60 THE CROOKED ELM; hunt, much less an annual one, to which the nobility and gentry of the whole kingdom would repair. The long looked for day at length dawned upon the little village of Killarney. Ireland's governor was there, to- gether with hundreds of officers and country gentlemen. All was life, glitter, and gayety. Young men and old, in their red coats and hunting-caps, were riding here and there about the village, and leaving in small parties for the hunting ground. Some of Ireland's and Eng- land's most lovely daughters were there too, mounted upon their blooded hunters, and, with the grace and bold- ness of a Die Vernon, were galloping away, chaperoned by gay gentlemen, to join in the general and glorious chase. A little while, and they had assembled on the the ground, the master of the hounds, the whipper-in, and all. The stag, beautifully decorated with ribbons, was let loose. He bounded away a few hundred yards, and then stopping, threw his head proudly aloft, and turned it with its large antlers hurriedly from side to side, as if to choose his course. A moment, and only a moment, did he stand ; then with an agile bound he sped away across the fields, looking the personifica- tion of grace and pride, and was soon out of sight. The dogs were then let loose, and the general chase commenced. Away they went at the first yelp of the hounds, horses, riders, and all in hot pursuit. Some of the maddened steeds unseated their riders at the first fence, and galloped wildly across the fields, others, too excited for careful fencing, fell in the first ditch ; but the masses, the army of red-coats, galloped swiftly on, leaping hedges, ditches, and walls, and following closely the hounds and the whipper-in. The stag, at length, wearied and too closely pursued for his personal comfort, made for the water. Antici- pating this, the lakes were dotted with beautiful boats OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 61 filled with gay and joyous parties, anxiously looking out in the direction where they heard the deep baying of the dogs. Soon they saw him bounding down the side of the mountain towards them. Up went their shouts and cheers, amid the waving of handkerchiefs and the clapping of hands. He soon plunged into the lake, and swam rapidly to the other side, leaving the dogs far behind. The chase was nearly finished ; for, tired and exhausted, the stag, after a little while, kept in the water as his only hope of safety. The hunters soon came up, and amid the most intense excitement, the proud stag was captured. The dogs were called off, and his life was saved. The day's sport had ended, and spectators and hunters returned to the village. Among the many visitors at Killarney was a young Englishman by the name of Collingwood. He had come there with his wife and little boy, three years old, to witness the hunt. Imagine his pleasant surprise when he met his old friend and college mate, William Hastings. He had been educated in America by his parents, and while at college had made the acquaint- ance of Hastings, and, though two classes in advance of him, a strong attachment had sprung up between them, and a correspondence had been kept up for some time; but, like most correspondences of the kind, it gradually died out, while they only retained kindly re- membrances of each other. Their meeting was there- fore cordial, and while they were seated together wit- nessing the sports, their whilom acquaintance and at- tachment for each other were renewed. Old times had been talked over, and before the day closed, Mr. and Mrs. Hastings had promised to visit Mr. Collingwood at his country-seat in England, after which Mr. Colling- wood and family were to accompany them to the con- tinent. 6 CHAPTER VI. ABOUT a year and a half had elapsed since Hastings' marriage, during which time he with his wife, in com- pany with Collingwood and his family, had visited much of Europe. They were in England. Colling- wood had concluded to accompany his friend to Amer- ica, and settle there for life. All arrangements had been made preparatory to leaving, and the two families took passage for New York. An addition had been made to the party, Hastings was the father of a little girl, only a few months old. When Mr. and Mrs. Hast- ings turned their faces toward home, need I say that they looked less happy than they had done since a few weeks after their marriage. Old associations crowded upon the minds of each earlier days were recalled days indelibly enstamped on memory. Mrs. Hastings thought of him whom she would probably meet on her arrival in Mississippi. All her past pledges, all her broken vows, filled her mind and made her anxious and unhappy. Him whom she once adored, idolized, she now most feared to meet. How could she look upon one whom she had so grievously wronged ! These were the agonizing, torturing thoughts, that weighed upon her conscience and afflicted her very soul. After a long and anxious passage they arrived safely in New York, where they remained a few days before going South. (62) THE CROOKED ELM. 63 An attractive theatrical bill induced 'them to go one evening to Niblo's. They had seated themselves a little to one side of the centre of the room, where they had a nne view both of the stage and the audience. The brilliantly lit house was filled to overflowing. The cur- tain closing the first act had just dropped, when Mrs. Hastings, taking her opera-glass, glanced her eyes around upon the gay assemblage. At length they rested upon one individual face in one of the side boxes. She looked a moment, she caught the black eyes of him at whom she was gazing, and, uttering a suppressed shriek, she was carried fainting from the house. If the thought of returning home had been unpleasant to her heretofore, it now made her miserable. Wh^t reproach, what defiance shot from those black eyes, which she had looked into but for one moment. Her whole life passed rapidly before her in review. She saw no happi- ness or consolation in it all. Time passed on, and they had all arrived at their southern home. I have heretofore said, that Charles Linwood and Richard Hastings were old friends. Their plantations joined, and their large and beautiful country residences were only two or three miles apart, and were located upon the banks of the same little river. All the comforts of affluence surrounded them. They had lived there from childhood, and being men of cultivated minds, improved by study and travel, they had displayed more than ordinary taste in beautifying and adorning their grounds. Beautiful groves surrounded and shaded their .mansions. There were summer-houses, grottos, arbors of trees, and shady walks, in short, all that go to make a country home pleasant. Hastings and his party were stopping with his father. They had been at home nearly three weeks. Mrs. Hastings had learned that Robin Moulton had not been heard of for more 64 THE CROOKED ELM; than a year. Strange reports had been circulated about him. When he had first heard of Hastings' marriage, it was said by some that he had become deranged. Others reported that he was in a madhouse in New York. Nothing definite, however, had been heard of him since he had so mysteriously disappeared. His parents had both died ; and the old Irish nurse, who had always lived in the family, had gone no one knew where. She had not been seen or heard of for many months. It was believed by some that the parents of young Moulton had died from the trouble and unhappiness growing out of disappointed hopes, which they had long cher- ished respecting their son. Though all this was un- pleasant nws to Mrs. Hastings, she nevertheless felt a relief in the thought that she probably would never meet Moulton again. She knew that some of the re- ports were untrue, especially the one respecting his being in a madhouse; yet she thought that he never would return to Mississippi again to live, and that thought gave her a negative happiness. One afternoon, she, with her child and servant, a black woman, visited her father's house, and remained there longer than she had intended. The sun was going down when she set out to return. The path that led from Mr. Linwood's to Mr. Hastings' crossed the fields, and followed the channel of the river. The distance was such that it was dusk before she had gone half of the way. She was walking rapidly on beside her servant, who was carrying her child, when a man stepped from the thick shade of some trees which stood close to the river, and confronted them. This sudden apparition caused Mrs. Hastings to utter a shriek of terror. She stood paralyzed and unable to speak, as she gazed wildly at the dark object before her. The servant had dropped the child in her fright on the OK, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 65 grass, and was running shrieking away. The dark object advanced near to where Mrs. Hastings stood, and said, in an excited tone of voice : " Ida, I have met you at last. Long and patiently have I waited to see one who could so basely betraj me." Mrs. Hastings remained standing, unable to utter a word, or attempt an escape. She at once recognized the voice of the speaker, and even in fhat dark and lonely spot, it had a wild charm, which, though it fright- ened, yet spellbound her. Moulton stopped when within a few feet of her, and continued addressing her. " Look at me, Ida, and see what you have made me ! Once I loved you! Once I was happy in thinking that you loved me in return ! I believed what ygu told me ! I thought you honest and truthful ! But how basely unfeelingly fiendishly , did you deceive me! Oh, that such hypocrisy should be clothed with so much power to deceive ! The time was when I could have gone through fire to serve you ! Then I was ambitious to be learned and great, that I might make you happy! I battled long and hard against poverty for this purpose alone. Ah 1 my bright hopes have fled ! You are the cause ! False, base, and treacherous woman ! You see what your treachery has brought me to ! I am ruined, desperate, careless of life, without hope here, or hereafter ! " As he spoke this last sentence, Mrs. Hast- ings uttered a cry of "help," and started to fly from him; but she was immediately stopped by Moulton. As he seized her he continued wildly : " Igla, you have ruined me ; and, while I am destined to walk the earth an outcast, it shall not be with the consciousness that you are living happily with another. No ! I will carry destruction and mourning to the doors of those who have heartlessly and basely ruined me 6* 66 THE CKOOKED ELM; forever ! " As he said this, a fiendish joy seemed to ani- mate him ; and, plunging a stiletto into her side, she fell at his feet, saying : " Robin, I have grievously wronged you. It is but just that I die. I forgive you for this deed, so may God in heaven ! " Here muttering in a faint voice, " My child my " she breathed her last. As soon as Moulton heard her sweet voice he relented. It recalled feelings that had long been dormant. He lifted her lifeless body from the ground, and tried to re- store it to consciousness. But when he saw that she was dead, he gave vent to his feelings in bitter sobs. For the moment, he remembered her only as his idolized Ida, his Confiding, loving Ida, whom he had so often met in the grape-vine bower, and talked to of love and a life of happiness. The great deep of his heart was convulsed, he mourned the deed which he had just committed. He had taken the life of one whom he loved more than all things else beside. He pressed her to his bosom for a moment, and then, laying her on the grass, kneeled by her side and hid his face in his hands. " Oh ! " exclaimed he, " that you had known how I loved you, how I have lived for you, and you only ! " Then, as if remembering suddenly the cause that had led to the committal of the deed, he said : " Would that you had been just and true to me ! Had I not just grounds for this, I were indeed a villain- ! " He felt, with Othello, that " had she been true, If Heaven would make me such another world, Of one entire and perfect crysolite, I 'd not have sold her for it" He clasped her hands in his, and, uttering a deep, heart-rending groan, continued to kneel over her for a OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 67 moment ; then, as if delirious and wild with contending emotions, he clasped her in his arms, ran hurriedly down the bank, and, wading a little way into the stream, laid her body gently in the water. Oh, what agony of soul was in that moment ! Guilty, wretched man ! His heart shed tears of blood, as he parted with her forever ! He stood gazing at her dark form a little while as it moved slowly away, then returning hastily to the child, which still lay on the grass where the nurse had dropped it, he picked it up and hurriedly walked a few hundred yards down the river to where a little boat was fastened. He loosed it, and jumping in, laid the child in the bot- tom of the boat, and moved rapidly down the stream. He continued to pull hard at the oars until late at night, when running into a little creek he got out of the boat, and left it to float down with the current. All was thick darkness ; but he seemed to be acquainted with the locality, for after climbing a steep hill covered with trees and bushes, he walked at a rapid pace through the dense forest, carrying the child in his arms. He con- tinued to walk on over hills and vales until nearly morn- ing, when, coming to a small stream lying between high and rocky banks, he followed it up for two or three miles. He then climbed up over some rough and craggy rocks, and removing a few loose stones, entered a dark cave. When he had gone a few rods in, he turned into a side passage, where he saw a dim and glimmering light, and soon entered an apartment in which there was a tallow candle lighted. An old woman lay on a mattress in the corner. She started "up when Moulton entered, and said : " Robin, is it you, lad ? " The child then commenced crying ; and she, looking startled and inquiringly into Moulton's face, exclaimed, " Holy Vargin ! and what have you here, sure ? " 68 THE CROOKED ELM She continued anxiously looking into Moulton's face, as if to gather from it an explanation of what she saw ; but she looked in vain. His countenance wore a blank, vacant expression. He seemed not to know where he was. His mind was not there. " Sure, and I know all, he is not right here, poor boy," she said, touching her forehead. She then snuffed the candle, and walking close up to Moulton looked at the child in his arms. "Robin, darlint, what have you here? Where did you come by this wee baby ? " He did not answer her, but continued looking vacantly about him. The old woman again muttered : " Sure he ' crazy. He is not himself any more since his poor father and mither died." She took the child from Moulton's arms, and seating herself by some coals of fire, commenced examining it. "Sure," said she, "and it's a girl baby. What a swate cratur! Where could the lad have found it? May be the wee thing is hungry." As she said this she got up, and, going to a shelf of natural rock, took from it a bowl of milk, and pouring some of it into a tin cup placed it on the coals to warm. Moulton, as yet, had not spoken a word. He continued walking about the room, as if in search of something he could not find. There was a certain vacant, wild expression in his eyes, which might have led one not so well acquainted with him as the old woman was to have thought him de- ranged. She evidently believed him to be, as she said, "not right in his head." She had known him ever since his birth, and loved him as fondly as a mother loves her child. She knew him only as the generous, noble boy, the child that she had nursed, the youth, who, when away at school, had always a kind word to send to Aunt Judy. Her love for him now was even OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 69 greater than it had ever been. She felt that she must protect the " poor boy," as she called him. And, though she did whatever he asked her to do, and in every respect permitted herself to be governed by his wishes, she nevertheless fancied that she was taking care of him. In all tilings, she sought only to please him. His slightest wish was her law. Moulton at length seate^ himself on a little stool, and turning his eyes gazed thoughtfully into the fire. He remained for nearly an hour without moving, and then turning to the old woman he asked : " Aunt Judy, does any one know of your being here ? " " Sure, and why do you ask that, honey ? I think not, Robin." " Has no one seen you go across the fields ? " " No. I have done as you told me, sure. And do you think Aunt Judy would go out in the daytime, when you told her not to ? I always milk the cows afore day. But, Robin, where did you come by this ? " " I found it lying in a field." The child commenced crying again, and Moulton, fixing his eyes intently upon it, muttered : " It is like them both. It shall not live. I will not have her image in the person of another to torment me as I drag out the remainder of my life. No, it shall die ! " All his jealous, revengeful feelings seemed to be again awakened, and he continued to mut- ter his dark thoughts of vengeance. " I will deprive him of happiness who so unfeelingly and dishonorably won her from me. This, his child, shall die ! " Fierce, deadly hate flashed from his eyes, and springing from his seat, he commenced walking from one side of the room to the other, with a quick and hurried pace. He soon seated himself again by the fire, however, and fell into gloomy thought. The old woman went about the room, preparing a plain breakfast. She baked a cake 70 THE CROOKED ELM; in the ashes, made of corn-meal, and placing it, with a bowl of milk, on a large stone slab, she said : " Honey, dear, you must be hungry, and it 's a poor breakfast I've got for you, sure." Moulton did not heed what she said, but still sat looking into the fire. She then, putting her hand on his shoulder, con- Unued : " Robin, the milk is on the table ; surely you want something to ate, lad." " No, I am not hungry," replied he, abstractedly. She could not persuade him to eat any thing ; which of it- self took away her own appetite, and the breakfast was cleared away untouched by either. " Aunt Judy," said Moulton, finally, " we must prepare to leave this place." " And where will we go, Robin ? " To New Orleans," replied he. " To New Orleans ! " said Aunt Judy, surprisedly. " Yes, we must leave in a few days," he said, thought- fully. He then said, in a low voice which she did not hear "We must remain here a week or two yet. They will be searching for me. I must not stir abroad until the excitement has died away somewhat." They continued in the cave for nearly three weeks, never going out except after dark, and then only to milk the cows of a neighboring planter. Their hiding-place was secure, thick, dense woods surrounded the spot. Aunt Judy could learn nothing more from Moulton con- cerning the 'child than that he had found it lying in a field. She felt troubled about it, and would have gladly restored it to its parents, had she known who or where they were. Early one night Moulton and his old nurse left the cave and started in company through the thick woods. The child, comfortably wrapped up, was in the old woman's arms. Moulton could not, as yet, OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 71 make up his mind to destroy it, although he had several times resolved that it should not live. They travelled on in company until nearly morning, when they stopped, and lay concealed until nightfall again. Thus did they continue their journey, travelling only in the night, for fear of detection. Often were they hungry ; many times did they lay all night in the open wood, and several times they were in fear, lest the crying of the child would lead to their discovery. The old woman could not tell why they should travel in so stealthy and mys- terious, a way, yet she did as Moulton wished, and in- stinctively feared, not for herself, but for the safety of her " darlint boy." They at last reached the Mississippi River, and following it down a few miles came to a landing, where, after waiting a few hours, they went on board a boat bound to New Orleans. On their arrival they procured lodgings in an obscure part of the city, and late that night, Moulton, putting the child into a basket and covering it up, carried it to the other side of the city, where, after watching his opportunity, he left it at the door of a large house. This he did believing that it would when found, be placed in the Foundling Asylum, where he should never see it again. As soon as he had left it he hurried back to Aunt Judy, and, telling her that he had restored the child to its parents, bade her prepare to leave the lodgings where they were stopping at once. She did as ordered, and on the next morning they in company set out for New York. Mrs. Hastings' servant, when she dropped the child, ran, half dead with fright, towards the house, and after much puffing and blowing rushed wildly into the apart- ment where Hastings and his friend Collingwood were seated, engaged in conversation. After several inef- fectual efforts to speak, she finally delivered herself of the following intelligent exclamation : 72 THE CKOOKED ELM ; " O massa Hastings ! O massa ! massa ! " and then went off into a swoon. They were justly alarmed at this exhibition of Miss Ebony. Hastings sprang up, and getting a bucket of water threw its contents into her face, which soon partially brought back her scattered senses again. He then gleaned enough from her dis- jointed exclamations to believe that something had happened to his wife and child ; and, setting out with Collingwood, they ran across the fields, following the path leading to Mr. Linwood's. They saw no one, and they continued running until they reached Mr. Lin- wood's house. Learning that Mrs. Hastings had left there early in the evening for home, they procured lights and followed the path back slower, making diligent search on both sides. Mr. Linwood accompanied them, together with many of his slaves. Mrs. Hastings' servant, having at length wholly re- covered her lost wits, mustered several of her own color, and, with young Hastings' father, set out for the spot where she said she had seen the "O/e Feller? The two parties, now numbering nearly a hundred, soon met ; and after a diligent search they found where the grass was saturated with blood. Their worst fears were confirmed. Lamentations were now heard as they ran wildly across the fields and along the banks of the river, looking anxiously for the missing ones. The in- telligence soon spread, and hundreds were on the ground, mostly negroes, assisting in the search. The body of Mrs. Hastings was found in the river about two o'clock that night. They continued to search for the child for several days, but, I need not say, without finding it I will not pretend to describe the suffering and trouble of the husband and father, growing out of this sudden bereavement. Neither will I relate the exaggerated OR, LIFE BY TIIE WAY-SIDE. 73 rumors which soon went abroad, to be discussed and talked over by all who had witnessed or heard any thing of what had taken place. All believed that the mother and child had been murdered. Hastings also thought that his child had been killed, and that its body had floated down in the current of the river. He once or twice thought of Moulton in connection with his wife's death, but all his recollections of him were such that he could not believe him guilty of any thing so criminal. " He was generous, high-minded, and noble," said he to himself. " I will not think that he could be guilty of any thing so inhuman." His wife's death, and the loss of his child, were set down as mysteries that he could not solve. He loved his child with all the fondness of his nature. It was his idol his all of happiness. He never had loved Mrs. Hastings as he might have loved, yet he appreciated her many virtues. He thought that she had been victimized in marrying him, and this of itself induced him to indulge her every wish. He was kind and good to her, but his child he loved, he doted upon it, and was happy. Its loss made him wretched. Tired of a place where he had experienced so much trouble, Hastings persuaded his friend Collingwood to go further north. They therefore left Mississippi, and settled in Virginia. Hastings remained a guest in his friend's family for more than a year, when he left them, and, going to New York, commenced the practice of his profession. Wkh this earlier history of William Hastings, I will now return to a point where I left him in a previous chapter. 7 CHAPTER VII. A FEW days after the dinner-party at Mr. Belmonte's, described in a previous chapter, Mrs. Belmonte was in her dressing-room completing her toilet, preparatory to driving out. Her carriage had been ordered, and she was just tying on her bonnet, when the door-bell rang. " I do wish," said Mrs. Belmonte to herself, when she heard it, " that I could be left to myself for a single moment. This is the third call I have had since I com- menced dressing. Well, I will see no one before going out, that 's positive ! I will send word to her or him, or whatever the sex may be, that I am unwell, or engaged, 01 " At this point in her soliloquy her servant entered, and handed her a card. A slight flush immediately tinged her cheeks, and her looks of displeasure were dis- placed by a pleasing smile. " Show the gentleman into the drawing-room, Bessy, and tell Mm that I will soon be down," said Mrs. Bel- monte. " Yes 'm," said Bessy, as she turned and walked away. As she descended the stairs she muttered, " Lor bless us ! what's got into Missis' head? She tells me say she am disemgaged to Mr. and to Missis , and now she am gwine to see dis here gem'man, when her bonnet am all on, jis ready to get into de carriage! (74) THE CROOKED ELM. 75 Well, white folks knows der business better nor culled persons, dat am sartin." Bessy's woolly head was evidently in a perplexed state at this turn of affairs, but like an obedient servant she did as told by her mistress. Mrs. Belmonte took off her bonnet, and smoothing her hair a little, descended to the drawing-room, where she met Mr. Hastings. They were both a little embar- rassed at this second meeting, without knowing why. Mr. Hastings rose, and stepping forward bowed grace- fully, as she advanced and extended her hand to him in an easy and somewhat friendly manner. When they were seated and the usual compliments over, Mr. Hast- ings said : " I am glad to see you looking so well, Mrs. Bel- monte. I had expected to see you differently, as your servant told me at the door that she thought you were too unwell to see me." " Did she ? " replied Mrs. Belmonte. " The officious stupid ! I was only going out, and had refused to see one or two who had called while I was preparing. But I had concluded to postpone going until to-morrow, be- fore you came, so there was no necessity of reporting myself an invalid longer to my friends." This Mrs. Belmonte said laughingly, although she felt a little piqued to think that her servant had been so officious. For, much as she was pleased to see Mr. Hastings, she was not willing that he should think that she would postpone a drive for the pleasure of his soci- ety, or treat him with more partiality than her other friends. She therefore misrepresented the facts a very little, rather than have Mr. Hastings flatter himself too much on his good fortune in obtaining an audience, when other and older friends had been refused. She pulled the bell-rope, and despatched a servant to the 76 THE CROOKED ELM ; coachman to say that she would not drive out that day. This message Hastings, of course, did not hear. " Servants are very stupid sometimes," replied Hast- ings to the last remarks of Mrs. Belmonte ; " but I am not displeased to know that yours was mistaken when she told me you were ill." " Oh, as for that, you did not believe her when she reported me so. It is so common for ladies to be ' not at home] and ' engaged] and ' not very well] when they have unwelcome visitors, that, had I treated you as I did my other friends who called, you would have gone away saying to yourself, she does not care about being entertained by my most agreeable self to-day. Am I not right?" " You may be right in what you say relative to the custom of ladies when called upon by those whom they do not wish to see ; but I could hardly bring myself to think that so sensible a lady as Mrs. Belmonte would refuse, from choice, to be entertained by my most agreeable self. So you see I should have gone away, compelled to believe the servant's unwelcome report." " What sophistry and egotism ! But a truce to this discussion," said Mrs. Belmonte. " There is no con- tending with a lawyer, so I will not try longer to dis- possess you of your erroneous opinions. I hope you got home safely the other nigh.t, and dreamed pleasantly of the beautiful Miss Leighton." " I got home safely, and, if I recollect rightly, had pleasing dreams." " Of course you do not remember what your dreams were ? " " I believe," said Hastings, humorously, " that they were of music, mild eyes, and but I forget all the features of the dream." OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 77 "I think I could describe them for you," said Mrs. Belmonte ; " but, as you seem to desire me to do so, I won't. She called here yesterday." " Who ? " asked Hastings. " That," replied Mrs. Belmorfte, " is the best thing that I have heard since the new drama at Wallack's. Who ! just as if you don't know who. I see you are determined to make me talk about her, whether I will or no. But I won't, if only to tease you. Mr. Bel- monte thinks it would be the best match of the season." " You talk to me in riddles, Mrs. Belmonte ; but if my friend Belmonte had the remotest reference to me in his allusions to a splendid match, I should have only the one answer to make to any prospect so flatter- ing, be the lady who she may." " And what would that answer be, pray ? " inquired Mrs. Belmonte. ." Why, that ' Barkis is willin',' of course." Mrs. Belmonte laughed, and said : " Surely, no lady can find fault with your exceedingly accommodating and amiable disposition." They re- mained some time talking in this light and familiar way. They did not feel or act towards each other as strangers; there was something that made them feel like friends ; what that something was neither of them knew, nor did either know that the feeling was mu- tual. Mr. Hastings continued to call occasionally on Mrs. Belmonte, and had by invitation dined several times with her and her husband. One afternoon in the letter part of June, when he had called to see Mrs. Belmonte, and was about taking his leave, she asked : " Has Mr. Belmonte told you, that we were going to Saratoga on next Monday ? " 7* 78 THE CROOKED ELM J " He has not," answered Hastings. u He said he would tell you to-day, and would try to get you to accompany us." " I presume he has called at my office, and found me not at home," said Hastings. " The papers say that Saratoga is very gay this sea- son," said Mrs. Belmonte. " Do you know, Mr. Hastings, that Miss Leighton is stopping there ? " " I think," answered he, " that I read, somewhere, that she was at a 'hop' at the United States the other night" " How very indefinite your recollection is, to be sure," replied she. " You think you read somewhere, that she was at a hop the other night. Your memory seems very dull indeed. But you will accompany us on Mon- day, and thus be able to see the Saratoga belle for your- self?" " I will try to do so," said he ; " but the time is so short that I may have to deprive myself the pleasure." " We shall remain there two or three weeks, and then go on to Niagara Falls. I think the trip would be beneficial to you, besides being very pleasant, unless you were made jealous by rivals ; for I received a letter from Miss Leighton yesterday, in which she speaks flatteringly of a certain Mr. Dillingscott, from New York. Do you know the gentleman ? " " I have not the pleasure of his acquaintance," answered Hastings ; " but I shall soon have, doubtless, for I must surely go and look after my interests, or they will be jeopardized. I think you may safely count upon being taxed with my company on Monday." Mrs. Belmonte did not think that Hastings cared par- ticularly for Miss Leighton, yet she found it convenient to assume that she did. Belmonte thought that she and Hastings would make a good match, and allowed OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 79 himself to believe that he was very much pleased with her. Mrs. Belmonte did not wish to make her husband think differently. She had no motive in seeming to be of the same opinion of her husband ; at least I don't think she had. She was not capable of artful plotting, even had she wished it ; yet she had the instincts, if I may be permitted the expression, of a woman; and, since she liked the society of Hastings herself, she was willing that her husband should think that he was partial to another, inasmuch as she could then see Hastings fre- quently, and without suspicion. These were Mrs. Belmonte's thoughts; but she df like to ride." Flora made no reply to this sage observation, but remained looking as much embarrassed as ever. Harry was puzzled to know what to say next ; but he took courage, as her eyes timidly met his own, and asked : (13) 146 THE CROOKED ELM; " What is your name ? " " Flora," answered she. " What a pretty name ! My name is Harry. Don't you think it an ugly name, Flora ? " " I don't know," answered she, innocently. Harry was a little perplexed at this answer, but he added : " I think it is a very ugly name ; but your name is so sweet ! what do you like most, Flora ? " asked he, not exactly knowing what he was saying. The other children stood around them, eager to know something more of the pretty little stranger. " I like papa, Rover, and grandpapa best," answered Flora to the last question of Harry. He now thought her the queerest little curiosity that he had ever met. " Who is Rover, Flora ? " he asked eagerly, half fear- ing that the name belonged to some little boy. Flora be- gan to look sad. She felt very much like crying, but she seemed to think it would not be exactly proper ; so she stood looking timidly at Harry, as if in doubt as to whether she should cry, or answer his question. " Rover is a pretty name," said Harry, encouragingly, when he saw that she hesitated. " Is it the name of a boy or girl?" Flora looked at Harry, and then at the little girls and boys who stood around her. The tears began to steal into her eyes, as she answered : " Rover is the name of my poor dog, that died." Harry felt relieved. He saw the tears in her eyes, however, and sympathizing with her, he said : " Did any one kill your poor dog, Flora ? If any one did, I would make him sorry for it." " No, Rover only died," answered she, still unable to conceal her tears. " Won't you tell us of him ? and how he died ? " in- quired Harry. " I should like to know all about him. OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 147 He must have been a very good dog, or you wouldn't love him so." " He was a very good dog," said she, " and he loved me very much." They all sat down on the grass at Harry's request, while Flora repeated the history of her old friend. She frequently wiped away her tears as she spoke. Harry's eyes, together with those of the other listeners, were more than once moistened, as she pro- ceeded with her story. " I should like such a dog," said Lizzie Robinson, when Flora had finished. " I will buy you a dog just like Rover," said Harry, with a little show of his own importance. " I will buy you one before a week has passed, and you may have it to play with just as you used to play with Rover." Flora told him, however, that she did not want another dog. Harry, therefore, was deprived of doing what his gen- erous heart prompted. "I should like to see the little hill where he was buried," he said. " Was it near here ? " " Oh, it is a great, great way off, where grandpapa lives!" Harry was now so much interested in little Flora, that he entirely forgot how much he had formerly liked Lizzie Robinson. Lizzie was not jealous of her rival, however. The story about the dog had made her love Flora very much. They soon commenced playing. Every thing was novel and strange to Flora, but she soon learned to " chase-the-squirrel " as well as any of them. ' They ran about upon the grass, and made the woods merry with their joyous laughter. After playing for some time, they all went into the garden. Harry gave the little girls flowers, but Flora always received the prettiest ones. He made her a bouquet also, which she took with her when she went home. When they 148 THE CROOKED ELM; went into the house, Flora showed Moulton the flowers which Harry had given her, and told him who gave them to her. Mr. and Mrs. Collingwood were present at the time, and Harry could not but observe the know- ing and significant look which his father gave his mother. He was proud, however, to think that little Flora valued the gift, and he felt that he could endure any reasonable amount of persecution for the sake of pleasing her. Late in the afternoon, Harry, Flora, Liz- zie, and several others of the children went down to the river and amused themselves in various ways. Harry had a beautiful boat, and they all got into it, and he rowed them about on the water for some time. The river was dammed up a little above the house. When they had all got out of the boat, a lad, larger and stronger than Harry, got into it, and rowed out into the middle of the stream. He was skilful in the use of the oars, and was evidently anxious that they should know the fact; for as 'soon as he had gone a little dis- tance away, he turned the boat and rowed along near the top of the dam, where the current was very swift. They expected to see him swept down over the dam, but he suddenly turned and came safely back to the shore. Harry did not like this, he thought that the boy was trying to make himself the hero of the day. As soon, therefore, as the lad got out of the boat, he jumped in, determined upon surpassing his rival in boating. He pulled towards the top of the dam, and ran the boat much nearer to it than the other boy had done. He was now where the current was swiftest, and, despite all his efforts, was gradually dropping down stream. He saw his danger, and, turning the head of the boat up the river, used all his strength and skill to make headway against the sweeping tide that threat- ened his destruction. It was a moment of fearful anx- OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 149 iety to those who saw his danger. They watched him, breathless with excitement, for a few seconds, some- times he gained a little headway, and then again fell back. Flora watched him only for a moment, and then ran as fast as she could to the house, and brought Moul- ton back with her. Mr. Collingwood, with several oth^ ers, also ran hurriedly down to the river. Moulton, as soon as he saw Harry's danger, plunged into the water, and, partly wading and partly swimming, soon made the side of the boat. Before he had reached it, all the party, including the men, women, and children, had assembled on the banks, anxiously watching Harry, as he still fought bravely against the tide. When he gained a little on it, they cheered him ; and when he seemed to be falling back, they remained breathlessly silent. As Moulton reached the boat, they all felt relief; but, as he seized hold of it to throw himself in, the cur- rent carried them swiftly over the dam. They disap- peared for a few seconds beneath the white foam. It was a moment of life or death. But who can describe the joy of the father and mother of Harry, as they saw him rise to the top and strike boldly out for the shore, accompanied by Moulton ! They watched them, full of the intensest anxiety, until they had reached the bank. As soon as they were safely on land, Mr. Collingwood ran up to Moulton and said : " I am forever your debtor for so gallantly saving my son ! I never shall be able to repay you ! " Moulton, making very light of the matter, answered : " I have only shown my inability to assist the lad, for I assure you he received no aid from me. I succeeded in carrying him over the dam, but you will scarcely thank me for that. But what ails Harry ? " continued Moulton, as he saw him trying to straighten his arm. 13* 150 THE CROOKED ELM J " I think my arm is broken," said Harry, without seeming to think it much of an accident. They exam- ined it, and found that the bone was broken below the elbow. It was fortunate that there was a surgeon among those present. It was soon set, and Harry was out among his young friends again, the acknowledged hero of the day. He was a little mortified at not being able to surpass his rival in boatmanship ; but the bold- ness and bravery which he had shown more than coun- terbalanced his want of success in what he had under- taken. " I should have soon got out of the current had no one come to my assistance," he said. " It was very noble in Mr. Mowbray to try to help rne, to be sure, but there was no need of it." When Harry had gone out to play again, he said to Flora : "I think I saw you running over the bank to the house, while I was out in the river. I suppose I must thank you for bringing them all down to look at me." She had not recovered from her fright, so she said : " Please, don't go so near that falling water again." Harry told her that he would not, and in many ways thanked her for trying to assist him. Flora was much concerned about his arm, but he told her that it was nothing worth minding. " The doctor says it will soon be well," said he to her. "When it is well, I am coming to see you. Shall I ? " " I will be so glad to have you come," she said, de- lightedly. He and she were on the best of terms. They each liked the other equally well. Flora thought Harry a wonder in the way of bravery and good-heartedness, and he thought that Flora was the prettiest little angel that it had ever been his good fortune to see. OR, LIFE BY THE WAT-SIDE. 151 Collingwood and Moulton had become quite well acquainted, and the incident in the river had bound them together as warm and ardent friends. Moulton remained until quite late in the evening, and on leaving promised to visit Mr. Collingwood often. Mr. and Mrs. Collingwood also promised to visit Moulton. " You must," said Moulton, " let Harry come and see us frequently, for since our swim together I have quite a high opinion of him. He can swim with one arm as well as I can with two." This was said in Harry's pres- ence. " Then," continued Moulton, " here is little Flora ; he has her to thank for being carried over the dam. He will have to call often to repay her for the service which she rendered him." When they had separated, Flora's little head was filled with thoughts of the brave boy whom she had that day met, and Harry could think of nothing else save big blue eyes and pretty curls. Moulton was pleased with his visit. He looked at Flora's glowing countenance, and was glad that he had afforded her so much pleasure. A new life had been opened to her imagination. When she went to her little room that night, she dreamed about the plays and sports of the day, nor did she neglect to dream of Harry. The next day after the party, Harry was sitting in the kitchen with Aunt Rose, when the latter said, ad- dressing him : " Lor, Massa Harry ! was n't Aunt Rose skeered when you w^ent ober de dam 2 " " That was nothing," said Harry. " Do you think that I am a child, that I should fear going over that little dam? You must suppose that I am nothing but a baby ! " This Harry said half indignantly. He remem- bered Rose's treatment on the day previous, and lie 152 THE CROOKED ELM; wished to give her to understand that he was not so much of a child as she seemed to think him. " But," said Aunt Rose, " de water am mighty swif dah. Dis here chile would n't like to be in it, dat am sartain, he, he, he! Am your arm berry sore, Massa Harry?" " No," answered he, " it is nothing at all only broken below the elbow, Rose." " Ony broke 'low de ebow ! Lisen to dat ar,' he, he, he ! " " But when will that cake be done ? " asked Harry. " I am very hungry." .>..> " It '11 be done now, in de twinkledum of a 'possum's eye. Den Massa Harry shall hab his belly full." The cake was soon baked, and Harry seated himself by the side of the old negress and helped her to eat it. She also got him some jelly, and other sweet things which she always kept locked up in the cupboard for him. She was very fond of Harry, and he liked her very much, except when she treated him, as he thought, too much like a child. He would not have seen her abused without resenting it. Rose had seen Harry's attentions to Flora, and had learned enough already to know why he had been so particular in dressing himself on the day previous. She therefore said, as they sat eating together : " Massa Harry, did you see dat lubly little gal, what hab de curly hair? 1 means de one what was here yes'day." " Yes, I believe I saw her," said Harry, with seeming indifference. " You mean Mr. Mowbray's little girl ? " Rose felt strongly inclined to laugh at this answer of his, but she thought too much of the good cake she was eating to offend him ; so she answered, with a grave countenance : OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 153 " Dat am she. Was n't she lubly ? " " Yes, she was pretty good looking," said he, still out- wardly indifferent. " But, Massa Harry, don't you think dat she am berry lubly?" " I believe, now I think of it, that she was rather handsome." This was too much for Aunt Rose's gravity ; she laughed outright, and said : " Did n't I see you gib her de flowers, and how you looks into dem ar eyes ob hern an how you plays and talks and all dat ar ! No, Massa Harry, you can't foo 1 dis chile, he, he, he!" " Rose, you are an old fool, that's just what you are," said Harry, as he rose and left the kitchen. A few days after the party, Harry went with his father to visit Moulton and Flora. Before they reached the house, they met them walking in a beautifully shaded lane, that divided the fields. Then- meeting was cordial. Harry walked up to Flora, and, shaking her hand warm- ly, said : " Flora, I have come to see you, as I promised." She was too embarrassed to answer him, except as she spoke her pleasure with her eyes. Her visit to Mr. Collingwood's seemed to her like a dream. She could scarcely believe that the Harry, of whom she had dreamed so much since the party, was a reality a veritable living boy. But there he was before her, with his arm in a sling, looking as smiling and noble as he had lo'bked in her dreams. Collingwood and Moulton walked on toward the house arm in arm, while Flora and Harry lingered behind them, and soon were busily engaged in animated conversation. " Do you know what I have brought you, Flora ? " asked Harry. 154 THE CROOKED ELM; " No, is it a bouquet ? " inquired she, without stopping to think that she would have seen it if it had been. " This is it," said Harrv, eager to show her the pres- ent. He then gave her a dog, very prettily worked in worsted, with the name Rover written underneath. " Oh, how pretty ! " exclaimed she. " Did you make it^Harry?" " No, it is one that mother made last summer. I told her the story about your poor dog, and persuaded her to work the name of it on this, and give it to me. She listened to all I told her, and thought it a very pretty story. She said that you were a very good girl to love such a dog. " But this," continued Harry, " is not as pretty as your Rover, is it ? I don't think it is very pretty. Do you think so ? " Flora did not think it was as pretty as her old pet, but she did not wish to say so ; she therefore said : " It is so pretty ! and I will like it very much ! because it has Rover's name on it and because you have given it to me," she added, as she looked timidly into Harry's face. " Because you have given it to me," touched a tender chord leading to Harry's heart. He was a thou- sand times repaid for the trouble he had taken to please her. " Harry," said Flora, " does your arm pain you ? Is n't it very sore ? " " It is nothing at all, only broken below the elbow," replied he. Flora had thought it at the time a very serious acci- dent ; but Harry spoke so lightly of it that she began to think broken arms were not much after all. They at length reached the house. Collingwood and Moul- ton had gone in, but the two little lovers remained out- side on a piazza overhung with vines, and talked long OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 155 and confidentially on a variety of subjects. Harry spoke to her of what he should do when he grew up to be a man, and, strange to say, he was never going to do things alone. " I will build a house," said he, "a large, fine house, and we will li ve like people ought to live. I will drive the horses when we drive out, and you may work little dogs, or any thing you like. I shan't care what you do. We will be very happy, won't we ? " Flora innocently thought they would. Thus, without knowing it, their young hearts were pledged in love, each to the other. I must now leave the young and loving pair seated together, talking the language of the heart in all the poetry of their young imaginations, while I return to another branch of this story. CHAPTER XIII. HASTINGS continued to call frequently upon Mrs. Bel- monte ; and Mrs. Delacy, knowing that he did, continued to feel jealous, and to grow more and more unhappy every day. She knew no way of controlling, however, what seemed to be his inclination ; so she only nursed her jealousy, and felt as miserable as she comfortably could. Miss Leighton and she had become friends again, after suitable explanations and apologies had been interchanged. All, therefore, moved along as quietly and smoothly as could reasonably be expected, where there were so many opposing elements in the same cur- rent. With Mrs. Delacy it was only the stillness of the volcano, however ; for she had determined to know more of what gave her so much trouble and uneasiness of mind, and was resolved to supplant every rival of hex daughter's especially Mrs. Belmonte. She began to plot, lay plans, and intrigue, in order that she might be admitted behind the scenes, where she could see all and know all that was taking place. Hastings did not suspect her of any thing dishonorable ; nor did he think her capable of doing what he subsequently learned that she had done. It was only by degrees that the light burst upon his mind, and revealed her to him as she really was. She could not smother all her jealous feel- ings when in his presence ; and, by a word dropped now (156) THE CROOKED ELM. 157 and then, he was led to believe that she knew what he had supposed her ignorant of. Hastings was fond of playing chess. He was a good player, and had few competitors who were his equals. Mrs. Belmonte knew his fondness for the game, and she wished that she knew how to play it. She told him her desire to learn it, and requested him to become her teacher. Belmonte also joined in asking him to teach his wife so intellectual an amusement. Hastings, of course, was most willing to comply with their wishes. One day, therefore, soon after the above request was made, Mrs. Belmonte was sitting in her room with Misa Leighton, when the bell rung, and a box of beautiful chess-men was handed in. Mrs. Belmonte opened it immediately, and took from it a slip of paper, on which Hastings had penned his compliments to her, adding that if she were at leisure, he should be happy in giving her the first lesson in playing chess that evening. Had Mrs. Belmonte known what the box contained, she probably would not have opened it before Miss Leigh- ton ; but having done so, and thereby disclosed the billet- doux which was in it, she could not well decline reading it to her. Miss Leighton, when she heard the note read, felt a little jealous, or envious, which is about the same thing, of her friend Mrs. Belmonte. She thought that it was exceedingly polite in Hastings to send her the chess-men. She suddenly remembered that he never had invited herself to learn the game, nor had he ever even mentioned the subject of chess to her. The spark of jealousy, which had already kindled, and was burning in Mrs. Delacy's bosom, now found a lodgement in Miss Leighton's thoughts. " Hastings," said she to herself as she left Mrs. Belmonte's, " is very marked in his atten- tions to her, very marked indeed ! I don't understand 14 158 THE CKOOKED ELM; it all. There is something behind the curtain that I cannot see." As she thought this, she ordered her coachman to drive to Mrs. Delacy's. She communi- cated the circumstance to Mrs. Delacy ; and the result was, that they each to the other unbosomed their re- spective thoughts, suspicions, and jealousies. A bond of union was at once established between them ; and they set their wits to work to accomplish certain specified results by intrigue and diplomacy. Mrs. Delacy, how- ever, did not let Miss Leighton into the secret of all her plans. She had thoughts and designs of her own, which she would communicate to no one. Hastings called on Mrs. Belmonte in the evening of the day that he had sent the box of chess. Mrs. Belmonte was all smiles at the prospect of learning a game which he was so fond of. The men were already arranged on the board ready for battle. They seated themselves on opposite sides of it, and Hastings commenced showing her the different moves, and the relative value of the pieces. She was all attention, and for at least an hour was oblivi- ous to every thing, save kings, queens, castles, knights, bishops, and pawns. She learned all the moves, and went through with one game that evening. Hastings praised and encouraged her, until she believed that she had already advanced far in obtaining a knowledge of this most difficult of all games. " You play capitally," said he, " for a beginner. It took me two weeks to learn as much as you have already acquired." " You flatter me," said she. " It is a delightful game! Walter said I would find it stupid. He was sure I would n't like it ; but I am charmed with it ! " The next day she purchased Hoyle, and got her brains completely muddled in trying to follow one of his games through. She could not understand the book OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 159 half so well as she could Hastings; besides, it was infinitely less interesting to her than he was. Hoyle, therefore, was laid on the top shelf, while she took clev- erly to the lessons of Hastings. Chess was introduced, now, almost every evening that he called to see her. Belmonte, thinking it a stupid way of passing the even- ings, generally retired to the library to smoke a cigar and look over the daily papers. He did not like the game, yet he was willing that those who did should play it. Mrs. Belmonte already thought it a fascinating amusement. They would sit together, hour after hour, with the chess-men between them, Hastings looking thoughtfully at her, and she, unconscious of the fact, wholly absorbed in the game. He would purposely leave some piece exposed, or by some move place his men in such a position as to induce an attack, which he* was sure she would make. When she had made the move that he had expected, he would praise her playing, and pretend to be greatly puzzled to know how to ward off the attack which she was so skilfully making. Her countenance would light up, when she fancied that she was getting the advantage in the contest ; and when she could drive him from some unsustained position she felt all the pleasure that the game can impart to the greatest lovers of chess. She thought there was nothing so delightful as checkmating him, which he frequently permitted her to do. She would clap her hands when she had beaten him, and look the personification of hap- piness. Hastings thought there was nothing more pleas- ant thin looking at Mrs. Belmonte, when all absorbed in the game that he had the pleasure of teaching her. Thus did the two lovers continue to pass their evenings for several weeks, when a little incident occurred, which I will here relate. Mrs. Belmonte had some young lady relatives stopping with her. They had been there for 160 THE CROOKED ELM; several days, and Hastings had become well acquainted with them. One of the visitors was a young lady of about eighteen years. She seemed to think it no harm to like Hastings' society very much ; or, if she did see harm in it, she certainly did not avoid being in his com- pany whenever he called at Mrs. Belmonte's. She was not pleased or nattered much, therefore, to see him de- vote so much of his time to Mrs. Belmonte. She thought that if there was any one thing more stupid or dull than another, it was that " abominable game of chess." "No one can speak to either of you," she would sometimes say, in her impatience, " without disturbing you. There you sit for hours at a time, without saying a word, and seemingly without knowing that there is any one else in the room. I will put a stop to your playing, see if I don't ! " This was said half in earnest and half in jest. One evening, soon after this, Hastings had called, and Mrs. Belmonte had gone to get her chess-men ; but when she opened the drawer where she always kept them she saw no box there. She hunted for them a little while, and then went down into the parlor and charged Miss with having removed them. This she did laughingly, although she felt a little provoked that they should have been taken out of her drawer by any one. She loved the chess-men, and was as careful of them *as she would have been of the most valuable pres- ent. Her long-loved Willie had given them to her, and she had spent many a happy hour in playing with them. She loved the meanest pawn among them as much, and more, -than an officer loves his men. She naturally enough, therefore, felt a little displeased that Miss should assume to take charge of them in this unceremo- nious way. It was with difficulty that she could laugh OK, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 161 at what Miss thought a capital piece of fun ; Mrs. Belmonte returned to her room, and made diligent search for the men, but was unable to find them there. She next went into Miss 's room, and after a deal of trouble, found them concealed under one of the pillows on the bed. She hastened down into the parlor as soon as she had recovered them, feeling that she had outwit- ted Miss after all, and was quite happy at being again in possession of them. When she entered the parlor, Miss sprang up and said : " I declare, you shall not play that detestable game to-night ! You shall not monopolize all of Mr. Hast- ings' time and company." As she said this, she playfully ran up to Mrs. Bel- monte, and commenced trying to take the box of chess- men from her. They struggled together for some time, when the lid of the box came off, and kings, queens, knights, and all, fell with the weight of all their dignity on the floor. The heads were knocked off from some, others had their limbs disjointed, and they were a wounded and deplorable set of men generally. Hastings assisted in gathering them up, and placed them on the board as well as he could in their crippled condition. Mrs. Belmonte, annoyed and grieved at this unlocked for " tide in the affairs of (her) men," seated herself at the table to play ; but the sight of her headless bishops and queens was too much she burst into tears and left the room. Miss soon followed her to apolo- gize for what she had done; but Mrs. Belmonte told her that she never wished to speak to her again. She would not even open her door to let her in. A little later in the evening, Mrs. Belmonte sent a note down to Hastings, begging him to excuse her for the remainder of the night. Hastings did not like what Miss 14* 1 ceived. Missis 'Lacy jis think of her tudder night! I 'speps daT is suthen up. Well, white folks knows der business better nor culled persons, but I don't 'zactly see it." Thus did Bessy think, as she returned to her work in the kitchen. Hastings walked into the parlor, where Mrs. Bel- Kionte was awaiting him. They met as cordially as ever. He seated himself by her side, and looked in- 180 THE CROOKED ELM; quiriiigly at her. She tried to be as pleasant and agree- able to him as she had been accustomed to be previous- ly. She feared that he would be offended at her for what she was about to say, and she sought to con- vince him, by a welcome and cordial greeting, that she still thought of him as she always had done since she had first known him. It was some time before she could introduce the disagreeable subject. At length, however, she said : " You will not be offended, I hope, at what I am compelled to say ? " " Certainly not. But you are very mysterious. You excite my curiosity, and make me apprehensive." " Will you promise not to be angry with me ? " " I never can be angry with you but you speak to me in riddles." " I fear you will blame me. I cannot tell you," said Mrs. Belmonte nervously, and scarcely able to keep back her tears. " You need not fear to tell me any thing. Tell me at once what is making you so unhappy." She then told him what she had been compelled to say. " What has put this into your head ? " asked Hast- ings. " I fear," replied she, " that evil-minded persons may make mischief out of your visits here in Walter's ab- sence." Belmonte had told her not to mention his name in connection with the matter, and she was trying to give some good excuse to Hastings for what she had so un- willingly said to him. Hastings thought a moment, and then said : " It is very true that evil-minded persons might mis- construe my visits here ; but what has led you to think OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 181 of this now ? Why have you never thought so be- fore ? " Mrs. Belmonte was in trouble she feared that if she did not give some better reason for what she had said, he would be offended. Her love for him finally conquered and, disobeying her husband's command, she told him all. " Walter instructed me to say what I have," said she. " I am very sorry that you have been compelled to listen to what must seem to you very strange, and to what has given me so much pain to say. I fear that some- thing has occurred to make him suspicious." Hastings sat for a moment in silence and then said: " I don't understand why he should so suddenly sus- pect me." " Do not blame me for what I have said, will you ? " said Mrs. Belmonte, imploringly. " Blame you ? never ! It is a thing impossible ! " said Hastings, with some enthusiasm. Then, he continued : " But I must obey Belmonte's wishes. I cannot call as often as I have done heretofore." Then stopping a moment and looking at Mrs. Belmonte with a countenance beaming with tenderness and love, he added : " We have long known each other, Cornelia ; yes, I will say Cornelia, for it is by that name I always think of you. We have known each other long, and it is use- less for me to confess that I have loved you from the time we first met at Saratoga, for you must have known it. We have passed many happy hours together ; but we must now separate, for you are the wife of another. We are suspected, and for me to visit you longer will be to injure your good name. Hard as it is to deprive myself the pleasure of your society, I nevertheless can do it for your sake. You know, and must long have 16 182 THE CROOKED ELM J known, that I prized your friendship more than all else beside. Am I wrong in thinking that my feelings are to some extent reciprocated ? " Mrs. Belmont did not answer him. She was embar- rassed and confused, but her silence was the very elo- quence of love. Her face was crimson with blushes. She could not raise her eyes from the floor. At length Hastings rose to go ; and, taking Mrs. Belmonte's small, white, and soft but trembling hand in his, he said : " I am grieved, Cornelia, that we are suspected, and more than all I am pained to think that in future I am to be deprived of your society. I think I had better not call again ; for what pleasure will there be to either of us in my visiting you, when we both know that we are constantly watched by your suspicious, per- haps jealous, husband. No, Cornelia, I must not call again." Mrs. Belmonte could not endure the idea of being thus deprived of his society. " Do not mind what Walter thinks, but call just as often as you have done heretofore." " No, Cornelia," said Hastings, as he still held her hand in his, " I must not ; I fear for your sake, not for my own." " But you must call. I shall be very lonely if I can- not see you." Hastings saw her troubled countenance, and thinking a moment, said : " Cornelia, have you known me long enough to trust to my honor ? " ^ ** Yes, William, in every thing," said she, still unable to raise her eyes from the floor. She remained stand- ing by his side, with her hand in his. This was the first time that she had ever called him William. She could OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 183 not say Mr. Hastings neither could she say Willie, as she had done in years gone by. She, therefore, as her heart overflowed with love for him, said : " Yes, William, in every thing ! " " Will you then meet me occasionally where we can converse freely together ? " " No, I could not do that. It would be very wrong. Don't ask me to do what would compromise my self- respect." " I know," replied Hastings, " that it would be wrong in the eyes of the world. But we will know that we are innocent of every thing, except that of loving each other. That knowledge will be our excuse, if not our justifi- cation." " It is impossible for me to meet you, William ; there would be danger in doing so, some one might see us, and then I should be ruined forever." " We could get into a close carriage, and drive for an hour or two occasionally, without being seen or sus- pected, I think," said he. " No, no, I must not, I cannot ! " " I know the danger," said Hastings, " and will not urge you to consent to what I ask. Yet I cannot recon- cile myself to the thought of not visiting or seeing you again, except occasionally, and then only when Bel- monte is present to watch us." Mrs. Belmonte was undecided. She knew not what to do. She felt, as Hastings expressed himself, that it would, be unpleasant to have her husband continually watching them. She never had cared before whether Belmonte remained in the room with them when Hast- ings was there or not. But the thought that she should be watched gave her uneasiness. " I should be glad to meet you ; " continued Hastings, " and, should you consent, I will give you my word that 184 THE CROOKED ELM. you shall be treated honorably ; but I suppose I must not hope for so much happiness." As he said this, he moved hesitatingly towards the door, still holding her hand. Mrs. Belmonte was unable longer to resist his proposition. She looked into his face and said : " I will see you as you have suggested. You must not construe my conduct harshly. I cannot refuse your request, although my heart tells me that I am very wicked in deciding to meet you." Hastings pressed her hand gently, and putting one arm round her waist and tenderly embracing her, said : " I feel that I am inducing you to do wrong ; yet, whatever may be the consequence, I will be true to you always. We are not the only ones who are guilty. Should harm come to you, I will share it." The time of their meeting was agreed upon, and Hastings left, full of thought respecting the future. " Belmonte is not worthy of such an angel ! " mut- tered he, as he walked away. Perhaps he was inter- ested and partial in thinking thus. Be this as it may, he certainly thought that Mrs. Belmonte was too good for her husband. This mitigated his own wrong in his estimation. Thus does Cupid teach the heart to ex- cuse what reason tells us is wrong. CHAPTER XV. BESSY, true to her promise, set out /or Mrs. Delacy's a little before ten o'clock on Saturday night. It was raining quite hard ; and so dark that she could see noth- ing save the nickering street lamps. With her dress and skirts well gathered up in one hand, and holding an old umbrella with half protruding ribs in the other, she walked hastily on through the mud and water, regard- less of wet feet and bespattered stockings. Could one have been near those lamps as she passed, it would have been no difficult matter to see by the white in her eyes that she was a genuine African. Bessy did not dislike her mistress. She had lived with her a long time, and would have done any thing in reason to please her. She could not understand why Mrs. Delacy was so anxious to know how often Hastings called to see Mrs. Belmonte. It was a mystery to her, although she sometimes half suspected that jealousy was at the bot- tom of the matter. She saw no harm in accepting Mrs. Delacy's gold ; yet she frequently had conscientious scruples and misgivings in receiving it on the terms im- posed, and for the moment wished that she never had disclosed the secrets of her mistress's house. It was a question that troubled her, and often did she get her woolly head into a perplexed and bemuddled state, in 16 * (186) 186 THE CROOKED ELM; trying to come to a clear solution of it. When she came to Mrs. Delacy's house, she walked up the steps, and, after stamping the wet from her feet, rang the bell, and was surprised to have the door immediately opened by the very lady whom she had come to see. " Bessy, walk into that room, quick," said Mrs. De- lacy, pointing her finger towards the reception-room door. Bessy walked in as directed, and soon the two were engaged in close conversation. " Has Mr. Hastings been to see your mistress since I saw you ? " commenced Mrs. Delacy. " Yes 'm, he 's been dah twistes." " Was Mr. Belmonte at home ? " " One time, but not de tudder." " Did you see how they passed their time ? " " You means how dey 'joyed one anudder's socia- bility ? Oh, yes, I seed how dey 'joyed one anudder." " Well, how did they spend their time ? " " Oh, dey plays chestes, ob course, jis as dey allers does." " Where did they play, in the parlor ? " " Ob course," said Bessy, as she looked wonderingly at Mrs. Delacy. " Did you see them playing ? " " Yes 'm. You see Missis rings de bell, and 'quests me to bring 'em some wine an' cake. So, do ye see, I did as Missis said, and jis as I comes into de room, dey was a standin' up lookin' at a picter on de wall, an' Missis says, says she, * come, Misser Hastins, an' drink some cake an' some wine, for I knows you is mighty dry arter gittin' de wuss ob de play.' So, do ye see, dey bofe drinks, and Misser Hastins says, says he, ' I con- glomerates you on de cess ob de game, and de skill you has in playin' chestes.' " OK, LIFE BY THE WAT-SIDE. 187 What did she say to that ? " asked Mrs. Delacy, with a clouded brow. " Oh, Missis drinks de cake and de wine, and looks as smilin' as a basket ob chips." " What else did you see, Bessy?" " I only seed Massa Hastins shake hands wid Missis jis afore he lef. For, do ye see, I has my eyes open, I has, and when I hears him a gwine to go, I jis peeps roun' de stairs, and sees him a smilin' an' shakin' ob Missis' hand. An' Missis says, says she, ' be sure an' ^ome nex' Wenzy night.' An' he promises Missis he will, sure. Dey bofe lef den, an' I lef too. Dats all I knows." " But what of the other night, that he called ? " asked Mrs. Delacy. " I was dah, but I seed nuthin, 'cept dat Massa Bel- monte 'mained in de parlor with Missis an' Massa Hastins." " Well, Bessy, you can go now ; but come here again on next Saturday night." As she said this, she placed a piece of gold in Bessy's hand and showed her out of the house, not, however, without cautioning her to say nothing to any one of her visit. When Mrs. Delacy was alone, she began to think of her dark plans of revenge. " Next Wednesday night," muttered she, " he has promised to visit her again." She thought for a moment, and then said : " I will invite Mrs. Coleman and her daughters to dine with me on that day, and spend the evening. I will also invite Mr. Hastings to meet them here. He can hardly refuse, for Mrs. Coleman is one of the most influential ladies in the city. Yes, that is what I will do ; and thus, Mrs. Belmonte, will I disappoint you for once." On the next Wednesday morning, therefore, she told 188 THE CROOKED ELM; Hastings that she had invited Mrs. Coleman and her daughters to dine and spend the evening with her. " I hope," said she, " that we shall have the pleasure of your company also, William." Mrs. Delacy frequently called him William, perhaps because she had long known him, and probably because she thought it more familiar and friendly than Mr. Hastings. He did not promise to dine with her on that day, neither did he tell her that he could not be present with them on the occasion. He left for his office, however, fully determined not to break his engagement with Mrs. Belmonte. Mrs. Delacy waited her dinner for Mm a little while, impatiently ; but she waited in vain he did not come. About ten o'clock that night he came home, and went immediately to his room. Mrs. Delacy, boil- ing over with rage and disappointment, soon followed him, and the conversation between them is that given in the first chapter. On that Wednesday evening, she for the first time, openly showed to Hastings her jealousy of Mrs. Bel- monte. The words, " All your time and attention are bestowed upon Mrs. Belmonte," fully opened Hastings' eyes to the real state of Mrs. Delacy's feelings. She was sorry the moment after she had mentioned Mrs. Bel- monte's name that she had been so indiscreet, but it was too late. She had shown her hand, and in doing so she had "run before her horse to market." She had also let Hastings know that she knew where he had been spending the evening. This, too, she regretted; and we see her, as described in the first chapter, weep- ing in the midst of her contending passions, and asking Hastings' forgiveness for what she had said. She loved him herself, with all her wild, fiery, impetuous nature, but she could not expect him to return it. She never OR, LIFE BY THE WAT-SIDE. 189 had intimated her feelings to him. She only sought to have him marry her daughter, so that she herself might always live with him. She had made herself unhappy and miserable by what she had said to him that night, and she sincerely wished Hastings to forgive her. She turned to him for relief from her troubles, because he alone had the power of granting it. He was cold and distant, however. He wondered how she knew where he had been passing the evening, and her mention of Mrs. Belmonte's name made all her pleading for for- giveness futile. She left him, therefore, and returned to her guests, without having obtained the relief which she had sought. She had said enough to trouble his dreams, and make herself more miserable than she had been before. The next Saturday night, Bessy went again to see Mrs. Delacy. They remained closeted together a long time. When Bessy was about leaving, Mrs. Delacy said " If your mistress should go out alone, will you run up here and tell me ? I will give you more money, if you will." " I will, mum," said Bessy, and the two separated Bessy to return home in the dark, and Mrs. Delacy to follow her own dark thoughts. The latter had written in a disguised hand the note to Belmonte, which we have read in another chapter. She thought that the result of it would be, that Belmonte would be made jealous of Hastings, and refuse to have him visit his wife. If so, she thought it not improbable that Mrs. Belmonte and Hastings would meet each other by ap- pointment at some other place than Belmonte's house. She did not hesitate to place the worst construction on his visits ; and she readily supposed that their intimacy would not be broken off by a refusal on the part of 190 THE CROOKED ELMJ Belmonte to have Hastings call on his wife. It was because she thought this, that she wished Bessy to let her know whenever her mistress should go out alone. The last time that Bessy had called, she had told her of Hastings' visit in the morning at eleven o'clock, and she rightly enough supposed that her letter to Belmonte was the cause of it She therefore anxiously waited the result of her own plans so boldly commenced. A few. mornings after Bessy's last visit to Mrs. De- lacy's, she came running up to her house again, half out of breath ; and, as soon as she was alone with Mrs. De- lacy, she said: " Missis has jis' went out all by herself." " How was she dressed, Bessy ? " Oh, she hab on a brack dress, an' she hab on a plain bonnet, an' a mighty thick veil." " Did she see you when she went out ? " " No, I peeps out de winder." " Which way did she go ? " " I seed her turn towards Broadway. She looked as white as " " Never mind your comparison," said Mrs. Delacy, in- terrupting her. " You may run back now, Bessy." As soon as Bessy had gone, Mrs. Delacy ordered her carriage ; and dressing herself as quickly as possible, she was soon driving down Broadway, eagerly watching both sides of this crowded thoroughfare. She continued down as far as " Stewart's," and then turned, and was coming back, when she saw Mrs. Belmonte, not far from Spring street, walking down Broadway. Their eyes met, although Mrs. Belmonte was closely veiled. As soon as Mrs. Delacy was past, she ordered her car- riage up to the walk, and getting out, dismissed it and followed on after Mrs. Belmonte, though at some dis- tance behind. She saw her get into a carriage in front OK, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 191 of Thompson's saloon. She watched it narrowly, as it turned away and proceeded up Broadway with drawn curtains, and her jealousy knew no bounds. She first thought of going at once to Belmonte's office, and of telling him what she had witnessed ; but that, she feared, would involve herself in the business. " I will return home," muttered she, " and write the cuckold another note. I will tell the stupid coxcomb what a fool his wife is making of him." She tried to keep up with the muffled carriage, but it soon left her. She saw it until it turned down Eighth street towards Fifth Avenue, when, losing sight of it altogether, she hurried home as fast as she could. As soon as she entered the house, she hastened to her room, and throwing her things on the nearest chair, sat down at her writing-desk and penned the following letter in a disguised hand. " Wednesday, A. M. " SIR, I wrote you not long since and told you to look a little more closely into your domestic affairs. You will do well to heed that advice. If you doubt my sincerity in thus interesting myself in what con- cerns, or ought to concern you, just ask one of your family where she was this morning at twelve o'clock, and with whom she passed her time. Au revoir. ONE WHOSE EYES ARE OPEN." This letter was carefully folded, and addressed to Belmonte. She then put her things on again, and be- fore 'Mrs. Belmonte had returned home it was placed safely in the post-office. She had gone so far that she could not well recede, and she so anxiously awaited the result of what she had done, that her troubled mind could not rest. She feared that Hastings would sus- pect her. She was kept in a continual nervous ex- 192 THE CROOKED ELM; citement from what she herself was doing. Her hap- piness was destroyed. Like a gamester who has staked his all on the turn of a card, she awaited the result of her plots with the intensest anxiety and fear. Every moment to her was an age. When she was in Hast- ings' presence she was embarrassed, and do what she would she could not act naturally. Her impetuosity and jealousy had led her to an extremity where, as she thought, happiness or ruined hopes awaited her. Belmonte received her last letter, and, after reading it over two or three times, started immediately with it for home. On arriving there, he at once summoned his wife and showed it to her. When she first glanced at its contents, her heart sunk within her ; but reading it gave her time to collect herself, and throwing it indig- nantly from her and crushing it with her small foot, she said, with a look of anger and haughty contempt : " Tliat 's all it 's fit for I " Her proud spirit was aroused, and for the moment she could have defied a legion of Mrs. Delacies. Her anger was soon over, but it had convinced Belmonte of her innocence. He apol- ogized for having suspected her for a moment; nor did he again allude to the subject, further than to tell her to invite Hastings to call as he had before been accus- tomed to. " I received," said he, " a letter similar to this, a short time before I told you to request Hastings to visit you less frequently. I was foolish enough to let it influence me. I have now received this from the same person; and, as a proof that I disregard its contents, I wish you to see him as often as you like, and whenever you please." Belmonte was not a jealous man naturally. He had redeeming traits of character, and his confidence in his wife's virtue was one. He knew that she did not love OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 193 him much, yet he trusted to her honor, and to her natural sense of right. This was a noble trait in him, and I freely give him credit for it. He had not a high opinion of female virtue generally, but he believed his own wife pure and honest. Had he followed the advice which Mrs. Delacy had given him, namely, to ask Mrs. Bel- monte where, and with whom, she had been spending the morning, it is quite probable that she would have been so confused as to convince him of her guilt ; but the letter had put her in possession of the whole secret at once, and her natural feelings of indignation for one who would use such means to injure her, served her in the hour of need as effectually as though it had been the indignation of conscious innocence. Her fears soon returned, however, and she felt that a net was inclosing her for her ruin. She had promised Hastings when she left him that she would meet him again in one week ; but now she could not think of placing herself a second, time in the power of Mrs. Delacy. She that night, therefore, wrote him the following note : " Thursday, P. M. " DEAR WILLIAM : Please call here to-morrow after- noon, I have some news of importance to tell you. Call if you can at three o'clock. Ever your CORNELIA." This note Mrs. Belmonte put into the office on the next morning, and anxiously awaited Hastings' arrival. As soon as he got it he hurried up to see her, and was surprised at the intelligence she imparted to him. They both thought that Mrs. Delacy had written the letters to Belmonte. Hastings decided to leave Mrs. Delacy's as soon as he could do so safely. Mrs. Belmonte told him 17 194 THE CKOOKED ELM; what her husband had said about his calling in future, and he concluded to visit her as he had done previously. From this on, he was very seldom at Mrs. Delacy's din- ner table. He felt uncomfortable when in her presence, and consequently avoided her as much as possible. When Saturday night came, Bessy went again to Mrs. Delacy's. She had nothing consoling, however, for her employer's ears. " Does Mr. Hastings still visit your mistress ? " asked Mrs. Delacy. \es 'm," said Bessy. " Does Belmonte see him when he comes ? " " Yes 'm. Dey played drafters las' night, an' dey laughs and talks mose all de time. Massa Belmonte says to Misser Hastins, says he, ' You is no match for me in drafters, so you had better go on wid your chestes with Missis.' " " When was this ? " eagerly asked Mrs. Delacy. "Las' night Well," continued Bessy, "what I's gwine to say is jis this : Tudder night, Massa Belmonte comes home, lookin' as mad as a naligator, an' he calls to Missis, an' han's her a letter ! Missis reads de letter 'tentively, and den she throws it away, and kicks it with her foot, lookin' mighty savage. An' I heered her say, * dat am all it 's fit for ! ' Lor 5 ! if you could a seed Missis through de crack ob de door ! Did n't she look like de Lady Macbest at de theatre tudder night! I reckon she did ! " " When was this ? " asked Mrs. Delacy. " Let me see," said Bessy, scratching her head ; " It was on Thursday." "What did Mr. Belmonte say?" " Oh, he talks sweet things to Missis, an' 'pologises. Dat is all I seed, for I was mighty feer'd dat Massa would see me through de crack ob de door." OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 195 " Has Mr. Hastings called there since ? " asked Mrs. Delacy. " Yes 'm he was dah yes'day in de arternoon." " Did he remain long ? " " Yes, he 'mained a long time, an' talks to Missis, but I didn't heer what dey said." Mrs. Delacy then dismissed her ; and, retiring to her own room, felt all the mortification of failure. She re- solved, however, not to give the matter up yet. " If I, by what I have done," muttered she, " have incurred the displeasure of William, I will die rather than not be re- venged on her. Could I have a greater contempt for a human being than I have for that insignificant, ninny hus- band of hers ! He deserves to' be cozened, the brain- less fool ! He showed my letter to her ! That is unfor- tunate, for I fear she will tell William ; if so, he will mistrust me, after what I have already said to him. ' Come what come may,' however, I will not give up the game yet. If my hopes are to be thus suddenly blasted, I will take good care that one other shall also taste the bitter fruits of disappointment. I dare do any thing to attain the one goal! missing that, life is of no more worth to me. I will go on, although in doing so I accomplish my own ruin ! " Thus did Mrs. Delacy reason, as she sat alone in her room. All had retired but herself. She was wild at the thought of losing Hastings' esteem; and, in the depths of her despair, she resolved not to sink below the waves that threatened, without carrying one other down with her. Hers was the despair of a wild and desperate, but disappointed love ! such as woman alone can feel ! CHAPTER XVI. WEEKS passed away without effecting any change in the friendly intercourse between Mrs. Belmonte and Hastings. Mrs. Delacy was anxiously waiting an op- portunity when she might strike a last blow to the hopes of her daughter's successful rival. Hers was the suspense of the tigress before it leaps upon its prey. It was a morning in the middle of winter. The snow had fallen on the streets during the night to the depth of one foot or more. Men and women were shovelling it from their door-steps and from the nag- ging in front of their houses, and piling it in the gutters. The trees, scattered here and there through the city, and those in the different parks, were snow-capt, and bend- ing beneath their fleecy and wintry loads. Omnibuses, drawn by four hot and smoking horses, were making their slow way towards the Battery, half-axle-deep in snow and mud. Mammoth sleighs, drawn by six, eight, and even ten horses, and filled to overflowing with men, women, and children, moved down Broadway, making the air resonant with their shouts of mirth and glee. Occasionally a man, in trying to get on to one of these winter conveyances, tumbled headlong into the snow, greatly to the amusement of servant girls, who stood peeping out from basement windows, and the boys OK, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 197 who were making themselves merry, by pelting the oc- cupants of the different sleighs with snowballs. It con- tinued to snow, and the people continued to shovel and sweep the side-walks, and to ride down Broadway to the music of joyous laughter and the jingling of merry bells. William Hastings, having rode down in one of the omnibuses aforesaid, was in his office. His heavy overcoat had been laid aside, and he was seated by his fire looking over the " Morning Herald," to see the txact depth of the snow, and the exact state of cur- rent events generally, when in stepped a lad with a red and glowing face, and, familiarly walking up to Hast- ings, said: "I have brought you a letter, Mr. Hastings, from cousin Lib." " Ah ! Charley, my lad, you are stirring early this morning. Your cheeks are as rosy as little Clara's, whom they say you admire so much." This Hastings said while Charley was trying to take the letter from an outside jacket pocket, half filled with snow. " There it is at last," said Charley, " and wet enough, to be sure. Cousin Lib wouldn't thank me much, if she could see it." This he said as though he thought the wetting of the letter was a very good joke. " I think, Charley, that your cousin Lib was crying when she wrote this. It is soaked with her tears." Charley laughed, and turned his back to the fire to dry, while Jhe waited for Hastings to read and answer the letter. Hastings opened and read : " DEAR MR. HASTINGS : The snow is deep enough now to remind you of your promise. Kate and Cle- mie Coleman are here, and they say they are dying for a 17* 198 THE CROOKED ELM ; genuine old fashioned sleigh-ride. Mollie Delacy, I am sure is in a bad way for the same reason, to say nothing of her dear mama. I won't attempt a description of my own feelings on so exciting a subject. Suffice it to say, that the jingle of bells in imagination has quite intoxi- cated me. I remain, LIB LEIGHTON, and as you will doubtless think, ' a little over the bay? " " Tuesday morning-." When Hastings finished reading it he turned 1 * his desk, and commenced writing an answer. "I'll warrant," said Charley, "that Lib has been writing some of her nonsense, for I heard her and Kate Coleman laughing in Lib's room, before I started down here. I would not answer it if I were in your place, Mr. Hastings. It will serve them just right." Hastings smiled at this advice of Charley's, and continued writing. When he had finished it, he put it into an envelope, and addressing it, handed it to Charley, saying : " Now don't give this the baptism you gave your cousin Lib's, or she will never be able to read it." " Oh ! " said Charley, " I will take care that your letter is kept dry ; but Lib's was n't worth looking after." He left with the letter, and, after stopping frequently to have a turn with the boys at snowballing, reached home, where Miss Leighton was anxiously awaiting him. " Why, how long you have been ! What has kept you ? " asked Miss Leighton, reprovingly. "Do you think," said Charley, indignantly, "that I can run through the snow as fast as a grey-hound to do your messages ? And then your letter got so wet that Mr. Hastings couldn't read it." This he said, as he lazily fumbled about in his pockets as if in search of something. OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 199 " How stupid you were to let my letter get wet! Do hurry and find his answer ! " Charley purposely kept her in suspense, and after searching his pockets some time without finding it, he said : I reaUy believe I have lost it." " You good-for-nothing ! " said Miss Leighton, quite vexed with him. " If you have lost it, you deserve a good whipping for your carelessness ! Run straight back again, and tell Mr. Hastings that you have lost his letter ! " Charley still continued to rummage in his pockets, turning them inside out, and pretending to be in a dread- fully perplexed state of mind at not being able to find the letter, which he knew ah 1 the while was in his cap. He at length suddenly recollected where he had put it, and gave it to his impatient cousin, who thanked him for it thus : " Now do leave the room, stupid." She opened it and read as follows : " DEAR LIB : Your little note, immersed in tears, has just been handed me by Charley. The dying condition of your friends is truly alarming. Something must be done, and that speedily. So, if you and they are agree- able, we will turn your imaginary bells into real ones this evening. I will call with Mrs. and Miss Delacy about eight o'clock. Please tell Kate and Clemie so. I already fancy myself, not ' over the bay,' but, ' over the hills and far away,' to the jingle of the merry, merry beUs. Deliberately, "Tuesday. W. HASTINGS." When Miss Leighton finished reading it, she des- patched a message to Kate and Clemie Coleman, telling 200 THE CROOKED ELM; them the welcome news. All was preparation and joy- ous excitement, in anticipation of the promised sleigh- ride. Two or three times, snowing as it was, did Kate Coleman trip over to see Miss Leighton during the day. They livM but a few blocks apart ; and the anxiety as to what they should wear, and what they should do, and generally as to how the whole thing should be managed, kept them running back and forth every few hours to plan and fix and arrange. They were on the qui vive of excitement and expectation. Miss Leighton was in remarkably good spirits. Hast- ings's note had pleased her. It was the first time that he had addressed her as Dear Lib. She read it over many times during the day. It made her happier than any letter, either long or short, had ever done before. She had received a great many, and from a great many people, but never one that pleased her half as much as that little note, commencing Dear Lib Hastings had sent a note to Mrs. Delacy telling her of the anticipated sleigh-ride, and she went down to see Miss Leighton, and assist her in arranging for it. A few hours after Hastings had answered Miss Leighton's note, he received one from Mrs. Belmonte, informing him that she and her husband, with several friends, were going sleigh-riding that night, and saying that they would be most happy if he would consent to be one of the number. When he had finished reading her note, he said to himself : " I can't go. I must be persecuted by accompanying those whom I care nothing about. I wish I was free from them ; I will be erelong, I hope, and then I can do as I please." Thus did he think, as he turned to his desk and penned the following note : " DEAR MRS. B. : - 1 have promised to take my partic- ular friends sleigh-riding to-night, and in consequence I OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 201 am compelled to forego the pleasure of your kind invita- tion. To-morrow night, or any other, while the snow lasts, I shall be delighted to take you and your friends on a similar excursion. With regrets that I cannot accompany you to-night, and wishing you ah 1 the pleas- ure imaginable, I remain Sincerely, "Tuesday. WM. HASTINGS." Mrs. Belmonte was disappointed, when she read this note. She prevailed upon her husband to postpone their sleigh-ride until the next night. She felt a little jealous of Hastings' " particular friends." It was un- pleasant for her to think that she could not have the pleasure of the first sleigh-ride with her Willie.'j She expected that he would call and see her during the day, but she looked for him in vain. . Hastings had intended to drop in and see her, but he was unexpectedly detained down town until a late hour, and thus prevented doing what his heart dictated. Mrs. Belmonte did not sleep well that night, although she continually accused herself of being very silly for bestowing a thought upon her disappointment. A little before eight o'clock that evening, a beautiful sleigh, drawn by four spirited horses and almost filled with furs and robes, turned up at Mrs. Delacy's door. Mrs. Delacy, her daughter, and Hastings ^ot into it, and driving rapidly away, soon took in the remainder of the party. They were all gleeful, joyous, and happy, as they flew rapidly away to the music of the merrily jingling bells. As soon as they were fairly out of the city, they yielded themselves up to the hilarious excite- ment of the occasion. They laughed and sang songs, and then laughed again, until the air resounded with their merry peals. They started for High Bridge on the Bloomingdale road. Hundreds of sleighs were 202 THE CROOKED ELM ; meeting, passing, and following them. It seemed as though all New York had gone on a general sleighing excursion. The moon shone brightly, which, with the snow, made the night almost as clear and light as day. Miss Leighton was all life, all enjoyment. She was the gayest and liveliest of the party. Hastings, too, (shame to say,) entered into the spirit of the occasion, and never had made himself, generally, more agreeable in his life. They had driven to High Bridge, and were returning fuller of life, glee, and good feeling than ever. The champagne they had drank at the Bridge made them no less noisy than they had been, to say the leas^t. All was going " merry as a marriage bell," when, as they were descending a long hill, the horses suddenly took fright and became unmanageable. When they had run a little distance, Hastings stepped forward on to the box, and took the reins from the driver. He held them steadily in the road for some time, but could not check them. It was with difficulty that he avoided running into the many sleighs that he met and the many that he passed. The ladies had expressed their fears in screams at first, but they soon settled into a breathless quiet. On and on they went, the horses becoming more and more unmanageable every moment. The leaders commenced kicking, and ran wildly from side to side, maddened and perfectly uncontrollable. The snow was thrown from their feet into Hastings' face until he was no longer able to see. On they flew, past trees, fences, and sleighs, at a fearful pace, when, suddenly coming in collision with a large rock, Hastings and the driver were hurled headlong into the snow. The horses became detached from the sleigh, and ran madly on. The driver soon picked himself up, but Hastings lay insensible from the shock. None of the ladies were injured, and they soon recovered sufficiently OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 203 from their fright to get out and look for Hastings. They were horrified when they saw his seemingly life- less body taken from the ground by the driver, assisted by some men who had got out of their sleighs in pass- ing. They had him placed in his own sleigh, and then, gathering around him, tried to restore him to life. Very soon a multitude of people had assembled, curious to know what had happened. Hastings was soon suffi- ciently recovered to be able to ride home. His party re- turned to the city, as sorrowful as it had been mirthful. It was ascertained, when Hastings was safely deposited in his own room, that three of his ribs were broken, and that he had received a severe contusion on the side and back of his head. His wounds were soon dressed by his physician, and his life pronounced out of danger. The next day, Hastings ordered paper and ink to be brought him, and with difficulty he penned the follow- ing note, as he lay scarcely able to move in his bed. " DEAK MRS. B : I was thrown from my sleigh last night, and so much injured that I will be deprived the pleasure of seeing you for several days. Nothing serious, however. Always the same, " Wednesday morning. WM. HASTINGS." As soon as he had written and addressed this note, he despatched a servant with it to Mrs. Belmonte. When Mrs. Belmonte read it, she was much alarmed. She wished that he was at her own house. It would not be safe, she thought, to visit him at Mrs. Delacy's. She questioned the servant who had brought the letter, and learned from her that Hastings was much worse than she had been led to suppose, from what he had writ- ten. She became excited and apprehensive, and knew not what to do. At last she told the servant to wait in 204 THE CROOKED ELM ; the hall until she wrote an answer to the letter. As soon as she was in her room alone, she burst into tears. The servant had represented Hastings as almost dead, and Mrs. Belmonte really feared that he would die without her seeing him. In her anxiety and excitement she tied on her bonnet, resolved to go at once to him, but her fears of Mrs. Delacy led her to take it off again. After a great deal of indecision and irresolution, she penned the following note, guarding every word through fear of Mrs. Delacy. " MY DEAR FRIEND : I have just read your alarming note, and am much concerned about you. I fear you have not told me your real danger. I know not what to do. I would come at once to you, but I fear that you would think it indiscreet. Write me one word, if you are able, and tell me just how 'much to fear. If you are dangerously ill I will hurry to you at once at all risk, and in the face of every danger. " I am unhappy and miserable until I hear from you again. I will send for Walter, and have him go and see you as soon as he comes. Write me a word at once, do. Ever, CORNELIA BELMONTE." Although Mrs. Belmonte thought that she was par- ticularly guarded in the use of her language in writing to Hastings, yet a disinterested person might think dif- ferently. As soon as the servant returned with Mrs. Belmonte's letter, Mrs. Delacy took it, and despatched the servant on an errand down town that would keep her absent an hour or more. She then retired to her own room, and, locking herself in, deliberately but carefully opened and read it. When she had finished reading it she sealed il up OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 205 and sent it in to Mr. Hastings, muttering as she did so : " It is well you fear to come here. I will turn your fear into terror, and your terror into destruction and utter ruin. I have warned you sufficiently. I will now show you that I am powerful to act, as well as threaten. A pretty letter for a wife to send him ! " Miss Leighton and Kate Coleman called, the day after the accident, to see how Hastings was. They even went with Mrs. De- lacy into his room, and were glad to see that he was doing well, and feeling mirthful, or at least seeming to feel so. " I should be up and at my office," said Hastings, " if the doctor was only a little less timid. He says I must lie here for days yet, and perhaps weeks. If he don't change his views soon, I will dismiss him and employ another." This was said in the doctor's presence, and of course not seriously. " I am to blame for all this mischief," said Miss Leighton, " but I intend to see that you are well taken care of. It is too serious a matter to be mirthful over." Belmonte entered the room while they were still there, and was surprised to find Hastings so badly bruised and injured. Miss Leighton gave him a full description of the runaway and the accident. She wound up by say- ing, that she herself was the only person to blame for it all ; for, said she : " Mr. Hastings went at -my suggestion." Hastings did not write to Mrs. Belmonte again that day, but trusted to her husband to give her an account of his injuries. When Belmonte went home, he told Mrs. Belmonte all about Hastings' condition. He also related to her what Miss Leighton had said, and told her who were in Hastings' room. This intelligence was un- 18 206 THE CROOKED ELM; pleasant to her, for more reasons than one. She went to her room as soon as she could get away from Bel- monte, and wept bitterly partly in sorrow for Hast- ings, and partly because her jealousy of Miss Leighton made her unhappy. She could not endure the thought of her visiting his room so familiarly. " Why," thought she, " does he not write me one word, as I requested ? He did not call here yesterday, either. There is something that 1 do not understand in this seeming coldness." The next morning she sent her husband to see Hastings again ; and on his return she learned that Miss Leighton was still there. Her jealousy was gaining strength more and more every hour. She finally, in her impatience, sent Bessy with a note to him. Bessy gave it to Mrs. Delacy ; and, before she left, Mrs. Delacy said to her : " Bessy, if your mistress sends you with any more letters, give them to me, and to no one else." " Yes 'm," replied the wench, not however without wondering why Mrs. Delacy should wish to have her mistress's letters given to her, before Hastings should receive them. When Bessy had gone, Mrs. Delacy went immediately to her room, and opened the letter wliich had been handed her. It read as follows: " For Heaven's sake, William, do send me one word telling me how you are. I am dying with suspense and trouble. CORNELIA." When Mrs. Delacy had read this little note, she sat in silence for some minutes, thinking. She had reached a point where she hesitated. There are times in life, when, like a mariner, we pause and take our bearings, our latitude and longitude, before venturing forward. So with Mrs. Delacy ; she saw shoals and breakers on OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 207 almost every side. There was danger that all her hopes would be wrecked, before she could get out into the clear and wide ocean again. It was a moment of peril, and she fully knew it. At length, as if decided as to what she would do, she said : "I will do it ! It is too late to recede. I will peril every thing to break off their intimacy ! " Then, taking her pen, she copied Mrs. Bel- monte's hand until she could imitate it so nearly that Hastings would not be likely, she thought, to discover the deception. She then wrote as follows : " DEAR MR. HASTINGS : I am surprised that you do not write me one word, as requested. Is your time so agreeably occupied as to make you forget me ? "Wal- ter tells me that Miss Leighton is constantly with you. CORNELIA BELMONTE." When Mrs. Delacy had finished the above note, she placed it in an envelope, similar to the one which Mrs. Belmonte had sent, and, directing and sealing it, sent it to Hastings. When he read it, he was surprised to see how little Mrs. Belmonte seemed to sympathize with him in his sickness. " Walter tells me, that Miss Leighton is constantly with you," he read from her let- ter. " She is jealous," muttered he "jealous of Miss Leighton. Can it be possible that she has no more con- fidence in me than that ? " He ordered his writing materials to be brought him, and taking a pen, he wrote : " DEAR MRS. BELMONTE : I would have written you yesterday, had not Belmonte called and had it been less difficult for me to write than it is. Miss Leighton is here, but not in accordance with my wishes. I shall soon be up again, I hope, and my first visit will be to 208 THE CROOKED ELM J see you. I wish I could have you here to read to me, and to converse with. No one can fill your place in my thoughts no one ever shall. I am improving rapidly. I shall soon see you. " Ever your " WILLIAM HASTINGS." This letter was given to Bessy when finished, who at once carried it, as she had been instructed, to Mrs. De- lacy, and then waited for Mrs. Delacy's orders. The latter hurried with it to her room, and opening, read its contents. Then seating herself at her writing-table, she wrote in a hand as like Hastings as she' could, as fol- lows : " DEAR MRS. BELMONTE : My hand trembles so that I can with difficulty write. I should have written you yesterday, but Miss Leighton was in my room reading to me nearly the whole day. They are very kind to me here, and anticipate all my wants. I shall soon be well again with so much kind treatment. Miss Leigh- ton is sitting near me while I write, and joins me in love to you. WILLIAM HASTINGS." This letter was substituted for the one Hastings had written, and carried by Bessy to her mistress. Mrs. Bel- monte read it, and then went again to her room and indulged in a fit of crying. " Can it be possible," thought she, " that this is the Willie whom I have so long loved ? tie has forgotten me in two days, and is wholly taken up -with Miss Leighton." Sometimes she felt indignant, at others she was the most unhappy and miserable of beings. Her love was too deep-rooted to be easily overturned. She resolved, however, not to write to Hastings again, until she had received another letter from him. Hast- OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 209 ings waited impatiently a day or two for a letter from her ; but none coming, he wrote the follow- ing: "DEAREST CORNELIA: Why do you delay writing me ? Do send me one cheering word one word of love and hope. I am dying with impatience to hear from you. I am bored to death with Miss Leighton and Mrs. Delacy, who are eternally in my room, whenever I allow them. Write me at once. I am much better I shall soon be able to call on you. That thought cheers me, and gives me courage to endure the persecu- tions of my particular friends. Ever your WILLIAM." Mrs. Delacy read this letter with flashing eyes. " He is bored to death, is he ? " muttered she. " What does he mean by the ' persecutions of his particular friends ? ' I will keep this love of a letter, Mrs. Belmonte, and write you one myself. It is too precious to part with. The ungrateful! I almost wish he had broke his neck, instead of his ribs. She then wrote the fol- lowing : " DEAR MRS. BELMONTE : I am getting on wonder- fully ! Miss Leighton is here every day, and cheers me by reading and singing to me. She has just been read- ing some choice passages from Byron. I never before appreciated ' Childe Harold? Belmonte told me he was going 'out of town for a day or two, when he was here last. I suppose he has not yet returned. My spirits were never better under difficulties than now. I wish you would send me 's last novel. I believe you have it. Miss Leighton expressed a wish to read it. 18* 210 THE CROOKED ELM; When you have leisure, please write me. Now I think of it, you are one letter in my debt. With the best of wishes, I am still, WILLIAM HASTINGS." When Mrs. Belmonte read this counterfeit letter, she became almost distracted. Her heart sickened. She felt for the moment that Hastings no longer loved her " My confidence has been misplaced," she thought. " I have believed him noble and true. I have worshipped him as the soul of honor I have been deceived. Never will I place confidence in another living mortal." It was with difficulty that Mrs. Belmonte could bring herself to believe Hastings dishonorable. She doubted, feared, and was unhappy. Belmonte was compelled to leave for the South to attend to some business. He persuaded Mrs. Belmonte to accompany him. It was with feelings of regret, however, that she consented to leave the city before she could see Hastings. The time drew near when they must go. A day or two before they left, Mrs. Belmonte wrote the following letter, and sent it to Hastings : "DEAR WILLIAM: Walter has prevailed upon me to accompany him to Florida. We shall be absent several months. With what regrets and feelings of sorrow do I leave without seeing you. Your letters have seemed to me cold. I have read them, and felt that they did not express the feelings of the ' Willie ' whom I have wor- shipped from my childhood. I cannot believe, though, that you have so soon forgotten me. All my thoughts of you tell me that you are true, noble, and constant. These are what you ever have been to me. I will be- lieve you such yet. I will forget your seeming coldness, OR, LIFE B/ THE WAY-SIDE. 211 and wait until my return to see and talk with you face to face. When I am absent I will think of and love you as I ever have done. The many happy bygones that we have enjoyed together will be ever present to remind me of one whose image is enstamped on my heart of hearts. I have been unhappy, and for the mo ment have distrusted you. But I throw all doubt of your sincejity to the winds. I will have faith in you. 1 will love you while life lasts. " Good-by, William ! a fond, a loving good-by until my return ! You know .where to write me in Florida. We leave to-morrow evening. Shall I not hear from you before then ? Ever your loving " Monday. CORNELIA." This, her last letter to Hastings before she left the city, was read by Mrs. Delacy, and the following one substituted in its stead : " DEAR MR. HASTINGS : I am surprised that you write me so seldom. I am satisfied that you have ceased to love me. Walter and I leave for the South to-morrow, and I hardly need say that I shall not expect to hear from you again, since you have other and better friends near you. CORNELIA BELMONTE." Hastings was astounded when he read this strange letter. It shut the door against his writing her in future. " She is jealous," thought he ; " or perhaps she never has loved me." He resolved never to write to her again. ' Mrs. Belmonte looked in vain for an answer to her last letter. The hour came when she must go and with a heavy heart she left the city and all that to her was dear in life. Hastings now became so impatient and fretful that 212 THE CROOKED ELM. he refused to have any one come into his room, except the man servant who attended him. Miss Leighton and ah 1 were deprived for weeks of seeing him. He, in his anger, cursed the cause of all his misfortunes. " I was a fool," he would say to himself, " to go with a party that I cared nothing for. Fate overshadows all my actions, and gives me nothing but disappointment and unhappiness. Such is man's inconsistency ; in hours of trouble he lays at the door of fate the sins and mistakes which are solely his own. CHAPTER XVII. IT was the latter part of autumn. The leaves were turning purple and yellow, and falling from the trees. The farmer was gathering in his corn, and preparing for winter. Orchards were filled with ripe and luscious apples, which hung in clusters from the half-concealed branches, or lay scattered about upon the grass under the trees. In short, it was that most delightful of American seasons, bright, clear, and sunshiny autumn. Little Flora sat on the grass in the garden, arranging some flowers for Aunt Judy. An espalier, on which was trained a beautiful grape-vine filled with bunches of ripe grapes, shaded her from the sun. Her little lap was filled with flowers of various kinds, and, as she worked with them, she talked to herself thus : " Aunt Judy will like this bouquet, I am sure. It is very pretty ! Let me see ; I will place this large one in the middle. There that looks better. Now I will run into her room and give it to her ; but I will step light, for it may be that she is asleep." As she said this, she got up and ran to the house, and walking on tiptoe entered the room where Aunt Judy was lying in bed. The old woman was not asleep. She looked pale and emaciated. She had been sick for several weeks, and the physician said she could not get well. Flora (213) 214 THE CROOKED ELM; handed her the flowers, which she had brought from the garden, saying : " Aunt Judy, I have made you a boquet. Do you think it is pretty ? " " Yes, darlint," said the old woman in a feeble voice ; " it is as pretty as you are yourself, sure. Put it into the tumbler ; that 's a swate cratur ! " Flora placed the flowers on a stand near the head of her bed, and then asked her if she wanted any thing. " I 'm thinking I '11 take a wee bit o' water th' drink, honey." Flora immediately went and brought her what she wished. Flora had learned to read ; and, every day while Aunt Judy was sick, she read a chapter from the Bible to her, while she lay in her bed. Moulton was very kind to his old nurse in her illness, and often would sit for hours in her room, watching with her and minis- tering to her wants. One day when he was alone with her, she said: " Robin, honey, I must soon leave you. I feel that I cannot live much longer. Aunt Judy has been faithful to you, lad, and has done all she could for you. May the Holy Vargin be praised ! " " You will live a long time yet, I hope," said Moulton, soothingly. " No, darlint, I must leave you all alone with little Flora. Are you sure, Robin, that it will all be well with the poor child? I never have been quite able to free my conscience for taking her away from her old home. Are you sure that it will all be right and just ? " " Yes, Aunty," said he. " I think you were not to blame for taking her away. I will see that she is properly taken care of ; and, when she is a little older, I will take her back to her grandpapa's." OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 215 " May the blessing of the Holy Vargin be with you, Robin, for saying so ! I can now die comfortably." She grew more feeble every day, and it was evident to Moulton that she could not live much longer. He and Flora read to her whenever she wished them to do so. She had been a Catholic almost all her life ; and, though she in theory had become a Protestant in her old age, yet she always thought and spoke as a Catholic. Harry Collingwood called almost every day to see how she was, and to talk with Flora. He loved Aunt Judy because Flora loved her, and he had come to be quite a favorite with the old woman. The time came at last, when Moulton Void and faith- ful nurse must leave him. She felt that she was about to die, and, calling him to her side, she said : " Robin, I feel that I 'm dying. You '11 soon have no Aunt Judy to look after and take care of you. You will be all alone in the wide world, lad, with no one to keep you from harm. I have watched over you long I have done what I could for you, but I must now leave you; stoop down, Robin, till I bless you." He leaned over the bed, and she placed her shrivelled hands on his head, and gave him her parting blessing. " Call Flora in now," said she, in a voice scarcely audible. Flora then came into the room, and Aunt Judy motioned her to come near. Flora walked cau- tiously and tremblingly up to the side of the bed, and, leaning over it, took one of Aunt Judy's hands in both of hers. " Flora, child, will you forgive Aunt Judy for stealing you away from your pleasant home ? " " Yes," answered she, unable to say more. Tears filled her eyes. The whole scene was new and strange to her. She still stood holding Aunt Judy's hand, while 216 THE CROOKED ELM J the tears flowed down her flushed cheeks and fell on the bed. " Call Harry," said the old woman in a whisper. Harry immediately came to her, and she, placing his hand in Flora's, said : " May the Lord love you both, and make you happy the 'gither so long as you live ! " Moulton stood by her side unable to control his feelings ; and Aunt Judy fixing her eyes on him, with an ineffable expression of love and tenderness beaming from her countenance, breathed her last without a struggle. The next day, several of Moulton's neighbors assembled to attend her funeral. As they proceeded with her body to the little village burial-ground a few miles away, Moulton, little Flora, and Harry Collingwood followed the hearse as chief mourners. Moulton mourned the death of his old nurse, because she had always loved him, and had been faithful to him in all the strange vicissitudes of his eventful life. She was the last of his early friends; he was now left with none to care for him, save the little girl whom he had so strangely rescued, as he sup- posed, from danger. Flora was dear to him. He loved her as his redeeming angel. His former life was a blank; his old friends had disappeared; he was a stran- ger in the wide world, haunted continually with tor- turing thoughts and memories of his earlier disappoint- ment. A few weeks after Aunt Judy's funeral, Moulton was sitting with Mr. Collingwood in the apple-orchard of the latter. The weather was warm and pleasant, and they were seated on the grass .under one of the trees. They had not been there long, when Harry came running up to them with a letter in his hartd for his father. Mr. Collingwood broke the seal, and after reading it he said : OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 217 " This is from my old and valued friend William Hastings, of New York." At the mention of Hastings' name, Moulton turned deadly pale. Collingwood noticed the sudden change in his countenance, and said : " What is the matter with you, Mowbray ? You look ill." "It is only a sudden pain in my side," answered Moulton, as he placed his hand over his heart. " I will soon be better." Collingwood immediately after resumed the subject of his friend, and entered into a long and detailed ac count of his first acquaintance with him, and of its re newal at the Lakes of Killarney after years of separa- tion. He spoke of the sudden death of Hastings' young wife and child, and of the mystery that still shrouded their murder. Moulton, in being thus compelled to listen to the recital of 'his own crimes, suffered all the tor- tures of a guilty conscience. He would gladly have been spared the infliction ; but there was no way by which he could avoid it. " My friend," continued Collingwood, " has written to tell me that he thinks of coming here on a visit soon. You will like him very much, Mow- bray. He is just the kind of man that you would enjoy a day's shooting with, or in fact spend the time any way with. I shall be pleased to introduce you to him." " I am sorry," said Moulton, " that I shall be deprived the pleasure of his acquaintance. I came here to-day to tell you that I have business that demands my ab- sence'for several weeks, perhaps months." " But you can delay leaving until after he comes ? " said Collingwood, inquiringly. " No, I am compelled to leave here on Monday next," said Moulton. 19 218 THE CROOKED ELM; " I am heartily sorry that you can't be here. Do you go alone ? " " I shall take Flora with me." This intelligence troubled Harry. He even asked Moulton to leave her at his father's until his return; but he could not prevail upon him to do so. The mo- ment that Moulton learned that Hastings was an old friend of Collingwood, he thought it unsafe for him to remain longer where he was. He did not wish to see Hastings, nor did he wish to let any one, who had previously been acquainted with him, know where he was. He feared for Flora's sake ; he was greatly alarmed for her safety ; and, without any further thought, he de- cided at once to remove to another part of the country. He therefore began immediately to prepare for leaving. Harry Collingwood spent almost all his time with Flora, during the few remaining days of her stay. He thought that she would soon return ; yet it gave him trouble to part with her, even for a few weeks. It was Sunday evening. Mr. and Mrs. Collingwood, together with Harry, were at Moulton's. A few other of Moulton's neighbors had also dropped in to bid him good-by before he should leave. The moon was shining brightly, and Flora and Harry had gone out on to the piazza. They were seated together ; Harry's arm en- circled Flora's waist, and they were telling each other how much they loved. u I will write you a letter every day when I am gone," said Flora. " I cannot write much, but papa will help me." Harry was extravagant in his promises of fidelity. " Flora, I will think of you all the time that you are away : I will write to you every day such, long letters ! Mother will tell me how to spell the hard words ; but I OR, LIFE BY THE WAT-SIDE. 219 can spell most of them myself. I will write you a sheet full every time. I will come here and attend to your flowers, too, while you are gone." The hour grew late. Mr. and Mrs. Collingwood had gone, leaving Harry to remain all night. Moulton, when they left, walked out into the garden. He was looking at what he must so soon leave, perhaps for- ever; he was thoughtful and melancholy. For a brief period he had lived comparatively happy ; but now he must go from a place endeared to him by many associations. " It is thus," thought he, " that I have been goaded on by fortune, ever since my childhood. All my bright hopes have been cut off, all my life has been filled with diappointment and bitter trials! If it were not for little Flora, I would welcome death as a harbinger of mercy." As he thus strolled about in the garden, weighed down with his troubled thoughts, he came near to where Flora and Harry were sitting. He walked cautiously up to where he could see them, as they sat in each oth- er's embrace. Curiosity tempted him to listen to what they were saying. Harry had brought a locket with him containing his likeness, which he had intended to give Flora at parting with her ; but he could not wait until morning ; it burned in his" pocket, he could keep it no longer. " Here, Flora," said he, " I have brought you my like- ness. ,. Will you wear it for my sake always ? " As he said this, he took from his pocket a beautifully enamelled gold locket, and placed it around Flora's neck. Moulton saw and heard all that was taking place between the little lovers. Flora held the locket in her' hand for some time, without saying a word, and 220 THE CROOKED ELM ; then, looking into his face with her large blue eyes, she said : " Yes, Harry, I will always wear it; and when I am a great way off I will look at it; and think of you. It is so pretty ! I will love it very much ! " Harry pressed her to him and kissed her for the first time in his life. His heart overflowed with warm, pure love. She was the brightest little angel that he had ever seen, or ever expected to see. They talked long and lovingly to- gether of all their feelings, plans, and hopes. Moulton listened to them, and thought of the time when he last sat with his beloved Ida under the grape-vine bower in her southern home. He thought of their pledges of lasting love, and he remembered how bitterly all his hopes had been blasted. " How little," said he to him- self, " do you know what disappointments await you. You do not dream, dear Flora, that you are leaving here for ever." He regretted to take her away from a place where she had been so happy; and more than all, he dis- liked separating her from Harry, whom he knew she loved with all the innocence of childhood. He took pleasure in their attachment; but fate, he thought, had decreed that they must part. He listened long to their conversation. In them he was living over again the only happy period of his life. The next morning Harry and Flora walked for a long time on the piazza, and talked over again their many plans. At length Moulton came to them and said : " Now, Flora, you must bid Harry good-by." She took Harry's hand, and turned her eyes, filled with tears, into his manly face. Tears also came into Harry's eyes, and he pressed her gently to him, and fondly kiss- ing her, said : "Flora, I will never forget you. I hope you will soon come back." OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 221 She turned away, and cried as if her heart would break. It was a moment of sorrow, of bitter, heart- felt sorrow for them both. Moulton bid Harry good- by, and then with Flora entered the stage-coach that awaited them, and set out on his journey. Several weeks had passed since they left, but Harry Collingwood had not received a single letter from Flora. He wondered why she had not written him. Every day he went to the post-office and inquired for a letter, and, when the postmaster would tell him that there was none for him, he would get him to look again ; but no letter for Master Harry could be found. He was begin- ning to think that he would not hear from her until she and Moulton should return. He continued to go early to the post-office every day, however, always getting there at least an hour before the mail came in. The time had passed when they were to have been back ; but they came not, neither did any word come to tell anx- ious Harry when to expect them. He went to the kitchen one day to get comfort and consolation from Aunt Rose. " Aunt Rose," said Harry, " do letters ever go the wrong way in the post-office ? " " Dat 'pends," said Rose, with a very wise look, " berry much on succumstances. For, de ye se, Massa Harry, if de letters goes de wrong way, why den dey don't go de right way, you know." "But, Rose, do people ever take letters out of the post-om(ft that don't belong to them ? " " Dat am anudder question all togedder. I 'specs dey does sometimes." " Do you think any one would take a letter of mine out?" " Dah you got me, Massa Harry ; whedder folkses 19* 222 THE CROOKED ELM J would take Massa Harry's letters is more nor I knows." " Do you think they would, Rose ? can't you tell me what you think ? " " It would be mighty hard work, Massa Harry, for any one to take your letters; for you is allers at de pose-office de berry fuss one." Harry thought this a very sage remark, and for once he felt that Aunt Rose was wiser than himself. " Rose, do you think Mr. Mowbray will come back this week ? " " I can't jis say, Massa Harry." What do you think ? " " I spose he may, but I can't 'zactly say. I's warrant he'll come back agin when he's done been gone long 'nough to 'complish his business." " Don't you wish he would come back ? I like Mr. Mowbray very much." Rose was strongly tempted to amuse herself at Harry's expense again, but her love for him led her to answer : " Yes, Massa Harry, I wishes dey would come back ; I lubs 'em berry much." " I don't like any of the folks around here, as well as I like Mr. Mowbray. Do you, Rose ? " " I likes eberybody, case it 's right." " But, don't you like Mr. Mowbray best ? " " I don't know but I does, jis a mite de bes. I likes little Flora too, an I 's a gwine to bake a cake for her, when she 's done ben come back agin." " Are you ? " asked Harry, eagerly. " That is very good of you, Rose." She had now struck a vein that interested him, and she carefully pursued it "I's been thinkin', dat when she comes back agin OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 22o I '11 'wite her up here, an we '11 eat de cake 'mong one anudder." " So we will," said Harry. " That 's just like you, Rose, you are always good." " I 'U put all de sweet things in it, an I '11 make it fus trate." Harry drew a little closer to her, and said : " May be they will come home to-night ; who knows ? They may be home now ; perhaps they are ; do you think they are ? Let us go and see, Rose." He was impatient to have them return. The picture which Aunt Rose had drawn of Flora there with them eating the nice cake was so much in accordance with Harry's feelings, that he more than ever longed for her to return. Aunt Rose answered his last question with the wise look which she still assumed. " Massa Harry, if we go, an den dey am not dah, why, do ye see, we '11 feel mighty disappinted. So I 's jis bin thinkin' dat we 'd better not go. I would n't like to be disappinted, it hurts one's feelin's so. I nebber in my life lub'd a little gal so much as I lubs dat ar Flora. Do you know, Massa Harry, what I 's been thinkin' ? " No ; what is it ? " " I 's been thinkin', Massa Harry, how I 'd like to lib wid you and Flora when you grows to be big, and nuss all your little babies." Harry looked at the old negress, but she was as serious and sedate as the table beside her. "I's gittin' old, Massa Harry, and I allers hab lub'd you, and I neber will lib so comfortable like with anybody as I 'd lib with you and Flora. Will you take Aunt Rose, Massa Harry ? " " Yes, Rose, we both like you. You shall always live with us." " Dat am jis like you. I knows you will. I '11 nuss all de babies, an bake de cakes, an I '11 lub you bofe 'zactly like." 224 THE CROOKED ELM ; Harry's heart warmed towards his old nurse, and when he got up to leave he walked up to her, and put- ting his arm round her neck, said : " You are always good ; I love you very much Flora and I will take you with us ; we '11 have a better kitchen than this one for you, and you may bake as many nice cakes for us as you like. I won't let any one disturb you. Flora and I will come into the kitchen sometimes, and help you to eat the nice things which you wih 1 have laid away in the cupboard. Won't we be happy when we get into our new house, Rose ? " As Harry said this, his love for her was such that he could have kissed her ; but he only hugged her woolly head up to him, in token of his kind feelings. After this conversation, he frequently sought the kitchen for solace and comfort. Rose became his con- fidante. He told her all his thoughts, and she, from real love of the boy, entered into all his troubles, and sym- pathized with him in all his thoughts. They would often sit together in the kitchen until a late hour at night, and speculate as to where Flora was, and when she would return. But Flora came not, neither did she write. Moulton had forbidden her writing; he feared that it would lead to his detection. Thus was all com- munication cut off between them. Harry had written numerous letters to Flora, but he knew not where to send them. His father knew his anxiety to have Flora return, and he resolved to send him away to school ; thinking that he would there soon forget his childish attachment. He wondered why Moulton did not return, and still more why he had not written. An agent came in the winter and sold Moulton's farm, together with all his slaves and other property. He could give no information, however, of Moulton. He said he had been employed to transact the business by a OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 225 lawyer in Cincinnati. Mr. Collingwood began to think that Moulton was an impostor; but Harry continued to remember him and Flora as he had always known them. Aunt Rose was not able to answer the thousand ques- tions that the impatient boy now put to her; but she was sure of one thing, she said, and that was, that all would come right some time. CHAPTER XVIII. WHEN Moulton left his home in Virginia, he proceeded to Cincinnati, where he employed a lawyer to sell his farm, and settle his business generally. He then continued on to Nashville, Tennessee. Little Flora felt lonely and unhappy. The thought that she could not write to or hear from Harry, saddened her tender heart. " Papa," said she one day, soon after they had arrived in Nashville, " why won't you let me write to Harry ? " " Because, Flora," said Moulton, " it would be dan- gerous for you to do so. I will tell you some time why. It is for your good that I do not wish you to write to him." " But, papa, won't you write and tell them where we are ? Harry will wonder why I don't send him a letter. I told him I would." " I do not wish them to know where we are. Your life is in danger, perhaps mine also ; and it was for this that I left a place where we were both so happy." She could not understand how her life was endangered ; and the thought that she had left, perhaps for ever, the generous and noble Harry, made her young heart sorrowful. Often would she, when alone, take the locket which he had given her from her bosom, "and look at his likeness. She would kiss it, weep over it, and say to herself: " Dear Harry, I will always wear this for thy sake." (226) OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 227 Moulton took a beautiful little house in the city, and in every way possible tried to make Flora happy and content. When the weather was warm he drove out with her, and amused and entertained her by pointing out dif- ferent places of interest. They frequently drove as far as the Hermitage, and he took pleasure in telling her all about the hero of the battle of New Orleans. One day, about the middle of winter, they had walked out to the State Prison, and were passing through it with a conduc- tor, when the latter said, pointing to one of the pris- oners : " There is a man whose time expires next week ; he has been here two years." " What was his offence ? " inquired Moulton. " Passing counterfeit money," replied the conductor. "On what bank?" The bank of ." At this answer Moulton turned suddenly pale, and looked attentively at the prisoner for some minutes. He saw his pale face, his shaved head, all that could degrade him as a man. " Has he a family ? " asked Moulton. " Yes, a wife and three children. They have visited him every week for the last six months." "Do they live in this city ? " " Yes." " You have excited in me an interest for them ; will you please tell me where I can find them ? " The conductor told him where they lived, and he and Flora then left. Moulton had reason to believe that the prisoner was his unknown accomplice. He returned to his home that day, full of melancholy thought. " Go where I will," said he to himself, " my crimes stare me in the face I am hunted up and down in the world like a wild beast, Truly the way of the transgressor is 228 THE CROOKED ELM J hard. I will seek out this unhappy man's family and give them relief in their present hour of trouble." He had learned of the conductor that the prisoner was once a respectable man, and of a good family ; also that his wife and children were almost in a destitute condition. That night he inclosed several hundred dollars in a package, and in the morning early he sought out the pris- oner's family. He came to the house where they lived, and, on inquiring for Mrs. T , a woman, pale, ema- ciated, and with a countenance full of sorrow, rose from her seat in the corner, and stepped towards him. He glanced hastily around the room, and saw how destitute it was of every thing necessary for their comfort. The children, shivering and half naked, were hovering around a few coals of fire. He looked at the mother a moment, who stood in her rags gazing at him. " This," thought he, " is the home which I have helped to make for you and your children." Is this the wife of Mr. T.," asked he, " who is now in prison ? " " Yes," replied she, as the blush of shame rose to her cheek, " I am his wife." " I have brought you a package from a friend you will be kind enough to accept it, and believe that what it contains is rightly your own." As he said this, he handed it to her, and, without stopping to hear her thanks, turned and walked away. He continued to live at Nashville until the next June. Flora had become more reconciled to her separation from Harry, although she still remembered him with all the love that she had ever felt; but, like all other chil- dren, she soon adapted herself to her situation, and was comparatively happy and contented. In the early part of June, she and Moulton left Ten- nessee. They went on board a little steamer, running from Nashville to the mouth of the Cumberland River. OE, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 229 Every thing was new to Flora. Her young mind drank in all the beauties of the scenery. The lofty mountains a little below Nashville charmed and delighted her. She never had seen any thing so wildly picturesque and beautiful. The tall trees standing high above her head the dark mouths of caves the high and pro- jecting rocks, all lent a bewitching charm to her grati- fied vision. For hours would she sit on deck beside Moulton, looking out on the ever new and ever chang- ing prospects. The boat at length stopped at one of the numerous iron founderies on this river, and began to take in pig iron. Flora sat looking at the negroes, as they carried the iron from the foundery and threw it over the bank, and was much amused at the manner in which they performed their labor. A dozen or more would march in single file to the large pile of iron, and, each shouldering a pig, would then march in the same manner to the bank and throw it down to the hands who were loading it into the steamer. What amused her most was the singing which they kept up while they were at work. One of the company, a kind of im- provvisatore, would sing one line of a rhyme by himself, and then the others would join in a chorus. Thus as they marched, each with a pig of iron on his shoulder, he would sing out at the top of his voice : " I is a mighty stout man ; " and then the others would join in the chorus He ho, he ho, he ho! And can carry as much as any nigger can ; , He ho, he ho, he ho ! De iron am hebby, but I is hebbier, He ho, he ho, he ho ! Sally am lubly, but Dinah am lublier, He ho, he ho, he ho ! 20 230 THE CROOKED ELM; Thus would they sing for hours, much to the amuse- ment of Flora, who never had seen any thing of the kind before. Moulton returned to Cincinnati, settled his business with his lawyer, and then proceeded on north. He had resolved to settle in Canada. He went first to Niagara Falls, and showed Flora ah 1 its wonders and attractions. They went under the great sheet of water on the Canada side rode on the " Maid of the Mist," crossed the river in the little skiff below the boiling and foaming flood, and visited Goat Island. Moulton was careful to relate all the accidents and incidents that he remembered to have taken place there. He told her of young Addison, the son of the owner of the little steamer on which they had rode close up under the FaUs. " Young Addison," said Moulton, " was an only son. He was a generous and high-minded youth. He, in company with some young ladies from Buffalo, had come here to spend the day pleasantly. Among the party was a little girl about your age. They were on Goat Island, not far from where we are now standing. They stood on the bank of that little stream of water, which you see is cut off from the main current by that small island. Addison was standing behind the little girl, and thinking to startle, he seized hold of her, when she sprang, frightened, into the water. He sprang after, and caught hold of her ; but the water was so swift that both were carried over the Falls." Flora listened to the story with breathless interest until he had finished, when she asked : " Did they love each other, papa ? " I don't know. Why do you ask ? " " Oh, if they loved each other, may be they died happy." She thought of Harry when she heard the sfbry, and OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 231 felt that had they only loved as she and Harry loved, that they could even go happily together over the Falls. Moulton left, after spending a few days there, and pro- ceeded on to Quebec, where he rented a house, and em- ployed a governess for little Flora. I will leave them now in a pleasant part of this walled-in city, Moulton to look after and take care of his adopted child, and Flora to commence learning those things which_were requisite and necessary for her to know, while I return again to Harry, the disconso- late. Winter, long and frosty winter, had passed. Spring had come and gone ; but Harry Collingwood had not heard a syllable of little Flora. He was sitting in the kitchen one night, in the early part of June, with Aunt Rose. Ever since Flora had gone, he had found great comfort in talking to Aunt Rose, and in consequence she seldom spent an evening alone. Harry was sitting thoughtfully on an old chair near where Rose was at work. " Aunt Rose," said he, at last, father says I must go to school. He and mother are going with me next week. I know I shall hate school, don't you ? " " Massa Harry, larnin' is a mighty good thing, is larnin'." " But I don't want to go, I don't wish to leave you, Rose." " I knows it 's mighty tryin' to your feelin's, Massa Harry, but Massa knows what 's de bes' for you." " But, Rose, may be Flora will come back, or write to me while I am away." " Spose she do write, I 's sure to send you her let- ters." " But you can't write, Rose ; how will you send her letters ? " 232 THE CROOKED ELM; " You see, Massa Harry, de writin' will be on de let- ter when I gits it, or how could it come to you ? Well, I '11 jis put it in de office agin wid your name on it, jis as little Flora writed it herself." " But it won't come to me, if you do put it in the office." " What 's dat you say, Massa Harry ? Not come to you?" " No, Rose ; my post-office address would have to be written on it." " Oh, yes ! 1 sees ; de 'dress would hab to be put on, pose-office 'dress. Yes, I sees now ; de 'dress. How do dey put on de 'dress, Massa Harry ? may be I could pat on de 'dress." " I mean that the name of the post-office where I am going would have to be written on the back of the letter." " Oh, dat am what you means." " How could you send it, Rose ? " Could n't I get Missis to 'dress it ? " " Oh, mother would n't send it ; she don't care any thing about Flora." " De more am de pity de little angel ! " " If she sends me a letter, I '11 never get it, I know," said Harry, despondingly. " If de letter comes, I'll get Missis to 'dress it. I'll talk to Missis about Massa Harry, 'till she gets to feelin' soft like, and den I'll jis speak 'bout de 'dressip' ob de letter." " Will you, Rose ? Don't let her put you off by say- ing pshaw ! and fudge ! and the like of that. Stick to her until she consents." " Oh, I 's get her to 'sent ; nebber fear Aunt Rose." The time soon came, when he must leave home. The night before going, he talked long and lovingly to old OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 233 Rose. She had baked for him a great many cakes, and had prepared a variety of things for him when he should leave. " Rose," said he, " I hate school, I know I sha'n't learn any thing. I wish father would let me stay at home." " But, Massa Harry, you 's a growin' up ; one of dese days you '11 be a big man, and you 's a gwine to marry little Flora. Den you '11 want to hab larnin'." " But why can't I learn at home ? " " May be, Massa Harry," said Rose, with a very wise look, " you '11 fine Flora where you 's a gwine." " I wonder if I won't ! " said Harry, eagerly. " Per- haps I may see her somewhere ! Who knows ? Father says it is several hundred miles away ; I think it more than likely I will meet her ; I wonder I never thought of that before!" Rose had ingeniously turned the whole tenor of his thoughts. He even longed for the morning to come, that he might begin his journey. Rose was up the next morning long before the sun, fixing and arranging every thing for her dear Massa Harry. She packed away more good things than' he could ever eat. Nothing that she could do to add to his comfort did she leave undone. She moved about with a serious and sorrowful face, and occasionally she wiped away the falling tears with her rough hand. Harry, too, was up early, and he spent ah 1 the time he could with Rose. " When I am gone," said he, " I will write to you in mother's letters, and I think she will read them to you." " Do, Massa Harry ; Missis will read de letters. I will get Missis to write a letter for me, and 'dress it to you." 20 234 THE CROOKED ELM; " But you cannot tell her all that you will wish to say." " Well, I '11 jis tell her all dat I can, an' you know you can guess de res'." The carriage at length drove up to the door, and Harry was told to get ready to leave. Before he left the kitchen, Aunt Rose put her arms round him and hugged him up to her, saying, as she did so : " Oh, Massa Harry, Aunt Rose will be berry lone- some when you is gone." Harry put his arms round the neck of his good and kind-hearted old nurse, and promised always to take care of her when he grew to be a man. He left the kitchen in tears. The trunks were all on. Mr. and Mrs. Collingwood had seated themselves in the carriage. Harry lingered a little, Rose was by his side, and before he got in, she gave him another loving embrace, and slipped into his pocket a purse of money. Harry did not see her do this, but Mr. Collingwood did, and re- solved that Rose's purse should soon be replenished. The carriage at last drove away, and Rose returned to the kitchen with the big tears coursing down her ebony face. Mr. Collingwood first went to New York, where he met his old friend Hastings. He stopped a week or two in the city, visiting various places of note. Hastings was glad to see them, and took great pains to make their stay pleasant. Harry was delighted with much that he saw. Often would he look at the little girls as he passed through the more crowded streets, hoping to see Flora, but he was always doomed to disappoint- ment. He never before had dreamed that a city could be so large. He wondered how so many people could live in so small a compass. They at length left the city with all its noise, and OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 235 dust, and confusion, and went to a beautiful little vil- lage in the State of New York, where Harry was left in a school where they prepared boys for college. It was about two hundred miles from the city, and in one of the loveliest spots in the whole Empire State. It was hard for Harry to part with his father and mother, but he had made up his mind to do it. He remembered the sage remark of Aunt Rose respecting his growing up to be big, and of his intention to marry Flora ; and he thought, with her, that then he should need an edu- cation. This thought made him courageous, and he even tried to avoid shedding a tear at parting ; but when his mother embraced and kissed him, and told him to be a good boy, and study to be a great man, the tears came into his eyes, in spite of all his efforts to keep them back. His father kissed him, and bade him a fond good-by. They separated and Harry Collingwood had entered upon a new life he had stepped over the threshold which admits man to all his greatness and to all his troubles. Thus did the two young lovers, in the spring-time of life, begin to fit themselves for the great drama, whose theatre is the world. So do we ah 1 enter upon the stage of life, little knowing the parts we ourselves are to play. As we leave, others take our places to reenact with slight variations the same parts we have personated, and with only a shade of difference in the shifting of the scenes. Time and the world move on, however, leav- ing ns to gape and wonder at the parts we are respec- tively playing, and giving us scarcely an opportunity to bow a respectful entrance and exit, before the final drop-scene falls, and Charon significantly whispers in our ears that the play is ended, and that his boat is ready to convey us over the mystic wave. CHAPTER XIX. IT was a stinging, biting, frosty morning. The air, filled with drifting snow, whistled and howled around the corners and roofs of houses. The milkman, as he stood in his cart waiting for Bridget to show herself from the basement, beat his sides with his mittened hands. Omnibus drivers, as they whirled along over the creaking snow and ice, were trying to hide their ears and faces beneath their overcoat collars. Teeth chat- tered, and blue noses predominated. All out of doors was crisped, pinched, and shivering. It was a morning to make poverty and the Five Points moan. William Hastings sat by his cheerful fire well wrapped up in his dressing-gown. Five weeks had passed since the event- ful sleigh-ride, and he had not yet been out of the house. To him they were long weeks, filled with troubled and torturing thoughts. He was looking pale and melan- choly. He had heard nothing from Mrs. Belmonte since she had left the city. Nothing would have afforded him greater pleasure than a letter from her. He could not understand her seeming coldness and indifference. " Her letters were so unlike herself," he would some- times say, " that there must be something at the bottom of them that I am unable to see I have offended her in some way without knowing it. I would gladly write her, but I will not compromise my self-pride by (236) THE CROOKED ELM; 237 doing so. She has told me that she would not expect to hear from me. I will never write her again, although it is impossible to cease loving her. As Hastings, on the morning that I have mentioned, sat thinking of Mrs. Belmonte and the letters which she had written him, a letter was handed in to him, post-marked Florida. He opened it hastily, and read : " FLORIDA, March , 18 . " DEAR HASTINGS, We have concluded to remain here a few months. When you are able, I wish you would look a little after my business. There are several notes of mine which must be met soon. I will forward you drafts to take them up. I hope you have entirely recovered from your injuries. Mrs. Belmonte is not very well, and I have thought that this climate might be better for her than that of New York. This explains our remaining longer here than we had at first intended. I will write you again soon. Why have we not heard from you ? In great haste, I am, etc., " Yours sincerely, BELMONTE." There was nothing in this letter to comfort Hastings. No news of Mrs. Belmonte, save that she was not well, and that she intended to remain where she was a few months longer. " Why could she not send me a word of explanation ? " muttered he. " I have been deceived. I have believed her perfect, and yet, without the shadow of a reason, she tells me that she will not expect me to write her again. I will never trust one of her sex again." As he said this, he threw the letter which he had been reading on to the table, and walked into the drawing-room. "I believe," continued he, "that all women are deceitful, hypocritical, and unworthy of con- fidence. Mrs. Belmonte, I will obey your request. You 238 THE CROOKED ELM; will never have occasion to tell me a second time, that you will not expect to hear from me. No ! I shall now live for myself, regardless of consequences, and careless of the feelings of others. . Fate, you have long opposed me ; I now bid you defiance ! " Soon after Hastings had left his room, Mrs. Delacy entered it, and seeing the open letter on his table, she did not hesitate to pick it up and read it. A satisfied smile rested on her countenance when she finished it. Ah ! " said she, that letter operated capitally ! Mrs. Belmonte, you must not presume to come between me and my plans!" Two weeks after Mrs. Belmonte had left the city, Mrs. Delacy, wishing to keep her away as long as possible, wrote her the following forged let- ter: "DEAR MRS. BELMONTE, Two weeks have passed since you left. I am getting along swimmingly! I never can sufficiently repay Miss Leighton and Mrs. Delacy for their unremitting attentions to me during my present illness. Miss Leighton is here almost con- stantly. I had once thought her not possessed of those traits of character which make home pleasant I have changed my mind ; she is an angel in disguise. I write you this letter to tell you that I think it injudicious and dangerous for us to correspond with each other in future. I fear, from some things which I have heard, that reports will get into circulation which must of necessity injure seriously your good name. There is but one way by which such a calamity can be avoided. If you remain whjsre you are a few months, it is possi- ble that the apprehended danger may be averted. It is not necessary for me to enter into the details of what is here hinted at, for you will readily understand to what I allude. I cannot write you again consideration for OE, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 239 you forbids it ; neither can I ever visit you, for the same reason. I shall not expect a letter from you in future. With feelings of the sincerest regard, I remain your friend, WILLIAM HASTINGS." "New York, February , 18 ." When Mrs. Belmonte read this letter, she suffered all the torture of the rack. She was naturally sensitive respecting every thing touching her reputation. She knew too well that she had given cause for suspicion, and that if her indiscretion were known, it would be construed into guilt and unworthiness. But, more than all else, the cold, icy letter of Hastings chilled her souL That he whom she had so long loved, so idolized, and for whom she was now perhaps about to suffer dis- grace, that he should write her such a letter, sickened her heart, and made her feel that life was no longer desirable. She besought Belmonte to let her remain in Florida a few months longer, giving as a reason her delicate state of health. He complied with her wishes ; and thus she was, without dreaming it, assisting Mrs. Delacy in her infamous plots. Mrs. Delacy, when she read Belmonte's letter, exulted over the success of her plans. " Every thing," thought she, " is moving as smoothly as I could wish. I am playing a dangerous game, but I have nerve enough to carry it through. I will go on." That morning Miss Leighton and Kate Coleman called in their carriage to visit Mrs. Delacy. When they walked into the drawing-room^ muffled in furs, and with cheeks red and rosy from the cold without, they met Hastings. They had not seen him before for several weeks. In his impatience he had refused to see all visitors, alleging as a reason, that his physician had 240 THE CROOKED ELM; forbidden him to see any one. His physician had given such instructions ; but not until requested to do so by himself. When they entered the room where he was sitting, therefore, they both exclaimed, delightedly: " Why, Mr. Hastings, how do you do ? I am so glad to see you out again." They shook his hand heartily, and were really rejoiced to see him. " I am sorry, ladies," said Hastings, blandly, " that I have been compelled to forego the pleasure of seeing you, when you have so kindly called to inquire after me ; but that blockhead physician of mine would have his own way." " Well," said Miss Leighton, " since he has got you nearly well again, we will forgive him for past griev- ances." Hastings, in his despair, entered heartily into conver- sation with them, and made himself so agreeable that they never for a moment suspected the real cause of their being so long deprived of his, to them, pleasant society. Miss Delacy soon came into the room where they were, and a cheerful, lively, and general conversa- tion ensued. " I think," said Kate Coleman, " that we ought to have a small Fourth of July to celebrate Mr. Hastings' convalescence." " I think," said Miss Delacy, " that we ought rather to scold him for not showing himself to his friends sooner. If he looked a little less pale, I would be half inclined to relieve my mind at once. I will pay him off, though, depend upon it," " We will pardon him now," joined in Miss Leighton, " provided he promises better things in future ! " " I am in the hands of my friends," replied Hastings, laughing, " and, like a politician before election day, I eave them to dispose of me as suits themselves. I am OE, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 241 half inclined, however, to the opinion of Miss Coleman. A few lire-crackers would n't be amiss just now." As he said this, he wrapped himself a little closer in his dressing-gown ; and Miss Delacy, readily interpreting him, rung the bell, and ordered some more coal to be brought. Miss Leighton and Miss Coleman were easily persuaded to dismiss their carriage, and spend the day there. Kate Coleman was about eighteen years old, spright- ly, gay, and yet withal a little timid and diffident. She was full of life and animal spirits, liked genuine fun, but, unless with those with whom she was well acquainted, was reserved and retiring. Her figure was beautiful, her features were good, and would be by some thought hand- some. Her hair was rather light, perhaps, but it shaded a face so clear and white, that it did not look unbecoming. Her eyes were large, full, and of a dark blue ; and were so soft and mellow in their expression, that the twinkle of mirthfulness which occasionally gleamed from them was scarcely perceptible. She was both gay and diffi- dent sprightly, and yet sedate. She was one to melt the heart into tenderness with a look, a sigh, or a sooth- ing word. She was artless and innocent ; and never, in her li veliest moods of mirth and humor, would she in- jure the feelings of friend or foe. When with Mr. Hast- ings, Miss Leighton, and Miss Delacy, she was as lively and talkative as either of them ; but had she been in the room alone with him she would have been too re- sen' ed,, perhaps. She was one to make a confidante of one to love. She never had looked better in her life than on the morning that I have mentioned ; at least, Hastings thought so. He was almost charmed with her, as she joined in the merriments of the occasion. " Do you know, Mr. Hastings," said she, " that we 21 242 THE CROOKED ELM J are going to take you out sleigh-riding again, to get the fresh air? It is surprising how it improves one's health ! " " It effected a very decided change in mine!" said he. " Kate," said Miss Leighton, reprovingly, " how heart less you are to speak so lightly of the unfortunate ride ! " " 1 am taking satisfaction now, for the way in which he has treated us for the past few weeks. It is the only way one can get redress for one's grievances." " I am of your opinion, Kate," said Miss Delacy, " but we are three to one ; besides, he don't look more than half himself ; so, for the present, we will let him off more lightly than he deserves." " If I were condemned to be punished," said Hasiv ings, " I don't know who I should choose in preference to you, Miss Coleman, to inflict it." At this sally, Kate blushed to the eyes, and replied : " I think you would have cause to rue your choice ; for I am sure I should be severe with one so guilty as you." Kate Coleman, as she was always called by her friends, was not indifferent to Hastings. She had liked him from the time she first knew him, and whenever he had been very civil to her she had felt gratified and flattered. Mrs. Coleman liked him, and frequently had shown him marked politeness. Kate had been with Miss Leighton a great deal, and, in con- sequence, had been thrown frequently into Hastings' company ; but he, blind to the charms of every one ex- cept Mrs. Belmonte, had never appreciated Kate's many excellent traits of character. He saw her now, blushing in her beauty, and thought her lovely and fascinating ; and in his despair and recklessness of feeling, produced OB, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 243 by what he thought inconstancy in one whom he had long loved, he made her happy, by being particularly polite and civil to her. Miss Leighton and she remained at Mrs. Delacy's until after tea. In the afternoon, as they were all sitting in the drawing-room, Hastings went to his own room and brought from it two large and elegantly bound books, containing steel engravings and sketches of scenery on the Rhine, in Italy, and on the Mediter- raneari. As he returned with them he said : " Miss Coleman, I never have had the pleasure of showing you these volumes of scenery in Europe. The others have seen them, I believe, and I trust they will excuse us a few minutes while we look over them." Mrs. Delacy was in the drawing-room with them, and she felt a little jealous of Kate, at being shown such particular attention by Hastings. Perhaps Miss Leigh- ton and Miss Delacy felt a little in the same way, when they saw him seat himself on the same sofa with Kate, and commence showing her the engravings, and explain- ing such of them as he had seen in his travels. Kate never before had spent an hour so pleasantly with him. She wished, when the two volumes were finished, that there were two more, even larger ones, to go through with. " I am glad," said Miss Leighton, when the books were closed, " that your travels in Europe are over. We may now expect some of your society." " I suppose," joined in Mrs. Delacy, "that Mr. Hast- ings enjoys the Rhine and sunny Italy more than he does the scenery of his own plain home." " To tell the truth, Mrs. Delacy," replied he, " I must confess a weakness by acknowledging your supposition. But I never should enjoy travelling alone in a strange country. With such company as I have just been 244 THE CROOKED ELM: roaming with, a lifetime would be too short to enjoy all that is to be enjoyed in so charming a climate and country." Hastings again brought the bloom to Miss Kate's cheeks, as he thus complimented her, merely to annoy Mrs. Delacy. " Another such journey will make you quite well again," said Mrs. Delacy, a little annoyed at what Hastings had said. " Nothing can entirely cure him," said Miss Kate, " unless it be another sleigh-ride." " Had you said another sail up the Rhine, I would have agreed with you," answered he. Kate had the misfortune to blush one of her pleasant and satisfied blushes again. Hastings seemed deter- mined to make them jealous of her ; and he succeeded to a charm. The day had been passed pleasantly by them all, and they separated when night came, full of spirits. Miss Leighton and Kate promised to call again, and assist Hastings in his efforts to get well. Hastings, from sheer heartlessness, was determined to make Mrs. Delacy jealous of the fair and blushing Miss Coleman. He was reckless and desperate, and regard- less of the consequences that might result from his atten- tions to her. He was wrong in thus trifling with the affections of Kate, simply to gratify his own caprice; but of that I have nothing to say, I am merely re- cording facts. He must bear the blame of all the de- fects in his character, and vindicate himself as becometh a gentleman and a man of honor. Two or three days after the visit of Miss Leighton and Miss Coleman, just described, Mrs. Delacy called on the former, and invited her to come and spend the next day with her. " But," said she, " come alone ; you need not bring Kate Coleman with you this time." This advice ac- corded with Miss Leighton's feelings so perfectly, that OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 245 she did not mention the subject of her intended visit to her friend Kate. The next day she visited Mrs. Delacy, and was pleased to find Hastings in one of his most amiable moods. He was in the drawing-room with her nearly all day. He tried to make Mrs. Delacy jealous of her, and succeeded nearly as well as he had done a few days previous in making her jealous of Kate Cole- man. " How soon," inquired Miss Leighton, " will you be out again ? We are losing the best, of the opera sea- son." " That is rich, I declare ! " said Hastings. " Why, you have been to the opera every second night for the last six weeks. Don't I hear of your going with Mr. Dillingscott, and with Mr. this one and Mr. that one ? " " Oh ! I go occasionally, of course. One can't refuse always," said Miss Leighton. " I don't know why they should wish to refuse, when such agreeable company applies," answered he. " Agreeable ! " exclaimed she, " you know that I never could endure that Dillingscott. Agreeable, in- deed!" "Now, Lib, I rather like that! .That is decidedly cool, to say the least ! " " You know I can't endure him ! so where is the use of persecuting me by the mention of his name ! " Miss Leighton affected to be a little miffed at what she called Hastings' persecutions ; but he had pleased her more by calling her Lib than he had offended in seeming to think that she took pleasure in the society of Mr. Dillingscott. He had called her Lib, simply be- cause Mrs. Delacy was in the room. He seemed to think that Mrs. Delacy was at the bottom of all his troubles. . 4*1*' 21* 246 THE CROOKED ELM; " You did not answer me," continued Miss Leighton. u When may we expect to see you out again ? " " I feel as though I might venture abroad now," answered he. " Your society has so cheered me that I could almost dance the polka, even now. Will you try one with me, Lib ? " As he said this he got up, and without any music amused them by his awkward at- tempts at dancing a polka with Miss Leighton. " I declare," said Hastings, " I enjoyed that as much as I used to enjoy kiss-in-the-ring when a boy." Mrs. Delacy was beginning to feel her old jealousy of Miss Leighton returning. Hastings had made himself particularly agreeable to her daughter's former rival, she thought. Poor Mrs. Delacy was beset with a multitude of troubles. As soon as one was removed, another took its place. Miss Leighton went home that night feeling almost as happy as blushing Kate had felt a few evenings previous. Hastings was evidently beside him- self. His misunderstanding with Mrs. Belmonte had deranged his mind, and, as a kind of revenge for it all, he lent himself to getting up petty rivalries and jealous- ies between his admirers, as heartily as though they had been the cause of his troubles. He wag soon able to leave the house, and the first visit he made was to see Kate Coleman. It was the first time that he had ven- tured out, and Kate felt proud of the compliment. Hastings sat with her and Clemie for an hour or two in their mother's large drawing-room. Kate tried, in every way possible, to make his call agreeable. It was the first time he had ever visited her at her own home. As he was about leaving, he said : " Miss Coleman, I think of attending the opera on next Monday evening ; can I have the pleasure of your and Miss Clemie's com- pany?;> OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 247 " I shall be most happy to go," answered she, delight- edly. " I shall take no one else," said he, " unless you can prevail on your mother to accompany us." " Mother seldom attends such places of amusement," said Kate, " but I will tell her of your polite invita- tion." Hastings saw that she was pleased at the thought of accompanying him to the opera. He rose to go, and, as he did so, he said : " Miss Coleman, I am in- debted to you for a very pleasant afternoon. I accept with pleasure the polite invitation you have given me to call whenever I can make it pleasant to myself. I fear, though, that ypu will have occasion to regret so unlimited an invitation." Kate could not reply to him, save in blushes. He stood by her side, and looked into her delighted face. It was a moment of temptation. He took her small white hand in his, and drawing her gently towards him, kissed her. She did not refuse this unexpected- advance ; and the only manifestation, either of pleasure or dis- pleasure, that she evinced, was, to blush more deeply than ever. She was unable to raise her eyes from the floor. Never were sweeter lips kissed, and never were they kissed more unexpectedly or more modestly than then. Hastings bowed himself out, leaving Miss Kate in her blushes and embarrassment. Monday night came, and Hastings accompanied Miss Kate and Clemie Coleman to the opera. He had now shown so decided a preference for Kate, that Mrs. De- lacy, her daughter, and Miss Leighton, began to feel extremely envious of their fair rival. They felt decid- edly uncomfortable. Hastings had anticipated this ; and it was for this purpose alone that he had shown so much attention to Kate. They were up in arms now, not 248 THE CROOKED ELM J openly, to be sure, but secretly, against unoffending Kate. Time passed on. Several months had gone. Spring, in all its loveliness, had displaced gloomy winter. The weather was growing warm and pleasant. Hastings had continued to visit Miss Coleman occasionally ever since he had been able to leave the house. Mrs. De- lacy was almost as jealous of her as she had been of Mrs. Belmonte. She no longer called to see her. A coldness had grown up between them, from some remarks and observations which Mrs. Delacy had made one day in Kate's presence. They no longer interchanged the civil- ities of friends. Hastings had called to see Miss Cole- man one beautiful evening ; the inoon was shining brightly, and the weather was so warm that the draw- ing-room windows were left open. Hastings and she were seated in the window together. The room was so light and pleasant that the gas had not been lit. They had been sitting thus for some time, when Hastings, looking across the avenue, saw a female walking slowly by. Her form was bent, and she leaned upon a staff as if for support. He saw her turn her head sev- eral times, and look towards the window where he was seated. He took no notice of it, however, nor did he think it any thing strange or remarkable. But when he saw the same woman soon afterwards walking back, and almost continually looking in the direction where he was, his curiosity was excited. " Miss Coleman," said he, as the woman was about opposite to him, " I must bid you good night. I have a curiosity to know who that woman is who has been walking up and down the avenue, looking at us." He took leave of Kate, and, crossing the street, followed the mysterious female. The woman saw that she was watched, and began to manifest signs of uneasiness OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 249 She crossed from one side of the street to the other ; but Hastings kept about the same distance from her, do what she would. If she quickened her pace, he quickened his ; if she walked slow, he did the same. When she saw that there was no getting rid of him, she led him far down into the heart of the city, and, as she turned a cor- ner some distance in advance of him, she jumped into a carriage that stood there, and told the driver to go with all speed to a place which she named, not many blocks distant from Mrs. Delacy's house. Hastings was quite confident that the woman whom he had followed was none other than Mrs. Delacy herself, although on his re- turn home he found her seated in her parlor. The next morning, at the breakfast table, he related his adventure on the night previous. Mrs. Delacy affected to think it a very strange incident. She listened attentively to what he said, but was unable to conceal her feelings sufficiently to deceive him. He was convinced that she was the woman who had watched him at Mrs. Coleman's win- dow. He began to think. "She will stoop to any thing," muttered he, " to accomplish her base ends." He remembered some insinuations which she had made during the time that he had visited Mrs. Belmonte. His eyes began to open ; but, strange to say, he never once suspected her of having been in any way connected with his present misunderstanding with Mrs. Belmonte. He feared her, but his fears had taken no definite shape. CHAPTER XX. ONE pleasant morning in the latter part of May, Hast- ings was walking thoughtfully down Fifth Avenue, There was a zephyr-like softness pervading the atmos- phere, which naturally awakened in him his better feel- ings. He sauntered about on this palatial street for some hours, swallowed up in his own reflections. He was dissatisfied with himself, and with almost every one whom he knew. " I am," soliloquized he, " heart-sick of myself and of the world. Instead of acting as be- cometh a man of sense and honor, I am engaged in get- ting up petty rivalries between those for whom I care nothing. Care nothing? No, that is not true. I do care for Miss Coleman. I like her. She is innocent, confiding, and noble-hearted. So much the more am I to blame for trifling with her affections. I will do so no longer ; I will give her to understand that my feelings for her are those only of a friend. I will leave off playing the fool, and act sensibly in future. I will turn my at- tention to something which will afford me a permanent happiness. I will leave the gay, heartless, treacherous, and hypocritical world at once, and for ever. I will no longer place confidence in woman. They are all deceit- ful and unworthy. There is Mrs. Delacy, all smoothness and smiles when in my presence, but how low will stye stoop to accomplish her ends ! Cornelia, too, whom I (250) TEE CROOKED ELM. 251 had thought perfect, and for whom I could have laid down my life, she, even she " at this point in his thoughts, his attention was called to a carriage which drove up to Mr. Belmonte's door. His curiosity was excited, and he watched it attentively. He was several blocks off, but he saw a man, whom he took to be Belmonte, walk up the steps and ring the bell. Bessy answered it, and, with another servant, descended to the carriage and assisted in carrying a lady into the house. " It is Cornelia ! I will go at once to her ! " muttered Hastings, excitedly, as he started hastily towards Belmonte's house. His first im- pulse was soon checked, however, and he stopped, saying to himself, " No ! I will not go. She cares not to see me'. She has said as much in her letters. I will not sacrifice my self-respect by disobeying her request. I have ceased to care for her. She is not worthy of my love ! " Notwithstanding these were Hastings' feelings, he lingered about in sight of Belmonte's house for more than an hour. Sometimes he was half inclined to go to the door and inquire after Mrs. Belmonte of Bessy ; at others he turned, resolved to go away and think no more about her ; but before going many blocks, he would stop and walk back as near to the house as he dare venture without fear of being seen. That evening, before it was scarcely dark, he was walking from one street to another, in the immediate vicinity of Belmonte's house. He looked at the windows, hoping to see who occupied the lighted rooms. He caught glimpses of persons moving about in Mrs. Belmonte's room. His impatience to hear from her, and to know how she was, made him resolve to go to the door and ring the bell. Twice did he pass by, however, before he could make up his mind to mount the steps. At length he walked hesitatingly up to the door, and pulled the bell. " I will just ask Bessy how her mistress is, and then go away," thought he ; "I will dis- 252 THE CROOKED ELM; If"" | guise my voice, so that she will not recognize me. Bessy soon opened the door, and Hastings, embarrassed and stammering, tried to gather from her some knowledge of Mrs. Belmonte. Bessy knew him at once, and said, with a solemn shake of her head : " Oh ! Massa Hastin's ! Missis is berry bad ! She 's gwine to die ! I know she is ! " Hastings stammered out a few questions, when Bel- monte, hearing his voice, came into the hall where he was. " Why, Hastings, how glad I am to see you ! How did you learn that we had returned ? " "I I was passing, and saw the house lighted up, and thought that you were here." By this time they were in the parlor. " You look pale and ill, Hastings. Are you not well ? " " Not very well," replied Hastings. " How is Mrs. Belmonte ? " " She is very poorly indeed. She has been unwell ever since we first left here for the South. Would you like to see her ? " " I fear from what you tell me," said Hastings, " that her health is such as not to permit it." " I will go and let her know that you are here," said Belmonte, leaving the room. Hastings' pride now re- turned ; and, though he would have given all that he was worth to have been invited by Mrs. Belmonte to come and see her, he could not think of intruding himself on her notice. He rose to leave the house. " She will re- fuse to see me, of course," thought he; " I will not stay to hear my sentence pronounced." He was just walking to the parlor door, when Belmonte returned, and said : " She will see you shortly." Hastings could scarcely believe what he heard. He tried to be collected and natural while with Belmonte, OK, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 253 but he felt an inward nervousness that baffled all his efforts to appear composed. " I have promised to call on Dr. C ," said Bel- monte. " I shall not be gone more than an hour. Do not leave before I come back, for I wish to have a talk with you." Hastings promised that he would remain until his re- turn, and Belmonte left. The thought of again seeing Mrs. Belmonte unnerved Hastings, as he sat alone, expecting every moment to be summoned into her presence. There are moments in which we live an age, almost, so intense are the thoughts which crowd upon the mind. Hastings was not easily excited; he was naturally cool and collected under the severest trials; but now his lip quivered, and his countenance beto- kened a mind stirred with strong emotions. His visit was unexpected to Mrs. Belmonte. She had thought that he would never call upon her again. The forged letter of Mrs. Delacy led her to think so. The letters which she had received from Mrs. Delacy were the cause of her illness. She was taken from her bed at her own request, and placed in an easy chair. Her head and shoulders reclined upon satin pillows, while her feet rested on a beautifully worked footstool. The whole appearance of the room was that of refined ele- gance. She had dismissed her domestics, and sat awaiting Hastings. A feverish flush had displaced for the moment the natural paleness in her cheeks, while her heaving bosom indicated intense mental agitation. Bessy soon informed Hastings that her mistress was ready to receive him. Tremulous, and with a fluttering heart, he went alone to her room. When he had en- tered and closed the door, he hesitated a moment their eyes met from hers beamed all the forgiving, 22 iii v 254 THE CROOKED ELM, loving tenderness which she felt. Their hearts spoke together in that one look. Hastings hesitated no longer, but rushing forward and falling upon one knee at her feet, and clasping her right hand convulsively in both of his, exclaimed in a voice of tenderest love : " Cornelia ! " Then, as if suddenly recollecting him- self, he said : " Pardon me, Cornelia ! I mean you no disrespect. I am beside myself with joy at again see^ ing you." In a feeble and agitated voice she bade him be seated. When he had complied with her wishes, she said: " William, I had thought after the letter which you sent me, that you would never call to see me again." " What ! what do you mean ? what letter ? " " I mean the one which you wrote to me while I was in Florida." " Cornelia, I do not understand you. I never wrote you a letter while you were there. You told me that you would not expect to hear from me." I told you so ? Never, William ! But I see through it all now; we have been imposed upon; our letters have been intercepted. I have thought so from the moment I first saw you enter this room ! " " You are too ill now, Cornelia, to talk more on this subject. I will call to-morrow and see you. We then shall be better able to fathom this mystery, which has so long estranged us." " I wish," said Mrs. Belmonte, " to know more of it before I sleep. The trouble arising out of those cold letters, which I was foolish enough to think you wrote, caused my present illness." " Have you the letter which you received in Flor- ida?" " Yes. Will you unlock that box on the bureau ? You will find the key in the little drawer in that cabi- OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 255 net. I think the letter is at the bottom of a package of letters which you will see there. Bring them all here." Hastings did as directed. "That is the letter," said Mrs. Belmonte, as she handed it to him. He looked over its contents. " I never saw that base letter before, Cornelia. Shall I pledge you my honor that I never penned it ? " " No, William ; I know that you never wrote it." Hastings then looked over several others which she pointed out, and which she said she received before she left the city. " They are all forgeries ! base, villanous forgeries ! I never saw one of them before ! " " I believe it," said Mrs. Belmonte, in a feeble voice. " You do not know what a weight has been removed from my mind by your calling to-night. I never will distrust you again. Have you the letters which I sent you while you were ill ? " " I have them, but not here. Yes, they are in my inside pocketbook." He soon produced them, and Mrs. Belmonte said that she never had written any, except the first one. " Do you suspect any one of intercepting our let- ters ? " inquired she. " Yes," he answered. " Now that 1 look at them closely, I easily recognize the hand that penned them. I need not tell you whom I suspect; you already know." " I have long feared her," answered she. Hastings saw that Mrs. Belmonte was very much ex- cited, and fearing to remain longer, said : " I must now go, Cornelia, You need rest ; and, pleasant as it would be for me to talk with you longer, I must forego the happiness until you are better." " I am so glad that you called, Willi am ! Nothing 256 THE CKOOKED ELM; will ever make me doubt you again ! I know that you love me, and with that knowledge I am happy." He rose, and walking up to her side pressed her hand in his, and gently kissing her, said : " I hope you will soon be well again. While my life lasts, it shall be devoted to your happiness ! Good-by ! May God bless you, and restore you speedily to health ! " As he said this, he turned and walked hur- riedly from the room. When he entered the hall, he saw Bessy walking away, but thought nothing of it. She had looked through the keyhole of Mrs. Belmonte's door, and had seen and heard much that had been said and done. She was alarmed. She had heard them speak of the forged letters, and, though she did not clearly understand what they meant, she very naturally thought that they referred to Mrs. Delacy. She feared for her own safety. Late that night Bessy stole from the kitchen and hurried to Mrs. Delacy's. The latter had retired for the night ; but on learning who wished to see her she got up, and throwing on a loose wrapper has- tily descended the stairs to where Bessy stood in the hall. They walked into the reception-room, and locked the door. " What has brought you here to night, Bessy ? " Oh! We's'sposed! We's 'sposed! De letters! De letters!" exclaimed the wench, with eyes protruding from their dark sockets. " Whafrdo you mean ? What is the matter with you, Bessy ? " asked Mrs. Delacy, now quite excited herself. " Missis has come home ! an we 's 'sposed ! I peeps through de keyhole an' seed it all ! we 's 'sposed ! " " Why can't you tell what you mean, Bessy ? When did your mistress come back ? " " Dis mornin'. Massa Hastin's was dah to-night to see Missis, an' I peeps through de keyhole, an' heers OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 257 him say, dat de letters am all de berry wuss kine ob forgesies ; an' he says, says he, ' Do you know who wrote de letters ? an' Missis lookin' mighty knowin' says, says she ' I allers hab feared her, I hab.' " " What else did you see ? " nervously inquired Mrs. Deiacy. " Oh, I seed Massa Hastin's run into Missis arms, an' he 'ducted his self jis' for all de worle like de big man with de long beard in de play. He kneels on de floor aside ob Missis, an' says, says he, ' Lor* ! how I lubs you, Corneely! Den he puts bofe of his han's into one ob Missises, an' he squeezes 'em, an' looks mighty lovin' like." " What did your mistress say, Bessy ? " " She was a lookin' as smilin' an' as pleased as, " "But what did she say?" " Oh she squeezes Massa Hastin's han's, an' says, says she, ' William, I is mighty glad ob de opportunity to see you!' An' den dey bofe guesses dat dey knows who sends de letters. I gits skeered arter a while, an' when I sees Massa Hastin's a kissin' ob Missis, an' a sayin' good-by, an' all ob dat kine ob talk, I goes away from de door. Dat is all I know." Mrs. Deiacy went to her drawer and took from it a piece of gold and offered it to Bessy, but she refused to take it. " I 's not gwine to 'cept any more money. I 's not gwine to come an' see you agin, I knows dey wilj 'sciver us ; an' I wont do wrong any more. If dey wouldn't 'sciver us, why den do you see 'twould be quite anudder thing altogedder. I hates mightily to be 'scivered, I does." Bessy got up to leave; determina- tion rested upon her countenance. Mrs. Deiacy saw there was no use trying to persuade her to act as an accomplice longer; so she threatened her with direst 22* 258 THE CROOKED ELM; punishment if she ever revealed any thing that had taken place between them. Bessy made no promises, but left with eyes big with wonder and fear. The intelligence which Bessy had brought came like a clap of thunder to Mrs. Delacy's already uneasy and guilty mind. She knew that her desperate game had ended, and that she was the loser. All her hopes and dreams of happiness were at one fell stroke prostrated in the dust. But she did not yield all yet. " Every thing," muttered she, " is exposed. I will now wage open war ! I will show Mrs. Belmonte that I have power even yet. I have lost every thing. There is no more hope for me ! But revenge is sweet, and I will have it. Mrs. Delacy never played a timid game ; and why should she now, when there is nothing more to lose ? I will rack her with terror ! Her days shall be filled up with harrowing fear, and her nights with visions of demons ! I will be her evil spirit to torment her here and hereafter! I now combat openly; there is nothing to conceal." Thus, in her despair and rage, did she threaten the destruction of Mrs. Belmonte. Alternately did she rave and weep as she lay in her bed that night. Sometimes, as she thought of giving up him whom she so wildly loved, and for whom she had sacrificed pride every thing, she wept the bitter tears of disappointed love. " Oh ! " would she exclaim, " had he known how madly I worshipped him ! Had he known my breaking heart, he never could have left me the hopeless wreck that 1 am ! I would have fol- lowed him to the ends of the earth to have served him ! " Then, when she thought of her whom she supposed had been the cause of all her misery, her feelings were those of the tigress for its prey. They were fierce, bitter, deadly such as woman alone can feel. OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 259 Hastings resolved to leave Mrs. Delacy's at once; and the next morning engaged apartments at a hotel. Mrs. Delacy was not much surprised when the express- man came for his trunks. She asked no questions she knew too well the meaning of it all. Miss Delacy did not understand why Hastings was leaving so sud- denly. She asked her mother for an explanation, but could get none. She went to her room, and thinking of nothing better, hid her face in her hands and wept. During the day she received the following : " DEAR FRIEND MARY : For certain reasons I have felt it necessary to leave your mother's, and it is but jus- tice to say that it is for nothing that you have said or done. Your mother knows why I have left, and I leave it to her to explain to you the reason. I remain your very sincere 'friend and wellwisher. " Thursday, P. M. WILLIAM HASTINGS." Miss Delacy showed this note to her mother, and besought her to explain why Hastings had left; but Mrs. Delacy was, or affected to be, indignant respecting its contents, and refused utterly to speak of him. Hastings called frequently to see Mrs. Belmonte, almost to the entire neglect of blushing Kate Coleman, (a fact which makes this honest pen of mine indignant as I write). He was better than all Mrs. Belmonte's physicians ; for she, in a remarkably short time, entirely recovered her health. He called occasionally to see Miss Coleman. Kate was not a jealous girl, and she, very generously to be sure, accepted his flimsy excuses of " press of business " as genuine, and was, or at least she tried to be, satisfied with a visit from him whenever he could find leisure to drop in and see her. Miss Leighton was beginning to 260 THE CROOKED ELM J flag in the general chase, and it is worthy of record that she now took more kindly to Mr. Dillingseott than she had ever been known to before. Mrs. Delacy, like a general who has been beaten but not conquered, sat coolly down, and took a careful sur- vey of the whole field of strife. She calculated all the chances of success and defeat, with more nerve than she ever had evinced before. All the letters which she had intercepted while Hastings was ill had been care- fully laid aside. She went and got them, and read crit- ically their contents. " They will be a dainty morsel for that stupid owl, Belmonte, one of these mornings! I had rather see him when he reads them, than witness the ' Jealous Husband ' as played at Wallaces ! " She exulted over the power which she possessed. She felt that those letters would ruin for ever the good name of Mrs. Belmonte. They were carefully sealed up and sent to Belmonte. He received and read them. He com- pared those signed by Hastings with some of Hastings' writing which he had in his office. " They are genuine, come from whom they may," exclaimed he, mad with passion. " If I am convinced that Hastings has played me false, I will shoot him as I would a dog ! Garrote me, if I dont ! I will shoot them both before night ! I have been too confiding ! too trusting ! in short too much of a cursed fool! I have refused to open my eyes to what must have been apparent to every one else ! I have encouraged his visits. I have refused to listen to the advice of one who has written me two letters of warning. I will now carry war, exterminating war into the insidious, deceitful, hypocritical, villainous, enemies' camp ! Blow me if I don't shoot them both before sundown!" Thus did the amiable Belmonte talk himself into one of the most uncomfortable of passions over the unoffending letters which lay on the OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 261 table before him. In his rage he seized them passion- ately in his hand, and throwing them on the floor crushed them with his heel, muttering : " Thus will I crush you, villain ! * Had there been a fire in his office he would have burned them ; but as there was none he acted more wisely, by carefully gathering them from the floor, and putting them in his pocketbook. He then rushed from his office. His first impulse was to go at once to Hastings, and inflict upon him summary vengeance ; but second thought induced him to act more diplomatically. He remembered, even then, his connection with Hastings in an affair that concerned himself deeply. He had not forgotten the little girl who had been spirited away from his uncle's. When he reflected more on the matter, he determined to adopt a course that would fully satisfy himself as to the exact nature of Hastings' intimacy with Mrs. Belmonte. He resolved to take her to the country, and leave her there with her friends for a few weeks. " If," said he to him- self, Hastings and she are as intimate as these letters indicate, they will correspond with each other while separated; and I will intercept the letters, or in some way manage to read them. I will fathom the matter to the bottom." This was the plan that he settled down upon a slow one to be sure for a jealous husband, but perhaps a wise one. Be this as it may, this is simply what Mr. Belmonte, with all his shrewdness, determined to do. That evening, as he and Mrs. Belmonte were sitting together, he said : " My dear, you have been sick so long that I think the country air would strengthen and invigorate you. How soon can you get ready to leave the city ? I will take you to sister's, and leave you there for a few weeks." " I don't like the country," replied Mrs. Belmonte. " I 262 THE CROOKED ELM J infinitely prefer remaining here. Besides, Walter, I think the city agrees with m<. I was sick all the time during my absence from it As soon as we returned I grew better, and got entirely well. I don't wish to go to the country." Belmonte did not like this resistance to his wishes, and he answered : " My dear, I am compelled to leave again for the South. In my absence I wish you to remain in the country. You will get ready, therefore, to leave here by Wednesday next." " That is too short a time to prepare to visit one's friends ; especially as you seem determined that I shall remain there a long time. I always did dislike visiting relatives." " Well, how long will it require for you to get ready to leave ? " ' At least a couple of weeks. I must have some dresses made, and some " u Never mind enumerating your wants. Give me a list of what you require, and I think I will have them provided for you by Wednesday next." " What makes you in such a hurry to get rid of me?" " Why, I must leave for the South by Friday or Saturday, and I wish to see you safely away before I go." " But you never mentioned this before ? " " No," answered he ; " it is a sudden and unexpected necessity that takes me away." " If I must get ready by that time, I suppose I must, so there is the end of it ; but I had much rather remain here while you are absent." It was with difficulty that Belmonte could keep cool during this pleasant discussion ; especially was it so OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 263 when Mrs. Belmonte expressed a wish to remain in the city during his absence. All thirtgs were prepared for leaving. Hastings had visited Mrs. Belmonte every day since he was told that she was so soon to leave. Belmonte, however, remained in his society when he came, and with a powerful effort succeeded in conceal- ing his jealousy from him. Hastings had expected that Mrs. Delacy would try to break off his A r isits to Bel- monte's ; but he was determined to meet boldly what- ever she should do to effect such an end. He would have been surprised at no time after he left Mrs. De- lacy's, had Belmonte attacked him for an improper inti- macy with Mrs. Belmonte. He expected something of the kind constantly ; yet his love for her led him to brave every danger that threatened. Belmonte had taken passage for himself and wife on one of the evening boats running to Albany. They were to leave home at five o'clock in the afternoon. Hastings spent a long time with Mrs. Belmonte in the morning, and he visited her again just as they were leaving the house. She invited him to get into the car- riage and go to the boat with them ; Belmonte, how- ever, did not join in the request. Hastings declined going by saying that he had business of importance that prevented his accepting her invitation. Mrs. Belmonte was unable to conceal her feelings of regret at parting with Hastings. Belmonte watched her narrowly, and saw the tears come into her eyes as she extended her hand to bid Hastings good-by. When they were driving down to the landing, Belmonte said : " Why are you so much agitated at parting with Hastings ? I never knew you to show so much emo- tion when I have parted with you, even for a much longer time than you are now to be absent from him ? " She could answer nothing, but that she supposed hex 264 THE CROOKED ELM. sickness had made her nervous. She feared that she had led him to suspect the true reason for her wishing to remain in the city, and she made an effort to be cheerful ; but the tears would make their way into her eyes through all her smiles, no matter how hard she tried to keep them back. Belmonte went with her to a beautiful little village in the State of New York, and left her there. When he bid her good-by, he said : " My dear, I think that I shall have to remain in New York a week or two yet, before going South. I will write you a line every day until I go." He had been so artfully cool when in her presence, that she did not dream that he was weaving a web to ensnare her. He kissed her as loving a good-by as he ever had done in his life, and then left, to find evidence, if possible, of her inconstancy. CHAPTER XXI. ON his way back to the city, Belmonte called on his uncle. The old man was glad to see him, for he be- lieved his nephew to be his best friend. After a great deal of persuasion, Belmonte consented to remain all night with him. They sat talking together until a late hour. The old man spoke of Flora her death, and of many incidents in her life. Belmonte felt the blood ran cold through his veins as he listened, and thought of his own guilt in removing the little girl from him. The domestics had all retired ; every thing about was as still as the grave. The hour and the place inspired Belmonte with fear. His guilty conscience cowered, but could find no hiding-place. Little Flora, and the dead body which he had taken from the river dressed in her clothes, were continually present. At length they separated for the night. Belmonte's bed-room was on the second floor, and overlooked the Hudson. The night was clear, and the moon shone brightly. He pulled the curtain aside, and seated himself by the win- dow he was afraid to retire. It was midnight, and he continued looking out on the moonlit spectacle, tor- tured with his own reflections. It was that solemn hour, when time seems to hold familiar converse with eter- nity when the spirits of the dead are supposed to 23 (266) 266 THE CROOKED ELM) break their cerements and revisit the earth to remind man of his misdeeds, and forewarn him of punishments in store. His eyes wandered unconsciously in the direc- tion of the graves on the little hillock. " Heavens ! " gasped he, as he convulsively clasped his forehead with his hands, and shook with terror : " What do I see ? " His eyes dilated, and cold perspiration stood in great drops on his face as he intently watched a white figure moving slowly towards the house, along the path lead- ing to the graves. He looked wildly at it for a few mo- ments, and then fell insensible from his chair. When he recovered his senses he got up, and, afraid to look out of the window again, staggered to the bed, and covering himself with the bed-clothes lay trembling with fear until morning. The white object which he had seen was the house-maid, who was in the habit of walking in her sleep. As soon as day-light appeared, Belmonte got out of bed, and, descending the stairs to his uncle's room, took leave of the old man, and returned to the city. No inducement would have tempted him to pass another night there. When he was safely at home, he sat down and carefully surveyed his plans and prospects. " He," meaning his uncle, " is looking better than when I left for the South. He will never die. I am a ruined man, unless I have a windfall from some quarter. I will try my scheme with that hypocritical villain, Hastings, first ; and if I don't succeed, I will turn that old dotard uncle of mine into his grave!" He suddenly remembered the apparition of the night pre- vious, and for a moment trembled with fear.. Daylight, however, had not so many terrors to him as midnight ; and, soon recovering his self-possession, he added : " He must die, if necessary for my preservation from ruin. I am too deep in crime to be chicken-hearted. I OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 267 am determined to save myself, even though devils haunt me both day and night ! " Driven to the verge of de- spair, he resolved, if possible, to defraud Hastings out of a large sum of money before breaking friendship with him ; but, failing in that, he was determined to put himself in possession of his uncle's large property. With his mind filled with these dark purposes, he went to Hastings' office. He found him sitting at his desk, writing. " Ah ! my dear fellow ! busy as usual ! " said Ed- na onte in his blandest way, as he walked familiarly up and shook hands with him. " I have just this moment returned from the beautiful village of A , where I left Mrs. JBelmonte in the arms of her friends. 'Pon my soul ! I thought they would eat her up when I sat her down among them. We had not been there an hour, when more than twenty of her friends came to bid her a hearty welcome. Captain B. offered her the use of his carriage and horses as long as she chose to remain. It is a delightful place ! She will live and grow fat there, and no mistake ! She is rejoiced to get out of this monotonous city, this mud and mortar Gotham." All this Belmonte said as gayly as possible, and without giving Hastings an opportunity of putting in a word. " I am rejoiced," said Hastings, " that her prospects of enjoying the country are so flattering." " Flattering ! Lord ! she will be feasted to death every day, should she remain there the entire year ! Do you know, Hastings, that I am compelled to leave on busi- ness for the South in a few days ? My presence is re- quired to effect the organization of the company that I am getting up there. It will be the best paying com- pany in the whole South in less than three years. . We have made extensive purchases, and the mining has been most successfully commenced. If you wish to make 268 THE CROOKED ELM; an investment that will double every year, I will let you in, Hastings, on the same favorable terms as the original stockholders. I would make no other man living that offer. If you will take one fifth of the whole stock, we can manage the concern ourselves. Such an opportu- nity does not present itself every day." " I will investigate the matter, Belmonte, and if I think then as favorably of it as you do now, I may ac- cept your proposition." " I have with me," said Belmonte, " an elaborate geo- logical report of the lands we have purchased. It may be relied upon, for it was made by an able scientific man, employed for the purpose by the State. But, Hastings, I am in need of present funds to complete all the purchases that it is desirable to make. The fact of the matter is, that we wish to monopolize the whole mining district. In order to do this effectually we must have more land. I wish to get ten thousand dollars of you." Hastings had no faith in what Belmonte had told him, nor had he any desire to become a stockholder in the company that Belmonte was in some way interested in forming. He did not wish to say so, however, so he only put the matter off, by promising to investigate it. Belmonte had come to the point. He had told Hast- ings what he wanted. " Here is twenty thousand dollars' worth of stockcer- tificates on the < Bauble Gold Mining Company' in Mexico, now in successful operation, and paying a semiannual dividend of twelve per cent. I will leave these with you as security for ten thousand dollars for six months." Hastings thought for a moment, and then said : " I will make you the loan, without any other -security than your individual notes." He took his pen, as he OK, LIFE BY THE WAT-SIDE. 269 said this, and filled five notes for two thousand dollars each, and handed them to Belmonte to sign. He then drew checks for the money, and placed them in Bel- monte's hands. This liberality astonished Belmonte. He could not understand what it meant. He thanked Hastings over and over again, and then left to draw the money. When he had gone Hastings muttered : "I will run the risk of losing this money for thy sake, Cor- nelia. Had I not let him have it, he would have been ruined perhaps he would have committed some des- perate act to possess himself of the money which he now requires not, as he says, to purchase mining lands, but to pay the mortgages that are falling due. Twenty thousand dollars of stock certificates ! He must think me a fool ! As a business transaction, I would not loan him one thousand on them. I will not let him think that he can impose upon me with his worthless securities. Twenty thousand dollars indeed ! I make the loan, Belmonte, not to accommodate you, but to save another from disgrace." Mrs. Belmonte and Hastings interchanged letters almost every day while they were separated. They addressed them in fictitious names, agreed upon before Mrs. Belmonte left the city. That the reader may know how she enjoyed the country, I here extract from one of her letters to Hastings : " DEAREST WILLIAM : I have just read over and over again your welcome and precious letter. Your letters afford me the only enjoyment that I have, while stopping in this stupidly dull and monotonous village. Every day I am bored to death with Walter's country cousins, and the over -politeness of these officious villa- gers. I have to sit in the drawing-room constantly, and 23* 270 THE CROOKED ELM; entertain a dozen or more of them, whom I heartily wish at their own homes. I trip over to the post-office early in the morning, as soon as the New York mail comes in, and get your dear, sweet, loving letters my- self. I have read those you have sent me at least a hundred times, and have them now lying hid next my heart. Do continue to write me every day. The locket which you gave me I wear constantly round my neck while here. It lies open before me now, as I write. I am praying for cold weather, so that I may leave this place and go to the city, where I can see you. I am sure I can beat you playing chess when I get back. I am compelled to go to evening parties to gratify "Wal- ter's friends. If they knew how infinitely I disliked spending my evenings so, I am sure they would not take so much trouble to torment me. Write me a good long letter next time just such as you wrote me last. There is no danger of their being intercepted ; for no one here knows, or can know, what name to inquire for, even should they suspect me of corresponding with you. Do write me at least one let- ter a day, for they are my life when absent from you. My sheet is full. With love, now and ever," I remain, Your " Saturday . CORNELIA." About two weeks after Mrs. Belmonte had left the city, Belmonte called on Hastings, at his office, to bid him good-by. " I am going south, to-morrow, to effect the pur- chases I spoke to you of. I may be gone four or five weeks. In my absence, Hastings, I wish you would occasionally correspond with Mrs. Belmonte, and tell OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 271 her how things move along in the city. I am sure she will be glad to hear from you." " I will do so with pleasure," answered Hastings ; not, however, without a slight suspicion that Belmonte meant more than his words implied. " I shall be back here,. I think, in five weeks," said Belmonte, " and then we will talk more on the subject of your becoming a shareholder. Good-by, Hastings! I shall never forget your kindness in lending me that ten thousand dollars. Don't let Kate Coleman carry you away captive until I come back." " If she should be so foolish," answered Hastings, " she will soon rue her bargain. She will find me ' dam- aged goods.' " Well, good-by, Hastings ! " " Good-by, Belmonte ! I wish you a safe and suc- cessful journey." They shook hands heartily, and separated. Belmonte had no thought of going south. It was a deception which he practised upon Hastings, and his wife, to in- duce them to correspond freely if they wished to do so. When he left New York, he went to Philadelphia, and remained there one week, and then proceeded at once to the village where he had left Mrs. Belmonte. It was late in the evening when he arrived. Mrs. Belmonte had 'gone a few miles into the country to attend a party. He went to her room, and unlocking her trunks, searched them through and through, but found no let- ters. He next opened a little rosewood box, in which he recollected that she sometimes kept her letters. He saw a package containing at least a dozen, tied up carefully with a piece of blue ribbon. He pulled one from the package. It commenced : " MY DEAREST CORNELIA." It was decidedly a suspicious commence- ment. He opened a second, a third, and so on, until he 272 THE CROOKED ELM; came to the last ; and, without an exception, they were all addressed to " DEAREST CORNELIA." He turned to the subscription, and saw in undisguised letters the name WILLIAM HASTINGS. He was in a blazing pas- sion ; yet he seated himself and read them carefully through. Occasionally, as he looked through their con- tents, he stamped his foot, clenched his fists, and mut- tered suppressed curses of vengeance. He seemed to gather no consolation from the letters ; for the moment that he finished the last one he sprang to his feet, and exclaimed in a fierce, determined voice, "I will have the heart's blood of them both ! I swear it ! " He rushed madly out of the room, and after a little delay procured a carriage and started for the place where Mrs. Belmonte was spending the evening. Before reaching there he had time to reflect. His passions cooled a lit- tle, and he began to " calculate " as to what he had bet- ter do. He was naturally a coward, and more than all, was excessively vain. He did not like to have the world think that his wife loved any one better than himself. " If I act hastily in seeking revenge, I will only expose myself to public ridicule. No ! I will meet her as cor- dially as ever. I will play a game of my own, and seek revenge in my own way ! " He soon drove up to a large country residence, well lighted up, and alighting, rung the bell and sent in his card. When Mrs. Bel- monte heard her husband's name announced, an invol- untary shudder shook her frame. Hastings' likeness was in her bosom, and her dress was so low that the beautiful gold chain to which it was attached could be seen encircling her snowy white neck. She knew not what to do. There was no time to remove it Bel- monte's sudden arrival, at a time when she supposed him a thousand miles away, was a fact in itself sufficient to OE, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 273 disconcert her, even had she possessed more nerve than she did. He entered the room where she was, and with an effort embraced her as warmly as he would have* done had nothing occurred to disturb his equanimity. " My dear," said Belmonte, " I am rejoiced to see you enjoying yourself so well here among my old friends." Her cheeks were scarlet, she knew not what to think or say. She instinctively feared that her hus- band's sudden arrival augured no good. " Your cheeks, Cornelia, are as red as roses. I hardly knew you the country has improved your looks so much." She saw him look at the chain round her neck. His countenance indicated displeasure, although covered with smiles. She tried to appear cheerful during the remainder of the evening, but could not she feared her husband. Belmonte mingled with his friends, and exerted himself successfully in trying to be as gay as the gayest. He danced and talked and laughed as heartily as he would have done had he been in the best of spirits. The party at length broke up, and Mr. and Mrs. Belmonte set out to return to the village. They sat in the carriage together in silence for some time. Belmonte broke the ice : " My dear," inquired he, " have you ever loved me ? " The question^as so unexpected, so suggestive, that she could not answer immediately. When she could speak, s*he said : " Why do you ask me such a question ? " " Simply to ascertain the truth," replied he, laconi- cally. " You know," answered she, tremblingly, " that I never have said that I loved you ; I even told you when we were married that I did not, but that I loved another, and most probably ever should." 274 THE CROOKED ELM ; " Do you respect me ? " asked he, somewhat sarcasti- cally. Mrs. Belmonte's worst fears were confirmed. She knew from his manner that her intimacy with Hastings had brought her husband there. She also knew that appearances and facts were against her. She at once thought of Hastings' letters, locked up as she supposed in her rosewood box. She remembered his likeness, then in her bosom. What could she do ! What could she say in palliation of what she had done ! These thoughts, and such as these, crowded thick and fast upon her mind. She sat in silence, and without answering Belmonte's last question. He again said : , " Do you, or have you ever, respected me ? " " I know not what to answer ! You appear so strange and unlike yourself! " " I am very ' strange and unlike myself,' am I ? " said Belmonte, in a voice of suppressed anger. " You are unable to comprehend me. Well, I will be more plain and explicit. But, first of all, I should Jike to know how you came by that exceedingly pretty chain that I saw about your neck. It is very ornamental, very ! May I have the pleasure of looking at it when we get home ? " This speech had the effect to make Mrs. Belmonte indignant for a moment, and she answered, in a proud and haughty tone ; " I will not show it to you, nor to any one else, who cannot ask to see it in a gentlemanlike manner! It belongs to Mr. Hastings ; if that is what you wish to know." The fire flashed from her eyes as she spoke, but she soon lost all courage, all presence of mind. She felt that she was ruined, and the thought almost crazed her brain. " The chain belongs to Mr. Hastings, does it?" coolly OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 275 reiterated he. " A very pretty chain, indeed ! May I ask if there is any thing attached to it ? " Mrs. Belmonte's brain reeled, and she fainted. He saw the agitated state of her rnind ; and when she had recovered he spoke less harshly to her. He removed the chain and locket from her neck while she was insensible, and put them in his pocket. There was not much else said by either, until they had arrived at the house where Mrs. Belmonte was stopping. They both repaired to her room together. As soon as a light was struck, Belmonte seated himself, and deliberately taking Hastings' letters from his pocket, said, in a tone of irony : " My dear, will you sit down with me and examine these specimens of epistolary excellence ? " She was overwhelmed with what she saw, and sunk to the floor in a swoon. He picked her up, and laying her on the bed soon restored her to consciousness. He had no mercy, however, and was resolved to rack her with terror. She buried her face in her hands, and wept the bitter tears of despair. Her heart was broken. She thought she was ruined for ever in the estimation of the virtuous ; and, though she knew that the extent of her guilt was that of loving Hastings only, yet she well understood the construction that her husband and the world" would p^' upon her conduct. She thought that Belmonte would discard her for ever. In this she was mistaken. " You see," said he, that I am at the bottom of your secret. You know that I have lost all respect for you that I believe you guilty of that which will for ever make me despise you ! hate you ! loathe you ! But I am not willing to sacrifice myself and my chances of a fortune, for any woman ! much less for one so un- worthy as you have proved to be ! " 276 THE CROOKED ELM; " Sit down here ! " said he, commandingly, and in a voice which made the blood run cold through her veins. She was powerless to resist. She feared for her life. There was the fierceness, of a demon in his countenance. She seated herself at the table where he pointed. " Take your pen," continued he, " and write what I shall dictate." She did as told, without seeming to know what she was doing, and penned to his dictation the following letter, and addressed it to William Hastings : " : You will please return all the letters which you have of mine. It is wrong for me to cor- respond with you ; and I now feel that I have been guilty, very guilty, in ever permitting myself to be led astray by you. There are sacred duties which I owe to my husband and, God helping me, I will in future discharge them faithfully. When I think of my own guilt of how we have both deceived Walter, I lose all self-respect, and my esteem for you is very much les- sened. I once had thought myself and you above such deception; but like many others, my eyes have been blinded, and I have been artfully ensnared. I now see and feel the enormity of my guilt, and for the remain- der of my life, I will devote myself to my husband's interests and welfare, and will try to make amends for my inconstancy and ingratitude, bji^^ing a virtuous life. If you have any regard for me left, you will do as I request. I shall be unhappy until the evidence of my guilt is destroyed. I shall never write you again, never see you, neither will I ever read another letter of yours. Send me my letters, I implore, before Walter returns from the South. I fear and am troubled, until I have them in my possession. I shall expect them immedi- ately after you shall have read this. " Wednesday, , 18 . ." OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 277 Belmonte posted this letter on the next morning, and also sent the chain and locket which he had taken from his wife's neck, to Hastings by express. During the day he left Mrs. Belmonte alone, telling her that he was going a few miles away from the village. But, instead of doing as he said, he went to a public-house which commanded a view of the post-office and watched at- tentively to see if Mrs. Belmonte would go to it to post, or receive a letter. He had not been there long when he saw her drop a letter into the letter box and hurry away. As soon as she was out of sight he went and inquired for a letter, which he said his wife had just dropped into the letter box. " I wish to take it out, and make some alterations and corrections before it goes," said Belmonte. The postmaster, being well acquainted with him, immediately handed him the letter, which she had written and directed to Hastings. He opened it, and read : " DEAREST WILLIAM, I am delirious with fear and excitement ! He is here ! He compelled me to write you a letter to-day ! He came here unexpectedly, and has read all your letters ! I am almost distracted ! I know not what I am doing ! If he knew that I was writing you this letter, he would kill me ; I know he would ! I am r^Jned for ever ! Oh, pity me, William ! for it has been for you that I have risked life, reputa- tion, every thing ! I shall not dare to write you again. You must not write me. He would intercept your let- ters. I know not what will become of me ! I love you, as I always have and shall ; but in doing so I make myself wretched miserable ! Would that I were dead ! I have no desire to live longer. Oh, pity and forgive my weakness ! I fear him, and know not what 24 278 THE CROOKED ELMJ he will do in revenge ! I .am wild with apprehension. Do not blame me, William. " I am ever thine, " CORNELIA." This letter he destroyed, nor did he ever tell Mrs. Belmonte that it had been intercepted. He waited anxiously until the time had passed when he might rea- sonably expect the return of his wife's letters. He then became impatient, and feared that Hastings would not send them. " If," thought he, " the hypocrite ascertains that I am here, and that I know of his intimacy with Cornelia, I must then call him to an account for his vil- lany ; but if he does not know this, I will not make the matter public. Revenged I will be, though ! and that, too, in the most effectual and deadly way ! I cannot willingly, however, lose reputation and fortune simply to make myself a cuckold in society. No, I will save myself, but deal death-blows to them! Those letters should have been here ere this. I fear he suspects me of having a hand in Cornelia's last love-letter. It cer- tainly was a very cool document, and, I doubt not, very unlike those she has previously sent him! Ugh! I could wring her heart's blood out, for such detestable treachery and apostasy ! If this matter is made public, I will then be the devil that Ifeell ^ffhey shall both suffer the tortures of the rack, if I liave the power thus to torment them ! They shall know that Walter Belmonte has the courage to redress such damnable wrong ! I will be ' Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell ! ' " Thus did he rave and reason while impatiently wait- ing to receive further evidence of his wife's inconstancy. OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 279 At one time, he would be as cool and politic as the wily Robespierre at another, as headstrong, reckless, and impetuous as Benedict Arnold. The letters at last came, and he opened and read them all muttering death threats as he did so. " I will follow him to the ends of the earth, if necessary, to be revenged on him ! Neither earth nor heaven shall deprive me of the satis- faction I seek." When Hastings read the letter which Belmonte had compelled his wife to write, he was naturally startled^ not so much on his own account, but he feared for Mrs. Belmonte. He believed that Belmonte had gone to where she was, instead of going South. He had received the locket which he had given her. " She would not have sent it to me, unless compelled to do so," thought Hastings. " How should Belmonte know that I have letters of hers, unless he has read those which I have written to her ? I will return them, though, because she demands them. I cannot refuse to do as she asks, although I believe it would be much better to burn them. I must obey her request, because it is her request. There is no alternative." Thus thought Hast- ings, as he sealed and directed the package of letters which Mrs. Belmonte had written to him. " I will go and see her, though," muttered he ; "I will know what her wishes are from her own lips. I will encounter the cowardly, politic villain, and afford him an opportunity of being revenged ! I will see her, despite all his efforts to prevent me ! ' I have long li ved for her, and her alone ! I have just fried to save her from the disgrace and mortification of her worthless husband's bank- ruptcy ! I must and will know her wishes from her own lips ! I will give him any satisfaction which his cowardly heart may demand ! " Hastings was intensely excited. He believed that his intimacy with Mrs. Bel- 280 THE CROOKED ELM J monte was known to her husband. There was no safe way of communicating with her. He resolved, there- fore, to meet the danger on the threshold, and take the consequence of his own indiscretion and misdeeds. In accordance with this resolution, he set out the very next day for the village where Mrs. Belmonte was stopping. The particulars of his adventurous visit will be the sub- ject of the next chapter. CHAPTER XXII. LATE on Saturday night a stage-coach drove up to a nail country inn, not far from the village where Mrs. Belmonte was stopping. William Hastings, the only passenger in it, alighted and went into the house. A man, with nothing on save a shirt and pair of panta- loons the latter held up by one suspender rose from a rug on the floor and lighted a tallow candle. The pale, flickering light disclosed a rudely constructed counter, behind which were two shelves filled with hah empty bottles of pale liquor, dirty tumblers, tobacco- pipes, cigar-boxes, etc. Hastings walked up to the gaping and yawning man, who now stood rubbing his eyes behind the counter, and said : " Can I have lodging here until to-morrow morn- ing?" " Well, I reckon as how you can," answered the man with the one suspender, in a drawling tone. " But you will have to sleep two in a bed. Let me see," added he, yawning again, " there is Joe Sikes ; you can sleep with him the other beds are full. Joe will let you have part of his'n." " But can't you give me a room to myself? " " I 'm sorry, stranger, but it can't be helped there is no room but Joe's. He is a mighty fine fellow, is Joe, 24 * ( 281 ) 282 THE CKOOKED ELM ; and he won't mind it a mite. He is monstrous quiet, too." " I prefer sleeping alone. Can't I have a bed here on the floor ? " " There 's none for you, stranger. Won't you have suthen to drink ? " At this point in their conversation the driver came in. " Yes," answered Hastings, " have you good brandy ? " " The genuine stuff, sir ! None of your tarnal ' rot- gut!"' Hastings invited them both to drink an invitation which they accepted most willingly each emptying almost a tumbler full of the pale liquor. Hastings took advantage of the occasion, and emptied his tumbler on the floor. In paying for the drinks, he gave the man a one dollar bill, and refused to accept of any change. " Is there no way," again asked he, " by which I can be accommodated with a room to myself? " Hastings thought he saw the driver and the man behind the bar exchange looks of intelligence. " If you must have a room all to yourself, I suppose you must ; so there 's the end on 't. Joe must come down and sleep in the bar." Joe was soon brought down, but he came muttering discontentedly : " He must be mighty stuck up to want a bed all to hisself I am just as good as he is and I am satisfied with half a bed. These are gittin' to be 'tarnal queer times, when a poor man is n't as good as a rich man, or when plain clothes is n't equal to broadcloth. I think no man should be above sleepin' two in a bed. Them 's my sentiments." Hastings gave him a piece of money, which he readily accepted, and walking up to the counter, took a tumbler half full of liquor out of it to begin with. Hastings' curiosity was a little excited by the frequent looks of intelligence which OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 283 were interchanged between the driver and the man be- hind the bar. He saw them look at his valise, but he was too tired and troubled to remain longer with them, and, repairing to the room which Joe had just vacated, he spread the clothes over the bed, and after locking the door securely threw himself down without undressing. He was feverish and almost exhausted from travel, and lay uneasy, tossing himself from side to side on the bed, and in vain trying to close his eyes in sleep. Somnus refused to relieve him of his troubled thoughts. When he left the bar-room, the man behind the counter said to the driver : " Mike, that 's Mr. Hastings. Did n't you see the let- ter H. on his valise ? " " I seed it," said Mike. " It 's him, and no mistake. He 's a 'tarnal fine fellow, be he who he may ; for he treated me afore I started, and then agin when I got here. He 's somebody, he is." Which of us, Mike, shall go and tell Mr. Belmonte ? You know we promised to go and tell him as soon as he came. He's Belmonte 's friend." Won't it do as well in the mornin' ? " asked Mike. " I don't see the use of being in such a tarnation hurry." " But, Mike, you know we promised to go and tell him as soon as he came ? " " Well, let 's toss cents to see who shah 1 go," said Mike. " I 'm mighty sleepy ! I don't see why Mr. Belmonte should be in such a 'tarnal hurry, and then he told us to say nothing about it. I reckon he wants to give him a surprise. He said, you know, that he was an old friend of his'n." They tossed coppers, and Mike won. They drank together, and the man with the one suspender put on his hat, and started on his errand. Belmonte had thought that Hastings might come on 284 THE CROOKED ELM J to see his wife, and he had taken this precaution to guard against any sudden surprise. When morning came, Hastings got up, and, washing himself in a small tin basin which stood on the floor, pro- ceeded to perform his toilet, as well as he could, before descending to the breakfast table. He could eat nothing appetite had fled. He inquired of the landlord the way to the village of . " You will follow the river down on the opposite side," said the landlord, " about three miles ; that will bring you there." Hastings, thanking him, paid his reckoning, and set out for the village as directed. It was Sabbath morning, one of those beautiful, quiet, sunny mornings, which are never witnessed save in the country. Sunday is always a different, a more hallowed day, than any other of the week ; but when it is accompanied by pleasant skies, warm and sunshiny weather, green woods and fields, together with a delight- some country atmosphere, it throws around man an in- fluence for good unknown to all other days. Hastings crossed the river and followed the road, which soon led him through a thick wood, close along on the bank of the dark and shaded water below him. There was a stillness in all around which was almost oppressive. No sound could be heard, save the occasional chirping of a bird, or the ripple of the water as it fell over the stones. The leaves on the surrounding trees were not ruffled by even a breath of air. All nature seemed to be keeping this general day of rest. As Hastings walked slowly along under the thick shade, he became thought- ful and meditative. He was about to take a desperate step, and one that he would condemn in another. At length he seated himself on a log that lay close to the river, and fell naturally into a spirit of reverie. His OK, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 285 mind wandered back to the days of his boyhood. He remembered the time when he first met the beautiful Cornelia at Saratoga ; he thought of his marriage with Ida Linwood, of her sudden death, and of the loss of his child. These and more came into his mind, and he felt that Ms life had been filled up with disappointments and blasted hopes. As he sat thus, swallowed up in thought, he heard Jhe village bell as it tolled the villagers to the house of God. " Perhaps," thought he, " Cornelia is now among those who are obeying its summons. Little does she think that I am so near. Little does she dream that she will see me before night. But had I not better wait here in these woods until night, before I go to the vil- lage ? If I go to the house where she is at once, I may not see her at all. Belmonte might see me, and that would frustrate ah 1 my plans. I will wait here until nightfall." He got up, thinking to walk a little way from the road, so as not to be seen by those who might chance to pass. He walked a few hundred rods further down the river, and was turning into a thick wood, when he saw seated before him, Belmonte. He had time to look at him only a moment, when their eyes met. From Belmonte's flashed rage and resentment from Hast- ings' cool determination. Belmonte sprang to his feet and rushed towards Hastings, but stopped when within a few feet of him. " Villain ! " cried he, fiercely, " how dare you insult me by your presence again ! " " I thought you were in the South," answered Hast- ings, ironically. " I came here to see one more worthy." " Hypocrite ! Dastard ! Take that ! " replied Belmonte, in a storm of passion, as he pulled a revolver from his pocket and fired it at Hastings. He missed his aim ; and Hastings, rushing up to him, commenced a struggle for the weapon. They were 286 THE CROOKED ELM J close on the bank of the river. Belmonte was yielding ground; Hastings had already taken the pistol from him, and thrown it into the water. The struggle con- tinued; Belmonte drew a knife, and raised his hand to plunge it into Hastings. His foot tripped, however, before the blow could be struck, and they both fell over the bank. The fall separated them. Belmonte got up and walked away, saying as he did so : " You will hear from me soon, in a manner that will teach you that I know how to revenge an insult ! " " Why not teach me the lesson now, coward ! " an- swered Hastings, determinedly. He made no reply ; but left the wood and Hastings to themselves. " This is unfortunate," muttered Hastings, as soon as he was alone. " I fear it will deprive me of seeing her alto- gether. But, now that he knows I am here, I care not for consequences. I will go and see her this very night! Did I not know how utterly unworthy he is of her, I would trouble him no more. As it is, I will see her or die attempting it ! " That night Hastings went to the house where he learned that Mrs. Belmonte was staying, and rung the bell. It was answered by the lady of the house. " Is Mrs. Belmonte in ? " inquired Hastings. " No, they left here about an hour ago." " Can you tell me where th* ey went ? " " Mr. Belmonte said he was going back to the city that important business called him away. May I in- quire your name, if you please ? " said she. " William Hastings." " Oh ! I have often heard Mrs. Belmonte speak of you. Will you walk in, Mr. Hastings ? " He accepted the invitation thus cordially given, and remained talking with her for some time. He learned all that he could of what had taken place. She told OB, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 287 him when Belmonte had come there so unexpectedly, and many other things which Hastings sought to know. When he had learned all that he wished, he left, ex- pressing his regret at not finding those whom he had purposely come to see. She was very sorry at his dis- appointment, and pressed him hard to remain all night ; but he declined, thanking her kindly for her politeness. He returned at once to the city, and remained there several days. He sent a messenger to Belmonte's office, and learned that Belmonte had gone to a small village in Michigan, on the St. Clair River. He at once set out for the place ; and after two days' travel arrived there just at dusk, and by inquiring learned where Bel- monte was stopping. He then went to his room and wrote the following letter : " DEAREST CORNELIA : I am stopping at the Hotel. I have come here to see you. I received your letter demanding the return of your letters. I could not I can not believe that you wrote it voluntarily. I have much to say to you I must see you at least once more ! I must know, dearest Cornelia, from your own lips, what your wishes are. I will then obey them to the letter. Can you not appoint a meeting where we will be undisturbed by him ? I will not write more now. I have seen the servant where you stop, and have em- ployed her to give you this. You can trust her in any thing. Write one word, telling me how and when I can see you, and hand the letter to the servant. It will come to me safely. I am dying with impatience to see and talk with you ! I await an answer, I have learned that Belmonte is not at home. Ever your WILLIAM." The servant handed this letter to Mrs. Belmonte, as 288 THE CROOKED ELM J directed. She glanced over its contents eagerly, and for the moment forgot all else save the fact that her lover was in the same village with herself. She seized her pen and wrote : " I am so much rejoiced, William, that you are here ! I will meet you in the garden at the back of the house, close by the little gate which you will see. Walter is not here, he will be absent until to-morrow. I will be there at ten or eleven o'clock. A thousand thanks for coming to see me ! I am delirious with excitement ! I long for the hour to come when I can tell you all that has happened ! Be sure to be at the back gate at ten o'clock. CORNELIA." She hastily folded what she had written and gave it to the servant, and waited anxiously for all in the house to retire. It seemed to her as if they never would go to their bedrooms. She walked up and down the stairs leading to her room at least a dozen times, telling them all how very sleepy she was. She looked at her watch, yawned, and in every way possible tried to hurry them off to their beds. At length the lights were extinguished, and the house was quiet. Mrs. Belmonte immediately stole from her room, and crept as noiselessly as possible down the stairs and out of the back door. She then glided through the garden to the point' indicated in her letter. Hastings was there. She threw herself into his arms, exclaiming, in a suppressed but passionate voice, " William ! " They stood in silence for some time, locked in each other's embrace. Each felt an over- flowing joy that no words can express, no hearts know, save their own. It was the meeting of anxious hearts, long bound to each other by the indissoluble and inde- structible bonds of love. OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 289 " Oh, William! I am so rejoiced to see you again! I had begun to think that we should never meet ! " " You did not doubt me, Cornelia ? " " No ; but Walter says I must leave the country with him for Europe in two weeks' time." They walked into another part of the garden, and seated themselves behind some shrubbery, where they were concealed from view. The moon shone brightly, and Hastings saw the unnatural pallor of Mrs. Bel- monte's cheeks. She looked troubled and unhappy, although for the moment a melancholy pleasure rested upon her countenance. " William," said she, as she looked lovingly into his eyes, " I have prayed for this hour, that I might see and talk with you once more. I am so happy that my prayer is answered!" He pressed her to his bosom, and said : " Cornelia, why did you write me that cold let- ter?" " He made me write it. Did you get the other one that I wrote ? " " No ; I got no other." " Then he must have intercepted it," said she, with a slight expression of fear in her countenance. " Well, Cornelia, let us say no more of the past let us speak of the future." " The future is a dark blank to me ! " answered she. " There is no hope left of happiness. Despised by my husband, and cut off from all that I hold dear, I can only look forward to the grave as the termination of a life of sorrow ! " " You must not think so despondingly, dearest. We do not know what changes may come ? " " I know there is no happiness left for me." " Do you wish, Cornelia, to leave him ? If you do, I 25 290 THE CROOKED ELM J will be your protector, and will too gladly serve you in every wish." " No, William ! much as I should rejoice to go with you, I cannot. I have a mother and father and friendb, I cannot disgrace them. I must not bring a stain upon their name. No ! I must not do that. You know how much I love you ! how I have ever loved you, since we first met ! I would give up all, and go with you to the ends of the earth, were it not for my relatives and friends ! You will not ask me to injure them by leav- ing my husband ? " " I cannot ask you to leave him," said Hastings. " I know the obstacles in the way. I can only offer my life in your service, whenever you may find it of use to you." They sat together until an early hour. Day was just beginning to dawn. The hour when they must separate, perhaps forever, had already come. " Dearest," said Hastings, " do you know that day is dawning ? " " Oh, do not speak of going, William ! I shall die, if separated from you ! " " This night's happiness," said he, " will compensate me for the life of banishment that I must endure, in being deprived the bliss of your society." " Oh do not go ! do not leave me ! " said she, in an agitated and tremulous voice. " Will you go with me ? Say but the word, and we will never separate ! " " I must not. But do not leave me." She was almost wild at the thought of parting with him. It grew lighter and lighter. Never before had day seemed to displace darkness so rapidly. Mrs. Bel- monte nerved herself as well as she could ; and, with OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 291 pledges of fidelity and lasting love, and with tears wrung as it were from her sorrowing heart, they took a last, fond embrace. What a world of happiness and misery in that one moment. "' Remember, dearest Cornelia," said Hastings, as he pressed her to him convulsively, " that while I live my life is at your command. I shall always think of you as I now do, and regret the cruel fate that separates us." " I know not," said she, " what I may be compelled to do hereafter but when you are gone and while I am li ving ; I wish you to think and know that I am what you see me now, wholly and entirely devoted to you. Do not for a moment doubt my love." " Good-by, Cornelia ! May God bless and protect you ! " He pressed her to him their lips met. Another moment, and Hastings had gone. Mrs. Bel- monte watched him until he passed from her sight, and then, with the full realization of her desolate and for- lorn situation, she returned noiselessly to the house and regained her room. That morning Hastings went down to the little steamer that lay at the wharf, and took pas- sage for home. He looked as he passed the house where Mrs. Belmonte was, and saw her at an upper window, watching the boat as it moved away. They recognized each other each waved a white handkerchief. The boat soon disappeared, and Mrs. Belmonte retired to ner room to weep over her heart-breaking sorrows ; and Hastings went to his state-room to think over the strange incidents of the last fortnight. He had eaten nothing, scarcely, neither had he slept much, since he had re- ceived the letter which Mrs. Belmonte had been com- pelled to write him. Entirely exhausted and worn-out, he at last fell into a feverish sleep. In his dreams he saw Mrs. Belmonte pale and trembling, as she in fear obeyed the commands of her husband. Again he strag- 292 THE CROOKED ELM; gled with Belmonte, and again was he seated beside his Cornelia. He soon awoke, however, to feel the des- olation of all his previgus hopes. Mrs. Belmonte remained in her room all that day. She saw no light to cheer or guide her in life's dark path. How desolate must be the life of a woman united to a man whom she does not love, and how more than desolate must she be, if she loves and is loved by another. The question may be asked, " Why does a woman marry a man whom she does not love ? " It is a question easily asked, and one which I will not try to answer. I state it as a fact, however, that many such marriages occur daily. We all know it. It may be a fault of the parties themselves, or of the parents of the parties, or a fault of society. It is a question which I leave with the reader. Belmonte, who had been absent with some friends on a fishing excursion, returned home late at night ; and on the next morning set out with Mrs. Belmonte for New York. " I wish you," said Belmonte, addressing his wife while seated together on the boat, " to prepare to leave for Europe in less than a fortnight. I am going to leave a place infested with villains and treacherous women ! I will no longer live in a city where honor has no con- trol over either man's or woman's actions. I will leave New York immediately, and as 1 hope forever, as a place of residence." Mrs. Belmonte made no answer to what he said. A settled melancholy rested upon her countenance. She grew more and more pale every day. Her health was fast declining. She was dying of a broken heart. In less than two weeks' time they took passage for Europe. Their friends went down to the wharf to see them off. Hastings had learned when they were to sail, and had selected a spot commanding a OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 293 view of the vessel in which they were. He saw Mrs. Belmonte ; but she looked in vain for him. He remained gazing at the vessel until it had moved far out into the channel, then turning away he muttered : " Cornelia, I pity you from the bottom of my heart ! and am I not to blame for your present unhappiness ? " This thought troubled him, and he continued to repeat, as he returned to his home, " Am I not to blame for it all ? " As he turned the corner of a street, he saw Mrs. Delacy passing him in her carriage. Their eyes met. She too had stood afar off, and watched the vessel as it moved away with Mrs. Belmonte. She was return- ing exultant to her home. She saw Hastings' dejected countenance, and when their eyes met she gave him a look significant of her victory. She was, for the moment, proud and defiant. She was enjoying the unnatural pleasure of a gratified revenge. She had seen Mrs. Belmonte dragged unwillingly away from Hastings. " 1 have shown them," thought she, " that I am powerful yet, and that I will not brook a rival, nor submit to insult." Mrs. Delacy still loved Hastings as wildly as ever, and, had he signified a desire to renew friendship with her, she would have been but too delighted. She knew him, however, too well to ever hope to be reinstated in his good opinion, and she lived only to prevent any other from 'enjoying what was forever deprived herself. When she arrived at home, she threw herself exhausted on her bed, and exclaimed : " I can now rest contented ! I have realized the last wish of my heart ! I have seen them separated with my own eyes ! I have sent her adrift, with her amiable husband ! " 25* CHAPTER XXIII. HARRY COLUNGWOOD had been placed by his parents in the family of a clergyman, the father of the principal of the school. There were three other boys about Harry's age in the same family, and attending the same school with him. The clergyman was a very large man, with large feet, large hands, a large head, and a large appetite. He usually wore a large pair of glasses astride his large, fleshy nose, and was in the habit of removing them with his left thumb and forefinger whenever he had any thing of peculiar importance to say to the boys under his charge. His voice was deep and hollow, and seemed to proceed from some far down cavern in the abdominal regions. He seldom laughed, or even smiled, except at his own Latin jokes, which none in the family under- stood save himself. He took great delight in teaching his pupils the beauties and force of the guttural sounds in declamation. It was on the guttural that he prided himself. Those deep, Macbethian, sepulchral tones, were to him the music of the spheres. It was his de- light, when in the pulpit, to startle the weak nerved of his congregation, by hurling at them the denuncia- tions of scripture against the wicked. Frequently would he, in all the perfection of his elocutionary art, THE CROOKED ELM. 295 make the sinner shake in his seat, as he thundered forth such sentences as these : " Woe unto thee, Chorazin ! woe unto thee, Beth- saida !"...." And thou, Capernaum, which art ex- alted unto heaven, shall be brought down to hell!!" The last sentence " shall be brought down to hell " would seem to come up, not from that hadeian region, but from some gloomy, cavernous hollow, concealed be- neath the old man's protuberant waistbands. It was his custom to stand the young hopefuls in his family up in one corner of his study every working-day in the week, and practice them in the useful art of declama- tion. Passages from the ghost scene in Hamlet, and other like productions, were favorites with him on such occasions. The old dominie had a wife the very oppo- site of himself. She was tall and thin, and as shrivelled up as a dried apple. Her voice was squeaky and sharp ; her face thin, sharp, and long; and her nose was so thin, that when it was between one and daylight it was almost transparent. Her arms, hands, legs, and feet seemed to be of the same piece with her body, all of which were slender, lank, and long. Indeed, the gut- tural proclivities of her husband seemed to have shaken all the flesh from her bones. She was, in short, a living and breathing testimonial of the force and effect of the guttural system of elocution. These twain had two children, one the principal of the school, a man about twenty-five years old, the other a lad of thirteen. The former possessed nothing peculiar, either in character or look, from other men. He was about an equal mixture of his parents, having the sharp nose of his mother, and the guttural voice of his father. He was excessively attached to the system of elocution which his father had with so much pains drilled into him. He prided him- self in being able to make all his pupils brilliant young 296 THE CROOKED ELM J orators. The latter was peculiarly his mother's child. He was the counterpart of herself, and all the old man's efforts to teach him the beauties of the guttural tones of voice were useless; his voice would squeak, and all attempts to bring it up from lower down in his throat than his shirt collar, were futile. It was all " Love's labor lost." The clergyman's name was Doremus Babblington; but the boys, the irreverent rascals, used to call him, when by themselves, " Old Babble." To Mrs. Babbling- ton they gave the soubriquet of " Old Mrs. Babble," old being prefixed in both cases to distinguish them from the principal of the school and his wife. When Harry was first left in this family, the three boys men- tioned were absent spending vacation. He therefore nat- urally enough felt lonesome and homesick until they re- turned. Indeed, he would have given any tiling he had, or ever expected to have, could he have been back again at his home in Virginia. Five long and dreary days did he pass with these three specimens of the genus homo; and, to tell the truth, he thought them the queer- est trio that he had ever looked upon. He was far gone with the blues, and was thinking seriously of setting out for home on foot, when the boys, who had been absent, came back. They had been there one term al- ready, and had been initiated into the peculiarities of the place. The night after they returned, one of them, a tall, generous-faced, and good-looking lad, went to Harry and invited him to go with him into his room. Harry gladly accepted the invitation, and when they went in they found the other two boys there. " My name," said the tall boy, addressing Harry, " is Charles Willington, but the boys call me Charley. What is your name ? " " Harry Collingwood." OR, LITE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 297 I like that name," said Charley. " I always did like Harry, and I am sure I shall like you." " This," con- tinued he, " is Richard Evans. We always call him Richard the Third, or Dick. This is George Washing- ton Jackson Smith," said he, introducing Hariy to a pale, thin boy, who seemed weighed down by the great- ness of his name. " We always," said Charley, " call him Wash, for shortness. So now you know us all. Where do you live, Harry ? " " In Virginia." " Virginia ? " queried Charley. " Virginia ? where is Virginia, Wash. Smith ? " " It is one of the States south of the Ohio River," answered young Smith. " Oh ! I recollect," said Charley. " It is that yellow State on the map. Oh, yes ! I know now. That must be a pleasant country, Harry ? " " It is very pleasant," said Harry. " Do you like almonds, Harry ? " asked Charley, as he went to his trunk to unlock it. " Yes, I am very fond of them." " How fortunate ! " exclaimed Charley. " I have some here in my trunk. Cousin Lib put them up for me ! " As he said this, he took from his trunk a large paper of almonds and distributed them among his *ompanions, giving Harry a large portion. He was the same lad who carried Miss Leighton's letter to Hastings, on the snowy morning described in a previous chapter. When they had eaten the almonds, Harry remembered the cake which Aunt Rose had put up for him, and he went to his room and got it. " Here," said he, as he came back, " is a pound-cake that Rose put in my trunk. Do you like pound-cake, Charley?" Charley answered affirmatively, and taking the cake 298 THE CKOOKED ELM ; from Harry cut it up with his pocket-knife ; and they all feasted on the good things before them. " Is Rose your cousin, Harry ? " inquired Charley. " You said Rose gave you this cake." " Oh, no ; Rose is one of father's slaves. She is very good." "Oh! I didn't know but that she was your cousin I have got a cousin Lib, and she torments my life out She thinks that I was mader for no other purpose than to carry her messages and run on errands. I '11 tell you what ! I am getting too old to be ordered about by her; and when I go back home, I'll just tell her so, too. I'll tell her to carry her own messages. I am glad, Harry, that Rose is not your cousin." George Washington Jackson Smith seldom if ever spoke, except when a question was referred to him, re- quiring more book knowledge than the others were master of. He was the best scholar of the three, and was liked by Charley and Dick, because he was a very kind-hearted and generous boy. Richard Evans, or " Richard the Third," was noted for his powers of dec- lamation. He seldom talked much, save when he was posted in the corner of old Mr. Babblington's study. " Harry," said Charley, as they sat eating the pound* cake, " has Old Babble been teaching you the guttural yet?" " No," answered Harry ; " what do you mean ? " " Why, you see, Harry, he stands us up in one corner of his room and makes us speak from way down in our throats ; this he calls the Guttural System.' Isn't it a queer name, Harry ? You ought to hear Richard the Third come down on the guttural ! Dick, show Harry how you do it." Dick stood up as requested, and commenced in as deep a voice as possible : OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 299 " Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer, by this son of York." When he had gone through the whole soliloquy, as taught him by Mr. Babblington, Charley cried out : " What do you think of that, Harry ? That is what Old Babble calls the guttural. Dick has the system to perfection. Have you seen Squeaking Jimmy yet ? " inquired Charley. " No ; " answered Harry, " what do you mean ? " " I mean Old Babble's weazen-faced boy. They call him a a t tradegy. Is that the word, Wash?" " A prodigy," answered young Smith. " Yes, prodigy ; that is the word. They say he is a prodigy in book-learning, Harry; but I don't believe he is better than Wash Smith ; for Wash knows as much as any one need know." " I have seen him," said Harry ; " he is a slim fel- low." " That is he. Don't he look for all the world like Death in the Primer ? Old Babble won't let him come to our rooms, neither will he let him play with us. You ought to see him practising the system Lord! don't he murder the guttural ! Dick, show Harry how he squeaks." Dick got up again, and, gesticulating in an extrava- gant and awkward manner, commenced declaiming in a squeaky, nasal tone of voice, the speech of Moloch, beginning : " My sentence is for open war : of wiles More unexpert I boast not " They all laughed until their sides ached ; and when he had finished, Charley said : That, Harry, is just like him. Dick takes him off 300 THE CROOKED ELM; better than Squeaking Jimmy does it himself. All his speeches are for open war. One would think him an an an who was he, Wash Smith, who whipped aU the world?" Alexander." " Yes, Harry, one would fancy him a second Alex- ander in the way of fighting. Don't he look like open war! But little people will boast and talk big, you know. Squeaking Jimmy fighting ! Why, Wash Smith could knock him into a cocked hat in no time. Have you seen Old Babble's feet yet ? " " No ; what of them ? " inquired Harry, laughing. " His boots," said Charley, " are big enough for sleeping apartments for two or three such fellows as Wash Smith. I think Squeaking Jimmy sleeps in one of them every night, along with the big tom- cat." At this remark they all laughed, and speculated as to what part of the boot Jimmy's head must occupy. "There is old Mrs. Babble," continued Charley; " is n't she a picture ! You ought to see her sit cross- legged, singing psalm tunes. Dick, show Harry how she sings." Dick crossed his legs, and with a serio-comic face commenced : " From Greenland's icy mountains, From India's coral strand, Where Afric's sunny fountains Boll down their golden sand." There was something so ludicrous in the expression of Dick's face, and in his manner and voice while sing- ing, that they all shook their sides again, much to the gratification of Dick, who was not insensible to their OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 301 praise. Harry thought him a curiosity a perfect wonder, in his way. He never before had seen any one so decidedly funny. The boys in old Mr. Babblington's family occupied rooms in a house adjoining the one in which he lived. The lower part was occupied as a recitation-room, and the upper part as their sleeping apartments. They could, therefore, have their own fun without much fear of being disturbed. Harry had already formed a great liking for the three boys. They had effectually dis- pelled his gloomy thoughts and forebodings, and he began to think his prospects not so hopelessly blue as he had at first thought them. At the very outset, he had become well acquainted with them all. He looked upon Dick as a decided genius. Wash Smith he had been taught to think of as one whose head was filled with a prodigious amount of book-learning, and Char- ley Willington was a boy after his own heart. If he could have been any other boy than himself, he would have been Charley Willington. They talked and laughed on the first night of their introduction to Harry, until a late hour. He had made a good impression on the boys, and was at once admitted into their private counsels, and welcomed in all their sports as heartily as though they had known him for years. There were about thirty scholars attending the Babblington school ; but most of them were much further advanced than those under old Mr. Babblington's immediate charge ; and, consequently, did not mingle much with them. Harry, Charley, Dick, and Wash were seldom allowed to mix with the other boys in the school. On the first morning of Term, old Mr. Babblington invited the boys in his family into his study, for the purpose of assigning them their lesson, and drilling 26 302 THE CROOKED ELM; them in his favorite art. After a few inaugural remarks, usual on such important occasions, he said : " Richard Evans, stand up in the corner and declaim Mark Antony's speech. Mind that you give the proper emphasis and accentuation and above all remember the guttural tones in the passages which I marked for you. This," continued he, "is Master Harry Collingwood, from Virginia. Show him now, Master Richard, the system of elocution I have taught you." Charley, occasionally, as the old man spoke, looked at Harry and very significantly closed one eye, as much as to say : " Isn't this rich ? You are now about "to be initiated into the system that Dick exemplified the other night in my room." But he only winked, and left Harry to imagine what he would have said, could he have had the opportunity. Dick stood up, and began : " Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears ! " Several times during the delivery of the speech, old Mr. Babblington stopped him, and told him how he might improve certain passages ; nor did he neglect to cast an eye at Harry occasionally, to see how the guttural sys- tem affected him. But Harry had already been so far initiated that he was not particularly astonished. He thought, however, that Dick was a perfect orator, and wondered how he ever had mastered so much of the system in so short a time. He almost envied him. When Dick had finished, Harry was requested to get up and declaim any thing that he knew. " Just speak any thing, Master Harry, that you have committed to memory," said the old man, encourag- ingly. Harry thought for a moment, and then said, " I never have learned any thing in my life." " Oh, any thing at all, Master Harry," said the old OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 303 man again, " any verses or poetry that you know, if it is not more than two lines." Harry taxed his recollection again, but could think of nothing except the prayer that he had learned when a child, commencing : " Now I lay me down to sleep," and some verses which Aunt Rose had taught him. He thought that it was not the proper time to repeat the prayer, so as an only alternative he drew upon Aunt Rose, and getting up in the corner which Dick had just vacated, commenced in imitation, as much as he could, of Dick's guttural tones : " My ole Massa, he lubs gin, An* der way he drinks it, am a sin." This was too much for Charley and Dick. They laughed outright, which so much confused Harry that he broke down, and could get no further than the two lines quoted. Old Mr. Babblington did not laugh, but said, in an encouraging tone of voice : " Those lines, Master Harry, which you have just declaimed so well, are somewhat peculiar ; but they serve' as well as any others to develop the art of elocu- tion. It is not the matter, so much as the manner of speaking, which I teach. Those deep, guttural tones, so universally undeveloped in the youth of our country, I bring out into speaking life. Won't you get up again, Master Harry, and declaim something else that you know?" Charley looked encouragingly, and whispered in Harry's ear, that he only laughed at the funny words which he had spoken. 304 THE CROOKED ELM; " You did charmingly ! " said Charley. " You speak almost as well as Dick." Harry was in doubt ; he did not like to be excelled by any one; and more than all he disliked being laughed at. He took the corner again, as a last, desper- ate alternative, and with a determined accent, and coming down stronger than ever on the guttural, be- gan: " Black Susan, she fell into de ribber, An' de way she got out I nebber could disciber ; De water it was deep, an' running berry swif " Charley, unable longer to resist his risible propensity, burst into an illy suppressed laugh, joined by Dick and Wash. Harry, more confused than ever, returned to his seat. Charley, feeling really sorry for him, and re- gretting that he and Dick had behaved so badly, tried to encourage him. " I was only laughing at the words, Harry," whispered he. " They are such funny words." Old Mr. Babblington, as sedate as the tones of his own voice, again complimented Harry's delivery. " When you have been here one quarter," said he, " you will be as good as Master Richard, than whom I have no better scholar in the school in that interesting branch which I have very significantly and appropri- ately denominated the Guttural System. Harry, you will commit the Soliloquy of Hamlet to memory, so as to declaim it one week from to-day. Master Charley will show you where to find it. I mean the one com- mencing Oh, that this, too, too solid flesh would melt ! "' Charley whispered to Harry, as soon as the old man OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 305 turned his eyes : "I think, Harry, that old Mrs. Bab- ble must have declaimed that speech often ; for her flesh, if she ever had any, has melted and 'resolved i elf into a dew.' " This diplomatic manoeuvre of Charley's had the effect to make Harry laugh and receive Charley into favor again. That night they all assembled in Harry's room by in- vitation, and Harry took all the good things to eat which Rose had packed away for him out of his trunk, and distributed them among his school-fellows. " I say, Harry," began Charley, " how do you like the ' Guttural System ? ' Those were the funniest words! 'My ole Massa, he lub gin!'" Here he and 'Dick laughed heartily, but Harry did not feel much like join- ing at first. He soon caught the laughing contagion, however, and joined them in their cachinations over this, his first effort in developing the guttural system. They were all on the best of terms again, laughing and talking, and enjoying themselves generally as much as was possible. " Did you notice old Babble's feet to-day ? " inquired Charley. " No, I did n't think of them." " I,.suppose you were too busy recollecting those fun- ny verses. Just look at them to-morrow, and his hands too ! Dick says they remind him of a land-turtle, belly upwards, save his fingers, which he says are like over- ripe bananas. You ought to hear him preach. Dick is n't to be compared to old Babble on the guttural. He comes down powerfully, and no mistake ! We sit in his pew, along with old Mrs. Babble and Squeaking Jimmy. She sits cross-legged and sings every Sunday, just as Dick did the other night I wish it was Sunday 26* 306 THE CROOKED ELM; now, so that you could hear her ! Sometimes, when old Babble is going it strong on the guttural, she groans a little, and sighs, and looks at the end of her nose. Dick says he can read fine print through the tip of her nose on a sunshiny day ; but I doubt that a little." As Charley was going on in this strain, they heard some one coming up the stairs, and in a moment they were as still as possible. " That is old Babble," whispered Charley. Let us open our books and study, as if for our lives." They did as he advised, and when old Mr. Babbling- ton opened the door they were busy preparing their lessons for the next day. He, seeming to think all was right, soon left them. They listened until he stepped down the last stair, and then threw their books aside. " Sometimes he 'sends Squeaking Jimmy up here," said Charley. " But I think Jimmy is getting tired of coming to see us. He has not been up here since we played that trick on him. One night," continued Char- ley, addressing Harry, " Jimmy came up here after dark, and the old tomcat followed him without his knowing it. Well, Wash and I got to talking with him, while Dick took the cat into his room and kept it there until Squeaking Jimmy started to return. It was dark he could see nothing, and, just as he stepped into the hall, Dick put a split stick on the cat's tail, which pinched it terribly, and then let it go. Lord! didn't they cut a figure going through the hall ! It would be difficult to say which squeaked the louder. They both tumbled down the stairs in their fright ; the tomcat over Jim- my, and Jimmy over the tomcat. The cat got the stick off its tail somehow, so that we were never found out. Squeaking Jimmy thought it was a ghost, doubtless, for he never has ventured up here since after dark." OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 307 " Were you not afraid that he would hurt himself tumbling down stairs ? " asked Harry. " Trust him for that," answered Charley. " He is too light to be hurt from falling. The only danger would be that he might break those pipe-stem legs of his. We call them Ms p p pe what is it that we do caH them, Wash?" " Pedal extremities," said Wash. " Yes, that 's it pedal extremities. Are n't they specimens of legs, Harry ? I would much rather have legs than to have all his book-learning, myself." Charley one day mentioned Mr. Hastings' name when talking with Harry, and they were each surprised to find that the other knew him. They each liked Mr. Hastings ; and the fact of his being a friend to them both, bound them more closely together as friends than they had hitherto been. They all liked each other, and were as happy as they well could be where the " Gut- tural System " pervaded the whole atmosphere, and entered into all their hours of study and recreation. Charley generally took the lead in conversation, Dick in declamation, Wash in the intricacies of book-knowl- edge, and Harry in the out-door games and sports. If one had any thing good to eat, he always shared it with the rest. Every thing was in common. CHAPTER XXIV. HARRY COLLINGWOOD had been at the Babblington s* ftool more than a year. .Another vacation had come, and he, together with Charley, Dick, and Wash, was on the qui vive of excitement. They were, by the consent of their respective parents, going to Dick's father's, dis- tant about one hundred miles, to spend the interim of their studies. The coach in which they had taken pas- sage drove up on the first day of vacation in front of Mr. Babblington's house. Charley was already at the door, valise in hand, waiting for it, and Harry was run- ning about anxiously trying to get Wash Smith ready ; while Dick was silently preparing his own personal effects for the anticipated visit. As the coach came rat- tling up, Charley called out at the top of his voice, " Hurry boys! the stage is here ! We will be left be- hind ! I know we will ! I '11 warrant that Dick has n't put on his sky-blues yet! He is always provokingly slow." The three ,boys soon came running down stairs, each carrying a carpet-bag in his hand, and looking as lively and joyous as possible. Old Mr. and Mrs. Babblington moved about hurriedly, assisting the boys to get ready, and arranging every thing for their comfort while they should be absent. The old couple had kind hearts, and (308) THE CROOKED ELM. 309 liked the boys very much ; besides, they felt a pride in having the Babblington school well represented abroad. At length, after receiving an embrace from old Mrs. Babblington and being kissed all round by her skinny lips, and after shaking the big, fat hands of old Mr. Bab- blington and the little bony fingers of Squeaking Jimmy, the young hopefuls seated themselves in the coach, drawn by four horses, and were rapidly whirled- away from the Babblington school and the ' guttural system. When they started on their journey there were no other passengers in the coach, and in consequence they in- dulged freely in the hilarities which the occasion in- spired. " I say, Dick," commenced Charley, as soon as they were fairly away from the house, " how do you like old Mrs. Babble's lips ? She kissed you twice, and the rest of us but once." Dick protested that she kissed him but once. " I may be mistaken," said Charley, " but I am sure that she hugged you much harder and longer than she did any of us. I am afraid that she squeezed all the guttural out of you." " Was n't her nose cold ? " said Dick. " She ran the little end of it into my cheek." The coach rolled rapidly on, and they were fast leav- ing the village behind. They looked out and saw the receding houses, and commenced crying out : Good-by, old Babble ! Good-by, old Mrs. Babble ! Good-by, Squeaking Jimmy! Good-by, old tomcat! Good-by to the guttural system ! " " There," said Charley, as he continued looking out of the window, " we are out of sight of them ah 1 now. Harry, shall we give three cheers for old Mrs. Babble's sunshiny nose ? " " Charley," answered Harry, reprovingly, " you ought 310 THE CROOKED ELM*, not to make fun of what she cannot help. She is a very good woman." " True," said Charley, with affected seriousness, " it is wrong. She would have a nose like other people, if possible, no doubt ; and if she could have one of her own choosing, I dare say she would take one that was warm at the little end, eh, Dick ? " " I think," answered Dick, laughing, " that old Babble might spare her a piece of his, and not miss it. Let us give three cheers for old Babble's nose." Three cheers were given, according to Dick's sugges- tion, for the old dominie's proboscis ; and on they went, as full of glee and frolic as hopeful parents could rea- sonably expect. After travelling all day and all night they arrived at Dick's father's. Mr. Evans was an itin- erant preacher, and travelled on what he called a cir- cuit ; that is, preaching one day in one neighborhood, and the next day in an adjoining one, and so on until he had completed his circuit and returned to the place whence he had started. In this way he would address the same congregation about once a month. The boys had been at Mr. Evans's about a week when he came home. He greeted them heartily, and promised to take them all to a camp-meeting then being held in the immediate neighborhood. None of them had ever been to such a place, and they had great curiosity to see what a camp-meeting was like. They talked of nothing else, scarcely, until the morning when they all set out in a large two-horse wagon for the camp-ground. They arrived there at last, and the four hopefuls were left to themselves to make the. most of their time. The camp, as it was called, was in a thick wood. In one place was erected a platform, made of loose boards, over which was spread a large piece of canvas. This was the preacher's stand. Around and near it were OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 311 many small tents, some made of logs, others of canvas. In front of the stand were loose boards, benches, etc., for the people to sit upon during the time of preach- ing. There were a great many persons present, of both sexes and of all ages. Charley and his party wandered about, looking at all that was to be seen. In some places they saw men dealing out whiskey ; at others they were selling green corn, watermelons, cakes, cigars, snuff, to- bacco, pumpkin pies, etc., etc. There seemed to "% a mixture of small beer and religion, whiskey-and tracts, for converting the heathen. In short, the* four boys looked upon it as the greatest and most singular meet- ing of any kind that they had ever attended. When they had looked about them for more than an hour, they saw the men and women assembling and seating them- selves on the benches. They followed the example thus set them and took seats together, nearly in the middle of the large concourse of people. They had not been seated long when a large man rose from the long bench on the platform and commanded silence. While he was trying to obtain quiet, several men ascended to the platform, and seating themselves commenced tying large pocket handkerchiefs around their heads, which made them look something Like old women, and something like house slaves in the Southern States. When the benches were all filled, and quiet had been restored, the big man read a hymn, and then re-read it, two lines at a time, and the multitude sung them over after him at the top of then: voices. When they had finished, he com- menced praying in a loud voice, that rivalled even the guttural tones of old Mr. Babblington. He had not been praying long when a big fat man, who had kneeled beside Dick, commenced praying in a very loud voice also, to the utter amazement of old Mr. Babblington's pupils ; and, before the preacher had half finished his 312 THE CROOKED ELM ; prayer, at least a dozen men and women, in different parts of the congregation, were shouting and clapping their hands. "Dick," whispered Charley, "look at that woman yonder." Dick and the other boys looked in the direction pointed out by Charley, and saw a woman jumping up and down, clapping her hands, and shouting in a shrill voic* " Glory to God ! Glory to God ! Praise the Lord ! Pr^se the Lord ! I am going home ! " Her crie * at length became fainter and fainter, until, seeming to go off into a regular swoon, she was carried out of the crowd by two men. Other women soon commenced shouting, and kept it up until the preacher had done praying, when after a little soothing and loosening of waistcoat strings they came to their senses again, and the preacher took a text and preached a ser- mon. During its delivery different persons kept crying out, "Praise the Lord! Glory to God! Amen! Lcyrd grant it ! " The four boys were amazed at what they saw and heard, and were half inclined to think the people crazy. When the preacher had finished his sermon he called upon one of the men with a handker- chief tied round his head to pray ; and during the time of his prayer the people shouted and prayed as they had done at the commencement of the services. The big fat man by Dick's side went off, as others had gone off before him, in a regular shout. He seemed to have ex- hausted every other word except Hallelujah; but he repeated this so frequently and loud that he drowned the voices of all the other shouters in his immediate neighborhood. He clapped his thick, fat hands contin- ually as he cried Hallelujah, and finally, from sheer ex- haustion and from over exertion in the heated atmos- phere, he, too, rolled off his seat and was carried from the OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 313 crowd by four stout men. Charley, taking courage at his removal, said, " Dick, he came the guttural amaz- ingly! did n't he?" When the man with the turban had finished praying his loud prayer, and the shouters had shouted all their strength away, a man in the audience commenced sing- ing in a loud, shrill voice, " Oh won't you go to glory -with me ? Oh, glory, hallelujah! If you get there before I do Oh glory, hallelujah ! Just tell them I am coming too Oh glory, hallelujah!" When he had finished singing a long string of verses similar to the one I have quoted, the man who had preached the sermon stood up and said : "During the time of intermission, the brethren will please keep their feet off the benches. I have always noticed," continued he, "that those having the larger and muddiest feet are the ones who walk on the ladies' seats." Charley, Harry, Dick, and Wash, who were stand- ing on a seat at the time, dropped from it as quickly though they had been shot. " The ladies," continued the preacher, "if they have occasion to go into, the woods, will please go to the left of the camp,"-^- pointing his finger in the direction, " and the gentle- men will go to the right. It is to be hoped that no gentleman will break over this regulation and annoy the ladies who have occasion to visit the woods. The brethren will do well also to keep away from the liquor stands ; for they are the temptations of Satan. During the intermission there will be a revival prayer-meeting for the conversion of sinners in brother Pundleton's tent, 27 314 THE CROOKED ELM; and also in brother Muddlehead's tent. It is hoped that the praying brethren will be there, as there is a mighty work to be done in this place. The boys will take care not to make a noise on the camp-ground, or smoke tobacco in the tent, especially during the time of prayer." When the preacher had made these an- nouncements, the people dispersed, some to go to the fruit, cake, and liquor stands, and some to go into the woods, both to the right and to the left of the camp- ground. The whole scene was a novel one to old Mr. Babblington's pupils. They never had dreamed that camp-meetings were such queer places. As they walked away, Dick said : " Charley, why did he tell the men to go into the woods at the right, and the women to go to the left of the camp-grpund ? " Charley thought a moment, but, unable to answer the question, said : " Wash, what did he mean ? " " I suppose," answered Wash, " that he meant that the women should go one way to eat their luncheons and the men the other." " I shouldn't wonder if that was it," said Charley. " Let us go to the right and eat ours." They did as Charley suggested, and soon returned to the camp-ground again. They looked into the tents where they were holding prayer-meetings, and saw men and women jumping up and down, shouting at the top of their lungs. Some were praying for a revival, others for the heathen, and still others for the conversion of the world. General confusion prevailed. Big, burly men lay on their backs shouting, " Glory to God ! " Women, mothers of families, lay in the arms of men, and clapped their hands and cried, " Glory to God ! " OR, LIFE BY THE WAT-SIDE. 315 Night came at last, and the babel of sounds that reigned during the day was increased. Shouts, yells, praying, preaching, fighting, and drunkenness mingled together in one unharmonious whole. The boys were glad to get back home again. They had seen a regular camp-meeting, one similar, no doubt, to those you may have witnessed, reader, in the Middle and Western States. I do not wish to denounce the motives of those who originate these camp-meetings, but I have no faith in the utility of the meetings themselves. They tend rather to bring religion into disgrace, and to perpetuate a system of things but a little way removed from bar- barism. The boys returned to school, after remaining at Mr. Evans's about two weeks. Their visit was filled with incidents, new and amusing, and they had learned more of the ways of the world in this short time, than they would have done in a year at the Babblington School. A few nights after they had got back, they all assembled in Charley's room. Each tried to surpass the other in ludicrous descriptions of what they had witnessed at the camp-meeting. " I say, Harry," said Charley, "wouldn't you like to see old Babble shouting? Wouldn't he make a stir in a small crowd ! Only think, what a noise he would make ! Lord ! would n't he make the tallest kind of a shouter ! He is religious, too ! May be he will give us a turn some of these days. Wash says it is religion that makes people shout, and Wash knows. I should like to see old Mrs. Babble at camp-meeting, and hear her shout, and see her lying in the arms of two or three men. Wouldn't her squeaky voice make them stare! And then, only think of her jumping into the air! Wouldn't her pedal extremities show to advantage! I fancy I see her now, with her hair all flying, and her dress unhooked, just like the woman we saw. Wouldn't 316 THE CROOKED ELM J she be a picture' I should like to see her sit cross- legged and sing : " Satan's kingdom's coming down, O glory, hallelujah ! " Dick, can't you sing that funny hymn ? " Dick took the corner, and rolling his eyes up towards the ceiling in imitation of those whom he had seen sing at the camp-meeting, commenced singing in a loud voice : " Where now is the good old Daniel ? Safe in the promised land." When he had finished a long string of verses, Charley commenced clapping his hands, and finally fell into Wash Smith's lap, seemingly exhausted. Dick was a natural mimic, and it was a long time before he ceased to amuse the boys by imitating what might probably be called the peculiarities of the camp-meeting. There was a large pond of water near the Babbling- ton school, in which all the boys, numbering, as I have before said, about thirty, used to swim nearly every afternoon. Old Mr. Babblington's four pupils used to go into the pond at the same time that the other boys did; but they always kept some distance away from them. One day, as they were all in the pond, a large boy swam up to Wash Smith and put him under water. He was much larger than Wash, and could handle him as he pleased. Harry saw him amusing himself at Wash's expense, and, swimming up to them, told the large boy to let Wash alone. He took no notice, however, of what Harry said, but plunged young Smith under the water again. Harry was no longer able to remain a spectator, but seizing hold of the boy OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 317 struggled to put him under the water, and finally suc- ceeded in doing so ; but as soon as the large boy came to the top he caught hold of Harry determinedly, and the struggle was continued fiercer than ever. Again Harry succeeded in putting him under. When the boy came to the top the second time, puffing and blowing, he said : " I will attend to you when you go on shore." " Just as you like," answered Harry. When they had dressed themselves and were return- ing to school, the large boy approached Harry and struck nim. Harry returned the blow, and gave the boy a sound thrashing. The other boys gathered around to see the result of the fight, and were much pleased to see Harry come off best. They disliked the large boy, for he was overbearing and rough with them all, especially to those who were physically his inferiors. This incident made Harry quite a lion among them all, and made Wash Smith love him with all his heart for taking his part so gallantly. Charley declared that he should always think more of Harry after that. " For," said he, " that impu- dent George Jones domineers over us as much as though he had a right to do so. Didn't you make him howl, though ! " Wash Smith never forgot this generous conduct of Harry's, and often did he afterwards assist him in some of his more difficult studies. I will now leave Master Harry with his three companions, who love him dearly, and with his school-fellows ; who have made him quite a hero since his victory over George Jones, while I return to another branch of this story. 27* CHAPTER XXV. " PAPA, why don't everybody speak English ? " " I don't know, my child. Why do you ask ? " " Then we would n't have to study so much to learn how to talk to people." " But don't you like to study, Flora?" " Oh, yes. I like to study very much ; but Miss Lishman says there are a great many languages, and that it would take a great while to learn them. She says she don't know them all." " It is not necessary to learn all the languages, child." " Is n't it ? I thought I would have to learn them all." " There are several hundred languages altogether, Flora." " Oh, dear! I never thought there were so many before. Are they all as easy to learn as French and Italian, papa ? " "Some of them are, but not all." " If they were as easy, I could soon learn them ; for Miss Lishman says that I will soon be able to speak both French and Italian well." " I am glad to hear you say so ; for when you grow up you may travel in foreign countries, and then it will be pleasant for you to be able to converse with the peo- ple you meet, and to read their language." (818) THE CROOKED ELM. 319 " I should like to go to Italy, papa, for Miss Lishman says they have beautiful sunshiny weather and pleasant skies there. I should like such a country." " Perhaps you may go there, some time." " Do boys study French and Italian, papa ? " " Yes, darling. Why do you ask ? " " Oh ! I thought it would be pleasant some time to write Harry a letter in French. Do you think Harry will study French ? " " I do not know, child." " Perhaps he is studying French now. Who knows ? " " It is time to go to bed, Flora ; it is growing late." " Bon nuit, mon chere pere ! " As little Flora said this, she put her arms round Moulton's neck and kissed him; then, taking a candle, she went to her bedroom. Moulton had employed Miss Lishman, an excellent teacher and governess, to superintend Flora's education. Flora was learning rapidly every day. New ideas, new views of things, were finding a lodgement in her young and susceptible mind. One day, as Flora and her teacher were sitting in the room set apart for study busily engaged with some needle-work, the following conversation took place : " Miss Lishman, did you ever love a little boy when you were young ? " . <* I thought you had, may be ; you sometimes look so sorry." " Do you think all people who look sad love little boys?" " I don't know ; but I think they would be sad if they loved them very much, and had to leave them." " But they don't all have to leave them." " You did, though, did n't you, Miss Lishman ? " 320 THE CROOKED ELM; What makes you think so ? " " Why, if you had not left him he would have mar- ried you, if he loved you. Harry always told me he would marry me, and I am sure if a little boy had loved you, he would have married you, when you grew to be big." " But boys are not all alike, Flora. They may not all be as good as your Harry." " I don't think they are. I never thought of that be- fore. Did the little boy you loved, Miss Lishman, look like Harry ? " " I have not said that I ever loved a little boy, Flora. Besides, I never have seen your Harry." " Oh, this looks just like him," said Flora, as she took Harry's likeness from her bosom and showed it to Miss Lishman. " This is just like Harry, his hair, his face, his eyes, his mouth every thing ! Was your little boy as handsome as that ? " " You forget, Flora, that I have not said that I ever loved a little boy." " I think you have, though. I think everybody ought to like the little boys. You are very good, Miss Lish- man, and I am sure you liked them when you were little." " But do you like all little boys, Flora ? " " Oh, no ! I only Like Harry. Mr. Simpson's boy, who comes here sometimes, I don't like him, I don't see how anybody could like him." " May be all the boys whom I knew when I was little were like Mr. Simpson's boy." I don't think they could all be as bad. Why, he pinches the cats and dogs, and I saw him yesterday pulling the legs off of flies. Oh, no ! I am sure there are not many boys as bad as he." " Well, Flora, we will not talk longer now about the OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 321 little boys. It is almost time for me to hear your Italian." " I have translated all you gave me. Shall I get my book now ? '.' ** Yes, get it, and I will hear you recite the lesson." Flora got her book, and the two seated themselves together, and read their morning lesson. One day, in the middle of summer, Moulton, with Flora and Miss Lishmaii, took a long walk. They fol- lowed the road leading out through the little French village, in the direction of Montmorency Falls. As they walked along through the village, numerous small and ragged children surrounded them and begged for money. Flora had never been that road before, nor had she ever seen children begging. At first she feared them, and kept close to Moulton ; but when she saw how destitute they were of clothing she wished to give them some- thing. She told Moulton so, and he gave her a handful of pennies, which she distributed freely among them. When she had given them all the money she had, they bowed and curtsied, and thanked her over and over again. " Merci, merci, petite Mademoiselle ! " was spoken by at least a dozen of the half-clad urchins that surrounded her. " Those are very good children, are they not, papa ? " asked Flora, as soon as they had got a little way from the beggar children. " I presume they are," answered he ; " but they ought to be taught something mdffe respectable than begging in the streets." " But they are poor, papa. I pity poor children." " That is right, Flora. We should pity and assist all poor children ; but they should be taught to be industri- ous, and then they would grow up knowing how to 322 THE CROOKED ELM; work, and provide food and clothing for themselves. They would then become useful and good people in so- ciety." " Perhaps they have no fathers and mothers to teach them, papa. Do you think they are not good children ? " " I presume they are very good. Their fathers and mothers are to blame for letting them grow up in idle- ness. But we must cross the fields here," said Moul- ton, " the ' Natural Steps ' are in those woods you see yonder. Are you not too tired to go to them, Flora ? " " Oh, no ! I am not a bit tired. I wish very much to see the ' Natural Steps.' Miss Lishman says they are very pretty." They then turned into the fields, and Flora, with Miss Lishman, ran about from place to place, gathering flowers and admiring every thing new which she saw. Flora was full of life and spirits. She liked the country, for it was there she had spent so many happy hours. They soon reached the great curiosity. A little stream dashing down through the rocks, and filled with white foam, lay before them ; on its banks were shelving rocks, so gradual and regular in their ascent from the stream, that they resembled a regularly constructed stair. Flora ran about from rock to rock in the wild wooded place, with all the gayety and friskiness of a young kid. She was glad to get the fresh air. The charming wildness of the scenery enchanted her young mind. " Look there, Miss Lishman ! See how prettily the water dashes down through those rocks ! How easy these steps are to climb ! I can run up them." As she said this, she ran away over the gradually rising stones to show Miss Lishman and Moulton how easily she could climb them. They remained some time in the woods, and then started to return to the city. As they passed back through the French village, the little boys OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 323 and girls among whom Flora had distributed her money BO bounteously gathered around her and gave her bouquets and flowers of various kinds. She accepted their gifts, and thanked them. The children looked pleased and happy as they saw her walk away with her hands filled with the flowers they had gathered pur- posely for her an evidence that even little beggar- children are not destitute of human hearts. Flora car- ried her flowers home and kept them in water as long as she could, and never has she forgotten the touching little incident between herself and the beggar-children of the little French village. Flora still remembered her grandpapa and her old friend Rover ; but as she grew older her recollection of them became more and more indistinct.- They had an existence in her mind; but they were like the memory of a half-forgotten dream. She recollected the little mound where Rover was buried, and many other things connected with her old home ; but the time when she had lived with her -grand- papa seemed a long way back in the past. Since she had been in Quebec, she had made the acquaintance of a little girl of the name of Eunice Demerge. Eunice's parents were French. She had black hair and eyes, and a very pretty face. In looks she was almost Flora's opposite; yet, the girls liked each other very much, and were together a great deal. M. Demerge was a man of wealth, and had but the one child. He indulged her in all her wants, and took great pains with her edu- cation. When Flora commenced studying French, Eunice assisted her ; and, when Flora had learned more of the language, they would often sit together for hours conversing in French. In this way Flora learned to speak French with a correctness of accent and pronun- ciation seldom acquired outside of Paris. Eunice was 324 THE CKOOKED ELM J impulsive, generous, and kind-hearted, and generally took the lead in all their studies and amusements. One day when Flora had gone to see Eunice, who lived but a few doors away, the following conversation took place while walking in the flower-garden. They talked in French. " Flora, run here and see this provence rose ! It is just budding. Does n't it look beautiful ? " " How pretty ! " exclaimed Flora. " I will get mamma to make me a wreath of them to wear to-morrow night. But would n't you like to wear them, Flora?" " No, Eunice, I shall like so much to see them in your hair. They will look so pretty with that maize-colored dress." " But I had rather you would wear them, Flora. They look so sweet ! " " But you know, Eunice, that I am going to wear the wreath of forget-me-nots." " Well, Flora, if you won't wear them, I suppose I must, though I had much rather you would." There was going to be a children's party at M. Demere're's the next night to celebrate Eunice's birth- day. Eunice and Flora had talked of it for weeks, and had made great preparations for celebrating so important an event. The time came at last, and the little folks, numbering thirty or forty in all, assembled in M. Deme- re're's drawing-room. Eunice, with her maize-colored crape dress, and a wreath made of provence rose-buds, moved about among her young companions, the ob- served of all. Flora, in a simple white muslin dress, and with a wreath of forget-me-nots entwined with her rich auburn hair, rivalled the beauty of her. generous friend, and attracted many admiring eyes by the sim- OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 325 plicity of her manners and the loveliness of her sweet face. Eunice introduced Flora to all her little friends, and soon they mingled together in the merry mazes of the dance. Eunice and Flora led off with two of the rosiest faced boys, and the others followed, and soon all was life, merriment, and glee. After dancing and enjoy- ing themselves generally until a late hour, the party broke up, and the little girls and boys separated for their respective homes, all proud of the characters they had individually personated in celebrating little Eunice's birthday. Flora had enjoyed it immensely, and had taken pride in making it as pleasant a party as she could, for the sake of her much-loved friend. Not many days after the party, Eunice and Flora were sitting on the piazza at the back of M. Demereire's house, when the following conversation took place : " Don't you think, Flora, that Willie Delano is very handsome ? " " I think he is very good looking ; but he is n't so handsome as Harry." "None of them were as handsome as your Harry; but, don't you think he was better looking than any of the other boys at the party ? " " Yes, he is good looking, Eunice." " But, don't you think he is handsome ? not handsome like your Harry ; but very handsome ? " " Perhaps he is." Eunice, try all she would, could not get Flora to speak much in praise of Willie. There was but one handsome boy in her estimation, and that was the one whose image she wore next her heart. " I should Eke to see your Harry, Flora. Do you think he will ever come here to see you ? " 28 326 THE CROOKED ELM, " I think not, for he don't know where I am." " But won't you ever tell him where you are ? " " I don't know ; perhaps papa would n't like to have me write to him." " How queer ! " exclaimed Eunice. " I should think he would like to have you write to so good a boy. I know I shall like him if I ever see him." " I know you will," said Flora, with eyes sparkling " He is oh ! such a fine boy ! " " When you marry Harry, won't you come and live here, Flora? It will be so nice! I will go .and stay with you all day, and we will have so much fun ! We will have parties, and we will oh, I don't know what we won't have ! " " I shall like to have you live with us, Eunice, it will be so pleasant. We will get up every morning and work in the garden, and we will have such a nice gar- den and such beautiful flowers ; and we will have every thing so nice ! won't we ? Harry is very fond of flow- ers, and he always said he would build such a beautiful house ! Yes, Eunice, you must live with us." Thus did the two little girls, in the innocence of their own pure thoughts, talk for hours. Their young minds run together as one. All their pleasures and troubles were shared. Being thus together every day, they nat- urally formed like tastes and like habits. Moulton did not try to break off their intimacy. He saw how much attached they were, and he was glad that Flora had one near her own age to play and amuse herself with. I have given the reader an inside view of what little Flora was doing during the first few months of her stay in Quebec. I will now draw the curtain and leave her with her friend Eunice, together with Moulton and her governess, to continue on in the path of life which she OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 327 has just entered upon. Before her are flowers and sun- shine. Her young imagination pictures a future, rain- bow-tinted and beautiful as the gossamer webs of a delightful romance. Let no one disturb her dreams of happiness. CHAPTER XXVI. EVER since Flora had been stolen away from her grandpapa's, as she always called the old man, but whom we will know in future as Mr. Rivington, Hastings had tried to ascertain where Moulton was, and through him learn what had been done with the little girl. All his efforts to find him, however, or learn any thing of her more than what Belmonte had told him, were unsuccess- ful. He felt continually that he had been instrumental in doing the old man a great wrong a wrong that was irreparable. A few weeks after Mr. and Mrs. Belmonte had sailed for Europe, Hastings was seated in his office brooding over the desponding thoughts which filled and troubled his mind. He never before had felt so deeply guilty. " I have driven Cornelia from her home and friends, ^nd have made her life wretched," thought he. " I am steeped in crime of all descriptions, and deserve to be punished. I have lent myself to the wicked plots of Belmonte, and have robbed Mr. Rivington of his grandchild perhaps have murdered her ; I am more and more convinced every day that she was killed. Horrible thought ! I must know more of this ; and, if my suspi- cions are well founded, I will give a true statement of the facts to the public, and answer the heinous crime with my worthless life. I will not rest until I have investi- agted this wicked deed to the extent of my ability. I (328) THE CROOKED ELM. 329 will go to old Mr. Rivington's, and learn all the facts con- nected with their finding the child in the river." In accordance with this resolution, he set out early the next morning for Mr. Rivington's. He found the old man in his garden watering some flowers, and im- mediately introduced himself as Belmonte's friend. The old man was glad to see him ; for, as we have already learned, he loved his nephew, and believed him to be his best friend. " I was passing here, Mr. Rivington," said Hastings, " and thought I would drop in a moment and see how you were getting along. You have a fine garden of flowers. Do you cultivate them yourself?" " Yes, I spend many of my idle hours here. It is almost the only recreation I have. I am very fond of flowers ; and I like to be out in the morning air, looking after and tending them. I do not trust the servants in here. I prefer watering and taking care of them myself." Hastings looked attentively at the benevolent and good countenance of the old man, and his conscience more than ever smote him for what he had done. " I think you do right," said Hastings, " to look after the flowers yourself. It gives you health and pleasant employment." As he said this he turned away from the old man to admire a bed of beautiful verbenas, helio- tropes, and forget-me-nots. " This is a beautiful bed of flowers, Mr. Rivington." Yes," replied he, "that was little Flora's bed before she died. I have kept it just as it was when she used to water and tend it herself." " Little Flora ! " queried Hastings, " how strange ! I have helped to rob him of a little girl, and her name was Flora. I too have been robbed of a child, and its name was Flora. It was murdered perhaps his Flora was too." 28* 330 THE CROOKED ELM; For a moment his emotions, at thus suddenly and strangely being reminded of the death of his child, ren- dered him unable to speak. He turned away an in- stant to conceal his feelings, and then said : " You must have loved your little grandchild very much to take such care of what belonged to her." " Yes," said the old man, with tears in his eyes, " I did love her very much. She was a sweet, dear child. I never can reconcile myself to her loss." " She was drowned, I believe ? " Yes the little angel ! " " She was your grandchild ? " "No! She always called me grandpapa, and was thought, by most who knew her, to be my grandchild; but she was not related to me, except by the ties which love makes." " I had always supposed that she was your grand- child?" " No, she was not." " May I ask how you came to know her ? You have interested me in her. I was told of her death at the time it took place. It must have been a sore trial to you." ," I have as yet told no one her history, and you must excuse me, Mr. Hastings, for declining to tell it to you." " I will not press you to tell me her life, she found in you a benefactor and a father ; and you doubtless have good reasons for keeping her history locked up in your own bosom. I cannot tell why, but you have ex- cited in me a curiosity to learn more of her. Perhaps it is because I once lost a child, a little babe, whose name was Flora. I loved it very much, and your men- tion of the name excited my curiosity." The old man looked anxiously at Hastings, and said: " Of what did your child die ? " OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 331 " I do not know but presume that it was mur- dered." What ! Murdered ? " " Yes," replied Hastings ; " I have every reason to be- lieve that it was murdered." The old man's curiosity was now excited. There was something mysterious in what Hastings had said. " I do not wish," said he, " to intrude myself upon your private feelings, yet you have excited in me a wish to know how your child was killed." " Sit down here, Mr. Rivington," said Hastings, " and I will tell you all I know of my child's death." Hastings, in deciding to gratify the old man by telling him the story of his murdered child, thought that in doing so he might so much gain his confidence as to learn from him more of the particulars of the child whom Moulton and Belmonte had stolen away. He therefore entered into all the details of his wife's death, and the disappearance of his child. When he had finished, the old man asked eagerly what year these strange events had taken place." " They occurred in the spring of 18 ," answered Hastings. The old man was now more excited than before, and asked with a quivering lip: "Is there any thing by which you could have recognized your child, had she lived?" " I know of nothing," said Hastings, unconcernedly. " I have no hope at all of her being alive." " Her name, you say, was Flora ? " Yes." " What colored hair and eyes had she ? " Hastings looked at the old man, wondering why he should ask such questions, and then answered : She had beautiful auburn hair, and large blue eyes. 332 THE CROOKED ELM; "Were she alive now, I should know her by these alone." The old man, now almost unable to control himself, said, in a voice full of emotion : " What you have said, Mr. Hastings, interests me much. I am led to believe that the child you lost is the same Flora who lived with me" " What ! What ! Impossible ! What do you mean ! My child, the little girl who lived with you! No! I will not believe it ! It cannot be ! " " Calm yourself, Mr. Hastings, and I will tell you why I think it possible, yea, quite probable, that they are one and the same." " Do not torment me by such a supposition ! Tell me not that it was my child who lived with you ! I can- not endure the thought ! It cannot it shall not be true ! I will not believe it ! " Beside himself at the thought of having possibly been instrumental in taking his own child's life, Hastings was almost distracted. " No," said he, " I will not listen to your story." As he said this he got up hastily, and started to leave the old man, but he 'could not go. Confused and wild almost, from this sudden surprise, he knew not what he was doing. When he had com- posed himself a little, he returned, pale and agitated, to the old man, and said : " You will pardon, I trust, what must seem to you strange in me. The surprise you gave me was so sud- den that I lost all command of myself." The old man did think that Hastings acted strangely. " He does not," thought he, " wish to think that the dar- ling child who lived with me was his. I should think he would be rejoiced to find even where she was buried." When Hastings had seated himself again by the old man's side, he continued : OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 333 " Will you now tell me why you think the little girl who li ved with you was the child I lost ? " " I have been accustomed," commenced the old man, " to spend my winters in New Orleans. ^In the spring of 18 , just before returning north, I was at a friend's house in the city I have mentioned. Late at night, we heard a noise at the front door ; and, on going to ascer- tain what caused it, found a little child tied up in a bundle of clothing, lying on the steps. It was taken in, and as Mrs. Rivington and I had no children (Mis. Rivington was then alive) we concluded to adopt it, and if no one came to claim it, educate and bring it up as our own child. It continued to live with us until it Was two years old, when Mrs. Rivington died one winter, while we were at New Orleans. Since then, and until the time of the poor child's death, I took charge of it myself. I loved her as she grew older as much as though she had been my own." Here the old man wiped away a tear, and then went on with his story. "We named the child Flora, because the dress she wore when we found her had the name ' Flora' worked on it in little letters. Flora had such eyes and hair as you described." " Have you the dress you found on her ? " eagerly inquired Hastings. " ^"es, I have always kept it carefully, thinking that it might sometime be of service to her when she grew up, in assisting her to discover her parents." " Let me see it," said Hastings, in a trembling voice. " Come with me," said the old man, as he got up and walked towards the house. During the few moments of Hastings' anxiety and suspense in walking into the house, a thousand thoughts crowded in quick succession upon his mind. He was about to know whether the child whom he had assisted Belmonte in taking away 334 THE CROOKED ELM; from the old man was his. What racking anxiety in those brief moments of suspense ! When they had got into the house, the old man went to a bureau, and, un- locking a drawer, took from it a small bundle of cloth- ing, the same that had been found with the child. He took from it a little frock, and held it out in his hand. Hastings looked at it his brain reeled he recognized it. It was the dress of his own lost child. He stood motionless for some moments staring at it, and then, bursting into tears, cried out in the depths of his grief, " Oh ! that I had never lived to see this hour ! Would that I had died, Flora, long ago, for thy sake ! It is the dress of my poor child ! I know it ! I know it ! " Thus, in the bitterness of his sorrow, did he upbraid himself for the part he had taken in removing his own child from its benefactor. He was convinced that the little girl who had lived with Mr. Eivington was his, and the conviction burned into his very soul. It was a long time before he could li sten to the old man while he related the incidents connected with the find- ing of the child's body in the river, its burial, and every thing connected with its death. When the old man had told him how, and where the child was found, where buried, etc., Hastings said : " What dress had she on when you found her ? " " I will show you," answered the old man, as he went to the same drawer and took from it a muslin dress. " This is the one." " Was she much changed in her appearance when she was first taken from the river ? " " Yes. I should never have recognized her." This answer gave Hastings some hope that Belmonte's story was correct. " Would you have known her, if it had not been for her dress ? " OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 335 " I don't understand you," said the old man. " I know it was Flora we found. Why do you ask so strange a question ? " Hastings saw that it would not do to press his inqui- ries further, so he said : " I only wish to know whether the body was much decayed when found?" " She was very much altered indeed," said the old man. He then gave Hastings a brief history of Flora, from the time he first took her into his family, up to the time of her supposed death. He entered into all the little details of her life, and frequently during the reci- tal did he and Hastings weep over the touching inci- dents which he so feelingly described. In the afternoon, Hastings, with the old man leaning on his arm, visited the little mound where the child and Rover lay buried. " I am glad," said the old man as they walked along, " that I have found her father ; not that I will love her more, but because it is pleasant to know that her par- ents were respectable." " I can never repay you, Mr. Rivington, for the kind- ness and love you have shown for my child. I shall owe you a debt of gratitude to the last day of my life." " The ways of Providence are mysterious," answered the ofd man. " I was a thousand times repaid for any trouble that she may have been to me while a babe, by the purity and strength of her love when she grew older. She was all the happiness that was left me. We walked together, worked in the garden together, and in a thousand ways did she make me happy. Would that she had not died ! " They had now come near the little mound. Hast- ings was unable to conceal the strong emotions which agitated his mind as they drew nigh. There, in all the 336 THE CROOKED ELM ; innocent simplicity in which we have seen them before, were the two little graves, surrounded by flowers, part of which Flora herself had planted. There stood her little play-house. The same marble slabs were at the heads of the graves, and the same snowy white lambs lay at their feet Hastings looked eagerly at all around him. " My own child," thought he, rt planted these flowers. This is her little play-house. I am standing on the ground where she has so often and innocently played." They stood together for some time in silence, each busied with his own thoughts. At length they, seated themselves on the grass, and Hastings asked the old man a thousand questions about little Flora. When they were about leaving, Hastings went to the play- house and looked at its contents. He took from it a small broken box and placed it in his bosom. Then going to the forget-me-not at Rover's grave, he said: " May I take a sprig of this with me, Mr. Rivington ? You say she planted it with her own hands. I shall value it above all price." " Yes," answered the old man, " you can take it, but I never should have consented to its being disturbed by any one else. She is your child, take it." Hastings carefully removed a few sprigs, and placed them also in his bosom. They then walked away, and returned in silence to the house. " I must now leave you, Mr. . Rivington," said Hast- ings. " The love you have shown my child will always make you very dear to me." "I am glad," replied the old man,. "to find a father who thought so much of his child." " Are you not lonely here, Mr. Rivington ? " " No. I have many servants, and I do not care to have any one live with me since her death." " May I visit you occasionally ? " OR, JJFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 337 " I shall be glad to see you, Mr. Hastings, should you come here every day. There is something in your coun- tenance that reminds me of my darling child I mean little Flora. I wish you would come and see me when- ever you can make it pleasant to do so, and remain as long as you like. You see, Mr. Hastings, that I have an abundance of every thing necessary for my comfort. I have a large house, almost unoccupied. You will always be welcome here, and to all that I have." Hastings pressed the old man's hand warmly, and, with a heart overflowing with gratitude and love for him, bade him good-by, promising to visit him again soon. I will leave the reader to imagine what his reflections must have been that night, as he returned to the city The next day Hastings tried to collect his thoughts, and set- tle upon some definite plan to find Moulton. " He must be found," muttered he. " I must know the fate of my child. If I do not succeed in finding him, I will seek out Belmonte, and compel him to confess the extent of his crime. If, as I fear, he has murdered her, I will make him answer her death with his own worthless life." After thinking a long time, he concluded to give a full description of Moulton to the chief of police in New York, and offer him a large reward if he succeeded in finding him. Acting upon this resolution he drew up a description of Moulton, and also wrote down some of the particulars of his life ; this he gave- to the chief of police, and explained to him in addition all that he thought necessary. He also gave him a large sum of money to enable him to commence the search immedi ately, with the promise, that, if he succeeded in finding him, he would give him a much larger sum. Satisfied with the thought that he had now begun to act in ear- nest in the matter, he returned to his hotel with a some- 29 338 THE CROOKED ELM J what lightened though still saddened heart, to devise other means, if possible, to find his lost child. " Why is it," muttered he, as he sat in his room that evening, " that I am thus sorely punished ? Why are some men weighed down to the earth, yea, crushed with the weight of their afflictions, while others, less worthy, and more deserving of punishment, pass through the world with no trouble at all worth naming ? I have been fol- lowed with trouble all my days. What had I done, what have I done to merit it all ? Surely I have reason to complain. I will no longer believe in an overruling Providence. If there was a just God in heaven,. I would not be afflicted thus." As he was thus railing at his fate, a servant knocked at his door and handed in a let- ter. He opened it, and read as follows : "DEAR MR. HASTINGS: Will it be convenient for you to call here this evening? Clemie and I are at home, and will be glad to give you a hearty welcome. We cannot imagine why you have delayed coming to see us so long. We fear that something unusual has kept you away. Will you please come to-night and relieve our minds of apprehension? I sent a messenger to your office this morning, and learned that you had not been there since day before yesterday. We fear very much that you are ill. Please drop a line by the bearer of this, telling us if you are unwell, and also if we may expect the pleasure of your company to-night. " Your sincere friend, KATE COLEMAN." " P. S. I have something of importance to tell you. Do come. KATE." This letter changed the current of Hastings' thoughts. OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 339 " I will go and see Kate," he said to himself. " I have neglected her very much of late. She is a very kind- hearted and affectionate girl, and much too good a friend of mine to be badly treated. I fear she thinks more of me than she ought more than I deserve. I must go and see her, or rather them ; for she has very modestly written, ' Clemie and I will be glad to give you a hearty welcome.' Yes, Kate, I will call and see you to-night." He took his pen and wrote as fol- lows : " DEAR FRIEND KATE, I have just read your polite and kind note, and I accept with pleasure the invitation to call and see you this evening. I will apologize for my seeming neglect when I see you until then please believe me, as sincerely as ever, " Your friend, HASTINGS." When he had sealed this and given it to the messen- ger, he again fell into the thinking mood. " I must not," thought he, " lead Kate to believe that I care for her other than as a dear friend. There is one, and only one, in the wide world whom I ever have or ever can love. Kate is worthy, and I know she likes me, I fear she even loves me. Have I not given her encour- agement ? Am I not to blame for making her a suc- cessful rival of Miss Leighton and Miss Delacy, simply to annoy them, and gratify my own foolish caprice ? I will be more discreet in future." About nine o'clock that night, Hastings, without much preparation in his toilet, and looking careworn and somewhat haggard, called at Mrs. Coleman's, and was shown into the drawing-room. There was no one in it when he entered, and he had an opportunity, while left there a moment to himself, to notice a large china 340 THE CROOKED ELM; vase on the table underneath the oval mirror, filled with beautiful exotics. There were, he thought, as he glanced his eyes round the room, evidences that more than ordi- nary care had been taken in preparing to receive him. He thought, also, that he detected Kate's good taste and supervising eye in the management of sundry little ornaments, which always add so much to the tout en- semble of the most elegantly furnished boudoirs. Hast- ings, as we have seen, had called there frequently be- fore ; but the exciting incidents of the last few weeks had kept him away an unusually long time. Kate had got tired waiting for him to call on her, and, unable to continue longer in suspense and doubt as to the cause of his seeming neglect, she addressed to him the note which we have read, requesting him to visit her that evening. She loved Hastings very much, yet she was too modest and diffident to show him the full extent of her attachment. She could not request him to call and see herself, even, but modestly informed him that Clemie and she were both at home. When she got his note in answer to hers, accepting her invitation, she bounded about the house with a light heart, preparing and ar- ranging every thing in such a manner as she thought would please him. Hastings had not waited long in the drawing-room, when Kate made her appearance, dressed with more than her usuaj care. As she approached and cordially greeted him, the color in her cheeks came and went in quick succession, like the waves of sunshine and shade. She looked inquiringly into his face, and said : " I am so glad to see you again ! but you look ill. Have you been sick ? Be seated, while I scold you for staying away so long. Have you really been ill ? " " No, I have not been sick. Business of importance has engaged all my time of late ; so much so, indeed, OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 341 that I have no doubt you see in my face what I feel, that my qualities as a beau are alarmingly below par. I am glad to see, however, that you have improved in looks during my absence. I never saw you looking so bewitchingly charming before." Kate blushed at this compliment, and replied : " If your qualities as a beau have depreciated, I think as a flatterer you are still above par." " Be this as it may, it has always been a fault of mine to speak the truth at all times, however disagreea- ble it may be to the listener." A satisfied smile enlivened Kate's countenance as she answered : I am glad to see you confess your faults. It encourages one to hope better things of you in fu- ture." " I fear, Kate, that there is very little in me worth hoping for. But what is it that you have to iell me ? You wrote that you had something of importance to communicate." " I have something to tell you, but I will wait until your next visit before I impart the important news." " Well, I will not quarrel with you, although the ex- action you make is very unreasonable." Hastings tried to appear cheerful, but he could not conceal the trouble and anxiety which weighed upon his mind. His words were light and gay, but his heart was sad, and alt his efforts to disguise the fact were un- successful. Miss Clemie soon came into the drawing- room with a book in her hand which she, seemingly, had just been reading. She was two years younger than her sister, and in many respects very different. She walked hastily up to Mr. Hastings, and, shaking him heartily by the hand, exclaimed : " How ill you look ! I hardly knew you ! " 29* 342 THE CROOKED ELM, " Do you think me, then, so t7Z-looking, Miss Clemie ? " I am sure you have been sick have n't you ? " They joined in a general conversation for a few min utes, when Clemie, excusing herself, took a seat at the further end of the room, and continued reading her book. " I think," said Kate, in the latter part of the evening^ " that something troubles you. You do not look as cheerful as you used to." " That is your imagination." " I hope so." " When do you go into the country ? " asked Hastings, changing the subject. " The latter part of next week, I believe." " You go to Newport, do you not ? " " No, I believe mother has decided on going to Sara- toga." " That will be pleasant for you. There are always plenty of fine beaux at Saratoga." " I had rather remain in the city than go to any watering-place, but mamma will not let me." " I should think that you would be impatient to get away from this monotonous city." " We are just as comfortable here as we would be at any of those fashionable resorts. Where will you spend the remainder of the summer ? " " I think I shall go to Newport foi* a few weeks. The sea air is beneficial to me. When you return from Saratoga I shall expect to be introduced to some dash- ing young beaux. Do you understand, Kate ? " " I understand ; but you will be disappointed in your expectation." " I hope not. I hope you will make the acquaint- ance of some 'gentleman as worthy as you are your- self." OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 343 Hastings said this with a somewhat serious counte- nance, and could not fail to see how unpleasant it made Kate feel. He wished, however, to let her know that his visits were those of a friend only, and he added : " It is growing late, and I must not remain longer to- night. It will give me pleasure on my return to learn that you have made the acquaintance, at the Springs, of your future husband. Do not think me officious, Kate, and believe that few wish you better than I do." She made no reply to what he said, but looked dis- concerted and embarrassed. He got up to leave ; he saw that he had made her unhappy, yet he did not wish to change the impression which his words had made on her mind. Turning to the vase of flowers, he said : " These are beautiful ! I was admiring them while sitting here alone." " Do you like them ? " said Kate, her countenance lighting up suddenly. " Here," said she, " I will make you a present of this heliotrope, upon condition that you never wish me so many bad wishes again." She took the flower from the vase and handed it to him so modestly and prettily that he could but accept it, with the condition imposed, and praise its delicious odor and its rare beauty. " We shall not leave town before the latter part of next "week," said Kate, " and if you wish to hear the important news I promised, you must call before we leave." " I shall <3o so with pleasure," said Hastings. And then, shaking her heartily by the hand, they separated for the night, she to think of what he had said, and he to brood over his heart troubles. The next day Mrs. Coleman and her daughters were sitting together, when Kate said : " Mamma, why don't you go to Newport, instead of 344 THE CKOOKED ELM; Saratoga ? I think that Saratoga is the stupidest place we could go to. Besides, if one must leave the city why not go to the sea-coast, where it is cool, and where one can bathe in the sea-water ? I like bathing in salt water very much. It would be beneficial to us all. Won't you go to Newport, mamma ? " " Kate has always got something new in her head," joined in Clemie. " I wouldn't go to Newport on any account. There is no place like Saratoga." " But, Clemie," replied Kate, " all the hotels at Sara- toga are crowded to overflowing. What comfort could we take there ? " " I have made arrangements to go to Saratoga, girls," said Mrs. Coleman, " and I cannot change my plans now." " I don't wish to go to Saratoga, mamma," said Kate, half poutingly. " Well, I do, though," said Clemie. All the fine beaux go to Saratoga." " All the fine beaux, indeed ! You had better think of your books than fine beaux, Miss Clemie," said Kate, reprovingly. " There is no use of your disputing about the mat- ter," said the mother. " I thought that you would both like going to Saratoga. You never have expressed your preference for Newport before, Kate." " I never have said that I liked going to Saratoga, mamma," said Kate. " I don't see what difference it would make. Why can't you go to Newport, as well as Saratoga?" " For the same reason," said the mother, " I do not see why you object so strenuously to going to Sara- toga." Kate had her own reasons for the choice she had made, but she did not see fit to make them known ; so OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 345 she reluctantly yielded to her mamma and Clemie, and said nothing more about going to Newport. Hastings called again on Kate before they left and spent a pleasant evening, and on leaving wished her and Clemie a great deal of happiness during their absence. A few days after they had gone, he, too, left the city ; not to go to Newport, however, but to forward plans which he had formed, and which concerned him more than all things else. CHAPTER XXVII. THE ship Graceful, in which Mr. and Mrs. Belmonte had taken passage, moved slowly down New York bay. As the city became less and less distinct, and as Mrs. Belmonte left further and further behind all that to her was dear, she gave vent to her desponding feelings and wept the burning tears of regret at separating from one, around whom the tendrils of her girlhood's first affections clung for life and nourishment. She wept tears of sor- JTOW also for the web of troubles that seemed to enfold her in its meshes and threaten her utter ruin. She stood upon deck looking out on the fast receding city. " I am leaving you forever, William," she said, men- tally. " I feel that I shall never see you again. Land of my childhood! I am looking at you for the last time. I must now bid adieu to all my dreams of happiness. There is nothing left to make life endurable." She did not try to conceal her grief. Belmonte saw her weeping, and turning away he muttered : " I will yet be revenged on you and him. I am only waiting the proper time. Weeping for him before my face ! Your tears shall be changed into blood. The time is coming when I will be what I now feel." The vessel moved on and on, until the city was left far behind in the dim and hazy distance. It was soon out of sight. The Highlands also disappeared, and the (346) THE CROOKED ELM. 347 Graceful was alone on the wide ocean. Mrs. Belmonte felt that she, too, was on the wide and troubled ocean of life, separated from all who cared for or loved her, and left to drift whithersoever its eddies and currents tended. She never had been on the ocean before. Every thing was new to her ; the singing of the sailors as they worked at the capstan or pulled at the bowline, all, all was to her novel and strange. The weather was warm and pleasant, and for two or three days the Graceful moved smoothly and majestically through the slightly ruffled waters. There was a gentle westerly breeze blowing, and all her sails were set. Mrs. Belmonte remained upon deck most of the time, seemingly looking out on the vast expanse of water, but really absorbed in her own reflections. Occasionally the captain pointed out to her a sail, a shark, or a school of black-fish, and for a moment her thoughts were diverted from the general melancholy which weighed upon her mind. One day, as the Graceful lay becalmed a little westward of the Banks of Newfoundland, a school of whales, number- ing thirty or forty in all, played about the vessel for several hours. Sometimes two of these monsters of the deep would swim close up under the bows of the ship and spout forth huge columns of water, making a noise not unlike a steam-engine, and showing their large black backs "above the surface of the water. Some of them were far off under the horizon, and could only be distin- guished by the water which they occasionally spouted into the air ; others were nearer, and could be distinctly seen every time they rose to the surface to breathe. They invariably swam together in pairs, and all seemed to be enjoying a merry holiday. Mrs. Belmonte, anx- ious to get relief from her sorrows, sat watching them for a long time, as the Graceful lounged lazily on the 348 THE CROOKED ELM; waves, flapping her masts and yards with her snowy white sails. When they had been out about a week the wind freshened and shifted, and the sea became so rough that Mrs. Belmonte had to go to her berth, where she re- mained, sea-sick and dispirited, during the remainder of the voyage. When Belmonte arrived in England, he went to see an old friend of his, who resided near Liverpool. After remaining there a few days he told his friend that it was necessary for him to return to New York ; that business of a pressing nature demanded his immediate presence there. " But," added he, " I will tax your hospitality by leaving Mrs. Belmonte with you until I come back." " We shall be delighted to have her remain with us," said Belmonte's friend, " and will make her stay as pleasant as possible. We remember your hospitality to us when we were in New York. We shall be happy to have her remain as long as it is pleasant to herself." The morning before Belmonte left, he held the fol- lowing conversation with his wife : " I am going back to New York, shall leave to-day. I wish you to remain here until I return. It is quite possible that you may guess what takes me back there. If you write to Hastings, or in any way inform him that I have returned, I will abandon you, and expose your character to your friends and to the world. It will be impossible for you to deceive me again." Is this all ? " asked Mrs. Belmonte, half indignantly. " No," replied he, with flashing eyes, " it is not all; but it is sufficient for the present" His tone and manner completely subdued her, and she said : " I ask nothing of you but the mercy of your silence. OB, LITE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 349 What I am or have been, you will never know from my lips, because, if I told you the truth, you would dis- believe me. I repeat, your silence is all I ask. Only let my character rest a little while, and it will be buried with me in the grave." " You are deucedly sentimental over your apostasy," replied he, sneeringly. " I shall say no more," answered she, as she turned to leave her enraged husband. " I think," continued he, " that you had better say no more, unless it be to damn your inconstancy." This was all the consolation that Mrs. Belmonte re- ceived from him previous to Ms leaving. She was left alone in a strange country, shut out from all whom she knew, and left to believe that Hastings, whom she so idolized, was in danger. Bessy was left with her ; and, though she on former occasions had betrayed her mis- tress, she now loved her with all her heart, and was truly sorry for what she had done. It was her love of money that had led her into the trap of Mrs. Delacy, and not her dislike of Mrs. Belmonte. She now in every way tried, in her entire devotion to her mistress' in- terests, to redeem the treachery of the past. Belmonte had returned to New York, and in dis- guise and in a fictitious name had put up at an ob- scure" and out of the way hotel, where he remained, never going out, except after dark. He had not been there many days, when a man, closely muffled, visited him about ten o'clock one night, and the two remained closeted together for more than an hour. Not many evenings after, the same suspicious looking individual came again to the hotel where Belmonte was stopping, and, gliding quickly and unobservedly up the stairs, knocked at his door. Belmonte let him in immediately, 30 350 THE CROOKED ELM J and after surely bolting the door, said: "Have you seen hip. _, ? " Yes, he came to town last night ; but I am dry as a mackerel! Tarn me, if I've had three drinks to-day ! " Belmonte, although provoked at the delay, ordered two whiskey punches. While they were waiting for them to be brought in, Belmonte said : " You have seen him, then ? " " I can't talk business till the grog comes," said the man dryly, as he began to remove a wig and false pair of whiskers. " I always like my glass beside me when talking business." " You are looking glum to-night, Duggett. What's in the wind now ? " " Curse the wind ! What do " Before he could finish the sentence there was a rap at the door, and he hastily concealed his wig and whiskers, by placing them in his chair and sitting down upon them. He had scarcely done so, when the waiter en- tered with the punches. Duggett emptied his glass at a swallow, and ordered another to be brought. The whis- key seemed to put him in better spirits. " I seed him," commenced he, " to-day. Tarn me if I didn't go straight to the critter's office, and git a glimpse of him. It was about twelve o'clock when I went in. I saw a man settin' down by a desk writin,' and says I, 'Is Mr. Hastings in?' That's my name! says he. So I said, says I, ' If a man can't pay his rent at quarter-day, can the landlord turn a body out ! ' He looked at me a minit, and then took down a book and said, says he, ' What's your name?' So you see I was stumped, but I soon recollected myself and said, says I : ' My name is John Smith,' John Smith is a mighty convenient name, but I didn't tell him so. OR, LIFE BY THE WAT-SIDE. 351 * Where do you live, Mr. Smith ? ' says he. ' On Centre street,' says I. ' What number ? ' says he. There he got me agin ; but says I, ' there isn't no number on the house.' Very well,' says he. Now what do you want of me, Mr. Smith ? So I said, says I : If a body can't pay his rent when it comes due, can the landlord turn a body out ? ' ' He can, Mr. Smith,' says he. ' What is the damages ? ' says I. ' Nothing,' says he. So do you see, I left He has a mighty keen eye, he has, and tarn me if I didn't feel as though he was looking two holes through me while I stood there." The second punch was now brought in, and Duggett, taking a swallow of it, continued : " He's a mighty shrewd chap, that's sartain." " Would you know him, should you meet him again? " "Know him! Wouldn't I! He's not one of them chaps that one soon forgets." " I want you to dog him to-morrow, Duggett, and see what he does, and where he goes. Follow him from the time he leaves his hotel until he returns to it again to-morrow night. Do you understand ? " " Perfectly," answered Duggett. " You will call here to-morrow night, after you leave him, and tell me all that transpires. Let me see," said Belrnente, as he thought for a moment. " No, I will call and see you at eleven o'clock. Be sure to be in at that hour. You will know me when I come by the usual double knock." " I will be there at eleven," said Dnggett. But I must have some money as I go along." " You promised to ask nothing until the business was accomplished," replied Belmonte. " I know I did," said Duggett, coolly ; " but you know body and soul must be kept together, as the preacher says." Here he emptied his glass. Belmonte, seeing 352 THE CROOKED ELMJ no other alternative, and feeling that he was, to some extent at least, in his accomplice's power, pulled two ten dollar gold pieces from his pocket and handed them to him. " Your promises," continued Duggett, very pro- vokingly, " are all very fair; but many's the slip, 'twixt the cup and the lip, as the poet says. Saul Duggett never gives in though, and you may depend on me to the eend." " Well, watch him closely to-morrow," said Belmonte, impatiently. " Yes, I understand. We will have another punch. I am almighty dry, tarn me if I aint." Belmonte dissembled his feelings, and ordered two more punches. Duggett drank his off lightly, and soon left; not, however, until he had carefully replaced his wig and whiskers. As soon as he had gone, Belmonte muttered : " Blast the fellow ! He will spoil every thing yet ! His infernal appetite for drink will rain all my plans ! I can't control him, however, and it is now too late to think of another accomplice. His fancied power over me makes him impudent. The knave! Only wait until I am fairly through this business, and I will soon dispose of him ! I will trust no one with such a secret. I must endure his insolence for a time, however, as patiently as I am able." The next morning early, Saul Duggett was hovering near the hotel where Hastings was stopping. After watching attentively for some hours, he saw Hastings come out, get into his carriage, and drive up Fifth Avenue. Duggett followed it closely until it turned off' into the Bloomingdale road, and then falling further be- hind, he kept in sight of it until he saw it turn up to the door of a large house a few miles out of the city. He saw Hastings alight from it and go in, and soon after saw him walking in the garden in company with OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 353 an old man. He watched them attentively for about an hour, when Hastings and the old man got into the car- riage and drove away. He did not follow them, but lay concealed near the house until' they returned. The car- riage did not stand long at the door, before the coach- man mounted the box and drove back in the direction of the city, with no one inside. Saul Duggett immedi- ately stepped into the road, and walked back toward the city, also. When the carriage came up with him, they were ascending a little hill. " Them's mighty fine horses," said Duggett, address- ing the coachman. " They're Mr. Hastings', aint they ? " " Yes," answered the coachman, little inclined to enter into a conversation. " I knew they was. He always keeps good horses. They're five years old, aint they ? " " Yes," said the coachman ; " they were five last spring." " I knew so. I never knowed him to keep old horses as long as I've been acquainted with him. He is a mighty good judge of a horse, and always was." They had now come to the top of the hill, and the coachman, knowing that Duggett was expecting to be invited to get on to the box, and thinking that he was well acquainted with Hastings, he said : " Would you like to ride a little way ? " " I don't care if I do," said Duggett, as though the idea had not struck him until that moment. " You are driving the horses out for exercise, I suppose," continued Duggett, as soon as he was seated beside the coachman. " No, I left Mr. Hastings at that large house, which you must have passed a little way back." " Oh, you did ! I thought you were only airing them a little. You go back after him, I suppose ? " 30* 354 THE CROOKED ELM; " No ; he remains there until to-morrow morning, and then is going to walk into town." " The deuce he is ! I never thought he was much of a walker." " Oh, he frequently walks out that far before sun- up" You don't say ! " " Yes. He likes walking in the morning ! I'll war- rant he'll be in town to-morrow morning before sun- rise." " I should think he would go on horseback." " He does sometimes." Duggett thus led the coachman on, until he had learned from him all that he wished to know ; and, not wishing to ride into the city in company with him, he said: " Well, I'm much obleeged to you for the ride you've give me. I must cross the river here, if you'll let me down." The coachman stopped, and Duggett, springing from the box, turned into a field towards the Hudson, and as soon as the carriage was out of sight hurried back to the city. About eleven o'clock that night, Belmonte, true to his promise, glided noiselessly out of his hotel and walked hastily along, crossing one street and another, until he came to Chambers street. He followed this down to Centre street, and proceeding down this in the direction of the Tombs, he kept on until nearly opposite its huge gran- ite pillars, when turning down a dark narrow street to the right, he was soon in that locality known as the Five Points. The street lamps gave but a flickering light ; and more than once, as Belmonte passed some more than usually gloomy place, did he wish that he had let Saul OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 355 Duggett come to the hotel. The atmosphere became more and more humid and nauseous as he advanced. Depraved men, women, and children, half concealed in their rickety dens of shame, mingled in their midnight revels, more like fallen spirits from the other world than intelligent human beings. Belmonte occasionally heard their deep curses and blasphemous profanity as he hur- ried on. He saw besotted women, dirty and in rags, drinking, swearing, and carousing with bloated and drunken men. Precocious children, with the evidences of depravity written in their faces, mixed with the older spirits in this pandemonium of vice and crime. Now and then a female, whose face the street lamps showed to be bloated and blotched, accosted him with: "Deary, what's your hurry? Duckey, won't you go with me ? Honey, give me a quarter. My love ! my duckey ! darling ! " But he turned neither to the right nor the left until he came to Saul Duggett's house. Had Belmonte been a philanthropic man, he might have seen enough in that one short walk to occupy all his missionary thoughts and labors to the end of his life. As it was, his thoughts were not about how their con- dition could be bettered, but how he might accomplish his purposes and avoid them as much as possible. He gave the knock agreed upon when he came to Duggett's house, and was admitted. There was a dim light burning in an inner room. When they had picked their way into it, Duggett said : " Take a cheer and set down." Belmonte did as requested, although the spectral ap- pearance of every thing in the house, coupled with the scenes he had just witnessed, and a knowledge of the locality he was in, made him nervous and uneasy. His lip quivered as he asked : " What has been your success to-day, Duggett ? " 356 THE CROOKED ELM; " Wait a minit," said Duggett, in answer. " I '11 soon be back." He then opened a trap-door and descended a pair of stairs, taking with him the light, and leaving Belraonte in total darkness. He soon returned with a bottle and two tumblers. " Won't you have a little o' suthin," inquired he of Belmonte, as he placed them on the table. " No," answered the latter ; " I have been drinking." " Well then," said Duggett, who evidently had been drinking freely, " here is to the success of of , tarna- tion if I know what of." He drank off half a tumbler of the liquor, and then seating himself, said: " Now, I am ready for business." The appearance of the rooms, as dimly seen by the fee- ble light, was that of poverty. There were no carpets on the floor, and the walls looked dingy and old. A cupboard stood in one corner of the room where they were, and a few old clothes hung against the board par- tition between the two rooms. A few chairs, an old clock on the mantel-piece, and the table beside which they were sitting, completed the furniture of the room. Saul Duggett had been a blacksmith ; but of late years he never was known to follow any employment for a livelihood. He had more than once been suspected of crime, even of murder ; yet there was no evidence against him of a nature sufficient to warrant his being indicted. He was naturally a shrewd, bold man, with a strong yet uncultivated mind. He had lived for several years in the house where he then was, and, in some way, always managed to pay his rent when it fell due, much to the wonder of some of his immediate neighbors, who always saw him spending, but never making money. He was naturally rather reserved when with those in his own station in life ; indeed, he seldom OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 357 mixed much in society. He had a wife, or at least a woman lived with him. Gossips, and people learned in the affairs of their neighbors did say, however, that she was not his wife, and that she was no better than she should be. The latter was undoubtedly true ; but I will not vouch for the former. " Have you seen him to-day?" inquired Belmonte. " Yes, I 've treed the critter blow me if I have n't ! " " Where ? " asked Belmonte, excitedly. " At an old man's up the Hudson. I believe the name is Rivers, or some thing like it." " Was it Rivington ? " " That 's the name." Belrnonte turned deadly pale at this announcement. " The villain/' thought he, " is trying to supplant me in my uncle's esteem ! They shall both die ! I have sworn it ! He shall die by my own hand ! " Duggett then related to him all that he had that day seen and heard of Hastings. Belmonte listened "with breathless interest to every word. When he had finished, Belmonte muttered, half to himself: " He re- mains there all night, eh ? He has advanced far in the old man's favor, to be sure ! " Mrs. Duggett, or Sally Jones, as she had formerly been known, had left her sleeping apartmenf, and crept noiselessly up to a side door opening into the room where they were sitting. She had heard all the conver- sation that had taken place between them, and, deter- mined to know all that was going on, she remained with her ear at the key-hole, listening intently to every word that was uttered. Belmonte sat in silence for some moments, and then suddenly rousing up as if a new idea had come to him, he said : 358 THE CROOKED ELM | " Duggett, we must change our plans. They must both die to-night!" " Die to-night ! " exclaimed Duggett, half rising from his chair. " Yes," answered Belmonte, coolly, " they must both die to-night. The old man with whom he is stopping, is he of whom I have spoken to you. We can go there and despatch them both before morning. I know where the old man sleeps, where the servants sleep, and where Hastings sleeps." He stopped suddenly ; for he remem- bered the night which he had passed in his uncle's house. The thought of again seeing the ghost which had terrified him so much unnerved him. He turned pale, and sat thinking a moment, and then added : " No, we will let the old man live a little longer. We will, to-night, send Hastings to his accounts. He comes to the city early in the morning. He shall never see this city again ! My hour of revenge has come at last ! We will lie in wait for him." " Where ? " inquired Duggett. " In the woods this side of Mr. Kivington's." " That will be dangerous ! We will be detected ! " said Duggett, in a tone and manner that showed he had little heart -for the business. " Do you remember the dark glen, a mile or two this side of the house where he stopped?" asked Bel- monte. " You mean the one where the large elm overhangs the road ? " " The same. It is called the ' Crooked Elm.' We will secrete ourselves there, and wait until he passes. Have you a fowling-piece in the house ? " " I have not," said Duggett. " That is unfortunate. I have none either. I will OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 359 use my pistols. I wish to have him see me. The hypocrite ! I will teach him that I can revenge an in- sult ! Have you a boat ? " " Yes, I have one a little way above this, on the Hud- son." " Well, make haste and get ready. We will float up there on the incoming tide. It will be flood tide until six o'clock to-morrow morning. Providence assists me in seeking revenge ! " Duggett hesitated. " I fear that we will be found out. We have n't thought of the matter long enough." " Never fear. You can remain in the boat. I will do the business myself, and then we can float back to the city." They made hasty preparations and left the house together, and were soon in the boat rowing up the river. Mrs. Duggett, or Sally Jones, as I will in future call her, listened attentively until Belmonte and Duggett left the house. Their conversation startled her. " What does this mean ? " thought she. " Hastings ! Going to murder Hastings ! I wonder if it is Lawyer Hastings, who defended me. If I thought it was Lawyer Hast- ings, I would let him know the danger he is in. He saved* me from Sing- Sing once. One good turn de- serves another. I never have paid him for defending me. I will pay him now. He never asked me any thing, but I '11 pay him. I '11 let him know the danger he is in. It must be Lawyer Hastings ! Duggett is to remain in the boat the other man don't know me. I'll save Lawyer Hastings' life, for he once pleaded hard for me." As she muttered the above, she went about hurriedly getting ready to set out at once for the Crooked Elm. She disguised herself as much as possi- 360 THE CROOKED ELM; ble, and was soon on the road leading to Mr. Biving- ton's. She did not know where the Crooked Elm was ; but the description which Belmonte had given of it led her to hope that she would be able to recognize it by the large tree overhanging the road. It was a long way for her to walk, and she feared every moment that she would be too late. The moon, which had given her a partial light at first, went down before she had gone half the way. There was nothing to light the road, save the thought that she was doing a righteous act. She had walked so rapidly at first, that she began to weary. There were two or three miles yet to go. She wiped the perspiration from her face with her apron and walked on, looking out continually for the large crooked tree and the dark glen which Belmonte had mentioned. Sometimes she feared that in the darkness she had passed the place, and was on the point of turning back. Yet she pressed on, hoping and expecting that every hill she descended would bring her to the Crooked Elm. Day was just beginning to light the East, Sally Jones was on the top of a little hill, before her, and at the bot- tom of the hill she saw a densely dark and thick wood. She took courage and hurried on. " There stands the Crooked Elm," she muttered. " I am in time ! I will save his life!" Just then she heard a rustling in the leaves at the side of the road, and, as she thought, foot- steps approaching her. She uttered a wild scream of " help," and ran forward. She passed the crooked tree and ascended the hill on the other side as fast as her feet would carry her. As soon as she thought it safe, she seated herself in a partially concealed place at the side of the road, and waited for Hastings. Belmonte had heard her foot-steps, and, thinking they were those of Hastings, he crept from his hiding-place and stepped toward the road. Her scream undeceived him, how- OE, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 361 ever, and thinking that it was the voice of one of Mr. Rivington's servants he thought it unsafe for him to remain there longer. With a deep curse for the mis- take he had made, he hurried back to the boat, and ordered Duggett to lose no time in rowing back to the city. Sally Jones looked anxiously for Hastings until it was growing quite light, then fearing that she would be discovered by Duggett if she remained longer, she be- came impatient and alarmed for her own safety. " I will write him warning," thought she, " and hand it to some one at the house to give to him." Mr. Riving- ton's house was in sight. She felt in her pocket for a pencil, and found one ; but could find no paper. This puzzled her. There was no time to lose. She thought for a moment, and then, pulling her sun-bonnet from her head, tore from it a piece of pasteboard, and wrote upon it : " MR. HASTINGS, Do not go to the city alone, to- day. Your life will be taken if you do. There is a man watching to murder you. Meet me at the Crooked Elm, at twelve o'clock, to-night. ONE WHOM YOU HAVE BEFRIENDED." "Wnen she had written the above, she tore a piece of lining from her bonnet and wrapped the pasteboard care- fully in it ; then hurrying to the house, she saw an old man working in a garden. She did not hesitate, but walking up to him, said : " Is Mr. Hastings here ? Lawyer Hastings, I mean." " Yes," answered the old man. " Will you give him this package ? " 31 362 THE CROOKED ELM | She handed him the uncouth parcel and walked away, leaving the old man to wonder at her, without the opportunity of asking a single question. In return- ing to the city, she avoided the Crooked Elm by walk- ing a long way round it. She overtook a market wagon before she had gone far, and had an opportunity of rid- ing all the way into the city. She got home before Duggett did, and thus avoided all suspicion. A little after eight o'clock, she told Duggett that she had prom- ised to sit up with a sick friend's child that night, and readily obtained his consent to her doing so ; for Bel- monte had promised to visit him again at eleven o'clock, pnd he thought it just as well, at least, that she should be absent. She made hasty preparations, and soon set out to travel the same road over again, which she had walked that morning. She would have appointed some other hour to meet Hastings ; but she knew of no other that she could surely and safely leave home. She feared that she would be watched, if she attempted to see him in the daytime. She had gone but a few blocks, when, on turning a corner in the very heart of the Five Points, a little girl rushed wildly from an old ricketyframe house, crying and shrieking as though her life was being taken. Immediately a half drunken ragged woman issued from the same door, with a rolling pin raised in her hand as if to strike her. The child clung to Sally Jones, and implored her protection. Sally was naturally a kind- hearted woman, and she stood between the little girl and the enraged woman, and tried to reason with the hag. She had spoken scarcely a word, however, when the woman seized her by the hair and threw her to the pavement. The little girl in the mean time ran away. Sally cried for help, and the drunken woman continued beating, kicking, and scratching her. A crowd of Five OK, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 363 Pointers soon gathered around to witness the " fun," as they called it. A police officer soon entered the ring, and, separating the two women, led them both off to the Tombs, notwithstanding the strenuous and earnest re- monstrances of Sally, who continually asserted her in- nocence. He would not listen to any thing she said ; but locked her and the enraged woman up in the same cell, to remain there together until morning. Sally was sadly dispirited, but there was no way of getting out that night ; so after shedding a few tears she resigned herself unwillingly to what seemed to be her fate. When Hastings read what Sally Jones had written on the pasteboard, he knew not what to think. He questioned Mr. Rivington respecting the appearance of the person who had brought it there ; but the old man could tell him nothing which enabled him to form any idea as to who the woman was. He thought of setting out at once in pursuit of her ; but on looking, she was nowhere to be seen. He did not tell Mr. Rivington the contents of the package. " I must go to the city immediately," said he to the old man. "*Can you send your carriage in with me ? " -- " Certainly, with pleasure," replied the old man, who at once ordered it to be brought. The carriage soon came, and Hastings set out for the city, full of conjec- ture as to the meaning of the strange and startling note which had been written and brought him so mysteri- ously. Sometimes, as he rode along, he muttered : " It is all a hoax got up by some one of my friends to excite my curiosity. I will dismiss it from my thoughts." He could not avoid looking to the sides of the road as he passed some more than usually dark and wooded spot, to see if he could get a glimpse of the person alluded to in the note. At other times, he thought it might be a trap to ensnare him. Belmonte more than once en- 364 THE CKOOKED ELM J tered his mind ; yet he believed him to be in Europe, and he ceased to connect him with the strange affair. He arrived safe in the city, and resolved to dismiss the subject from his mind. " I will not," thought he, " do as the writer requests. I will neither be hoaxed nor entrap- ped by any one knowingly." Thus did he reason as he went to his office. On looking over his letters that morning, his eyes lit upon one mailed in England. He knew the handwriting, and hastily breaking the seal, read : " DEAREST WILLIAM, I cannot resist writing to warn you of the danger you are in, although I am threatened with ruin if I do. Be on your guard ! He has returned to New York ! I am led to believe from some things he said, that he has gone back to be re- venged on you ! I implore you to take warning and avoid the threatened danger! I am ever thinking of you, ever loving you as in times past. Oh that this may reach you in time to save you from harm ! Do not write to me. He Will intercept your letters. May heaven protect you. Ever thine, "CORNELIA." * This letter Hastings read over and over again. It brought to him the devotion of a heart wholly his own, as also intelligence of an alarming nature. " I will be prepared for him," thought he. " I will hunt him out of his concealment, and afford him an opportunity to be revenged." The mysterious letter which he had re- ceived that morning suddenly came to his mind. He took it from his pocket and examined it carefully. He did not know the handwriting. " There is something in it," thought he, " more than I have been willing to be- lieve. It is a trap to ensnare me ! The Crooked Elm ! OR, LIFE BY THE WAT-SIDE. 365 Why ask me to go to so secluded a place ? Why not come here and give me warning ? " He thought and pondered long over the contents of the two letters before him. They both warned him of danger. The honesty of one he did not question, but the other troubled his brain. " A woman brought it to me ! How should a woman be connected with Belmonte in his wicked purposes ? " Still more did he wonder how any woman should know any thing of his own danger. He thought of Mrs. Delacy, and looked again at the writing on the pasteboard, but it was not hers. " This may be a friendly warning," he at length said, as he got up and paced his office floor excitedly. " I will solve the mystery! I will go to the Crooked Elm! This doubt and uncertainty is worse than death ! I will go alone, but not unprepared for danger ! " The locality known as the Crooked Elm was a lonely and densely wooded ravine or glen, lying near the Hud- son River. Many legends were related of it by the old Dutch settlers of New York. Ghosts had been seen there. It was a place dreaded by children, and those many de- scendants of the Dutch in and about New York city, who believed in ghosts, witches, hobgoblins, etc. Es- pecially was it a place to be avoided after dark. About eleven o'clock that night Hastings was walking thought- fully along the road leading to the Crooked Elm. He had not much further to go ; he was rising the hill, on the opposite side of which lay the haunted glen, which was to determine his fate. He pulled his watch from his pocket when on the summit, and held it up to the moonlight to see the time. It was too dark he could not tell the hour. " It must be near midnight," thought he, as he stood a moment looking down into the dark ravine before him. His heart beat quick as he started 31* 366 THE CROOKED ELM; to descend the hill, not that he was a coward, but the doubt, uncertainty, and darkness made him nervous. He walked on with a firm and cautious step, watching the sides of the road attentively until he had reached the large crooked elm overhanging the road. " If my enemy is here," thought he, "it is probable he is con- cealed behind the trunk of this tree." He pulled his pistol from his pocket, and walked round the huge trunk, but without seeing any one. " I will seat my- self by this tree," he muttered, " and wait the unravel- ling of the plot. He kept the pistol in his hand, and looked from side to side to avoid surprise. All was dark and still as the grave, no one appeared. The denouement was not to be that night. He continued with his back to the tree for two or three hours, then getting up, he walked back and forth past the crooked elm a few times ; but seeing no one he reseated him- self. " I will remain a little longer," thought he, " al- though I am satisfied that the note which I received this morning was a hoax." He banished all fear, and fell into a profound reverie. All his past life passed before him in review. " Like this gnarly and crooked tree which overshadows me," he muttered, as he was about leaving, " I have lived to no purpose. My life is full of ' mistakes, errors, and crimes ; I will reform. Here in this solitude, where no eye sees me, save His who rules the universe, I solemnly vow to live an hon- est and upright life in future. The Crooked Elm shall be my starting point." Day was breaking when he arrived at his hotel in the city. About nine o'clock that morning, Sally Jones, with some twenty or thirty others of both sexes, and almost of all ages, was marched into the Police Justice's office, and, after waiting some two or three hours until her OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 367 turn came, was duly tried and fined five dollars for dis- turbing the peace of the Five Points. In case the fine was not paid, she was to be imprisoned for twelve days. She sent for Duggett and paid the fine, and was left to go at large again about one o'clock that afternoon. She lost no time, but stole away from the house as soon as she could do so safely, and started in search of Hastings' office. It is cheering, as we pass through life, to see in the most depraved outcasts, sparks of generous and noble feeling. It lends encouragement to the mis- sionary, and gives promise of a better future. Hast- ings had defended Sally Jones some years before, when she was indicted for crime, the punishment for which was the state prison for some years. He believed her innocent, and by his exertions succeeded in getting her acquitted. He neither expected nor ever asked any pay for his services. She was penniless, and one whom the world called an outcast. She was now anxious to show her gratitude to him for what he had done for her. She was not long in finding his office, and, after waiting an hour or more for Hastings to get through talking with some clients, she was shown in by Rolin, the clerk, to where he was sitting. Hastings did not recol- lect her countenance. "Be seated," he said, as he commenced folding some papers which lay open on the desk before him. " I suppose," commenced Sally, " that you have for- gotten Sally Jones, whom you once pleaded for? I have n't forgot you." " Oh, I remember," said Hastings, smiling. " In trouble again, Sally ? " " No, I 'm not exactly in trouble on my own ac- count." " You have n't come to pay me, I suppose, Sally ? 368 THE CROOKED ELM; That would be truly an unexpected pleasure." This he said laughingly. " Yes, I have come to pay you, Mr. Hastings." He looked at her for a moment in surprise, and then aid : " I am glad to see you so honest ; but what you owe me, if unpaid, will not make me much poorer than I am. I have long since forgotten the debt. You can keep your money ; it will assist you, I hope, to live an honest life." " It is not money I 'm going to pay you," said Sally, as a tear stole into her eye. " I fear you are in danger, Mr. Hastings." Had she fired a pistol, at him, she could not have startled him more. The mysterious letter flashed upon his mind. " Then you wrote me that note yesterday morning ? " " Did you get it ? " asked Sally eagerly. Yes," " I am so glad ! " exclaimed she. " It saved your life!" You talk to me in riddles, Sally. Explain." " There are two men plotting against you, Mr. Hast- ings. Will you promise not to harm one of them, if I tell you all that I know about them ? " That would be unreasonable, Sally." " But I cannot tell you, unless you promise." " I cannot promise you that I think I already know whom you mean." "What! You don't suspect him!" said Sally, be- traying herself almost in her fright. Hastings saw the advantage he had gained, and answered : " Yes, he is suspected" OK, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 369 " You will not injure him, will you, Mr. Hastings ? He is not so much to blame as the other man." " They must both be punished," answered he. His manner was so cool and deliberate that Sally thought he knew whom she referred to, and bursting into tears, she exclaimed : " Saul is not so much to blame as the other man." " Ah ! " thought Hastings, " I have a clue to this vil- lainy. I will learn the extent of it." He gave Sally no time to reflect, but said : " What do you know of this plot against my life ? You have proven yourself my friend, and if you tell me honestly all you know about it, I may spare the man whom you so unreasonably plead for. Who is this man, whom you wish me to be merciful to beyond his deserving ? " " Saul Duggett," replied she. I live with him." " Live with such a man ! " exclaimed Hastings. She hid her face in her apron and wept, but made no answer. He saw there was little use to reason with her. " Well, Sally, tell me all about this villainy." She then related all the conversation which she had heard between Belmonte and Duggett spoke of her visiting the Crooked Elm, and the reason why she had sent "him such a singular note of warning. She also told him why she had not met him there at the time appointed. Hastings could not refrain from smiling at her recital of her own grievances, in being carried to the Tombs and fined for disturbing the peace. When she had finished, he asked : " Did you see the man who came to your house ? " " Yes. I saw him through the key-hole. He had black hair." Was he tall ? " 370 THE CROOKED ELM. " I can't say. He was sitting down." He learned all he could from Sally, and then told her to keep diligent watch on all Duggett's movements, and report to him. " I will spare Duggett, for your sake," he added ; " but I advise you to leave him, and live in a more honest and respectable way." She made him no answer, save that she would keep him informed of all that came to her knowledge. When she rose to leave, Hastings re- quested her to accept some money, but she refused, say- ing : " I can act honestly sometimes without pay. I will serve you in this to the extent of my ability ; for you once pleaded for me." When she had gone, Hast- ings muttered, " I am indebted to this woman for my life. I will never disbelieve in an overruling Providence again. She, whom I once defended, and whom I more than ever believe innocent of the crime for which she was indicted, now, by one of the strange and almost miraculous chances, which frequently happen, is the means of saving my life. Her noble conduct shall not go unrewarded. His first thoughts, when she had left, were those of gratitude to her ; his second, how he could meet and punish the assassins who were plotting to take his life. " I must," thought he, " take immedi- ate measures to save old Mr. Rivington. He must be protected at every risk, for he is the benefactor of my child. I will not expose Belmonte's infamous de- signs upon his uncle, unless it becomes necessary. It would be a stain upon Cornelia's name. No, for her sake I will spare her worthless husband. Her letter of love and warning strengthened him to meet boldly the plots against his life. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE next day Sally Jones was at Hastings' office at least an hour before he came. As soon as he entered, she said : * " They have gone up to Mr. Rivington's in a boat They started before daylight this morning." This intelligence alarmed Hastings. He had intended to bring Mr. Rivington to the city for a week or two, and was going for him that very afternoon. " I overheard what they said," continued Sally. " The man with the black hair said they would dress them- selves as sportmen that he had the dresses all ready and then go in the boat up to his uncle's. ' There is,' said he, * a little wood, on a hillock, near the river. The old man is in the habit of going there every day to visit a grave that lies near. We will conceal our- selves in that wood, and when he passes by, fire upon him, and then take to our boat.' " " Are you sure they left as agreed ? " " Yes. As soon as Saul left the house I hurried to Dock, where he keeps his boat, and, concealing myself behind a pile of lumber, saw them come, both dressed in gray clothes, and get into the boat, and then row out into the river." Hastings put the name of the dock down in his mem- orandum-book, thanked Sally for what she had told (371) 372 THE CKOOKED ELM, him, and then left his office. " There is no time to be lost," he thought ; " I must go at once to the old man's protection." He hurried home ordered his carriage, and was soon on his way to Mr. Rivington's. It was a great relief to his mind to see the old man out in his garden, long before the carriage reached the house. " I have come," said Hastings, approaching the old man, " to take you for a drive." They both got into the carriage, and Hastings ordered his coachman to drive towards the city. " I should like to have you go and spend a few days with me, Mr. Rivington," said Hastings, as soon as they were seated. " The change will do you good." He could not, by any inducement, get the old man to con- sent to leave home even for a few days. " I am so much attached to home," said the old man, " that I should feel lost were I absent from it. You must not ask me to leave it." " I have special reasons for wishing you to accompany me to the city this morning. They are important rea- sons too." Hastings said this with a serious counte- nance. The old man looked at him, wonderingly, and said: " Please explain yourself, Mr. Hastings." " Can you not trust me for once," said Hastings, " and believe that I would not urge you to go with me against your inclinations if I did not think it necessary that you should go ? " " I could trust you, Mr. Hastings, but there is some- thing mysterious in what you say. I scarcely know what to think." Hastings did not wish to reveal to the old man the reason why he wished him to leave home for a few days. He feared the shock would be too great for him. " You will trust the father of little Flora, will you not, OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 373 Mr. Rivington, when he tells you that it is absolutely necessary for your safety to go with me into the city this morning ? " " What ! What do you mean ? Necessary for my safety ! " The old man looked steadily at Hastings for a moment, and then said : " I cannot go with you unless you explain yourself more fully. You startle me." " I will tell you all when you are more calm," said Hastings, without changing his countenance. He saw that the old man distrusted him. Yet he feared to tell him what he knew would so much shock his feelings. " I can listen to it now," said Mr. Rivington, still showing in his countenance the alarmed state of his mind. " I know not why," said Hastings, " I should withhold from you the reasons why I think it necessary for you to go with me to New York. You must prepare yourself to listen to what will surprise and shock you. I hurried to you to-day to save you from a threatened danger." " I cannot understand you yet. What danger threatens me?" " Calm yourself, while I relate what I have seen and heard." The old man listened attentively while Hast- ings told him what he had heard from Sally Jones. When he had finished, he added, " I have reason to be- live that one of the men is your nephew, Belmonte." " Impossible ! I will not believe it ! " exclaimed the old man. " Why do you think one of them is my nephew? " " I have other reasons than those given for believing so." " I will not believe he is here, unless I see him with my own eyes." " I will give you an opportunity of seeing the two 32 374 THE CROOKED ELM; men of whom I speak, I hope, before many days. It is necessary that we should counteract them." " You must be mistaken ; Belmonte is in Europe. I will not think him so base." They had now passed the limits of the old man's usual drive, and he proposed returning. " No," said Hastings, " I will send for what things you require. It is better that we keep on. I wish to lose no time in preparing for these men, whoever they are." Mr. Rivington consented to Hastings' wishes, and the carriage proceeded on. When they arrived at the city, Hastings left the old man at the hotel where he himself was stopping, and then hurried down town. He concealed himself near the dock which Sally had mentioned, and watched attentively to see if Belmonte and Duggett would return that day. He had been there several hours. Night was inclosing the city in its dark mantle. Hastings left his hiding-place, and crept close up to the dock where they would probably land, and concealing himself between two large piles of lumber. He waited patiently there until late at night, when he saw a smah 1 dark object moving stealthily to- wards him on the smooth surface of the river. It drew up at the foot of a flight of dock steps, and two men soon walked up within a few feet of where Hastings lay, and stood a moment in conversation. " It will not do for us to walk down town together," said a voice which Hastings readily recognized. " Do you watch him to-morrow, and let me know all that transpires. I wish particularly to know where he spends his evenings." " Very well," replied Duggett ; " but I begin to wish this business off my hands. It hangs fire a tarnation sight too long." OB, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 375 " Watch him closely," said Belmonte, encouragingly, " and before another week we will have finished the busi- ness, and you will be in possession of the money I promised. Mind that you are at the hotel early." " Yes ! I understand ! " said Duggett. " I will visit you to-morrow night at eleven again," said Belmonte, as they separated. Duggett started down the river, and Belmonte proceeded up into the heart of the city, on one of the cross streets, followed by Hastings, who kept in sight of him until he entered the obscure hotel where he was stopping. " I have tracked you to your den at last," thought Hastings. " I will keep an eye on your movements in future." Hastings hurried home, as soon as he saw Belmonte enter the door, and found old Mr. Rivington in a high state of nervous ex- citement. His presence soon quieted him, and they began to lay plans for future operations. Hastings told the old man where he had been, and what he had seen, but he failed to convince him that Belmonte was in the city. " They meet," said Hastings, " to-morrow night, at a house in the Five Points." " We will go there and surprise them then," replied old Mr. Rivington, quite spiritedly. " That is what I would have proposed myself," said Hastings, " but I feared to place you in danger. You are too old to come in contact with desperate men." " Whoever they may be," said the old man, in the same bold and determined voice, " I do not fear to meet them. I have always, during my somewhat long life, found that great criminals were great cowards." " That may be true, Mr. Rivington. Yet, men made desperate from fear sometimes exhibit deeds of daring and bravery that seem almost marvellous." " There is no use arguing the question with me, Mr. 376 THE CROOKED ELM, Hastings," said the old man, " if your fears are on my account. I fear no danger from meeting them thus boldly and unexpectedly : yet," continued he, changing his tone, " if, as you believe, my nephew is engaged in such a base plot against my life, I will for my own and his friend's sake, keep the matter from the public. I do not wish to disgrace his relatives. I had sooner die than have such a stain attached to his family." " I am just as anxious to keep the matter quiet as you are," said Hastings, " and will do all in my power, con- sistent with your and my own safety, to keep their crime from the public ear." " Shall we go there to-morrow night and meet them ? " asked the old man. " Let us leave the question undecided until to-mor- row," said Hastings. " I will see and learn more, if pos- sible, between this and the time they are to meet." " But they will be watching you to-morrow. You must do nothing to excite suspicion." " Trust me for that," said Hastings. They talked a long time over their plans, and then retired to think of them, for neither closed his eyes in sleep that night The next morning Hastings went to his office as usual. He saw Duggett watching him, but he pretended not to notice him. " I must see Sally Jones," thought he, " between this and dark." But how to escape Duggett was the difficult question. He glanced his eye out of his office window several times, and saw him walking slowly by, with his eyes turned towards the door of the building. After a great deal of thinking, Hastings re- membered a private entrance leading into the street at the back of the building. He no sooner thought of this outlet, than he cautiously left by it, and hastened to Duggett's house. Sally was frightened when she OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 377 opened the door and let him in. She feared that Dug- gett would come home and find Hastings there. " Don't be alarmed, Sally," said Hastings, reading her thoughts. " There is no danger. Duggett is down at my office watching for me. He did not see me leave there. They are to meet here at eleven o'clock to-night. Have you a place where you can conceal another man and myself ? I wish to hear what they have to say." " You are not going to bring the police ! " said Sally, terrified. " No ! You need not fear. Saul shall not be dis- turbed by the police." " But," replied she, " Saul will know that I let you in, and he will take my life for betraying him." "Never fear; we will only listen to them and see what their plans are." " Here is a closet," she said, " near the door. Do you think you could get into that ? " He stepped into it and said, " This is just the thing ! and so near the door ! Capital ! It seems to have been made for the purpose." " But you promise, Mr. Hastings, not to expose Saul? " " I will not have him punished, if it is possible to avoid it." " Then you can come," said she. " But how will you get here without being discovered ? " " I will be here in less than an hour. Saul is watch- ing for me down town, and will be likely to remain there a long time yet. If he comes before I return, hang this handkerchief in the window." He threw her a white handkerchief as he spoke. " I will do so," said Sally, " or will in some way try to let you know that he is here." Hastings then left, and soon returned with Mr. Riv- 32* 378 THE CROOKED ELM | ington. They secreted themselves in the closet, and waited patiently for eleven o'clock. It was a tedious undertaking, for it was not yet one o'clock. They were both prepared for defence, if necessary; and both were resolved to meet Belmonte and Duggett face to face. A chair had been so arranged that the old man could sit down; but Hastings remained standing during the long hours which preceded the time appointed for their meet- ing. About ten o'clock they heard some one enter the house and walk heavily over the bare floor past the closet where they were. They heard a voice addressing Sally: " Hurry arid get my supper; I'm tarnation hungry." Just then the old, clock on the mantel-piece struck ten " Blow me, if it is n't ten o'clock ! 1 have a friend coming here at eleven ; so hurry your stumps." The supper was soon prepared and eaten, and Sally was ordered to her sleeping apartment. As eleven o'clock approached, Hastings and the old man grew a little nervous. Their plan was to leave the closet when Belmonte should come thinking the noise which would be made by him in coming in would prevent him and Duggett from hearing them. At length they heard a loud double knock. They both instinctively started. It was like the signal for battle. They nerved themselves for the occasion. As soon as they heard the bolt drawn and the door opened, they crept noiselessly from the closet and crouched themselves by the door which Sally had pointed out to them. Hastings looked through the key- hole and saw the two come into the dimly lighted room, and seat themselves by the old table. The room had the same spectral appearance that it had on the night of Belmonte's first visit A bottle and two tumblers OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 379 were on the table. Duggett poured some liquor into the glasses, and asked Belmonte to drink ; but he declined, saying, as before, that he had just been drinking. The old man heard their voices, and readily recognized one of the speakers. He sat in silence, however, notwith- standing his agitated state of mind, and listened atten- tively to what they said. " What news, Duggett ? " inquired Belmonte. " None worth mentioning. The critter escaped me somehow." " What do you mean ? " "I mean that I followed him to his office, and that I lost sight of him then." " How could you lose sight of him, if you watched attentively ? " asked Belmonte impatiently. " Blow me, if I know how ! I don't think the critter left his office at all I watched the door till night, and then went straight to his office and found it locked." " I think you were not attending to your business," said Belmonte, quite angrily. Duggett' s eyes flashed fire for a moment, which so terrified Belmonte that he deemed it necessary to be more cautious in future ; and he immediately qualified what he had said by adding : " I do not wish to blame you ; but this busi- ness is progressing too slowly they should both have been in their graves before this." " I cannot help the delay," said Duggett, sternly "I have done my part of the business faithfully. I am gitting tarnation tired of it. I wish I never had undertaken it." " You do not hesitate now, when the danger threat- ens, do you ? " said Belmonte. "I do not hesitate on account of danger, but it hangs fire too long. I fear I never shall get my money ! " 380 THE CROOKED ELM; " Never fear," said Belmonte. " I think we will turn the old man into his grave to-morrow night. I am well acquainted with the house, and know where he sleeps. I see no other way of getting rid of him. I will give you half the money as soon as he is dis- posed of." Mr. Rivington shuddered at this cold-blooded propo- sition, but remained quiet. " What's the use of doing it to-morrow night?" said Duggett. " Tomorrow is Friday. I hate doing things o' this kind on Friday." " You are superstitious, Duggett. One day is just as good as another." " May be," said Duggett ; " but I have an almighty horror of that day. It's hangman's day." " Nonsense," said Belmonte, with affected indiffer- ence. " Well," said Duggett, " you may think as you like, but I can't go with you to-morrow night. Fri- day is an unlucky day I could tell but it don't matter." "What could you tell?" asked Belmonte, evidently a little nervous, but striving to conceal it. " It's now so long since," said Duggett, "that there's no manner o' use speaking on't. It makes me shudder to think of any thing so awful." He looked steadily and somewhat wildly at the candle as he spoke. " What do you mean, Duggett ? " asked Belmonte, evidently frightened at what Duggett had said. " I think," said Duggett, still looking fixedly at the candle, "that dead men sometimes leave their graves. 'Specially if they're killed on a Friday. I've seed one in my dreams, that's been dead now this many's the long year. He was killed on a Friday." Belmont's blood ran cold in his veins he wished OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 381 himself safely away from that gloomy place. He almost fancied that he saw ghosts in the room. He remembered the night which he once passed at his old uncle's. They both sat in silence for a few moments Duggett still with his eyes riveted on the candle. The old clock on the mantel-piece broke the death-like stillness of the room, with its solemn tick tick tick. It seemed to warn them to beware of the step they were about taking. Duggett turned his head suddenly, and said : " I wish you would get along without me. I some- how feel kinder queer to-night. I don't like to help kill that old man. If he was a rantin' preacher, or a lawyer, or anybody 'cept an old man, why I wouldn't so much keer. But to kill an old man! I fear 'twouldn't turn out well. It's an old man I seed in my dreams ! " At this point he took a large swallow of the beverage on the table, which seemed to give him fresh courage, for he added: I'm in for the tarnal busi- ness though, and I s'pose I must go through." "We will put it off until Saturday night," said Belmonte." " Here 's luck to the old man ! " said Duggett, as he emptied his glass. This sentiment caused the old man to shudder invol- untarily and move slightly. "What noise is that?" asked Belmonte, turning pale. "Nothing," replied Duggett. Just then the clock struck twelve. "It's Friday," added Duggett, "the noise you heard may have been a sperit ! who knows ? " " Don 't talk nonsense," said Belmonte, tremblingly. " It may be nonsense ; but I 've heard them walk afore now." 382 THE CROOKED ELM; Hastings purposely made a slight noise, and looked through the key-hole to observe the effect. " I certainly heard a noise," said Belmonte, turning his face towards the door where Hastings and the old man lay concealed. He looked frightened. " I told you," said Duggett, with the utmost indiffer- ence, for he had now drank enough to make him fear- less, " that sperits of dead men sometimes leave their graves, 'specially on a Friday!" Belmonte was anxious to get away. " Will you go with me on Saturday -night ? " " I s'pose I must." " Meet me then at dusk at your boat. I will be there." Hastings again made a slight noise. " I '11 swear I heard a noise," said Belmonte, half rising from his chair. " That did sound like suthen," said Duggett, as he turned his eyes towards the door. " I told you Friday was an unlucky day. I should n't wonder if there was sperits in the room. I 've seed 'em in rooms not near so dark as this." Duggett saw Belmonte's frightened countenance, and he resolved to benefit by it. " I must have some more money before you go," he said, carelessly. Belmonte trembled more than ever. It sounded almost like a demand for his purse. He took two pieces of gold from his pocket and handed them to Duggett. " I must go now," said he. " It is growing late." " This will no.t pay my expenses," said Duggett, coolly. "There, then, take that," said Belmonte, throwing him a small purse. " I can remain here no longer." OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 383 Duggett pocketed the money, and said, " I '11 be there ; depend on 5 t." Belmonte had risen from his seat at the table, when Duggett, as if suddenly recollecting something, said: " Wait a minit," and opening the trap-door descended into the cellar, leaving Belmonte in total darkness. While he stood there, Hastings again made a noise on the door. Duggett soon came back with the light. He had gone below for no other purpose than to practise upon Belmonte's fears. " I tell you," said Belmonte, " that there is something or somebody in the house. I heard a noise distinctly." He was looking deadly pale, and Duggett, enjoying his fright, said : " You '11 believe in ghosts after this, won't you ? " " I will stay no longer," said Belmonte. At that moment, the door flew open, and Hastings and the old man stood before them. The white hair of the old man made him look almost ghostly in the dimly lighted room. Belmonte stared wildly at them for a moment, as if unable to credit his senses, and then rush- ing into the front room broke through the window into the street, leaving his hat and gloves behind him. Saul Duggett, terror-stricken at this unexpected apparition, threw himself through the trap-door, which was open, and, falling on his head, dislocated his neck. Sally Jones was soon in the room ; and when Hastings and the old man brought Duggett's lifeless body from the cellar she fell upon it, and wept as if her heart would break. Such is woman's love, even when bestowed upon those known by her to be unworthy. She reproached Hastings at first ; but when she learned that it was an accident she became more reconciled, and promised to follow Hast- ings' instructions in making his death known to the public. The next day the newspapers announced Saul 384 THE CROOKED ELM. Duggett's death, and stated that he had fallen through a trap-door into the cellar of his own house, when in a state of partial intoxication, and had dislocated his neck. Belmonte left his hotel that night, and took passage on a vessel bound to New Orleans. Hastings watched him and saw him leave, and then hurried back to old Mr. Kivington to report the news, and congratulate him on thus narrowly escaping the wicked designs of his nephew. CHAPTER XXIX SEVERAL weeks had passed since the occurrences nar- rated in the last chapter. Hastings had made diligent search for Moulton in all parts of the country, but could find no traces of him. He was beginning to despair of ever knowing the fate of his child. His troubles began to show in his countenance, although, when among friends, he tried to appear cheerful and happy. He could not communicate his thoughts to any one, not even to his friend, old Mr. Rivington. Man never feels the trials of life so heavy to bear as when he has not a single friend to whom he can confide them. The gay ' outer world may make him smile, but his smiles are " Like twilight imaged on a bank of snow," they do not proceed from the heart. One evening, as Hastings was walking up Broadway, he saw crowds of well-dressed people of both sexes going into Niblo's. He had been absent from the city for more than a week, and had that day returned. He was feeling melancholy and dispirited. " I will drop in here for a few minutes," thought he, " and see if I cannot get rid of my own reflections." It was benefit-night, and the house was 33 (386) 386 THE CROOKED ELM; fall to overflowing. He had not been in long, when he saw Mrs. Coleman and her two daughters in one of the private boxes at the side of the stage. They had seen him when he entered, and as soon as he recognized them, Kate beckoned him to their box. " This is an unexpected pleasure," said Kate, as soon as he had picked his way through the crowd which filled the lobby. " I had not hoped to see you here." " I was passing, and saw that it was Madame S 's benefit night, and thought I would drop in a moment." " But why have you not called to see me ? You promised to call as soon as you returned to the city." " Have n't I called to see you ? " " Yes, but this is accidental." " I only arrived in town this afternoon ; and when I came in here, was on my way to see you." " I have hah a mind to scold you, then, for loitering so idly by the way." " I could not resist the many pretty faces which I saw entering the hall. I thought I would drop in and take a peep at them by gas-light" " You did not seem to be improving your time, for I saw you when you came in, and you scarcely lifted your eyes while you were sitting yonder. And you were looking so sedate!" " Was I ? That was because . I had not seen your cheerful and rosy countenance since my return to the city." Kate blushed, and said, with a face beaming with pleasure : " Had that been the cause, you would not have lin- gered on the way to look at pretty faces." " I think," said Clemie, " that you might make less noise, Kate. I can scarcely hear the singing for your talking." OK, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 387 " Well, Miss Rudeness," said Kate, " sit further away then. It's a pity I cannot speak a moment to Mr. Hastings, whom I have not seen for nearly two weeks, without interfering with your comfort." Clemie made no answer, but moved further away from indignant Kate. " I think Clemie is more than half right in her re- monstrances. We are losing those beautiful passages in this Lucia D6 Lammermoor, which the newspaper critics say Madame S. sings so divinely." They now turned their attention to the opera, or at least they ceased conversing for a little while. Kate was fond of music ; but she did not enjoy Madame S.'s singing as well as she enjoyed conversing with Hast- ings. His words were sweeter to her than the most dulcet strains that ever came from throat of warbler. "Do you leave town again, soon?" inquired Kate, when the act closed. " I hope not," answered he. "I should have remained at home to-night, had I known that you were in town," said Kate. I did not wish to come as. it was, but mamma compelled me. I have something particular to communicate to you when next you call." " Are you sure that you are not hoaxing again, Kate?" " Quite sure. Can you call some evening this week ? I have a letter to show you." " A letter ! From some pine-away lover, I'll warrant 1 I will surely call if you have a letter to read to me." " It is nothing of the kind, I assure you." " Some happy, accepted lover, then." " Don't talk such nonsense," said Kate, impatiently ; "it don't become that melancholy face of youfs. I 388 THE CROOKED ELM ; shall begin to think," added she, " that you are in love, unless you look more cheerful than you have of late." " Why should n't I be in love ? Certainly I am old enough." " It is Cupid, then, who makes you look so unlike yourself?" " Why not ? Do you think me destitute of those tender tendencies sometimes so beautifully exhibited in those of my sex ? " Kate laughed and said, " Your tender-hearted sex are to be pitied, poor unfortunates ! " " I am glad they have your sympathies, Kate. But the letter ! What about that ? Can you not tell me its contents ? " She could not resist her inclination to let him know something of what was in it ; so she answered : " It is about you." " Oh ! Is that all ? " said he carelessly. He had sus- pected, from the moment she spoke of it, that it was from Mrs. Delacy. " You treat it very lightly," said Kate. " If it is about me," continued Hastings, " it is of very small importance. Is that all you have to tell me?" " But it slanders you, Mr. Hastings. It states what I know to be untrue. It says that you have been mar- ried." She said this as though she felt very indignant at the effrontery of the person who had written such a falsehood. .'. " If it says nothing less true of me than that," said Hastings, still unmoved by any thing she had said, " I cannot find much fault with it" Kate looked at him incredulously. "You need not put on so sedate a countenance. You cannot make me believe any thing so ridiculous." OE, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 389 " What is there ridiculous in the idea that I have once been married ? Why do you disbelieve that I have ? " " You might have been, to be sure," said Kate, still half believing that he was trying to impose upon her credulity. " But you have not been, have you, Mr. Hastings?" " Yes, Kate," said Hastings, in a manner not admit- ting of doubt, " your letter is true in that. What else does it say ? Nothing worse, I hope ? " " No ; that is about all. It tells me how I might as- certain the truth of what it states. But I hope you do not think me capable of seeking to know whether it is true or false from any one, save yourself. I have shown the letter to no one, not even to mamma ; for I believed it to be untrue, and I was quite sure the writer of it was not your friend." " I am glad, Kate, that you had sufficient confidence in me to believe that I would tell you the truth. If you have not mentioned the contents of the letter to any one, will you still observe the same discretion, and speak of it to no one in future ? " " I will do so with the greatest pleasure," answered she, evidently nattered to think that Hastings had made her to some extent his confidant." The curtain was again raised, and Madame S came on to the stage amid the plaudits of an enthusias- tic house. Hastings and Kate ceased talking for a moment, but soon were as deeply engaged in conversa- tion as ever. " I do wish, mamma," said Clemie, " that you would make Kate stop talking. She won't let Mr. Hastings or any one else listen to the singing." " Clemie, I think you are exceedingly rude," answered 33* 390 THE CROOKED ELM; Kate peevishly. " Just as though we must all remain as still as church-mice to accommodate you ! " Clemie turned her back to Kate, and continued listen- ing. Mrs. Coleman, hearing what had been said, turned to Clemie and reproved her in a voice little above a whisper. " Clemie," said she, " I will not bring you to the opera again, unless you conduct yourself better." Hastings overheard her reproof, and smiled to see that Clemie affected not to hear it ; but kept her eyes riveted upon the Prima Donna. " Will you be at home to-morrow night, Kate ? " in- quired Hastings. Yes." " I will call and read that mischievous letter then, with your permission." " Do," said Kate. " I wish to show it to you. You may recognize the handwriting. Have you any idea who wrote it ? " " I must see it," answered he, " before I express my suspicions." The opera at length broke up, and Hastings, after showing Miss Kate, her mamma, and Clemie into their carriage, returned to his own home, pondering over the in- telligence which Kate had imparted. He feared that Kate would be made the object of Mrs. Delacy's revenge. He called, as promised, the night following, to see Kate. She handed him the letter almost as soon as he entered the house. Before he commenced reading it, Miss Clemie came into the drawing-room. " I declare, Miss Clemie," said Hastings, " the opera last night has improved your looks at least one half." She did not relish the compliment. " I think," said she, " that you and Kate were not much improved or entertained by it." OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 391 " We have," said Hastings, trying to tease her, "the double faculty of conversing and listening to music at the same time. That is a very rare gift, Clemie. I came this evening," continued he, " to condole with you. I heard your mamma say last night that she should not let you go to the opera again soon, because you behaved so badly. Now you ought not to be so very naughty, Miss Clemie." She left the room, indignant to think Hastings should treat her so much like a child, and mortified to know that he had overheard the reproof of her mamma. She liked Hastings, and knew him to be her sincere friend ; yet he sometimes teased her, until she became impatient, and almost angry with him. Hastings and Kate were now left entirely to themselves. As soon as he glanced at the letter, he recognized the writing, and knew it to be Mrs. Delacy's. " This is a singular document, Kate, as we lawyers say. I think I know who wrote it ; but it is not nec- essary for me to tell you whom I suspect of any thing so base." He read its contents carefully, and then added : " This was written to influence you against me. I fear that I cannot safely call on you in future. The person who wrote this may do you some harm. She may. slander you." " Why do you think so ? " asked Kate. " It is evident that she wishes to break off my visits here." " But why need we care ? " said Kate, made a little uneasy by what he said. " This letter did not influence me a particle. I never would be influenced against you by your enemies." " But, Kate, a person who would stoop to write you such a letter, would be base enough to circulate inju- rious reports about you." . 392 THE CROOKED ELM ; " I fear no one," said Kate, somewhat haughtily. " I do as nearly right as I can, without any fear or thought of those who would injure me." " You do right in that," said Hastings ; " but I know more of the world, perhaps, than you do, and I fear that I cannot safely visit you as frequently as I have done heretofore." Kate could not conceal her uneasiness of mind at the prospect of seeing him less often than she had been accustomed. " I will be frank with you, Kate," said Hastings. " I must not visit you so frequently. It would be doing you a great wrong. Others might misconstrue my calls, especially if assisted by some evil-minded person." Kate tried to suppress her feelings, but she could not. Tears came into her eyes, and excusing herself for a moment she left the room. This made Hastings un- easy. He feared that she was thinking too much of him. " I hope," said Hastings, when she returned, " that I have not been so rude as to injure your feelings." " No ! " answered Kate. " It is my own foolishness. I have always enjoyed your calling here, and I see no reason why I should be debarred the pleasure of your society by any evil-disposed person." " May I visit you as your brother, Kate ? And will you always think of me as such ? I have no sisters, and I should like to treat you as I fancy I would treat a sister. Otherwise I must call here only occasionally." Kate could not think of having him call less often than he had been accustomed to of late, but there was something so dispiriting in what he had said, that she knew not what to answer. She loved him with all her large heart, and the idea that he only cared for her as a dear friend made hex wretched. She answered him, OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 393 however, with her eyes resting on the floor : " I have always valued your friendship, and I hope I shall con- tinue to do so, notwithstanding what others may say." " But will you promise me, Kate, that my visits here shall not interfere with those of any of your many ad- mirers ? You may think this vanity in me, but I hope you will attribute my frankness to my disinterested friendship for you." " I will do as you ask," answered she, submissively ; " I can treat you as I would a brother." " With this understanding, I shall be happy to con- tinue my calls, and will take great pleasure in introduc- ing to you the most respectable of my young acquaint- ances." Kate made no reply ; but it was plain to be seen that she had no wish to be introduced even to Hastings' " most respectable " friends. " Since you are to be my sister," said he, " I must take you into confidence. I don't know why it is, but I feel that I can safely tell you what I have long kept pent up in my own bosom. You have , frequently accused me of looking unhappy and melancholy. Shall I tell you what has contributed to make me so ? " " I shall esteem it a great favor to be your confidant in an^y thing so nearly concerning yourself." " I never," commenced he, " have told you any thing of my previous life. Why did you wonder, Kate, when you were told that I had been married ? " " Because I have known you so long, and you never have mentioned the fact." " I never thought it advisable," answered he, " to do so ; not that I wished to deceive you, or any other of my friends." " I have no doubt," said she, " that you had good rea- 394 THE CKOOKED ELM J sons for acting as you have. Others have no right to inquire into what concerns yourself alone." " You have found out part of my secret from some unknown correspondent. I will now tell you what the writer of that letter does not, nor ever can know." Kate listened, wondering what he could mean. " My wife," continued he, " died several years since ; but I have, or hope I have a child, a lovely little girl, living somewhere in the world. It is because I believe her living, and am unable to find her, that I am some- times dejected and cheerless when I call here." " How strange ! " exclaimed Kate. " But why is it that you do not know where she is ? " " I cannot now tell you all the reasons." Kate was intensely interested in what he had said. There was a mystery about it all, which she could not understand. She longed to hear Hastings explain. " I cannot wonder now," said she, " that you some- times looked sad. You must have thought me heart- less in making so light of your troubled looks." " Your greatest crime has been in trying to dissipate my gloomy thoughts." " But what of your child ? " inquired she. " I wish to know more of it." " I had for several years supposed it dead," said he. " Supposed it dead ! " exclaimed Kate. " Did it not live with you ? " " Listen awhile, and I will tell you what I know of her history." He then related all that he knew of little Flora, how she had been saved, and for some years brought up by old Mr. Rivington. He did not tell her all the facts con- nected with her being removed from the old man's, yet he told her sufficient to give her a full knowledge of the OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 395 manner, that she was stolen away. Kate listened with almost breathless attention to it all, and, when he had finished, exclaimed : " How wonderful ! But do you not hope to find her yet ? " " 1 still hope to find her, yet I fear I shall never see the dear child again." As he said this he wiped away a tear. Kate saw him do so, and as if in sympathy her eyes filled with tears also, and she left the room for a moment to conceal them. When she returned, Hastings said, smilingly : " I have intrusted you with a secret of great impor- tance to myself, and all because you are my sister. I know that it is safe with you, and I am happy in hav- ing some one to whom I can relate my troubles." Kate made no answer, but he saw in her face a lan- guage more expressive than words. " It is growing late," said Hastings, and I must go." " Stop a moment," cried she, as she ran hastily out of the room, as though she had suddenly thought of some- thing which she was near forgetting. She soon came back, holding in her hand a beautifully wrought scarlet smoking cap. " We thought this would become you very much." " We thought," said Hastings, with a significant ac- cent on the we, as he took the cap and examined, and of course praised it. " Shall I thank we for it, or you, Kate ? " She blushed, and hung her head. " I do not smoke," said he ; " but I will wear this for the sake of tlje donor." " I must see you put it on," said Kate. He complied with her wish. " I declare ! " exclaimed she. " You look like a sul- 396 THE CROOKED ELM J tan. Let me run and bring Clemie." She ran away, but Clemie was too much offended to return with her. She had not recovered from her pouting mood. " Have you any commands, Kate ? I must leave be- fore your mamma comes and scolds us. Are there no nice young beaux of my acquaintance that you will be introduced to ? " " None," answered she, laconically. " Consider a moment," said he, pleasantly. " Think of Mr. ." " I will hear no more," said she, laughing. " Well, bon soir, wilfulness." " Au revoir monfrere, Hastings." They shook hands cordially, and separated. It was long before Kate closed her eyes in sleep that night. Little Flora and her strange history occupied her thoughts until a late hour. She did not feel happy, either, in thinking that Hastings felt towards her only as a brother. A few days after Hastings had made Kate his confi- dant, he found the following among his letters by the last post : " DEAREST WILLIAM, I can remain in suspense no longer. Do write me if you are yet alive, and relieve my anxiety of mind. I fear that something has happened to you. Oh, write me one word, and tell me that you are still alive. Walter has not written me since he left. I fear that you never got my letter of warning. I am wretched in being banished from you. I care not for consequences. I must hear from you I must know whether you have been harmed by him. Direct a letter to , General post-office, and I will get it. Oh, write at once, and relieve me of the weight that is in- OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 397 supportable. I shall be unhappy until I hear from you. In my banishment I am ever thinking of the only one I have ever loved. Believe me forever, your " CORNELIA." Hastings read and re-read this letter, and then seated himself at his desk, and. wrote her in answer a long let- ter, in which he detailed all that had occurred between himself and Belmonte since the latter's return to New York. He expressed his undying love for her, and told her how lonely and unhappy her absence made him. His letter, which filled several sheets, closed with this quotation : " Fate, that may rob us of all wealth beside, Shall leave us love, till life itself be past." 34 CHAPTER XXX. ANOTHER winter had passed away. Spring had come and gone, and Mrs. Belmonte still remained in England. Belmonte had written to her once or twice, saying that business of a peculiar nature demanded his presence in New Orleans, and telling her to remain where she was until he should come for her. She had more than once heard from Hastings, and had written to him occasion- ally. Her letters to him were much more cheerful than she felt ; for she was unwilling that he should know the extent of her heart-breaking sorrow. I will not attempt a description of the long, gloomy days, weeks, and months which she had passed in England, shut out from all whom she knew, and apprehensive and fearful respecting the future. Day after day she would shut herself up in her room and weep over hopes long since fled, and over the net of troubles which encompassed her. Bitterly, long, and silently, had she mourned over what seemed to be her fate. The bloom on her cheeks had disappeared. Pale, thoughtful, and with a melan- choly expression of countenance, she moved among her friends and visitors, without seeming to realize where she was or what she was doing. Her thoughts were not there. They were far away, following him whom neither time nor distance could teach her to forget (398) THE CROOKED ELM. 399 One day, in the early part of June, Bessy came running to her mistress, half out of breath. " Here's a letter, Missis," exclaimed she ; " I 's ran de whole ob de way from de pose-office. I 'specs it 's from Massa Belmonte. Mrs. Belmonte knew the handwrit- ing, and quickly broke the seal and commenced read- ing it. Bessy remained in the room long enough to see her mistress' countenance light up with a glow of pleasure, and then leaving, she muttered : " Bref de Lor 5 ! Bref de Lor' ! I know'd it was from Massa Hastins de berry fus minit I seed it, but I 'tended to Missis dat I thought it was from Massa Belmonte, case she might n't jis like it over much, to hab dis chile know moje'n was 'zacly right. Bref you, Massa Hastins ! bref you for makin' missis happy! Bref de Lor'! Bref de Lor 5 !!" Bessy went about the house the remainder of that day scarcely knowing what she was about. Her ebony face was covered with smiles. She could have em- braced Hastings for thus cheering the heart of her mistress. Mrs. Belmonte read the letter which Bessy had given to her until all its thoughts had been trans- ferred to her memory, and for a few days she appeared more cheerful and happy than she had for some time. This favorable change soon wore away, however, and she became as pensive and absent-minded as ever. It was apparent to all who knew her that her health was fast failing. She neither enjoyed riding, walking, nor any of the many amusements that were gotten up sole- ly for her entertainment She became iore and more retired in her habits every day seldom going into so- ciety when she could reasonably avoid doing so. One day her physician advised her to travel for a few months in some warm climate. " Travelling," said he, " will benefit you more than any medicine I can prescribe." 400 THE CROOKED ELM; <; But," answered she, " I do not know when Mr. Bel- monte will return. I can not leave here until I obtain his consent." " If you wait for that," said the physician, who seemed to divine the cause of her illness, " it may be too late. I have been speaking with Mr. and Mrs. Worthington, (the people in whose house she was staying,) and they say they would be happy in accompanying you to Italy, or to any other place you might wish to go." " They are exceedingly kind to me," said Mrs. Bel- monte, " and have been all the time that I have been with them. Yet I cannot consent to leave here at present." As she said this, a thought suddenly occurred to her, and she added : " If a .visit to the south of Ire- land would be of any benefit to me, I might consent to go there for a month or so. That is not so far away as Italy. Should Mr. Belmonte return, I could soon come on here." The physician readily consented to her visiting Ire- land, and she at once made arrangements to set out for Cork in company with her kind host and hostess. She had long wished to visit the place where Hast- ings had been married. He had often spoken to her of the events and incidents connected with his wedding, and had described much of the scenery which he had, in company with his young bride, visited during the few first weeks of their married life. " I should like," thought Mrs. Belmonte, " to see the little church where William was married the rivers, castles, lakes, and mountains, of which I have so often heard him speak. Walter knows nothing of this part of his history. He cannot object to my spending the summer months in the south of Ireland. Yes, William, I will go and see the little church, the lakes and castles which you have seen, and I will associate them all with you. I may OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 401 never see you or hear your voice again, but it will be a pleasure, while banished from you, to look at scenery forever associated in my mind with your earlier life." Arrangements were soon made, and Mrs. Belmonte, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Worthington, set out for Cork. The first place they visited, on arriving there, was the little church, a few miles out of the city, in which Hastings and Ida Linwood were married. Mrs. Belmonte exhibited no curiosity of mind respecting it when with Mr. and Mrs. Worthington; but the next day she excused herself to them, saying that she wished to do a little shopping, and that she might be absent an hour or more. She took Bessy with her, and as soon as they had gone a few blocks from the hotel they got into a carriage and drove to the little church again. The sexton, quite an old man, was there, and took pleasure in answering all the questions which Mrs. Bel- monte asked him. Bessy remained in the carriage, and wondered what her mistress was about. " What am de matter with Missis ? " muttered she. " Here she comes yes'day an den agin to-day to look at de meetin' house. It am no great curimosity arter all. It am purty 'nough, but I 've seed a mighty sight purtier. Missis looks sol- emn like, too. May be she thinks as how she 's gwine to die, an she comes here case ob dat. I is sartin dat am de reason. Now she's talkin' with dat ar ole gen'- man. Well, white folks knows der business better nor culled persons, dat am sartin." Bessy watched atten- tively all that her mistress did, for she wondered why she should take such an interest in visiting a place, seem- ingly of so little note. Mrs. Belmonte learned of the sexton what seemed to satisfy her, and she left him and walked about, first in the church and then in the shaded grounds surrounding it. At length she seated herself 34* 402 THE CROOKED ELM; under the shade of a large tree, and commenced sketch- ing the church on a leaf of her portfolio, which she had evidently brought with her for the purpose. She sat absorbed in her book for nearly an hour, and then get- ting up approached the old sexton. " I thank you for being so kind to me to-day. I wish to sketch this church for my album, and may visit here frequently. Will you accept this ? You look old and feeble." She handed the old man a piece of gold. " May the Lord presarve you, my good lady ! " said he, as he took off his hat and made a low bow. " I may come here to-morrow. Will you be here ? " inquired Mrs. Belmbnte, as she was about leaving. " I will be here, God bless your ladyship ! ivery day you come, if it be all the days in the year." She thanked him again, and got into her carriage and drove away, leaving the old man standing near the door of the church with his hat still in his hand. The next day, Mrs. Belmonte in company with her friends visited Blarney Castle, its groves, lake, and many places of interest in its immediate vicinity. They continued at Cork; and Mrs. Belmonte in company with Bessy frequently stole away to the same little church which I have already mentioned, and to the groves of Blarney. The old sexton always had a smile for her when she came, and the old woman at the castle welcomed her with her best courtesy. Often would she sit in the shade of the trees surrounding the church and write for hours at a time. She seemed to take a melancholy pleasure in doing so. She had completed her sketch of the little church, embosomed as it was beneath the green foliage of the tall trees which stood on every side of it. Blarney Castle, its groves and sylvan lake, had also been trans- ferred to her album. Two weeks more have passed, OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 403 and Mrs. Belmonte has just returned to Cork, from a visit to the lakes of Killarney. Several additional sketches of scenery on the lakes have been added to those already taken. The scenery and the air in the south of Ireland have not effected a favorable change in her health. She is looking more feeble than when she left England. She scarce ever smiles, or engages in con- versation with any one. A settled melancholy rests upon her countenance. As soon as they had returned from Killarney, Mr. Worthington wrote to her physician, requesting him to come on at once. " We cannot," wrote he, " prevail upon her to leave this place, although it is apparent that she is fast failing every day. She seems to take pleasure in remaining here and visiting two or three places only. I proposed to-day a sail on the Cove of Cork, but she declined, giving as a reason that she wished to complete some sketches which she had commenced. Mrs. Worthing- ton and I are growing alarmed in consequence of her greatly increased debility of body, and the general mel- ancholy of her mind." In answer to this letter, Mrs. Belmonte's physician wrote, advising Mr. Worthington to persuade Mrs. Bel- monte to take a short trip to the continent. He also recommended a physician to him residing in Cork, and stated that it would be impossible for him then to leave home. Mr. Worthington showed this letter to Mrs. Belmonte, but he could not prevail upon her to -leave Cork. Weeks passed on, and her health continued way. She had become so feeble that when she out it was necessary that she should be bolstered her carriage. In this condition she drove to the church one day, after an absence from it of nearl 404 THE CROOKED ELM J week. She sat in her carriage for some time, but at length signified a desire to go to her old seat under the large tree. The old sexton assisted her to get down, and let her lean on his arm as she walked into the churchyard. A pillow was placed on the seat, and Mrs. JBelmonte requested to be left alone. She sat in silence for a few moments, and then taking her pencil wrote in her portfoli o the following short letter : " DEAREST WILLIAM, I am sitting here near the little church where you were married. For several weeks I have visited this lovely spot almost daily. It speaks to me of you, and I find a pleasure in coming here. But even this happiness will soon be denied me. I am no longer able to walk about in these hallowed, sylvan shades without assistance. The good old sexton let me lean on his arm as I walked from my carriage here. He remembers you, and has told me many times of your wedding. He has not forgotten your generosity to the peasantry and to himself. I fear, William, that I cannot come here many times more. I do not wish to alarm you, I do not wish to say aught that will give you pain. I have purposely kept from you my fast fail- ing health; but now I feel it necessary to write you, and tell you that I have not long to live. Since I can- not see you, since all hope of happiness is denied me in this life, I have no desire to live longer. Bessy will keep my portfolio and a few papers which it contains, and will, when she returns to New York, deliver them safely to you. I feel that I shall not write you many times more. Do not think me unhappy in thus leaving a world which has ever given md trouble and disappoint- ment. I welcome death as a messenger of mercy. I can write no more now. I must leave this dear place, perhaps for the last time. Believe, while you live, that OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 405 the heart which has never changed is still thine, and will be until it is laid in the cold grave. CORNELIA." When Mrs. Belmonte became conscious that she never would get well, she took Bessy into her confidence a little, as the only means of communicating with Hast- ings. There were several papers and small articles which she wished to be given to him in case of her death. She had made her wishes on this subject known to Bessy, and had given her such instructions as she deemed necessary respecting them. One day she called Bessy to her bedside, and said : " Will you be sure to do as I have told you with that rose-wood box, in case I do not get well ? " Bessy answered, with tears coursing down her cheeks : " I '11 do jis as missis says ; but I hope de Lor 5 will let you lib many's de long year yit." As she said this, she sat down and blubbered aloud. " Oh, I hab allers lub'd you, so I hab. You allers hab been a good missis to me, an' you mussent die." She loved her mistress, and could not endure the thought of her dying. Whenever Mrs. Behnonte had spoken to her of late on the. subject, she had burst into a fit of crying. More than a week had passed since Mrs. Belmonte's last visit to the little church, and she con- tinued to grow more feeble every day. " Bessy," said she one day, " take this sketch to the old sexton. He will like it as a present from me, I am sure. See! I have sketched him at the door of the church. Do you think it looks like him ? " " 'Zacly like him for all de worle." " Well, carry it to him. He is very poor too ; give him this purse. Go now and tell him that I am not so well as I have been, but that I hope soon to visit him again." 406 THE CROOKED ELM, Bessy took an outside car, and soon arrived at the church. The old sexton was there, and was glad to see her. "See here, what missis sent you, Misser Sextle!" said Bessy, as soon as she had shaken the old man's hand. He looked attentively at the church, the trees, and himself, as they were sketched on the paper, and, hastily brushing away a tear with his rough hand, said : M How is your good mistress ? God bless her lady- ship!" " She am no better, Mr. Sextle," answered Bessy, shaking her head solemnly. " Is she confined to her room ? " " Yes, she am 'fined to her room. Missis thinks she am gwine to die, an' she am jis as nappy as if she was gwine to lib." She tried to keep from crying, but it was of no use ; she soon went off in a regular fit of blubbering, and the old man wiped away the tears as they came into his own eyes. " Here am some money missis sent you. She 'quested me to say dat she hopes for to come here soon." " God bless her ! God bless her for remembering the poor! " cried the old man, as he turned away weeping, and walked into the church. As soon as Bessy had gone, the old man seated himself in the shade where he had often seen Mrs. Belmonte sit, and after counting the money she had sent him looked attentively for a long time at the sketch, which he still held in his hand. Dear lady ! " he muttered. " To think of a poor cra- ture like me ! May the Lord presarve her a long time yet ! To send the like o' me so much money ! and this picture, how beautiful ! There 's myself by the church door, sure. She made me with her own hand, God OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 407 bless her ! " As he said this he kissed himself in the picture, and, getting up, walked away muttering all kinds of blessings upon Mrs. Belmonte for being so kind to him. The physician, recommended to Mr. Worthington, visited Mrs. Belmonte daily, but could prescribe nothing to help her. He did not understand her disease. She was dying of a broken heart. There are few, perhaps, in this material age, who believe in broken hearts. Occasionally, however, we see those of the gentler sex fading and passing away without seeming to die of any disease. All efforts, put forth by the most skilful physi- cians, fail to effect a cure. They fade like autumn leaves; they die of broken hearts. All their ideal world, all of every thing they have prized, has been swept away by the tornado of disappointed love, and they are left the helpless wrecks of the sweeping and withering blast. The picture of disappointed love, so beautifully painted in Irving's " Broken Heart," com- mends itself to every one possessed of human feeling for its truthfulness and fidelity to nature. Like Irving, I believe in broken hearts. Mrs. Worthington remained with Mrs. Belmonte, and did all she could for her. One morning, as they were in the. loom together, Mrs. Belmonte said, " I know not how to thank you, Mrs. Worthington, for all the kindness you have shown to me. I do not think I shall live many days longer, and I cannot die until I have expressed to you my sincere gratitude for all you have done. I have one request to make of you, and I am sure you will grant it. Will you have me buried in the wood, near by the little church which we visited together on the day after our arrival here? 'Tis there, under the shade of those tall trees, that I wish to repose when I am dead." 408 THE CROOKED ELM | " Your request shall be granted," answered Mrs. Worthington, deeply affected. " I have often wondered why you visited that little church so frequently. There must be something which endears it to you." " We all have histories of our own," said Mrs. Bel- monte, in a feeble voice, " much of which is known only to ourselves. We all, too, have secrets which will be buried with us in the grave. You are right in thinking that the place where I wish to be laid is endeared to me. It is, and must ever be associated in my mind with a very dear friend. And now that I am in a strange land, I wish to attest my friendship, by selecting it as the place wherein to repose after this life of mine, which has been filled with sorrow and trouble, shall have passed away from earth." There was something so plaintive and sad in the tones of Mrs. Belmonte's voice, as she made this partial confession, that Mrs. Worthington's eyes filled with tears as she listened. She took Mrs. Belmonte's hand, and, pressing it tenderly, said : " I fear we have not known the cause of your ill- ness. I have sometimes suspected that private troubles weighed upon your mind. Have you no other requests to make ? No word to leave for Mr. Belmonte ? " " Tell him," said she, " that I died happy." " Is there nothing more that you wish said to him ? " " Nothing," answered Mrs. Belmonte. " He will get the things I leave with you. I have written what I wished to say to him, and he will read it when he comes on here. You will please keep carefully the small trunk which stands there. What I have written is in that." Mrs. Worthington promised that she would. At this point in the conversation, Bessy entered the room and handed Mrs. Belmonte a letter. It was mailed in New OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 409 Orleans. She opened and read it. For a moment a smile rested upon her countenance. Belmonte wrote that he could not come to England for several months. " He will not be here," thought she, " to oppose my dying request. I can sleep in the churchyard where I have passed so many hours thinking of William, who, in the hour of his marriage to another, was still faithful and true to me ! I am glad that Walter will not be here when I die." His letter imparted a negative happiness. It secured to her, she thought, her last and fondest wish. 35 CHAPTER XXXI. HARRY COLLINGWOOD had been at the Babblington school so long that all its peculiarities had ceased to be novelties. He took to his books kindly, and had already learned his hie, hcec, hoc, and was rapidly pre- paring himself to enter college. Charley, Dick, and Wash continued to be his warm friends and compan- ions, and all was passing along as smoothly as could well be expected. He had received letters from home frequently; nor had he neglected to write often to his father and mother, and to Aunt Rose. About the middle of summer he wrote and mailed the following letter : "DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER, Term closes next Wednesday. Charley Willington and I will leave here on Thursday. We will go to New York in company. May be he will go home with me. He says he will if his folks will let him. I wish they would, you would like him so much. I tried to get Dick Evans and Wash Smith to go too, but their fathers wouldn't let them. I am so glad that it is near the time to leave. The money you sent came to me safely. Old Babble I mean Mr. Babbling- ton bought me a new jacket and trowsers with part of it Charley wanted a jacket and trowsers like mine, (410) THE CROOKED ELM. 411 so I let him have enough money to buy them. Charley says I look real well in my new suit. My old clothes, which I brought from home, are vastly too short for me. I am a great deal bigger than I was. I don't think Aunt Rose will know me. I want to see you all so much! I have just finished my Latin First Reader, and have commenced translating in the Second Reader. It is growing late, and I am tired. Good night. Tell Aunt Rose that I will be at home in a week or so. Your affectionate son, HARRY." As soon as term closed, Harry and Charley bade good- by to Dick, and Wash, and to the Babblington family, and, after more than a day's travel on the railroad, arrived safely in New York city. They had not been there long when they, in company, visited Hastings at his office. " Ah, Harry and Charley, my boys ! I am delighted to see you!" said Hastings, as soon as they entered his office. " When did you come to the city? " " This morning," answered Harry. " Your cousin Lib didn't know you, did she, Char- ley?" " Trust her for that ! She asked me to carry a mes- sage for her to Mr. Diddlescott, or some such name, an hour after I got home. I believe she will want me to run on errands when I am fifty years old." " I thought you were very fond of your cousin Lib," said Hastings, smiling. "Oh, I like her well enough; but I am glad she is going to get married." " Married ! " exclaimed Hastings. " Yes, she is going to be married to Mr. Diddlesby, or whatever his name is. Didn't you know it? " 412 THE CROOKED ELM; " I have heard nothing of it before," said Hastings. " I am glad, Mr.- Hastings, that you are not going to many Lib. She would bother your life out" Hastings laughed, and asked when her wedding was to take place. " In a fortnight," said Charley. " Have you seen ]\Ir. Diddle, Mr. Hastings?" " Dillingscott, you mean ? " " I believe that is his name. Have you seen him ? " " Frequently. He is a very fine looking gentleman. Don't you think he is, Charley ? " " I suppose he is," said Charley, shrugging his shoulders slightly. " I am glad he is going to take Lib, at any rate." " Lib wouldn't thank you, if she heard you speaking so lightly of her intended husband." u Oh, she don't care. I told her this morning that I did not like Mr. Diddle Diddlescott. I never have seen him but once, and I don't like him. That is the long and short of it." " How soon do you leave for home, Harry ? " inquired Hastings, putting his arm round Harry's waist, and pulling him close up to his side. " They won't know you, you have grown so tall. I declare, you are get- ting to be quite handsome too ! What will little Miss Robinson say when she sees you ? " " Oh," said Harry, quite dignifiedly, " I don't think much of Lizzie Robinson. She is very good, to be sure; but I don't think much about the little girls. Do I Charley?" " No, Mr. Hastings, he don't," answered Charley, quite sedately. " That is right enough," said Hastings, smiling to see how promptly Charley came to the assistance of his friend. " But I think I have heard your father speak of OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 413 a little curly-headed beauty, who once lived near you. You took very kindly to her, did n't you, Harry ? " " I think father has very little to do," said Harry, in- dignantly, " when he says such things of me." " I was told that she was very pretty," said Hastings. " So she was good looking enough," said Harry, relax- ing his indignant expression of countenance a little. " I liked Flora very much, and so did everybody who knew her." " Flora ! Was her name Flora ? " said Hastings, in terestedly. " Yes. Her name was Flora Mowbray." " That is the little girl to whom you gave your like- ness ? " said Charley. " I have often heard you speak of her." Harry looked displeased at his friend for divulging so sacred a secret, and Charley at once regretted saying what he had. He tried to mend the matter by adding : " Oh, no ! I am quite mistaken! I was thinking of of ." Here Hastings, who had not been listening to what Charley was saying, muttered, half to himself and half to Harry, " Her name was Flora Mowbray ? " " Yes, that was her name," said Harry, wondering that Hastings should repeat the question. " Had Mr. Mowbray much of a family, Harry ? " ** Flora was all, except an old woman whom they called Aunt Judy." This answer was electrical in its effect upon Hastings. He sprang to his feet involun- tarily, and paced the floor. Hastings had visited his friend Collingwood, and had heard him speak of a little girl to whom Harry had be- come much attached. He had not heard her name mentioned, except as little Miss Mowbray. Indeed, nothing had been said of her to excite any thing more 35* 414 THE CROOKED ELM; than a general and passing interest in her. The men- tion of the name Flora, therefore, awakened his curios- ity to know more of her. He soon composed himself, and, taking a seat again by Harry, inquired when he was going to leave for home. " Day after to-morrow," said Harry. " Charley is going with me." " How would you like me as company ? " asked Hastings. " You ? "Will you go ? " asked Harry, delightedly. " I think I will. It has been some time since I have had the pleasure of visiting your father and mother." Harry and Charley were rejoiced to think Hastings was going with them, for they both liked him very much. The next day Hastings treated the boys to various presents, and took them to several places of note, among others, Greenwood Cemetery. He asked Harry many questions respecting Flora, and finally told him that he thought Mr. Mowbray was an old acquaintance of his. " Do you know where he is now ? " inquired Harry, eagerly, as soon as he was told that Mr. Mowbray might possibly be known to Hastings. " I do not know where he lives," said Hastings. " I wish to ascertain where he is very much." " So do I," said Harry, enthusiastically. Hastings could scarcely refrain from smiling to see how absorbed Harry was in every thing appertaining to little Flora. As they were passing round one of the little lakes which adorn Greenwood, Harry saw the name Flora carved on a white marble monument. That was all that was written upon it. For a moment he trembled almost, and looked up inquiringly into Hastings' face. Hastings understood his feelings, and soon dispelled his fears. " Do you think Flora is alive ? " inquired Harry, with the utmost simplicity. OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 415 " Why do you ask that question ? " said Hastings, scarcely knowing how to answer him. " Oh, there are so many graves here I thought that Flora might have died since she went away." They at length seated themselves on the borders of a lit- tle lake, in which there was a beautiful fountain playing, and gave themselves up to their own reflections. There is something in the very atmosphere of Greenwood that awakens serious thought. Memories of other days crowd upon the mind days never to be forgotten. We are reminded, by the tokens of death which surround us, of absent friends, friends far away, perhaps, who are sleeping their last sleep beneath ground long since conse- crated in memory. In these solemn sylvan shades the in- clinations and thoughts of even the depraved are compar- atively pure, and free from the contaminations of vice, and the corrupting influences of the world. Death, in its most pleasing aspect, is little inviting to any of us ; but, could we be sure that our bodies would finally rest in so lovely a spot as Greenwood, some of the terrors of dissolution would certainly disappear. It matters little, perhaps, where the body rests when the soul has fled, but there is something unpleasant in the thought that our bodies will be disturbed or even neglected after death. In Greenwood we see with what tenderness and pious care" the bodies of relatives and friends are regarded. A rigid philosophy would teach us that " to mourn the loss of friends were idle ; " yet, in the face of these un- feeling facts, the soul delights to linger around the graves of those once loved in life. We see evidences of this at every step in Greenwood. The choice flowers, so tenderly cultivated and so tastefully arranged, the forget-me-not, the bridal wreath, the cedar that emblem of lasting continuance, and numerous other 416 THE CROOKED ELM ; flowers equally expressive of affection, find a welcome place at almost every grave. Greenwood is certainly a charming, a lovely place. All is so still, so beautiful. Even the little birds that build their nests in the branches of its trees, and the little squirrels that burrow beneath their thick green shades, seem to know that they are protected by the sacredness of the place. For how in- nocently will the former carol some favorite song while perched upon a branch near by ; and how fearlessly will the latter gambol and play about our pathway. They know no'danger because they have never been led to fear man's destructive tendencies. They have only seen him in his melting moments. With this digression I will return to my story. The next day, Hastings with the two boys set out for Harry's father's. When they arrived at Mr. Colling- wood's they were all most heartily welcomed. Aunt Rose, as soon as she had an opportunity, threw her arms round Harry, and shed tears of joy at seeing him again. " Oh, Lor 5 ! Massa Harry ! How big you is ! " said she, looking at him in astonishment. Harry was glad to see her ; but he thought Rose did not receive him with sufficient dignity before strangers. Had he been in the kitchen alone with her, it would have been quite another thing, but as it was he thought that she made too free with him. He had not been there long when he stole into the kitchen where Rose was, and, for- getting all his dignity, threw himself into her arms, and permitted her to hug him to her and blubber over him as much as she liked. A tear or two escaped from Harry's eyes, although he strove all he could to keep them back. "Don't be so foolish, Rose," said Harry. "They will hear you crying." His admonitions were thrown OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-BIDE. 417 away ;. for Aunt Rose was too overjoyed to think of the proprieties of life. Harry sat down in the kitchen, and Rose looked at him, and walked about him, and went to the cupboard and brought from it all the good things which she had made purposely for him when he should come home. As she walked about, not knowing half the time what she was doing, she kept muttering: " How big Massa Harry is ! How big young Massa Harry is! " She at length settled down into something resembling a calm, and talked to Harry in the same old confidential way that she was wont to before he left for school. " I must go now, Rose," said Harry, when he had been with her nearly an hour. " Charley will be looking for me. I will come in and see you to-night. Shall I bring Charley with me ? " " No, Massa Harry, I wishes to hab you all alone by yourself." " Well, 1 will come and see you to-night." " Dat am jis' like you, I know'd as how you 'd 'member Aunt Rose." Harry left, and Aunt Rose continued to go about the kitchen, some of the time laughing and some of the time crying, but all the time looking happy. Occasionally she would leave the kitchen and walk past the door of the house to get a glimpse of Harry as he sat talking to his father and mother. Then she would return to the kitchen to wait impatiently for night to come. It seemed to her as though the sun never would go down that day. It did go down, however ; and Harry, excusing himself to Charley as they were retiring to their beds, stole into the kitchen to talk to Aunt Rose. She had placed all the good things of her well-stored cupboard on the table and the two sat down together, and discussed, not only the delicacies before them, but many matters 418 THE CROOKED ELM; which had long been locked up in their respective minds. Harry was not so much of a child as he had been when Rose talked to him before, but she thought of him and talked to him just as she had done previous to his leaving for school. He found no fault with her for doing so. His dignity had all evaporated and master and slave talked together of old times, and renewed their pledges of friendship. " Rose, have you heard any thing about little Flora?" asked Harry, when they had settled down into the con- fidential mood. " No ! Massa Harry," said Rose, shaking her head solemnly, and picking at her apron with her right fore- finger and thumb. " I hab hearn nuthin' ob her at all, at all." She rolled her eyes up at Harry to see the effect of this speech, and then added : " Massa Harry, hab you seed de little angel in all your trabbels ? " " No, Rose. I fear I shah 1 never see her again. I often dream of her, and then I see her just as she was when she lived here." Rose drew a long sigh, and said : " De Lor 5 , Massa Harry, will keep little Flora in de holler ob his han', I knows he will. Dat am what de good book says, I listen to Missis when she read it las' Sunday." " But, Rose, why did the Lord take her away ? " " Massa Harry! Massa Harry!" said Rose, shaking her head, half reprovingly. " De Lor' am berry good. It am all for de bes' ! It am all for de bes'! " " But why is it all for the best, Rose ? Little Flora was happy here, and I was happy, and you were happy. She and I loved each other very much ; and if she had remained here, you know I would have married her, and then you would have li ved with us, and we all would OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 419 have been happy. But now, I shall never marry any one, and you will never be any better off than you are at present. You will always have to live here with father." Rose drew another long sigh at this vivid picture of her own and Harry's gloomy prospects, but said with a becoming spirit of Christian resignation: " De Lor', Massa Harry, am allers right. I will trus' de Lor 5 to bring all roun' right." Harry made no answer ; but it is to be feared that his faith was not so strong as that of his old nurse in the sentiment she had expressed. " Massa Harry," said Rose, " I hab a dream a long time ago, an' 'twas all 'bout you an' de little angel. Do you think dreams come true, Massa Harry ? " " They never come true with me," said Harry. " I have dreamed of seeing Flora a great many times. My dreams don't come true. But what did you dream, Rose?" Harry sat in his chair, with his elbows resting on the table, and with his head resting in his hands, while Rose, with a serious and almost solemn face, related the fol- lowing dream : " Eber so long 'go ; not many days arter you lef ' to tend school, I hab a dream. I 'magined in my dream dat I was in de kitchen ob a berry fine house. I don't jis 'member whar de house was, but it was a mighty fine house. De kitchen was de cleanest an' de bes' as neb- ber was. I 'magined I was sittin' by de fire, a reel ginuine good fire, dat blazed an' sparkled, an' crackled, an' made de room warm an' comfor'able. For, Massa Harry, it was de berry dead ob winter. I 'magined dat I was dah, an' dat Massa Harry was dah, an' dat little Flora was dah, an' dat we was all dah, a settin' by de big fire in de kitchen. I 'magined dat Massa Harry 420 THE CROOKED ELM J hab grow'd up to be a big man, an' dat little Flora was de finest ob ladies. I 'magined dat she looked berry good, an' berry nice, an' berry fine ; an' dat she was a settin' in a cheer by Massa Harry's side, an' dat Massa Harry was a settin' in a cheer by little Flora's side, an' dat I was a settin' on a stool in de corner, lookin' at dem bofe. I 'magined dat little Flora was big an' dat she was a leanin' one arm on Massa Harry's knee, an' dat Massa Harry hab one ob his arms roun' little Flora's waise oh! Massa Harry, if you could hab seed 'em! How lubly dey looked! Little Flora's har fell in curls aU ober her face, an' she look for all de worle jis like she did when she was here, only her har was longer an' curlier, an' her eyes was bigger and han- somer, an' she was a drefful sight bigger an' han'somer an' beautifuller. I 'magined dat I was dah, an' dat I hab all de good things to eat locked up in de cubber. If you could had seed dat ar' kitchen, an' dat ar' fire, an' dat ar 5 cubber, and all dat I seed, Massa Harry, den you would trus' de Lor' an' b'lieve dat it would all come true, some time. I b'lieve in dreams ; I do. I 's know'd many's a one to come true." Harry listened attentively to the picture which Rose had drawn, and wished in his heart that her dream had been real. "Is that all, Rose?" " Yes, Massa Harry, I woke up afore I lef ' de kitchen. But it would hab to be a mighty fine house to hab a kitchen like dat ar' kitchen was. It mus hab been de berry same house dat you use to say you an' Flora would lib in. I know it mus be de berry same house." Aunt Rose's faith was much stronger than Harry's. He once had been as hopeful as she ; but, strange to say, his book-learning and his increased age, and a more OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 421 extended knowledge of the world, had made him place less trust in dreams and wishes than .he had been wont to in his earlier years. The strong faith of Rose, how- ever, encouraged him to hope, perhaps partly believe, that her dream would come true. They remained talk- ing until long after midnight, when Harry, after receiv- ing a loving embrace from his old nurse, stole away to his bed to dream over again Aunt Rose's dream. The next day, he with Charley visited the farm where Moulton and Flora had lived. It was occupied by another family. Every thing looked different to Harry. He remained some time, and visited many places which were indelibly associated in his mind with Flora, and then returned home with a heavy heart. Every thing which he saw looked different from what it had when he left home. His father's house seemed to be much smaller, so did the hills about, and the river which ran by the door. Every thing had diminished in size. Charley remained with his friend several weeks, and often did they astonish Aunt Rose with their prodigious amount of learning. Harry declined Latin adjectives, and conjugated Greek verbs, until the old negress rolled up the whites of her eyes in very wonderment. She began to look upon him with feelings akin to awe ; and, had.it not been for his confidential moods, which he indulged in almost every night, when alone with her, she would scarcely have recognized the Harry whom she had nursed when a child, and always loved so much. Whenever he talked to her alone in the kitchen, how- ever, she always forgot his great wisdom, and thought of him only as her darling Harry*. The two young hopefuls did not fail to initiate Aunt Rose into the beauties and force of the " Guttural Sys- tem." They regretted very much that Dick Evans was 36 422 THE CROOKED ELM; not there to take off Squeaking Jimmy, but in his absence they did the best they could. They posted themselves al- ternately in one corner of the kitchen and spoke at Aunt Rose for hours at a time, making her sometimes the Roman Senate, at others the British Parliament, and I know not what," until her eyes dilated to twice their or- dinary dimensions. They told her many amusing stories and anecdotes while they were devouring the good things which she always prepared for them when they came into the kitchen ; and Charley came to think her, before he left, one of the best " women of color " that it had ever been his fortune to know. She always listened to his stories, and gave him the best she had in the kitchen to eat, and never asked him to run on errands. This may have had some influence in the opinion which he had formed of her. Be this as it may, he began to feel very tender, very tender indeed, towards old Rose. Hastings immediately on his arrival learned all he could of Moulton. The information which he obtained there convinced him that his child was still living. It removed a heavy load from his mind. He no longer doubted the truth of what Belmonte had told him re- specting the substitution of a child to deceive old Mr. Rivington. He was confident that Moulton had re- formed. This also relieved his mind of the anxiety which he had at first felt when Harry disclosed the fact that little Flora was living with Moulton. He did not tell Collingwood why he wished to find Mowbray, nor did he intrust any of the secrets respect- ing his child with him. When he left, he bade them all a cordial good-by ; but he felt a tenderness for Harry greater than he had ever felt before, because Harry had loved little Flora and made her happy. " Here, Harry," said he, as he was about leaving ; OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 423 " you are now getting to be such a man that you ought to have a watch. Will you wear mine ? " as he said this he took from his vest pocket a beautiful gold watch and gave it to Harry. " You have been a very good boy at school, I am told," and, continued Hastings in a lower tone of voice, " I like you very much, because you like little Flora." He shook Harry heartily by the hand, and left without giving him time even to thank him for the valuable present. Harry was puzzled to know what Hastings meant by the words, " I like you because you like little Flora." He did not fail to have a confidential talk with Aunt Rose that night. CHAPTER XXXII. WHEN Hastings left his friend Collingwood's, he pro- ceeded to Cincinnati to learn, if possible, something more concerning his child of Moulton's agent. His visit was fruitless, however, for he obtained no informa- tion by which he could trace Moulton from that city. After spending several weeks in different places he re- turned to New York with the full conviction that his child was li ving, and with a heavy heart at not being able to find her. Among the letters awaiting him at his office, was the one which Mrs. Belmonte had written while seated in the shade of the old trees which stood by the little church. The desponding tone of its con- tents alarmed him. " Can it be possible," muttered he, " that Cornelia is -dying, with no one near her wh%>m she knows ? I will fly to her at once, be the consequence what it may!" In accordance with this resolution, he immediately left his office and engaged passage on a vessel bound the next day to Liverpool. He made hasty preparations for leaving, nor did he in his hurry and ex- citement forget to call that evening to see his adopted sister, Kate Coleman. He had been absent from the city much longer than he had intended to be when he left it with Harry and Charley. Kate, therefore, was anx- ious and impatient to see him. She met him with smiles as usual, notwithstanding his truancy, for it (424) THE CROOKED ELM. 425 never yet entered into her mind to find fault with him. " You have been playing truant in earnest, this time," said she, when they had seated themselves together in her mother's drawing-room. " 1 have a great mind to scold you for writing me but one letter while you were absent. Don't you think you deserve a good scolding ? " " Perhaps I do ; and if you will promise before you begin that it shall be a good scolding, I think I will lis- ten to it, disagreeable as it may be to my feelings." " But where have you been so long ? " inquired she. " Then you are not going to scold me ? " " Not until I am sure that you deserve it. But tell me why you have remained so long away ? " " Since you are disposed as ever to deal mercifully with me, Kate, I will answer your question." Hastings' troubled countenance contradicted his light words, and Kate was quick to discover it. She inter- rupted him, therefore, by saying : " But you look pale and careworn ? " " Absence from you for so long a time has made me look so," said he, striving to conceal his real feelings. " Do not jest, but tell me what troubles you." There was so much tenderness and love in the tones of her voicej that he answered : " You are right, Kate. I feel very little like jesting, or engaging you in light conversation. Sit here by me and I will talk with you candidly." Kate seated herself on the sofa by his side, and he, taking her hand in his, related what he had so recently learned respecting little Flora. She listened with the deepest interest to every word he spoke ; she shared his feelings and anxiety respecting the lost one. " I am sure," said she, when he had finished, " that 36* 426 THE CROOKED ELM*, you will yet find her. She has been mysteriously and strangely preserved, and I feel confident that you will one day meet her." " I wish I had your faith, Kate ; it wouid encourage me while I still seek her." " You doubted but a little white ago whether she yet lived, and now that discouraging uncertainty has been removed. It is thus, in ways that we think not of, that Providence opens our eyes to the light. I have great faith in an overruling Power. I believe that to the good, all things will be well. And, since it is right that you should find your child, I believe you will." She said this with so much enthusiasm, and with so much of faith and hope beaming from her sweet and expres- sive countenance, that Hastings felt awed into rever- ence as he listened to her. " If I were as innocent and good as you," thought he, " I, too, might have faith ; but to me there is no such consolation." " Your words," added he, after a moment's silence, " cheer me, although I cannot feel as you do. My faith is not like yours." She made him no answer, but sat as if intently think- ing for a few moments ; and then, suddenly turning to Hastings, she said :' " Why was it that she was taken to your friend's in Virginia, if not directed by an overseeing eye ? Is it not strange that she should have been taken there, rather than to any other p^ace ? Have you not known of similar strange occurrences, which can be accounted for in no other way so satisfactorily as in believing that they were ordered by an overruling and an all-wise Providence ? " " It is strange," said Hastings, " that she should have been taken there, and I will not try to weaken your OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 427 faith in the belief which you have expressed, that she was guided by an unseen hand. The good only can have such faith as yours. It must be pleasant to feel that we are deserving the interference of Providence fyr our greater happiness." Thus does woman, in the simplicity of faith, and, as if feeling her own weakness, lean as it were on the arm of her Maker, putting trust in all his promises, and be- lieving that he will even " hear the young ravens when they cry ;. " while man, self-reliant and proud, trusts to his own strength, and is disinclined to believe in the intervention of supernatural agencies in the affairs of men. His faith in facts is the deduction of reason. Like Thomas, he must see in his hands the print of the nails, and put his fingers into the print of the nails, and thrust his hand into his side, before he can believe. The trusting faith of Kate made Hastings feel that she was his superior in all that was elevating and good. He had come to tell her that he was going to England the next day, but it was late in the evening before he could mention the subject to her. At length he said: " Kate, I have taken passage in a vessel which is to sail for Liverpool to-morrow. I have come to bid you good-by." She was not much surprised, for she at once thought that he was going there in search of little Flora. " I am very sorry," she said, " to think of being so long deprived of your society." " The time will soon pass away, Kate," said he, with an effort to be cheerful, " and my absence will cheer your many admirers, for I really believe that some of them think me their rival. You must undeceive them when I am gone." Kate made no answer, but blushed, looked embar- rassed, and perhaps a little unhappy. She left the room, 428 THE CROOKED ELM; and soon returned with Clemie and her mother. She had not told them that Hastings was about to leave the city. " Ah ! Clemie," said Hastings, after first speaking to Mrs. Coleman, "those roses on your cheeks are *s blooming as ever." Clemie did not like this liberty with her cheeks, but she did not tell him so. She only remained silent, and looked a little displeased. They all sat together talking for some time, but neither Kate nor Hastings felt like lively conversation, and the result was that Clemie thought them more than usually dull. " I will leave you to yourselves," said Clemie, ad- dressing Kate and Hastings, as she got up to leave the room ; " you are exceedingly dull to-night." " But, Clemie, I am going to leave the city to-morrow for Europe. I have come here specially to bid you good-by." ' " I am sorry that you are going away so soon," said Clemie unaffectedly, for she really liked Hastings. " I will not quarrel with you again, Clemie," said he, as he rose to shake her by the hand, " until my return ; for, much as we have disagreed, I find that I am very sorry to part with you." Clemie dropped her head to conceal a tear, and, bid- ding him good-by, tripped out of the room. Her mother remained a short time in the drawing-room, and then left Kate and Hastings to themselves. It was past mid- night, when he, rising to go, said : " Mind that you follow my advice respecting young Carleton." " I cannot do so. I do not think enough of him to obey your request." Carleton was one of Kate's admirers, and a very worthy and promising young man. OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 429 " He is justly entitled to your esteem, to your " " Say no more about him," interrupted Kate. " I must be judge in matters of this kind. I esteem him and appreciate his worth as much as any one, perhaps, but he and I can only be friends no more." " I will drop the subject," said Hastings ; "but I am half inclined to be angry with you for your obstinacy." They were at the door, Kate could not conceal her grief at having to part with him, tears came into her eyes, and her countenance reflected the sadness of her heart. " I must bid you good-by now, Kate," said Hastings, taking her hand in his, " although I have been trying to postpone doing so to the last moment. I hope, when I return, that I will find you happy and well, and more willing to listen to good advice than you are to-night." She made no reply, but hung her head in silence. " Good-by, sister Kate ! " said Hastings, modestly kissing her, " Good-by ! May God bless you ! " " Good-by! " said she," I hope you will find little Flora." Her last words sounded in his ears all that night. The next day he embarked for Liverpool. "Weeks passed, and he had arrived safely at Cork. The old city was the same as when he had visited it before. There were its limestone quays, its irregular buildings, its narrow and crooked streets ; in short its sombre and somewhat gloomy self, spread out on both sides of the river Lee. Former associations crowded upon Hast- ings' mind as he entered the city. It was there that he had married Ida Linwood, the mother of little Flora. What a history, rilled with what strange events, had he lived since then ! There was a conflict of emotions awakened in his mind by reflections upon his previous visit to that city, and by thoughts of Mrs. Belmonte, whom he had come to see. I will not pretend to de- 430 THE CROOKED ELM J scribe his feelings, his anxiety of mind, his hopes and fears, as he drew near the hotel where Mrs. Bel- monte was stopping. I leave these to the imagination' of the reader. " Is Mrs. Belmonte stopping here ? " inquired Hastings of the clerk of the Imperial Hotel, when he had alighted from his carriage. He was deadly pale, and his voice trembled as he spoke. The clerk, thinking that the person who questioned him might be Mr. Bel- monte, answered : " Walk up to the parlor, if you please, and I will be with you in a moment." Hastings did as requested, and soon the clerk re- turned, and, entering the room where Hastings was, in company with a gentleman, said : " This is Mr. Worth- ington; he will give you the information you seek." As he said this, he retired from the room, leaving Mr. Worthington and Hastings to themselves. Hastings rose from his seat as Mr. Worthington came in, and asked, in a faltering voice : " Is Mrs. Belmonte ah' ve ? " He read the answer to his question in Mr. Worth- ington's countenance, and staggering to a seat he ex- claimed, in a voice of inexpressible sorrow, "She i? dead! Cornelia is dead !!" Some days had passed. Hastings lay in his bed, and beside him stood Bessy. He was just recovering from the insensibility into which the intelligence of Mrs. Belmonte's death had thrown him. For more than a week his life had been almost despaired of. None had been more faithful to him, more watchful, more anxious during the critical period that he lay sus- pended as it were between life and death between this world and the next between time and eternity; I say none had been more faithful to him during this OK, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 431 trying ordeal, than Bessy. She watched with him day and night while he lay insensible to all that was passing around. When he had so much recovered as to be able to sit up in his bed, and the physician had pronounced him out of danger, Mr. and Mrs. Worthington left Cork for their own home in England. Bessy only remained to take care of him. When he had gained sufficient strength to walk about the room, and had become somewhat reconciled to Mrs. Belmonte's death, Bessy said to him : " Massa Hastin's, Missis lef ' a little box with me, and 'zired me to take it to you, in New York. What I's a thinkin' ob am, whedder I orter to gib it to you afore you gets back dah." " Run and get it at once," said Hastings, impatiently. " Why have you not given it to me before ? " Bessy left to get the box, muttering to herself, "I don't know whedder it am 'zactly right Missis did not tell me to gib it to him here. I 'specs I orter, though." She brought a rose-wood box to Hastings, and then left the room. He unlocked it, and from a portfolio which lay on the top he took and read the following letter, after carefully removing the lock of hair which it contained. " MY DEAREST WILLIAM, I feel that I have but a few days more to live. I would not give you pain by writ- ing this conviction, did I not know, that, when you shah 1 read this, my spirit will have passed away from earth forever. I have no regrets at parting with a world in which there is no happiness left for me. Once I had hope. Once I looked forward, and drew for myself pictures of happiness. Now all these fair but delu- sive hopes, these beautiful pictures in which fancy 432 THE CROOKED ELM; and the imagination had blended all the delicate tints of a life transparent with love and sunshine, all, all, have for ever fled ! Oh, ' that I may be permitted to see him once more ! ' has been my prayer for many days past ; but I never shall be permitted so much happiness. I shall never see you again. The sands of my life have wellnigh run. I have but a few brief days to live. I cannot hope ever to hear your voice again, that voice which has spoken words that have ever thrown a charm around my life. No, William, I feel assured that we will never meet again in this life. Every day since we parted I have thought of you, every night have I dreamed of you. In the sketches which Bessy will deliver to you, I have conversed with you. All my life, since our last meeting, has been lived for you, and only you. I remember the generous and loving Willie of my happy girlhood days. I remember the pledges of love which were then made, and which have been by us both so faithfully kept. I remember all the cheering, loving words of him whose image has been to me a star of hope to guide me through all the paths of life. These memories of happier days have filled my mind while living here among strangers. They have been my food by day and my sleep at night." The letter filled several sheets ; but I will leave out all except what I have here given of its commence- ment, and the following closing words. " William, when I am gone, when I am forgotten by most who have known me, you will still think of me, and know that the love I gave you at our first meeting will continue unbroken until I am laid in the grave. My body will be placed in the shade of the trees near the little church where you were mar- ried. I have often sat there and thought of you. The place is dear to me. I welcome death as a messenger OK, LITE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 433 of mercy. The old trees, beneath whose shades I shall sleep my last, long sleep, seem to invite me ; I must bid you a long good-by until we meet in another, and, as I trust, a better world. Good-by, William! a fond a loving a lasting good-by, until the break- ing of a brighter day. CORNELIA." Hastings sat for hours reading and musing over this last heart-offering of his idolized Cornelia. Through it he was holding converse with her departed spirit. The sun had gone down behind the western hills; twilight the hour for dreams and reverie had thrown its gauzy mantle over the city. Hastings still sat in his room, silent and thoughtful. The letter remained open in his hand his mind wandered far away into " realms of boundless space." There axe times when the soul seems to leave its prison-house of clay, and to hold communion with spirits beyond the tomb. Bessy soon entered with a light, and Hastings, re- placing the lock of hair and carefully folding the letter, put it in his bosom. He then opened the portfolio again, and the first thing which drew his attention was the sketch of the little church in which he had, several years before, been married. Underneath it were the foUowing verses written by Mrs. Belmonte. In thy cool shade, old trees, I oft have thought Of childhood's morn, when hope and life were new The many lessons that a life has taught, Have 'neath thy foliage been thought of too. And thou, loved vine-clad church how dear thou art 1 As, peeping forth from this beautiful shade, Thou whisperest me of a faithful heart, True to the pledge of love in boyhood made. 37 434 THE CROOKED ELM J These trees, this church, and all that I hold dear, Like a flitting -vision may pass away ; But the heart that proved true oh ! may this tear Seal it to mine till a happier day. A tear fell from Hastings' cheek upon the paper containing these simple, unpretending words, as he finished reading them. The sentiment which they embodied found a response in his heart. " Yes," said he, "this tear shall bind thee to me until the coming of a happier day." There were many other sketches of scenery in the immediate vicinity of Cork, and also many other scraps of poetry scattered through the portfolio. He examined all the sketches, and read all the poetry, with a lover's enthusiasm. He remained until long after midnight communing with her who had left him these evidences of her love. The box contained many other little me- mentos, all of which he carefully preserved as souvenirs of the past. As soon -as he was able he drove down to the little church where Mrs. Belmonte was buried. He met the old sexton, who immediately recognized him, although he never had seen Hastings but once, and that many years before. The old man was rejoiced to see him. He pointed out Mrs. Belmonte's grave, and in a voice full of emotion said : " This is her grave, dear lady ! Long will the poor remember her." When he had taken Hastings to her grave he left him alone and walked away. The spot which she had selected for her final resting-place was close by the seat where she had so often sat. There was a quiet beauty and loveliness in all around, so con- genial to the sorrowing heart. The day was warm and pleasant ; Hastings seated himself beside her grave, and remained there undisturbed by any one for several hours. OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 435 Then getting up he approached the old sexton, and said : " Did you ever converse with Mrs. Belmonte when she came here ? " " Yes, your honor ! She asked me all about your wedding, and she talked to me of you almost every day as long as she came here." He showed Hastings the sketch which she had given him, and told him how kind she had been in giving him money. Hastings listened attentively until the old man had told him much of the conversations which he had with Mrs. Belmonte when she had come there to sketch different scenery. He then asked the old man where he lived. " Just on the hill yonder, in that cottage." " Have you a family ? " inquired Hastings. " I have a wife and four children," answered he. " You are very poor, are you not ? " said Hastings. " God knows I am." " You are getting old. Will you accept this as a loan until you are able to repay it ? " As he said this he placed a well-filled purse of gold in the old sexton's hand. ." God bless your honor ! and may the Lord presarve you ! " said the old man, as he uncovered his head and bow;ed low to Hastings. The next day Hastings had a beautiful monument of white marble placed at the head of Mrs. Belmonte's grave, on which was inscribed, in deep letters, the name " COKNELIA." He also had the grave beautifully em- paled, and then, taking leave of the old sexton in the following words, he left the little church and the grave of his Cornelia perhaps forever. " I shall not see you again soon, Mr. Sexton, but I shall feel myself fully re- paid for the money I loaned you, if in my absence you 436 THE CROOKED ELM. take charge of Mrs. Belmonte's grave, and see that it is never disturbed." " I cannot tell you how thankful I am for your kind- ness," replied the old man, with the tears coursing down his furrowed cheeks, " but I should have done what you ask without pay. I love her for her own sake, dear lady ! She was one of a thousand ! The blessings of the poor followed her to the grave. You should have seen them on the day she was buried. There was not a dry eye among them all. No one will disturb her resting-place ; but it will be faithfully guarded by many loving hearts." Hastings, unable to conceal his emotions at parting from a place so endeared to him, bade the old sexton good-by, and walked away. The old man stood with his hat in his hand until Hastings was out of sight, and then, going to the grave of Mrs. Belmonte, he gave vent to his feelings in a flood of tears. CHAPTER XXXIII. MANY months had passed since Mrs. Belmonte's death. Hastings had returned to New York. He con- tinued to visit old Mr. Rivington, and to add as much as possible to his comfort and happiness. The old man still lived as he had been accustomed to before Bel- monte's attempt upon his life. He worked in his gar- den, and almost every day walked across the field to the graves on the little hillock. Nothing had been heard of Moulton .or Flora, although Hastings had been unre- mitting in his efforts to find them. A rumor was in circulation that Belmonte had been killed, while en- gaged in a questionable enterprise in the West Indies. There was nothing reliable, however, in the reports. No one could trace the rumor to its source. Hastings, after his., return from Cork, called as frequently as ever on Kate Coleman. He had made her his confidante in almost every thing. She had received several anony- mous letters, trying to prejudice her against him, but she burned them without showing them to any one. She never even told Hastings that such letters had been sent to her. Nothing could weaken her confidence in him. Nothing could make her love him less. Summer had come again. Mrs. Coleman, her two daughters, and some of their friends, together with 37* U 3 T) 438 THE CROOKED ELM; Hastings, had gone to Niagara Falls. It was a warm and beautiful evening. Kate Coleman and Hastings were sitting together on the veranda of the Clifton House looking out on the falling waters. The moon was at its full, and as it rose from the horizon it shed a soft, lustrous light on the white foam and spray, and imparted to them a kaleidoscopic coloring and beauty, at once fairy-like and enchanting. The dull, heavy moan of the tumbling floods lulled the senses to repose, and added interest to the witching picture. " I think," said Hastings, that the Falls are seen at no time so favorably as by moonlight. The partial darkness gives effect to the deep and hollow roar of the cataract, and lends a charm to this wild scenery. Look yonder," continued he, "at the long line of foaming water as it comes dashing on over the rocks towards the American Fall. Is it not a beautiful picture ? " " Charming ! " exclaimed Kate. " How silvery bright and picturesque, as it stretches away in the distance as far as the eye can see ! " " I think," said Hastings, " that each rock, each tree, each church-spire; in short, all that we can here see, look more beautiful to-night than they have ever appeared before when I have seen them." " We can imagine," said Kate, " that those rocks, trees, church-spires, and even Goat Island, as it lies there dividing the waters, are spectres from the other world come to witness the wonders and curiosities of this." " But," replied Hastings, " it would require the imag- ination of a poet to draw pictures so fanciful." " The spirit of poetry," answered Kate, enthusiasti- cally, " would be awakened in the dullest mind at be- holding a spectacle like this, lit up as it is by the * pale glimpses of the moon.' " OE, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 439 " If I were to draw a picture from my unproductive imagination," said Hastings, " I would make this one of the scenes described by Milton. Do you see that tower yonder near Goat Island, standing on the very brink of the precipice ? I would make that gloomy, spectral ob- ject ' Moloch, sceptred king,' addressing his myrmi- dons, and exhorting them to 'open war' against this power eternal which threatens his destruction. The ragged rocks, and these dark, shadowy trees should be his auditory, the thunders of the cataract his voice, and this dimly lighted spectacle, made ghostly by half seen objects, and the nickering lights in the village on the op- posite side of the river, should be his and their doomed abode their ' dark, opprobrious den of shame.' There is something awe-inspiring in Niagara Falls by moon- light ; and, though the picture which I have drawn is not very poetic, is there not a wild majesty in the one which we here see, equal almost in sublimity to those drawn by the blind poet ? " " I declare ! You are quite poetic nor is the com- parison which you have made inappropriate," said Kate. " But I am less Miltonic in my imagination than you. I have somewhere seen Niagara River compared to human life. At first the water moves smoothly along, unruffled by any opposing obstacle. The current quick- ens as it nears the cataract, and is broken and thrown from side to side by the rocks, until, dashing forward at a fearful rate, the waters are hurled from the precipice into the yawning abyss below. Like Niagara River we were represented to glide smoothly along in our early life. The beautiful woods and green fields which line this river were life's allurements and promised pleasures. They were always seen in the distance, but never en- joyed. As we increased in years we hurried on from one promised enjoyment to another, from hope to dis- 440 THE CROOKED ELMJ appointment, until life's current, which is hourly increas- ing in rapidity and strength, carries us irresistibly on, sweeping by every delusive happiness until precipitated into the unseen and the unknown future." "There is truth in the comparison at least," said Hastings. " I am and ever have been in this current. Pleasure and happiness have lined the shore, but I have never known them." " When the banks of this river," said Kate, " were darkened by the dense forest, when the country about was peopled with the red men alone, and when the Falls were constituted a deity, I can imagine with what wonder and with what awe-inspiring amazement these savages of the forest must have beheld this natural wonder for the first time! Imagine one of these, on such a night as this, emerging from the thick woods, and stepping out upon the bank of the river into full view of the Falls ! Who could blame him for dropping upon his knees, and imploring the benisons of this blind deity!" " Your imagination is on the wing to-night, Kate." As Hastings said this, a girl, seemingly about ten or twelve years old, stepped from a room on to the veranda near where he and Kate were sitting. " Oh, Eunice ! " exclaimed she, in a sweet, musical voice. " Come here, quick ! How beautiful the water looks ! Hurry, Eunice ! " Immediately a girl about her own age came to her side and exclaimed, as she placed her arm round her companion's waist : " How very, very beautiful ! " They stood admiring the Falls for some time. Hastings and Kate ceased conversing, and listened to what they said. The two girls were Eunice Demere're and little Flora. " Did the water look as beautiful as this when you saw it before ? " inquired Eunice. OK, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 441 " Oh, no ! I never before saw any thing so beautiful as this!" Flora stood within a step or two of Hastings. A light from an adjoining room shone full upon her and revealed to him her large blue eyes and her sweet, ex- pressive countenance. Her voice and face interested him. " Do you like this moonlit scenery ? " said he, ad- dressing Flora. She turned her head, and modestly looking him in the face answered : " I think it is very beautiful, sir." " But don't you like to look at the Falls better by daylight?" Flora moved instinctively, as it were, towards him without fear or embarrassment. " I think," said she, "that I like them better by moon- light" Hastings put his arm round her waist, and gently drew her close up to him. " Have you seen Niagara Falls before ? " inquired he. . " Yes, sir, I saw them once before." Kate Coleman engaged Eunice in conversation. Flora stood leaning against Hastings, and continued talking familiarly with him for nearly an hour. A gentleman then came to where they were, and, addressing Flora and Eunice in French, told them that they had better retire. Flora turned her eyes again into Hast- ings' face and said, in a soft, sweet voice : " I must retire now. Good -night, sir ! " " Good-night ! " said Hastings. " I wish you many pleasant dreams." " Thank you, sir ! " said she, and then turning she walked away with M. Demere're and Eunice ; for it was Eunice's father who had addressed them. 442 TEE CROOKED ELM ; " What sweet girls ! " said Kate, when they had gone. " I think I have seen those large blue eyes before," said Hastings, half abstractedly. " Her voice is familiar too and so musical ! I could have talked with her all night Did you observe her sweet countenance, Kate ? " " She was very beautiful. How unaffected and simple in her manners she was too ! She talked to you as familiarly as though she had known you for years." " I am sure I have seen her before," said he. " She must be from New York. Perhaps she knows me. 1 will see and talk more with her to-morrow." The next morning, as Hastings was walking early on the veranda, he saw a carriage drive away from the door of the Clifton House. A girl looked at him from the carriage window his eyes met hers she bowed to him as the carriage passed and smiling sweetly threw a little bouquet of choice flowers towards him. He kissed his hand to her, and then descending the steps quickly picked the bouquet from the ground and held it up so that she could see that he had got it. She remained looking out of the window until she could see Hastings no linger, and he continued looking at her until the carriage was out of sight. " How strange ! " muttered he. "She must know me!" He told Kate the incident when he met her that morning, and she exclaimed, laughing : " How romantic ! The liking is mutual ! I am sorry she has gone ! I should like to know more of her." " So should I," said Hastings. I do not think they are sisters," said Kate. " They do not look alike. They are direct opposites, except that they are both sweet and lovely in their manners, looks, and conversation." " I must go to the office and see who they are," said OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 443 he. " I will lay you a wager, Kate, that they are from New York, and that the little blue-eyed beauty knows me?" What shall the wager be ? " inquired Kate. u Any thing you please. A drive to the burning spring, to the observatory, or where you like." " You have the advantage in the bet," said she, " but I will accept it." Hastings went to the office, and soon returning said : " I have lost as usual. They are M. Demerere and his two daughters from Quebec. At least, the names are entered so as to indicate that they are his daughters. The entry reads M. and Mme. Demerere, two Misses, and servant." , "I should never have taken them for sisters," said Kate. " Did you observe with what a delicate and sweet accent they spoke French to their father ? " " I did remark it," said he. " Perhaps they are French." " We may meet them," said Kate, "at Quebec. I wish we may. It would be pleasant to know a family so accomplished and interesting." " But where shall we drive to-day ? " asked Hastings. " I must pay my losses. I dislike remaining in your debj; more than is necessary." " I will go and see Clemie," said Kate. " She may not wish to drive to-day. Yesterday she was teasing mamma to let her go under the 4 great sheet of water,' as it is called in the guide-books ; but I persuaded mamma not to let her do so foolish a thing. There is no know- ing what she will be up to next. Perhaps she will be wishing to navigate the river in an Indian canoe, or to descend the rope ladder which leads into the Cave of the Winds.' It would not be unlike her to wish some- thing of the kind. I will go and see her." 444 THE CKOOKED ELM ; Mrs. Coleman and her party remained at Niagara Falls a week or more, and then left for Montreal. On their arrival at the latter place, Hastings was agreeably surprised to meet his old friends Mr. and Mrs. Colling- wood, together with Harry Collingwood and Charley Willington. He introduced them to Mrs. Coleman and her two daughters, as well as to the others of her party, and they all in a few days proceeded on to Quebec. They had been at Quebec about a fortnight. They were intending to leave the next day. The weather was delightfully warm and pleasant, and Hastings proposed that they should again visit Montmorency Falls before leaving the city. The proposition was favorably received, and the party was soon without the gates ot the city, driving towards the Falls, which are distant from Que- bec about seven or eight miles. They passed through the little French village mentioned in a previous chap- ter. Harry and Charley had purposely filled their pock- ets with change, so as to have some fun with the young villagers ; for when they had passed through before they were sadly in want of ready funds to meet the demands of the market. There were as many as twenty or thirty children who gathered about the carriage in which Harry and Charley were, and followed close to it to pick up the pennies which were occasionally thrown to them. Whenever a piece of money fell among them there would be a general scrambling to see who should get it, much to the entertainment of Mr. Babblington's hopeful pupils. When they arrived at the Falls, they found several carriages there. The day was so mild and pleasant that many of the citizens of Quebec had gone there to enjoy the drive. The party, which was now quite numerous, was mirthful and joyous. As they walked from the road down towards the Falls through the thick wood which lines the bank of the stream, OK, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 445 Charley, Harry, Clemie, and sofne others of the party made the air vocal with their happy and gleeful laugh- ter. " Charley, run here, quick ! " cried Harry, enthusiasti- cally. Charley hastened to him ; for he. expected, by the tone of surprise in which Harry spoke, that there was something wonderful to be seen. Clemie and several others also ran to where Harry stood peering with seeming astonishment into vacancy. " Do you see that large sheet of falling water yonder, Charley?" " No," answered Charley, looking intently in the direction which Harry pointed out. " No more do I ! " exclaimed Harry, as he turned and ran laughing away. They all laughed heartily at Charley's expense, and followed joyously on in the direction where they heard the roar of falling water. They soon reached the bank on the edge of the cat- aract. " How wild and romantic ! " exclaimed Clemie. " I like this much better than Niagara ! " " Why, Clemie, you are more poetic than I had sup- posed," said Hastings, teasingly. " I had always asso- ciate4 you with simple prose. I find, however, that I have been egregiously at fault." " You are generally at fault," said Clemie, tartly. " Clemie ! " said Kate, reprovingly. Clemie made no answer, but walked a little to one side, and, seating herself on a broken rock, contemplated in silence the picturesque beauty of this wild and charming waterfall. They all at length crossed to the other side of the stream, and were descending the high bank to the water at the foot of the falls. Harry, anx- 38 446 THE CROOKED ELM; ious to show his dexterity, was leading them. They had not descended far, when he, leaving the path, thought he would reach the bottom in a shorter way. His feet tripped, however, and threw him on to the slaty rock, which was so steep and slippery that he could not obtain footing. Hastings, who was near him, tried to rescue him, but could not. Harry caught at first to some loose stones, but they gave way, and he slid and rolled to the water's edge, a distance of nearly two hundred feet. His father, Hastings, and in fact all of the party, hurried down the steep path to see what had become of him. When they had gone a little further down, they saw a man carry him up the bank, and lay him down on the grass near to where two young girls were standing. Mr. Collingwood and Hastings were soon by Harry's side, trying to restore him to conscious- ness. The remainder of the party soon came up, and formed a circle about him. Mrs. Collingwood was so much frightened, when she saw her son lying there insen- sible, that she fainted. The two girls, who had been standing a little distance away, watching anxiously all that was going on, approached near to where Harry lay. One of them gazed intently into his face. All was excitement, all were anxious to do something for Harry. She, however, stood as if spellbound, with her eyes riveted upon Harry's countenance. Consciousness was soon restored, and Harry, raising his head, turned his eyes in the direction where she was standing. She rushed forward and fell upon her knees by his side, ex- claiming wildly, "It is Harry! it is Harry!" And, seeming to forget that there were any others present, she took his hand and said in a voice full of emotion, " I am Flora ! Don't you know me, Harry ? " Harry raised himself up, and, with a pale countenance and OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 447 with eyes staring at her as if unable to credit his own senses, exclaimed, in a feeble voice : " Flora ! Is it you, Flora ? " " Yes, Harry, I am Flora ! " and the two were in each other's arms. While this scene was being enacted by Harry and Flora, Hastings, astonished and trembling with the conviction which flashed upon his mind, rose to his feet from where he had been kneeling beside Harry, and cast his eyes around him. They met those of Moulton, for it was he who had picked Harry from the sand. A moment, and only a moment did they look at each other, when Hastings, clasping Flora to his bosom, cried out, in the fulness of his joy : " My child ! my child ! I have found my child ! " Flora looked at him and then at Harry. Her coun- tenance was full of bewilderment. Tears coursed down Hastings' face and fell upon her head as he leaned over her and pressed her to him. All stood in utter amaze- ment. They were struck dumb at what to them was so unaccountably strange, and they remained gazing at the actors in the scene without the power of speech. Mr. Collingwood rose from where he had been kneeling by Harry, and fixed his eyes alternately on Hastings and Moulton. Charley stood near Harry, and contemplated the whole spectacle with eyes big with wonder. Eunice Demerge, terrified by this unexpected and strange scene, had stepped a little further away, and with her head bent forward, and with her hands raised in fright, stood with her eyes fixed upon Flora. Kate Coleman, who knew more of what was passing than any of the other spectators, stood near Hastings weeping for joy. Her prayers were answered, Hastings had found his child. Moulton, pale and trembling, remained standing as if unable to move for a moment, with eyes bursting 448 THE CROOKED ELM; almost from their sockets as they gazed at Hastings and Flora. Then, pressing his hand convulsively to his fore- head, as if to repress some sudden and overpowering conviction, he turned his eyes wildly upwards. Until that moment he had not known that Flora was the child of his once fondly loved Ida. The knowledge burst upon his mind like a gleam of fight from the other world. In the revelation he saw the spirit of Ida. It was she who had watched over to save him. Before him stood her child, and he who had once so deeply wronged him. His brain reeled, and he fell at the feet of her who had saved him from a life of crime, and, without uttering a word, his spirit passed away from earth forever. Two or three weeks had passed since Hastings found his child. M. Demerdre, Eunice, Harry, Charley, Hastings, and Flora were the guests of Mrs. Cole- man at her house in New York. Harry in his fall had received several severe injuries, and had only recovered from them sufficiently to walk about the house. His father and mother had returned to Virginia, leaving him in the care of Hastings. Flora had regained some- what her cheerful spirits ; and she and Harry, as in years past, had stole away from the others in the house, and were seated together on the back piazza. They each told to the other their individual histories since they had been separated. " I never have ceased thinking of you, Harry," said Flora. " I have always thought that we would meet some time." " Rose and I often talked of you," said Harry. " She always said that I would meet you again." They remained a long time talking together. Hast- ings sat by a window where he could hear much of OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 449 their conversation. " God bless you both ! " said he to himself. " Your innocent and pure love shall never be disturbed by me." They renewed their pledges of love, and resolved never to be separated again, without writing to each other. I will not attempt a description of Hastings' joy at finding his long-lost child. Flora and he clung naturally and fondly to each other. She already loved him more than she had ever loved any one else. They were together much, and he told her much of the his- tory of her mother, and as far as possible revealed to her young mind the many strange events connected with her childhood. They remembered their strange meeting at Niagara Falls, and the incidents connected with it were often alluded to by them both. A few days after Hastings had returned to the city, he visited old Mr. Rivington and gradually told him of the deception which Belmonte had practised upon him, and informed him that Flora was still alive. The old man was wild with joy on learning that she was still living. He was for going at once to the city to see her. " I will bring her here to-morrow afternoon," said Hastings. " In the mean time the grave of the child, buried beside Rover, had better be removed. I fear that the effect of it would be injurious to her." Mr. Rivington consented to the arrangement, and thai afternoon removed the remains of the child to anothei spot, and had the fresh earth carefully sodded over, so as to leave no traces of what had been done. The next day, Hastings, alone with Flora, drove to old Mr. Riv- ington's. When the carriage stopped at the gate in front of his house, the old man, with his head uncovered and with his white locks falling carelessly over his face 450 THE CROOKED ELM, and neck, hurried out to meet his once adopted child. They were soon in each other's arms. The old man wept like a child. " May the Lord be praised for restoring you to me again ! " said he, as he pressed her to his bosom. Flora could not speak a word, but looked tearfully at the old man, as if trying to recall him to her mind. He picked her up in his arms, as he had been accustomed to when she lived with him, although she was now quite a large girl, and walked towards the house, pressing her to him and exclaiming : " Praise the Lord ! Praise the Lord ! She was dead and is alive again ; and was lost and is found ! Praise the Lord for his goodness in restoring to me my darling child ! " It was a long time before he could compose himself sufficiently to talk to her. He seated her on his knee as he had often done years before, and looked into her face with a countenance beaming with gratitude and joy. After remaining for an hour or more in the house, the three started across the field to see her old friend Rover's grave. What emotions were awakened in her young heart at beholding again the familiar objects of her childhood! The house, the fields, and wood and river, all were there before her ; but how diminished in size! Her grandpapa, as she still called Mr. Rivington, looked natural to her, yet she gazed at him as if trying to recall him more forcibly to memory. When they arrived at the little hillock, Flora looked anxiously about her. Her heart was full to overflowing fond and cherished memories crowded upon her mind. She looked anxiously at Rover's grave, her little play-house, the forget-me-nots which she had planted, and at all which recalled the past. She could contain her feelings no longer they found vent in tears. The old man OR, LIFE BY THE WAY-SIDE. 451 and Hastings stood by her side. Each was 'filled with his own thoughts. Each was rejoicing over the safe return of the lost one. Flora and Eunice remained at Mrs. Coleman's for nearly two months. M. Demere're had left Eunice with Flora, having been earnestly solicited to do so by Hast- ings. They were happy when together. Kate Cole- man thought that Flora was the sweetest girl she had ever known. She tried in every way to add to her hap- piness. Flora and she were, very soon, great friends. One evening, as Kate and Hastings were seated together on the piazza, Hastings, taking Kate's hand in his, said : " Kate, you have been a very kind and good sister to me. We have known each other a long time. I had resolved never to marry again ; but T now leave it to you to say whether I shall break or keep the resolution. Can you love me other than as a brother ? Will you become my wife ? " As he said this, he rose from his seat, pressed her hand gently, and bid her good-night, leaving Kate with cheeks suffused with blushes. The words which he had spoken gave her more happiness than any which she had ever before listened to. Her cup of joy was full to overflowing. Several years have rolled away. Hastings and Kate and Flora are living in a beautiful house in New York. Bessy is there, too, all smiles, and with a face beaming with pleasure as she plays with a little bright-eyed boy and curly-headed girl, who have already learned to call Kate and Hastings, mamma and papa. Flora has grown to be a handsome and accomplished young lady. Eunice Demere're visits her frequently, and they often talk over the many incidents of their lives, and their future prospects. Harry has completed his collegiate 452 THE CKOOKED ELM. studies, and is reading law with Hastings. Rumors are afloat rumors that may be relied on as true that he and the accomplished Miss Hastings are soon to be married. It is even stated that the day for their wed- ding has been named, and that a certain clergyman by the name of Babblington, from the northern part of the State of New York, has been invited to officiate on the occasion. The farm where Moulton lived in Virginia has been purchased by Mr. Collingwood, and the house has been beautifully fitted up. Aunt Rose superin- tended the repairing and arranging the kitchen ; and it is a fact worthy of mention, that she looked more smil- ingly while doing so than she had for years before. It is whispered also that old Mr. Rivington intends living with Harry and Flora when they commence " keeping house." Charley Willington is a frequent visitor at M. Deme- re"re's, and it is more than probable that he and Eunice will follow the commendable example which Flora and Harry intend setting them. George Washington Jackson Smith, (now an assist- ant editor of a very popular magazine,) and Richard Evans, a young physician, are expected to be present at Harry's wedding to give eclat to the occasion, as well as to show their respect for old Mr. Babblington and the " Guttural System." Wishing Flora and Harry, and Eunice and Charley, all kinds of happiness in their, at present, flattering and joyous prospects, I bid them, together with the other characters in this story, and the reader, an affectionate adieu. ^JkJtm kL,,fc *Vw^4y&y,Hi J 551*2 BQi*